<|startoftext|>[WP] We never open the door when there's only one knock [RESPONSE] "Please, just let me in, it's getting cold!" The voice was familiar, only older than I remembered. Very close to detail. "Lala, please." Using my old nickname was a nice touch as well. I sat on the floor next to the door, my arms wrapped around my legs. Or course this had to happen the one week my parents left me alone. They hadn't gone on vacation for years, I practically begged them to get away for a while. For their own good. If I called them, they'd come right back but I don't think that would have helped me anyway. Besides, I wasn't an idiot. I heard the knock and I would not open that door. When someone comes to your house, they will ring the bell or knock a few times. Most people like to play safe and simply use the bell. And then you open the door as you normally would. But never, absolutely never, should you open the door when there's only one knock. It was the very first thing we were told when we moved to this neighborhood all those years ago. There are a bunch of rumors, of people disappearing or suddenly dying after opening their doors though they all supposedly happened before we even lived here. I never believed in it, even when I was little. This town was simply insane, most people here were a little eccentric and unusual. Well, that's what I believed until I heard my lost sister call for me, after the one loud knock on our front door. "Please, go away," I whispered. Even after all those years, I recognized her voice. And when I heard it I jumped right up, ready to open that door wide. But I knew it wasn't her. I'd looked through the window. There was nobody in front of our door. I don't know how much time had passed before I finally grabbed my phone and called Max who's not only our neighbor but one of my closest friends. "She's here," I said. I knew I wasn't making much sense, I didn't know how to word my thoughts. "Who? Where?" He answered. "Ruby." Silence. "Wha-," Max started speaking but stopped. "She knocked." That was enough information for him. "You didn't open, did you?" I shook my head which of course he couldn't see. "I'm coming over now, okay?" \-- I'm not sure how many minutes passed but Ruby had stopped asking me to open the door. "Hey, Lainey, I don't think the bell is working," I heard Max. "Maybe they screwed with it." I swallowed. "You could knock." There was silence for a little while, followed by one loud thud. When I didn't open the door, the sound of Max started shouting loudly. "Open the fucking door!" His voice became louder and louder until it hit a frequency that almost made my eardrums explode. I didn't move, I didn't speak and finally, the doorbell rang and the voice became silent. Slowly I got up from the door to look outside. This time it was really him. \-- "The last time I saw her we had the biggest fight of our lives." We were sitting in the living room with tea that had already turned cold. I don't open up about Ruby often but hearing her voice today really messed me up. "And all because of stupid Jack," I rolled my eyes. Max smiled. "A boy?" I shook my head and laughed. "Jack was a stuffed toy in the shape of a pumpkin." I’d never told Max about the fight, in fact, nobody but my parents knew about it. "I loved that damn thing. Won it at the Halloween carnival. When Ruby saw it she begged me to give it to her, she cried for hours because she hadn't won it. And even when my parents said she'd buy her another toy she wouldn't stop. She wanted mine." "Well, she wanted to be just like you. It's sweet." I nodded. Ruby was a year younger than me but she used to act as if we were twins. She wore my clothes, played the same sports, and always wanted to hang out with me and my friends. When I think about it now I think it was adorable, of course back then I found it insufferable. I sighed. "For days I took Jack everywhere with me, even to the bathroom. It was probably just out of pettiness but that toy became everything to me. So when I came home from school one afternoon and saw that Ruby had cut it in half I screamed at her like never before. She only looked at me with big teary eyes." Max put his hand on my shoulder. "Come on Lainey, siblings fight, it's normal. I saw you with her though and you were a damn good big sister." I nodded. Of course, I knew it was just some stupid fight between kids but if I could turn back time I'd give her every shitty toy I owned. This happened five years ago. Ruby would be sixteen now. My parents have tried everything for years to find her. I believe the only reason we *still* live here is that they never entirely gave up the hope that she'd come back home one day. Maybe now she was. Just in a different way. "Do you think I'm losing my mind, Max?" He raised an eyebrow. "I think you lost that a whole while ago," he joked. "No, I'm serious. I mean it's not possible that I actually heard her earlier?" He shrugged. "I mean, you did hear a knock. I don't think it was actually *her* though." Max and I used to make fun of the superstition. When we were younger, before Ruby disappeared, we once played ding dong ditch. After a few houses, Max decided to knock once at the door of our neighbor Mrs. Tellski. Someone saw us though and Max got the biggest lecture of his life from his grandpa. Like it was a really big deal. My parents weren't happy either, but Max was grounded for two months, during which his grandpa told him all sorts of horror stories from this town. "I don't think it was her either. But I do think it was mimicking her, or trying to." "For what it's worth, I think it was smart that you didn't open the door. Maybe we're all just a little crazy but better safe than sorry, right?" \-- Max offered to stay the night and I immediately said yes. We got the air mattress and watched movies until I started to hear him snoring. The good thing about Max was, I never felt awkward around him. He regularly stayed over since we were little. Especially often after Ruby was gone. Having him here really helped against the silence. My mind became easier, and my body heavier. Real thoughts started to mix with dreams, I was beginning to fall asleep. And then there was another knock. It came from the front door downstairs but I heard it loud and clearly My heart started racing just like it did this afternoon. "Max, did you hear that?" I whispered but he didn't answer. "Lala, it's dark. Please come and get me," Ruby's new voice cried from outside. "Max, please tell me you hear this." I looked over at him, but he didn't move. Finally, I collected the courage to get up and turn on the lights. "Ma-," The eyes of my friend were wide open but he didn't speak. He didn't move. "I ran over to him and tried to shake him but his whole body was stiff. Only his eyes moved." "LET ME IN!" The voice from downstairs screamed. I didn't know what to do anymore. Max was clearly awake but it seemed as if something was holding him back. Almost like he was having sleep paralysis but with his eyes open. "They're pulling me away, Lala, please help me." I don't know what happened then, but I immediately jumped up and ran downstairs. Some kind of instinct kicked in. Maybe it was her. Maybe I could pull her back inside. But if this was really Ruby, was she also the one doing this to Max? My hands touched the cold door handle, moving almost as if I was in a trance. "I have Jack. They fixed him, Lala. We don't need to fight anymore." Those words pierced through my body and woke something up inside of me. I stepped away from the door and walked back upstairs passing my room where Max was still living still. But I didn't stop, I walked to the next room. Ruby's old bedroom. Everything there looked just the way it did when she was still here. My parents could never change it. Everything was still the same. And Jack was still placed on her bed where I put it five years ago after I'd sewn him back together. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] How to Survive College - but seriously, how do you manage to make dinosaurs boring??? [RESPONSE] Let’s recap. It’s been a little bit since . , I grew up in a small town with a campground that some of you are very familiar with. I worked there through highschool with nothing unremarkable happening until after graduation. My boyfriend was killed, the future I thought I was doomed for vanished, and I decided to take my life in my own hands and go to college instead. I thought about writing something insightful about how we can’t escape our pasts, but I don’t think that’s what’s happening here. I brought my past with me in the form of ties I can’t bring myself to sever and as knowledge most people don’t have and don’t want if they know what’s good for them. And what’s happening at my college isn’t like what I grew up with. It’s different. It’s like we’ve been swaddled here into this cocoon so that in four years we might emerge as something new. And the college and the *things* contained within are also changing into something new. A process that started before I arrived and now I’m just wandering through the ravine and marveling at how much the river has worn away and how much further it has to go before the landscape is irrevocably changed. I wish I could say that after finishing my freshman year everything settled down, but that’s not how these things work. I’m not naive. When I returned home for a short break before the start of the fall semester, I already knew that when I went back to campus I’d be marked. I had a bargain with the devil and I’d traveled into the depths of the traveling river and returned. These things can’t be set aside so lightly. But at least I had a brief reprieve back in my hometown. Hah. If only. The town’s gossip network got to work spreading the news that I was home. After two days, the parents of my ex-boyfriend showed up at my house. Not Steven. The *very* ex-boyfriend. There’s been rumors spreading in my absence because this is a small town and of course there were. His disappearance was suspicious enough but then I went to college, which is not something people in this town commonly do. With no prior interest? Against the wishes of my mother? But no, it couldn’t be because I’m trying to get away from this stupid fucking town, it’s because I’m *guilty* of something. Surely I *know* what happened or - gasp - might even *be involved*. Which I guess I do know something, but what am I supposed to say? Oh your golden child wasn’t really all that great and apparently there was a lot more going on with him than even I knew about, because Krampus saw fit to make a personal appearance and strangle him to death before dragging his corpse away to some wintery hellscape. No one will believe me. Or at least, his parents will never believe me, and I have no desire to be hounded and blamed by these people every time I come home to visit my mom and my siblings. Because they’re borderline accusing me of being the reason he disappeared and all I did was try to have a future of my own and not join them in their life of misery and mourning. We weren’t even married. I’m realizing that I didn’t even like him as much as I thought I did. My life isn’t over because my boyfriend died when I was 18. Maybe the devil knew what he was doing in keeping me out of that community college that was closer to home. I need to be an inconvenient distance from this place. So they showed up on the front door when only myself and my youngest sister were home. I opened the door because I felt I should. I figured they were only there to ask how I was doing, as that would be the polite thing to do for someone that presumably was important to the deceased, right? Oh no. They showed up to start *drama*. “Did you take him with you?” his mother demanded, growing increasingly hostile as I repeated over and over that I didn’t know what happened to him. “He left his car behind. Someone had to drive him. Did you leave him somewhere?” “Didn’t the sheriff tell you everything?” I sighed wearily. This was going to go nowhere. “But where is he?! Is he at - at that *school*?” “We told him he needed to take over the business,” his dad rumbled. “That it was time he grow up and stop daydreaming.” Oh my GAWD I hate this town sometimes. “If he left,” I snapped, “that was his choice to make. And he’s not at my school. I haven’t seen him and I’m trying to move on.” Then I shut the door in their faces. Locked it for good measure. I stood there, heart pounding, listening to the muted discussion taking place on the doorstep. They finally decided to leave and talk to my mom over at the store. Let her know what a disrespectful daughter she had. Fine. My mother and I might not agree on everything but we agreed on this at least. My ex’s parents needed to mind their own damn business from here out. I at least texted her to let her know they were coming. Then I turned around to find my youngest sister staring at me from the end of the hallway. She’d watched the entire confrontation. “They suck,” I said, jabbing a thumb at the door. She nodded solemnly. “They’ve been bothering mom too,” she said. “Was he bad too?” I sucked in a breath. My youngest sister was the quietest of my siblings and she was also the most close-mouthed. I didn’t think she’d tell anyone anything. “He was,” I said. “He vanished at the campground, didn’t he?” I asked her how she knew that and she said it was just a hunch. I watched her carefully but she wasn’t meeting my gaze and I wasn’t certain if she was repeating what she’d heard somewhere or if this was her own idea. Then I told her that yes, he did vanish at the campground. And that she should stay away from there because even with an ancient being watching over it, it’s still dangerous. You can’t leave some things behind, once they’re a part of you. But it looks like I’m no longer going to be as welcome back home as I used to be. It made going back to college easier, once move-in weekend rolled around. This time my mom drove me. She was disappointed that I hadn’t transferred to the community college closer to home, but she was making her peace with it. Then, after she’d helped me carry my things into the dorm room (same one I had for the spring semester) she took a deep breath and looked me straight in the eyes. We were standing by her car, parked by the curb, ignoring the harried volunteers that were trying to get people to unload and get out of there. “You come back,” she said. “You have to keep coming back. I can’t handle losing someone else.” Like she’d lost dad. I just nodded, urgently, trying not to cry and then we hugged and she drove away. It feels surreal to be back here. I was only home for a week but move-in felt like my first day all over again where everything was new and unfamiliar. And there’s all these buildings and landmarks that I know but I’ve been seeing them mostly empty all summer and now they’re filled with people and everything has changed again. I feel incredibly lonely seeing all these people I don’t know and I’m not sure why that is. Cassie and I have picked up right where we left off. She’s talking about internships already. There’s a job fair early in the fall semester for her degree program and she’s making a list of which companies she wants to interview with, ranked by how much the internship pays. I wish I had that kind of direction. I’m still not sure if I picked the right major. In fact, I’m pretty sure I didn’t. I just had to pick something, right, so I picked the one that fell in line with the classes I found interesting in my first year. Yeah, I’m majoring in geology. I don’t even know what you do with that kind of degree yet. I’m telling myself it’s a placeholder until I get the rest of my life figured out. No pressure. I haven’t talked to Maria yet. There’s been some messages in the Rain Chaser’s discord channel but I’ve been ignoring it. I actually uninstalled the app from my phone, late one night when the sky was overcast and my chest felt tight and I couldn’t fall asleep. I want to keep going, just keep walking forward and not look back. The eye is gone. The dead students are forgotten by everyone else. I don’t want to look back, I don’t want to think about it, I don’t want to talk to Maria. This is how I feel. Realistically, I know I can’t avoid it forever. She deserves to know that the eye is gone and the students that were killed are at rest. Besides, I need her help to distribute my flyers. They’re nothing fancy. Just a sheet of paper titled “How to Survive College” and a list of the rules such as they are. I printed them off campus and have enough to leave a stack of twenty in each dorm’s computer lab. I just need people that can get into the labs and for that, I guess I need the Rain Chasers. Let’s review the rules. 1. Don’t go outside when it rains. 2. If you fall asleep in class and no one is around when you wake up, stay at your desk. Pretend you’re taking notes. Don’t look up and don’t look around, no matter what you hear. You’ll be returned to your classroom when it leaves. 3. Don't leave your laundry in the washer or dryer for too long. If you do and someone has folded it for you, put it away nicely. If you don't, the person that folded it for you will know and will come for you. 4. If you break campus rules and go into the steam tunnels, be aware of your surroundings. If you see where steam is leaking into the open air, run. Get out of the tunnels as quickly as you can. There's more than just steam down there. 5. If you get caught out in the rain… you are not seeing things. There is something out there, between the raindrops. Get inside as quickly as you can. 6. Campus does not flood. If you see water beginning to accumulate any larger than a puddle, get to high ground as fast as you can. The river is coming for you. 7. If you’re in the steam tunnels and a door doesn’t open to where you expect, close it and open it again. It should lead you to the correct location on the second try. 8. If you absolutely must venture out in the rain, go in groups. Do not be caught in the rain alone. Similarly, never swim in the gym pool alone. They hunt in packs and are looking for easy prey. They don’t have everything, but those are the rules I felt most confident putting into print. I can always put out updates. I’ll be honest - I feel silly with these. Kate always complained about how they didn’t work but she kept doing it, so it must have had *some* effect, right? And maybe it’ll be different here because people are already passing what to do with the rain around by word of mouth. I feel they take it more seriously. But yanno? Distributing these is a problem for another day. For the first week I only wanted to focus on my classes and my new job (more on that in another post). I’m taking more geology classes, obviously. I have a class about dinosaurs and that sounds interesting, right? It was even taught by a different professor than Mr. I-Believe-In-Stereotypes-But-Not-Monsters so it seemed like it was all going to turn out great. Hah. Hahahahahahhaaha. I’m not sure how you make *dinosaurs* boring but this professor is managing to accomplish it. It’s an early morning class. Starts at 8AM, which is a special kind of hell in of itself. But it gets worse. It’s in a big lecture hall with like a hundred something students and we all file in and once we’re all seated he turns the lights off. And turns on the projector. And starts *droning*. I just have so much regret right now. Like most everyone, I suspect, I’m having trouble staying awake. I’m doing my best. It’s like he’s going out of his way to make it as difficult as possible, though. Phones and laptops are banned and since the room is semi-dark, it’s easy to see who is breaking the rule. I try to take notes but I’m kind of a shit note taker to begin with and it’s not enough to keep my brain engaged. I’m just hoping this is one of those classes where you can read the textbook and be okay for the exams. ‘Let me guess,’ you’re saying. ‘You fall asleep on the regular.’ Yes! ‘And when you do, something weird happens.’ Well, it was only the once so far. But it was in the first week of the semester so that doesn’t bode well. Something ran across my foot. That was what woke me up. The professor was still droning down at the front of the lecture hall. I covertly glanced around to make sure no one had seen me startle awake, though I’m not sure they could have judged me for it, I’m sure they were all falling asleep as much as I was. Everyone around me was quiet, watching the presentation or staring blankly at their open textbook or sleeping. There was something odd about the floor, though. The shadows were off, subtle, but enough to catch my eye and I took a harder look. The ground was covered in tree roots. They grew together in thick cords, reminding me of the tangled cables in a computer server room. They ran down the stepped levels of the lecture hall, flowing steadily towards the middle, rarely branching, rarely veering. Then they pooled around the podium, swirling to a thick knot right in front of the podium, and then branched out again towards the back wall and beyond. I leaned over, pretending to look inside my backpack. This could be another situation like the thing in the hallway and I felt it best to act natural until I understood what was happening. But while I was bent over, I touched the tree roots. They felt real enough. Smooth and cold with a slight chalky texture. I stared hard at them, trying to make out details as my eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness under the table, shielded from the glow of the unending presentation. They were covered in lines like cracks, dark paths running perfectly parallel to each other, sometimes crossing over to form bridges between each track. It reminded me of computer circuitry. I was strangely calm. There was a whole other world next to the college and sometimes it veered into ours, but there was always a way out. That’s what I’ve been telling myself about the traveling river and the flooding library and the thing in the hallway and everything else. There was always a way out. I just had to be patient and wait for it to pass by. The tide would recede and I’d be left here standing on the correct bank. I straightened. As I did, I glimpsed a dark shape on the underside of the desk. A lump the size of a soccer ball. I froze. It did not. It *unwound*. A long, sinuous body uncurled, hundreds of legs clinging to the underside of the particleboard. Its carapace shined as it caught the light of the projector and two antennas flitted in my direction, each as long as my forearm. Look, there’s only so much a person can take and still remain calm and collected. I apparently found my breaking point right then and there and that point is a giant ass bug monster inches from my face. I screamed. I threw myself away from it, falling out of my chair. It reacted to the noise, skittering down the table leg as fast as thought. I heard the click of its multitude of legs as it stretched out to its full length. A yard long, at least, and as thick as an apple. A millipede. A giant millipede. “NO!” I shrieked, jumping onto my chair as it came at me, mandibles clicking spasmodically. “GET AWAY FROM ME!” I stood on my chair, hyperventilating as its head reached the chair leg and its body curved upwards. I cast about desperately, trying to figure out where to flee, and then my eyes fell on my textbook. It’s very heavy. I seized it and threw it as hard as I could at the millipede. The book struck it squarely on its body and simply fell to the side. The creature, however, recoiled. It hissed and then ran from me, swerving across the ground as it traveled up and down over the roots. It reached the wall and began to flee up it. Then I made the mistake of looking up. The ceiling was covered in them. A roiling mass of chitin and flashing antenna. I next remember someone calling my name. The person that sits next to me, staring up anxiously, repeating my name over and over. Slowly, I looked around. I was still standing on my chair. Everyone was staring at me. I opened my mouth, trying to speak. Everything felt like it was happening so slowly and I didn’t know what had happened in the past few seconds. Like my brain had simply turned itself off after seeing what was on the ceiling. “Are you okay?” my neighbor asked directly. “Uh,” I said, “I saw a rat.” A ripple ran through the students. Everyone around me glanced under the table and I saw a couple of them pick their feet up off the ground and huddle on top of their chairs. Finally, one particularly brave hero got up and made a thorough search before proclaiming the area was rat-free now. I sat back down. I didn’t put my legs under the desk. I kept my feet up on the edge of the chair. I wasn't the only one doing this so I guess they believed my excuse for panicking. Throughout all this, the professor didn’t say anything. He looked at me for a long, hard moment and then continued talking about the pikaia. I sat there with my heart hammering, not really listening. The incident had made sure I was *wide awake* but I couldn’t focus on anything anymore. There was a touch at my elbow and I about jumped out of my skin. At least I didn’t scream this time. My neighbor slid me a note. He jerked his head, indicating it came from someone else further on in the row, but no one was looking in my direction to fess up to who sent it. I unfolded it. ‘I saw them too,’ it read. ‘They weren’t rats.’ No one stopped to talk to me after class, even though I took my time packing my backpack to give them an opportunity. I guess they wanted to get out of this room as fast as they could. I kind of did too. I’m not sure how I’m going to keep going back to that classroom, after what I saw. My delay gave someone else the opportunity to come talk to me, though. The professor made his way up the aisle and caught my eye. “Everything okay?” he asked. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” I said nervously. “I’m not sure what I saw anymore. I just thought something ran across my foot.” “Well, feel free to move if it makes you feel better. There’s plenty of open seats near the front.” Like hell I’d sit near the front. I didn’t need him to see me drooling into my hand when I fell asleep again. If I fell asleep again, that is. But I thanked him for his consideration and said I’d think about it. I left hurriedly, hoping the other student that witnessed the tree roots and the millipedes would be waiting for me, but the hallway was empty. I wonder if they were avoiding the professor eavesdropping. I wonder if the professor knew it wasn’t a rat. If he’s going to be watching me now. Or maybe I’m letting my paranoia get ahead of me. Or maybe it doesn’t matter. I have to be careful. I killed the eye and I have to assume that there is now a target on my back.[\[x\]]( <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] We Invented the World's Best Weight Loss System. It Only Has One Flaw... [RESPONSE] The lab where I work is not a regular sort of lab. We wear protective equipment and do decontamination protocols to ensure that anything on the inside stays there, and doesn’t escape. Proteon’s Level Eight Consumer Medical Products Division is what it’s officially called. But for those of us who work here, we just know it as “THE PIT.” We are on the furthest floor down from the main level - far away from the gleaming offices of the thirty-ninth floor - where suited executives discuss business portfolios while sipping lattes and smoking cigars. Despite its name, THE PIT is well-lit, at least. The bright fluorescent glow of the lamps overhead cast everything in a stark, shockingly electric white. You almost have to shield your eyes from all the reflective polished steel surfaces belonging to high-tech equipment. Everything from stirrers, hot plates, precision balances, incubators, microscopes and pH meters - all top of the line. I’m not supposed to talk about what we’re working on down there, in THE PIT. But I guess it doesn’t really matter anymore. Not to me, anyways. We did experiments down there. Things I deeply regret. Our assignment was to create a biological solution to assist people with weight loss. The idea was to design a genetically modified tapeworm that would help people reach their desired weight, then could be drawn out with a biologically implanted trigger. It sounds disgusting, I know. But you’d be amazed what people will do to lose weight. I was shocked to see a human volunteer amble into the laboratory one day. He’d been forced to sign several NDAs and was told not to say a word about THE PIT to anyone. The man was over three hundred pounds, and he was eager to try the new treatment we were offering. Even when we told him what it was, he didn’t flinch. He just agreed enthusiastically, asking how the worm would be implanted. After the procedure was finished, the man stood up from the steel examination table looking excited. He said it was the first day of the rest of his life, and he couldn’t wait to see the results from the treatment. It took all of my effort not to throw up, just thinking about that worm squirming around in his belly, sniffing for food. Since I was assigned as lead for the project, the man was given my work cell phone to call in case of emergencies or issues with the worm. We didn’t anticipate anything unusual - we had simply modified the worm’s genes to exit the body when we told it to. But still, this was experimental, and I was a little worried about testing it for the first time on a human. I had been working at Proteon for long enough to know better than to ask questions, though. The last whistleblower at the company had met an untimely demise. Weeks went by and the subject reported weight loss in excess of fifteen pounds. He was thrilled by the results. Only a few more days remained in the trial, and a few of us in the lab were joking around, saying how it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to lose a few inches ourselves. Working in a lab doesn’t afford a lot of opportunity for exercise, after all, and it’s hard to stay in shape. I wasn’t the first one to swallow one of the worms. Kevin did it, and then Lisa, and then Rebecca. I felt an odd sense of peer pressure to join them. “C’mon, Jake,” Rebecca said, prodding me with her elbow. “Imagine what it would be like to look fifty pounds lighter…” She said this while looking at me flirtatiously. We were both on the bigger side, and I thought about the two of us looking fit and skinny, having sex in the back of her Jeep Cherokee. She would definitely let me have sex with her if I was skinny, I thought. With that idea in my mind, I held up the worm with my forefingers and dropped it down my gullet, like a kid during recess trying to impress the cool kids. Except we had all done it. We had all ingested the creatures designed by untested science. And we were all about to pay the price. * For a little while things were good. I started to lose weight, slowly at first, then a little more every day. Despite eating ravenously at times, the fat continued to burn away, disappearing effortlessly. I wasn’t exercising or doing anything different from my usual routine. If anything I was eating more - feeling like no matter how much I shoved down my gullet I was always hungry. Despite feeling tired and hungry all the time, I was encouraged by the weight loss. Just like our subject, I found myself stepping on the scale and seeing I had shed fifteen pounds in a matter of weeks. As I stepped off the scale, though, I felt something stirring inside of me. The worm, I assumed. But it felt larger now, like a python uncoiling itself and yawning as it awoke for the day, hungry for a meal. That made me feel unsettled, but I tried to ignore it and went about my day, going to work as usual. I attempted to reach the subject of our experiment, but he didn’t pick up the phone. It was the second day in a row he hadn’t answered. “He’s probably busy with a hot date,” Rebecca said. She was looking good. The missing weight around her face was already noticeable, and despite her colour appearing slightly grey, I thought her ass was getting a nice sort of peachy shape to it. “How about the two of us go on a hot date?” I asked her, feeling impulsive and more confident than I had in years. “Le Château, tonight at eight?” Her cheeks coloured with a rosy blush. “Hell yeah,” she said, smiling and showing her tiny teeth and tall gums. Her glasses fogged up as we kissed behind the centrifuge, and I told her I’d pick her up at seven. That night I went to her apartment to pick her up, and knocked on her door. She opened up, appearing a little green. “Come on in,” she said, gulping. “I just need a minute. I’m not feeling well all of a sudden.” I went in and sat down, feeling not so great myself. It was just hitting me at that moment, a sensation like I was spinning while standing on top of a very tall building. Sitting down hard on the couch, she plopped down beside me. She set her hand down on my leg and I noticed dully that something was moving around underneath her skin, burrowing like Bugs Bunny. It didn’t even register to me that I wasn’t as surprised as I should have been, when I saw the same thing was happening to my own arm. I felt my face and noticed it was moving as well, deforming and bulging with the movements of parasites underneath. Not one worm, but many of them. And they weren’t just in my stomach anymore, now they were everywhere. “Your face,” Rebecca sputtered, her eyes glazed over and moist with tears. “Your face is moving…” Whatever these things were, they were multiplying. And they were making us brain dead as they chewed on our greymatter. “Call 9-1-1,” I said to Rebecca, feeling more afraid than I’d ever felt in my life, as I saw something begin to tear a hole in her cheek. The face of a worm peeked out as it gnawed and clawed to free itself. All I could feel were the teeth of a thousand parasites, growing larger by the second as they fed upon my flesh. And their mother in my belly, a six foot snake uncurling and shifting with displeasure. Getting ready to start gnawing at the bars of its flesh-cage. To escape to greener <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I couldn’t believe what my boss asked me to do on my first day [RESPONSE] “There’s *nothing* to ‘get’!” my manager Jonah swept his palm against the mahogany reception desk, “It’s right, right, right, right, *left!*” I watched him go through the motions for what seemed like the twentieth time. It wasn’t my fault. This wasn’t something I got asked to do every day. In fact, I’d never expected to get asked to do this, *period.* Especially not on my first day on the job. “Okay, okay,” I said, taking in a lungful of air and extending my arms to either side, “Right, right, right, right, *left.* Got it.” His forehead cleared, “*See?* Easy peasy! You’ll be running this place by the end of the week!” The end of the week seemed lightyears away. The newspaper ad had promised a “stress-free” receptionist experience in a small health clinic, but it was only 9 AM and I was already on edge. Jonah looked to be in his late forties and evidently took pride in his no-nonsense attitude. He was already tapping his foot by the time I’d arrived, *even though I was five minutes early*, and wasted no time on introductions. “I have a meeting in ten,” he snapped, pointing me to my seat, “That’s your desk, your login info is on the post-it note. Anything else you might need just ask Sally, she’ll be taking over for the night shift.” “The night sh-?” I tried to interject, but he cut me off. “Let me walk you through the basics,” he paused for effect, “As you know, we pride ourselves on our free healthcare, which distinguishes us from the competition and keeps our hands full day and night. Your role may be simple, but it’s a vital one.” “Okay?” I shifted on my swivel chair as he positioned himself directly in front of the reception desk. “Now,” he cleared his throat, “Pay attention. You’ll need to master this before the next surge.” “Sur..?” I began, but he wasn’t listening. “So, the first thing you do when a patient comes in is check their ID. Free healthcare or not, we need to keep a record of whoever comes through the door. You know the drill.” He rapped the countertop in a keyboard-like motion to demonstrate. I smiled politely. “*Now*, the important part,” he said, extending his arms to the sides, “As you can see, there is a door on each side of the room. For your convenience, they are labeled R and L, which stand for right and left.” He paused, as if to make sure I was still following. “The task is simple. You are to send every *fifth* patient through the left door. You’ll need to keep track of them, okay? One, two, three, four people go *right*, and the fifth one goes *left.*” “But…why?” I heard myself asking. In all my years working as a hospital receptionist I’d never heard a request like this, “What’s behind the left door?” Jonah scoffed, as if he’d been expecting the question, “Inpatient rooms. Don’t worry about it. All you need to do is count the patients and point to the correct door. *Got it?*” “So…” I began, my mouth dry, “But what kind of… How will I know if the patients qualify for the left door? You know, like, if a pregnant woman comes in and the maternity rooms are on the right…” “Easy,” he snapped, his brow furrowed, “If she’s patient number five, you send her to the left. I don’t care about the circumstances.” I swallowed. “Well…er…can I have a tour of the premises, or..?” Jonah’s head jerked, “You don’t need to worry about the ins and outs of it. You’re a *receptionist.* We’re paying you good money to do *this* job. Take it or leave it.” I took it. I couldn’t even believe I had been lucky enough to get it in the first place. Hospital work had been too taxing and making double while doing a far easier job sounded almost too good to be true. By the time Jonah had disappeared through the door labeled “R”, the reception area was already flooded with patients. “I’ve been vomiting since 2 AM,” a man in a blue tracksuit stated, tossing an ID card into my hands, “I need some pills or something.” He dry-heaved, clutching his throat dramatically while I took down his information. “Go through the right door,” I said with a smile. I leaned forward in my seat, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever was behind it, but as the man in the tracksuit pulled it open, I was disappointed to discover it was no more than a long white corridor. I only saw that same corridor the following three times too. There was no sign of the people I’d just sent in, nor were there any benches or a waiting area for patients to sit. “Good morning,” an elderly man placed his passport onto the countertop, “I've got an ear infection. Started last week. Tried warm compresses and pain medication, but it’s staying put. Is there a doctor I could see for a prescription?” I stared at him, gnawing at my lip. He was the fifth patient. “Is everything okay..?” he cocked his head to the side, his eyes blue and watery. “Er…” I cleared my throat, hurriedly punching in his surname, “It’s the left door, please, sir.” With bated breath, I watched as he struggled towards it, eventually managing to pry it open. *It was exactly the same.* A white, sterile-looking corridor, no different from the one on the right. No people. No benches. Only bright, fluorescent lights. Still, I couldn’t help myself from feeling slightly nauseated as the door slammed shut behind him, my heart somersaulting in my chest. “Next, please,” I croaked, trying my best to distract myself. What was this system for? Why were they singling out these unsuspecting people and more importantly… A documentary I’d seen a month prior flashed before my eyes. Cruel medical experiments involving… *No.* I couldn’t allow myself to think about that. I just needed to get through the day and then I’d see. Research this place, ask around. Why on Earth hadn’t I thought to do that the night before? Hell, why hadn’t I done that before applying for the job? Only now it dawned on me how quickly they had hired me. Had they even checked my qualifications? Did Jonah even know my name? *God…* I wanted to bury my face in my hands, but the next patient was already staring me down, a baby in her arms. “We need a pediatrician,” she wailed, “My son hasn’t slept in three days and I’m exhausted.” The baby looked hot and uncomfortable, writhing in her arms while I took down their names. “It’s the door on the right,” I pointed to it, suddenly realizing that I hadn’t considered this scenario. Did that count as two people…or one patient…? And how exactly could I split a child from their parent...? I’d need to ask Jonah whenever I saw him next. Except I didn’t see Jonah. I didn’t even see my lunch, or a bathroom break. It occurred to me, *a little too late*, that I hadn’t thought to ask where anything is. Jonah had explained the premise of the job and disappeared, never to be seen again. I would have considered trying one of the doors, but the queue was unrelenting and I constantly found myself swarmed by people. By the afternoon, I had sent about one hundred patients through the right door and twenty patients through the left. I recalled each one of them with perfect clarity. Thomas, the elderly gentleman, Beatrice, the teen girl with the nose ring, Lou, the woman in the tartan dress, Gabriel, the… “*Excuse me?*” a small voice rang out, “Can you help me?” At first, I didn’t realize where the voice was coming from, much less that it was addressing me. My head was reeling from the bright lights and my own unrelenting thoughts. “Ma’am?” the voice piped up again, and this time a skinny arm appeared from behind the counter. It was a boy. No older than seven. With brown disheveled hair falling over his forehead and a sling on his left arm. “I’m here for my x-ray?” he said, holding his arm out for me to see, “Could you show me where to go?” I looked down at the tally I’d been keeping on my post-it. *One hundred and four.* My blood ran cold. It was there and then that I knew I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do this job. How was I meant to send a child - or *any* person for that matter - through a mystery door? It felt like a betrayal. A sacrifice. No, I - “Could you show me where to go?” the boy repeated, disrupting my inner monologue, “My mother is waiting for me in the car.” “It’s…it’s…” I garbled, trying to compose myself. Thoughts of brutal experiments flooded my mind again. My skin was prickling all over. I needed to do the right thing. I needed to… “It’s the right door…” I whispered. My heart was pounding in my chest and I could feel a bead of sweat making its way down the small of my back. It didn’t matter if I got into trouble. I couldn’t risk it. “Okay,” the boy shrugged, making his way towards it. Fighting the golf ball sized lump in my throat, I rushed in front of him to open it, “Thank you.” I felt better after that. *Well, relatively.* You see, I started cheating. There were no surveillance cameras in the reception area so I allowed myself to work at twice the speed, but send twice as few people through the left door. *No one will notice*, I told myself over and over, clacking furiously at my keyboard. And this way I got to actually pick the people manually. There was the lady who grumbled about the waiting times, and then the man who thought it was appropriate to smoke inside… “Who are *you?*” a voice intercepted my thoughts. A woman had circled the counter and was standing beside me, casually shifting papers on my desk. “Hey!” I began, grabbing at them. “Where’s Penelope?” her gaze was piercing. “P-Penelope?” I stammered, “I don’t… Who’s Penelope?” “Oh, God,” the woman slumped down, burying her face in her hands, “Not another one!” I stared at her, wondering if this was her way of telling me she needed the psych ward. “Ma’am, if you’d like to see a doctor, I’ll need your ID, please,” I said, watching her shoulders bob up and down in a silent cry. She shot me an incredulous look, “I’m Sally. Here for the night shift. Penelope was the one… the one before you. I *told* her not to go snooping. I *told* her to just do her job. She wouldn’t listen…” I felt a chill crawling up my spine, “Wh-what happened..?” But Sally shook her head, “I don’t know. I mean, I certainly have my theories. It’s not the first time this has happened. There was Shirley and Jacob, and now Penelope, *oh*, it’s the right door, sir!” Out of the corner of my eye I saw a man spin on his heel and head toward the right-hand side of the room. “Please,” my mouth was as dry as a cotton ball, “I need to know.” Sally slapped the countertop, “Okay, we’re on break, people! Fifteen minutes!” “Tell me what’s going on,” I said, as soon as she turned away from the reception desk, “What’s behind the left door?” “Behind the *left* door? Hell if I know! I haven’t been there and wouldn’t go if they paid me. Ignorance really is bliss, never forget that.” “But you must know *something?* How long have you been working here?” She chuckled, “You know how curiosity killed the cat? Well, that expression really applies here. Once the other receptionists made up their minds to wander down one of the corridors, I never saw them again. Came in to a brand new person the next day.” “Did…did they get fired..?” “Fired?” her eyes widened, “Honey, I *hope* they got fired. All I know is that they never showed up again. Wouldn’t pick up their phones either. *Gone!* Just like that.” I shook my head, “Tell me what’s behind the left door. You must know!” She studied me for a moment with narrowed eyes, “It’s…it’s not the left door you should be worried about.” My heart skipped a beat. “It’s not? Then… then…” “The lucky ones get the left door,” Sally said, her voice hoarse. “I… I don’t understand…” I whispered, my breath catching in my throat. “The left-door people,” she said, grabbing hold of my clammy hands, “I’ve seen them again. They’re registered in the system twice. Some even three times if they’re exceedingly lucky. They make further appointments. They leave us good reviews.” I swallowed, “...but not the right-door people..?” She pointed her painted fingernail towards the window, “You see that truck over there? The one the men are loading up? All that comes from the right wing.” “But that’s…that’s…” “One of the biggest fast food chains in the city? I know.” I gaped at her, my stomach churning, “The right door…” She nodded sorrowfully, “Nothing’s free, sweetheart. The company’s gotta make their money somehow, and…” But before she could finish her sentence, Jonah stuck his head out the door, a paper bag in his hand, “Hey, ladies, fancy having some lunch?” I stared at him, and then at Sally, silently shaking her <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My ex is using my daughter to manipulate me [RESPONSE] My ex has my daughter. She’s been there for a while. Beyond what our custody agreement allows. My ex has been using her to manipulate me. To control what I’m doing, where I go, and even who I talk to. I’m heart broken. I miss her so much. Her laugh, her smile. I last saw her when she was 14 months old. At night I find myself staring at my empty living room, imagining her toddling across the floor with her chocolate covered face and toothy grin. Sometimes I catch myself listening at her bedroom, waiting for a cry to signal to me that she’s awake. Only to have my heart drop when I remember her barren crib. I can’t even bring myself to clean up her room. There are toys and books strewn everywhere, clothes pulled from the few dresser drawers she could reach. Even when I’m grocery shopping I find myself going down the baby aisles, subconsciously grabbing for snacks and diapers she won’t need. The other day I found one of her tiny hair ties in my pocket and cried for hours. The police won’t help, CPS can’t step in. Even though it’s heartbreaking, I can’t get her back. Even though I never planned on being a parent, I never imagined the hole not having her would leave in my heart. I got a box today, from my ex. It was filled with photos, the outfit she was wearing when I last saw her, even a lock of her hair and a baby tooth. When I opened it I could feel myself screaming in pain, even though the world around me deafened. Tonight I plan on getting her back. With or without police help. I plan on waiting until everyone is asleep. Once the lights are off, I can sneak in the back door. The dogs still recognize me so I don’t think they will sound the alarm. Even if they tried, their silence was always easily bought with treats. I still know the layout of the house like the back of my hand. Even after we started the divorce and I moved, my ex never cared for change. The furniture is all where I remember it, at least as far as I can tell from the pictures. Once I get in the back door my daughter's bedroom is around the corner and to the left. The nightlights should still be there, making it easy to find my way in the dark. She never could sleep in the dark. My ex is the wild card. Fiercely protective, and hypersentive. We live in a state with very loose gun laws, so every room in the house is like a small armory. If I get caught, I won’t make it back. But I am willing to take that risk to save my daughter. I won’t have to worry about her crying, she’s never been loud. I just hope I can grab all of her. After the car accident six months ago, she’s not the same as she was. I think that’s the worst part of the photos my ex sent me, is seeing her decaying limbs propped up next to her. I’m debating on bringing the blanket she came home from the hospital wrapped in when she was born. The lock of hair I received still had part of her scalp attached, so I know she’s well into decomposition. I’m done crying at an empty grave. Tonight I’ll finally be able to put her to bed, and I even got a battery powered night light. We live in a small town and when I told the police that her grave was disturbed they ignored me, said I was crazy with grief. Even if I get caught putting her back, at least I will know she’s finally resting. Tonight is the last time my ex will have to torment me. I’m posting this just in case anything goes wrong. The box my ex sent me is on my kitchen counter, along with a detailed binder of everything that’s happened. I’m going to the store to get a shovel, and some daisies. They were always her favorite. I hope I can update this, but if I can't, hopefully they find me. I have a plot next to her. I bought it the week of her funeral. Even if I don’t make it, at least we will get one last nap together.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I should be dead. [RESPONSE] I should be dead. I felt it. I felt my neck snap. I felt the bones splinter. They pushed me, I fell. My neck hit something on the ground, I couldn’t feel my body. But then I felt… something snaking down and up my spine, pulling my body back together. I can only describe it as vines under my skin, something keeping me tightly taught. Without thinking I get back up, and hold out my arms, covering my face. Too late, the man pulls back his fist and hits me again. His armoured glove impacts my face, and I taste blood. But then, I don’t. My head snaps back. Again, those vines under my skin pull me back together. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m on top of the man. I’m punching him, my fists getting bloodied as they impact him again and again. His helmet falls off, and my hands punch his face. I feel bones in my fingers snap from my brute force, but those vines again pull them back together. Someone yells. An alarm goes off. Down the seemingly infinite white halls, men show up, dressed in black. Armed to the teeth, they see me. Through their semi-transparent helmet visors I see fear in their eyes. They’re screaming. I’m screaming. Rifles drawn, they start shooting. The muzzles flashes from their guns remind me of a beautiful flame. ———————— “What a beautiful, erm flame,” I say. I’m at the beach. I’m with… I’m with him. I I can’t remember his name for some reason. I feel something for him. I can’t remember what it’s called… love? He laughs, and tosses more dried driftwood into the bonfire, sending sparks into the summer breeze. The waves crash on the shore, and he looks at me, “Keep up with this flirting and I might end up falling for you.” He does something with his mouth…. A smile I believe it’s called. I smile back. I can’t keep it off my face. I move my head shyly away from him. My heart pounds. I'm... happy.He moves to sit next to me. Closer than he has to. I don’t mind though. Even though I am sat next to a bonfire, I remember feeling as if his heat was twenty times stronger than the flame’s. I awkwardly move closer to him. “You know,” he says, “there’s really no reason for you to be nervous. You know me.” I feel blood rushing to my face. “I- Erm. You-“ I stutter. I've been staring at his eyes for too long. I flash an embarrassed smile. He moves his hand to mine, and turns to face me. “Is this okay?” He asks. I smile and nod. ———————— I smile as the bullets tear through me. I feel the vines moving through my body. The pain feels… good. I run through the ranks of men, the flames all around me. They try to stick things inside me, but I’m too fast. The vines seem to snake out of my body, helping me take them down. Their blood on my hands excites me. As suddenly as it started, it’s all over, and I’m left in torn rags. Once a pristine white, now a blood-stained red. I feel myself start to drift away, but I have to stay up. I can’t fall. I reach out to steady myself, but it all goes black.Before I pass out, one thought stands out in my mind: I should be dead.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My Name is Stacy White, I'm an Investigative Journalist and I Interview Monsters. Update. [RESPONSE] When I next met with Molly it was with extreme reluctance. Apparently my article had resonated well with the audiences and they were morbidly curious for more. As such my boss had sent me back. She sat just as arrow straight and emotionless as last time.  “Good Morning.” She greeted me pleasantly, almost as if we were friends.  “Yes..” I answered minimally as I set up my equipment.  “Did it negatively affect your morality last time? To hear of my masters and their world?” She asked curiously.  “It.. Surprised me..” I answered diplomatically.  “I understand. What is it that you would like to know about this time?” “How did the child, Eric, destroy your supply chain?” I asked straightforwardly.  Molly took a deep breath in, as if it was some effort for her to continue this time, then she began, “The boy was permitted to join in the day classes with the girls after he beat Radomir, however this brought with it new problems. Aside from the disciplinary issues, it quickly became apparent that Eric was not the same level as the others. Out of ten he ranked 7th. When the three girls below him defaulted to the meat farm, he became the bottom of the class.  On the day of their 22nd exam, I was working with Nathaniel on another matter when he was called to the infirmary. When we arrived Eric was lying on his side curled up on one of the sterile hospital beds in a medical robe. Beside him Doctor Markos Behrend was writing on a chart. He was one of them, just the same as Nathaniel or Master, however was a couple years older than the brothers. He had strawberry blonde hair and lavender eyes.  ‘Nathaniel.’ The Doctor greeted him with a humble bow despite the fact that they had been friends for many decades, ‘I thought you would want to be the one to make the decision on this case?’  ‘Indeed, what is the damage?’ Nathaniel asked calmly, though looking at him I could tell he was tense. He stood just a little more rigid in the same way Master did when he was stressed.  ‘It seems the boy failed the 22nd test. He fell from near the top, when I heard I had expected that he would need to be scraped off the ground, however it seems he survived, though his injuries are considerable.’ Markos began cheerfully, ‘Internal bleeding, multiple broken ribs, broken wrist and fractured leg. It would be my recommendation that he should be euthanized.’ Hearing this Nathaniel ignored the man, moving instead to crouch beside the bed, ‘Eric, look at me.’ He spoke with a softness that was nauseating and the child rolled over to face him, he was pale with pain. His injuries were plain to see, no bandages or otherwise had been placed. ‘Can you tell me what happened?’ He prompted  ‘I fell..’ Eric whispered ashamedly, ‘I couldn’t keep up.. they all moved too fast..’  ‘Was it because of your leg?’  ‘..Yes.. I’m sorry.. I’ll do better..’ It was strange to hear a child apologize for it implied that forgiveness could be given. ‘Are you in pain?’  The boy nodded. ‘Good. Then next time, I expect you won’t fall.’ He said calmly before returning his attention to Markos, ‘There’s no need for euthanasia, his spirit isn’t broken.’ ‘As you wish.’ The doctor agreed, ‘With respect, I should inform you I am forbidden from using any medicines on him specifically. He will receive no pain relief or other treatment and I have doubts that he will last long without it.’  ‘Orders from my brother is it?’ He sighed and Markos nodded in confirmation, ‘I see, no matter. Eric, will you sit up for me?’ He requested.  It took a moment but the child obliged, sitting up with some effort to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. This was the first time I had seen his left leg without the bracing and it was disturbing. Sickly thin with sunken muscles and more twisted than it should have been. It was also heavily bruised, I assumed it was the one that had broken.  ‘I’m going to give you a gift. Do you think you can withstand a little more pain for a moment?’ Nathaniel asked curiously.  ‘I’m fine.” Eric responded stubbornly. I don’t believe he understood exactly how much gifts hurt when bestowed. The man looked bemused, ‘Very well. Hold your gown out of the way.’ He instructed and Eric hesitantly rolled it up to his hip on one side, exposing the full length of his damaged leg. Nathaniel seemed to examine the disfigurement for a moment before activating his magic. Ordinarily their energy is not something we can see, however, when it is particularly concentrated it becomes visible. As such, his eyes glowed and blue sparks crackled in the air around Nathaniel’s hand as he placed it over the wasted muscle, moving it downward from there past his knee to his ankle.  There was a moment of awed silence before the child screamed and began to writhe in agony. He was clearly not prepared. His skin boiled, blistering from within as the magic burned through his leg and blackened symbols seared themselves down the length of it where Nathaniel had touched. I had never before seen one of them use their magic in this way. The marks left were a combination of interconnected circles, crescents and what I can only describe as stars arranged in a neat line.   When they were done forming, the bruising around the break faded and the muscle began to fill out. Even the bruising on his wrist disappeared and I realized then that Nathaniel had healed him entirely, ‘Your brother wouldn’t approve of that,’ Markos warned, though the mischievous gleam in his eye signified that he did. He had always preferred Nathaniel to Master.  ‘Perhaps not.’ Nathaniel agreed, though turned his attention back to the child as he began to recover from the shock and sit up, his brow slick with sweat, ‘Why don’t you try standing?’  Eric looked suspicious but optimistic, following the instruction without saying anything more. His first steps were tentative, as if he didn’t fully trust it.  ‘Well?’ The man prompted.  ‘I.. can walk.’ Eric stumbled, barely containing his excitement, ‘Thank you!’ He said with such an intense appreciation that it made both monsters visibly uncomfortable as they looked between each other.  ‘Don’t thank me. There are limitations-’ Nathaniel started mildly embarrassed but stopped mid sentence when Eric suddenly hugged him.  ‘I don’t care. Thank you.’ The boy repeated.  At this situation Markos appeared to be distinctly amused while Nathaniel remained frozen, looking utterly shocked. He seemed to have no concept of how to return the gesture, ‘Yes. Right. Well… *Release me.*’ He used a command and Eric obediently stepped back, ‘As I was saying, child, there are limitations. You may not use it all the time, the more you use it the faster you will burn through the magic sustaining it. If it runs out you will revert back to how you were until it recharges enough to continue.’ He explained.  ‘How long does it take to recharge..?’ Eric asked now.  ‘Depends on how depleted you allow it to get.’ Nathaniel shrugged, ‘I would suggest exploring the limitations before taking the 22nd test again. If you fail a second time, there won’t be a third.’  Bestowing that gift was perhaps the second biggest mistake Nathaniel ever made. The boy learned to use his gift only when required and it seemed to me that for the majority of the time he used it minimally. Only enough so that he could walk with the assistance of a cane rather than the leg braces and under  Nathaniel’s continued guidance he was becoming regrettably formidable.  By the time he was a teenager he was outrightly dangerous. He excelled in his classes with the girls and was soon ranked third among them, the only two who opposed him were Calla and Loree. However as he approached maturity a new problem arose. ’It is time now brother, you *must* destroy him. I have allowed you to indulge whatever interest it is that has consumed you these past years, but that is to end. He is causing problems among the girls.’ Master pleaded with his brother to see reason. Nathaniel sighed, ‘He is not interested in the girls, and his benefits far outweigh the risks.’  ‘How do you know he holds no interest in the girls? Humans are extremely hormonal.’  ‘Because I just *know* brother, trust me. His interests lay elsewhere.’ Nathaniel insisted, exasperated.  ‘And what of the effect he has on them?’ Master demanded.  ‘What of it? I will not punish the boy for things he cannot control!’  ‘You are blinded by your affections for him.’ My master scoffed.  ‘And you are blinded by your own ignorance. He has never disobeyed any request I have made of him, I don’t even need to use glamours. He has brought us back hundreds of children, he understands how to talk to them. He makes them feel safe. Do you not remember just last week, he brought home an entire bus of them! Tabloids are publishing it as a mysterious disappearance, they have no leads. He left no traces at all! He is far better at it than any other has ever been, I told you it would work.’ His brother responded.  ‘I am not denying that he has served his purpose, I’m saying he is getting too old! What will you do when he asks where the children he brings home are? When he asks how they are doing and why he never sees them?!’  ‘I will tell him the same thing I have *always* told him, that once he has rescued them they are taken to Sweden and re-homed.’   ‘How long do you expect him to believe that? He’s too clever Nathaniel! You should see the way he watches me, blue eyes of a devil.’ Master muttered. At this Nathaniel laughed, ‘He watches you with conjecture because he can sense your loathing. If you would spend some time with him you would see his company is quite pleasant.’   ‘I will never understand your fascination with him.’ Master shook his head.  ‘That’s because you lack vision, you never look toward the future. When mother and father arrive I intend to show them Eric and how well he has been trained. You should hope that they don’t change their minds on the succession.’ Nathaniel mused, he had never previously expressed an interest in the inheritance, so I was sure that he was only teasing. Though Master didn’t seem impressed.  ‘If you will not control him, I will.’ He warned but Nathaniel dismissed him.  ‘He is perfectly under control.’ His brother stated nonchalantly. That was one of the many arguments the brothers would have over Eric Linnaeus, yet each time Nathaniel remained unyielding. I passed by Eric that day in the hallways. He was now full grown and taller than I and I could see why his presence disrupted the other pets. He was young and handsome, his dark hair framed his face and his eyes were a deep blue. Though he wore no expression he didn’t seem unkind, you see being fed on monster’s foods enhances features you already have. Eyes, lips, hair, your skin no longer scars when cut and so on. ‘Molly, have you seen Nathaniel?’ He asked, his voice was like velvet, it was disturbing.  ‘He is in a meeting with Master.’ I informed him and it was only then that I noticed he had children with him. Two little girls no older than six or seven stood nervously hiding shyly behind his legs. They were thin and covered in dirt, they looked like they may have been living on the streets. When I looked at them they shrank back, as I said, children are unsettled by me.  ‘It’s okay, she won’t hurt you, this is Molly.’ He assured them softly.  ‘How much longer until we’re there..?’ The taller of the children asked.  ‘Not much longer, I have to take you to Nathaniel, we can get you something to eat and he will help you I promise.’  It’s not often that I feel as though I could laugh, but hearing Eric speak with such unawareness to the truth was entertaining. It pleased me to know that the masters *both* trusted me more than they did him. Even for all Nathaniel’s fawning, he didn’t trust Eric to accept him the way *I* accepted them.” Molly paused there, and I saw for the first time a smile on her lips.  “Your ‘masters’ are evil.” I commented flatly.  “Evil?” She mused, “Are lions ‘evil’ for eating buffalo? Are humans ‘evil’ for eating cattle? It’s simply a part of life. All things must eat.” She corrected me.  “Not all things eat babies.” I stated bluntly, though she ignored me this time as she continued instead.  “Sometime after my Master sent me to collect Eric from the day classes. When I arrived the teenagers were in the middle of sparring, Eric was facing Calla and she had disarmed him, she held the tip of her sword to the artery in his thigh without applying any pressure.  ‘You have lost.’ She announced though he seemed annoyed by this statement.  ‘Do you always have to aim for my leg?’ He demanded.  ‘Of course. It’s your weakness, learn to defend it better.’ She said simply, finally lowering her weapon.  Eric paused a moment then and I thought he might try to catch her in a surprise attack, however he instead asked, ‘..You’re better than I am.. So.. How would you defend better if you were me?’  This did indeed catch the girl by surprise and her cheeks flushed, ‘I would just.. Not make it so obvious. I’ve seen you use it sometimes, why don’t you just use it all the time?’ She asked as she offered him her hand to help him up.  ‘I can’t.’ He sighed, accepting her assistance and reaching for his cane as he stood, ‘I’ll wear it out too quickly for no good reason. It’s not worth using in training..’ He trailed off as he saw me approach.  ‘Eric, please come with me, Master wishes to have an audience with you.’ I announced.  In response he narrowed his eyes, ‘Why? Does Nathaniel know?’  ‘It was Nathaniel’s idea.’ I lied without hesitation. ‘Fine.’ He agreed.  We walked in silence and he followed me through the hallways to Master’s office. He was waiting for us and I stood to the side of the room while he gestured for Eric to sit, he didn’t.  ‘Hello Orphan.’ He began.  ‘What is it that you want …. ?’ Eric spoke my master’s name without any reservations, it was a sign of disrespect.  ‘I see my brother failed to teach you manners.’ Master smiled tightly, ‘I requested you here in hopes that you might agree to a contract with me.’ The boy seemed caught off guard, ‘There’s nothing you could offer me that I want.’ He stated.  ‘Oh? Come now, everyone has something that they want. I will grant you anything, name a price, and in return I should like you to become my property. I would have you contracted so that you may only obey my command, my brother nor anyone else would have the power to glamour you.’  ’Nathaniel doesn’t need to use those on me and I refuse to allow others to do so.’ Eric was overconfident.  ‘*Sit*.’ Master commanded him and he sat back heavily in his seat as the order compelled him, ‘*Stand*.’  ‘Stop it.’ He snapped as he unwillingly followed the instructions.  ‘Why? I thought you said you could resist?’ My master mused.  ‘You’re using more force than others do.’ He muttered.  ‘Well of course, I know you are strong willed. And others will figure that out as well. Do you really want to be at the mercy of whatever anyone asks you to do?’  ‘..No..’ he admitted honestly. ‘Then make the contract.’  ‘With you? Also no.’ Eric stated defiantly.  Master looked annoyed this time, it wasn’t often that people denied him what he wanted, ‘Let me put this another way. Make the contract with me, or I’ll return you to Nathaniel in pieces.’  ‘This conversation is over.’ Eric announced, moving to leave. Master allowed him to reach the door before giving another command.  ’*Stop*.’ He said simply and the boy froze in place, ‘That knife on your belt is nice. Did Nathaniel give it to you? *Answer me*.”  ‘Yes.’ He responded bitterly through teeth.  ‘Wonderful! Should I command you to take your own eye out with it?’ Master asked casually.  Now Eric appeared nervous, ‘I would rather you did not.’  ‘I’m sure my brother would rather I didn’t as well.’ He deliberated a moment, then shrugged, ‘But, he’s not here and I would love to know just how strong you are when it Really matters. So, Eric. *I order you to take your eye out. Just the eye though. Don’t want you damaging anything else*.’  Eric’s expression flickered between shock and spite before settling on concentration as he fought to resist the command. It was foolish to even try. His entire body trembled with the effort yet he still took the knife and directed the tip of the blade at his right eye, ‘Retract the command.’ He hissed, sweat beading on his brow as he used all his will power to hold the knife back.  Master sat forward slightly, ‘Interesting.’ He mused, I’m sure he hadn’t expected any resistance at all.  ‘Master forgive me.. Is this wise?’ I asked quietly. It’s not that I minded that he would injure himself, it was more that I understood Nathaniel would be less than pleased. ‘Wise? No, but, I think it’s going to be worth it anyway.’ He smiled as Eric began to scream, the blade slowly driving it’s way into his eye against his will. Blood spilled out down his face, the whole ordeal took longer than I would have expected, I suppose Eric fought it the entire time. When it was done my master sat back.  ‘I suppose not strong enough to resist then,’ he sounded amused, ‘That’s good. Now, *take your eye, and hand it to my brother. Go quickly*, don’t want to keep him waiting.’ He smiled.  This time Eric offered no opposition to the direction. I thought that without the instruction he may not have been able to move at all, he seemed close to losing consciousness. I can only imagine the horrified expression on Nathaniel’s face when Eric walked into his office, blood trailing down his face, knife in one hand and his own eye in the other. I wondered if it would upset him to be handed one of the eyes he always claimed to admire so much.  ‘Molly, *see that he makes it there*, he seems unsteady.’ Master ordered me and I moved to follow after the boy. It was apparent that when he told Eric to go quickly he had. So by the time I caught up with him he had already entered Nathaniel’s office and I struggled to find a way in without being seen. There’s no point in my gift if I cannot get into the room to begin with. I managed to find a vantage point beside a window on the roof, though the curtains were drawn I could hear through the glass well enough.  ‘-Is that all?’ Nathaniel was speaking calmly.  There was a long pause, ‘Yes, that’s all.’ Eric responded. ‘And you do agree to the terms?’  ‘Yes. I will obey any order you give me without fail so long as I hear it. I will never tell you a lie. I will never use the weapon that you have granted me against you and I will live for as long as your lifespan. I accept these conditions.’ Eric replied in monotone. ‘As a final condition, from the first time you choose to use it, you will never again be able to return it to a human state. You will have to live with it forever, do you understand?’, It almost sounded as if he was trying to dissuade the boy.  ‘I do.’ He answered calmly.  There was another moment of silence before Nathaniel answered, ‘Very well…’ he agreed exhausted.  When I next saw Eric it was some months later. Winter had set in and snow was piled on the ground. Other servants were clearing the pathways when the court yard doors opened and Eric returned. Spots of snow decorated his dark hair and he wore a thick jacket with a knitted scarf. Beside him was a small human family, a woman and her three children who looked around the area in awe as Nathaniel, Markos and Calla approached them. Calla had been assigned to Markos and Eric to Nathaniel once their training had completed.” She explained briefly then continued, “Markos and Calla led the family away while Nathaniel remained with Eric.  ‘You did well.’ He praised, though there was no true emotion behind the words as he tilted Eric’s chin up to look at him. ‘There are so many this year.. I don’t know that we’ll have room for them all..’ Eric murmured, averting his gaze. Nathaniel seemed entertained, ’Let me worry about that, we have provisions enough.’ he assured. I didn’t hear the rest of their conversation for my master approached. He came to stand by my side in the shadows and patted down the length of my hair slowly as he spoke, ‘It seems that my brother has decided to ignore my warning.’ He mused. ‘That appears to be the case.’ I agreed obediently, briefly returning my attention to the pair of them to see that they were now headed inside.   ‘*When an opportunity arises, take the orphan into the sub levels. Show him what’s kept down there.*’ Master whispered the order in my ear and I nodded.  From then I spent my days paying even closer attention to the orphan than I already did and hoping for the chance to fulfill the command I had been given. It’s.. Somewhat uncomfortable to be under an order that lasts any extended length of time. It consumes your thoughts and makes it difficult to focus on anything else, it’s a permanent state of *waiting*.  Eric was almost never alone, if he wasn’t with Nathaniel, he was with Calla and if he wasn’t with her, he was out collecting children. Fortunately I caught a break when he separated from his master one night after dinner. I fell into pace with him and he stopped, ‘Orphan, there’s something I need to show you.’ I stated politely.  ‘Not interested.’ He responded flatly.  ‘Your Master wants me to show you something.’ I lied.  At this the boy snorted, ‘He’s not my ‘master’ and if he wanted to show me something, he wouldn’t send *you*.’ He stated bluntly, moving to leave the area. He was irritating. ‘Nathaniel is hiding something from you.’ I told him finally.  This caused him to pause, ‘No he’s not?’  ‘He is.’ I said honestly, ‘I can show you what it is.’  Eric hesitated still, he seemed to be thinking through his options, ‘What is it?’ He asked at last.  I shook my head, ‘I can’t explain. It must be seen.’ I could see him weighing up his curiosity against his distrust.  ‘How long will it take?’ He asked eventually. ‘Not long, we can go right now. It won’t move.’ I could feel the order loosening, he was going to accept.  ‘Okay.’ He agreed and I began to lead him toward the sub levels.  You know when you have reached them because the hallways become like a maze. It’s difficult to navigate and it feels as though the room is spinning. If you don’t know which direction to take you may easily become lost. ‘Keep up.’ I instructed as I noticed Eric was starting to slow.  ‘This is the sub level. Nathaniel said I shouldn’t come here..’ He said uncertainty.  ‘He says that because he doesn’t want you to see. That’s what the definition of hiding something is.’  He looked displeased at my explanation but continued on. We stopped when we reached the stairs, they led down to a heavy wooden door, gargoyles sat atop the banisters and I made my way down without hesitation, though Eric followed more cautiously, ‘How much further?’ He asked.  ’Not far.’ I reassured as I opened the door way into the room beyond. ‘It’s.. Just the kitchens.’ He said relieved.  ‘Yes.’  ‘So what of them? They eat tons of meat. They have to prepare it somewhere.’ He stated annoyed. ‘This isn’t what you’re here to see.’ I mused, gesturing for him to follow.  I opened the next door and allowed him to step through into the processing room. It was a good time to visit, the production line was just commencing. If we had arrived later in the day the meat would have already been largely processed and barely recognisable, however at the beginning there is no mistaking what it is for the corpses are still quite whole. The machinery hummed and clanked in rhythmic timing as the operation began. The bodies entered from the right, freshly slaughtered and hung upside-down to allow the blood to drain out before they moved through the skinner. Once the skin was removed, workers removed the head, hands and feet, as well as any other unsavory appendages. They were then sent on to be quartered, the choice cuts were separated and de-boned. The offal is thrown into a crusher to be ground and the whole area gets washed down before the next batch is sent in.  I wondered if Eric was able to identify the children from the family he had collected in the days prior, or the little girls from the months before. Not all livestock is processed immediately, there is no meat on a starved body and they must be made plump first, or sometimes the masters simply wish them to grow somewhat before slaughter. His breathing became shallow, he stepped back until he hit the wall and slid down it slowly. He seemed to be in a state of disbelief, he was quivering and tears welled in his eyes. I was interested to know what he thought. Though I supposed he understood.  ‘..All-.. All of them..?’ He whispered barely audible.  It took me a moment to understand the query, ‘Oh yes. All of them.’ I confirmed, ‘Your master is very pleased with your numbers. They keep a leader board, your rank is the highest by far. You should be proud, you serve them so well.’ I commended. It was curious, his expression then was.. Pained? Remorseful? I can’t be certain, I’m not entirely familiar with that specific emotional range.  I was about to continue explaining the process to him when the group of three entered from the opposite door. They had come through from the slaughter room and were talking amongst themselves casually.  ‘-that will be enough to fill all the orders for the following months.’ Markos was saying.  ‘We should consider a second expansion.’ Nathaniel was insisting as they conducted their routine inspection.  ‘Let’s not over-extend ourselves.’ Master answered to which his brother rolled his eyes.  ‘We can train more collectors brother.’ He sighed. ‘In a few years we could have no supply problems at all- Oh..’ Markos cut off mid agreement as he was the first to notice us. Arbitrarily the brothers followed his gaze and their attention came to rest on Eric. ‘Oh indeed.’ Master commented, he gave me a pleased smile before turning to see his twin’s reaction. Nathaniel stood rigid with shock, though no emotion crossed his face as he and Eric stared at each other. It was as if neither of them could quite comprehend what they were seeing. I can only imagine their thoughts. The lies Nathaniel had so carefully arranged were crashing down, the world Eric knew was shattering and all the while machinery continued to slice *meat* in the background. It was a pleasure to be a part of that moment.  ‘..You lied to me.. This entire time…’ The boy was coming to a new realization. Anger was replacing shock and he was starting to stand, using the wall for support as he did.  ‘Eric..’ He started but didn’t seem to know what to say.  ‘You killed them, every one of them!’ Eric shouted in response. ‘It’s just business, they’re just livestock, you must understand-…’  The Orphan cut him off, ‘They’re not livestock! They’re people! Every one of them-, I brought them here so that you could ***help*** them! You told me you sent them to Sweden!’ ‘Come now Eric, you didn’t truly believe that did you? Surely you had your suspicions? Yet you still collected them because I asked you too, don’t hide behind morality. You ignored what you didn’t want to see.’ His attempts to calm him were uneffective.  Eric grit his teeth, ‘I didn’t think you were butchering and eating them!’  ‘I can put him down for you if you prefer.’ My master offered generously.  ‘You will do no such thing! I can fix this.’ Nathaniel snapped back quickly.  Master gave a short laugh, ‘Will you never learn? He’s already in the right place, just kill him and hang him with the others-..’ He stopped. The air crackled with energy.  Beside me, Eric was removing his eye patch. He let it drop slowly from his fingertips to the ground and beneath it I was surprised to see the eye was intact. Though the iris was a darkened purple that filled the whites of the eye almost completely and the pupil was a thin slit. The silver crescents on his neck lit up, glowing a bright white as an energy ignited up the length of his arm disintegrating his sleeve. The skin at his shoulder split and magic spilled out burning away the flesh as it transformed his arm.  When it was complete his human limb was gone, replaced by that of a monster. I’m sure it must have hurt, though he showed no sign if it did, there was pure malice in his eyes and his glare could have withered daisies.  ‘What kind of contract did you give him?’ Master demanded of his brother. ‘I gave him a weapon..’ Nathaniel answered tranquilly.    ‘You gave him a weapon like that? Are you mad?!’  ‘Everything is fine, he must obey my command as per the contract.’  ‘Any command I *hear*.’ Eric corrected him calmly, as he took a knife from his belt in his left hand and stabbed it into his own ear canal. Not one of them moved to stop him as he repeated the process on the other side, deafening himself permanently. I suppose they were entirely too surprised. Or perhaps they simply didn’t realize the consequences of what he was doing until it was too late. Eric exhaled in pain as blood trickled down his neck on both sides and he took a moment to steady himself.  I could see the implication of what he had just done dawning among the others. Their expressions varied. Markos looked apprehensive while Nathaniel seemed to be caught between disbelief and horror. My master seemed equally astonished though he also appeared afraid. Loopholes in contracts are common, though they are designed to benefit the masters.. So for him to use it to his own advantage was.. Unheard of.  ’…He’s your pet, you will deal with this.’ Master told Nathaniel as he took a step back, ‘Molly, *observe*. I want to know all that happens.’ He ordered and I nodded, then Master departed with Markos. Eric seemed to remember my presence for the first time at that moment and as I was the closest thing he lashed out at me first. I jumped away swiftly but made no effort to engage him, my orders were simply to monitor.  The Orphan didn’t pursue me, instead his attention returned to his master as the man drew the sword on his belt. He seemed to be calculating before he made his next attack, he surprised us both by targeting the machinery instead of Nathaniel. Workers scrambled out of the way as he tore through the mechanics with his arm.  One of the machines sparked violently and combusted after the impact. This was especially troublesome as most magic is flammable which makes fire difficult  for them to combat and in the ensuing chaos Eric disappeared. He slipped out following along the conveyor track that brought the bodies in. The order I was given compelled me to follow, though it was rather unpleasant pushing past the bodies. I came out in the containment room and could see right away that Eric had broken the locks on the cages.  Livestock were running out the exit doors into the sub level tunnels, castle servants were scrambling to corral them back and I hurried to find the Orphan.  In the hallway I found him stumbling along, it was clear his balance was off but he seemed to have purpose in his direction. His enhanced eye was dilated and scanning the area as if he was searching for something.  However I soon realized what it was, for ahead my master walked unaware of how the situation had escalated. Eric moved quicker the moment he saw him, his footsteps were light in just the way we had been trained and Master only noticed his approach at the last moment. Sharp claws met with a shield of energy as the resulting discharge threw them both back.  Eric was unfortunately quick to recover and Master looked rather annoyed, ‘I warned my brother so many times to destroy you.’ He sneered, drawing a weapon to face him with. They fought in brief interactions, but the boy was swift and my master was out of practice. As it became apparent that he was outmatched my Master retreated, using his magic to put distance between them. He managed to escape and Eric continued his pursuit after him. However as I moved to go after them an explosion from below rippled through the castle’s foundation. It caused some of the old stone to give in and I was momentarily delayed by a collapsed ceiling. This meant that by the time I regained sight of them they were on the rooftops, though getting up there myself was no easy task.  Blood stained the pure snow and it seemed Eric was about to dispatch Master when an arrow flew, striking the boy through the left leg. It caused him to falter and he stumbled. I turned to see where it had come from and saw Calla, she stood beside Markos in the courtyard, ‘*Another, through his thigh*.’ Markos instructed and the girl obliged.  Naturally Master took the opportunity he was granted and moved to cut him down. However, to everyone’s surprise metal connected with metal and sparks sprayed off sizzling in the snow.  ‘What are you doing?!’ Master hissed as Nathaniel now stood between them, I didn’t see where he had come from but energy radiated off of him in waves that dissipated slowly into the air. ’I cannot let you destroy him… I have told you that I can fix this, allow me the chance.’ He bargained.  ‘How can you fix this? He is deafened! He will never hear your command to obey!’ ‘Please brother, I have asked you for nothing else but this and you owe me as much…’ Nathaniel implored him.  I’m not entirely sure what he meant by that, however Master seemed annoyed, as if he had brought up something they weren’t ordinarily to discuss, ’You have asked me for a great many things in regard to *‘this’.* Yet you expect me to oblige you once more?’  ‘I do.’ He confirmed.  I could sense my master’s displeasure as he responded. ‘…Very well. But I will have you know I disagree and you may invoke no more favors from me.’  ‘I understand.’ Nathaniel responded calmly as he turned his attention to Eric. The Orphan had taken the opportunity to remove the arrows from his leg and now faced him with a knife in his left hand, ‘Really Eric, you must be exhausted by now, give up.’ He said, irritated that he even dared to oppose him.  When they met in combat it was clear that Eric was at a disadvantage, slowed by his injuries and unable to use his right arm against Nathaniel he stood little chance. Their battle took them further from the courtyard across the rooftops and Eric nearly fell more than once as they got higher up. It ended when Nathaniel caught a hold of him and slammed him back against the outer wall of one of the towers with enough force to crack the mortar.  He held Eric there preventing him from raising the knife again and placed a hand over one of his damaged ears. A glow emitted and the boy flinched away begrudgingly as Nathaniel restored his hearing. ‘*You may never compromise your hearing again*.’ He commanded immediately.  ‘You promised I would be free of commands, you promised *you* wouldn’t use them on me again.’ He hissed.  ‘I lied.’ Nathaniel answered calmly, ‘Now *drop the knife*.’  Eric scowled as he reluctantly allowed the knife to fall away and Nathaniel readjusted his grip to hold him by the throat as he continued, ‘Do you have any idea how much damage you have done? Our entire operation is compromised because of this stunt.’  ‘That was the intention.’ he retorted spitefully. He was trying to loosen Nathaniel's grip, though it was pointless, they are far stronger than we are and in response Nathaniel slammed him back into the wall again. It must have hurt for he gave a soft sound of pain and glared back at him with disdain. ‘That’s *enough! Behave*!’ He snapped, ‘Now listen to me. You’re going to stop this nonsense. If you wish to pretend you didn’t see the slaughter house that is perfectly fine. But you will not act out in this way. Am I making myself clear?’.  Eric set his jaw and tilted his head up defiantly, refusing to answer. Though he at least had the good sense to stop struggling.    ‘*Speak!*’ He ordered in response to his resistance.  ‘Fuck you!’ He said venomously in response fulfilling the command, ‘Just kill me and get it over with.’  ‘Kill you?’ He laughed humorlessly as he leant in close to threaten him. ‘I don’t think you understand the position you’re in here. Your life is forfeit, I hold your contract and I can make you obey anything I say, you belong to me. You should take a moment to think about what that means if you displease me again. I’ve been kind with you so far but my patience wears thin. Perhaps my next order should be for you to assist in the slaughterhouse? Or maybe it should be that you consume human flesh? Tell me, which would you prefer?’ He asked coldly.  I saw fear in his eyes for the first time then, perhaps he understood the world of monsters more truly now. ‘..Nathaniel.. Please.. ’ Eric whispered more meekly. ‘You’re afraid? Good. There is some sense in you.’ He muttered exasperated, ‘I don’t ***want*** to do this you know. But you’ve left me no choice! Destroying our equipment, releasing all the livestock, attacking my brother! What else am I supposed to do with you?!’  He shouted and Eric flinched which seemed to bother him.  ‘You don’t have to do this.. Just let me go...’ He begged softly.  Nathaniel let out a slow frustrated sigh, ‘My brother was right, I should have destroyed you years ago for all the trouble it would have saved me.’ He stated ruefully then gave the commands, ‘*You will say nothing more until I tell you otherwise. You will not attack my brother again, nor will you destroy any more of our castle. Follow me.*’  Eric did as he was instructed and Nathaniel led him back down to the courtyard where Master waited. He watched them approach with caution. ’*Step forward, kneel before my brother*.’ Nathaniel instructed and Eric dropped to his knees reluctantly before Master, ‘*Speak and apologize for your behavior.*’ ‘I’m. Sorry. For my behavior.’ Eric hissed resentfully. ‘Good.’ Nathaniel mused though Master didn’t seem impressed.  ‘That was hardly sincere.’  ‘Sincerity doesn’t matter. The point is he is under my command. The problem is solved.’  Master thought for a moment, ‘Barely. Our operations have been severely impacted. He should be punished for his actions.’  ‘..What would you suggest?’ Nathaniel asked calmly.  ‘Command that he feel pain.’ He suggested nonchalantly.  ‘You don’t have to.’ Eric growled, I could tell he was still fighting the order to kneel.  ‘*Quiet*.’ His master ordered him, then responded to his brother, ’That’s unreasonable, he is already injured.’   ‘If you cannot make the command, I can punish him for you in other ways.’ Master offered.  ‘No.’ His brother answered in a controlled manner, though still delayed a moment longer before giving the command, ‘Eric.. Do you remember the pain you felt when I bestowed gifts on you? *You will feel that pain once more*.’ The results were immediate and Eric writhed in pain. I didn’t envy him. Perhaps if Eric had learned to submit without defiance he could have saved himself the agony. When it was over, he lay still in the snow breathing heavily as the shock faded. ‘Are you satisfied brother?’ Nathaniel asked without emotion.  ‘For now.’ Master agreed.  ‘Good. Then we will be leaving.’   It was Nathaniel’s intention that Eric should continue to collect livestock for them under his command. Though the destruction of the processing room was problematic..” Molly mused to herself and I realized then that my hour was up. Of course I still had more questions, but they would have to wait as the guard buzzed through the door to escort me out.  <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I did it a dozen times before, but tonight things went different [RESPONSE] Guys, I need some advice and I need it quick. Here’s what happened. There was nothing special about today. I had days like this before - it’s all the same. I just did the usual: drove my ass to the gas station, stick out with Cory a bit, grab a beer, do my thing, go home, get down to business, get to sleep. My routine is almost automated by now, I start to lose the thirst for life. It’s always the same: same words, same actions, same consequences. My life is boring, but I guess it would be even worse without letting the steam out. I don’t have many friends, and if it wasn’t Cory who helps me from time to time - you could call me a loner. That has always been like that since Ma & Pa passed away. So I take care of the house, mow my lawn, toss some carrots and apples around for deer to it - that’s my life. If it wasn’t for my thing - I’d go insane, I tell you. Tonight felt as bland as the three times I went out before. Nothing new, same old. But I was out already, so… There was that chick at the gas station, very pretty. I ate a mint and walked to say hi. She was friendly and nice. I liked her. Then we went to my place, as usual. I did the same things as I did with my other guests. To make the impression, you know… Candles, nice music, the right amount of temperature. “Make yourself at home, hon” - I said to her, walking to pour myself some whiskey. She refused to have some. No wonder, that’s a man’s drink. But when I came back - she wasn’t there. She left. I dropped the glass and it shattered off the concrete floor. That was my favorite glass, you know. I was overwhelmed with frustration, as the night was ruined. I didn’t expect much, but this was not expected. Nobody left this house without me walking the out through the backdoor. But soon I noticed some more details and my frustration quickly washed away with fear. For the first time in my life, I feared for my life. My machete was gone. I left it right there - on the table across the room. For putting some respect to her, you know. And to tingle her nerves. The ax was gone too. I called it “Finisher” for obvious reasons. She took it from me. I have no idea how she untangled herself - nobody did this before. I did the same knots as usual. What do I do? There’s an armed person who wants to harm me in my own house. I can’t get to the police, because, you know… They will look around, find my mementos and if they do - I’m getting a night-night injection. I can’t leave, 'cause if I do - she will bring cops here herself and we’re back to the first scenario. So I’m asking for your advice, guys. I can hear the floorboards creaking above, she’s still in the house somewhere. She’s not running away for her life. This time is different. I locked myself in the basement, as I am typing this. But she’s smart. Help.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I Was The Hitchhiker. [RESPONSE] It’s awkward to be the hitchhiker… to be on *this* side of a scary folktale. Let’s not talk about how I got here. Not really important. What matters is that I’ve never looked more disheveled. And I’ve never felt more awkward. Just a weird-looking dork sticking my thumb out on an empty road, sandwiched between two forests. Pitch black. It’s midnight, I think? I didn’t have my watch on me. Or my phone. Or anything else that tells the time. My internal clock ain’t great either. But let’s say it’s between 10:49PM and 2AM. I think. Probably. Car goes past. Doesn’t even think of stopping. Ah, I don’t blame ‘em. Looked like a couple that were just coming back from a fun camping trip. They don’t need my nonsense right now. I mean, I wouldn’t stop for me. Would just be silly, really. I’ll hold out hope. Maybe a van filled to capacity, save for one seat in the back, would stop for me. They could take a chance. After all, if I tried anything funny, I’d be vastly outnumbered. Twenty minutes pass. No van. Actually, no cars at all. I guess people don’t really use this road. Or it’s late. And hitchhiking on a Wednesday night, or a err… Thursday morning, isn’t really a wise move. Ooh, look, a car! They’re slowing to stop… No, no it doesn’t look like they can take me… but they look… apologetic? That’s sweet. They’re sort of mumbling “sorry” and shrugging. Ah that’s fine. I’m just glad you looked at me, really. I’m pacing. I wish I had my cigarettes. I hate being in one place for too long. I hate being alone with my brain. I ruminate. I hear sounds coming from the forest and they creep me out. I think about worst case scenarios all the time. You know how your brain can drum up something much scarier than anything real life can throw at you? Yeah. I just need to try to be present. Second thought, maybe I should just stay in my head. It’s safer up here. The more mindful I get right now, the more it’s clear I’m in the middle of the fucking road with no hope of getting home. There’s a feeling of tension in my chest. It’s tight. It aches. I breathe into it. It’ll dissipate. I’ve lived with anxiety long enough. I have my tools. Yes, I did in fact notice the car in front of me on the road slowing to a stop. And no, I’m not gonna get my hopes up. Shit. The driver looks professional. Like she actually has her life in order. Hun, don’t do this. Statistically, this isn’t a good move. The odds are not in your favor. She looks like she just straightened her hair. Like she’s coming from some sort of tech conference. Business casual. You could put her in a brochure. Fucking hell, she looks my age. Don’t do this. I could be a maniac. I can wait for the van. “You look like you’ve had a rough night,” she says. I keep my distance from her. “Hey, uh, look, thank you for the kind gesture but… I’m actually kind of waiting for a car with more people in it. So that it’s… less weird for everyone,” I respond. She laughs. “Get in. I’ll be okay.” If I’m being honest, I’m praying for another car to come by. Nope. I get in. Lady, I’m gonna give you a lecture about safety once you drop me off. It’s not wise to pick up a scruffy hitchhiker like me in the middle of the night. “Whereabouts you heading?” she asks. “Uh, honestly, two hours in the direction you’re already driving. I’m in Morgantown. Anywhere in the city is fine.” “Cool. I can take you a good chunk of the way there I think. Depends on how much I like ya!” she says, laughing. “I’m kidding.” “I’m just grateful for the ride. Thank you.” We sit in silence for a bit. I was hoping she’d put on the radio or something. Usually people are more talkative. I don’t want to start ruminating again. I wonder what she’s thinking. Does she regret picking me up? Is this weird? Is she scared for her safety? She shouldn’t be, but I get it. This is weird, right? “So, I do have to ask. It’s Thursday morning at 1AM. What are you doing in the middle of the road?” she asks. 1AM. Nailed it. My internal clock is better than I thought. And look, lady, I know you just want to have a conversation, but I really don’t want to answer this question. “A, uh… retreat with my friends. We do it every year. It’s a bit of a ritual,” I say. She looked confused. “Right. And does the retreat end with you standing in the middle of the road? Looking… the way you do right now? No offense.” “None taken. And uh, no. I left early. On not so great terms,” I respond. She snickers. She looks at me. Kind of warm. “That’s it?” she says. “That’s it” I respond. She shakes her head. Awkward silence. I’m starting to go back into my head. Please turn on the radio or something. “You know… if you talked more, it’d be easier to trust you. I mean, I did pick you up in the middle of the night,” she says. I laugh. “You’re free to drop me off wherever you want. I feel weird about this too. It’s kind of like when you’re accidentally walking behind someone at night. And you feel weird. But you two are going the same way.” “And yet you stuck out your thumb. And got in the car,” she says. “Good point.” I mean, it was a good point. It’s good to self-reflect sometimes, right? I can be a hypocrite, sure. She laughs again. “Okay, I’ll tell you something about me. But *then*, you have to tell me more about you,” she says. Damnit. She’s cute. “I picked you up because… I’ve had benders before. In a past life…” She motions to her clothes. “I mean c’mon, I didn’t always look this *fancy.* I had to sort some shit out in my life.” For someone who claims to be as grounded and put together as you are, picking me up was pretty silly. Again, statistically, a pretty stupid choice. “And so, you know, I had nights where people would go out of their way to drop me off home. I’ve *literally* been in your shoes, you know. Disheveled, barely awake, drunk out of my mind, sticking my thumb out on an empty road. And honestly, it was just as scary getting picked up. But… I trusted people. And they took care of me, and brought me home. So in a way, I guess I’m… paying it forward. I have full trust that the universe balances things out,” she says. She said all of that with a smile. Kind of endearing. Not sure if I trust all of that, but endearing nonetheless. I begrudgingly nod. “That’s actually kinda wholesome.” “Now you,” she says back. I sigh. This road runs long. It’s kinda scary outside. Maybe if she likes me enough she’ll take me all the way home. I don’t want to be out on the street again. I’ll open up. A bit. “Alright, so, you ever have that group of friends where you’ve changed so much as a person that you probably shouldn’t be friends with them anymore, but you also feel obliged to show up when they ask you to come out?” I ask. She snickers. “So you end up going out to that stupid event you know you shouldn’t be going to. And you regret it *immediately,*” she says back. “Exactly. So I go. Because we’re all buddies right? And we go way back. Except, I don’t like the idea of getting trashed at a hostel. And having to… give the group my phone, my keys, my wallet, everything. Play that stupid game we all play,” I say. “Stupid game?” I sigh. “Alright, but you have to promise to not judge me,” I say. She shrugs. Her eyes say “you can’t stop me”. Fine. “The game is… basically, that, uh… each of us has to hit the town and find a girl to uh… bring back to our room. Anyone who doesn’t succeed has to sleep outside without any of their belongings,” I say, embarrassed. “Wow,” she says. “You and your friends really are chauvinistic morons, aren’t you?” I make a face. “Like I said, I really shouldn’t be friends with them anymore.” “Awe, I’m kidding” she says. You shouldn’t let your guard down too quickly. I haven’t finished my story yet. I take a beat, then I continue. “I came this time, but my terms were clear. I’ll hang out, we can drink, and I’m happy to be a wingman to anyone playing that stupid game. But beyond that, I won’t be participating. I wanna stay at home, kick back, and have a relaxing time.” “You didn’t really think they’d let you *not* participate, did you?” she says. “I did! That’s why I came!” “Really?” she asks. “Really really!” She shakes her head. “Moron.” “You’re almost getting too comfortable with me now!” I say. “Great diversion. But you didn’t tell me the whole story, did you?” she responds. You know, if I had cigarettes and a light, I’d be happy to go back onto the street. But I don’t. Alright, you win. “Okay, well… they pulled their bullshit on me. I had a couple of drinks in me, and slowly those assholes grabbed my keys, my wallet, my phone, my fucking smokes. Little by little. Pricks”. Fuck, I’m getting heated. I’m scaring her, aren’t I? “By the time I knew the jig was up, they all got together to try to pick me up and throw me outside. Y’know, force me to play that dumb game with them. Force me to bring a girl back to our room”. I’m rambling. Let’s try to cool it. “You lost your shit didn’t yo–” “I lost my shit” I respond. “I freaked out. I’m not usually an angry drunk, but something in me snapped this time. Mark grabbed me by the legs and Francesco had my arms and they were trying to drag me outside. They were laughing. So I started kicking. And punching. Hard. Once I got my footing, I was just straight up swinging at them. Full force. I feel like I did some damage. Nothing, like, too severe, but… you know. Mark fell to the floor. I kept hitting him. Everyone eventually tore me off of him, but I was still, like, lashing out. Not physically anymore, but verbally. Like, *emotional* abuse. It was weird.” Goddamnit, I need to save this shit for therapy. “I, uh, anyways. They just looked at me, mortified. Like I was a freak or something. And so… I walked out the front door. And here I am. Took me fifteen minutes of walking to realize that I didn’t have my phone… keys… wallet… cigarettes. Anything. I wanted to go back inside to ask them for my stuff, but it just felt so weird. Like something was stopping me. Just think it would’ve been so awkward, y’know? To freak out, punch my friends, and then come back and say sorry. I know I’m rambling, by the way. I kind of get stuck in my head sometimes. Sorry. Really wish I had a cigarette right now.” I say. Fucking hell, I can’t even look at her. She’s staring at me like I’m a fucking moron. Keep your eyes on the road please, ma’am. “Dude, you’re a fucking moron,” she says. “I know.” “What’re you gonna do about your stuff?” she asks. “I don’t know. I’ll just… call them or something. Later. Like, in a few days. To apologize. I’ll… need to borrow someone’s phone to do that, obviously. *Or*, alternatively, I could bring you back to the hostel tonight. They’ll let me come back in if I bring a lady, right?” She stops the car. Fuck. I’m sorry. “Stupid joke” I say. Awkward silence. She slowly starts driving again. “You’re not making this easy,” she says. “I know.” The road stretches long. “Are your friends smokers too?” she asks. “Nah,” I respond. “Just me.” “You… sure about that? Why would they lift your cigarettes if they don’t smoke?” “Just to like, be dicks I guess. They’re just like that.” Fuck. This road is long. Guess I never really paid attention to roads before. Hm. That’s kind of weird. Why is there an eye on the glove compartment box? Why is it blinking? “What… is that?” I say, pointing. She giggles. “Just decoration. You missed that when you got in?” “Fuck, I’m out of it,” I respond. Silence. “You think your friends will forgive you?” she asks me. I shrug. “I mean, who knows. We were already drifting apart anyway. Maybe it’s for the best if they don’t forgive me.” “Right. And how does Riley feel about it?” she asks. Huh. I talked about Riley? When did I mention him? “Riley?” I ask. “Yeah,” she says back. “Uhh, yeah. I don’t really know how he feels about it. Probably the same as the other guys. Hey, when did I talk about Riley?” Silence. “I never said his name before,” I say. She sighs. “Yeah you did. You’ve been rambling for a while. Repeating yourself over and over again. And then forgetting that you said anything,” she says. Fuck. What? I look in front of me. The road stretches long. I look back. This road stretches long. Fuck, how much did I drink? Am I fucked up? And seriously, why is there an eye on the glove compartment? “And now you’re spiraling. You’re in your head, and it’s gonna be super quiet and awkward for another few minutes,” she says back. Shit. Keep it cool dude. Clearly, my hitchhiker etiquette needs some work. I’m being unseemly. “Sorry, I just… weird night.” “It’s fine. Just… take a chill pill Michael. Breathe in. Relax. It’s all good,” she says. … “I never said my name before,” I say. “You are *really* forgetting stuff.”. “*No*, no I’m not actually. And I hate to use a very overused term, but it feels like you’re gaslighting me right now,” I respond. “Look, I’m not comfortable with you freaking out at me” she says. “Just look out your window, take a breath, and cool it. I’ll get you home.” Fine. Fucking hell. Back in my head. With my thoughts. Back to looking outside. This road stretches long. This road stretches really long. Am I losing it? Take a deep breath in. I’m okay. It’s been quiet for a little bit. I think I can calm down. *Yes,* that fucking eye is still there, but – “You know, I think Mark smoked your cigarettes after you left. To calm down.” Alright, she wants to break the tension by theorizing about my friends. Fuck it, I’m here for it. “I think he smoked them indoors. A few of them. I think he tossed them, half-smoked and still lit into a large potted plant. I don’t think he knew any better. I think they caught fire,” she says. Wait. The road isn’t narrow anymore. Why does it feel like we’re driving on a large open field? “What are you say–” “I don’t think your friends knew what to do. They were probably too fucked up. So the whole place was up in flames quickly. Really, really quickly. I think the fire got them.” Fuck. Eyes on the road. Stop looking at me while you’re driving. “Hey–” She’s smiling at me. Right at me. Deranged. I look away. I look in front of me. We’re in the cosmos. But it’s not inspiring. It looks like hell. Black holes all around us. Empty space. What the fuck is happening. I don’t want to look at her. But I can see her in my peripheral vision. She’s still smiling at me. I look over just a little bit. Her smile and teeth are extending beyond her face. Her face is extending beyond her face. Her whole being is taking up more space. She looks animated. Unreal. Pitch black. Unreasonably happy. Her smile is so clear. It doesn’t make sense. I feel like I’m prey. This feels like nature. Her eyes are smiling. Warm. She’s looking at me harder than anyone’s ever looked at me in my life. Fuck. When did I start looking back at her? I don’t want to be looked at. Don’t look at me. I can’t scream. But. I’m still alive. Maybe if I keep doing what I’m doing, I can stay alive. “If it wasn’t the cigarettes, it would’ve been something else. You shouldn’t blame yourself,” she says. Did she always sound like this? I turn away from her. My eyes are back on the road. Sorry, on the cosmos. The universe stretches long. “They were all going to depart tonight,” she says. She’s not using her mouth to talk. “You wouldn’t want to see what’s in my mouth,” she says. Don’t think. Don’t think about this. Just look ahead. Eyes on the universe. Just don’t move. Fuck. Wait. Is that my house? Why is my house in the middle of the fucking cosmos? Why is it here?! I want to go home. *Real* home. “I can feel your muscles twitching in your arms. And legs. I can smell your intestines.” I don’t know what to do. I need to stop thinking. It’ll pass. One way or another, this’ll end. “You never eat carrots. Lying is a casual sport for you. You’re happier than you pretend to be,” she says. She’s in front of me. She’s splattered on the windshield. I can feel her face on the headrest against the back of my head. She’s speaking into me. “You’re trying not to think.” Correct, ma’am. I hope this fucking car crashes. “No you don’t. You’re hoping it’ll all be okay. You’re praying it’ll all be okay.” Stop. Thinking. Zen. Quiet. Breathe In. And Breathe Out. She’s still looking at me. Breathe In. And Breathe Out. She’s stretching into the cosmos. She’s everywhere. In and out. It’s okay. That’s how anxiety is. It’ll get worse before it gets better. Breathe In. And Out. She’s in front of my face. She’s even closer when I close my eyes. In. And Out. In. And Out. Breathe. “Were you supposed to be there tonight, too?” she asks. Yes. “Yes.” “And yet you weren’t,” she says. No. “No. No I wasn’t.” “Do you deserve this exit?” she asks. I don’t know. “Not sure.” “It’s coming up soon,” she says. “I know.” “I’ll ask you again,” she says. Fuck. She pierces my hand. And my shoulder. “Did you change enough, before tonight, to deserve this exit?” she asks. Please end this. “No! No I didn’t. I think I’m a piece of shit. I think I deserve to die,” I say back to her. She makes a right on the exit. And we drive. Out of the cosmos. Everything returns to form. Like how it all should be. Trees. Road. Concrete. Gravity. Sky. And… I’m home? That’s it? I’m home. It’s morning. The sun is coming up. Pardon the cliche, but I actually think I hear birds chirping. And she’s… business casual. Professional. All put together. But I’m bleeding. From my hand and my shoulder. And that eye on the glove compartment box is still there. We’re parked. On the street right in front of my house. Okay. I’ve always been particularly shit at saying goodbye to people who dropped me off. I open the car door. I trudge onto the sidewalk. I look back at her. I close the car door. A slow trickle of blood onto the sidewalk. A little bit on her car. Sorry about that. I should go inside and get myself cleaned up. Fuck. No keys. We’re looking at each other. “You said some really mean stuff about yourself back there. You shouldn’t sell yourself short, you know?” She says it with a smile. I believe her. I do a half-wave, and before I can think to myself “please god just fucking drive off fucking please”, she starts driving off. Down the long road. It stretches long. And long. And long. And long. And she’s in view still. Smaller and smaller. And then she’s gone. … It’s kind of nice outside. Never realized how pretty this neighborhood is. Maybe I’ll stand here for a little while.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Incident Report: May 21st, 2022 – Safety Training Video [RESPONSE] The tape is a slightly modified VHS tape. The casing was slightly larger, and the magnetic tape is a quarter of an inch wider than a standard VHS tape. A custom built solution had been created to translate the data onto a standard tape during research of a . The magnetic storage technology is exactly the same as VHS, but we couldn’t find records of a tape of a similar size produced in the United States. Tape was recovered from a vintage video store in , FL on May 21st, 2022. The tape was listed in an online auction and on several websites inquiring about its origin. The tape appears to be a training video for a manufacturing company, however there are several cutaways to what appears to be candid footage of workers on the site. The company name, which is redacted for this report, is not registered in any country we were able to pull records from. The video is transcribed below. --- *Transcription:* Footage opens on a shot of the company logo with the name in big white letters over a cartoon style sky with a few white clouds. Pleasant music plays. Scene plays for exactly 5 minutes (Research note: this was measured to the picosecond). Scene cuts suddenly to a man walking in front of a large machine of indeterminate use. Audio seems to speed up and slow down almost imperceptibly as he speaks. The pleasant music continues in the background, but is much quieter. >Eric: Welcome to your first day at Manufacturing! The camera pans to the left slowly, following him as he walks. The man’s name and title appear on the screen briefly. >Eric: Congratulations on your new position, and welcome to the family. My name is Eric and I’m the head of Safety and Security here at here at the plant. At , our goal is to make sure your employment needs are met, your environment is comfortable, and most importantly, that everyone remains as safe as possible. In the background, a man and a woman in lab suits mop up some kind of viscous mess. >Eric: Now, I know there are people from many departments taking part in our training briefing today. You might feel like a lot of this information doesn’t apply to you, but everyone ends up wondering around eventually. So please pay attention to the safety protocols for *all* areas of the plant, even if you don’t think your specific job will ever require you to enter them. You never know what the future holds, and being prepared, is being safe! --- Footage cuts to a shot of a man high up on a catwalk. There is no music, only the sound of wind. The man appears to be writing down reading from a display above him. He stumbles backwards a few steps, then slumps over the rail and falls. A gasp is heard as the camera pans away quickly. --- Footage quickly cuts to the logo screen again. The music starts up again, and the scene plays for exactly 5 minutes. There are more clouds drawn into the background this time, but other than that it is the same as the opening scene. Footage cuts suddenly to an office setting. Eric is sitting on top of a desk that a woman is working at. She hands him a piece of square paper that appears blank. >Eric: Thanks, Gwen. He spends just under a minute staring at the paper before looking back up at the camera. >Eric: At Manufacturing, we’re not all wrenches and machine work. Many of you are likely here for one of our office positions. I know the product gets the press, but we wouldn’t be able to operate without the fine folks here in the office taking care of all of our administrative needs. He places the paper back on the desk and stands. >Eric: The office is, as you can imagine, one of the safest parts of the plant. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t things to keep your guard up for. He begins to walk to the left, and the camera slowly pans to follow him. In the background, most of the office workers appear to be asleep at their desk. >Eric: Many objects in the office are sharp. On a daily basis you may use things such as staples, letter openers, and paper cutters, just to name a few. --- Footage cuts to a top down view of a desk in what appears to be a cramped office. All four walls can be seen in the shot, and they are filled with shelves and books. In the center is a small desk. A man and a woman sit on opposite sides. The woman is clearly distressed. >Woman: No, just *look at it*. >Man: I *saw* it, okay? I know. Look, it’s probably just some prank, alright? The woman pushes a square sheet of paper across the desk. It appears to have a full page image on it, but it can’t be made out in the low resolution footage. >Woman: How can it be a *prank*? Look, there’s my name on the header, and the document title. This was supposed to be a schedule proposal for maintenance. But it’s a picture of me *at the printer* taken *from the printer*. Why does it even have a camera in it? >Man: I don’t think it does… >Woman: And what is that…. thing… behind me? The man picks up the paper and looks at it, shaking his head worriedly. >Man: I don’t know. You know how the guys in IT are. They’re probably just- >Woman: I’ve been… hearing things. I never feel like I’m alone, even at home. Even in my *car*. >Man: Alright, alright. I’ll… I’ll ask around. >Woman: I just… --- Footage cuts back to Eric walking through the office as the camera slowly pans left. All of the desks are empty and the lights are off. >Eric: Please use office equipment responsibly, and only for company related work. Something shifts in a darkened office doorway in the background. (Research note: it’s impossible to tell if this is something roughly human shaped moving in the doorway, or just some video compression artifacts) >Eric: And finally, in every break room you’ll find a first aid kit. Inside you’ll find everything you’ll need to respond to an office incident. Adhesive strips, bandages, antiseptics, defibrillators, a revolver with 3 rounds loaded, and alcohol wipes. --- Footage cuts to a security feed of a dark parking lot. The woman from the previous clip is seen walking to her car. As she reaches into her purse for her key she snaps around quickly and starts looking around the parking lot worriedly. >Woman: Hello? The woman appears to be grabbed by the foot and pulled under her car. Distant screaming can be heard as the car rocks back and forth for a few seconds before the scene goes silent. It sits on a still image of her car in the distance for just over a minute. --- Footage cuts back to the company logo. The clouds appear to be a bit darker. It is otherwise the same as the first logo scene. Footage picks back up with Eric waking through what appears to be some kind of factory floor. The camera pans left slowly to follow him. Behind him, massive machines stretch out of frame in every direction. >Eric: This segment covers the basics for the safety on the manufacturing floor. Now, you will be instructed on more specific safety protocols based on your individual area of work, but today we’ll cover what you need to know to stay safe in general. First, please pay attention to the lines painted on the floor. Eric gestures downward and the camera pans down to see a red line painted on the floor. It sits between Eric and the cameraman. >Eric: If you’re on the same side of the line as the machines, you need to scurry back on over as quickly as is safely possible. A loud mechanical whirring sound is heard as the camera spins around quickly. --- Footage cuts to five men in hard hats and thick jumpers standing in front of a massive machine. They are standing by a circular opening roughly two feet wide with an opened access hatch. >Man 1: Alright, here you go. He holds out a mop to a second man. >Man 2: What… do you want me to do with that? >Man 3: Scrub the dilution chamber. >Man 4: Needs to be clean for the next batch. >Man 2: The manual says it’s self-cleaning. >Man 1: It is, but the wash module is real finicky. It’s been leaving residue in there that’s been corrupting the batches slightly. Not enough to scrap production, but enough for Q.A. to notice, so we gotta take extra steps until it’s fixed. >Man 2: But… The second man looks into the dark chamber apprehensively. >Man 5: We’ve all been in there. It’s perfectly safe. >Man 2: Alright. The second man scrambles into the small opening and reaches his arm out for the mop. >Man 2: I need some light. The first man passes the mop through the opening and starts shining a large flashlight into the machine. >Man 1: See the marks? There in the back? >Man 2: Yeah. Okay, I’m- The third man slams the match closed. >Man 2: HEY WHAT THE FUCK!? >Man 1: Hahahaha, welcome to the team, rookie! The men erupt in laughter as desperate banging can be heard from inside the chamber. >Man 2: Let me out! >Man 1: Alright, keep your pants on. There is a sudden, very loud crashing sound from inside the chamber. >Man 3: What was that? >Man 4: Intake? Can’t be. The system is.. >Man 1: Too loud, something’s wrong. Get the hatch open. The third man begins trying to open the hatch. >Man 3: Shit, it’s stuck. You okay in there, rook? There is no response. >Man 1: Oh fuck, rookie? You hearing me? >Man 4: It’s too quiet in there. >Man 3: I fuckin’ know! Something makes a clicking sound and the third man is able to pull the hatch open. >Man 1: Finally! The first man shines the light into the chamber. >Man 1: Rook? Jim? Where you at? He pushes his upper body into the opening. >Man 1: Jim? Hello? >Man 3: What do you see in there? >Man 1: Nothing. He’s just… gone… >Man 5: JIM!? >Man 3: Oh god, we’re all gonna- --- Footage cuts back to Eric. He appears to be picking the camera up from the ground. It makes a wet squelching sound as he strains to pull it free from something off camera. >Eric: Here we go. As he steadies the camera it pans around the massive factory floor, passing quickly over a puddle of viscous black fluid at his feet before settling back on his face. >Eric: Also keep an ear out for the bells. One bells means get to the nearest exit as quickly as possible. Two bells means get your mask on. Three means the dilution chamber is- --- Footage cuts to a shot of the open hatch. A low mechanical hum is the only sound that can be heard. The camera slowly approaches the chamber as the cameraman starts to breathe heavily, apparently through a mask. Three low toned bells ring out. The low hum mutes a little as the camera enters the hatch and a large, spherical brass chamber can be seen. The camera pans up to see a large opening, roughly four times the size of the entry hatch that leads up into darkness. Along the back wall is a large dark stain about 4 feet long which appears to bubble up from the brass wall about an inch. On either side are two openings, each appearing slightly smaller than the hatch entry. The camera pans around and another identical stain can be seen on the bottom of the chamber near the hatch. The camera snaps up to the larger opening as a high pitched noise bursts so loud it distorts the audio. --- Footage cuts to another company logo segment. There are more clouds and they are much darker. Actual rain drops appear to be falling between the image and the camera. This scene plays for exactly 3 minutes. Footage cuts back to Eric walking down a long hallway. He is being filmed from the front as the cameraman walks backwards. >Eric: I hope you found this video informative. We here at Manufacturing hope you have a long, safe career with us. Be sure to check in with your local security and safety advisors for more location and responsibility focused safety procedures. Until- Eric stops and looks around as the walls seem to shift and warp strangely. >Eric: What… What’s this? A flood of shadow pours into the hallway behind them. Eric shields his face and screams as it washes over them. The next few minutes are complete darkness. The sounds of Eric and the cameraman screaming can be heard. They seem to move close to and far from the camera pretty rapidly, over and over. A sound like a low growl is heard, then tearing, then the rush of water. --- Footage cuts to a beach. The camera appears to be laying on its side facing an ocean. The back of Eric’s head can be seen laying in the wet sand as the tide washes over it. Another low growl is heard, then Eric’s body begins to be dragged off of the screen as the footage ends abruptly. --- **Investigation Notes:** The beach at the end of the video is believed to be along one of the coasts of Florida. A shirt with the Manufacturing logo was found washed up on the shore in , FL, and that’s the same city where the tape was found. The final moments of the tape are believed to be a transition between two realities. Research believes the world on the tape in a separate reality, but there are too many similarities for it to be completely removed from our own. They have found a number of examples of items from that reality making their way into ours. What’s troubling, is that process always seems to involve crossing over with them.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I am trapped in a twisted recreation of a childhood memory. Alone, in an endless world of water. [FINAL] [RESPONSE] [\[Part 1/2\]]( I watch for a minute more as the great shadow circles the platform. As it dips in and out of sight, ever-threatening to rise up and into plain view, overwhelming me, taking me as it took the corpses. And of course- trapped here on the platform as I am- there is in all likelihood next to nothing I’d be able to do in my defense. I try to make out the shadow’s rough shape. Get a gauge on exactly what it is that I’m dealing with here. But every time it rises towards the surface… As my adrenaline surges and the deep-blue mystery below promises to give way to something more substantial, it just dips back down. Waiting. Biding its time. And eventually it simply disappears. I watch as it begins to shift and slither away beneath the water, gently rippling the surface with the mass displacement it causes as it moves… Vanishing away, back towards the direction of the slide and fading out of sight down into the depths. I wait, and I watch. For a long, long time. My phone still works, but maddeningly only enough to input text into that curious, blue screen. It refuses to tell me the time, and as such I do not know exactly how long passes before I find the courage to return into the water. …I have to, of course. What other choice do I have? Nothing else has come my way. There are no solid objects I can see in any direction, and my only hope of a change in environment is that blue light at the end of the mist. So I have to go on. I have to. I clamber over the rail and slip myself down into the water, doing my best to disturb it as little as possible. Instantly afraid and hyper-conscious of my exposure to anything lurking beneath, I start to swim. Slow, powerful movements, gliding through the water to the limits of my abilities, focusing solely on the end ahead. On that blue light, drawing surely and steadily closer. I resist the urge to look beneath the surface as I swim. ...It’ll do me no good. All I’ll see beneath is the void. The deep, dark, endless void. And I daren’t tempt fate. I should think my mind would be overrun with panic were I to dip my face below the water. To see the appearance of some monstrosity beyond recognition emerge from the darkness far below. And what could I do in such a situation anyway? What possible defense would I have? So I just keep going. Praying silently as I leave the relative safety of the little platform far behind. Through the mists ahead I see the unmistakable end of my surrounding fog-filled purgatory. I never thought I’d ever be so relieved to see a stretch of that damned, white-tiled wall, but here we are. A passageway leads away through the wall, and it is this passage that is bathed in the blue light. It has no floor, however, so I will have to swim through it. A sudden wave of cold passes over me. The muscles in my body tighten, and with the end in sight, the fear that the shadow is now below me increases tenfold. So much so, in fact, that I cannot prevent myself from looking beneath the surface. I just have to. I push my face beneath the water and bubbles stream up past my line of sight. A moment later and I am greeted by the sight of my arms. My legs. ...And the darkness of the deep. From the very lowest depths of this gloom emerges a shape. Formless, yet dense. A blur arising from the world below. A rumble rises with it, and I jerk my head back into the air. All pretence of care is lost as I throw myself through the water. Tearing across the surface as fast as I can, kicking for all I am worth towards what I have presumed to be the relative safety of the narrow passageway ahead. Closer… … Closer… *It’s coming. The shadow is coming, Adrian.* I scream with desperation as my joints begin to burn, and at last I make it through the gap in the wall, swimming down the corridor as fast as I can. My foot eventually strikes against something beneath me, and after a moment of near-debilitating panic I release to my overwhelming relief that it is simply the floor. Hard tile, rising up beneath me. I place my feet against it and scramble and splash my way up and out of the water, collapsing against a wall and struggling not to vomit, my raspy breaths heavy and echoed off the tile of the tunnel I find myself in. *Am I in Hell?* I wonder briefly, retching and wiping my mouth, coughing and spluttering. I feel so small in this place. This sprawling, unending complex. *I want to go home, now. How do I get home?* I close my eyes, I try my best to remember how it was that I got here, exactly, but I am unable. Once I’ve caught my breath I clamber to my feet, wincing, stretching out my legs, then striding down the length of the tunnel, my feet slapping against the tile with every step. It widens into a hall much like all the others. The light in here is faint and green. A curved, tunnelled slide loops round and around and disappears beneath the water just ahead. To my left is a diving board, and memories are triggered of the diving board at the pool. The one I’d visit with my Dad. The one in this warped nightmare however is at least four times the height. It extends way up towards a section of vast, high ceiling. A ceiling that shimmers and ripples like the water itself. I was always frightened by the diving board. The thought of jumping off something so tall unnerved me. My Dad had a go on it once, to show me that it was nothing to be scared of, but I still never went on it. Even when I was old enough to. I look down at my shirt, the Hawaiian shirt that I’m sure belongs to my Dad, and I tug the collar. I grimace and turn to the right, with the intention of passing around the water before me and heading through yet another arch in the wall. As I do so, I hear the voice. Crackled, broken, distorted, from everywhere all at once. *“It’s the father. The father is the key. Proceed”.* In an instant, the water around me surges. It churns and begins to crash up against and over the tile like waves. The trickle that ran down a nearby slide becomes a raging torrent, spilling its output all over the floor, and it rushes past my ankles with a sudden strength. “Oh Christ”, I mutter, running through the arch and into another hall, this one wider even than the first. I stand on the second level. Water crashes and cascades in a rising crescendo, and I watch as the room’s pillars and slides are gradually submerged. The various corridors and passageways out of the room close off to me one by one as their entrances dip beneath the water. My plan is to run around the edge, to pass through an open archway there and to hope for the best, but the sound of my father’s voice calling out to me from the rush of the water grabs my sudden, frenzied attention. “Adrian!” I hear him call, “ADRIAN!” I look around, desperately, until I see him carried by the rushing of the river round a corner, arms thrashing. “DAD!” I call out, abandoning my plan and skidding my way across the tile, jumping down into the water as close to the entrance of the corner as I can. The surge of the rapids grabs me at once, and I am rushed down a winding, open-topped corridor, one I recognize as the lazy-river. The one I used to play in all the time. What I’m sure however was once a simple loop, gently carrying its passengers round and round in a circle, is now a roaring river, throwing its riders against the walls as it carries them through a labyrinth of passages. “DAD!” I call out again, spluttering as a blast of chlorinated water splashes against my mouth. “ADRIAN, PLEASE!” I hear him cry out again, and I propel myself through the water, fighting to keep my head in the air as I narrow the distance between us. The man is not as strong a swimmer as he once was. I raise my head and I catch a glimpse of him, his arm out-thrown as he is hauled around the next corner by the relentless current. “I’m coming Dad!” I call out to him, “just hang on a little longer!” I kick for all I am worth, following after him, rising and falling against my will as the waves throw me around. Straining my muscles as I approach, my vision blurred by the froth and the spray, I reach out, and I grab him. I hold him tight with both hands, “it’s alright Dad, we’ll get you of here!” I shout to him above the sounds of the waves, but he feels so *cold*. Panicking, I look down at him, horrified by what I see to such an extent that for a second I simply release him in shock. The man has no face. No features of any kind at all, actually. He is a dummy. A tool that lifeguards might use in training. He wears my Dad’s clothes and fake hair has been attached to the dummy’s scalp, but a dummy is all it is. I grab it again, uncertain. Staring out and around down the river. “Dad?” I call out. “Are you there? Where are you?” “What’s happening Adrian?” the dummy asks in my Dad’s voice. I look back at it at once, staring into its face, but there is no mouth. No way for the thing to speak. “What the fuck is this?” I mutter, scared, and *angry*, now. “WHAT’S GOING ON? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?” I shout out into the sky as the river rages. But I receive no response. Not from above, anyway. “Where the hell are we?” my Dad asks, except… it *isn’t* my Dad. It can’t be. Every time I look at him, he’s just that ridiculous, lifeless dummy. “…I don’t know… Dad”, I murmur in reply, coughing as water rushes up my nose. When at last the river appears to be nearing its end and a platform becomes clear ahead, I reach out an arm to grab hold of the side. The intensity of the waves and the river’s speed has died down significantly, and I am able to haul myself and the dummy up onto the side, with a little bit of effort. Panting and wiping the water from my eyes, I look over at the dummy, sprawled out across the tile. “…Dad?” I ask it, cautiously, but the dummy does not reply. It makes no further reply at all, actually, despite my several attempts. I nonetheless opt to pick it up with a grunt, hauling it over my shoulder and carrying it through the only remaining archway available to me, and it leads into a room I’ve been in before. The one with the diving board. That monstrous diving board, warped from my own memory, and in this moment I am reminded of the very first thing I saw upon my arrival in this place. ‘NO DIVING’. A sign against the wall, a black stick figure crossed through in red, only, the diver wasn’t diving *down*. He was diving *up*. I raise my neck to the ceiling above the diving board. To the watery, shimmery glow. A humorless laugh escapes my throat. “Is that it? Is that my way out of here?” Movement catches my eye and I half-turn, looking up towards the ceiling. There is another of those panels of blue, frosted glass. Eerie light spills from behind it, and shifting about beyond are those same, unsettling shadows. *“He is not ready”*, comes a voice. I glance down. At the base of the wall below the glass is a hole in the wall, about the same size as myself. It is bathed in the exact same shade of blue as the kind behind the window, and it leads towards a set of tiled stairs, ascending upwards. I consider this route. I consider heading through the arch and up the stairs. Would it lead me to the room beyond the glass? Would I see for myself the source of the shadows? I hear the sound of a gurgling drain, the kind a bath makes when the plug is pulled, and I turn around to see that the dummy has vanished. A great puddle of water remains, spilling out over the tile and pouring past my feet. ...I make my decision. I head to the diving board. My intent whole-heartedly to leave this twisted world behind. I’ve seen enough. I’m done. *“He cannot leave now”.* *“He will never learn the truth”.* I ignore the voices. I come to a halt at the base of the diving board’s enormous ladder, and after a deep breath, I begin to climb. Rung after rung. Up I go. Up, up towards the board itself. My stomach turns as I ascend, and I do my best to struggle through my anxieties. Childlike fears return to me, but instead of pushing them aside I allow them to wash over me, in the manner of the river. I feel them, ever-moving as I do so, rung after rung. Rung after rung. And then I realign my thoughts on the goal. On getting out of here. The only way out, it would seem, is to break the rules and deal with the consequences. NO DIVING. *We’ll see about that,* I think with a bitter smile. Up, up, up. When I finally reach the summit and climb unsteadily onto the diving board, I become truly aware for the first time of how massive the structure really is. I am monstrously high off the ground, and it’s like I can feel a breeze against my face as I peer down over the side, hands shaking against the board. The drop is nightmarish. Below me is nothing more than a wide, dark pool of silent water. Waiting to swallow me up. I lift my head. Above me is the shimmering, translucent ceiling. Flickering blue with occasional flashes of light from beyond. If I stare, if I really, really focus… I swear I can see shapes through the blur. Crude, solid shapes… but it’s impossible to tell exactly what it is that I’m looking at. My heart pounds like a machine. I feel like I’m going to be sick. *What if this doesn’t even work? What if I screw it up and I crash back against the board, falling to the darkness of the void below?* But I have to try. I’ve been a pawn so far, pushed from place to place and merely reacting to the things around me. But now, I have made a choice. And I intend to stick to it. So with blood rushing through my head, I stride to the end of the board, hyper-conscious of its narrowness, and I raise my head to the ceiling. I picture the stick-figure in my mind, diving upwards as he was to the world above, and off I go. I throw my arms out before me, and I jump. Upwards. Imagining that the ceiling is the floor and that I am about to fall through it. With my eyes closed tight shut I feel the pull of gravity shift. My inner-ears throb as my up becomes my down, and I am carried as I hoped, directly through the shimmer of the ceiling. Like water it splashes and crashes against me and I feel myself completely submerged. I hear that voice again, like that crackly old speaker, but it is lost to the bubbles as I propel myself downwards… or… no, *upwards*. I release a breath of air from my lungs and watch as the bubbles drift upwards away from me. I follow them, kicking my legs and spreading out my arms, until at last I emerge from the water, gasping for air, scrabbling about for something to grab hold of. I feel the edge of a tiled platform and pull myself onto it, shaking my hair of the water and blinking out the stuff in my eyes, cautiously taking in my surroundings. I am alone, still, but I am not in the world *below*, anymore. I sit by myself, at the edge of a pool. To my right is the entrance to a lazy river, and beyond are a pair of inter-linked slides. Directly ahead and on the opposite side of the pool is a sculpture of a white sphere with a crack down one side. It isn’t as large or as grandiose as I remembered it. And to my left is an archway in the wall. It leads outside, to an area of open-air pool. *…Outside.* It’s night-time now, but the wall here is made of glass. I can look right through it and see the sky, with the moon and the stars reflecting their soft, ethereal glow against the face of the water. I clamber to my feet and stretch my arms. I’m wearing different clothes, now. Soaked-through, of course, but *mine*. I set off towards an emergency exit, pushing through it with a clank and taking a long, deep breath of the cool night air. I push aside the thoughts of the horrors I have faced, for now. There will be plenty of time to consider them later. The implications of my time in such a place, and the risk of an unwanted return one day. But I think I’ll just get home, for now. Give my Dad a call. He’ll appreciate hearing from me, I should think. Perhaps he’ll be amused to know that I paid our old pool a little visit.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Trinkets and Talismans (Part 2) [RESPONSE] "Sorry Andrew, I don't have much time but I would love to meet your brother another day. How long is he in town for?" I said nervously, peering over to my house looking for any excuse to leave. "No problem, honestly I hope he won't be sticking around too long. My brother and I don't exactly see eye-to-eye. He has always been...troubled. I worry about him sometimes so it is nice that he came down to visit. Have not seen him for a little while. Marianne doesn't like him very much either." Andrew replied. "Ah.. see, that is a shame. I am really sorry I must be going, I am meant to have the next chapter of my new book finished ready for the upcoming publishing date." "Oh, you're publishing a new book soon? When? If you're hosting a party or something we would love to join you in the celebration." Andrew smiled. It almost felt like he was being genuinely supportive, It made me uncomfortable but I tried my best not to let that show. "I'll send you and Marianne the details. I appreciate the gesture, I will see you later yeah?" I smiled awkwardly back, trying to be polite. I turned and walked back down his driveway and over the road to my house, staring forward and trying not to show how fucking scared I was, I am not even sure if I am convinced that Andrew's brother was a person at all. Those eyes of glass that pierced right through me felt so intense.. Maybe Andrew isn't the dangerous one after all. \- I gave myself some time to ponder over what I was feeling and tried to process it all, I didn't really know what to do. I had nothing to link Sean Smith's disappearance to Andrew at all.. that's if he actually did anything. Maybe he was covering for his brother this whole time or something? I decided I needed to invite them over like Andrew suggested. A little celebration of the publication of my new novel, get a couple drinks in us and see if I can get him to slip up. We'll keep it small so he isn't intimidated by all of the people I'll invite his brother and Marianne for support.. Maybe, just maybe, I could I get some sort of confession? At least find out where he moved all of his random little trinkets and knick-knacks. I spent the passing days observing their house, I watched Andrew come and go and kept and eye out to see any sign of another person in the house, which was incredibly strange as today Marianne came back home from her trip and I never once saw Andrew with his brother. \- I managed to time it pretty well as only a few days after Marianne had come back from her trip, I finished my novel. I couldn't really wait too much longer as I was unsure if Andrew's brother was still in town or not but I didn't want to get suspiciously close to them to hint anything further to Andrew that I was still onto him. I went around the neighbourhood to a select few people and handed out invitations, I posted 3 of them through Andrew and Marianne's letterbox.. I was going to try and narrow down the amount of attendees as much as possible and I knew there was only one way to do that which wasn't going to be obvious I was pinpointing my evening towards Andrew. ***Kat's Pre-Publication Celebration!*** *Lunch and Drinks at 28 Lowe Blvd - 13th May 2022* C*elebrating Kat finishing her latest novel.13:00pm to 18:00pm - No Children* No kids. No kids, no parents. Most parents get pretty upset when they find out their children aren't included and don't attend.. I know you get the odd few who will take advantage of it and drop them off at their grandparents or get a babysitter so they can have a good night but I wasn't betting on that happening and it turns out, I was right. \- An elderly couple from a few doors down were the first to arrive, they came in and greeted Harry and I and congratulated me on my work. We had a quick chat about the actual publication date and I offered to make them a cup of tea. They both agreed and went to sit outside when the doorbell rang. "Harry can you get that for me please?" I said, looking over my shoulder at him as I boiled some water. Harry nodded and opened the door. "Howdy Neighbour!" Marianne yelled in some kind of attempt at a Southern USA accent. I could hear Harry laugh a little and welcome them inside followed by some inaudible nattering. I turned and headed out the back towards the elderly couple sitting on one of my outdoor sofa's and gave them their drinks, they thanked me and sat, visibly enjoying the suns rays on their faces. I felt a comforting arm wrap around my waist. I peered over and Harry kissed me on the cheek. "Marianne has just popped back home to grab something that she forgot. Come say Hi, she won't be a minute." he said. I walked through the kitchen to the front section of the house, Andrew standing there with a bottle of champagne and a small but beautiful bouquet of flowers. "Hello Andrew" I said "Hey Kat, I hope you are well. Congratulations.. Here, we got you these." He smiled, handing me the items he was holding in his hands. "Oh, thankyou. This is very sweet. You didn't have to do this, It hasn't even been published yet." I said, trying to sound grateful. "Did your brother not want to come?" I continued, looking around the entryway area to see if I could spot anyone else around. "No. He is a bit of an introvert and doesn't want to be around Marianne when she has been drinking, but he said for me to tell you congratulations also." Andrew said. Marianne pranced her way back in through the front door looking like she had already consumed half a bottle of alcohol before she got here. "Hellooooo beautiful, it's so good to see you!" she said, announcing her presence like she was centre stage, not really listening to the fact we were mid-conversation. "Oh dear, okay well tell him I said thankyou. And thankyou again for the thoughtful gifts." I paused for a second and smiled at her. "And hello to you Marianne! I hope you are well. Now that you're here. Let's eat, I am starving." I continued, walking over to the kitchen with Harry, Andrew and Marianne following closely behind. We all sat outside eating and chatting to the lovely elderly couple for some time. I actively went out of my way to continuously top-up Andrew and Marianne's drinks. I didn't want to make it super obvious I was trying to get them drunk but at the same time, part of me didn't really mind because Andrew seemed to be drinking enough without my help anyway. I thought to myself for a second. Should I really try my luck now? I should wait until the other two leave before bringing anything sensitive up, after all, I didn't know how Andrew would react to my questions, especially since he was already aware that I suspected him for Sean's abduction. We continued some general chit-chat across the table for a while before the elderly couple announced their departure, they were absolutely lovely, they thanked me for having them over and made their way home. "So, Andrew. I heard you cleaned out your room of "knick-knacks" How long did that take you?" I said with a little giggle. "Ah, Marianne telling you everything already huh?" he replied. "Unfortunately for you! We're neighbours, we may as well be friends too! Come on, tell us about the collection you had. Was there any special history to any of them? You had some very interesting things in there." I said trying to play off how nervous I was. "Meh. Some of them did, some didn't. Nothing too interesting." He replied in a stern and blunt tone. "Ah, I see... hey, now that it is just us, would you like to see if your brother wants to join us?" I responded. Marianne turned and looked extremely confused. "Brother? What are you on about?" Seemed like Andrew was not prepared for this at all.. his face turned white, eyes fixed forward, locked onto mine. He said nothing. Marianne turned to Andrew and started questioning him, shouting and confused, she was quite obviously very drunk. Andrew slowly turned his head towards his wife and stood up "I'll see if he wants to come.. I will be back soon." Marianne chased after him and we followed closely behind. "Andrew!" Marianne shouted. "What is Kat talking about? You have brother?!" He turned around and with as much force as he could, he slapped Marianne and shoved her against my car that was parked in our driveway. *"SHUT UP YOU STUPID BITCH, FUCK! YOU HAVE SUCH A LOUD MOUTH! JUST SHUT UP FOR ONCE!"* Andrew screamed. I stood there, jaw on the floor. "Harry! Call the police now!" I shouted as my husband approached to restrain Andrew. I had no words, I could not believe what I was seeing. I was right.. Harry knew I was right. The look he gave me told me so. Marianne, still pinned up against the car, sobbing and crying to be let go. Andrew stood and quickly realised the mistake he had just made as he watched Harry dial 911. Andrew let Marianne go and took off across the street towards his house, leaving his wife on the floor of our driveway sobbing, gasping for air. *"We got you, you son of a bitch!"* I shouted towards the house as he ran inside. *"YOU ARE DONE YOU FUCKING MONSTER! YOU HEAR ME? DONE!"* I continued. I don't know why I did that, the fear my body felt immediately after those words came out of my mouth.. I could not stop shaking. Harry and I helped Marianne up from the ground and ushered her inside as we waited for the police to arrive. What an awful turn of events, I knew the topic would have caused some tenseness between us but I did not expect this at all.. The sirens and red and blue lights approached and pulled up across the road. \~ I stood up and made my way towards the door, as I reached for the handle, I hear Harry's bloody curdling scream from the other room.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My Sick Wife is No Longer the Woman I Married [RESPONSE] As I ran further from my house, a wave of emotion had over taken me, my feelings reminiscent of a quickly melting block of ice. Enduring these past few months had shaped my emotional state into nothing more than a hollow, meandering, violent whisper of what it used to be. The stench of sick that had lingered in my nose so long I forgot what clean air smelled like began to fade in favour of the welcoming smell of crisp autumn leaves. For the first time in a long time, I felt free. It almost felt like a shame that I was going to kill myself. Wait. God damnit. I left in such a rush that I didn’t even grab my fucking gun. I don’t know how long I had been running. I know I left in the early morning, and now the sun was directly over head. Shit. It had to have been hours, right? I had no idea. I had even less idea of where I was. Any direction I turned seemed to just be trees for miles. I was lost in the middle of woods with no food, no water, and no gun to even fucking shoot myself after seeing my wife turn into a vomit leaking deformity. More of a tumour than a person at this point. God damnit. Tired. Just tired. I spent hours just looking for a way out, but everything just seemed to repeat. I was just going in a circle. I slumped down into myself as the sun set and the sky darkened. My head throbbed consistently and my breath was haggard, but eventually I fell into a deep, comatic sleep. I had a dream. In my dream, My once young, beautiful Marilyn and I lay nude entangled together on an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar. The walls, floor, ceiling, and furniture were all a shade of uncomfortably bright red. The decor was fancy, like an expensive hotel. Marilyn crawled over me, face to face. She smiled. The flesh on her face began to ripple as if there were thousands of ants under her skin, crawling. Her body rapidly grew rough and skeletal, sticking to me like glue. She brought her slender fingers up to her eyes, digging her nails violently into her corneas. She leaned closer, her warping face closing in on mine; her heavy breath smelled like bile. She put her foul mouth on my neck, and I felt a sickening crawling sensation. I remember suddenly being in front of the mirror, and feeling, now seeing the bugs crawling under my skin, same as Marilyn. I turned around to face her. The red room was gone. I was in Marilyn and I’d room now. What I saw when I turned around... I had vomited, in real life I vomited. But I didn’t wake up. I had already woken up. I was awake, in my room, completely naked. I was facing Marilyn on her caught. Except it tool me moment to even register it as Marilyn It had grown a thick layer of sandpaper flesh over a 4th of the room, it was translucent, pale, and veiny. In the center, atop what could only be assumed to be a flesh covered cot, was a pulsating figure, looking like a sickly chicken fetus. All the flesh was pulsating. It’s face was two bloodshot eyes, wet with tears and an inflamed, vomit leaking little hole. I reached for the nearest object to me, a vase, and swung it as hard as my exhausted arms would allow me. It shattered on impact. The thing that was once my white writhed in pain. Marilyn’s eyes pleaded up at me. Maybe it was all my fault. A year before Marilyn and I married, she fell ill. She was immunocompromised, and I came home with the flu. She caught it, of course, and it began to take a major toll on her health. She was only my fiancé at the time, and I was still learning how to do all this. In my gullibility, I would take anything to make her feel better. I was parked in my car at a gas station after driving Marilyn to the hospital. Taking a moment in the car for myself, I heard a knock at the window. “Hello, friend!” He was a young man, slightly handsome with long hair and stark blue eyes. “I don’t have any change.” I said, expecting him to try and panhandle me so that he has some cigarette money. “I’m not here for change, I’m here to help.” His smile was welcoming when he closed his eyes, but when they were open, he made me feel just a little nauseated. “I know you’re going through some trouble with your girl. I know what can help.” “Who the fuck are you?!” I snapped, alarmed that this absolute st anger knew what was going on in my private life. I didn’t have any friends who would set this up, and I doubt my fiancé’s friends would know a guy like this. The man held his hands out, cradling a ziplock bag. Within the bag was a pink, squirming creature, resembling a chicken fetus. “Man, what the fuck! What do you want me to do with this you fucking freak!?” He leaned his face closer to mine, his shut eyed smile setting me into an attentive trance. “Trust me. Feed it to her in any way, alive or dead. It will keep her strong, for as long as she is faithful. I immediately snapped back to the situation I was in. As long as she was faithful? As long as she was fucking faithful? Rage boiled in my blood. I had taken care of her as she deteriorated in front of me, wasting my life to try and keep her happy. She didn’t know better. She didn’t Know i blended it up and put it into her soup. But she fucking cheated on me. All I ever did was help her and she cheated on me. I stepped out of the horrific bedroom and into the kitchen, grabbing the biggest, sharpest knife I could. All I felt was rage. My temple throbbed agonisingly as I walked back to the creature that was once my wife. I plunged the blade in, as much as I could. Stinking, rotting blood bursting out in clots onto my hands and body. I stabbed until my vision clouded dark with exhaustion, unable to control myself, I slumped onto the cold rough carcass below me. I was coated in cold, coagulated blood. Then my eyes shot open. I tried to move, but I couldn’t. I was stuck. I looked down onto my body only to discover I was connected to this thing, no, more than connected. I was part of it now. I was part of her. Through sickness and through health. I wasn’t faithful to my promise. I guess it goes both ways.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The dead city. [RESPONSE] The dead city. There is a city, a city nowhere, nowhere, nowhere. If you don't live in it, in fact, it's even hard to know if it ever existed, exists or will exist, if you do research about it you will most likely come across the same as everyone else, records of acquired land, plans about colossal buildings with no apparent architectural sense and a manifesto about the construction and inauguration of a city somewhere on the west coast, but nothing else, there are no maps, no news about it or any record of any kind about any city that fits the bizarre characteristics, in essence it does not exist, but if it did, it does, it will, but you will never be able to find it, it was built for that. As far as is known, a very wealthy industrial magnate was the one who conceived the original idea, according to his words, he wanted to build the perfect city, an ideal place where there was no problem, no overpopulation, no hunger, no death; he had the idea that, under the right circumstances, he could reach the industrial utopia, the ultimate city, so he got down to work. He called in all kinds of specialists, architects, engineers, scientists, physicists, priests and pagans, anyone who could help him fulfill his dream. Plans were made, schematics and a lot of money was disbursed, so much that, according to financial records, it was literally impossible for that man to have that much, no matter how powerful he was. Even with the colossal amount of land he acquired the man was still concerned about space, for him it was not enough, even though some buildings on the plans marked an estimated sixteen kilometers, both up and down this was not enough, even though he was warned of the risks of such experimental architecture and the fact that even in the whole country there would not be enough people to live in his city this did not matter to him, the man had a dream, and this would be fulfilled even if it was the last thing he would do. At this point the records get fuzzy, it is not clear what actions the man took or what went wrong, but the point is that it happened, overnight the estimated population that the city could support went from several thousand to hundreds of millions, even if not a single other building had been built, by the time this happened all the workers were long gone, There was no one to witness whatever happened, the only thing that is known is that everything was suddenly filled, in the houses, furniture appeared, all and of all kinds, in the stores products appeared, filling the shelves and warehouses, the same with the schools, hospitals and parking lots, everything suddenly became habitable and a day later people arrived. Of all kinds, of all ages and all shapes, they just came just like things, out of nowhere and so, they started a routine, crowds went every morning to work in offices or factories, children went to school and old people just went for a walk, everyone seemed to know exactly what to do and how to do it, as if they had lived all their lives within those thick concrete walls and neon lights. As for the workers, they returned to their homes, to their families, and tried to resume their lives, but they all suffered from the same evil, as if all their conscience and their will to live had remained in that dead city, some went crazy over the years others just committed suicide and the few who survived existed the rest of their lives in a catatonic state, so did the architects and the scientists and basically anyone who had spent enough time in that city, burying their memory, only they knew its exact location and never shared it, they just let it die, hoping that would be enough to kill it, but it was not. Even though everyone forgot her, even though all her detailed records were destroyed or hidden in the depths of some lost warehouse, it was not enough, because the city already had everything it needed. The city exists, it is a fact and it works like any other, there are rulers, policemen, criminals, there are ordinary people, like you and me who live a normal life, like yours only surrounded by pipes, wires, concrete and neon, grouped, stacked and superimposed without sense, trapped in a place apparently inaccessible to anyone, at least that's how it was until recently. It was found in some old internet forum, what appeared to be a document written by an inhabitant of the city, with general information on the functioning of society and citizenship, as well as a manual detailing specific functions of the city, some of the highlights of the document are; Basic regulations for buying in SuperGamma, basic astronomy to follow the thirty moons, 6-hand clock scheme, guide to deal with "Unwanted" and police regulations for architectural anomalies. However, this was not what caused many to become obsessed with investigating the supposed lost city, nor was it the fact that many more blogs and documents were discovered on the internet supposedly coming from that city, nor that some have claimed to have had contact with citizens via message, this was because next to the original document was an unofficial note, supposedly attached by the writer, which had a short and apparently incomplete message which made most think that the fact that everyone involved at the time had kept quiet about what happened in that city to the point of going insane was an act of pure heroism, the message read: City growth is failing.... -------------------.------------- now anomalies appear everywhere .---------------.........------- lead nowhere, many citizens have lost their way....... ---------------...----------- The "Unwanted" are spreading ----------------- they are eating everything--------................-------------- they already invaded the whole lower district-----------.....................----------------......... the higher ups shut everything down and locked us in.................-----------------------...............-------------the hunters are trying to help us..................--------------. ..................-.---but they won't stop them...................---------------..........-.------------- we can't get out of here-------------.-....................---------------we want to get out of this city................-------------.........---------------the city is going to die........------------------------------------............----------we can't get out---------------...................-------------------they are coming. To date, no one has figured out how to get to the city and no other messages have been received from the interior.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] What Do You Call Someone with No Body and No Nose? [RESPONSE] “Sam, what do you call someone with no body and no nose?!” I’d braced myself for whatever asinine statement was going to come out of Charlie’s mouth as I’d heard his diminutive footsteps bounding into the living room, but this was dumb even for his standards. The nine year old had no shortage of absolutely stupid observations, musings and yes, god help me, jokes that he would dole out at a moment’s notice. If we’re being totally, completely honest here, gun to my head - I couldn’t *stand* the little shit. Kids just weren’t my thing. Never had been, never would be. They’re just *annoying*. You can’t have a conversation with them, they’re always sticky, they’re always yelling. Kids are really just obnoxious little morons. There probably isn’t anyone on earth less suited to the art of babysitting than me. Now, I know what you’re thinking - you hate kids, you’ve done nothing but whine about them, why the hell are you a babysitter? Well, on summer break in Vernon, there wasn’t much a 17 year old could do for work. Aside from waitressing down at The Empty Tanker. I was *not* waitressing down at The Empty Tanker. Not unless I wanted to spend my whole summer getting harassed by day drunk truckers for penny tips. We’d lived next door to the McCutcheons my entire life, and so they’d call on me any time they were in a jam and needed a sitter for Charlie. I hate kids. But fifty bucks is fifty bucks. Mr. McCutcheon had knocked on our door that afternoon and offered *double* the usual rate to watch Charlie for a few hours that evening. It was an emergency, and they hadn’t had time to set the sitting up in advance, but seeing the dollar signs I readily accepted. I regretted my decision almost immediately - Charlie had been especially aggravating that night. From the moment I’d walked in, he’d been running around like a chicken with its head cut off, slamming LEGO spaceships into the ground and begging me for lollipops. It wasn’t long before I reached my limit - after dumping the entire bag of lollipops on the floor in Charlie’s playroom, I devised a new game that he was all too eager to play - “take all your LEGOs apart and put them back together one by one while I watch tv in the living room.” The game was going really well until Charlie exploded into the room, hopping onto the couch next to me with several lollipops sticking out of his gullet, interrupting the trash TV rerun that had me enraptured. He ripped them out excitedly, sticky spit flying in all directions and dripping onto his hand. I scowled, unable to hide my annoyance. “I thought we were playing a game.” I said sternly. “I got bored, I already built those LEGOs. What do you call someone with no body and no nose?” He repeated the question, staring up at me expectantly as he sucked on the bundle of lollipops. I rolled my eyes - the easiest solution here was just to play along with the stupid joke and then put the little retard to bed. “I don’t know,” I answered. “What?” “Nobody Nonose!” Charlie exclaimed, throwing his hands up for emphasis. I wrinkled my nose. “That doesn’t even make sense.” I sneered. “What kind of joke is that?” Charlie looked at me like *I* was the idiot. “It’s not a joke,” he finally said. “It’s Nobody Nonose.” “No.” I corrected him. “It’s ‘nobody knows.’ Get it? Nobody NOSE. It’s a stupid joke. At least tell it right.” Charlie’s face twisted into an exasperated frown. “It’s not a joke Saaaam!” He whined, elongating the middle of my name. I hated when he did that. “His name is Nobody Nonose! He has no body and no nose and he lives in my closet!” What the fuck. I stared at Charlie incredulously. The kid had never had any weird imaginary friends like that before - were the McCutcheons raising some kind of schizo serial killer? “No he doesn’t, that’s an imaginary friend. And it’s time for bed anyway.” I’d had enough of this shit for tonight. Mr. and Mrs. McCutcheon would probably be home soon anyway, it was a good enough excuse to put the little freak down. Charlie crossed his arms in a huff. “But I’m not *tired*!” He exclaimed. “I don’t care,” I answered. “Your mom and dad are gonna be back soon anyway. Come on.” I stood and grabbed his arm, leading him up the stairs. “Well,” Charlie mumbled as we ascended the steps, “maybe you can meet him now. He’s probably awake anyway…” I shook my head, annoyed. As we reached Charlie’s darkened bedroom though, I was slightly creeped out at the sight of his tightly-shut closet door. It *was* a pretty big closet. I reached to flick the light on, and Charlie grabbed the bottom of my shirt, stopping me. “Don’t!” He hissed. “He doesn’t like being woken up that way.” That made my skin crawl a little. Charlie was acting like a fucking weirdo. “Stop being dumb,” I commanded, and flicked on the light. Immediately , there was a soft rustling from within the closet. I froze, and looked at Charlie. He simply shrugged, a gesture of “I told you so.” What was this little fucker playing at. Did he have an animal trapped up here or something? Was he systematically vivisecting some poor neighborhood cat? Slowly, I crept over to the closet door and swung it open. “What the hell are you hiding in here-“ my heart caught in my throat as the closet’s interior was exposed to the light. Inside the closet, laying on the floor, was a giant severed head. It was vaguely humanoid in appearance, with sallow and sickly looking yellow skin. It was gigantic - bigger than a beach ball or even a massive Halloween pumpkin. It was a nearly perfectly round orb, with small pinprick holes on the side where an ear would be on a normal human head. Its enormous mouth hung open in a gaping slack-jawed “O”, revealing rows of razor sharp and needle-like teeth. Between its eyes and mouth was a smooth patch of that yellow skin, no other distinguishing facial features. Charlie had a giant, nearly featureless severed head in his closet. No body, no nose. Before I could scream, before I could think, before anything, it’s eyes shot open. Two massive black orbs accented with murky brownish, slitted reptilian pupils. The eyes locked with mine, and the thing let out a hideous screech, it’s mouth growing even wider than before. It had been sleeping, and I’d woken it up. “Charlie what the FUCK is this!!” I screamed as I frantically backed away from the hideous abomination in the closet. “That’s Nobody Nonose!” Charlie exclaimed matter of factly. “I was playing by the creek a few days ago with Richie and Ted and we found him in that big pipe. We were looking for crickets and he was just laying there in the dirty water.” My blood turned to pure *ice*. “Richie and Ted didn’t really like him…” Charlie sounded sad. “But I told him he could stay here. He’s funny!” The emergency , the reason the McCutcheons had gone out that evening. A couple of kids from around Vernon had gone missing recently. There was a huge search party going on as we spoke, a desperate attempt to locate them. Another pained wail came from the closet - I turned to see Nobody Nonose, floating in mid air. The thing could levitate, apparently. I guess that was how it got around with no body. The freakish orb hovered toward me, spittle dripping from its mouth. “Fuck fuck fuck…” I mumbled to myself, my feet feeling as if they were made of cement. “Sam is my friend!” Charlie suddenly yelled as the creature came within inches of my face. It stopped in its tracks, turning its lizard eyes to Charlie. I took my chance, I raised a leg and kicked at the thing, catching it off guard and sending it flying backwards. I grabbed Charlie and rushed out of the room, slamming the door behind me. “Why did you do that!” Charlie screamed. “He’s gonna be mad!” “Shut up, shut UP.” I demanded as we raced down the steps. “We need to get the fuck out of here.” As we bounded into the foyer, the front door suddenly swung open. Mr. and Mrs. McCutcheon were back. The couple wore grim facial expressions which turned to confusion as they saw us land in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. “Sam,” Mr. McCutcheon addressed me quizzically. “Is everything okay?” “We need to leave **now.** Like right now. Like immediately.” Before he could answer, the sound of a wooden door shattering turned our attention to the stairs. An inhuman screech reverberated off the walls as Nobody Nonose floated down the stairs. Mrs. McCutcheon screamed in horror , her husband’s eyes grew wide. “What in the fuck -“ he began. The creature glided toward Mr. McCutcheon, much faster than the speed at which it had approached me , and in an instant it had unhinged its jaw and clamped down on his head. There was a wet squelch as those pinprick teeth punctured the soft flesh of Mr. McCutcheon’s neck. A dull crunch as the monster crushed his skull. The stench of copper filled the room as reams of dark blood cascaded down over Mr. McCutcheon’s body , leaking from the side of the creature’s mouth. “Daddy!” Charlie cried out in horror as Nobody Nonose released what was left of his father’s body, the corpse crumpling to a heap that was rapidly gushing crimson. I slapped a hand over my mouth , not even able to muster a scream. On the other hand, Mrs. McCutcheon screamed bloody murder. She had gone sheet white, hands around the sides of her face. She was in pure disbelief at the sight in front of her. The creature faced her now, her husband’s blood and bits of viscera staining its wide face and dripping from its lips. The woman turned to run, her fight or flight mode activated. She sprinted into the living room, the thing in hot pursuit. It didn’t take long for it to catch her. Her screaming was cut short, and I could only imagine a similar feeding to the one we’d just witnessed was occurring out of our line of vision. There was only silence now. Charlie wept , clinging to my leg, loudly crying out for his mommy and daddy. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid that any movement I made would be an invitation for the thing to float back into the room and wrap those jaws around my head next. After what felt like an eternity had passed, we heard shaky and unsteady footsteps on the hardwood, making their way back into the foyer. Into the room stepped Mrs. McCutcheon, only.. not. Atop the body of the woman I’d called a neighbor since childhood , was the bulbous and jaundiced cranium of Nobody Nonose. Blood flowed down what had once been Mrs. McCutcheon’s body, starting from her freshly torn neck hole. The hole that Nobody Nonose had set itself on. It was almost comedic, that giant monstrous head perched on such a petite frame. The head bobbed from side to side as the creature tried to steady itself on new legs. Slowly, it strode toward us, eyes locked with mine. For the first time that night, it smiled, showing off its red-stained teeth in a wide grin. Charlie continued his wailing, mixed with some nearly unintelligible muttering. “Why did you do that?” He cried. “I thought we were friends, I thought we were friends…” the kid sounded so hopeless and terrified and lost. Who could blame him? Nobody Nonose outstretched “his” arm toward me, grunting expectantly. I understood what he wanted instantly. Did I really have a fucking choice? Wordlessly, and through his screeching protests, I pried Charlie off of my leg and handed him over to the monster that had eaten his parents. Nobody Nonose wrapped Charlie in a tight hug and growled in approval, pressing the child tight against the sopping wet clothes stained by his mother’s blood. The creature gave me one last look before bounding out of the foyer on its shaking and unbalanced legs. I heard a window shatter in the distance as they made their way into the night, Charlie’s screams gradually evaporating into nothing. As I sunk to the floor, I clutched my knees to my chest. Sitting at the foot of the stairs next to Mr. McCutcheon’s headless corpse, I attempted to process what I’d just seen. Suddenly , the front door swung open once again, and i was face to face with my father. “Sam!” He exclaimed. “We heard screaming, we heard a window break, what the hell is going on…” he trailed off, mouth going slack as he surveyed the carnage of the room. He stared at me, wide-eyed, unable to speak. It felt like I was floating in another universe, like I was watching my own dream. Tears streamed from my eyes as I began to laugh uncontrollably, a maniacal and insane cackle. “Hey dad,” I said breathlessly, barely able to even speak in my fit of gut busting hysterics. “What do you call someone with no body and no ?”<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Campfire Tales. Part 1 [RESPONSE] My name is Marcus, and I'm an alcoholic. I know what you're thinking: this is just another sob story about some loser whose life went off the rails after he found the bottle, right? Well, it's not exactly that simple. Bill, my sponsor at Alcoholics Anonymous suggested that should I ever hope to get clean, I'd have to face my demons, once and for all. While he has no reason to suspect that my demons are far more literal than the average addict, I think he's right nonetheless. This is my fourth or fifth time trying to kick the habit. Can't say for sure as so much of my personal history is somewhat cluttered, or otherwise hidden beneath the dregs at the bottom of one bottle or another. At one point, I even branched out into other methods of tucking away reality behind the veil, but the overdose that almost punched my ticket was enough to convince me to stick to more of an ingested form of inebriation. Yes, booze isn't exactly risk-free and all, but it takes a bit more work to drink too much of that, while it only took one needle to lead me right to the threshold of death's door. Excuses, right? Yeah, we addicts are full of those; always something to defend our actions, whether reasonable or not. This isn't about defending my years of intoxication, but the things I wished to drown away in the first place; a confession of my sins, so to speak. I was fourteen when it happened, as me and my fellow Boy Scouts spent the weekend out in the wilderness some miles from my home. It was Liam who talked us into joining up that summer, and while I was a little apprehensive at first, as I'd never been much of an outdoorsy type, John, Malcolm, and Ian were on board as soon as it was suggested. They were basically my only friends, so I wasn't about to be the odd man out, but I'd much rather be at home with my Playstation 2 and Xbox than tossing and turning in a sleeping bag for a few days. Not only that, but I felt as if we were getting a little too old for such things. Once we were out there, though, I ended up having a lot more fun than I had anticipated. Gilroy, the scout leader, was in his early twenties, so he wasn't too uptight or anything; just sort of laid back. He was the uncle of some kid named Bennie, who had been part of the troupe longer than any of us. He was an alright kid; a bit of a know-it-all and a stickler for 'the code', as he called it, but even he managed to relax and chill out some once we got out to the lake. We spent a good bit of that first afternoon fishing and cutting up. I almost impaled John's ear with my hook at one point, but he turned his head just in time to allow it to do no more than tap the back of his head. I was about as coordinated as a drunken breakdancer back then; still am for that matter, though the drink is likely a factor in that. John looked shocked at first as we both just stared at one another when my line finally dropped limp to the grass, but we were cracking up within seconds. Though I would've felt awful if I had jabbed the damn thing into his lobe, I often wonder if a trip to the emergency room would've saved us from those events that still haunt me. When the sun went down on that Saturday the 28th of September, 2002, we set a bonfire, around which we would take turns telling scary stories. Whether this was simply something of a tradition; to gather around the controlled blaze and let our imaginations fly, or we just wanted to inspire each other to have a little extra trouble sleeping that night, with urban legends and folklore keeping our eyes wide and alert, I couldn't say. Whatever the case, I was a little excited about this, as I had always been 'the creative child', while my older brother had a more intellectual and logical mind. When we were just kids, I assumed that was my father's way of avoiding saying I was the stupid one, as he was quite the intelligent man himself, but I loved my ability to daydream about far-off and wonderous places. These days, my creativity only tortures me even more with the things I've been through. After the sun went down, a gentle wind began to caress the lakeside by which we were spending the night. As the temperature dropped, the heat of the fire was a most welcome sensation to my gooseflesh. With the warmth easing our collectively shivering frames, we all sat in a circle around the fire, passing the flashlight that would serve as our microphone from one to the next. While I hadn't necessarily been prepared for this, as it wasn't discussed until the sun fell to rest for the night, I never had a hard time throwing together an impromptu tale. I barely paid attention to most of the stories that would come before mine, as I was mentally preparing for the task at hand; one that I was most certainly taking more seriously than anyone else. That's what I thought at the time anyway. The first handful of tall tales couldn't so much as break through the wall formed around my inwardly mapping out my tale. The fifth kid to speak up; Reggie, I think was his name, almost grabbed my attention, but when the climax ramped up to something bordering on intense, the boy in the story woke up, revealing it was all just a dream in the end. I know these were just silly campfire stories told by children anywhere from ten to fourteen, but I always saw that sort of ending as a cop-out, even if it was just made up on the fly by a sixth grader. I just rolled my eyes before blocking out the next story; the second one to involve a monster under the bed. Even John and Malcolm couldn't produce anything of high enough quality to distract me from my world-building and character development. There were fourteen of us in all, not counting Gilroy, who came off far too enthusiastic about every tale that was spun, but I had made sure to sit next to Bennie, who volunteered to speak first that night, as I wanted mine to be the last. Not only did I want the extra time to craft my tale before the clockwise rotation would lead all eyes to me, but I was certain mine would be an absolute banger; assuring that everyone would have trouble sleeping that night. My mouth was practically watering with anticipation until the flashlight was handed to Liam. From the second he began to speak, I couldn't hope to distract myself from his story; one that sticks to my mind like gorilla glue to this day. With the light shining under his chin, as was the tradition for such tales spun around a fire, his voice sounded both somber and sinister as he spoke. While other kids had joked and laughed during every story that came before, nobody spoke during this one, nor did even one eye drift from the boy highlighted by the illumination of the torchlight and flickering flames. Whether it was the words he spoke or the way he spoke them, I can still recall every syllable, even after all these years. He called this tale: • The Betrayal of the King Barnaby King was not a child that any parent hoped for. Not only was he hideously deformed; something that inspired the nurse to scream out when he was brought into this world, but he would prove to be more than a handful to his mother and father. He did not cry when he was born, nor did he scream out from the shocking and jarring transition into this world; only gazed up at his mother with those tiny, black, and empty eyes. While Katherine and Harold King were in equal stages of horror as they stared down at their newborn abomination, they attempted not to reflect this feeling to one another; only to bravely face the cards they had been dealt. As the years passed by, the Kings would turn away visitors to their home, even their parents who had hoped to be a part of their grandson's life. While they never explained the reasoning behind why they would refuse them entry to their home, it would never stop their loved ones from trying. It was Harold, more so than Katherine, who would not allow young Barnaby to be seen by any prying eyes. Whether it was shame that inspired this or simply those fears he would never speak aloud, his wife was uncertain. Of course, she shared his feelings, regardless of how hard she fought to convince herself that she loved her child. Yes, his nature seemed as grotesque as his face, but she hoped she could find a way to change both aspects for the better someday. By the time Barnaby reached his tenth year in this world, his parents had him confined to the basement. This was something that they were certain was necessary after he began his late-night outings some months prior to the decision to essentially imprison him. It wasn't until Harold noticed the blood trail leading from the woods behind the house to a mutilated corpse of a squirrel, halfway buried next to the patio, that he understood something was amiss. That night after Katherine had allowed her sleeping pills to kick in, he stayed awake to keep an eye on things. He snuck out to his tool shed at the rear of the backyard, right next to the tree line, making sure to remain as silent as possible so as not to alert any wildlife to his presence. Though he had a sneaking suspicion of who indeed was responsible for the strewn-apart remains of the forest creature, he desperately hoped he was mistaken. When he saw young Barnaby stealthily creeping from the back door through the split wood of the shed's wall, he felt his back tense with the knowledge that his first impression had been the right one. The boy darted those black eyes from one side to the other as he snuck softly across the yard, hunched over with slick drool seeping from that enlarged and low-hanging underbite. Finding himself reluctant to follow his son into the woods as he watched him pass his view from the shed, Harold realized he had not fully thought this through. Yes, the boy was still small for his age, but he still wore some scars left in the wake of the jagged teeth from those early years. He couldn't help but feel that should Barnaby not locate something to satiate his hunger, he would turn those ankle biters on his father once more. He still argued with himself that his own flesh and blood could not truly be capable of such a grievous act, regardless of this late-night jaunt into the woods. It was as he waged this inner debate, uncertain of how much time had passed, that he noticed his son coming back into view. The rabbit he held between the elongated fingers of his left hand was wriggling and squealing, but the child paid its moans no mind. Harold had to cover his mouth to prevent a similarly pitched shriek from escaping when the boy raised the panicked animal to his lips. The horrified sounds of the poor creature combined with the tearing of its fur-lined flesh caused the man hidden away in the shed to close his eyes, lest his dinner retching to the floor expose him. Even covering his ears, he could not fully block away the moist, ripping, and snapping of bones as Barnaby finished his snack. Once those gruesome noises dissipated, a reluctant Harold glanced back through the split wood to see the boy still holding what was left of the blood-soaked rabbit in the hand that hung below his knees. Again he glanced from one side to the next as he approached the house, kneeling and pulling away a loose board beneath the patio, stashing the beast away. After the work was done, he crept back into his home, taking one more glance behind him. Harold could swear that blackened eye gazed directly into the wide and trembling one that peered through the gap in the wall, but when his son gently closed the door behind him, he finally allowed a shaky breath to escape his lips. Surprisingly, it wasn't difficult to convince Barnaby to relocate to the basement, though at the time, he was not yet aware he would remain locked away behind a heavy and padlocked door. Harold had performed the renovations himself, being quite adept in working with his hands, as any seasoned contractor should be. He was just as glad of the soundproofing as the sturdy walls and doors by the time the boy understood his new circumstances. They would make sure he was fed through a slot in the door. He had a full bathroom, fitted with a shower in his apartment below ground level, as well as cable, gaming systems, and plenty of books to entertain him. These measures were taken to ease their conscience, more than their sons' needs, of course, but it was enough to help them sleep at night, as well as resuming activities they had not indulged in since Barnaby came along. When Lilian was born; something that filled the couple with terror, as they feared another demon spawn had taken root in Katherine's womb, they were thrilled to see that they finally had the child they had always hoped for. She was the light of their lives, and just as beautiful as her mother was at such a young age. Naturally, they planned to never introduce their children to one another; something that would require a lot more work as she grew older. Seasons came and went; each one bringing new and wonderful experiences with the King's and their little girl. She was a well-behaved little girl for the most part, aside from the time she got in a scuffle with a boy at school. Harold boiled over with rage when she informed him that the older child was teasing her, before pushing her around. Having been something of a hothead in his youth; one prone to lashing out at others should he find a reason to, Lily's father had to compose himself after hearing this. While he was tempted to go to the boy's house and confront him for what he did, he swore he would never return to his old and impulsive ways. When his daughter assured him all was well; how the kid left her alone after she sank her teeth into his arm, Harold let go of his rage. He was; however, quite concerned about the possibility of Lily having ingested any of the blood, had she even bit down enough to break the skin. While she understood his concerns, especially with all of the potential illnesses out there that she may or may not have exposed herself to, her father was relieved to hear she had not caused any more than some bruising with her bite. While the Kings' would attend every event they could at their daughters' school; talent shows and plays, track meets, and all, they felt no guilt about neglecting Barnaby. Lily was an outgoing girl with a great many friends, and her parents did everything they could to please her, while only granting minimal efforts to assure themselves that their son maintained his sorrowful existence. It was on the eve of young Lily's eleventh birthday that their happy life took a far more brutal turn; one that would rip their world apart in a matter of minutes at most. Unbeknownst to Katherine and Harold, their daughter had been aware of her sibling for some years by this point. Though they had never been able to meet face to face, they had found a way to communicate. When she was much smaller and far lighter on her feet, she had followed behind her father as he carried the nightly meal to her brother. While they always made sure she was otherwise occupied or distracted when one of them would make those excursions to the basement, twice a day, the Kings had not noticed that she had grown steadily more aware of their more erratic behavior at those times of the day. Being a curious child, as many would be under such circumstances, she planned out her investigation for a solid week before taking the plunge. Her heart was positively racing as she crept behind her father, making sure to duck down or hide behind whatever furniture she may be closest to should he look to be about to turn. Though tracking her target through the quite large house ended when he reached the door to the basement, as he locked it behind him, she knew now what her next steps would be. Harold kept the keys to the entrance to the stairway that led to the apartment below hanging with those others from the loop of his belt. She would have to work more stealthily than ever to retrieve this while her parents slept, but she was certain she could pull it off. When her loving guardians tucked her in that night, she would not allow sleep to take her. While it wasn't easy to keep herself awake, especially given the fact she had to resist the urge to play or otherwise occupy her mind in the darkness of her bedroom, she managed to battle away slumber. It was around two in the morning that she made her move, creaking open the door to her room before approaching the one occupied by her folks. Though she was fully prepared with an excuse; one involving nightmares that sprung her eyes back open, leading her to seek refuge in her parents' bed, she was still increasingly nervous as she entered their room. She moved swiftly and silently as she clutched her hand around the keys, sitting on the nightstand, squeezing them tightly to not allow a potential jingle to alert her father to her subterfuge. She was panting for breath as she made her way back into the hallway, but she had achieved the first part of her goal. It didn't take her tiny legs long to reach the locked door and her fingers were tingling with anticipation, quickly turning to frustration as she tried one key after the other. With another heavy and trembling sigh, she finally located the correct key, splaying open the door before her. Barnaby was scared at first when she spoke softly through the flap in the heavy entrance to his apartment. His fear momentarily gave way to anger when she revealed who she was; something that made the little girl afraid, leading her to begin to back away. His rage dissipated quickly when the only friendly voice he had ever heard began to fade, inspiring him to practically beg her to stay. For hours they spoke that night, eventually allowing the boy to grow comfortable with his sister enough to lean his face down to the thin flap through which his meals were delivered. She gasped at first, even seeing only the portion of him that she could make out, but when she reached her tiny fingers through the slender opening to touch the rough texture of her brother's cheek, he felt a warmth he had never known. Before Lily returned to her bedroom, Barnaby confessed to his sister his efforts to escape. While he had achieved no more than the slightest of splits at the top of the wall between him and the outside world, over years of scraping away at it with the plastic cutlery provided with his meals, it was enough for something. Each day from then, sometimes multiple times if the coast was clear enough, they two would pass notes back and forth. Though Lily would occasionally make late-night stealth missions to converse with her brother, she could not risk overdoing it, as her father could be quite perceptive at times. Still, while she had all in life for which a girl could ask, she finally had that one thing that money could not buy: an older brother. After three years of such meager forms of communication, Lily swore to her brother that she would set him free. Being that she had only heard his version of the things that left him hidden away from the world, she saw him as the victim in this, while her beloved parents were somewhat nefarious in so many ways that she never could have predicted. While the keychain she would sneak away with in the wee hours of the morning did not include those that would unlatch the numerous locks Barnaby was imprisoned behind, it would take weeks for her to uncover where the ones she needed were hidden. It was on a school day in midweek when she would ultimately track them down, having convinced her loving guardians she was in no fit state to leave the house. Given that she had never shown the slightest signs of irresponsibility to her mother and father, they did not question her motivations, though neither of them could stay home with her that day, as they had their own responsibilities to attend to. She assured them she would not need a babysitter; something that took some effort to persuade them on, but she could be quite the talented actress when she wanted something badly enough. Having shadowed her father for those weeks leading up to the planned jailbreak, she saw that he would always return to his study after dropping off the daily meals to his son. Though he would close the door behind him, she still managed to take a peek through the keyhole. It was then that she was able to see him inspecting the contents of a drawer on the left side of his desk. He only took a glance before closing and locking it, but she assumed it was a ritual of sorts; to ensure the keys to his son's prison remained untouched. Though Harold had his keychain looped to his belt as he reluctantly headed to work that morning, Lily saw no reason to leave things as she found them this time. It would be very clear what had transpired when he would return that evening; that his prisoner had been freed. The crowbar she found amongst the other tools in the garage made quick work of the drawer, even with the desk being seemingly made of quality materials. When she looked upon the only contents; the ring of keys she had hoped to find there, Lily wasted no time in sprinting to the basement, using the crowbar once more to spring open the door at the top of the stairs. Though it took some time to decipher which key went to which lock, that only made her smile that much more genuine when she truly looked upon her brother, face to face, for the first time. Yes, those small, blackened eyes and low-hanging jaw, lined with needle-thin teeth unsettled her somewhat, even with the teasing glances through the slot in the bottom of the door. The small, upturned nose and pointed ears, with scraggly long ginger hair hanging beside them were equally as jarring, but his expression, if that's what she could call it, only held love behind it. They embraced one another, each leaking tears upon their siblings' shoulders. Barnaby had never known this sensation; to truly feel wanted and adored. All he was familiar with was contempt and hatred for having the nerve to be brought into this world, but Lily only saw her brother in those glossy eyes, not the monster their father knew him to be. It was while they were packing up his belongings; what little he had, that a sound inspired both of their faces to grow cold from blood loss. The front door of the house being unlocked and opened, followed by frenzied curses spitting from their mother's lips when she seemingly saw the basement door ajar, left the two with limited options. Lily asked her brother to stay behind as she walked up the steps to find Katherine already standing in the doorway, looking as pale and shocked as the young girl felt. Barnaby heard his sister as she attempted to convince their mother to grant the boy freedom; something she seemed unwilling to hear. He tried to cover his ears to block out the argument between mother and daughter as it grew more erratic, but it was of little use. Finally, hopeful that he could somehow aid in this debate, he slowly paced up the steps for the first time in years. He walked through the doorway to see his mother on the phone, seemingly demanding that her husband returns to his home immediately. She screamed so loudly when she turned to see her son, that Barnaby thought her hair may just turn white from the shock. As it was his father who would bring him his meals, he had not so much as heard Katherine's voice in so long, let alone seen her face, but he could easily recall that expression of hatred and disgust she gave him. Be it from the trembling of his extremities, or just the shame of those old familiar looks the sight of him would bring, he was only vaguely aware of what happened next; at first, anyway. As he and the woman who birthed him stared at one another; each in their own initial stages of anguish, their shared expressions turned to horror when little Lilian leaped on her mother, sinking her teeth into the meaty tissue of her throat. As the blood practically gushed against the walls, Barnaby fell to his knees, barely able to wrap his mind around what he was witnessing. When his sister pulled her head back, tearing away the grizzled and sticky fibers, her mother just glared at her in shock as she fell to the floor. "What did you do?" Barnaby asked, shaking his head from side to side. "It was the only way, my love," she replied, wiping her mouth with the back of her arm, smearing her mother's lifeblood across her cheek in the process. She still looked upon her brother with loving affection, even as her face began to contort as her body grew. "I'll show you how to do it if you want," she said as her appearance finalized its transition, leaving her a carbon copy of the woman who lay dead on the floor, "You don't have to live like that. Not if you don't want to." She lay her hand on the mutated face of her brother, allowing him to convince himself for a moment that his mother had finally accepted him. Though she had already dragged the body down to the basement when their father arrived back home, she had not a chance to clean away the shimmering crimson puddle left in its wake, nor the drag marks that led to the door. Harold demanded to know what had happened, terrified that Barnaby had gotten loose and devoured his darling baby girl. Lily disposed of him just as quickly as she had his wife; this time luring him into an embrace with her stolen tongue, digging her teeth into his throat when his guard was down. Her brother had not witnessed this one, as he lingered in the basement with the remains of his mother; something he had not the slightest desire to be trapped beside, regardless of his sister's insistence he hide away while she dealt with daddy. When she walked back down the stairs; this time wearing Harold's face, she dropped his body beside his wife, before she knelt beside the only family she cared about. "They lied to us," she said, again caressing his face with her hand, "they would've never let you loose. It had to be done." Barnaby did not speak, only gazed with his tiny, black eyes as wide as they were capable of growing. When Lily dipped her hand into the pool of blood surrounding her mother, she held it to her brother's face. "It's easy," she said, pulling his recoiling head back to face her, "I learned it long ago; what we can do. I know you can do it too." As she pressed her other hand on the low-hanging jaw, she poured the blood cupped in her palm. When Barnaby attempted to turn away and spit out the foul-tasting fluid, she slapped his mouth back shut, holding it in place until he swallowed. It took some hours, as well as a lot of convincing from his sister; some debating, retching, and even arguing, but by the time night fell, the boy stood his mother's image, while Lily maintained her father's form. "Anyone you drink, you can become them," she said, mimicking Harold's voice, "that's what I've found anyway. Never tried an animal, but it might work too." Barnaby nodded, only replying to her when expected. Though she had lied to her father about breaking the skin of the older boy who bullied her when she was younger, she was well aware of what his concerns truly were at the time. When she gazed into the bathroom mirror, after fleeing from the child as he attempted to stop the flow of blood, she saw not herself, but the boy she left leaking fluids upon the grass. She never understood why Harold King had turned his back on what she believed him to be; the exact thing she and her brother were, but it was his neglect of their god-given gifts that fueled the hatred she grew towards him. Had he allowed his children to learn what they were capable of at an earlier age, her brother need never have been locked away from the world, as he could have taken any face he chose, rather than being led to believe he was a monster this whole time. Though Barnaby had despised his parents for as long as he could remember, he never wanted this. He was ashamed of these baser instincts that led him to feed on the wildlife behind their home when he was far too young to understand why. Admittedly, he could have never predicted this, but he would not continue to be a part of it; that much he swore to himself. Some hours after the two had laid down to rest; Lily back in her bedroom, having returned to her smaller proportions, and Barnaby still wearing his mother's face, he crept out into the night, not unlike how he had in his younger years. He would not seek out anything to fulfill those once-forgotten urges, nor would he return to the house in which he had been imprisoned. While he did love his sister, he could not stay with her; not after witnessing what she was capable of. The young girl was heartbroken when she awoke the following morning to find no trace of her beloved brother. Her temper raged, inspiring her to beat holes in the walls and tip and break the furniture her parents had worked hard to accumulate. As time went on, she grew bitter and resentful of the one she had set free; the one she had killed for. She swore she would track him down someday and make him pay for leaving her alone; something she was now so close to, she could practically smell his fear. • Every eye around the campfire was glued to Liam as he finished his tale, as he cut his gaze from one of us to the next. With the madness and fury behind his reddening stare, I finally understood that this was not simply some story he made up for the sake of scaring his fellow scouts, but that Lilian King herself sat before us, hidden away behind the boy I called a friend.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Is it normal to have a smile growing in my attic? [RESPONSE] What am I saying, of course it’s not normal. I don’t know where this thing came from. A mold started to grow in my attic that had a shape. It started out as a little pile of dust that I noticed when I was getting christmas decorations from my attic. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. “It’s an attic, of course it’s going to be dusty.” But then it started to grow. Everytime I notice the growth it seems to get bigger. The bigger it gets the more intrigued I become about what it could be. Then, about mid February I noticed it smiling at me. The mold stuff was really smiling at me. Just a small smile at first, but now it was teeth. Sharp, misshapen teeth. It’s beginning to grin at me.  I’ve had seven mold experts come to my house, each time I pray that they see what I am seeing. All the men who have come to my house and inspect my attic end up looking at me like I’m crazy. I have insisted with them to use the moisture meters and take any test possible to determine that there is mold there. Every answer is the same. “I don’t see any mold in this attic in the first place. It looks spotless.”   “There is seriously nothing there. Your attic is actually the cleanest attic I’ve ever seen.” Number seven says to me. He even has the commercial grade mold remover in his hand, and yet he doesn’t see the massive growth of mold the size of my torso.  “Well yeah… I have been bleaching this entire attic every week because that fucking smile keeps coming back bigger than before.”  “You need to be careful using that much bleach, it’s a very harmful chemical you know. It can go straight to your head and fuck you up big time.” He pats me on the shoulder with a ‘this poor girl’ look. God, can someone just take me seriously? Does this guy seriously think I’m high on bleach fumes? I led him out the door and back to his car. It’s a warm summer day and from the outside of my house everything looks cheery and completely ordinary. But, on the inside something evil is growing. Don’t ask me how, I just know whatever is growing in my house wants me. Clearly I have to figure this thing out on my own. Maybe I should call a psychic. Or maybe someone from Area 51? No. It’ll be useless. I have to go up there and find out what it is.  I make my way back to the attic, this time with a camera in my hand. If I can take a picture of it, maybe I can show it to other people. No one can dispute a picture.  *Snap.* The polaroid dispenses the picture and… It’s there! It’s really there captured on film! Thank god for all of those horrible ghost watcher shows that were always playing during my long college nights, they really were educational.  I look at the polaroid once more, completely elated that this stupid piece of information worked. But that’s when I noticed it. There was an arm like shape that wasn’t there when I had the mold guy in the attic. It seemed to be reaching out at me from the wall. No, not reaching, pointing.  I look up horrified, and at first all I see is that smile… But it has formed into a new shape. While I was standing right there, too distracted by this fucking picture it changed from a general blob shape, to a human shape. It now had a torso, arms, shoulders, and a head with that same smile right there on the face. I can’t believe what I am seeing. This gray mass of mold that had tormented me for months with that awful smile now looks human.  I ran back downstairs, shaking and confused. But, I’m not confused by what I just saw… I was confused because the moment I crossed the threshold out of my attic, I stopped smiling. The entire time I was in the attic I was grinning. What is happening to me? Am I really going crazy? I held my sore cheeks and my mind raced about what to do.  “I need to bleach the attic again.” “No, I can’t go back up there.” “I need to pray.” “I need to show someone this picture.” “Maybe the library has some books on strange mold.”  “Jesus Christ, will you stop shaking like this? Pull yourself together you spineless bitch.”  “Not Jesus Christ.” “It’s stuck to the wall. Maybe if I never go in there again nothing bad will happen.”  “Go into the attic.”  “It is a very nice attic.” “Pray.”  “I do have a lot of stuff up there that I need.”  “Find me.”  “It’s just mold. I can deal with that.”  “Pray.” “Why do I feel this way?” “Pray.” “I think I need to go into the attic and pray…” “Pray.” “Yes.” “Pray.” “NO! What is happening? It’s getting inside my head!”  “Worship me.” “No! Why!” “Worship me, you have been for months. You can’t get me out of your head and now you have willingly let me in. Just come upstairs and worship me.” There’s no way for me to escape this thing. I know it.  Without another thought I run to the attic door and slam it shut. Locking the door the moment it shuts. Now I understand why the attic door has a lock on the outside. I board up the attic door and breathe a sigh of relief. Whatever this is, hopefully it dies there. The voice has stopped. For months I didn’t hear one peep of that slimy voice in my head. Until just last night, before I drifted asleep, I heard it. A slow, methodical knocking… Coming from the attic door.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The street light [RESPONSE] My neighborhood is just like any other, boring houses with small yards, boring people inside with boring jobs. This neighborhood is just as normal as any other, or so I thought. When I first moved into my house I noticed something strange, the street light right next to my house flickers. This is nothing too unusual, maybe it was just faulty wiring or just an old lightbulb inside. For some reason I always felt uneasy when I was near the light, as if it was somehow warning me about something. I always avoided walking under that particular light, and if I was in my yard at night with my dogs then I had my outside lights on. I’m not a person that was scared of the dark or anything, but this particular darkness felt…..different and somehow sinister. I thought I was just being paranoid, just being a big baby. I kept saying it was nothing, until it happened... It was a particularly cold night with a bit of heavy rain, I was taking the dogs outside to use the bathroom for the last time that night. And as we headed back inside I caught a glimps of the light, as I looked at it the flickering seemed to increase in speed. Then it seemed to just turn off for a few seconds, and while the light was off I swear I could see something standing under it. I couldn't exactly make out how big it was, but it had to be big because it almost reached the top of the street light. It was a somewhat slender figure with long limbs, and what seemed to be horns? And the bones of wings? I swore I saw it but then the light came back on and it was gone, must've been my imagination I thought as I closed my door and locked up the house. I completely ignored the incident and got comfortable in my room, my dogs were sleeping soundly in their beds and all seemed quiet aside from the rain outside. From my bedroom window I could still see the light flickering, and occasionally it would just turn off. But I thought nothing of it and started to get ready for bed. From outside I heard a dragging noise, like something heavy was being dragged through the cold, wet street. I looked outside but saw nothing, even though the sound was getting louder. Outside I saw a group of teenagers taking a late night walk, usually nobody walks down this street but I guess they were just in the mood to do something new. After a few moments they got really close to the street light and I heard them joke about it being haunted, I let out a little chuckle but then stopped once I heard them screaming. I looked outside once more and only saw two teenagers left, they looked terrified and were covered in a gray oily looking substance. They were running and screaming, the closest house to them was mine so they ran to my door. My dogs were already at the door barking and scratching it, they've never been so energetic for me to open the door. But I assumed they were worried about the teenagers screaming on the other side. I quickly opened my door to let them in and as soon as they were inside they shut and locked the door, then they barricaded the door and windows with anything they could find. I tried calming them down by assuring them they were safe but they were too terrified to talk. After a few minutes they were calm enough to talk, I felt bad for them because these boys were shaking in fear as they told me about what they saw. They told me how as they were walking, a giant monster appeared under the street light, they tried running but the monster was swift and grabbed a few of their friends. It threw a gray blob at them to slow them down and the mysterious gray matter burned their skin, they ran to the first house they saw. I let them get cleaned up in the bathroom and wrapped their injurys, I gave them some tea and food. I then offered to drive them home but they were still too scared to go outside, so I let them stay the night since it was late anyway. It took a while for them to fall asleep but they eventually did. I heard a strange noise outside and couldn't resist the urge to look, a car was driving down the road and as soon as it reached the street light the light turned off and a monster appeared. The car was lifted off the ground and I watched as the monster tore the car into pieces and ate everyone inside, them it ate the car. I was frozen in fear and I watched the monster turn its body to face my house, then we locked eyes. The monster became more demonic looking each second, its eyes were like red glowing fire. And it's body was covered in thorns, and its horns twisted towards each other. It's body seemed to drip with a gray substance, and it's figure seemed to tower over me. The more I looked at it the closer it seemed to get. It stopped moving once it was right in front of my house, the monster then hunched down to my window and seemed to laugh. As it laughed, a gray oily substance leaked from its eyes and mouth. The gray matter pooled on the floor and seeped into the walls of my house, then the monster was gone. I went to go check on the sleeping boys in the living room, but instead I found them covered in the gray matter. Then their bodies started to disintegrate, and the gray substance seeped back outside the house. The monster was next to my window again, and scooped up the gray matter into its mouth and drank it. Then it looked at me and told me in an eery and deep voice; "Shhhhh, don't tell anyone about this and I'll let you and your dogs live. But once a year I need to eat, so when you see me make sure to have some friends over or maybe don't help my next meal escape." I slowly nodded in agreement as I watched the monster disappear under the street light. I haven't seen it in a while, maybe I imagined the whole thing. Maybe it was all in my head. Would you like to come over to find out?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] When The Time Comes We Shall Reseed The Earth [RESPONSE] One day, the world as you know it is going to end and when that happens, we will be there to pick up the pieces and start again. I know that sounds ominous. But I don’t mean it like that. If anything, I see it as an opportunity for new growth. New life. I think that is something to get excited about, don’t you? It’s why I joined the program. It’s why I gave up everything and worked so hard to ensure that when the world tears itself apart, it can be rebuilt. My name is Christina Cowie and I am part of the Global Adaptation and Repopulation Initiative. It’s unlikely that you’ve ever heard of us. We don’t deal with the public. It was decided long ago that it was better to keep us out of the public eye. People like to pretend that we aren’t headed for an inevitable ending and a public reminder would upset them more than anything else. We don’t want that. Personally, I hope that whatever ending comes isn’t one we’ll see in our lifetime. But even if that is the case, I want to lay the groundwork to restore the world anyway, even if I don’t live to see it bear fruit. It’s all about the big picture, you see. You leave something behind for those who follow. It’s the right thing to do. One of the first things that GARI set out to do when it was created years ago was ensure the survival of all nonhuman species in the event of an apocalyptic event, to maintain biodiversity. While to this day, the cataloguing of species continues, I’ve always considered that part of the project to be a noble but possibly doomed initiative. Any event that would change the world so severely would leave scars upon the earth. The life that currently exists will very likely no longer be able to survive and thrive on the earth as it will be after the apocalypse. Drastic changes in temperature, loss of habitat, radiation, oxygen saturation, the variables are too many to count. While I have no doubt that some of the hardier species will find a way to survive, others won’t. It’s why I chose to specialize in something a little bit different. Creating new life that possibly could survive in the new world that would be waiting and I have to say it’s been rewarding. My team and I have planned for every possible eventuality. We’ve taken steps to give evolution the little push that it needs to keep some of our most incredible species from dying out. I could spend months discussing the exciting new species that we’ve synthesized to deal with all sorts of apocalyptic events. Ultimately though, that’s not why I’m writing this. You see, genetic experimentation is a risky endeavor that exists in a legal gray area and comes with some very serious potential consequences if anything goes wrong. We only allow some of our non predatory specimens to mature in a highly controlled environment so we can observe them and ensure that they are capable of survival. We’ve taken drastic measures to ensure that nothing can get out and cause problems with the local ecosystem. Very drastic measures. If, for example, one of our crustacean species adapted to live in a radioactive deep sea climate were to somehow find its way out of the facility, it would have about a 600 kilometer fall before it reaches the earth, and it would almost certainly burn up in the atmosphere long before it landed on the surface of the planet. I’m quite certain that there’s nothing that could survive that. It’s hard for genetically modified life to escape and invade the surrounding ecosystem when your surrounding ecosystem is the vacuum of space. I can’t imagine how expensive it was to set up the GARI Enhanced Evolution Laboratories, but it’s really something impressive. Our facility is top of the line and the work we do here is worth the inconveniences of living in a low gravity environment, and even that has been minimized with the recent experimental rotational gravity engines that keep the labs somewhat stable. You can float in some of the outer living modules, but you can’t float in the labs. The transition is always a little weird. It’s not quite the same as being back on solid ground, and the lab doesn’t exactly have all the comforts of home. But they do as much as they can, and it’s not all bad. For instance, the view is surprisingly beautiful. If you’ve never seen the sunset from outer space, you should. It’s indescribably beautiful, and somewhat surreal, watching a wave of light lovingly cascade across the surface of the planet. Our science team works in rotations. We spend 90 days up in the GARI EE Lab studying our live specimens, and 180 days on solid ground focusing on the more technical aspects of our work. It ensures that we have plenty of time to spend with family and loved ones, as well as helps prevent the negative side effects of spending too long in a low G environment. So far, the project has been a success. I’ve always felt that my work was more rewarding than demanding and I’ve never had a valid reason to question the security in the EE Lab before. Not until recently. At 0600 hours, on the 61st day of my rotation up on the EE Lab, a lockdown notification was sent out across the station. The procedure is clear. When a lockdown is engaged, all non-security personnel are to head to one of the safe rooms. If the problem becomes so severe that our security team cannot contain it, then security is to enter the secondary safe rooms, and every area except for the safe rooms will be filled with a potent toxic gas. All live specimens are to be terminated and then after at least a minimum decontamination period, all staff is to be evacuated from the station. Work will then resume during the next cycle, when it is safe to do so. In all of my experience, we’ve only had two lockdowns and both were drills. The toxic gas was never actually deployed in those instances. I mentioned before that we also only permit non-predatory species to mature. While some of the species we have allowed to live on the station can be dangerous (as can any animal) our policies make it clear that we are not to take any unreasonable risks and they are extremely strict on what they allow us to bring up for observation. With all of that in mind, as concerning as a lockdown was, I assumed it was really nothing more than a precaution. Something had probably slipped out of its enclosure (Possibly the cephalopod we’d bred to survive in a highly oxygenated environment) and security would need to either kill it or put it back (probably the latter.) At the time the lockdown notification was sent out, I was in our large aquatic animal enclosure, working with Dr. Laura Blanchards team in running some tests on the radiation-adaptive species of amphibian we’d bred. It had settled in near the bottom of its tank, perched on a log that was part of the enclosure. Algae clung to its skin and its gills flared as it examined its surroundings with big, watchful eyes. The creature (Which was officially called Specimen 19223, but whom we’d dubbed Bob) had a fairly gentle demeanor and fed mostly on dead plant life. It resembled a large salamander or an axolotl. The gills weren’t quite as pronounced and I’ll admit that it was just a little bit cute, despite its considerable size. As soon as we got the lockdown notification though, all work had to stop. I could see a distinct look of frustration on Dr. Blanchard's face. Like me, she hates being interrupted and she probably suspected that this was either another drill, or such a minor inconvenience that it was hardly worth going into lockdown over. Still, she set her clipboard down and sighed. “Alright, everyone. Lockdown has been engaged. Please proceed to the nearest safe room.” Her tone was matter of fact and disinterested. Despite the buzzing from most of our PDAs, there wasn’t much panic. Instead, people just moved toward the safe room in a fairly calm and organized manner. I spotted our supervisor, Dr. Page amongst the 4 others already in the safe room. He had his PDA in his hand and was keeping a close eye on it, frantically tapping away at it. I assumed he was just as annoyed as the rest of us to have been interrupted. I didn’t pay him much mind. My guess was that this would be no more than a minor setback. Irritating, yes. But nothing we couldn’t handle. I noticed Dr. Page had started speaking to a member of security who had come in with us, and said security team member departed off to a quieter corner of the safe room to speak into his radio. If I were a more paranoid person, I might have been bothered by his urgency… But I’ve never been the paranoid sort. I think I’ve made it clear that I trusted our protocols. Out of curiosity, I did check the alert on my PDA. I wasn’t sure if it would specify exactly which asset was out of containment, but I figured that it couldn’t hurt to look. The alert didn’t give me any specifics, so I checked through the status of all active specimens, just to sate my curiosity while we waited for security to do their job. Specimen 19223 (Bob) was obviously secure and the seals on the other active specimens looked to be normal too. Specimens 19430, a species of highly resistant beetle we had bred looked to be secure (They were another one I’d have expected to escape), and Specimen 19302, the aforementioned cephalopod also appeared secure. Interesting… Looking through our files, all specimens appeared to be secure… Maybe this was just a drill, then? But we were usually warned in advance when a drill was being called. I looked up at Dr. Page again. He was off in a corner with security, speaking in a hushed but seemingly urgent tone. I noticed that Dr. Blanchard was looking at me, her brow furrowed and she approached me through the small crowd of other scientists. “Does your PDA tell you what got out?” She asked. “No, it looks like everything is where it belongs.” I replied. “I guess this is just a drill?” “It’s taking an awfully long time for a drill…” Dr. Blanchard murmured. She looked warily back over at Dr. Page. I couldn’t help but think that he looked agitated. We both watched him as he said something under his breath, then went for the door. Security followed him as he went for the keypad to open the door. He didn’t address those of us in the room. Instead, the guard he had with him watched us as if he was making sure that the rest of us didn’t leave with Dr. Page. We weren’t the only ones who noticed him leaving. I don’t remember who asked about it, as soon as he’d disappeared out the door but the only answer that our remaining security guard seemed to give was: “Dr. Page has gone to check on things. He’ll be back shortly.” It was almost two hours later that that started to feel like it might have been a lie. I think it goes without saying that drills don’t last for two hours and as time crept by, our frustration at this incident very quickly turned into genuine concern. It was one of our other associates, Dr. Harbor who started asking the questions first. “What exactly is taking so long?” He asked the guard, “By this point, the failsafe should’ve triggered, shouldn’t it?” “I’m sorry Doctor. But I’m afraid I don’t have any updates.” The guard replied, a little too dutifully. I couldn’t help but notice his voice wavering a little, as if he was just as worried as we were. “Well don’t you think you should?” Dr. Harbor said, “These saferooms aren’t designed for long term occupation. They’re vacuum sealed. Dependent on an outside oxygen source. Those reserves are only made to last for six hours. We’ve probably used a third of it already.” “Closer to half. It’s been two hours and twenty five minutes since lockdown was declared…” Dr. Blanchard noted, “Doesn’t standard operation procedure dictate when the gas gets turned on? There has to be a time limit.” “That was removed.” The guard said, “We thought it would be better to manually control the gas and minimize the risk of exposing our team to it, in case the search took longer than normal. If it’s a nonlethal specimen -” “The question isn’t risk of exposure. It’s how long we can stay locked up.” Dr. Blanchard said, “Dr. Harbor just explained it!” She glanced at me looking for backup, although my mind was elsewhere. “Dr. Cowie, you agree with me, don’t you?” When I didn’t respond, she called me again. “Dr. Cowie?” I glanced over at her, finally coming back to my senses. “Yes… I agree. Part of the question is air supply right now.” I said, “But security would know that… Dr. Page would know that. If they use the gas, it could be another hour or two until it’d dispersed… Factoring in the time we’ve already spent here. That’d be cutting it awfully close, don’t you think?” I looked around. The guard, Dr. Blanchard and Dr. Harbor just stared at me. “Has anyone had an update on their PDA? Don’t you think that’s weird?” “What exactly are you suggesting right now?” Dr. Harbor asked. “I don’t know what I’m suggesting. I’m just looking at the facts.” I said, “We are nearing the halfway point before the saferooms run out of air and we will be forced to leave. The gas, which must be dispersed manually, has not yet been dispersed when it should have by now. Neither Dr. Page nor the outside security team has given us any updates. Look at this information and tell me what it points to.” Dr. Blanchard went quiet for a moment. “Something is wrong…” She finally said, “Some sort of critical failure… Life support maybe? It couldn’t have been the escaped animal. Nothing we keep up here is that dangerous! It sure as hell couldn’t wipe out an entire team!” “Not that we’re aware of.” Dr. Harbor said, “These animals could have any number of traits we haven’t observed yet! That’s half the reason for the extensive security! If we corner something we made up here, it could shoot acid from its eyes or something. We don’t know!” “And take out the entire security team?” Dr. Blanchard scoffed, “Listen to yourself!” “What about some of the creatures in Lab C?” The guard asked. All three of us looked at him. “Lab C?” I asked. “Yeah… I’ve been in there with Dr. Page before. He was examining some of the predatory species.” My heart skipped a beat. Predatory species? “What do you mean predators? We don’t permit predatory species up here!” Dr. Blanchard said, “Dr. Page knew that!” “I mean, they weren’t big!” The guard said, “Like, a coyote or a bobcat or something. I saw them cutting one open to study its biology. It was dead, obviously.” “But it was mature, right?” I asked, “The animal you saw, it was an adult?” “I think so? But like I said, it was dead.” Dr. Blanchard and I exchanged a look. “That idiot… If he was allowing predators to mature…” “He had to be keeping them at the lab.” I finished, “This is the only place he could’ve grown them.” “And if he was, what the hell are we going to do about it?” Dr. Harbor demanded. For a moment, all three of us were silent. “If we assume that the team is compromised, then it may be necessary to trigger the gas manually…” Dr. Blanchard said, “One of us would need to find the mechanism and do it.” “It would be in the security office.” The guard said, “It has an airtight seal like this to keep the gas out. If we could make it there…” “If!” Dr. Harbor said, “I don’t like *if*!” “If is all we’ve got right now.” Dr. Blanchard said, “I vote we go out. We enable the failsafe ourselves.” “What if they trigger it while you’re outside?” Dr. Harbor asked, “You’ll be killed!” “At this point, I’m just as likely to be killed staying here or by whatever got out of containment.” Dr. Blanchard said, “So, am I going alone or not?” “I’m going with you.” I said, “It should’ve triggered by now… And there’s safety in numbers.” “I’ll go too.” The guard added. “At least I’m armed. Maybe I could help.” The three of us all looked at Dr. Harbor who swore under his breath. “Shit… Shit I’m going to fucking die today, aren’t I?” He asked before shaking his head, “Whatever… Open the doors. Let’s go outside. See if we can’t unfuck this situation.” The guard gave a curt nod, before going to open the door for us. As he worked, I took a deep breath. I looked at Dr. Harbor… The man could be hotheaded but he wasn’t an idiot. He was right about the danger. But if this was as bad as we thought, something would need to be done. The door opened with a hiss. Dr. Blanchard was the first one out, followed by our security guard, Gibson. (Gibson was the name printed on his vest. We never got around to actually formally introducing ourselves.) I looked back to see Dr. Harbor lingering behind before he swore under his breath and finally stepped out. He looked a little redder in the face than usual and kept glancing around like he was expecting something to pounce on us immediately. “The security office is this way.” Gibson the Security Guard said, gesturing for us to follow. He’d unholstered his gun although it didn’t make me feel that much safer. The hallways of the EE Laboratories seemed a lot less welcoming than usual. Usually, they were at least somewhat full of life but as we made our way through them, they felt so much deader than ever before. I suppose that was a good thing… We saw no signs of violence. No bodies. No bloodstains… All seemed peaceful and relatively quiet. “It’s not that far.” Gibson said, “A few more hallways.” He had to open his mouth… As he rounded a corner ahead of us, Gibson suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, his breath slightly catching in his throat. “Oh God…” It took a moment before we saw what he saw. The blood was the first thing that stood out to us. It was smeared along the walls in visceral patterns. The body lay strewn along the hall. One arm and one leg was missing. The stomach had been torn open and the entrails were strewn around the hallway. Despite the fact that most of the face was missing, I still recognized the body. It was Dr. Page… Or, I suppose what was left of Dr. Page… The four of us stared down at the body, and looking at the others, I could see the reactions on their faces. Gibson had a stern expression, desperately trying to mask his fear. Dr. Blanchard had no expression at all and Dr. Harbor looked as if he was ready to vomit. “Goddamn fool…” I heard him say quietly. “He did this to himself…” Blanchard replied. Her voice was colder than I’d ever heard it before. She stared down at the corpse, before taking a step forward, avoiding the blood as she pressed on ahead. She looked back at us, her eyes still cold and stern. “Come on. We still need to fix this.” She said. Gibson was the next to go, gun in hand as he stepped over Dr. Page’s body. I went next and Dr. Harbor went last, trailing behind us. The blood spatter decorated the next few halls we passed through, and the bodies lay strewn around. Members of the security team. Most of them I recognized, and I knew that Gibson recognized them too. I saw his eyes linger on most of the corpses and swear I saw a pang of grief in them. “Jesus…” Dr. Harbor murmured, “What the hell did Page make…” None of us had an answer for that. “The sooner we get to the security office, the better…” Dr. Blanchard replied. Even behind her stoic eyes, I could see a quiet understanding of the severity of our situation. Our pace had grown faster. Dr. Blanchard and Gibson were ahead of us and I was moving as fast as I could to keep up. We didn’t run. Running seemed like it could easily be a mistake… Whatever had killed those people, it was out there and the last thing we needed in that moment was to get its attention. “Just a bit further.” Gibson said, “Next hallway… We’re almost there…” “Good… We trigger the gas and then we file our goddamn report…” Dr. Blanchard said. I looked back to where Dr. Harbor had been to say something to him. But there was nobody behind me. Just an empty hallway. I paused, before looking back over at Gibson and Dr. Blanchard. “Wait! Harbor’s gone!” I said. They both froze. Gibson looked back at me, eyes wide. “Wait, what? No he’s…” He fell silent, staring into the empty hall. Dr. Blanchards brow furrowed. But I could see that her frustration was just a thin veneer for her terror. Her hands were shaking. “They’re here…” Was all she said, eyes darting around. I watched her take a tentative step backward before she turned and continued down the hall, “We need to move!” “Laura, wait!” I called, but she was already gone, having rounded the corner. I took off after her, pushing past Gibson. I’d barely even rounded the corner when I saw it… Much like with Dr. Harbor, Dr. Blanchard hadn’t even gotten the chance to scream… Her death had happened with almost complete silence. But unlike with Dr. Harbor, I saw her killer, hanging from the ceiling above her corpse. It was roughly the size of a dog, with a smooth, mostly hairless body. It had long, hooked talons and several quills jutting out of its arms and back. Many of those quills were jutting out of Dr. Blanchard's head and neck. Her eyes were still open, with a dazed, almost delirious look to them. I’m still not sure if she was dead, or if she was dying. Her legs still twitched slightly, but that may have meant nothing. Beside me, I heard Gibson swear as he saw the creature hanging from the ceiling. He went for his gun, and the creature let out an animalistic hiss. He squeezed off exactly two shots as it charged for him, racing across the ceiling. The bullets tore into its body, and it crashed to the ground in a twitching, gurgling heap. “Oh my God…” He said, his voice shaking slightly, “Oh my God…” “The security office!” I snapped, “Come on!” Tearing my eyes away from Dr. Blanchard's body, I ran for the door of the security office, with Gibson behind me. And somewhere in the hall behind us, I heard movement. The sound of creatures coming to investigate the gunshots they’d heard. We reached the door at the end of the hall, and Gibson fumbled with his security keycard. The door beeped and opened. “Go, go!” He snapped, “Now!” I pushed the door and turned to watch him follow me. As I looked, I caught a blur of motion behind him, and noticed that the body of the creature that had killed Dr. Blanchard was missing. “Gibson!” I cried. But it was too late. The creature hit him head-on. I saw its quills rip through his chest and heard him let out a pained exhale. His eyes widened, and I knew I could not save him. As the creature sank its teeth into his throat, I did the only thing I could and pushed him back onto the hall before closing and locking the door behind me. I watched through the glass as the wounded creature clawed at him, tearing through his body like tissue paper… And the sight of it made me want to vomit. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I looked at the two fresh corpses in the hall, and knew that I could have easily joined them. Near Dr. Blanchard's body, I could see more of those creatures. Four by my count, but God only knew if that was all of them… One of them sniffed at her corpse, before biting at her head. I couldn’t watch… The one that Gibson had shot chirped at the others… And then its eyes shifted towards me. All of them were looking at me, in the security office, and for a moment, I wondered if they knew what I was going to do… I ran deeper into the office. There was a desk with a camera feed from most of the labs, as well as some hall views. I could see a few more of the creatures on the camera feeds. I checked the laptop and put in my access code. As I did, I heard the sound of something slamming against the glass. Oh God… They were trying to get into the office. Oh God… They could have damaged the seal! I realized that one way or the other, I was probably already dead. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to take a deep breath. I wasn’t ready for this. I wasn’t ready to die. But I had no choice. I brought up the authorization to activate the failsafe… I clicked the button. I heard the creatures slamming against the glass again, and I ran as far away from the computer and the door as I could. It felt childish, but I huddled in the corner. An alert was broadcast over the PA, one I’d never heard before. ***WARNING FAILSAFE ENGAGED. STATION STERILIZATION IN PROGRESS*** I closed my eyes. I held my breath. And I waited. A klaxon alarm sounded. I didn’t know if I was going to live or die, and I wasn’t brave enough to see just how bad the damage to the door had been. For a while, there was no sound other than the alarm. And in time, that too went silent. I didn’t die. The failsafe was active. And I didn’t die… An hour later, the station was vented. Once the environment had stabilized, the saferooms opened again. Within 24 hours, a team had been dispatched to bring us back down to the ground and a cleanup crew had been sent to the EE lab. I spent the next three days being debriefed by my superiors. I told them everything I knew. Dr. Page had gone too far with his own research, and his specimens had escaped containment. Because of that… My colleagues were dead now. The GARI EE lab is still up there. I’m aware they’ve supposedly implemented some new security features to prevent another catastrophe like the one that I lived through from happening. But honestly - I’m not going to chance it. I’ve withdrawn from the EE Lab program. I think I’m done with that. I’m much happier doing my research on solid <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Departmental Rotations and Frosted Glass: My First Day At Work [RESPONSE] My name is Stanley, and after the day *I've* had... well, I need to tell *you* all about it. I recently interviewed (and was accepted!) for a custodial position at this small company based in London. I was told that the role would essentially be a hall monitor and include a lot of walking up and down, anything out of the ordinary I would have to make a note of on my pad, and if it was really serious there would always be someone available on the other end of a walkie talkie. Simple enough, I guess. So anyway, I had trouble finding the building as it was off the main street and the interview had been held across the city in a rented office. There was no company logo on the front, just a flat grey cement exterior with a metal door and a buzzer with a single button and a speaker. I thumbed the button and the speaker crackled into life. 'Hello?' I asked. No reply, just the same soft crackling of a live microphone. 'Umm.. It's Stanley McAlester, it's my first day today and I-' I was cut off by a sudden buzzing from the device and the door opened slightly with a jolt. 'Thanks!' I said dimly, despite the speaker having stopped crackling. I pushed the door open and was met by a well lit reception area with a group of middle aged men standing around. As I entered they all turned to look at me and I couldn't but notice they all looked very much alike... that is to say, they all looked like me. Similar hair cuts, similar frames, similar clothes. 'Alright mate?' One of them nodded, sticking out his hand for me to shake. 'I'm Rodney.' I stepped forward and shook his hand, looking between the men idle scuffing their feet. "Oh, I'm Stanley. Are you here for the custodial position too?' I asked, still looking from face to face. 'Sure am. This here is Jeff, Harold, and Patrick.' Rodney said, pointing to each in turn. They held their hands up in greeting and continued to shuffle about awkwardly. 'We're all going to be custodians, apparently.' Rodney shrugged. 'Right, yeah. You been waiting long?' I looked for anyone official, but save for my doppelgängers, the room was empty. A long beech wood desk lined the left wall, and an unoccupied office chair was placed behind it. A wide metal elevator door was the only other thing to note in the room, and that was situated directly in front of us. 'About ten minutes.' He shrugged. Already tired of asking too many questions I nodded my understanding to Rodney and joined the awkward shuffling. It was about five minutes of that before a pleasant ping filled the room and the elevators doors slid open. A woman stepped out, her eyes framed by dark glasses, her head tilted down consulting a tablet in her hands. A lab coat bristled around her as she marched forwards, only looking up after she had stepped amongst us. 'Right. Well, yes.' She said, her eyes scanning the group. 'You must be the custodians then.' She said, a hint of impatience in her voice. 'I'll make this quick. We have six floors, you'll each be assigned a floor and a mentor will give you a tour around your assigned floor. At the end of each week your floor will be rotated. You won't have access to any floor you are not currently assigned to, and you will never have access to the sixth floor.' She said, hurrying through her prearranged script. She flicked through some papers behind her tablet and drew one to the top. 'Stanley?' She sighed. 'Uh, yeah that's me!' I said, stepping forward with a smile. 'Take this, it's your ID to take you to your floor.' She brandished a lanyard with a badge attached to it. 'Don't lose it.' She motioned to the elevator, 'scan your badge on the inside and you'll be taken up.' 'Right, thanks.' I said, taking the badge. 'Now?' I asked. 'Yes, now.' She said, never looking at my face. I looked around our group, Rodney raised his eyebrows at me and whispered *good luck* as I moved past him. I entered the elevator and looked around. The woman was already handing out the next ID to Harold as I found the scanning machine. It pinged softly and the number three appeared on a digital display. The doors slid shut and I felt the elevator begin its ascent. I swallowed back my nerves and set my shoulders. I hoped my mentor wasn't going to be as rude as she had been. Before I had any more time to steel myself, the doors were sliding open to reveal a long white corridor. I stepped out of the elevator and the doors quietly wooshed shut behind me. I considered the corridor for a moment, the plain white walls and shiny floor reminded me all too much of a hospital. The lights at the end of the corridor were off, giving it an eery sense of never ending. I began my walk forward, and sensors picked up my movement, sending a domino effect of lights coming on ahead of me. A door not too far from me opened and a head poked out. 'Stanley?' The man called, giving me a wave. I waved back and hurried over to him. 'Ah good you're here! Give me just a moment, will you?' He smiled. 'Sure thing.' I said, but his head had already disappeared behind the door. I stepped back and looked back down towards the elevator. A similar digital display above the doors showed the number two, I figured Harold was going there for the week. The door opened wider and the man came back out. He was wearing similar glasses to the woman, and also wore a long lab coat, the only difference was his friendly demeanour. 'Right. Stanley!' He said, holding his arms out wide and considering me. 'Welcome to the third floor, follow me.' He hurried by me and led the way further down the corridor. 'My name's Gideon and I'll be mentoring you, okay?' He said. 'Great!' I replied, keeping pace with him. 'So, what will I be doing then?' 'You see these windows we're about to pass?' He gestured ahead with tablet in hand. 'Yeah.' 'What I want you to do is patrol these corridors and check in on these windows frequently. Take a look in for yourself here.' He smiled, stopping in front of a random window. I looked in through the glass, but there was a hazy mesh, as if the glass was frosted, obscuring anything from my eyes. 'I... well, I can't see anything...' I said, twisting my head back and forth, testing my perspective. 'Perfect, that means everything is okay!' He exclaimed, moving to another window and showing me the same sight. 'That's as it should be.' He said, consulting his tablet with a frown. He stepped closer to the window and gave it a tap with his finger. 'Hmm..' He looked back at his tablet and slid his finger in an energetic motion, and then looked back up at the window before breaking into a look of satisfaction. Finally, he looked back at me, 'Do you think you can handle that?' He smiled. 'I don't see why not.' I confirmed, feeling rather confused about why I was needed. 'Perfect!' He cried in a somewhat gameshow host manner. He looked me up and down again and furrowed his brow. 'Do you have your walkie talkie?' 'No, I assumed I'd be given it here?' I said apologetically. 'For goodness sake. No it's not your fault, you *should* have been given one already.' Gideon sighed, turning on his heels. 'Well wait here I'm sure I can find you one easily enough.' And with that he marched down the corridor and disappeared behind the door once more. The corridor was silent, save for the high pitched ringing in my ears. I moved up the corridor slightly to try and look into another window, but the same haze was set across the glass. I cleared my throat and crouched down, seeing if I could get a viewing angle from underneath. A faint *tink tink tink* sounded from the other side of the window and I fell back in surprise. I looked back down the corridor but there was no sign of Gideon. I slowly moved closer until my face was almost against the glass. I couldn't see- wait, I could see... *something*. I pressed my forehead against the glass and, there was movement. The haze shifted slightly, like a slow steam had been disturbed in a still air. A darker shade slithered through the haze, like a black worm. *Tink tink tink.* The lights in the corridor went out in a reverse domino, plunging the corridor into darkness. *Tink tink tink.* I turned back to the window to see a face at the same level as mine, black as tar with lidless white eyes staring right back at me. I fell backwards with a scream, sending the lights back on. I was flat on my back looking up at a scowling Gideon. 'I.. Uh... there was a face!" I said trying to find my words as I pushed myself to my feet, pointing to the corner of the window where the face had been, but was now just the same grey haze as before. Gideon follow my pointing finger and adjusted his glasses. 'Indeed, a face...' He said bemused, running his finger along his tablet again. 'Are you feeling okay?' He said, holding out a walkie talkie for me to take. I looked between him and the window before answering. '...Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry. I just got curious.' I said, taking the walkie talkie with embarrassment. 'Mhm,' Gideon said, watching me carefully. 'I have a busy schedule, the corridors are self explanatory and they all lead back to the elevator in one way or another. There's a clock for timekeeping most everywhere, your staffroom is a little ways down there with a stocked vending machine. Keep out of trouble and make any notes on this pad.' He handed me a small notepad and began to turn to leave. 'Leave the pad in the box at the end of your shift, collect a new one from the same place at the start of your next. Remember, the walkie talkie is for *emergencies only.*' With that, Gideon went back the way he came and left me by myself. I looked nervously back where the face had been, but the grey haze persisted. I didn't look too closely in any more windows for the rest of my shift, and I didn't listen too closely either. For another eight hours I marched up and down the blank hallways, and clocked out without incident. I didn't see any of my doppelgängers on my way out, perhaps they finished at different times. I don't know what's behind those windows, or what's on the other floors, but I sure want to document what else I see. What was that face and the noise coming from the other side? Why is this place so quiet and what are the people in the coats doing? This job is more interesting than I thought it would be. I'll be back soon to tell you more.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I live in a National Park and the Things inside won't let me leave (Part One) [RESPONSE] Tuesday, October 18th 14:24 I wasn't sure if writing any of this down was going to do anything, more so for others than for me. I'm already too far gone, there's no saving me from whatever fate has in store. You all, however, are different, and I can only hope what you'll hear from me will serve as warning.  Do not trust the woods, do not trust the water, and never, I repeat, never, give them any miniscule sign you've noticed their presence. Don't look them in the eye, don't flinch when they move or speak or even touch you, never speak to them. Unless you want to end up like me of course, stuck in a once wonderland now turned nightmare.  I won't tell you all exactly where I live, since I know some of you dumbasses would still look for it despite my warnings. I grew up in a National Park, and as the title suggests, I am unable to leave. Not 'unable' in a, can't get in a car and drive off, kind of way but moreso, I am involved in something far greater than I am, type of deal. Things reside within the 6 million acre park, beings older than humanity itself, some of them not even from this plane of existence.  For you all to fully understand the situation at hand here, or what I can speak of it, I'll have to go back to about 6 years ago. To the fateful day I fucked over my entire life without realizing it. Before I start there though, I need to describe the specific area I grew up in, and tell you all about some of the beings I saw before I made contact. How I went so long without doing anything before I'll never know, I like to think I had some god trying with all its might to spare me from this fate.  The town I grew up in had a population of around 3000, no grocery store, and there wasn't a stoplight in sight for nearly 30min in any direction. It was quite literally bumfuck nowhere, a secluded area full of redneck hillbillies. The town was surrounded by massive mountain ranges on one side, and an incredibly large lake on the other. It was so big it would have been one of the Great Lakes if it had not been so far away. Winters were vicious, temperatures in the negatives even in the day, snowfall ending up nearly as tall as I am, and ice storms that left softwood trees destroyed. As a child it was like heaven, the snow in the winter, the temperate summers, all of the nature to immerse yourself in. Despite it all I’m thankful for growing up in nature, the times when I was innocent are the fondest memories to recall.  I used to love to fish as a child; I couldn’t wait for those few months when the lake water was the perfect temperature to go out on a boat and spend all day on the dark water. It was out there, in the middle of the lake, when I remember seeing my first creature. At the time, I thought it was my imagination, that maybe I had seen our famous Loch Ness monster knock-off, Champ, in the water. Having now killed multiple of them I know they are far from fake, and not nearly as pretty as my childhood memory recalls.  As I was saying, I was out in the middle of the lake fishing. The lake holds all types of fish, including some big ones such as Sturgeon and Northern Pike. It also has lamprey, which to most in the area is what they consider the most violent thing in the waters. I'm terrible at fishing, even worse as a child, so I wasn't pulling anything up. My bait was being taken time and time again to no avail, and my tiny patience as a kid was wearing thin. It has been nearly an hour and a half, the afternoon sun beating down my neck, so I decided to get in the water and try again in a little bit. Once my life vest was secured I was allowed freedom.  The water was cold, as it always was, only going up to mid 60s in the summer, but it has felt great. I'd hated swimming with the bright orange life vest, but as a 7 year old I didn't have much choice. I had done a few laps around the boat, some awkward doggy paddle that made more noise than anything. I think it was the noise that drew the creature's attention. As I was swimming a little ways away, I couldn't have been more than 15 feet from the boat, I saw something underneath it. I had never seen a lamprey before, so I thought it was some kind of big fish. It was hard to make out between the glare off the water and the shadows of the boat. I couldn't go under with the vest on, so I was left with slowly moving through the water, heading towards where it was.  When I was about 6 feet from the boat, near the ladder by the motor, I caught a better glimpse of it. Well, moreso it's eyes than anything, as its wriggling body seemed to melt into the shadows. Its eyes, the 4 of them it had, glowed under water, a bright green hue. It has no pupils, but I knew it's gaze was on me, watching my current movements. My curiosity was outweighed by some internal feeling in my gut and I faltered, floating idly in the water. I knew it knew I had seen it, even as a child I could understand that much.  The 'standoff' had only lasted for nearly a minute before my mother's voice had reigned in my focus. "Get back up here if you're not going to swim anymore." I couldn't disobey my mother, but that meant swimming directly towards where it sat near the ladder. My hesitation had been long enough for my mom to call my name in that tone, the one where you knew you were about to get in trouble, and I swam in. I had kept my eyes focused on the boat, ignoring what I thought was some strange mutant fish, and my heart picked up as I got to the ladder. It didn't touch me though, and I got back on the boat with no issues. I stared down at the water I had come from, waiting, but I didn't see any glimpse of it.  The creature I saw that day I now call "Slimy water bastards", but their 'official' name is The Feasters. They look similar to lamprey, but are far more deadly. I've seen them range between 6-15 feet long, their black skin actually secreting some weird volatile slime that makes shadows darker, and does to your skin the same thing laundry detergent does. They have four eyes, two on top and two on the sides of their head, and I believe they use some type of thermal sight to be able to see in the complete darkness at the bottom of the lake. Their mouths are just a gaping hole that takes up 90% of their face, rows of spinning teeth and a barbed tongue that'll rip through your flesh and inject you with a nasty poison. Thankfully, they're very easy to kill, but what they lack in strength they make up for in numbers. You'll never find one alone, even if you only see one, they swim along in massive writhing masses, only sending out two to four for short periods to go check something out. Rather intelligent as well, the fuckers, and love to take small children and drunkards; easily manipulated people. When they get you, they leave nothing behind, their razor teeth tear into flesh easier than any knife. In mere seconds you'll be gone, nothing but a few blood drops in the water after the swarm you to feast; hence the name.  You might be wondering how that wasn't the fateful day, since I had directly acknowledged its presence. It was because I hadn't seen enough, The Feasters are low level if you were to tier them. You either need to see a mid to high tier, or be vocal about the things you've seen, to get screwed over. I'll go into detail about the tier thing at a later time, I'll also try to explain the other reason as well but I admit I don't fully grasp how it works. All I really, 100% know, is that this forest is far older than any human creation or being inside of it, and the things that reside in this park have merely accepted humans living here. We're all ignorant sheep, unaware of the pack of wolves looming over us.  I need to head out now, I have ground to cover and a creature to continue to track. I'll get into the actual start of this bullshit next time, so goodbye for now.  Don't look at them, don't speak to them, don't trust them.  Wednesday, October 25th 19:34 Hello again everyone, I didn't plan on posting both of these together, but as I went to post the previous one my power was cut off and things got busy after that so now they're forced together. Thankfully I killed the thing that sucked up my electricty, but by the time I was done I needed to head out to continue my tracking. Then the creature I was tracking got the better of me and I've been healing from a nasty bite the past couple days. Worst fucking part of it all was I never got to see the damn thing, fucker stole my sight before I could protect myself. Yes I can still see, what he takes is never permanent as long as it's not your life, I'll tell you all more about him later as he comes into the scheme of things. As I said, I'll tell you all just how I got into this mess. I'll be dropping a lot of information on you all, so I'll try to explain it as simply as I can. Between the time I first saw The Feasters and the one I'm about to mention, I did catch a glimpse of plenty of other creatures. This place seems to hold them all, fae, folklore beasts, creatures that seem to come from some other place themselves. Which they do, but I'll be getting to that. Any land dwelling monster you could think of exists in this massive park. All the ones I saw before that day were small little things, a few fairies here or there, a Not Deer while on the back of the bike late at night. You simply did acknowledge their existence and you were fine. Unless you stumbled across one of the more serious ones, like I did, and then you have no choice but to accept the things that exist here. It was about 6 years ago when it all went to shit. I was 16 at the time, going through highschool and consistently getting the short end of the stick. I won't go into any detail about my school life, but just like any small town, a small class met there were almost no secrets. That's how I ended up finding out some of the popular kids in my grade were going to take a visit out to one of the mine shafts in the immediate area and do some sort of 'seance'. I should note the town I grew up in was an old mining community, the abandoned tunnel system carved underneath most of the town itself. Nearly all the entrances were vertical, shafts going straight down into the abyss. However, there were two mine entrances you could walk into, the only two out of the nearly 50 locations. I've done my fair share of paranormal shit, I used to use Ouija Boards all the time, went to supposedly haunted buildings, but I followed the rules. I believed wholeheartedly in the existence of the supernatural and knew it needed to be respected. These kids though, well let's just say they found it fun to steal headstones from abandoned cemeteries among other things. My ranking in the social hierarchy was that I knew and talked to all the popular kids, but never hung out with them outside of class. Hearing their conversation would finally change that, despite the fact I hated most of them, and with some minor convincing I was able to tag along. I was going to hopefully bring order to the situation, be able to stop themselves from royally fucking themselves over. I knew none of them really believed in the supernatural, thought there were no consequences to their actions, and part of me wanted to keep them safe despite disliking them. My hero complex was what ended up screwing my entire life over. They had seemed to pull out all the stops for this one. The group of 12 teenagers arrived at the mine entrance at 02:45am, an array of stuff between them all. Alcohol, candles, salt, chalk, a Ouija Board, anything that seemed to scream horror movie gone bad. It was at this I was questioning my decision, I had only heard they were going to try and do a simple seance. This all looked like something far more serious though, one of them had actually put research into it; I was impressed as I was concerned. Doing it in the witching hour was already unsettling enough, but as he walked into the only depths of the mine the feeling only doubled. We went along until a bend appeared, stopping just after so the group was in complete darkness. Even with the 6 lanterns the darkness crept uncomfortably close. I have to admit now, I'm afraid of the dark, always have been, and that fear has only worsened the longer I live. Things thrive in it that we cannot comprehend. I did little to help set up, I was going to voice an opinion if they messed up, but everything was placed correctly. It took nearly 20 minutes to complete, and a glance at my watch told me it was 5 after 03:00. The head of the group called us all over, and we sat on the ground in the best of a circle we could manage. I'll spare you most of what was said, ignoring the fact I've forgotten most of it, it was all cliche words you'd find when Googling 'how to do a seance.' The lanterns were turned off, leaving us with only scant candle light. At this point I closed my eyes, ignoring the darkness surrounding us, the feeling in my gut telling me something was wrong. As the person speaking finished her last words, we all held our breath. I couldn't see anyone else, but I could only assume the looks on their faces as the minutes passed with nothing happening. After what I assume was around 5 minutes of nothing but silence, a shuffling next to me made me sorry my eyes open. One of the boys was moving, an annoyed look on his face. "I told you this wasn't going to work man, let's actually do something fun and crack open one of the bottles." He was starting to stand, to break the circle, we hadn't even tried to officially end. I called out "wait!" at the same time as the girl performing it but it was too late. He stood, letting go of the hands next to him and moving towards one of the backpacks. Everything next happened in very quick succession. He grabbed the backpack and all of the candles went out at once, putting us all in darkness. I scramble for a lantern near me as a few others call out in surprise; some are laughing. I manage to find a lantern, my heart pounding out of my chest, and turn it on. I turn to face the group, I see closely in the distance the reflection of eyes, the glint of teeth visible only because of the large grin on the face of the creature. I ignored the cave dweller that blew out the candles. I pointed out the slight breeze that was being pulled into the mine to the group as the other lanterns flick on. Any tension dissipated and the seance was over, everything packed away as the alcohol was brought out. I moved so I sat near where the dweller had been, making an invisible boundary so no one would go farther in. Things were fine after that, while I stayed sober the other teenager got drunk. Ghost stories were passed around giving the setting, supposed true experiences some of them had been through. No one brought up any creatures though, all stories based around ghosts. A few about champ, one about Bigfoot. This is when the conversation took the worst possible turn, and where it all went to hell. "Do you really think shit like that exists?" One boy called out after the Bigfoot story, his words slurred. "Bigfoot? Don't know man, I wasn't telling the truth." The storyteller replies, causing complaints to be thrown around by the others. They all knew it wasn't true. "Not just him, all of that bullshit? We all knew that the seance was fake. But the other stuff, the indians 'round here sure think so." The first boy continued on, messily downing a shot as he talked. My heart rate started to pick up, I didn't like where this was going. We had a good size Native reservation an hour and a half north of us near the top of the lake. Many families went up there to buy cigarettes and chew in bulk for dirt cheap. Their folk stories had managed to trickle down into the southern town as the years went on, some of the most famous ones were also a part of their beliefs. I don't even enjoy typing their names, but I will for this specific exchange only. "Are you talking about the Skinwalkers?" The girl who performed the seance added in and I shook my head. I was wrong to hope she'd be smart enough to not say it after all the research she'd done. "I think it's much more believable compared to ghosts, their stories have been around for generations." I agreed with her, though I did also believe in ghosts. The longer a stories continued to survive without any changes to it, the more likely it was real. "Yeah those things, or the Rake," I didn't point out that the Rake wasn't Native, it was however believed to exist in this area so I gave him credit. "No one's ever seen one, not one person in this town. You think they'd go after the night hunters if they were existing and all." I was uncomfortable as the conversation switched to drunken ideas on how to find one and if they were even real. The name was being repeated over and over, either they didn't know or just didn't care. "What about the other one, oh what's it's name, the dear looking thing. Imagine the rack you'd get off that thing." The boy from before said with a raised voice, the comment made the group erupt in laughs. My blood ran cold, I opened my mouth to try to redirect the conversation. "I think tha-" I was cut off by the only one in the group I mildly liked, someone who I knew knew not to say it. "You talkin' 'bout the Wendigo? That thing supposed to be a killer bud. Doubt you'd get a shot off before it'd get ya with how bad your aim is." I stared at him, baffled and angry, as the conversation turned into an argument over aiming skills. I was afraid, very much so, and had the right to be if everything said about the beast was true. I needed to leave, to get the fuck out of there before it got to us, but I wasn't going to make the 2 mile walk to the cars by myself. So I stayed there, sitting on that cold dirt floor as they all laughed and drank and ignored the hell they just created. Not that any of us really knew what was going to happen. After this incident I always listen to my instincts because if I had left at the start, I would have never seen the thing. Time drew on for what felt like hours, but it was only around 30 minutes later that all the alcohol had been drunk and the group seemed to be getting ready to leave. I didn't want to stay, but I didn't want to get up and walk into those woods. Yet I did, picking up all the trash as the group got everything packed away. With a bag of trash in one hand, and a lantern in the other, I forced myself into a spot near the front of the group. As one of the only sober people there, there were three in total for each car, I also needed to help direct the 9 drunk teenagers down the crush covered path back to the cars; to safety. I was scared to say the least, the darkness of the woods, the idea of that spirit being somewhere in the area, it all elevated my heart rate even more. We were just over a mile into the hike when we stopped for a piss break. Each sober person took a group of three to watch to stop them from wandering off. None of the small groups were over 6 feet from each other, all keeping close to the trail. I watched the drunkards in front of me as they took turns going behind a tree to piss. It was as I watched the guy, making sure he would fall over, something out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. I almost had to force myself to look towards the trees to the left, just barely making out something in the distance. Antlers, and ones nearly 8 feet up in the air. My stomach lurched in my chest and I desperately shot my eyes back towards the 3 in front of me. I didn't see it, it's not there, I'm not going to die. I was on edge as the group was brought back together, and despite my efforts I was forced to watch the back of the group. We had less than a mile to go but I felt that it was already too late, and it was. About 5 minutes later the noises of branches breaking behind us brought the back of the group to a halt. My heart hammered in my chest as I turned around, knowing what would be there. It was about 30 feet behind us, standing in the middle of the trail we had just been. I couldn't bring myself to look away as it started us all down, as its soulless eyes met mine. I had no choice but to accept what in front of me was real. I thought I was going to puke or pass out, maybe a combination of the both. Someone started to say something but then it moved closer, far closer than I thought it could in a mere second, and I was instinctively yelling at everyone to run. I bolted, running as fast as I could the way we needed to go. Noises told me that some of the others followed, and screaming told me others hadn't had the time. Everything was a blur after I started running, I kept running until I was steps from getting in a car. My lungs burned, my legs ached, and I felt like I was going to pass out. As I got in the car I made myself wait, told myself I'd sit there for 10 minutes before leaving anyone not in my vehicle here. After 10 minutes everyone was here except 4 kids, one being a designated driver, though I could care less if the other drove themselves home drunk. The one who had said its name had also not shown up. I knew I was speeding as I drove off, heading towards the house of one of the kids in the car. I thought I had somehow escaped death, had just seen something to scar me for the rest of my life, but the days after the event proved differently. I was the only one who remembered what happened, some kids actually didn't remember the events after leaving the cave, but everyone gave me a weird look when I brought up the 4 who had died. They all believed they had gotten back to the house with us, none of them remembered the sound of the screams or what had been there. I was confused, thankfully the parents there acknowledged the missing kids, but it didn't explain the rest of the group. It wasn't until after the parents went to go look for them I came to a plausible explanation: not everyone had actually turned around. That had to be it. I knew for a fact two who had died had been behind me, and the other two somewhere in front. Everyone who saw it had died, everyone but me. That's where things didn't make sense, and to this day still don't. I can only assume the answer I came to was correct and somehow I was spared from the fate of death. The parents found what was left of the bodies of the 4 others on the trail, and police investigation ruled it as a bear attack. A real possible answer, given both black and brown bears existed in the area. I knew it was wrong, I knew that evil spirit had killed them, that it had spared my life. Some of you may be questioning how exactly this fucked my life over besides some mental scarring. How being spared sealed my fate to something terrible. I'll try to explain it now. I saw something that on the ranking was mid tier. It wasn't just some fairy or gnome, it was a malevolent spirit known by many. I acknowledged its existence that night, something I know now shouldn't have allowed my life to continue. The forces in control of this park let us humans live here normally as long as we feign ignorance to the other things that live here with us; they want to stay a secret from the rest of the population. Many humans don't believe what they see anyways, and anytime someone died from one it's because they did believe. They saw it for what it was, and that means they could therefore spread that information to others. That's why they killed people, and while I'm making it sound like it's the humans fault, many of these things purposely put you into a situation where you're forced to acknowledge them just so they can kill you. The Feasters are just one to use that tactic. Some people do live after it if what they saw was low tier, like a gnome. To avoid going into detail right now, my ranking is based on the survivability after encountering one; low tier high survival and vise versa. I'm still not sure why some mean death while others don't, but I do know my experience should have been the end. The malevolent spirit saw something in me and let me go, to put it simply, what exactly that was is for a later story. By doing so, I was now allowed to openly acknowledge everything else without fear of death. I was given some fucked up right to view them all, to see the area I lived in for what it actually was. Now at the time, I was unaware of all of this, and thought I had somehow gotten lucky enough to avoid death. With new memories scared into my mind, I continued for the next few months believing everything was fine. That was quickly destroyed by the first encounter I had with a rather close, but untrustworthy, friend of mine. That story is for another day however, as it's far later than I thought, and I have to get up at 01:00 for my bounty tomorrow. I hope this satisfied you all for now, I'll be back soon enough with more. And remember, Don't look at them, don't speak to them, don't trust them.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Life On The Road (Part 4) A Reason To Keep Moving. [RESPONSE] First Previous When you get a job that’s related to the supernatural, you start to really hate the woods. Creatures use them as a hunting ground fairly often because of how easy it is to pass human deaths off as an accident. People get lost all the time. Simple as that. It’s also much easier for a ten-foot-tall monster with six limbs to hide inside a dense forest instead of in the middle of the city. Most of the jobs I picked up involved the woods in some way. I stayed on the road and never lingered in one spot for too long. To earn a living, I investigated rumors of creature sightings to pass along to a Corporation that dealt with that sort of thing. A great deal of the stories turned out to be false, but the true ones often became difficult to handle. I should always leave after I confirm a supernatural cause, but in some cases I simply couldn’t do that. A job came up to just look around a popular campsite because a handful of hikers had gone missing in the past few weeks. The fact no bodies been found, or any traces of the person was enough of a reason for me to start talking with people. I didn’t come right out the gate asking about supernatural sightings. I doubted that would get me very far. I instead started out with a professional and logical reason to be interviewing people, then went with the flow of the conversation. Hopefully it drifted to what I needed to know. For this job I put on my dress shirt and good pants to make myself look somewhat official. It was too hot for a jacket so I kept it in the car. I carried a clip board and printed off some fake info dense reports at the local library. I then went to each camping site requesting if I could speak with them about if they’d seen any strange wildlife lately. Someone related to one of the missing campers said they heard some strange voices off in the woods before their friend disappeared. I asked the campers about the voices, claiming it to be some pet parrots, and other exotic birds that were released by a neglectful owner. I lied claiming to be a part of some sort of government funded environmental group researching the effects of invasive species along with released pets. Everyone I spoke to accepted this lie mostly because I’ve had so much practice making is sound believable. Gathering information became easier when people could claim the voices, they heard were some sort of parrot and not some creature they didn’t think was real. And some people out right claimed to have seen pale creatures that stalked lost hikers without caring how it made them sound. I collected all the information I could. The sun starting to get low and I only needed to check on one last camp site. So far everyone acted friendly and willing to help with my false parrot job. With it getting so late, I got worried that the last few campers didn’t want me to bother them. I walked up to the last site and spotted about six people sitting around the fire. They were roasting hotdogs and my stomach growled from not eating that day. Travelling like this was rough and some days I needed to save my wallet. At least after this survey job got done, I would have cash for a decent meal. The group stopped talking and looked over at me confused on who I was. They assumed I might be a ranger of some sort wanting to tell them they broke some sort of camping rule. “I hate to bother you at dinner time but may I ask you a few short questions related to an invasive species study?” I asked in the politest voice I could. I’ve been gifted with a softer voice and a kind face that got people to relaxe around me. Even though they were eating they agreed to listen to my questions. “Kinda late in the day to be doing this sort of thing.” One of the older men pointed out after I wrote down the first set of their answers. “You are the last site. I didn’t want to head all the way back to town and then need to come back tomorrow. As far as I’m aware, no new campers are set to arrive and a few are leaving. I wanted to get this finished in a day.” I explained and it was an honest answer. He nodded and took a sip of his beer. A boy no older than ten came over and asked the man to help him open a package of chocolate for smores. As could tell this was a close family camping for the weekend. I felt bad invading their space and swore to leave as quickly as possible. “Have you heard any strange sounds at all? We suspect there was a parrot released in the woods and would like to confirm where it may be.” I explained and the older man gave me a look. “A parrot? I suppose we haven’t really heard anything strange. But would they really send someone all the way out here asking about a single parrot?” He questioned, his dark eyes narrowing, He seemed nice enough but also the kind the dislike the government for whatever reason. The boy near his chair spoke up unaware of the implication in the man’s question. “We heard something last night. There must be more than one parrot. We kept hearing someone in the trees saying help.” He mentioned but didn’t look scared over what he just said. The man’s eyes widened, not knowing this happened. The rest of the adults stopped to listen. I let them talk thinking I might have stumbled onto something. “I didn’t know any of that. When time did this happen?” The man asked, setting his beer down. “I dunno. Late. You were snoring so we asked auntie Ruth to go out and look. She was out in the woods for a few minutes. Then came back acting weird. She said she just got sick. ” The boy explained. “How come you didn’t tell us any of this until now?” Another adult questioned. “It’s not a big deal. Auntie said it was nothing and to go back to sleep. I didn’t hear it again so I thought I was dreaming. She’s not been feeling well all day so I didn’t bring it up.” He said and went back to his chocolate unaware of the eyes on him. This was strange and weird enough to call in an agent to look things over with me. I wanted to ask about checking in with the aunt but with my cover story I couldn’t. I’ve heard stories about people going into the woods alone and coming back different. I didn’t have proof that happened last night or the aunt just really wasn’t feeling well. I couldn’t hang around to check, but also didn’t want to leave in fear these people were in danger. I noticed the group started to look at the stranger still standing around and knew they wanted to ask me to leave. I opened my mouth to thank them for the help and trying to figure out a way to stall things. Then, the world started to shake. The small group cried out in shock because we were in an area that never got earthquakes. The shaking stopped quickly enough and only knocked over a handful of things. No one was harmed but fear ripped through my stomach. I knew what just happened and didn’t have a clue on how to warn them to leave without sounding insane. They all appeared shaken up beyond experiencing an earthquake for the first time in their lives. Deep down, they knew what happened wasn’t normal but didn’t want to admit it to themselves. I wasn’t able to tell them the ground shaking caused from the space between two worlds crashing together. It was rare, but did happen on occasion. Sometimes two worlds overlapped, and other times a rip would break between them letting all sorts of creatures to flood through before the dimensions repaired itself. I didn’t know if the crash created a break or not, but needed to get them all to leave just to be safe. Just when I thought of some sort of excuse, a perfectly good reason for them to leave ripped through a tent. Two of the campers screamed seeing their family member break free of the fabric, her body changing into an unnatural shape. My heart sank knowing auntie Ruth had been eaten and replaced the night before. The clash of the worlds and sudden burst of magic scattering through the area caused her to drop the human disguise to attack. Normally these creatures were a bit stealthier, but she’d gotten so riled up with the air being stirred in such a chaotic way. My eyes saw magic flow better than other people simply from being around it more often. I couldn’t see how it really looked and acted, but from what I could see, the forest’s natural flow got totally out of whack. The monster screeched causing the rest of her family to freeze. The mouth taking up half the face and skin losing all color. Her hair started to fall out and hands turning into claws. I moved before anyone else. The monster charged forwards aiming for the weakest target first. I circled my body around the poor stunned boy protecting him from the sharp claws and teeth that came down. I dealt with the supernatural but I wasn’t a fighter. I knew things others didn’t and it normally didn’t help in the slightest. My job was to report and not to kill the monster I came across. I didn’t have any magic weapons of super strength. I feared this one creature may slaughter all of us. The claws cutting into my shoulder spraying blood across the campsite. The man I spoke with earlier snapped into action. He found the axe they used for firewood and in one swing, he brought it down on the creature’s neck. His family shocked into silence for a few minutes. I double checked to make sure the boy was fine besides getting mentally traumatized for the rest of his life. “Auntie Ruth...” He whimpered. He tried to look at the body but I shielded his sight until his mother came over to collect him. I doubted he would ever stop blaming himself for asking his aunt to check he strange noises that night. I stood up, shoulder on fire but the wound really looked worst that it was. “You... We need answers.” The man said, face wild from stress. He put two and two together. I wasn’t asking questions because of a rogue parrot. I knew about the monsters in the woods and that was what the questions had been about. He'd been forced to kill someone he cared about, or at least something that looked like that person. The axe still in his hand, the sight of it threatening me to give him the answers he wanted. “I... I needed to confirm if there are creatures in this area or not. I’m sorry... There just wasn’t enough proof to send in professionals to search the woods.” I explained truly feeling terrible a woman died. He wanted to blame someone besides himself. In a rage, he grabbed my collar ready to attack but a voice made him stop. He saw the mother holding her son begging him not to hurt me in any way. He backed off and I really didn’t blame him for the outburst. I would have taken the hit if it made him feel better in the slightest. My attention was drawn towards the woods when I felt a pull deep from inside my chest. It was hard to explain the feeling but I knew more of those creatures were nearby. When it comes to supernatural creatures, they can be completely invisible to humans if they wanted. But that tended to only apply to ones with some sort of sense that knew being hidden was ideal. The creatures in those woods were feral. They didn’t know how to keep themselves from being seen or sensed by others. The man noticed my gaze and tightened the grip on the handle of the axe. “Is there more?” He asked with a hint of fear. “My cellphone isn’t working.” One of the others said, voice shaking, “That earthquake was... not natural. It messed with electronics. Cellphones won’t work, but your cars should unless they’re electric. You all need to leave. I’ll go to the other sites and warn everyone else, if they haven't left yet.” I told them. “Thank God we can’t afford a Tesla.” One of them joked. From what they all saw; a poorly timed joke was what they needed. A few of them started to grab for their things but I told them to just take anything they could use as a weapon and their car keys. Gathering their gear just a reflex. I took the time to cover the creature’s body with a blanket I pulled from the tent. The boy openly sobbing into his mother’s arms and I desperately wanted to get him to believe none of this was his fault. He might be young enough to recover from such a terrible event. Just as we were about to go different directions, the man handed me the axe. They had two and I thanked him for the weapon. My left arm hurt far too much to use it and I was lucky enough the monster went for my weaker side. “Is there a trick to killing these things?” He asked hoping for the best. “Sadly, no. They as strong as a human, but it can get bad if you get out numbered because of their claws and teeth. Just fight as hard as you’re able and get the hell out of here as fast as you can.” I hated that was the best advice I could give them. Based on the appearance of the creature they were something that really didn’t have a name. But I knew the monsters wasn’t overly strong so this group should be able to handle it. “I know the people camping nearest to the parking lot. I’ll warn them so skip that site.” The man said and noticed his family calling him over. The sun started to set and they needed to get moving. I thanked him again to let him leave with the rest praying he would be alright. I started down the other path hoping everyone at the next site was fine. By some miracle none of the other creatures got there before me. I placed the axe behind a tree just before I got into their site wondering how the hell to explain all of this. My bloody shoulder did the trick. I told the group of three a crazy guy was going to sites with an axe. I got lucky to get away and just warned the last site. They offered to bring me with them, but I lied saying I had someone just off the trial I was going to meet up with. They grabbed their bags and left not wanting to risk the danger of staying. With their cellphones not working there wasn’t a chance of one of them calling the police to disprove my lie. I mentally thought back to how many more camp sites I needed to check when that pulling feeling came back. A creature was close. I grabbed the axe and ran in the other direction the campers went, trying to lure the creature away from them. I felt the thing in the dark racing towards me which I got some mixed feelings about. The thing leapt from the woods and I got a very lucky hit on it. The blade of the axe cracking into the creature’s skull with a sound that nearly made me sick. I doubted I would be able to fight off too many of these things. I really wasn’t strong enough to take two at once. I tried my cellphone to call backup. The Corporation gave me the phone so it dealt with magic outbursts better. I connected a call for half a second and then the phone died. I might not have gotten a clear message through but they would know something was up and my location for the job. They would send someone with such an odd call from my phone. Now I needed to focus on making sure no one stayed in these woods. I kept to the trail trying to see my way in the dark. By some luck I found another camp site. They left behind their tents but the rest of the gear was taken away. That meant whoever had been here already dipped. “Don’t move!” A flashlight beam blinded my sight. I heard the gun moving before I saw it aimed in my direction. When my sight recovered, I looked at very nervous ranger staring me down trying to decided what to do. They dealt with lost hikers and bears, not axe welding mad men. And I looked the part. I cursed under my breath trying to think of a way out of this. “Listen, I’m-” I said, one hand raised trying to look harmless. “I said don’t move!” The man said, scared to death. Great. This would be a pain in the ass to deal with. A slight rumbling under my feet reminded me of how dangerous this forest was. I still didn't know the extent of the damage the crashed caused or if monsters were pouring into our world as we stood there. I didn’t have time to stand around talking my way out of this. I avoided getting shot in the same way I was able to get the first set of campers to leave. A pale creature came from the trees next to the ranger. The thing screamed causing him to jump back in fear. The twisted features of the monster making the ranger freeze up in the same way most people did. My body moved on its own again. I arched back my arm and tossed the axe at the creature as hard as I could knowing I wouldn’t reach them in time. The blade did not hit the monster but it knocked it off course and slowed it down enough for the ranger to put a few bullets into the skinny body. I ran over to grab my weapon feeling another creature coming in fast. I normally couldn’t sense monsters this clearly. I guessed it was because of the odd effects of tie dimensions crashing together. I could bring the axe down on the monster's skull so quickly because I knew where it would be. The ranger letting out a string of curses at the sight. “What the actual fuck?!” He demanded. “I can’t explain. Can you start checking out sites to make sure everyone has left? You have a gun and a second person helping would be faster.” I asked him. I started to feel dizzy from the wound on my shoulder and moving around so quickly. He simply nodded, not understanding what was going on but knew he wouldn’t get any real answers. “I just cleared out one to the east of us. Most of the sites are north so I’ll start there.” The ranger said and couldn’t keep his eyes off the dead pale creatures. North? I focused on trying to sense the monsters in the woods. I couldn’t tell how many there were, or how far away they stood either. But they weren’t heading north. That didn’t make any sense. They should be going towards the bigger source of food. In fact, it almost felt as if they started heading this direction. My stomach dropped realizing how wrong I acted going towards camp sites with other people inside them. Monsters liked to eat humans, but they were attracted to magic more. If given the choice, they would eat a weaker supernatural creature to gain the power inside their body over a human. I didn’t hold more magic than other humans but I smelled like I did. “I need to draw them away. I think they’re attracted by the smell of my blood. I’ll go the way I came and deeper into the woods. Please keep clearing out the camp sites for me.” I told the ranger. I didn’t give him the chance to reply. I ran past him, shoulder flaring up in hot pain. I only stropped long enough to steal a flashlight that was left behind. The ranger protesting over me going deeper into the woods alone. He shouted I was going to die and that was fine. Unlike everyone else, death didn’t matter to me. I pushed my body as hard as I could. My theory confirmed when I sensed all the creatures heading in my direction and away from the camp sites. Again, feeling some mixed emotions about that. A pale hand came from behind a tree and caught my shirt. We struggled and I got a bite taken out of my good arm before I killed the monster with a few clumsy blows. My senses weren’t perfect, far from it. My fear dulled them and I could only tell they were following and not how close they were. For all I knew, hundreds of those things swarmed the woods looking for a tasty snack. I just needed to hold out long enough for the rest of the people in the woods to get far away from here. Easier said than done. I’m weak. I’ve always known that about myself. Most people would be able to beat me in an arm-wrestling match, and my body got worn out easily. I didn’t know how much time passed as I ran through the woods getting lost. I survived four attacks from the pale human shaped creatures, winning the fights by sheer luck. My body covered in cuts and some deeper wounds. I knew I was going to bleed out unless someone found me soon. My good luck ran out when I literally walked into the worst part of the woods. The blood loss and fear over riding all my senses. I didn’t even know about the biggest monster in the forest until I was nearly directly next to it. The thing stood in a clearing it made by uprooting trees with massive hands. A smaller pale creature chased me into the clearing, causing me to fall over the exposed tree roots. The human sized threat was picked up by the bigger one finally directing my attention towards it. I dropped my flashlight a few fights ago but saw the creature just fine in the bright moonlight. The thing massive and made up of body parts of other pale monsters. It wasted no time ripping apart the one it plucked off from the ground, eating the pieces so frantically. The hands made up of other hands, and the huge body being supported by more of the same twisted arms along the side. Even the head was made of so many other faces melted together. I heard about amalgamations like this before but never wanted to ever come across one. Fear over took my body. I sat on the ground trembling and teeth chattering. My only weapon a small axe against a ten-foot monster made up of other bodies that were just as strong as myself. I accepted my death but not the pain and fear that came with it. The creature lifted a gruesome head to let out a screech that ripped through the trees. The thing called to the other pale shapes in the woods to come to it and to be added to the hideous body. The thing finally noticed a new meal. The hand coming down to grab a hold of my beaten and bloody body. Just before it reached me, a gunshot went off, a bullet tearing through flesh. I snapped out of my shock for a moment to look over my shoulder to spot my savior on the other side of the clearing. “340!” I called out to the agent thankful he arrived but also dreaded the fact he came to save me. The man only brought a second person with him. I knew his strength and doubted these two could take out the beast behind me. At best they did some damage they the monster ate all of us to repair the flesh it lost in the fight. I got up to run over to the two agents, my legs shaking and I rarely got this afraid. I wasn’t scared for myself, but rather the pair ready to charge into an impossible battle. I haven’t met the other agent before but knew at a glance he was 340’s brother. A younger one at that. His fresh face and small frame not suited for battling monsters. The hand of arms came down on him and he shot his gun trying to stay free of the strong grip. 340 busy firing off shots from a stronger gun in order to keep the rest of the arms back. I put all my strength into one last swing of the axe. The blade digging into the flesh of the creature casing some damage but also getting stuck inside a hard arm bone. The hand moving away from the younger agent to grab me instead. It hurt like hell, some of my ribs breaking right away from the fingers tightly wrapping around my chest. The agent’s face fell into regret for being unable to do anything to save me. He reached out a hand trying to stick a piece of paper on the mountain of twisted flesh. Through the pain I recognized the paper to be a magic charm, that that most likely exploded after it was activated. From the angle I was being lifted away, I could reach down and steal the charm from his hand. He protested but I already took the paper from him and got brought towards the horrible mouth of the beast. This was fine. I had a weapon and knew how to use it. My mind swam in pain and in fear of what I needed to do. This wasn’t going to be pleasant. I nearly froze up when the hand dangled my body over the open mouth of the monster. The smell of rotting flesh making my eyes water and stomach roll. I faltered for a second when another hand grabbed a hold of my leg, ready to pull. “Adelaide!” The sound of my name came ripping through all my pain and fear. I didn’t need to look behind me to know 340 started to madly fire at the creature trying to save me. It was too late; we both knew it. I already was at deaths door before coming across this beast. At least little weak me could do something to help. The large hand pulled at my leg, ripping the entire thing off. I knew it was coming but the shock still nearly knocked me out. The monster made the mistake of holding my body between two fingers letting me bend over and place the charm on my thigh moments before it was torn off. The shock of the blood loss taking over very quickly afterwards making me black out. The ripped off leg with the charm dropped inside the monster's mouth, and a few seconds later the entire thing exploded from the inside. One of the things I’ve learned when it came to monster is that no matter how tough the outside is, the insides are always weaker. Getting an exploding charm in their guts a sure way to kill something stronger than yourself. I expected to be dead pretty soon after having my leg ripped off. My eyes opened a crack, feeling so damn cold. I wished I felt the pain instead of the ice my veins became. I faintly smelled rain and wondered when it started to fall. I couldn’t even feel if I was sitting up or on my back. Suddenly a warmth came to my cheek that spread down my neck for a brief second. “Addy...” I’ve always liked hearing that nickname. 340 rarely used it. My face weakly twitched into a smile I hoped he saw and I fell into the darkness of death that I dreaded. It was a bad death. Sometimes I just drifted into a pitch-black sea unable to feel anything until the dawn came and my eyes opened. Other times I fell into a darkness so cold I didn’t understand how I didn’t go insane from it. Even being unable to feel my body, everything hurt. That sheer coldness invading every part of me. Then, the noises came. Distorted faint screaming I drifted closer and closer towards. The freezing in my very core increasing as I got closer to those tormented voices. I didn’t think this was the real afterlife. I couldn’t bring myself to believe anyone else suffered through such a thing. Not a single person deserved the torment of that unknowable place. A crack of light came, dimmer than normal. My eyes opened and lungs flooded with air. That death was bad, very bad. So bad I puked up bile right away and started to cry and shake on my side. I couldn't move for a very long time. Rain came down in the dim morning light and the damp cold soaked into everything. I let myself curl up and silently sob from the experience not caring if anyone saw or not. Once that got out of my system I sat up, still shaking. I looked around seeing an umbrella stuck into the ground in an attempt to keep the upper half of my body dry through the night. A suit jacket placed over my chest and I tightened a grip on it, trying to keep the chill out. My legs soaked but my body still trembled for a different reason. The clearing been cleaning up of the body parts but I still saw blood stains in the grass. I was shocked to see a deep hole the explosion created. If that younger agent used the charm on the hand to try and save me, would I even have any part of a body to come back the next morning? I shook my head just thankful those two agents were alive. I got to my feet, taking the umbrella with me. I didn’t feel like I slept at all and my body still bore phantom pains from the night. I found trail through the woods and quickly caught up with an agent that guided me down the path and to the small tent they set up over a picnic table. From there they got me a hot cup of coffee and a towel to dry my hair. I didn’t feel much like talking and let an agent I never met before tell me the results of the night. Aside from auntie Ruth, and well, myself, no humans were killed that night. The rip in the worlds hadn’t fully closed yet but it was now too small for any monsters to come through. They assumed the connection between the worlds have been weak in this area for a long time and that’s why some of those pale monsters were already inside the forest before the crash happened. They still had agents out in the woods ensuring no more of the creatures were roaming about and others worked on a cover up story. I nodded along feeling drained. At least everyone got out safe. I didn’t care too much about the finer details. “Is that your car left in the parking lot? You’re free to head home whenever you feel ready.” The agent that gave me the debrief nodded towards the only car in the parking lot. I felt too dazed to drive just yet. I wanted to sit for a little while longer and drink the coffee they gave me. I wasn’t even aware enough of my surroundings notice how bad the coffee tasted. “I’ll take him.” I raised my head to see 340 duck into the small tent. His suit jacket missing and I finally clued into who let me borrow theirs. No wonder it was so big on me. He was soaked from the rain but didn’t appear to care. He fought the smaller creatures all night but only had a few small cuts and a bruise that took up half his face. All of that would heal in a few hours. He already took my car keys out of my pockets while I slept leaving no room for argument. I still shook my head not wanting to pull him away from work. “It’s fine. I can drive myself in a few minutes.” I very weakly protested. “Where are you staying? I’ll put the address into my phone.” The agent acted as if I didn’t even speak. I stood up, uneven on my weak legs. It wasn’t this often I felt so bad after a death. My leg screaming in pain after getting up even though my body fully healed from what killed me the night before. I wavered and a large hand on my back steadied me. I needed to tell 340 what motel I rented a room at knowing I wouldn’t be able to make it there any time soon. The fact he kept a hand on my back and I still wore his jacket around my shoulders wasn’t missed by the other agent. I’ve never met him before and he wasn’t one of 340’s brothers. With them all wearing suits, the agents tended to blend in with each other. I caught his eyes darting between me and 340 with his head still. His mind slowly trying to process what possible relationship we had. The two things I learned about the agents was they weren’t as intimating as they looked at first glance, and they loved gossip. I wondered if I just caused 340 some embarrassment for not returning his jacket or stepping away from him. My body felt so damn cold I refused to give up a layer, rumors be damned. We stepped out and into the light rain. I risked a glance back at the other agent and he gave me a flash of a thumbs up approving of whatever fantasy his mind just made up. I was unable to return the gesture without 340 noticing. I just gave him a quick nod and let myself be guided into the passenger seat of my car. I fell asleep right away listening to the sounds of the rain against the windshield. The jerk of a sudden parking job jolted me awake. 340 hadn’t yet mastered a smooth parking job yet. He was always so clumsy no matter how hard he tried to cover up that fact. I got out looking at the small motel and thankfully still had my key to my room. It was one of the half square motels with the rooms looking out into the courtyard. The room cheap so I took it. I regretfully took off the borrowed jacket to hand back to 340. He accepted it and exchanged it for my car keys. Then we awkwardly stood in the walkway with rain drops pattering away at the leaking roof. My body feeling too damn cold and I needed to wrap my arms around myself to keep from shaking. “How long do you have your room for?” 340 asked. His phone rang for a few seconds. He dismissed the call and focused back on my answer. “Until tomorrow at noon. But I can extend the stay to one more night if I need too. It’s cheap, so I can afford it right now.” I said with a shrug I hoped came off as causal. “Do that. You need to rest. I can tell last night was hard on you. You slept all day. Wait, here...” He reached into his back pocket ready to take out his wallet to give me money. He always tried to do something like this. I shook my head not wanting to accept the cash regardless if I needed it or not. I felt a bit shocked I slept for so long. With the sky being grey I couldn’t tell what time I woke up at. I rarely slept beyond dawn on the days I died. That death was harder on me than I thought, but I didn’t want to upset the agent by admitting it. “It’s fine. I got paid for this job so I don’t need money right now.” I said feeling worn down to the bone. “Just take it so you can go longer between jobs.” He almost ordered. I stared at his face seeing the bruise already healed a little during the drive over. His sunglasses missing letting me see his steel grey eyes that looked like they should belong to the dead. His stern expression and rough voice making me smile. 340 so damn cute it was dangerous for him. “Not all jobs are like this. I just got unlucky last night. Most of the time it’s just interviewing harmless drunks about what they thought they saw on a bender only to find it out a harmless creature behind the sightings. It’s fine.” I said and placed my hand over the one trying to offer up some bills. “None of this is fine.” He said, the statement clearly slipping past his defenses. The main reason why I refused to accept money from him was I didn’t want to rely on someone. It could turn into a habit and I simply could not gain any habits or routines. He knew this. He's known this since we met. His hand closed over my smaller one, and I didn’t realize how cold my body became until I felt his warm fingers over the back of my hand. Unable to help himself, he bent down to press a warm forehead against mine. His phone going off again making him let out an annoyed click of his tongue. I let go of his hand and he needed to answer the call. The fact he got enough time to drive me back to the motel was a miracle. I couldn't ask for much more. I left him to the call and went into my rented room. My body getting the shakes the moment I no longer heard his voice. I needed to see if I could adjust the temperature. There should be no reason why some rain made the air this chilly. I didn’t even bring along any heavy sweaters due to the season. Just as my teeth started to rattle, a knock at the door drew my attention. I opened it and for some reason got surprised seeing the agent standing on the other side. I just assumed he would have needed to leave after getting called into work. “I asked for the night off work.” 340 said, his normal rough voice with a hint of embarrassment. A night off for him meant five to six hours. But that was enough. I let him inside to finally be able to get some warmth back. We shared a room like this twice. Both times he needed to go back in for a case and got dressed a few hours before the sun rose. I expected to wake up in the morning with an empty room and a text message saying an emergency came up. I heard his phone ping in the middle of the night. I didn’t bother getting up and stayed curled up inside the blankets trying to keep a hold of some body heat. I must have looked so pathetic that 340 felt sorry for me. He stayed until dawn which made me wonder what kind of favors he pulled to actually have a real night away from work. I sat up when the sun started to creep though the cheap curtains. The agent fully dressed besides his jacket and tie. He found his jacket and I got out of bed to track down his tie. He didn’t want me to get up but I was awake anyway. I stopped in front of him, tie in hand and started to fix it for him. His hands catching my arms stopping my progress. Our eyes met in the gloom of the early morning. His hair a mess and pale scar down his face nearly glowing in the dim light. In that moment I thought he was the most handsome person on the planet. That idea making the fact he needed to leave all that much more bitter. “Adelaide, you don’t have to live like this. You never should have gone through what you did. You have no real powers, and no supernatural blood in you. You can have a normal life.” 340 said, voice in a low whisper. He might look human, but he wasn’t. Him and his brothers had no chance of living a normal life. All of them born to be weapons or pawns for the monster they called a parent. I hated the fact he needed to put his life on the line every day fighting other creatures. And I hated I added to his stress because he watched my leg get torn off. I never wanted to force someone who cared about me to witness such a gruesome death like that. 340 cared. He cared a lot and that was our main issue. I shook my head and started to finish fixing his tie. “I had a normal life. I settled down and all that. Got into a nice routine, figured my life out and ready to have nothing happen to me.” I paused speaking, tie in hand and hovering on fully pulling up the knot around his neck. The rough fabric seeing better days after going through so many battles. “And one day death came. It took everyone. I woke up, but they didn’t. I have no answers why I come back, and I honestly don’t think knowing changes anything. My family died. That all there is too it.” He lowered his head, knowing something like that happened but never asking for the details. He knew how much it hurt to hear let alone say. “Then we...” His voice so soft I almost didn’t hear him. He wanted to offer for us to just run away to forget about monsters and risking our lives for others. To be selfish for once in order to be happy. I wanted that but I wasn’t the person who could stay with him. “I can’t. If I stay in one spot, or get comfortable death comes again. It just doesn’t come for me but for everyone around me... I don’t care if I die over and over again, but I can’t risk losing someone else.” I said, finally telling him the real reason why I moved around as often as I did. I let the answer sink in. I ran my hand over his tie to keep it flat and then adjusted his jacket. His head lowered and was a tempting target. I pressed my forehead against his own, chest aching that this was all we could be to each other. Even this much might be pushing it. A few pings coming from his pocket kept reminding us that it wasn’t just my lifestyle getting in the way. He straightened up to grab his phone to check the messages. I also reached a hand in his pocket feeling something I wanted. “I don’t like you smoking.” He commented with his hand over the receiver so the person he just called didn’t hear his complaint. “I don’t like you fighting monsters. We’re even.” I said, know him fighting deadly creatures everyday was much worse than me smoking. 340 always said that and yet always kept a pack of cigarettes in his pocket even though he didn’t smoke. I stole them away wishing motels still had smoking rooms. His call ended quickly but 340 stalled leaving. He kept asking if I wanted to hang out with one of his brothers or if I knew someone to just be around for the day. He didn’t trust my color yet, or just my overall expression. I assured him I felt fine. I loved his stupid younger brothers but wasn’t in the mood to deal with one of them all day. We both went outside and I watched him get picked up by a car that pulled into the parking lot just long enough to get the agent. The rain started to come down again making the day a dull grey. My chest still hurt, and now even more from out short talk. I sat outside my room, watching the rain and smoking halfway through the pack. Nothing I thought of made the empty feeling go away. I couldn’t call 340 back fearing just how many nights together counted as a routine. No, I needed to stay alone for his safety. I did the only thing I could. I took a hot shower and got as good meal from the diner across the street. Then, I got into my car ready to move on and try to put the memories of a certain pain behind me. The road ahead would bring more hardships but also on occasion, a warm bed to keep the hollow feeling away for a few hours.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Man Stood Among the Trees [RESPONSE] You know those moments from childhood that you think back on and can’t pinpoint whether or not it was a dream or a memory? There’s one moment in particular from my childhood that sticks out to me. It feels so real, and I’m almost certain it actually happened — but the circumstances surrounding it are spotty at best. To go along with that, my parents have always acted as if they have no idea what I’m talking about when I’ve brought it up over the years. I couldn’t have been any older than five or six years old when it happened. My grandparents lived on a lot of land in Northern Wisconsin, and when I was growing up, my parents and I would often seek to escape the hustle and bustle of city life by heading up every so often. Simply put, it may have only been the nineties, but life was different back then. My parents would regularly let me run off to explore the land while they relaxed, or did whatever it was that parents do. As I said, I was probably six years old, and they still completely trusted me to navigate the area and make my way back to the house by a respectable hour. The back half of my grandparent’s land was covered in thick forest that seemingly stretched on for miles. The forest was my favorite place to be. It was tranquil, and felt much like the setting to a fantastical adventure. I was always discovering things in this forest. Animals, flowers, jewelry, you name it. I could’ve filled my closet with the amount of old and scrapped up clothes I found scattered about. My naive mind never saw that as a red flag. Oh, to be young and innocent again. There was one day in particular where I ventured a bit too far into the forest. I wasn’t lost, I hadn’t strayed from the beaten path, but I must have been feeling brave that day because even the natural light breaking through the tree line was starting to fade. Instead, the forest was now illuminated by the sunlight breaking through the tree-tops above. And that is when I saw him. He stood far enough away from me that I couldn’t really make out any distinct details, but close enough to know it was indeed a human and that he was waving at me. As I said earlier, there was a lot of trust going around in the 90s; but if there was ever something that my parents had drilled into my brain from a young age, it was to avoid strangers. This was at the height of the whole “stranger danger” epidemic. So I immediately knew something was off when I saw this man. He wasn’t dressed like a normal adult either. He was dressed in some kind of costume, or at least half of one anyways. The pants he wore resembled something a circus clown would wear. Colorful, vertical stripes, only in this case that color had begun to fade. Instead of a matching top, he donned an old worn down “wife-beater”. He then yelled out excitedly, “Come over here buddy! I have something fun to show you!” For whatever reason, this actually calmed the nerves of my young brain. He seemed friendly enough. Foolishly, I listened. As I got closer, I could make out more details about the man. He was barefoot, mostly bald, and held with him a long baseball sock that was stuffed to the brim with something. I never really determined what was in that sock, all I know is that the smell coming from it was putrid. The man kneeled down in front of me, and instead of saying something, he slowly lifted his arm to point towards a tent hidden off a bit further into the woods. I don’t mean a camping tent either, I mean a circus tent; a big top. Something you’d see out of Barnum and Bailey’s. He beckoned me to follow, and so I did. We entered the tent from a flap in one of the walls. It was musty as all hell inside, and the only sunlight came from a large hole in the top, as if to create a natural spotlight. In the middle of the tent, sat a boy. But, this boy wasn’t normal. He sat there silently, unmoving, and I never got too close to him. Thinking back on it now I don’t believe the boy was alive. I remember turning back to face the man, who had now disappeared. It was at this point that my six year old panic lights started going off before proceeding to sprint all the way back to the tree line. I never saw that man again -- although I swear I heard laughter coming from behind me as I sprinted out of the forest. Later that night, my parents and grandparents sat and watched the news in the living room before turning in for the night. The main story centered around a local boy who had been missing for a couple days now. Of course, they showed a picture of the boy, and it was the same boy I had seen in the forest earlier that day. I mentioned it offhandedly as we sat and watched, saying I’d seen that boy in the forest earlier today, and that he was with a strange man. The grown ups in the room all shrugged it off, but I could tell they were a bit thrown by my claims. It was deep in the dark of night at this point. The closest thing to society was the neighbors who were 2 miles down the road. I think this was the moment in my life when I realized grown ups could be afraid too. — The next morning, as we were packing the car to head back to the city. I found a small envelope on the front porch, labeled for me. My dad saw it and stole it from my hands before I ever had a chance to read it. I remember him seeming concerned and turning to speak with my grandpa in a hushed tone. We got out of there quickly that afternoon. Strangely enough, my grandparents did come to live with us for the following weeks after that. I never thought anything of it. Again, thinking back now, I wouldn’t be surprised if that had to do with getting away from their property for a bit. — As I said at the beginning, this is one of those gray areas that has been bothering me of late. The situation itself was so dreamlike; the forest, the man, the tent, the boy. In saying that, I remember it in the most vivid detail. Almost thirty years on at this point and my parents still refuse to acknowledge this was a thing that happened. I’ve dug deep researching the fact — and I’ve found some possible cases that could line up, but nothing with any certainty. Definitely, nothing showing the picture of that poor boy. Who knows. Maybe, that over active childhood imagination got the best of me. Or, maybe, I came across something sinister that day.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Tango with La Strega part 2 [RESPONSE] Hello again, from Alfredo Daglerion. This is part 2 of my grandfather„s story. Inside the tent, there was an improvised stage, not like in circuses, but smaller, it had some stand in semicircle, a small stage, draped behind in dark velvet. There were some lights on, but the place still felt dark, like something lurking. In the audience there were, mostly, middle class people, but also poorer looking people. Suddenly, the lights went out and the place was engulfed in almost complete darkness. Something was heard towards the stage, then the lights went on again. On stage, there were two figures. One was clearly Gordon Jameson, in his dark Victorian suit, with lavalliere, gloves and topper. He had a small beard and looked like a charming middle age British gentleman that he was, for sure. He seemed passively dominating us, with a faint smile. The other figure was, of course, Helena, who Jameson held from behind, as the gentleman holds the back of a lady in dance or preparing to dance. Helena was like she was described to me, a doll-like woman or a woman-like doll, wearing a long, black, belle epoque like velvet dress. She had black hair, wiry hair, a weird like pallor that seemed like wood (She was supposed to be made of wood.) or corpse like. Pale, sometimes with a taint of brown or faint green. Over that, she had what appeared to be clown makeup or face paint, but mostly black. The lips were black but, beyond them, the clown grin was not large, only slight and a bit upwards. Under the grin, into the mandible, lines characteristics of ventriloquist dolls were visible, that allow for the jaw of the doll to move. The eye makeup or makeup-like paint was heavy, mostly black, with some faint dark brown edges. It was rhomb like shaped, like in many clowns and it continued down into the cheeks with some small spiral like model. The eyeballs themselves were white, similar to a person who is dead for some time. Helena was looking at us, with a sharp, malicious smile, scrutinizing the crowd. Something in the back of my mind felt in clear danger, and a sense of running away was heard in my thoughts. I fought to dismiss it as silly. She looked like an aristocrat looking at commoner or like a mistress looking over her servants with authority. For a few seconds, her gaze stopped on me, fixing me. Was this a dummy or a living person? She appeared to be alive and looking at me, her sharp smile becoming more pronounced and more creepy, like she wanted something from me and she was calling me to give it to her. I had to fight really hard not to get out of this place, that smelled like a trap, like a lair of some otherworldly... things. Her head became slightly tilted, then she moved her gaze from me to the right. Suddenly, Jameson clapped his hands and an unseen orchestra started playing. Waltz music. I recognized it. It was Tchaikovsky, from the Nutcracker. But it was off, the ranges, the tonality of the music was changed. It was darker and felt like menacing. The pair waltzed, it was very unconventional, especially when one of the dancer is a dummy or pretends to be. Jameson kept his hand almost all the time into her back, like controlling the puppet. She moved mechanical, but very complexly, felt autonomous. There were moments where the crowd was amazed, like when Jameson let go of Helena for a few seconds, while she still moved, she even performed some sort of pirouette on her own. I was speechless, amazed and scared in the same time. I felt a power at work in here. Hard to describe what I felt. I wish my memory was better, so to describe you every moment of the waltz. I wish it was recorded on camera. The music stopped and the pair stopped their dance in the same position as they started, then Jameson slowly hide behind Helena, still keeping his hand on her back, like controlling her. It was like he wanted to hide his face and let Helena in the spotlight. She looked at a chubby gentleman in the front row and started to speak on non-human, hissed, cold, cruel and amused tone: ”My, my, my... Who is here with us tonight... Mr. (I forgot his name), prefect of (I forgot the county.)... So many important people start to me to see us lately, I see. ” The man looked a little embarrassed, said something I could not hear, like a blabber. Helena put her hands on her hips, tilted her head and looked at him amused for a few seconds, then she continued: ”Indeed, we should feel grateful that such a great man, with such a great and vital public function is with us. That he sacrificed an evening from his time to be with us. Especially after how much the nation owes to him.” The man gave a forced, a bit scared, a bit disgusted smile, neither me or Marietta heard what he said. There was something sadistic in Helena„s voice, even toned town. As something inside me was shaking due to her presence and talk, I could still sense an even fainter goofiness, that contributed to the sadism. Some people laughed. The prefect babbled something unintelligible, it sounded a little like an animal grunt, as he was fidgeting on his seat. That was really funny albeit in a twisted way. No, that was not a lifeless puppet, nor the work of a puppeteer, I decided this must be a real woman, pretending to be a doll. She turned back her arms on her hips and her look on the prefect. That man looked like under the influence of something, as Helena pierced him with her gaze. I felt there was a power coming from her to the prefect, doing something twisted to him, although I was not ready to admit it to myself. And this power terrified the man, but also made him angry, having a tone in his blabber and expression I never thought possible. I could sense the fear on all the other people in the audience but, at lest some of them felt satisfied and smiled on what happened to the prefect. Fear and amusement fused into one attitude. Yes, Helena was a real artist, albeit unlike any other I met before. Helena continued on a dark parody of a maternal tone: ”You know, since you granted us the honor of your presence, I feel compelled to give something back. So, tonight, for you sir, I have one of my personalized recipes.” A few laughs and incentives to proceed came from some of the public, as they knew what was coming. ”Since autumn is present perhaps something with a British touch would do. But also with a Balkanic one of our own. I think, sir, I shall roast you in the oven. So, after I remove your entrails, I shall wash them, and place the heart, liver and pancreas back. I shall fill your chest and abdomen with fried eggplant, tomatoes and pepper. Olive oil shall get into this, some apple vinegar and mujdei (Romanian Garlic Souce). For spices, perhaps some turmeric? Cloves and chilli? I think I shall go with thyme, oregano, sumac. A little bit of lemon juice. I would be tempted to use some mushrooms but, since it is a meat dish, I do not know if they are too appropriate. You know, I am open to suggestions, from the audience, especially you, sir, since you shall be the star of the feast.” She had a nasty smile on her face, maybe a little rascality in this? ”Of course, dry wine is a must. I do not know if some vinegar as well will work, some say wine and vinegar are a no match. Tastes differ and, as you say, I can not judge someone„s taste. And some gasket. Alongside yourself, I shall place the potatoes, with dill and vinegar, perhaps some other herbs as well? Hmm, perhaps some onion? No, garlic. And sumac. How does it sound?” The crowed felt mostly frightened, some felt like being put off, some cheered. Helena waved at them and said: ”You know, I am glad some can really enjoy my genius. Therefore, I invite the prefect to offer himself and I promise that what will come out would be enjoyed by the citizens who will be deeply grateful to him. So a shame he will be not be able to taste himself. But perhaps I could make a appetizer of himself, before he goes into the oven, when he is still alive, so that he may enjoy as well. Rest assured, you screams of fear and pain, when you will be sliced alive will be deeply appreciated, since they sound progressively appetizing to me.” There were people laughing, including Marietta. I had a feeling of unreal, of disconnection. A coldness, something was engulfing us, I tried to keep Marietta at my chest, out of a protection instinct. But I admit I laughed too. I managed to partially convince myself this is just a clown with a dark sense of humor, in order to keep my mind from slipping into something. I was not terrified, do not get me wrong, but all this feeling of unreal and weird energy, so to speak, was creeping me out. After she finished with the prefect, she moved her gaze around the public again and on me. Something cold took me in, as I felt it coming from Helena to me. She started on a creepy-polite tone: ”Tonight, we have a gentleman from Argentina with us. I do not know if you heard him singing, but I advise you to, since we do not get too many in our distant country. And this is fortunate, since we are about to dance the tango, the dance of his fatherland. My hope is that he will appreciate our vision of the tango. Do not worry, although I am confident your flesh and your blood are really tasty, if you are, let„s say, *nice,* I shall not come for you and cook you.” Then, after saying this in Romanian, she repeated it in Spanish. That was both scary and pleasant in the same time. Helena returned to the prefect and the rest, and added: ”So, tonight, we have the tango. And remember, ladies and gentlemen: Politicians are tasty. And if they are properly cooked, they are delicious.” Then she clapped her hands and said: ”Maestro, musica!” A series of tangos started to be played by the unseen orchestra, with the same dark twist of the waltz before. Yet, the pair managed to get the moves right and they looked lifelike, and skilled. Now that I was convinced that Helena was a living woman, I could appreciate her as a dancer. She moved kind of stiff, like she was a doll, but I guess this was part of the act. I admit their moves were somewhat old fashioned, like the tango was before World War I, but they are mastering them greatly and also brought them their own touch. Yes, that was something frightful in all the dance, as in the waltz, but I really appreciated it, and I could feel that Helena was not just mechanic in it, there was some real passion, although in a bizarre way. At the end, as the pair returned once a again to their pose we first saw them, people arose and applauded the act. And we meant it. The lights went out, as applause went on. They went on, and Jameson and Helena were gone. As we went out of the tent, Marietta was cheerful, as usual: ”I told you it would be really fine to see her. Nothing too scary... You have not seen anything like it, isn„t it?” I took a deep breath, as I gave a twisted smile of my own: ”Indeed, I have not. I haven„t seen anything like it not just in my own country, nor else. And I have not heard about anything similar anywhere. I think this is not a puppet, I think this is a living woman, a skilled dancer with an unconventional sense of humor. She gave me the strangest compliment I ever received...” Marietta laughed: ”I totally understand her. You look very yummy!” She gave me a fierce kiss, as we were walking. Then, something I never expected came. I heard a gun and a bullet came very close to my ear. Startled, we looked behind, in the crowd that leaving the fair. It was Tudor, the husband of Marietta. Some ladies screaming got the people into a panic, as I grabbed Marietta„s left arm. I whispered to her ear: ”Run!” She went as fast as the high heels allowed her, as I turned towards where Tudor was. He shot another time, I managed to get down in time. At least he was not focused on me, not on her. I started to run in another sense then Marietta took. I needed to act fast, so I decided to get behind a shack. I turned left, and waited for Tudor to come. I kicked him into the jaw as fast as I could and, before he could do anything, I kicked again, under the chin. It was a good move, as Tudor was, as I suspected, a little drunk. I was able then to hit his hand with the gun and make him drop it. I went for it and, as I touched it, he grabbed my throat with his arm. There were a few tough seconds, as he tried to choke me. I do not remember exactly, I managed to kick him in the stomach. This made him drop the grip. After escaping, I kicked him in the stomach again, he fell to the ground. I took the gun, emptied it, then dropped it on the ground. As Tudor crawled, I shouted to someone to call the police, in French, not sure how fast people understood me. Finally, a police man appeared, he did not seemed to know any other language then Romanian, he grabbed both of us and took us to the station. It was a long night. A superior officer who knew French finally came and he took my statement. Marietta was called as well. I was released in the morning and, as I reached the restaurant, I waited for the boyar to appear and tell him the whole deal. He looked grim at start, then thoughtful, and said: ”A public scandal will start. We shall see both outrage, and gossip. Did you pressed charges?” ”No. I like as little hustle as possible. I do not think he shall try anything similar.” ”Indeed. Things may get spicy, so to say. Even our king lives with his mistress, something well known to the public eye, even if deeply disgusted. It depends on Marietta, for her sake, a divorce would probably the best option. As for myself, I am telling you, I do not agree with the fact that you got involved with a married woman. I shall never do such a thing myself, I do not agree with this. I admit, at least on short term, things will probably be profitable for me, as more people will come to see your performing. On the long term, it is your decision if you still want to go on or leave the country. Perhaps the best thing is to wait for a few days and see how things go. Do you think you can sing today?” ”I think so.” I realized he did not liked my behavior at all, but he already invested in me and so on. His business relation with Tudor and Marietta would crumble, most likely. Years later I regretted the affair with her, as I grew older and my heart became different. I do not know what could have been if refused Marietta, but I know what came next. And it was far more scarier and life changing then what had happened until I arrived in this country to that moment. After performing, not very well, to an audience that was, surprisingly, large, as I stepped out, a little boy, dressed in petty clothes, yet clean, came to me. He looked at me a little shy, as he took off his beret and handled a note. It was from the mysterious admirer I told you before, the paper and all were similar to the previous one: ”Greetings, mr. Daglerion. It seems you have what it takes for a Don Juan. You are still very charming, I still would like to meet you. Especially now, since you are free. If you want, we can met tomorrow evening. At 9 pm, you can come at the gate of the Obor fair and Matei, the boy who brought the note, shall greet you and lead to my house. I let you think until tomorrow. Yours, E.C. ” A faint perfume was present, and an attraction to this stranger I never met. Inexplicable, indeed, I should have known better. I was too much a Don Juan, as E.C. put it, I wanted some relief from the situation I was in, so I decided to go on for it. I looked back at the boy, he was a little fearful of something, like a shadow was on him. I tried to cheer him up patting his shoulder, he gave a forced smile. He greeted me with his beret and left. The next day, I waited for news from Marietta, no sign of her or her husband. The boyar knew nothing, I sang that afternoon, I told him I need to rest in the evening. I left after the show, bought a red rose, took the tram and went to Obor. So, when my pocket watch showed 9 pm, I was at the gate of the fair. Matei came out silent, grim, and he greeted me. I had a feeling he shall bring me inside the fair, but that did not happen. He took me on Colentina highway, upwards, then to left. On the right there was the railway track and the Saint Demetrios church, that was visible from the Obor fair, almost cathedral proportions, that seemed to be a combination of romanesque and baroque. Around it, small houses. Some meek, semi-rural, some French-like. I was going into the unknown, virtually alone, at night. Inside me, two forces fought, a cold and calm fear, and something alluring me. Night was mostly quiet, as people were indoors, mostly, just some dog barking from time to time, in the autumn mist. The star filled skies above me. October night started to get misty, slowly, as we crossed the railroad and a graveyard appeared on my right. A huge factory was on the left, a mill, it looked like a citadel on its own. It was dark, silent and imposing. The central part was a silage of bricks, that indeed had towers and battlements, like a fortress. A train passed, as we reached the graveyard gates, that were in an arched gateway. I did my best to memorize the direction and sense, in order to get back to Obor, afterwards. In a way, I was getting a bit closer to Victoriei but, without knowing the city, I could get lost easily in the labyrinth of narrow streets. We crossed a street, the train was stopped, blocking the street ahead, where Matei took me. He managed to show me that we need to pass through the wagon of the train, to get to the other part of the street. It was empty, some leftovers of grains. We reached a small crossroad and went left. Small shops on the oriental-like street, where traditional houses stood. From time to time, some shop, similar to the ones in Italy, was visible. We went to the right. Shortly after, another crossroad, the railway crossed this place as well. The train was not long to block this part as well, so we crossed to the other side. I kept in mind the landmarks, in order to return of my own. The grey mist was getting heavier, as something inside me felt build up. Anxiety and being drawn. The two feeling fought stronger and stronger with each step. Soon, we reached a gate of a small house. One level house, like the rest, a faint light was inside. The boy knocked at the wooden gate, with the same grim face, greeted me silently with his beret, then left. I waited for one minute or two, no one appeared in sight. Suddenly, the gate creaked out open. A cold breeze went from right to left. Something was calling me. Something heavy was on me, something cold, I should have turned back. But I was like under a spell. In fact, I think I was under a spell. But it probably also my adventurous side that brought me to this distant and foreign country. I entered the yard and closed it, behind me. The house was more traditional than western, with rooms situated in a row and had an anteroom, like many of the old houses of Bucharest. I knocked at the door, it slid open. Again, nobody in sight. I dared to enter. The anteroom was empty. I whispered (I felt I could not speak out loud.): ”Hello? Anybody here?” The first room was short, old feel, somewhat shriveled, both the walls and the floor. Not much in there, there was a table, with several types of food, including some appetizers, sausages, other meat dishes and something that looked like desert. Black candles alight, something like an old, rugged sofa on a corner, and a table with records and a gramophone. The room felt like a room for the dead or where the dead were kept, also a fear that was getting sharper came into me, like I was going in the claws of a monster. Of immediate danger, that I need to get out as fast as possible. I actually wanted to do that, but the door to the other room opened and, as you probably guessed, Helena came in. Seeing her from the distance was one thing. Seeing her from up close made me realize in a second this was neither a ventriloquist doll, neither a living person. This was something dead. Cold and cruel. Who preys on living people. The supposed clown makeup was part of real skin color on her face. Her dead white eyes looked at me and I stopped in awe. She were a black, old fashioned dress, elegant, and her black wiry hair had small jewelry in it, like on stage. This being fed on Humans, I knew it, she was the source of the anxieties I felt the nights and days before. The power that allured me here, the grey mist from outside, were her work. Yes, indeed, I knew now La Strega I feared as a child was real, and I was in her grasp. I dropped the rose on the floor and turned to the door. Helena made a sign with her right arm and the door locked before I could do too much, and the key flew to her hand. Then, smiling sadistically, she placed it a pocket of her dress. I turned to her, as my heart started to beat fast, and a sense of imminent death was upon me. I started to hyperventilate, but I have not scream. I was in a tomb, in the lair of La Strega. My childhood fear came true. And the fool of me went to this by my own. Helena tilted her head and gave her cruel, condescending smile I knew from her show, but much clearer and unmasked. Something told me to get to my knees and beg for mercy, but backed out and settled on the door on my back. Finally, Helena started talking in her hissed voice, in Spanish, on a somewhat polite tone: ”Hello, mister Daglerion. Thank you for responding to my invite. I know some Spanish myself, but I think it is better to speak in French, as I assume both of us know it well.” I nodded my head and mumbled something like ”Ok, whatever...” still in panic. She came calmly to me, with her mechanic like walk, as I wanted to close my eyes, in hope that either the nightmare would be over, or either she will kill me and finish me off. I said a short prayer in my mind. She came close to me, inches away, and said in a commanding voice that still tried to be a little gentle: ”You want to live, I suppose. You may live, if you do what I say. If the first thing on my mind would have been to kill or torture you, like I did with others, I would have done it already. So, listen to me, brace yourself and do as I say. Do what you do with ladies, with mortal human ladies. This is what you need to do, for starters. Got it?” I opened my eyes to her own dead eyes ravaging me. But I forced myself to get as calm as I could in this situation, to be calm and rational in the middle of the nightmare. I started saying: ”Excuse me, senorita.” I picked up the rose from the floor, gave it to her and kissed her hand. Her hand felt heavy and cold, make me feel chills. But she smiled and replied: ”Thank you, senor. You seem to be a gentleman, at least in your manners. This is how I guessed you were. I hope we shall enjoy ourselves tonight, dancing the tango, the dance of your fatherland. I have prepared dinner almost completely on my own, for this occasion. Perhaps some appetizers shall put your mind in a mood proper for dancing.” Reluctantly, I joined at the table. I felt her discrete, old style perfume. Like when you open a closet from your deceased grandmother„s house and you discover her clothes from the times she was young and you can sense the perfume she wore, As appetizer, there was zacusca, a type of spread, made from roasted eggplants, with some added tomatoes, onion and pepper. Sometimes, like in this case, it also had some mushroom mixture, alongside spices. Also, as appetizer, there was a somewhat soft, white traditional Romanian cheese named telemea. There was a large, full wheat bread, with seeds and herbs in it. We started eating, I had to admit zacusca was really good, the cheese was also interesting. So, in order to keep myself calm, I told her about zacusca: ”This is delicious. Never tasted anything like it.” She smiled at this compliment (in her own twisted way, of course) and replied: ”I made it myself. In here, we do lots of things, including zacusca, in autumn, to store, until spring crops came out.” She took the giant red wine bottle and poured in the glasses for both of us. We got the first silent toast. The wine was sweet and flavored, it seems this terrifying lady had some interesting tastes. All this time, in splits of seconds, I was able to see several times that, behind her black lips, her canines were not Human canines, but fangs, pretty long and sharp. After finishing the first part of the meal, as an awkward silence came from my behalf, Helena said: ”Do you feel like trying to dance now? I have Argentinian tango, Romanian tango, also other types of music. I would really like to see how you dance in Argentina, and teach me some of moves from there.” My fear, although still strong and present, was starting to leave the panic mode and this allowed me to think more clear. ”Alright, senorita, I shall let you choose.” She went to the record stack and said: ”I would to start with Milonga Sentimental. One of my favorite tangos.” At that point, I wanted to say something, but I felt afraid to say it. Helena stopped and looked at me sharply, yet calmly as she did: ”What is wrong? Tell me.” I felt that it had no point to lie and said: ”Excuse me, but Milonga is different from Tango. In a way, Milonga influenced Tango itself. I realize that not many outside Argentina know this and call it is labeled as Tango.” Helena looked at me interested and said: ”Go on. I would to know more about it.” So I made her a little speech on the history of the dances, how they appeared, how they evolved. Helena finally said: ”Alright then. Show me how is danced, as you do in Buenos Aires.” She placed the record and we started to dance. I said another short prayer, promising to The Lord that, if get out alive of all this, I shall not commit adultery ever again. Panic tried to get over me, as I touched Helena„s back, getting into the position of the dance. We started dancing and I prayed a lot in my mind while it happened, in order to keep my mind from collapsing. I showed her, calmly and politely, the moves. She knew some of them, but performed them more like in tango style, I adjusted them. We did several times. Something was, very slowly, discretely, starting to change in me at this point. Helena was a skilled dancer and, if she were not what she were, if she were Human, it would have probably been, probably, a real pleasure to dance with her already. Everybody who is an artist on stage knows something. You need to concentrate on the act you perform, either acting, singing or dancing. To keep your mind away from stage fright or just from becoming obsessed in ”pleasing” the public. Helena was a stage artist as well, she knew it pretty well. I think this is why she treated me like this, in order to ease my fright and make me more relaxed to what she wanted me to experience. I picked up several Argentinian songs next, she allowed me to, and I showed her more moves. She tended to be somewhat restrained in movements, more like it was before World War I. I still shook when I felt her breath on my neck, but I was getting use to this, slowly. We eventually turned to Zaraza, the Argentinian Tango translated into Romanian that brought me to this country in the first place. First, with the original Argentinian version, then the cover sung by Cristian Vasile in Romanian. Helena became less stiffy, and I became more used to touching her body. We took a break, and went to table again. Helena looked at me: ”I assure you this meat is not of Human origin, but sheep. I do eat Human flesh as meat and drink Human blood, but I do not plan on doing it tonight.” I started to shake again at her cruel smile again, then she added: ”You are really sweat, yet. But I want something else from you tonight, not that.” She looked with a little goof, keeping her head on her palms, as she looked at me. ”This is how Argentinian men are? That sweet?” I gave a restrained chuckle: ”Not all. Like not all men in here are the same. You know, you are not the first Romanian lady who told me something like this.” Indeed, I fell prey to the aura of latino lover, once again, but this time the lady in question was not human, unfortunately for me. ”Probably Mrs. Florescu told you something similar.” I forced myself to laugh a little: ”Is it already known in detail?” ”Oh yes, what did you think?” ”Well, although only with Marietta happened what happened, I have talked to some other ladies and they said similar things.” ”I guess I agree with them too well.” replied Helena, with feminine playfulness that would have been to others hard to guess through all that coldness and malice she emanated. ”Lets continue with the main dish.” she said and I agreed. There were some really interesting sausages, well spiced, with a strong flavor, also pretty hot. Another dish that I really enjoyed. She was also a skilled cook. I said to myself: ”She has some nice qualities. Too bad that she is a monster, not human.” I continued: ”It seems you have seen me singing before I saw you dancing. It is clear that you enjoyed my acts, I really appreciate this, really. the same for your dance as well. How do you started dancing?” She replied: ”I did some ballet a long time ago, when I was a Human child. After that, for the act, Gordon taught me a lot. I practiced it with him. You can say many bad things about him, but you can not say that he is a bad dancer, or not a well read man, or a mannered man. He taught me a lot. He is the one who keeps me in his control, most of the times: Due to him I lost my Human, mortal life, but he compensated it a little. Like homeschooling me somewhat, allowing me to read many things. He also taught me some things you should not know about.” ”You always practice such humor on the stage? Helena replied: ”Not always. We do just dances, sometimes. But, that night, the prefect was there, I noticed you in the public, so we decided to do it. Indeed, I am sure you shall never meet a Clown like me. You know, people tend to despise clowns, thinking them to be shallow and cheap. I dare those to say those about me.” And winked with her malice. After a few seconds of break and another glass of wine (If this would have been a normal, human, lady, I would have been already worried of her drinking too much. But I did not dared to say anything.) she went on: ”You see, I have a lot of time on my hand. Not just to read. It is pointless to read, if you do not think of what you read. And I like to think a lot. And get a lot of ideas. Too bad I can not put into practice most of them.” After another sip of wine: ”You know, in order to get things well, not just with those, but also when I dance, I make sure I enjoy myself in what I do. First of all. If the public enjoys it as well, it is secondary. But, as I seen from my experience on stage, if you do that, at least a great part of the people in the public shall enjoy it naturally. You are a singer, I think you know what I am talking about.” ”Now, if I came to think about it, I guess you are right”. She already felt somewhat more human, so to say. I felt less afraid then in the beginning, that was for sure. ”One more dance before desert, shall we?” she proposed. I agreed. It went another round of tangos. At one moment, a clumsy moment and I stepped on her foot. My hard went cold, panic returned and I fell to my knees. She looked at me with anger, like wanting to pierce me with a sword. I started to mumble, she grabbed my chin fiercely (It hurt pretty much.) and said with a harsh, but restrained voice: ”You are doing it to yourself! Brace yourself at once! What would you do if this happened with a normal lady, not with me?” I manged to brace myself and mumbled as calmly as I could: ”Excuse my clumsiness. I did not meant to.” Her tone returned to the one before and said: ”Apologies accept. Let„s go on.” Shaking yet, I continued, until i recovered my nerve from before. Finally, the dance finished and we went to desert. She unveiled a huge round coliva. I said: ”Is this coliva?” She looked at me with a less sharp smile: ”Indeed, it is. I see you found out our favorite desert and its purpose. Too bad I was never offered it as a offering, after I was turned, as people do with their dead usually. But I did it for myself often. Tonight, besides boiled wheat and honey, I have added some pomegranate, some vanilla. I hope you shall like it.” This was delicious as well. ”What a lady...” I thought to myself. I looked at her and tried to imagine how would she be if she were still human and alive. She would have looked very much like a Latin American woman, with her hair, her features, her style even. Her waist looked beautiful, her chest as well. Her corpse like face with all the clown patterns could not hide the features that she would have had. I touched her strong and cold hand as gently as I could. She smiled in a more human way. All this time I sensed a strong power coming from her, alluring and forcing me. Like a creature of darkness. But now I started to feel something else. Something different. Faintly, at first. Then, I thought to myself: ”After all, why not? Perhaps this is what I need to do anyway, to escape alive. No warranty that it will work. But at least I shall experience something I never thought possible.” Yes, I started to see the woman in her, not just the monster. And I started to feel lustful. Not much, at first. Yet, as much as forced myself to cultivate that lust, something contrary came from inside, a combination of revulsion and fear. As the lust grew, they became stronger alongside it. Besides fear, the revulsion of the fact that I was about to do something with a dead, inhuman, creature, put me off. I rose from the table, took her hand and looked in her terrifying eyes. I saw something else, besides monstrosity. I closed my eyes and dared to kissed her lips. A death-like coldness came from the head to toes, and shook me. Then another kiss, a more passionate one this time. I felt her fangs. Coldness came once again, stronger, like I was naked, on a winter night, in the wind, or dead, in the coffin. I kept my eyes closed and kissed her on the neck. She gave a faint moan, a moan that I heard before in mortal women, I knew it very well and what it meant. I got down my head to her chest, as my mortal body prepared for the first stages of death, and I heard her beating heart. She had a beating heart! Was she dead or alive? This made the revulsion get much weaker, but the terror remained. I looked into her eyes, as I touched the back of her dress and tried to open it. Then tried to uncover her breasts. Her gaze felt far more human now, she desired for it as well, I felt it. Yet, now she had a fear of her own, she was a little reluctant. Following my moves, she started to undress me as well and push me to the other room. In there, there was an old bed, covered in black velvet, surrounded by black candles lit. I took over from here, and she submitted. Like the ladies before her did. I kissed her once again on the lips. She had a fire in her heart, underneath all this coldness. Yet, I felt colder and colder and my mortal being started to sink in terror. I kissed and caresses her, she kissed and caressed me, as we were going to bed. I hoped I will be able to fulfill what both of us wanted. Coldness of death reached my bone marrow, Helena kissed my shoulder then, suddenly, she bite it with her sharp fangs. That was too much for me and it all went dark. I woke up at the gate of the restaurant, in the morning. The boyar and the bartender were struggling to wake me up and raise me to my feet. The fog on my mind persisted for about a minute, feeling unreal, before realizing where was I and what happened. They helped me get in the restaurant and sit on a table. The boyar smiled at me and said: ”You know, the ?tefan cel Mare highway was in rumble last night, as Helena carried her in her arms, and dropping you here. Fortunately, there were not too many people awake, to realize it. It seems the ladies really have a thing on you and it is good idea to stick on here. Marietta and Tudor are back together. No charges against one another or yourself. They probably hate each other, but money needs to be made. They shall continue their business with me.” In my mind I had the self-ironic half-silly thought that I can have Helena as a lover now, so no need to ling on to Marietta. I laughed out loud a bit, as the mist of the night was getting out of my mind the clear autumn sun caressed me. I looked at he blue sky and I felt happy to be alive. Upstairs, I have discovered a note in my pocket, like the first ones. It said: ”Thank you, my dear Sebastian, for accepting my invitation and for last night. You behaved pretty well, if we think of the circumstances, especially when others would have lost it easily. I really appreciate it all and it meant something to me, I assure you. Probably you consider that now impossible to continue what we started, I shall not force you. But it is probably it is for best that we shall give you a few days to settle and think about it. Who knows? You may decide, in the end, that you desire to meet me again. If you do, you can always come to my show and let me know on a note. Or perhaps you shall be brave enough to come backstage yourself, after you see me performing. Anyway, your music is still appreciated by me and I shall come to listen you, regardless if you shall see me or not. Yours dearly, E.C. .” Back in the day, notes from ladies could also have the lipstick print of her lips. There was something similar in here but, where the lipstick print would have been, there were two perforations in the paper, from her fangs. I decided in a few days that it is best for me to leave this place. I do not know how much it was fear or else. I just missed living in the ”normal world”, and this city and this country felt to my mind like another planet, and I wanted to get back to the world where people just live their lives and where there are no Stregas, Elves and who knows what else. I managed to part with the boyar on at least somewhat friendly terms. After all those years, I still think from time to time at Romania. At Bucharest. At Helena. As the memory grows distant and the memory of terror faded away, I remember her with some regret. Perhaps I should have had the power to stay and try. I never met a lady like her ever again, perhaps my life would have been different if I was strong enough to be able to embrace the shadows. Now, upon the end of my mortal life, it makes no sense to let myself ruined by regret. But to remember everything that was beautiful in life, even if this beauty was not the beauty you would have expected or longed for.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My grandfather left behind cassette tapes explaining how he'd been the cause of the three worst natural disasters in his hometown [PART 2] [RESPONSE] First and foremost, I’d like to apologize for ending my last post so abruptly. I had just finished transcribing it and…well…let’s just say that hearing it for a second time certainly didn’t dull the impact it had on me. I remember that after posting it, I sat silently in my room. I remembered something about my grandfather. I remembered how whenever I’d visit, he’d always have a plate of pancakes ready for me. I was sure it had been my grandmother who’d them for me , but I can now clearly remember my grandfather’s strong muscular back facing me as he flipped pancake after pancake, wearing a ridiculous apron that would always make me giggle as he’d put the maple-syrup mountains in front of me. It was only this memory that gave me strength to listen to the second tape. The second tape was also labeled with a Sharpie, but this one read “WOLF”. The transcript below is one I made a week after the first one. Why did it take me so long to put finger to keyboard key? Well, lets just say that I needed some time to let things sink in. The following is what the second tape had recorded on it: *\*Ten seconds of silence\** *I…don’t need you to believe me David.* *Hell…even I doubt it.* *I also wondered if those memories were just the result of a child’s imagination.* *Kanterville really was leveled by a massive tsunami, but as time passed…I’m ashamed to admit that I forgot about Rosanne. At first, I forgot her voice…then what we used to do together…then her name…and then I lost her smile.* *I was sixteen or seventeen.* *The tsunami that leveled Kanterville had been caused by a massive landslide into the reservoir.* *I feared large bodies of water like lakes and even coasts and found sharks too horrendous to look at.* *And I had long forgotten the reason why.* *I just did.* *Every day was the same.* *My mother would always be applying iodine to any new wounds she might gave gotten, and there would always be three more beer bottles to be weary of when walking through the house.* *During that summer, I’d take long walks in a forest that bordered my town.* *It was much, much larger than the one between my town and Kanterville, and I would walk in it for hours every day.* *If I was lucky…I’d see a particular deer and her small fawn.* *I always enjoyed observing them more than anything else.* *The way how the mother nuzzled her young and how she helped him standup up when he himself couldn’t always warmed my frozen heart.* *I always wondered how my father could be below a wild animal…but he was.* *The days all melted together.* *I could only get a sense of time by seeing how the small fawn would grow.* *The fawn and his mother could reliably be found in the same spot most of the time; a small clearing out in the woods.* *I would always hide behind this large jagged boulder and observe them, envious of their peace.* *Well, one day, after a particularly bad day at home, I was out on my walk in the evening.* *I went to the boulder as always and climbed it to get a good view.* *But instead of seeing the fawn cuddling up against its mother, I saw it shaking madly while a grizzly bear dug at its mother’s carcass, eating and sheering off meat as though it were a person eating a watermelon.* *It was massive David.* *To this day, I have never seen a bear that large.* *It couldn’t even be considered a bear.* *When it lifted the mutilated deer by its head, its entire length, from its skinny hooves to its crushed head, went from the ground up to the eyes of that bear, which meant that the beast was at least six feet tall on all fours.* *Never has time slowed down for me as much as when I realized this.* *Each bite seemed to last forever.* *I had to escape.* *I needed to.* *But then, after it was done with the mother’s carcass, it turned its attention to the small fawn.* *I should have run.* *But instead, I shouted with all of might at it.* *David…I can only say that I made it as far as I did because of the uneven terrain and because my quadrupedal physiology gave me an advantage in dexterity.* *Otherwise, I’m not sure there would have been anything left of me.* *I somehow ran deeper into the woods than I would have ever been willing to go during daylight, let alone nighttime.* *All I know is that by the time I came to, I was standing in front of a gigantic cliff overlooking the forest.* *The sun peeked out just barely enough for me to make out the monster lumbering towards me out of the thick vegetation I had absentmindedly walked through.* *I was dead in that moment.* *Either the cliff would take me, or that bear.* *I chose the former.* I wanted to die. *Home wasn't safe.* *And this forest wasn't safe either.* *I told myself to jump.* *I commanded myself to jump.* *But my legs were nothing short of nailed to the ground.* *The monstrous brute stood up on its hind legs, and looked like a wave that was about to engulf me.* *It breathed heavily, as though its breathing was depended on a corroded and rusted engine piston.* *Its pupils held nothing behind them.* *Only hunger.* *Hunger for me.* *I closed my eyes shut the moment I knew it was about to attack.* *But then something unexpected happened.* *A sound much louder than the roar of the lunging beast.* *Then nothing.* *It was as if the sudden gunshot had made the monster go away.* *I was covered in blood.* *The bear lay in front of me, its head blown to smithereens.* *My savior came out of the dense vegetation and he stood still once in my line sight.* *He was an older gentleman, maybe about seventy, same age as I am now, if I had to guess, but only his face showed it.* *His hunting jacket held a great wave of muscle and grit at bay, and his stained teeth smiled warmly.* *Ferguson was what he went by.* *He had a modest cabin not too far.* *I took a shower there.* *He gave me food.* *And I fell asleep to him telling me stories about his time in the second World War.* *The next morning, I was back home, invigorated with a new sense of life and meaning.* *My parents couldn’t care less.* *My old man was happy to have me out of the house for most of the day and my mother was too broken to hold any concern.* *So, I spent most of my summer that year visiting Ferguson.* *He would give me books which made my imagination run amok.* *He would tell me stories which never failed to leave me in awe.* *And he always had the patience to listen to whatever I had to say.* *He taught me how to shoot a rifle.* *He taught me the value of life and why there must be patience in living it.* *And he taught me how to love myself, so that I could enjoy my life.* *He was the parent I wish I had always had.* *The first day of school was approaching, and I knew I had to go.* *Despite everything, I had managed to get good grades, and was in the works for a scholarship at a college in the next town over to study chemistry.* *I knew I couldn’t visit Ferguson anymore because I would have to give it my all this last year, and he understood.* *But even so, I didn’t feel right to just leave as suddenly as he had come into my life.* *I wanted to give him something as a thank you for everything he’d done for me.* *And I knew just the thing to give him.* *…* *A scarf.* *I know it might sound odd, but the man barely had any clothes at all, and I knew that winter would be upon the town soon, so I resolved to make him a scarf.* *It was a challenge, I should say, and I was barely able to make a passable scarf that I was confident to give to him.* *I still remember that day David.* *My father had had a particularly bad fit that day, and I could only leave at night.* *I trekked through the dense vegetation alone, muscle memory being the only thing guiding me through the suffocating darkness.* *I carried the scarf in a present I had wrapped, and my thoughts overtaken with the image of me giving the scarf Ferguson and the sight of him smiling.* *But soon I was stopped dead in my tracks by the sound of leaves rusting behind me.* *The sound of my father’s drunken voice just about made my soul collapse.* *I was on the ground before I knew it, my left arm, my jaw, and my right shin broken, and Ferguson’s scarf lay right in front of me, before my father.* *The smell of gasoline wafted through my nostrils, and I was too late to act when I heard the strike of a matchstick.* *The darkness receded, tearing out of me the hope I had for delivering the scarf to Ferguson, much like how one would pull a fish out of the water.* *My father’s berates failed to reach my ears.* *I was deaf to every other sound, only able to register the sound of the flames crackling in front of me.* *It was then that I felt that familiar twinge of anger again.* *The very same one I'd felt that day so long ago.* *Small at first, but it wasn’t long before it started to fester.* *Each word coming out of my father’s mouth was like another bucket of gasoline onto the small wicker of flame in my heart.* *The flame kept growing hotter and hotter and larger and larger within me.* *I tried keeping it in, my instincts all too aware of the memory I had long since suppressed into the bowels of my mind.* *I really did.* *I used every ounce of will and strength that I could to keep it in.* *But I sneezed the moment he called Ferguson “just another heathenish kiddie-fucker”.* *I sneezed with all of my might.* *My snot was burned to nothing by the fire I sneezed it into.* *I realized my mistake the moment I made it.* *I no longer felt any anger.* *The fire started to sputter, and I saw the orange flame morph into a bloody red.* *I started to crawl back.* *My father saw this and his eyes became like those of an angered bull.* *He rushed at me, but as he stepped over the burning scarf to do so, a massive flame whipped up and wrapped itself around him like a tentacle.* *I then saw him burning as the fire started to spread.* *They weren’t even flames David.* *They looked like infinite Mandelbrot spirals, claws like the waves in Japanese silk art. They tore everything, sheering him off bit by bit, disintegrating more like vengeful acid than denaturing fire.* *As my father turned to ash, flames started to slither out.* *They slithered.* *Oh god...they slithered.* *Like great pythons, or fissures forming in the earth, they approached nearby trees and started to consume them too, like a horde of locusts wiping out entire fields.* *Even from afar, it felt like I was standing at the edge of a volcano.* *The air felt like pressurized steam, scalding my skin like boiling water.* *I couldn’t run for the life of me, but even if I could, that ability would’ve soon been taken from me by what happened next.* *From my father’s ashen remains, the fire that consumed him rose like billowing smoke.* *And in that great wall of heat and insatiable gluttony, I saw a pair of eyes form and focus on me.* *They were wild.* *They were feral.* *But they weren’t like those of the bear.* *They weren’t empty.* *They were two pockets of volcanic magma that burned themselves in my mind and corroded my will to escape.* *I was going to die. I knew as much.* *But then, while the fire was still stationary, gathering nutrients by burning the forest around it, something stepped in between us.* *It was a deer.* *A deer much bigger than any other I had ever seen.* *Its size was more reminiscent of a large moose.* *Without warning, the gigantic deer lowered itself in front of me, and I immediately knew that it wanted me to climb on top of it.* *I was barely able to do so, but the moment I laid myself over it like a rag over a towel rack, it leaped up and started to run.* *The speed with which it moved is indescribable to me even now to this day.* *The wind, broken by its humongous antlers like ice broken by the bow of a sturdy ship, rushed through me with such force that it ruffled my hair like a great and mighty gale.* *I thought I was finally out of danger.* *I thought that God had saved me.* *But then I turned around, and realized that the devil would not let me go that easily.* *The flames were approaching.* *No…They were running David.* *It was they who were the great and mighty gale, approaching us a like an enormous dust bowl.* *Among those searing flames, I saw those eyes again, but to my horror, the flames around them started to mold and form until they vaguely resembled a gray wolf.* *That was my hunter.* *I was its prey.* *Everything in its path was its prey.* *And one of those things was me.* *A dark cloud of ash hung over the forest.* *Me and my helper would soon be surrounded.* *Escape would become impossible.* *But then, just when hope was lost, a figure burst out from behind one of the bushes and ran past us.* *Ferguson held his rifle and was still as spry as ever.* *I wanted to scream at him, but he paid me no mind. All I remember is him turning back for a quick smile before the deer leapt over a slanted cliff and slid down.* *The fire wasn’t upon us anymore.* *I could see the clearing not long after.* *But as soon as we were near it, the deer suddenly stopped and I was launched forward as if riding a speeding motorcycle that had abruptly come to a screeching halt while still going at full speed.* *I skidded off the grassy ground, and the deer disappeared behind the thick woods.* *Not too far away, I saw my father’s car.* *I dragged myself in it and, to my great luck, the keys were still in, and with that, I drove off.* *I thought about going back for Ferguson.* *I thought about stopping for my mother.* *I thought about shouting out of the car that there was a great fire.* *But I didn’t.* *I felt as though I had been wronged by everything and everyone in town.* *It had abandoned me.* *My father had abandoned me.* *My mother had abandoned me.* *The love of my life had abandoned me.* *And, as embarrassed as I am to admit this, I concluded that my surrogate father had just abandoned me as well.* *I knew I’d always wanted everything to burn to ash.* *So I drove.* *And as I drove, it started to rain.* *I thought God had come to help.* *But I soon realized that he didn’t want me to escape from my sins so easily.* *The car skidded off the watery road and turned over, and I barely managed to climb out, more injured than before.* *I could see the entire town in the distance from where I was, and rising above the woods, I saw a great mountain of flame.* *The rain was powerless to extinguish it.* *Its heat made the water evaporate before it touched it.* *It was like a hide that protected it from a volley of arrows.* *I saw it lean back, smoke billowing around it like fur for its fiery musculature, and now that it looked more like a wolf, it unleash a howl that echoed throughout the land, like a volcano exploding.* *I saw as it spilled out of the forest slowly like the lumbering bear, consuming everything in its path.* *I am unable to put into words the despair that I felt as I saw this.* *The rain weighed me down, as though the countless hands of those having turned into ash were forcing me to watch what I had unleashed.* *I felt hopeless.* *I wanted hope.* *And then I thought that God had finally abandoned me as well.* *That's what I assumed when the urge to sneeze came upon me again.* *I didn’t feel angry.* *I jabbed my index fingers in my nostrils as far as they would go.* *I had no intention of creating another monster.* *But when my lungs reflexively expanded, the snot was pulled down along my throat, which made me violently cough it out of my mouth; my hands unable to block it in time.* *I coughed the snot on a puddle, and I saw the water go terribly still despite its surface being violently pelted by the rain.* *The wolf destroyed and consumed in the distance.* *I was sure it would grow to the size of a mountain and burn the entire continent to a barren wasteland of nothingness.* *But then the puddle started to rise.* *I saw it morph and mold itself into what I could swear was the tiniest of deer, like a miniature glass sculpture you’d find in a pawn shop.* *It moved towards the edge of the hill I was on and started to run down it like a sled.* *With every gallop through the forest, collecting the dew in every leaf, as well as the rain falling from the heavens, it grew larger and larger in size.* *The once tiny deer became gargantuan wave that pushed forwards, its antlers reared down.* *I saw it collide with that flaming wolf, whose size it now matched, and like an elephant colliding with the ground after being thrown off of a skyscraper, it exploded into a blast of shimmering rain that shot itself in every which way, like an atomic bomb if I do say so myself, the steam rising up back into the sky reminding me of a mushroom cloud.* *I passed out then, either out of exhaustion or relief, maybe a combination of both, but the next thing I know, emergency services were picking me up, and I later saw on the news how there wasn't a town named Kanterville anymore, along with hundreds of square miles worth of forest.* *At the time, there was only a gigantic sizzling crater that has now become, as I record this, a vast plain of recovering nature.* *They could never give a conclusive death toll, as there were no bodies to speak of.* *There was nothing to speak of.* *I went to live with my aunt.* *I got my degree.* *And I forgot about this incident as well.* *I forgot about Ferguson much like how I forgot about Rosanne.* *I forgot about both of them, even thought they’d sacrificed themselves to save me.* *I guess I didn’t want to remember.* *I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.* *But I guess fate didn’t want me to forget.* *I say this because one day, in my dormitory, I found a mailbox on my bed.* *Inside...I found a scarlet scarf in perfect condition, with a faint stench of gasoline and only a small burn mark where I remembered my father tossing the match.* *I didn’t go to class for a week after that.* I *just...laid in bed with that scarf wrapped around me.* *\*a full minute of silence\** *Having said all that David...do you still love me?* *How do you feel knowing what you know now?* *It’s okay if you hate me.* *I just wish I could have told you all of this in person.* *But most of all, I just want to ask you one last thing.* *Did you like my pancakes, David?* *Because I loved whenever Ferguson made me those pancakes to eat every time I visited.* *I only wish that you’ve enjoyed them as much as I enjoyed them.* *For his sake.* *And mine as well...however meaningless that must no doubt be now for you.* *\*Recording ends\** The fourth and final tape rests right under the screen of my computer. I don't know why ,but I have a feeling that "RAVEN" may take me longer to transcribe than the other ones. I hope I'm wrong.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] There's something in McConnell [RESPONSE] For weeks now, I've heard something outside my house at night. Talking to neighbors, they've heard things too. It started as shuffling and scraping sounds, but soon turned into tapping and banging and now whimpers and moaning. I first noticed it about 3 weeks ago, I was having a smoke in my garage at maybe 11 o'clock at night. I heard what sounded like someone stomping around on the leaves. Shortly before I heard the noises, my gut instinct flaired up. I felt like I was going into fight or flight, the hairs on the nape of my neck standing up. I wanted to investigate but I didn't want to be that white girl in a cheesy horror movie so I decided to end my smoke and go inside. I couldn't hear it from inside the house, so I wrote it off as an overactive imagination. I'm a big horror fan. I didnt hear anything for a few days. When I heard it again, this time it wouldve been about midnight, again out for a smoke in my garage. It sounds like someone was walking on my back deck in heavy boots towards the side of the garage and then it turned into what I would describe as dragging feet. It seemed to be making it's way to the front of the garage, I got up and threw the dead bolt. I also checked to make sure the back door to the garage was locked. After I threw the deadbolt, it went silent. I couldn't hear anything, not the cows from the pasture down the road, no wind rustling of the tree right outside, nothing. There's normally a lot of ambient nature sounds here, as you'd find in super small towns. On really quiet nights, you can even hear the river water from my house, it's about half a mile down the road. But I couldn't hear anything after I threw the bolt. My instinct flared up again and I hustled into the house, absolutely terrified. Both of my roommates were still passed out on the couch when I came inside. I didn't want to be dramatic or get Boone worked up, so I let them sleep. Grif is very level headed and probably wouldve rationalized it and helped me see reason, but Boone is very high strung and superstitious. He wouldve gotten worked up and scared and I didn't want to do that to him. As before, it was a few days before I heard anything again, but this time, it was worse. It started relatively the same as before, with the sound of someone dragging their feet on the back deck, around the side of the garage and to the front. I got up and checked the locks, starting to get worked up. But I heard whatever it was stop in front of the front door. I was starring at it, only standing a few steps away. And then the tapping started. It sounded like someone was tapping on the window on the side of the garage. Which would be about 15 feet from where I heard the dragging sound stop. I looked at the window, but it was dark. Normally I can see the neighbors outside light through that window, but it seemed like something was blocking out the entire window. I rushed inside, that night I was home alone. This house has a weird amount of entrances, 4 doors leading outside in total. The garage is attached if that helps clear any confusion. Once I made sure all entrances were locked, including windows, I tried to go to bed. I couldn't fall asleep until my roommates got home, I heard them come in, laughing and not sounding worried, so I assumed everything was fine then. I like to go on walks, and I've become friendly with some of the neighbors that sit outside, talking to them occasionally. The day after the tapping, I went on a walk and saw one of my neighbors outside, I went up and talked to her. After some small talk, I brought up what was going on. She said she's been having a similar experience, with it sounding like someone's pacing her yard at night. She thought maybe it was large wildlife, a couple years ago, they found a cougar in the next town over. I asked her if she's heard any tapping and she hasn't. Per the pattern, it was a few days before I heard it again. This time, I was in the dining room at about 3 in the morning I'd say. The dining room contains the formal front door, which leads to a large porch. The house was very quiet, both of the boys were asleep in their rooms, so no TV or other man made noise. I was reading a book, trying to relax enough to fall asleep, when I heard it. It sounded like someone was stomping around on our front porch. It set off my instinct, again, but I didn't connect it to the pattern since it was different. I moved the curtain slightly to try to get a peek outside, only noticing I couldn't see anything. As if my outdoor light, my neighbors outdoor lights, and the street light were all out. I should've been able to see, as you can tell, there's an abundance of light source in my little neighborhood. It must've been one moment between me moving the curtain and the banging starting. It was on the front door. Like hard banging, like the way police knock but nonstop. They were banging so hard, it was shaking the door in it's frame. It was enough to wake Boone, whose room is right off the dining room. He came out disheveled and confused. I didn't want to look, as that would mean opening the door. It doesn't have a window or a peep hole. I was scared, and I must've looked it because Boone asked me what was up. I couldn't find the nerve to speak. He went for the door and as soon as he touched the handle, thats when the windows started. It sounded like someone was open hand slapping on the windows, hard. I leaned on the wall for support, I was so scared it felt like my knees would give out. I could feel the vibrations from the banging on the wall. Boone was frozen, terrified like me. We didn't know what to do. We just starred at each other for what felt like hours, but when the banging stopped, I saw the clock. It would've only been 3 minutes. We both slept in the living room that night. It felt safe because it doesn't have any exterior entrances, the only room on the downstairs that doesn't. In the morning, we informed grif, but he rationalized something that wasn't rationalizable. He tried to say it could've been the wind or a raccoon. A raccoon was banging on windows 5 feet off the ground while simultaneously was banging like the police on the door? I told Boone the rest of what I had heard and I was right, he did get worked up about it. But I didn't laugh at him this time, as I was terrified too. And just like usual, it was a few days before we heard anything again. I'd yet to talk to any of the neighbors about it when this happened. Then shots were fired. Somebody fired a gun off in McConnell, and plenty of people freaked out. We're a small town, with under 200 people. Everyone knows everyone. Nobody knew or could figure out what was going on. Phone trees were activated with anybody who had somebody else number asking around trying to figure out who shot off the gun and why. But no one knew anything. Police were called and they patrolled the town, asking questions. Boone was home alone that night. He said that roughly 30 minutes after the gun fire, he heard the kitchen door being banged on and the handle jiggling. He thought the gun man was trying to get in, so he hid. He was terrified. He hid in the crawl space in the basement, it's the best place to hide in this house. Unless you know it's there, you'll never find it. He tried to reach out to anybody, but the service sucks in the basement. The wifi doesn't reach that part of the basement and cellular service is spotty at best in town, nonexistent in our basement. He caught some luck and was able to send one text out, I was the only one out of the many he tried to call to receive anything until he came back upstairs. All I got was a 'Break in. Don't come home. Send help plz'. And of course because in all actuality, I am that white girl in a bad horror movie, I rushed home. I tried and tried to call him, not realizing where he was hiding but the calls wouldn't go through. I blew up his phone, his grandma's phone(she lives right across the street) and his mom's phone(she lives in town) to no avail. I got home and paused in my car for a moment, debating if I should go in. I have some survival instinct I guess. When after 5 minutes of thinking, and no one responded to me, I decided to go in. I grabbed the bat I keep in my car and snuck in quietly through the garage door. To be undetectable to a potential burglar, I used the access from the garage to the basement and decide to patrol my house staring from the bottom. Both entrances to the basement are sort of hidden in a way. The stairs in the garage are behind a half wall with tool boxes piled up againstt it, from the front, it blends into the wall behind it and you can't really tell that's it there, you only see the stairs if you enter from the back door in the garage. I checked the lock on the back door, still bolted shut. I went to the basement and crept along in the dark, able to avoid the junk because I know where it's at. I was sneaking past the crawl space, barely lit up by the light coming in through the small window in that room, when I heard my name whispered. I jumped and swung wildly around me. It was just Boone. He poked his head out of the crawl space and let me know it was him when I stopped swinging. He asked me if I called the police. Of course I didn't because, well it's me. We then both tried to call, but neither of our phones would put us through. We debated what to do for a bit, when we heard banging coming from upstairs. It still sounded like it was outside. I crept towards the stairs that led up into our pantry and Boone followed closely behind me. Basically using me as a shield, the little shit. When we got to the top of the stairs, we could hear the door knob rattling, like someone was trying to turn it while it was locked. I peaked out of the pantry and could see it was coming from the door in the kitchen. I asked Boone, in a whisper, if he could get any service yet. He answered in affirmative, and I motioned to follow me. We went to the living room where he called the police and reported a potential break in. They showed up and investigated the house, seeing if anyone made it in. This is where it gets weird. The kitchen door wasn't locked. There were dirty hand prints on the outside of the door, where they would've been banging. And we heard the door knob, and I saw the door knob jiggling, but there were no prints or marks on the exterior knob. We use that door, there should have been something. It looked like it was wiped clean. It made absolutely zero sense and I still can't wrap my mind around it. A few days after that, I was expecting the banging. But that didn't happen. It was different now. I was having a smoke in my garage, and I heard shuffling. The feet dragging sound. But there was also the quiet whimpering. I'd compare it to how I heard my mom crying at night when she thought we were asleep, that soul crushing cry but youre trying to suppress it. I felt devastated when I heard it, like I was the one making that sound. It was contagious. It made it was starting from the back to the side of the garage, but instead of moving to the front line before, it sounded like whatever it was was moving away from my house. The further it went away, the lighter I felt. Once I was done being sad, fear gripped my heart again and I rushed inside. This time, like a child, I hid under my bed with a kitchen knife. I was exhausted at work the next day, the lack of sleep due to these things was finally catching up to me. And people have been commenting on how tired I look. Then last night, it happened again. I was in the garage, again smoking, when I heard the shuffling of feet. I tried to keep calm, knowing what to expect now. I've been trying to figure out what this is, but I'm not getting anything. The crying started in tune to the shuffling. It worked it's way from the back to the side of the garage and it sounded like whatever it was collapsed onto the leaves outside the window and started to heavily cry. It sounded like painful moaning and whimpering. I couldn't see anything out of the window again. No lights. I couldn't hear anything other than the moaning. I felt that devastated feeling again. Like pure depression had a hold on me. It just seemed to get louder and louder and then it suddenly stopped. I have no idea what this is. I've entertained the idea of it being a ghost, as I've got a graveyard practically in my backyard. But that wouldn't explain my neighbor experiencing too. Boone thinks its a ghost or something too, but that answer just feels wrong. Im wondering if the shooting and my occurrences are related, but how? And what was up with that door knob?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My pregnant neighbor refuses to leave her lawn. I'm starting to freak out [RESPONSE] It was Tuesday. Nothing special about it, just a day in August. Like hundreds of Tuesdays before. I was coming back from work and my neighbor Marge greeted me with a wave and a smile. She was sitting in a folding chair on the lawn in front of her house. I waved back at her and asked how was she. “Pretty fine, thank you, Jim. The Junior started kicking me already” - she said stroking her belly, protruding above the sweatpants. “I bet he’s gonna be as energetic as his dad” - I said with a smile and on that note we nodded at each other as in “it was nice seeing you”. Later that evening I ran out of cigarettes and went to a nearby store to get some. Surprisingly, Marge was still there, sitting in her chair. She must have dozed off or something. I hoped Tim won’t forget about her, as even though the days were still warm - the nights started to get a bit chilly already. On my way back I checked again - her husband was by her and they were discussing something, so I decided to pass by without dragging any attention. The next morning I woke up late. As I work 2/2 shifts - I could afford the luxury of sleeping till noon. Marge was there again. This time she had a coffee table and a jug of lemon water by her side. She was reading a book. Nothing special, I just registered this as I was making my coffee. And I would never pay attention to anything like that, because why would I? But at some point, it went out of the boundaries of being normal. It was a week after she started to take her sunbaths or fresh air sessions, or whatever she was doing. I woke up in the middle of the night for, you know, biological reasons, and something made me look outside the window. She was there. The clock showed 3:23, but my neighbor was sitting in that chair, covered with a blanket, sleeping. I don’t understand modern parenting and all those “natural” things where a woman is supposed to give birth in a bathtub, but who am I to judge? Maybe it was something new and trendy. Good for immunity, you know? So I got impressed, a bit concerned, and forgot about it. Soon it became a routine. I mean seeing her there in that folding chair every day. It seemed that the belly grew bigger and bigger with every week passing and I’m no expert, but something told me that the Day is coming soon. September came and quickly climbed to its middle. The leaves started to fall, the rains were fierce. Nothing would stop her. A rain poncho, an umbrella - I saw a couple of solutions implemented. She just smiled at me and waved her hand. Sometimes accompanied by her husband. The temperature dropped drastically in the following days, but those weirdos didn’t stop doing whatever that was. I’m a regular man, so I don’t stick my nose into other people’s business. But this became more and more strange. I approached them a couple of times, having a small chat and asking how’s it going. Aren’t they concerned Marge would get cold, wouldn’t that harm the baby? But they just laughed it off, saying they have a simple answer for any situation. I noticed that Marge’s abdomen became quite large. I can even say that the size of it was remarkably huge. I saw a couple of pregnant women in the final weeks of their terms, but this… I thought it was impolite to ask if they were expecting twins, so I didn’t even bother. Finally, October arrived and my lunatic neighbors didn’t care about it. Even when the withered grass around started to cover with early frost - she kept sitting there. Do you know what’s the weirdest thing about it? Nobody hinged a brow. Other people on the street brought her treats and stopped by to have a chat. Not a single person thought that was something out of hand. One morning something happened. A tent, to be specific. That husband of hers put up a tent around her. The tarpaulin one, like they use for hot dog stalls on fairs. And he was kind enough to put a heater in there. Or so I guessed looking at the electrical chord reaching out of the window of their living room. I caught Tim walking from the grocery store with two large paper bags of food in his hands. “Hey, man. I don’t want to be that guy, but are you sure everything’s fine with Marge?” - I asked - “It just seems a bit too exotic to me. It’s getting really cold outside. Are you sure it’s safe?” “Yes. No need to worry. She’s feeling perfectly fine. Thank you for asking” - he replied. I couldn’t but notice how pale he is. He tried to hide the dark circles around his eyes with a smile, but that was impossible not to notice how exhausted he became. What if that was a hysteria of some sort? I mean, young parents have a whole bunch of problems that can result in nasty things. Like, post-natal depression, for example. I had no clue what should I do in this situation. So I did the thing I was best at - nothing. Days passed and I haven’t seen Marge for two weeks or so, as she was hidden inside the tent. Just Tim running back and forth, carrying loads of food, hot drinks in thermos, books, some medication, or whatever. Once I noticed that the tent walls were moving back and forth as if that crazy woman was stretching in there, or maybe her husband was giving her a massage. It was weird, but weirder came next - the moaning. I woke up to her moaning in the tent. Immediately, I rushed to check out if everything was okay and if I should call an ambulance, but Tim, who was standing by the entrance of the tent said it was alright. The baby was on its way and it was completely normal. “Muscle cramps and back pains. No worries, Jim. I am with her 24/7” - he said. But the moaning never stopped as if she never got a moment of relief. They became constant. My job became my new home - so that I could avoid those horrible sounds echoing around our peaceful neighborhood. They were getting under my skin and I couldn’t get to sleep. The earplugs didn’t help much, as even with the ears plugged I just knew those psychos are still there. The true horror was revealed yesterday. The wind was especially strong and some of the tent pegs just didn’t hold. Tim was probably sleeping, exhausted, so he couldn’t react quickly. I have no better explanation. But the side of the tent opened aside. Clearly, the poor woman needed some help. No blanket or windbreaker could save her from harsh weather. Especially in her condition. So being the good neighbor I am - I walked straight to the falling tent and asked: “Hey, Marge. You need a hand with the tent?”. Only the moans were the answer to my suggestion. Standing there without a proper answer and not the slightest clue if she was okay or not, I decided to act. Grabbed the side of the tent fabric, pulled, and… Your hair turning gray in mere seconds is a popular myth. Uncontrollable urination is not. The vision of the tent's insides paralyzed me. I was standing there with my mouth open and my eyes refusing to register the thing before me. It was still dark outside and I could just take a peek through a gap, but that was enough to traumatize me for the rest of my days. Marge was not there. At least, not the Marge I would expect to see. A huge bubble of flesh, covered with horrible stretch marks lay before me. I couldn’t see the whole picture, but the thing was huge. It was wobbling like a bowl of jello and the motion was accompanied by unbearable moans and the putrid smell of something rotten. The stink hit my nostrils and the tears covered my eyes instantly. I couldn’t bare another moment of looking at it, so I ran. So I ran. I didn’t think straight, I just wanted to get the fuck away from there. The further - the better. I ran to my friend's house on the other side of our town. Didn’t give them a proper explanation, and called the police. Do you know what they told me? “Sir, do you have a kink for peeping after pregnant females?”. Tim keeps calling and sending messages. What the hell is going on? I have no idea what am I going to do. All my life is left in that house and I don’t have the guts to show up there. My credit cards, my papers, everything. That thing… I nearly smashed my phone as I took the last drop of bravery and checked one of the messages from Tim. It said: “Hey! It happened! Baby Tim Jr. Is born. Jim, we want you to be the godfather. After all that we went through. We just won’t take ”no“ for an answer :)”.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Headshot (Part One) [RESPONSE] The bright lights blinded me as I opened my eyes. My head hurt like hell and I was soaked with sweat. It felt like I had slept for days in this bed I was unfamiliar with. “You’re awake. It’s about time,” the doctor said to me. He was a short man, with slicked back hair and a dark beard. He had a thick Spanish accent. Dr. Fernandez. That’s what his name tag read. I was in a hospital. But for how long? What the hell happened to cause me to get here? “A week and two days. That’s a long time to be out,” Dr. Fernandez explained to me. “You’re lucky the officer found you when he did. You damn well could’ve been rotting in the ground somewhere rather than here.” Officer? I don’t remember any officer. The last thing I remember seeing was my friend, Jeremy, lying next to me, finger held up to his lips. He was trying to keep me quiet. His eyes, I remember his eyes. Filled with so much emotion but also none at the same time. He was definitely scared, scared about something. “I can see the look on your face. I know what you’re thinking,” Dr. Fernandez was saying. “You were shot. In the head. You’re really lucky. Everybody else in your class…t-they we’re killed.” Tears welled up in his eyes. I remember what happened now. School shooting. I was in a school shooting, and I’m one of the few people that managed to survive. Fuck. Jeremy. He didn’t make it. I remember the loud “BANG” and seeing Jeremy’s color fade to white, his eyes staring blankly at me. Blood. So much blood coming from his mouth and head. I heard another “BANG” then a groan. There went another one of my classmates. Then I heard one last “BANG,” and my vision faded. I wanted to cry, but tears wouldn’t come out. I wanted to scream, but words wouldn’t come out. I wanted to run, but my legs wouldn’t allow that. “Would you like something to eat or drink? Maybe both?” “Yeah. Water please. I’m not that hungry.” Dr. Fernandez smiled at me as he left the room. I sat there, staring at the wall blankly. I felt sick to my stomach. I didn’t want to believe what I was experiencing was real. School shooting? Nah, that wouldn’t happen to something like me, especially in the small town I live in. But it did. It definitely happened. I touched the back of my head. It was tender to the tips of my fingers. A burning sensation went through my head and I winced in pain. I was definitely shot. Fuck. Dr. Fernandez came back and handed me a bottle of water. “We’ll have to keep you for a few more days. Monitor how you’re doing and make sure you can be cleared to leave. I’m sure you want some alone time right now, so I’ll leave you be. If you need anything, just press this buzzer next to your bed,” he pointed at a small, red button next to me, “and a nurse will come to assist you. I hope you feel well soon.” And with that, he left. I opened my bottle of water and took a sip. My vision got all fuzzy as soon as the liquid went down my throat. I couldn’t see anything. The bright lights of the hospital vanished and I was transported to a world I was unfamiliar with. I was in a room. A dark room. The walls were made of only concrete. The floor was cold and hard. The only light inside of the room was the light shining in from the bottom of the door. The only sound I heard was the howling of the wind. I walked up to the door and leaned against it. I fell backwards as the door opened behind me. I jumped up. I was in a house. My house. I walked up the stairs leading to the den from the basement. I stepped foot into the den and looked out of the window. The sky was grey and depressing. The trees lost all of their leaves and there was snow on the ground. I searched my house, looking for a coat or jacket, a pair of pants, and some boots. But nothing. I was stuck wearing this hospital gown. I walked through the living room and up to the front door. I took a deep breath and opened it. The cold air hit me. It felt like thousands of needles piercing my skin all at once, all in the same spot. I stepped out onto my front porch. I looked at my front yard. It was covered with a sparkly white blanket. But there was something else. Blood. A few drops of blood in the snow. I went out to the drops of blood. It was a trail. I found more blood a few feet away. Then more. And then even more. I kept following it until I reached a body. It was of a man. An old man. My neighbor, Gregory. I ran to his corpse to see if maybe, just maybe, he was still alive. But no. No breathing. I felt for a pulse. Nothing. He was dead. I looked around, and saw a figure in the distance. I waved my hands in the air and yelled at them. They let out a loud screech and ran towards me at an inhuman pace. As it got closer, I realized this…this thing wasn’t human. It had no face other than eyes. It had pieces of flesh rotting from its head and arms. I turned to run, but I couldn’t run fast enough. The thing caught me. My vision went fuzzy again. I was back in the hospital room. But it was eerily silent. I slowly got up from my bed and peered out of my room. There was nobody out there. No beeping of machines, no groaning from sick patients. There was nothing. I walked back over to my bed. I stared at that red button for a few moments, and then pressed it. I heard a buzzing come from the nurses desk outside of my room. But I also heard something else from outside. A screech. The same inhuman screech I heard in my “vision.” My heart raced as I heard the sound of fast footsteps approaching my room. I slammed the door to my room as that thing turned the corner at the end of the hall. I hid behind my hospital bed and pulled the table over for extra cover. The thing banged and scratched on the door. I just hope that the door will keep that thing on the other side.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] We're Investigating The Disappearance Of Everyone In Our Town. Happy Halloween (Part 7) [RESPONSE] Now I know what some of you are thinking. Pete, where in the fuck have you been? This is a valid question and the answer is that I’ve been really busy. Yeah, what else is new, right? The difference is it’s been more hectic than usual for us. First, let me get the greeting out of the way and wish all a Happy God Damn Halloween, well almost. True, we may not be celebrating with the people in town, but how many people can say they’re celebrating Halloween with a real-life gray? Not many, I’ll bet, and speaking of Zohl, guess who finally got to see the inside of his ship? That’s right. We did, including Stevenson. Of the four of us, he seemed the most excited to be there. I’m getting ahead of myself, though. I won’t lie. Since I got over two weeks of stuff to talk about, I’ll have to split this into two posts. Oh yeah, one more thing, I finally got down baking pumpkin pie thanks to a helpful commenter. I also found this super easy recipe online that uses graham cracker crust. I’ll link it here if anyone wants to try it. Now, without further ado, I’ll pick up where I left off last post. This first part is a couple days after it due to us needing to recover from the card tree incident. “So what do you guys think?” I asked. We were all in Carl’s living room. We decided to spend our first day of downtime decorating. Zohl helped us and now we have lights up, jack-o’ lanterns, fake crows, and Freddy and Jason lawn inflatables. Two pumpkin pies on the coffee table in front of us. Between them was a bowl of homemade cinnamon whipped cream. There was enough for each of us to have two slices. “Damn good,” Carl told me, biting into a slice. “I like the classic kind more, but I wouldn’t knock this graham cracker one either.” “I have to admit this is pretty good,” Stevenson said, cutting off a piece with his fork and dipping it into some whipped cream. I looked at Nick who gave a thumbs-up with a slice stuffed into his face. “Thanks, I’m glad you guys enjoyed it. By the way, Zohl, I’ve been wondering something. Do you actually need to eat?” He was spreading some whipped cream onto his slices. “Not as often as other species. Mine can go weeks at a time without needing sustenance.” He dug off some of the filling and put it in his mouth. I picked up a slice from my plate, swirled it into some whipped cream, and bit into it. “As much as I’m enjoying this, I think we should move on to more important matters,” Zohl continued. “Right, so what’s the plan here?” Carl asked. “Indefermast…” “Inde.” “Inde?” “We shortened the name.” “Well, whatever its name, we’ll need all the resources we can get to destroy it.” He noticed our expressions drop. “Did I say something wrong?” “We weren’t planning on fighting it,” I explained. “Yeah, the idea was for us to just go in and get everybody out,” Nick added. "You've all managed to overcome every challenge thus far and yet you seem apprehensive. Why is this?" “Because monsters and paranormal shit’s one thing,” Carl answered, “but we’re talking about a full-fledged eldritch abomination here. We can't exactly fight, let alone kill something that'll fry our brains the second we lay eyes on it. The other stuff was bad enough. We'd be goddamn idiots to try this." "Believe me when I say I can empathize with your fear. Indefermast or Inde as you prefer to call it was my home's terror longer than you can imagine." His words made me realize something. "Oh yeah," I said, "you mentioned creatures overrunning your planet before. I'm guessing it's responsible?" "Your guess would be correct. I and a handful of others managed to escape it before it was taken over completely." "How did you end up on Earth then?" "One of the creatures was chasing me. I managed to hurt it, but my ship was damaged in the process. It crashed near your town and I passed out on impact before your townspeople found me." "When did you arrive exactly?" "The late sixteen hundreds." Stevenson, who'd been quietly observing up to that point, spoke up. "That was during the witch trials," he said, surprised. "How did you manage to convince them not to burn you at the stake?" "Contrary to popular belief, there were places back then that you would consider progressive. While we were initially scared of each other upon first contact, the townspeople and I grew fond of each other." That surprised us. "You were friends with them?" Nick asked. "Indeed, I was especially close with the founding family. They let me stay with them and provided me with clothing while I found the right materials to repair my ship." "You knew the founders? What were they like?" I inquired. "You mean you don't know about them?" "Well, no. Information about them kind of got lost over the years." Zohl seemed lost in thought. His gold eyes stared down at the pie slices on his plate. "For us to succeed, knowing the history of your town is of vital importance. Before I begin, I suggest someone write all this down." Since I'm already writing these posts, I volunteered to type up the history of our town according to Zohl. "To start, the village that would become your town was still in its infancy when I arrived. Earth was a planet we'd been occasionally monitoring. However, we considered it to still be too primitive to make direct contact." Stevenson piped up again. "So you were the first alien on Earth then?" "The first of my kind. I can not say if other species were there before me. We were impressed with your species' ingenuity and thought you needed more time to develop before we were ready to make ourselves known to humanity. We’ve made sparse communication over the years, but we’ve kept it to a minimum.” Zohl’s voice, despite its monotone, showed the slightest hint of regret. “That’s the way we did things when meeting new species. However, I’m beginning to think that was a mistake. We thought if we helped species develop that would give them an unfair advantage over others, but if we had maybe we would have come up with a way to deal with threats like Indefermast sooner.” “You couldn’t have known something that powerful would show up,” I said. “This is true. Our planet was able to repel many outside threats up until then and I suspect it may have made us unintentionally arrogant. Now, getting back to when I was meeting your town’s founders…” He went on to explain that he was found passed out in the lake near the village. “Some hunters were out fishing at the time. Among them were two of the founders, a man by the name of Lorcan O'Rorke and his wife, Faye, My species had already studied your languages by then so I was able to catch what they were saying. There was some discussion of what I might be and what should be done with me. Dissection came up several times.” “Yikes,” Nick said, “were you nervous?” “A little. I knew your species while smart didn’t deal so well with the unknown.” His mouth curved up into a faint smile as he continued. “Which is why they surprised me. Lorcan deduced I may be able to communicate with them and helped carry me back to the village.” “Who were the other founders?” I asked. “Another couple by the Laelim and Ashkira Davis. They worked as doctors and aided greatly in healing me. In fact, if it weren't for them, my crash would have been fatal.” “Well, our townspeople always have their moments even if a lot of them are fucked up when they do them. What did they tell you about the town?” Zohl explained that the town acted as a safe haven for the outcasted and the scorned. Be it escaped slaves, women from overly religious villages, people with different sexualities, or even people falsely accused. They all ended up meeting each other and migrated far to settle on the land that became their village and now, our town. “It took them months to get here,” Zohl said. “I don’t believe it was random chance either. I think the land was calling them.” “How exactly does land call something?” Nick inquired. “By someone else leaving a message from beyond the grave. This land was occupied by a prehistoric type of ape that would eventually become human.” That rang a bell in my head. “Oh yeah, I think Inde mentioned something about that,” I said. “Didn’t they think it was a god?” “They did. How it got through was due to weak spots in reality.” “Meaning it was strong enough to create a rift between its world and ours?” “Correct, planets will form a natural barrier against the paranormal to minimize how much of ti can get through. Yours was still young, though, and wasn’t quite strong enough to keep something as strong as Inde out. The fortunate thing is that the rift was only large enough for some of it to get through.” “But that was still enough to convince them,” Stevenson spoke up. “What simpletons.” “Why are you being so judgemental?” Carl angrily asked him. “They didn’t know any better. How could they have?” “Because things haven’t gotten much better since then. Zohl said it himself. If we were more advanced, we’d have a better chance against threats like Indefermast.” Honestly, he wasn’t wrong. As much as we want to believe that reason and logic are going to win out at the end of the day, the fact of the matter is, most people will end up choosing what makes them feel comfortable over an unsettling truth eight out of ten times. We spend most of our time bickering instead of coming together to advance and when progress tries to happen, there are people who drag their feet every step of the way. It’s depressing as hell and yet, unsurprising. “Your frustration is understandable,” Zohl told Stevenson. “However, all we can do now is focus on what we currently have to stop it. The early humanoids were able to harness the energy from the riff and, for lack of a better word, enchant the land to attract people to protect it.” “What do you mean by for lack of a better word?” I asked. “You could consider the enchantment to be both a blessing and a curse. It attracted both people to defend the land and also acted as a magnet for paranormal forces. Dealing with threats such as that requires people who are more open-minded and ready to face the unknown. I became fast friends with the O'Rorkes and the Davis family.” “What were they like.” A reminiscent expression came over Zohl. “Kind, strong, and intelligent. They helped free their people from enslavement and led them away. I have many fond memories of me having meals with them.” Zohl picked up one of his slices of pumpkin pie. “This reminds me. They used to make pumpkin pie back then as well. Although, it was a little more cinnamon heavy and occasional due to the rarity of spices. I also recall it using honey instead of sugar. He opened his mouth and stuck in the slice, pushing it through with two of his long fingers. Seeing that, we realized we should be finishing ours too. “If I had to pick,” he said after chewing and swallowing, “I would probably choose the pie they made, not that yours isn’t good, Peter.” “Thanks,” I replied. “You wouldn’t happen to know their recipe, would you?” “That and more. The blacksmith helped me craft part to rebuild my ship.” “How long did you stay there exactly?” “At least a few decades. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only extraterrestrial guess during that time.” His words chilled the mood in the room. “That monster found you, right?” Carl asked. Zohl nodded. “It must’ve left its scent on my ship and was able to track it.” “From space?” Stevenson asked, shocked. “That far away?” “I thought I finished it off. I was wrong. It came in the form of a green meteor. The way it looked was like an octopus attached to the body of a mantis. It was fueled by Inde’s power and managed to infect villagers before I and others banned together to stop it.” “The first returned were created?” I said. “Yes, that thing managed to infect over half the town. Luckily, we were able to utilize the runes to fight it. By then, though, it was too late. Its presence severely weakened your town's paranormal defenses and has allowed the creatures you are familiar with today to get through.” “And others, so what happened after you guys killed it?” “We realized more threats were coming so I helped create the journal of runes to combat them, but I can’t take all the credit. The Davis family had fast sketching hands. When it finally came time for me to leave, I made the villagers a promise that one day I would return with a way to stop Indefermast once and for all. This town holds that key and there’s far more to it than you know.” “So what should we do now?” “You’ll have to reattempt the ritual you were trying to do before.” Collectively, we got an “aw fuck” feeling. “Do not worry. I will be assisting you this time. Since you were nearly done already, completing it should not take long.” Once again, we attempted the ritual again. The offerings were already burned so all we needed to do was reconnect the sets. Zohl was on the roof of the town hall and would shoot at any card trees that came too close. “Alright,” Carl said into his radio, “let’s try this again. My parts reconnected. What about all of y’all’s?” We replied that they were as I was drawing my sets back in. Once completed, the orange light once again appeared, and with Zohl’s help, the next ten minutes passed, not like a breeze. I mean things were still trying to kill us and time always seems to go the opposite of how you need it to in high-pressure situations. I will say it did alleviate much of our dread to have him helping. “It is complete,” Zohl called out to us. We went back to the town hall and saw the statue of our founders had slid away, revealing a stone staircase. "Okay, that's new," I said. "How long has this been here?" "Since before this town's founding. We discovered it during the making of the journal through an old cave. Then we built this to keep it safe." He gestured to the statues. We went down the stairs. What they led to left us in awe. There was a massive obsidian door in the wall. There wasn't any handle or switch on it or the walls nearby. "How do we open it?" Stevenson asked. Zohl stepped past him. "Allow me." He took out a long piece of chalk from a suit pocket and began drawing. He drew a circle of runes in the door's center that started glowing a faint white. He tapped them in a certain combination and they changed to a forest green. The single door turned out to be double which came open as if pushed by an invisible force. The inside made my breath stop and for once, I mean that in a good way. I'm not exaggerating when I say it was one of the most beautiful things any of us ever laid eyes on. The cave walls were decorated with smooth crystals of varying colors. On them were prehistoric paintings, men fighting with spears against winged monsters or ones that were humanoid, but massively tall. We even saw one of a bunch of people fighting a type of lake serpent with a head on each end instead of a tail. One especially unnerved me. It showed people on their knees or in poses I can only describe as towering. Some still stood with their spear in hand. Above them was a dark formless mass with red eyes. Tendrils seemed to be sprouting from its body, reaching in every direction. Even though we knew this wasn't Inde's true appearance, that didn't make seeing this any less unsettling. The floor of the cave was the same obsidian black and stretched off into an unusually shaped crystal. It reminded us of an open hand. In the palm of it were holes meant for some kind of "What is this?" I asked. "A gateway," Zohl answered. "I built it myself in order to access a realm that may help us to defeat Inde." "Hang on. May? So you aren't sure where this thing opens up to? What if it's somewhere we can't even breathe?" "I assure you we would not be trying this if that were the case. Do you all trust me?" We replied yes. It wasn't as if he'd given us a reason to distrust him. "Then I need you to trust that wherever this goes, we'll get back from it safely. Now, please step into the hand with me." We did and he reached into his suit pocket again, pulling out some jewels. "These are the reason I was gone for so long. I needed them to power this and they are very rare. Help me put them in." Once we got them all in, the air around us seemed to distort. "My insides feel backwards," Nick groaned. "Mine too," Carl replied. Stevenson and I weren't fairing much better. Thankfully, this didn't last long. When it stopped, we found ourselves in a sort of void consisting of only dark blue and purple swirls. Behind us was the hand. "What is this place?" Stevenson inquired. "The realm between dreams and the waking world. The reason it is empty now is because it creates places based on the consciousness of those within it." "So we think it and it'll appear?" Nick asked. "Not exactly. It's more that it'll pick up on what's close to you as a collective and create it accordingly. Observe." Bright orange cracks spread throughout the space around us. When they connected, they shattered, causing the light to spill over us and forcing us to shield our eyes. The light faded and in front of us was something that made our jaws drop. A black castle sat atop a tall hill. There was a spiked fence in front of it with Jack o' lanterns in front of it. On them were crows, ravens, and owls. Hanging upside down from nearby trees were bats. "This is awesome," I exclaimed. I know it must have seemed childish as hell, but this place was practically oozing Halloween. "While it is indeed festive, you must be wary of danger lurking within." "Huh? Oh, right, so anything we need to know before we head in?" "There are certain items that we must locate that are rumored to be contained in this realm. I am not sure what they are. However, I have the feeling we will know them when we see them." "Welp, no point in standing around then. Come on." The entrance doors were made of dark oak with golden handles. We tried it and found they were unlocked. The doors opened with a creak. The walls were stone and the carpets were red. Chandeliers hung high above us. There were several different doors we could choose to explore and a staircase both going to upper and lower levels. "Which one?" Carl asked. "The objects will be in difficult-to-access areas. I suggest we start with one of the hallways." We picked the one on the far left first since it was the closest. Upon opening it, there was only darkness and yet it was solid. When we all went through, we found ourselves in an underground temple. "How'd we get here?" Nick asked. "I've heard of this before, haunted houses changing where people should end up to fuck with them," I replied. "Are those hieroglyphics?" They were painted on the cave walls. "Remember, we'll face threats related to the world created," Zohl told us. Given our location, there was a pretty good idea of what we were about to face. We came to a room with a sarcophagus that was solid gold with red claw marks all over it. "Okay, I'm sure I already know what's going to happen," I said. "The pharaoh or whoever is going to be holding the thing we need and as soon as we take it, he'll wake up and attack us." "I mean, that does seem par for the course in these kinds of situations," Carl replied. "Let's see here, the door is still open. I'll bet when they wake up, it's going to close so we should hold it open and then run like hell when we get what we need." In fairness, it was a decent plan. That’s probably why it was doomed to fail. The pharaoh had seen better days. Seeing as how he was dead, that wasn’t unusual. In his hands was a silver orb covered in golden symbols. It seemed to have the consistency of a jello mold. It jiggled when I touched it. Nervously, we checked on the Pharoah. He remained the same, a dried corpse wrapped in bandages. We glanced back and could see the door back to the castle held open with one of Carl’s knives. I let out a breath, “Here goes,” I said and then grabbed the orb. We turned tail and ran. We could already hear the Pharoah’s groans as his ancient remains became reanimated. Now, here’s where things went downhill off the edge of a cliff. The door didn’t close. It vanished and my urge not to shit myself along with it. “The Pharoah is this item’s defender and the only way to escape with it is to beat him.” “Well, it’s only one stupid mummy,” Carl said. “We can take him.” At that moment, the walls slid open, and a group of undead armed guards flooded in and pointed their spears at us. Sweat trickled down my face as I closed my eyes and groaned. “You were saying?” Stevenson nervously asked Carl. “Ah, shut up. This shouldn’t be difficult because we got firepower.” Carl drew out his handgun as the guards were shambling towards us. He took aim a the Pharoah and fired. The shot was dead on and the former ruler collapsed. “See? Nothing to it,” he said. “Then why is the door still gone?” Stevenson pointed out. Carl frowned. The wall was indeed still smooth without any sign of an opening. Turning back to the still-approaching horde, the Pharoah was back on his feet. The bullet wound in his head was sealed up. Beneath the bandages was gray rotted skin. “At least they’re slow,” Nick said at which point the Pharoah moaned out a command and chopped his hand downward in the air. The guards were now sprinting toward us. “Fucking shit,” I hissed, “Run,” Carl yelled. We split up to force them to divide. I went with Zohl and Carl, Nick, and Stevenson went together. “Okay, regular weapons aren’t working,” I said as we ran. “What will?” “The creatures created here correspond with the world they come from and will share their traits.” “Wait, does that include their weaknesses?” “It should.” “Then I think I know what to do.” I shouted at the others to get their attention. “What?” Carl called back. “Fire.” He and the others were confused at first and then looked at the torches lining the walls. Instantly, they understood. While we knew what to do that didn’t mean doing it would be a walk in the park. We knew the mummies’ weakness. However, their advantage lay in numbers. “Duck,” Zohl warned. I did and a spear zipped over my head. We got close to the wall, grabbing some torches. Now we were ready to fight back. Two guards thrust their spears at us. We side-stepped them and shoved the torch in their faces. The result was almost instantaneous. They screamed in pain and turned into ash. That gave us a confidence boost. All of us were armed so we thought from here on out this would be a breeze. Soon, only the Pharoah was left. He snapped his fingers and more guards came in. “You’ve got to be kidding,” Nick said. We figured they’d keep coming unless the Pharoah was taken out. The obvious problem was that when we took out his guards to get to him, he’d just keep summoning more. On top of that, there was the whole tiring out from running for our lives thing. I really hate the human body sometimes. We searched for something, anything to give us the upper hand. “Guys, the pots,” Nick yelled, pointing with a torch. “Oh yeah,” I said, “the spices.” Certain species used for burial were flammable so that meant we essentially could make firebombs. Grabbing one required me dropping my torch. My heart thumped rapidly as two guards came at me and I was unable to defend myself. Luckily, Zohl came to my rescue. Turns out, he’s a lot stronger than we originally thought. When he hit his torches into the guards, they went flying and exploded into ash against the walls. “Since when could you do that?” I asked. “I’ve been holding back my strength. Now to end this.” I took aim at the Pharoah and chucked the pot at him. Zohl threw his torch which hit it, covering him in flames. He wasn’t the only thing to burn. The entire temple was catching and soon began crumbling around us. The door had reappeared and we got through it as the area finished collapsing. “Anyone else want to take a break?” Carl asked. We told him yes between heavy breaths and sat by the wall outside the door. It was only when we calmed down did I notice the cuts on Carl and the others. “You guys okay?” I said. “We’ve been better,” Nick replied. “You aren’t looking so good either.” “Huh?” I felt a sharp pain and glanced down to see a wound in my abdomen. All the adrenaline must’ve made me not register it sooner. We brought some medical supplies so we were able to patch ourselves up. Once ready, we got up and headed for the next room. This time it led to some dark woods. "At least we can get some fresh air," Carl said. "Yes, at the expense of something trying to kill us," Stevenson responded. "Let's just get this over with." A loud howl chilled the mood instantly. I'd seen enough movies to know that could only mean one thing. "Werewolf," Carl murmured. It came bounding out of the forest. This thing was insanely huge. It made the one in American Werewolf In London look like a puppy. Hanging around its neck was a red orb with blue lines running through it that reminded us of veins. "Zohl, please tell us you're strong enough to fight this thing," I said as fear came back over me. "I am not. I am sorry," he replied. "Then we're up shit creek," Stevenson groaned. The werewolf sized us up. We drew our guns. Then it noticed the orb in my hand. It tilted its head and then peeled it back its lip, exposing its teeth in a faint grin. My blood's warmth quickly plummeted at the sight of this. With a bellowing roar, it charged forward. We fired only for our bullets to not even so much as make it flinch. Carl cursed and we fled. The werewolf was quickly gaining on me. Realizing it was after the orb and recalling what Zohl told me earlier, gave me an idea. "Carl," I called out and he gave me a questioning look. I waved the orb and from his expression, I knew he understood my plan. I threw it at him as the werewolf was breathing on the back of my neck. It let out an enraged roar, seeing him catch it and it switched targets, bounding after him. The others picked up on the situation and what followed was basically a game of extreme catch. Whenever the werewolf got too close to someone, they'd throw the orb to someone else. This went on for a while as we were also keeping an eye out for the thing that would help us. Nick, who had the orb, threw it to Stevenson. He fumbled it. "Oh hell," Carl yelled. Stevenson was on his hands and knees trying to find it, letting out multiple cusses as he did. "Hang on," I shouted. "I got another idea." Admittedly, this was simply plain fucking stupid on my part. The werewolf was nearly on Stevenson. It stopped, getting ready to leap on him. I jumped on its back. You see, I thought since this place was associated with the dream world, the whole doing whatever you want in a dream thing applied. It didn't. I was flung away like an ant. The only saving grace was that I gave Stevenson enough time to pass the orb to someone else. I was seeing stars upon impact and pain shot through my body. Shaking off the fatigue, my fingers brushed against something as I was getting back up. I'd found it, wolfsbane. I yelled for the orb to be tossed to me. Zohl was holding it this time and he threw it a second before being knocked to the ground. When the werewolf came after me, I stuck the plant forward, hoping like hell this would work and that I wouldn't end up a chew toy. Its fur sizzled. I drew my gun and shot it between the eyes. It reverted back to a naked man and then crumbled into dust, leaving only the orb behind. We got out of there. Along the way, I snapped off some large branches. "Second one down," Carl said. "How many more do we got to get?" "Four." "Four? This could take a while then. Pete, what are you doing?" I was sitting down and snapping the sticks I got in half. "We'll probably run into vampires in this place so I'm making stakes." "Oh, good thinking. Here, we'll help." We spent the next half hour whittling down the sticks into stakes, during which some concerns were brought up, namely about food and where we would use the bathroom. “This place is pretty weird. Maybe we’ll come across one,” Nick said. He turned out to be right. We tried another door and found a restroom with stalls eerily similar to the ones at my old high school. I won’t lie. This did bring back bad memories, but I did my best to ignore them as we went about doing our business. After leaving, we marked the door. We were super tired so we chose to rest up with Zohl on guard whose species needs very little rest. I’ll have to leave it off here for now, due to Reddit’s character limit. Expect the second post Goodnight, <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I should have never taken that trip to LA. [RESPONSE] I haven't slept in days. My job is blowing up my phone because I haven't showed up to work since last week. I just can't bring myself to leave the house. All I can think about is where it all went wrong. It all started as a weekend trip down to Los Angeles. My best friend, Alina, moved there a couple months back and I finally got some time off to see her. I drove down from San Francisco because I enjoy long drives while listening to podcasts and needed some destressing. I won't lie, I was really nervous. Alina is VERY different than I am, she is drop dead gorgeous, almost 6 feet tall and very outgoing. I am barely 5'5, average looking and socially awkward. I think our friendships works because we balance each other out to some degree. My weariness started once I got over the grapevine on I-5. It felt like I had just entered a bubble of illusion. I had been to LA a few times before but this was the first time I felt this way. It was like this city was the most beautiful thing I had ever witnessed. I felt star struck for a moment. As I drove deeper into the city, that feeling was still there but also I noticed how grey everything looked. The trees, flowers, buildings, etc, all looked like they had lost their vibrancy. I should have realized what lied ahead after that. The weekend started off very typical. I got to her apartment ( a lot nicer than I ever anticipated ) and unloaded my suitcase. We grabbed our $10 coffee and were catching up. We did some light shopping, grabbed lunch, and just enjoyed each others company after being separated for months. Alina was a lot less bubbly than before and seemed to mostly talk about how much money she has been making but I did not think much of it. She definitely was a little more "boujee" than she had been before too but hey its LA, right? Alina's friends are typical LA socialites. All injected with who knows what, spray tanned to different races and all get their money from sugar daddies. Once again, I could not be more different. But I digress. The day I met all her friend for the first time we were at a brunch restaurant for bottomless mimosas. They all arrived 30 minutes late but I wouldn't expect anything else. It was a bit awkward at first, well, I was a bit awkward at first. But something about them was so intoxicating. They reeled me in and we became best friends within the hour. I was pleasantly surprised, her friends seemed to like me and I was no longer anxious/nervous. The mimosas helped, but I am in no way a heavy drinker so I just had a light buzz. After brunch was nearly over, one of Alina's closer friends, Willow, invited everyone back to her apartment for some drinks and to swim/ hot tub. Honestly, I was a little hesitant because all these girls look like damn super models and I am a little chubby. But, there was something drawing me to these girls. We go back to Willow's place and it was the nicest apartment I have ever seen. It was on the top floor of a very well known building and had almost 360 views of the city. I noticed that the whole apartment was grey and had no color. Just grey. Weird. There was also other people here that were not at brunch. Mostly men and a few girls. None of them seemed very friendly or wanting to talk. One of them seemed like he was exceptionally stoned, eyes glazed over and just sitting on the couch while staring off into space. I avoided most of them and made small talk with one other girl while Alina was changing. Her name was Nina and had just met Willow that day but decided to come anyway. We head down to the pool area and it was like the moment we stepped in everyone wanted to f\*ck each other. I was so uncomfortable and honestly just wanted to climb into a hole. Alina was nowhere to be found. Nina was making out with Willow. I just wanted to go back to the apartment. After about 20 minutes of straight up soft core porn, someone calls my name. I look around and I see Willow waving her hand at me. She asked me if I was having fun and very unconvincingly I said "yeahhh." She then puts her hand on my chest and it felt like I couldn't move. For a just a moment I saw something I could not explain. Her eyes were pitch black and soulless. I audibly gasped and took a step back. I didn't believe what I was seeing and tried to play it off like I was drunk and just lost my footing. She walked away without saying a thing. I sat in the hot tub and started to look around to what everyone was doing. All the girls/guys that were with Alina's friends almost seemed like they were in a trance. None of them were talking, just standing there, looking into the eyes of the girls they were paired up with. I sat there for a moment digesting what was happening. I noticed all of her friends eyes were black. I started to hyperventilate but wanted to keep quiet and not draw any attention to myself. I started to look for Alina, we needed to get the hell out of that building and book it back to her apartment. She was not in the pool or hot tub. I was panicking, thinking the worst. I don't know what urged me to go into the changing rooms, but I did. I really wish I didn't. I slowly opened the curtain and there was Alina. Crouched in the corner of the dark dressing room. All I could see was her neon pink swimsuit and long black hair. She was making these noises, it sounded like someone squishing Jell-o between their hands. I called out to her but was hesitant to walk further into the room. She was not turning around or responding to me in anyway. I took a deep breath and called her name again while slowly approaching her. The smell then hit me like a truck. Sulphur. Alina turned around once I was within arms reach. Her face was full of throbbing veins and her eyes were pitch black. She was eating something like that looked like a someone. Face and hair covered in blood. I was paralyzed with fear. After grabbing my arm she let out the most deafening, high pitch screech. I tried to run but she was inhumanly strong and her nails were digging into my arm. When our eyes met, I could see my Alina for a brief moment and she looked terrified. It was like she recognized me and was screaming for help from the inside. I managed to get my arm loose in that split second and run. I ran past all her friends, through the lobby and into the street. I ran and ran until I couldn't see the building anymore. I called an uber and sat through the drive to her apartment staring at the scratch on my arm and silently weeping. I couldn't even comprehend what I just experienced. I didn't even call Alina when I got back to her building. I gathered all my things and left. Thank god I drove myself because I would not have been able to wait for a flight. I sat in silence the whole 6 hour drive home. Debated calling the cops but I would have just sounded insane to them. Its been a week and Alina has called me easily over 100 times. Every time I close my eyes I see her. I see the throbbing veins and black eyes. I see the blood dripping off her long acrylic nails. How am I to go back to normal life? What did her friends do to her? What the hell were they doing to all those people? Is this how they have so much money? My mind cannot rest. I have so many questions but I don't think I want the answers. I just want my life to go back to normal but how can I? Even after all of this I still can feel my mind and body wanting to go back to Los Angeles. I want to go back and help her but I don't think its possible. She isn't human. She isn't my Alina anymore. But if I do go back, maybe she can tell me why the scratch on my arm is turning grey and why I can't bring myself to eat anything? Why I am able to go every night without a wink of sleep but still not be tired? Maybe I should go back?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I have no idea what is happening. [RESPONSE] As the title suggests, I have no idea what is happening. Well- I should start where it first began, back in 2019. It was a Monday morning, the sun was shining through our windows and the smell of fresh coffee washed over the apartment. Me and my husband lived in a small apartment alone. (With 2 lovely cats) I will admit I was always spooked when I was home alone. We lived on the 4th floor which was the highest floor of the building, so seeing shadows or figures outside the window was extremely unsettling. it was never occasional, maybe once or twice every month. I worked as a cashier at our local grocery store, surprisingly it made a decent payroll, decent enough to live off of anyway. One day I had came home around 5:30pm. I went to close our curtains since I never liked them open especially near night. I made dinner, cleaned, and showered. I heard the door slam close, I was startled but I just assumed my husband was just having a bad day. I realized the dinner probably went cold, I never make dinner this early. I went over to the kitchen table and grabbed the plates to reheat them, but as I was walking over I noticed my husbands shoes weren’t where they usually are. At this point it was 8pm, he should’ve been home 10 minutes ago. “Maybe he didn’t take his shoes off“ I thought. I was spooked but once again, brushed it off as me being an over thinker. As I was sitting down and about to call my husband over I hear the door open and close lightly and my husband calling out “I’m home!” Shivers went down my spine, then who was the one to slam the door? I ran to him and grabbed his arm, “Ezzy (His nickname)” I said almost to tears. I was terrified, what if there was a murderer in our apartment? I’m not a big fan of paranormal things and a bigger non-fan of true crime. it all scared me to much. I told him about it and he told me he wouldn’t leave me alone in the apartment for a second to calm me down. That was also the day the figures showed up in the windows daily. I noticed it while eating, I started bawling and didn’t eat a single bite. The week later I covered our windows so I couldn’t see anything outside. I installed extra lights and security cameras. It was expensive but I could afford it with my money. My husband tried his hardest to understand but anybody could tell he thought it was ridiculous. Then the knocking started, everyday at 6:45am. Sometimes it would be violent slamming and kicking, or just a calm single knock. When this started happening I couldn’t even go to work without completly breaking down, so I followed my husband. I took drastic measures, called the police. After awhile a deputy moved in the room next to us. I made sure a security camera was outside the door, usually nothing eerie happened. During the knocking there would be a but of static sounds but nothing else. Nothing was reassuring me anymore. This continued until 2021, September. Where when me and my husband would wake up to shattered glass in the kitchen, nothing was destroyed. Just random fucking glass. (please excuse my language) When i first saw it, blood was on the floor. I wasn’t hurt. I couldn’t breathe for a second and fainted. At this point I’m petrified of what the next stage would be, would we wake up to scars next? Or blood covered furniture? I called the deputy over, he inspected it and said to just ignore it. I was furious, ignore what? This is delusional! I suggested moving into another area but husband said that this is nothing, and it’s not worth moving away over. I was more frustrated. We shouldn’t be dumb characters like in horror movies. This is why they all die! I calmed myself down and searched tips on things like these. This is when I started excessively using evil eye bracelets, crystals, manifesting, all that shit. If you don’t know, usually when an evil eye absorbed to much negative (or “evil”) energy the bracelet will break. This applies the same to certain crystals. I put crystals everywhere, wore bracelets and made my husband wear them too. I could tell my husband was getting tired of this. He was a loving and patient man so he dealt with my shenanigans. Most of the stuff eventually broke not even two months after buying them. I bought more, and more. (P.S, all of the things I bought are used with my money, independently.) This time I didn’t use them all at once, eventually it started going away. I was better and I felt safer. I still didn’t risk anything though, I dialed down on my crystal’s and braclet’s, still having about 50 of them in the closet. It is now 2022, Petrified, we are moving very soon. I don’t think I’ll still feel safe. I don’t know what’s happening. I came home with my husband after spending a whole day at the theme park, to come home to a dark gloomy room. As soon as I stepped into the apartment I fell down and covered my ears, static was absolutely SWARMING the whole room. my husband stepped back and fell and tried to grab me to pull me out. I started crying when he successfully pulled me out. We called the deputy over but he just smiled at us. this leads us to now, he’s smiling at us and I don’t know what to do. I think I see hands growing out of the walls. Me and my husband agree without even looking at each other that we need to run. S.O.S The hands grabbed me, my husband is gone— i don’t know if he’s dead. I can feel blood coming out of my ears. somebody, help us. (THIS IS ALL FAKE NOTHING IS REAL.)<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] What I found in my attic horrified me. [RESPONSE] **What I found in my attic horrified me.** We have been together for two years now. Me and my girlfriend (El). I have always called her El, which is actually short for Ellenore. I've called her this for as long as I can remember, and it doesn't bother her. We like to give each other little nicknames, she always calls me curls, I figure it's because of my curly hair. I don't mind, though, it brings a certain sweetness with it that keeps reminding me how lucky I am to be with her. We have been living together for 3 months now. I finished school already and have my own job now, El is in her last year of art school. She wants to become a graphic designer*. Quite an ambitious choice*, I always found. But she proved me wrong. The things she can do with a pencil and a piece of paper always seemed to amaze me. I don't mind the fact that El doesn't have a ‘real’ job yet, my job pays well enough to support the both of us, as long as we don't take expansive vacations or purchase expansive things we don't need. Maybe us moving in together was too fast, I don't know, but so far everything was great, perfect almost… All my friends tried to tell me that maybe I had to think twice about me moving in with El but Me and El both wanted to do it, so we said: “Screw it, let's do it!” Before we moved in together, we had never spent a whole night alone with each other. Our parents were both really strict about it, so when I went to tell them about the news, they didn't seem too pleased. “*But, well, what could they really do*?” I asked myself. I was twenty-two, and it was time to move on and start a new chapter in my life. The first two and a half months went smoothly. El and I got along great. Spending every night and weekend together. I loved spending all that time with my girlfriend, doing all kinds of different things. Watching movies, baking cookies, playing games, cooking together etcetera. “My life is complete.” Is what I told myself. But then things started to get odd… It was a Thursday night, me and El both got into bed pretty early. I had to work the next day, and I was pretty tired. El had school the next day, so we called it a day. After swiping for a little while on my phone, I kissed El goodnight and fell asleep pretty quickly. I woke up in the middle of the night, but noticed my partner wasn't laying next to me anymore. I got worried, El never got out of bed during the night. She told me she hated to get out of bed: “I get so cold.” El also was the total opposite of a light sleeper, so I was really confused when she was nowhere to be seen. I called out her name, I thought she must be in the bathroom, even though she absolutely loathed getting out of her cozy den. Pure silence is the response I got. In fact, it was so quiet, saying you could hear a feather fall was understating it. Just as I thought I heard something in the attic, my girlfriend responded from out of the bathroom. “Hey Curls, I'm just in the bathroom. Don't worry about me, I’ll be back in a minute.” Relief fell over me as I heard the familiar voice of El. It was then that I noticed I was holding in my breath all that time. Normally I’d never hold in my breath like that, but I guess I was just scared, but knowing El was just in the bathroom and would be back in bed soon made me feel at ease again. I found myself fast asleep within two minutes. When I woke up that morning, El was already out of bed, making breakfast or doing some other chore in or around the house. It was the weekend and for El to wake up before me AND start with chores all by herself was… weird. To say the least. As the time flew by I forgot all about the small ‘incident’ if you can even call it that. That was until things got even weirder. It was two weeks later in the middle of the night. I found myself tossing and turning in bed. It was work, it stressed me out, and it effected my sleep. I don't know the exact time, but it was around 2am. I felt El move next to me, and then I heard her light footsteps on the hardwood floor. She tiptoed around and exited the bedroom. I was just about to call out for her when I thought by myself: “Why would she get out of the bedroom?” You see, our bathroom was connected to our bedroom, so you wouldn't have to leave the room. But El did leave the room. I was curious what she was up to, so I decided not to call out for her and just listen where she would be going. I wasn't worried or anything because she also could have been really thirsty and craved some juice or a late night snack. I counted her steps toward the stairs, but in the middle of the hallway, the footsteps stopped. I heard El fold out our stairs to the attic. Let me explain how you get to our attic: to get access you have to fold out a couple of small stairs that are set on top of a hatch on the ceiling. The hatch is located in the middle of our hallway, so you have enough room to access it. We didn't mind this because we had enough room in the house and didn't need an attic. Hell, I've only been there once, and that was when we first moved in, so I could store some of my junk that I knew I wouldn't need for a long time. So now things got really weird. I couldn't come up with a single reason why El would need to get up into the attic, especially at this time. And I couldn't shake the feeling something was wrong. El must have been up there for about 10 minutes, and when she climbed back down the stairs and I heard her footsteps approaching, I figured my best course of action was to pretend to be asleep and ask her about it in the morning. As I woke up, I instantly remembered what had happened last night. When I entered the kitchen, I didn't even take the time to greet El. “Why were you in the attic in the middle of the night?” El looked up at me as if she didn't remember a single thing about last night, she stayed silent. “Why were you in the attic last night, Ellenore?” She sighed, “I thought I heard mice in the attic and I wanted to check it out.” She watched me frown, and looked at me with her hazel eyes as if she wanted to tell me: ‘please don't ask any further.’ I wasn't buying it, but I didn't ask her any further. In fact, I had already made up my mind: I was going to check things out myself. Of course, I didn't tell her that, but as she left for school, the first thing I did was call in sick to work. I thought about not going up the attic for a brief moment, but my curiosity got the better of me, and before I knew it I was standing in the dark attic. I could smell the dust up here. The first thing I did was check if there was anything out of place. Everything was neatly stacked. I grabbed the first box and spitted through it. It was only photo albums and empty picture frames… the next box was books and the third just more stuff we didn't need in the house. I looked through 11 boxes before I found *the* box. It looked like an ordinary box, so I didn't expect to find anything, but what I saw when I opened it horrified me. The brown box contained *four* skulls. I'm no expert in these sorts of things, but i almost immediately knew they were human. And after a little bit of research, my suspicions were confirmed. I didn't know what to think about the situation. It was as if I didn't even know my girlfriend anymore. Panic started to kick in. What was I supposed to do? Confront my girlfriend? *No, she could be dangerous.* Call the police? *No, I’d lose my girlfriend and maybe even the house.* I was at a loss. I had one idea, but it was a stupid idea. I was going to call my girlfriend’s ex. The skulls I found looked old, so maybe he knew more about it. El had one ex, and sometimes she spoke about him, not in a good way though because El told me they ended their relationship on relatively bad terms, so I wouldn't know if he would want to speak with me. It's 11:02am and the phone is ringing. I'm not sure what I'm going to ask or say, but I want answers. “Hello?”<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My Great-Grandfather Made A Scarecrow. And I'm Warning You--Don't Touch It. [RESPONSE] It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The whitewashed two-story farmhouse. The golden fields. That jagged strip of dark-green forest on the horizon. Like something out of a painting. There’s something special about this land. It’s kept fruitful and healthy, even after all the other farms on this road shut down long ago.I know you’re interested in buying, and I suppose at my age, it’s about time that I was selling. Before I do, though, there’s something you need to know. What I’m about to tell you might disturb you–it might even scare you off from buying the place–but it’s got to be said. You see that scarecrow out by the garden? That dark, raggedy shape with a beat-up old hat? It stays where it is. No matter what. That was my great-grandfather Calloway’s dying wish. He built this farm, you know. It’s been in my family for four generations–and out here, family is everything. You see, when you're young, you have no way of knowing whether what goes on in your family is right or wrong. You have nothing to compare it to. And if your family cuts the crust off of sandwiches, puts pineapple on pizza, or hangs a dressed-up skeleton from a cross in the backyard–well, that’s just what’s normal for you. Growing up out here, every kid had odd chores. Stuff other folks would consider too difficult for kids, or even dangerous. Everything from making soap to driving a combine harvester. That’s why it wasn’t so strange to me that my own chores included painting a face on my great-grandfather’s skull and making sure his clothes were stuffed with fresh hay. For as long as I could remember, my great-grandfather Calloway’s skeleton had been propped up on two poles in the garden behind the farmhouse where I grew up, looking out over the cornfields toward the forest beyond. If you didn’t look too closely–and most people didn’t–great-grandpa Calloway looked like just another scarecrow. Not that we had many visitors. Most people kept to themselves in those days. Each farm was its own little kingdom, protected by the *KEEP OUT* and *PRIVATE PROPERTY* signs that hung like sacred talismans from every rusty gate. While pedaling my bicycle along that lonely stretch of country road, I’d sometimes pause in front of one of those long dirt driveways, wondering what secrets were hidden in the toy-sized house at its end. The Mosebys, some said, raised fighting dogs. And there were rumors that fifteen-year-old Shelly McAllister was about to have a baby by her first cousin–the local preacher. Compared to that, what was the harm in some sun-bleached bones and an old superstition? By the time I was twelve, however, I understood that other people wouldn’t see it that way. They’d see grandpa Calloway’s scarecrow as something sick and twisted, like the monster in a late-night horror movie. On the rare occasions that I had classmates over, I made sure to keep them far away from where that dark, ragged figure shuddered in the breeze. The worst were my friends from childhood: I’d told many of them about great-grandpa Calloway before I’d realized just how strange our little family tradition truly was, and I was perpetually terrified that one of them would insist on seeing his skeleton up close. If anyone at school found out… I could already hear my jeering classmates: *‘Scarecrow Girl! Scarecrow Girl!’* I begged my parents to take great-grandpa Calloway down from his pole. “It’s what your great-grandfather wanted,” my mother explained. “He carved this farm out of the forest with his own two hands. He tilled the land and turned it into the farm you see today. This place is Calloway’s life’s work, and he has a right to watch over it.” As a child, Calloway’s scarecrow hadn’t frightened me. Polishing those two electric-blue glass eyes and returning them to Calloway’s hollow eye sockets–or using red lipstick to paint a smile around his skinless lip–were just chores, no different than mucking out the chicken coop or washing the windows. Yet once I’d begun to feel the wrongness of Calloway’s dangling corpse, I couldn’t get it out of my head. While wrapping a fresh set of secondhand clothes around his bones or adjusting his ropes, I felt sure his skeletal fingers would reach out to grab me. *You little traitor,* he’d whisper, his white ribs rattling. *You wanted to take my farm away from me!* Every time I passed by the window of my second-storey bedroom, I felt compelled to check on Calloway’s scarecrow, to make sure that he was where I’d left him. With my breath caught in my throat, I’d hesitate…as though at any moment he might turn and look up at me. Of course, the only time I ever saw great-grandpa Calloway move was when a terrified rat scampered out of his straw–but even that was enough to give me nightmares for a week. By my junior year of high school, I was feeling confident that I was going to make it to graduation without ever having to explain Calloway’s scarecrow. Soon it would be just another one of the dusty, petty secrets of the hometown that I was so eager to leave behind. I felt like a bird caught in a too-small cage, and I was sure that everything would be different when my boyfriend Mark and I went to the state university together next fall. So far, I’d managed to keep Mark far away from my great-grandfather’s skeleton. When we met, it was usually to do what couples do when they’re alone: in the shadowy corners of his father’s animal feed warehouse, the bed of his pickup truck, or a secluded spot along the creek near my house. Mark had come to dinner with my family once or twice, too, but always after dark…and on those chilly autumn nights there was no reason to go out back, where my great-grandfather’s corpse kept watch over the rustling cornfields. It was pure chance that *I* heard the noise, instead of my parents: a low, horrified grunt. I rushed to my bedroom window. A dark figure was standing in front of Calloway’s scarecrow. I threw on my bathrobe, grabbed the flashlight from my nightstand, and hurried to the edge of the cornfields. Mark stared up at my great-grandfather’s skeleton, a look of disgusted incomprehension on his face. “I can explain!” I pleaded. “No way. That’s *sick.* There’s a *dead human body* propped up in your backyard. What the hell, Liz?!” “It’s…well, it's my grandfather…” I stammered. “This was his dying wish…” “You have no way of knowing who this guy was!” Mark hissed. “For all *you* know, he could be some hitchhiker that your parents *murdered!* This thing’s probably got all kinds of nasty diseases…” Mark held out his hand, showing me the pebbles he’d planned to throw at my window. “I was sneaking through the fields to invite you to prom–” “*Yes!*” I shouted, forgetting all about the danger of waking my parents. “I’d love to!” I jumped up to kiss Mark, but he turned away. “–But I dunno. This is twisted, Liz. There’s something seriously wrong with your family.” The smile washed off my face. I couldn’t believe it. “There’s something seriously wrong with *every* family!. Your older brother was arrested for selling heroin–*to middle schoolers*, for God’s sake*–*but I didn’t care! Because your family isn’t *you*, Mark! And my family isn’t me, either.” “I just need some time to think,” Mark muttered. But I could tell by his tone that our relationship was over. He still cared about his hometown reputation; he was afraid of being known as the boyfriend of the crazy girl with a skeleton in her backyard. Still stammering excuses, he backed away into the gloomy cornfield. It wasn’t my family’s fault; it wasn’t the scarecrow’s fault, either. In time, I’d realize that Mark had probably been wanting to break up for quite some time, and Calloway’s skeleton just happened to be the perfect excuse. Even so, I had to take all my anger and disappointment out on *something*. I gritted my teeth and wriggled Calloway’s pole until it came free. For a moment I feared a scream might rise from his hideously-painted skull, or that he’d raise a hay-stuffed hand and call a terrible curse down upon my head– But I was an adult (*well, almost*) and I knew that there was no such thing as walking corpses and their curses. I hurled Calloway’s hay-stuffed bones onto the ground and dragged them behind the shed. Tomorrow, I’d get rid of that damn scarecrow once and for all. I’d burn it, bury it, call the health department, whatever it took. Mark would be impressed by how I’d handled the situation. He’d want to forget all about our fight and go to prom together again, I was sure of it. I’d pretend to be mad at first, but eventually I’d take him back… As I lay my head on my pillow, I was content with my night’s work. Getting rid of those gross old bones had been easier than I’d ever imagined. Only for a second–right before I drifted off to sleep–did I fear that I’d made a terrible mistake. I woke to the sound of creaking footsteps on the porch. I nuzzled into my sheets and smiled. It was probably Mark, coming back to apologize. But Mark’s footsteps weren’t so slow and heavy. My eyes snapped open. This time, I couldn’t see anyone outside my bedroom window. For a moment I wondered where Calloway’s scarecrow had gone…then I remembered what I’d done. Voices rose from the porch below. “Do you think he’s *really* gone?” came a wheedling, high-pitched whisper. “It might be a trap…” another responded, in a voice that sounded like the scraping of insects’ wings. “Who knows how long they live for…” “Look with your eyes!” rumbled a third voice, deep and gravelly. “He isn’t here. We can take what we want.” I heard a snap. Downstairs, the kitchen door swung open. I locked my door, pressed my ear against it and listened. My father’s snoring had stopped. I could hear my mother rustling around, probably looking for her glasses. Footsteps creaked on the stairs. The first were light and sinister, followed by something that skittered, and finally a slow, plodding *stomp*, like a mountain walking*.* “Oh my god,” I heard my mother whisper. “*They’re here…*” My father racked the shotgun. The *boom* of my parents door flying off of its hinges was followed by two deafening blasts…then laughter. A dull, slow, stupid laughter, like that of a bored child pulling the wings off of a butterfly. *Slam. Splat.* “Hahahahaha!” the high-pitched voice squealed. “His skull cracked like an egg!” Something scampered across the ceiling of my parents’ bedroom. My mother screamed. Ignoring the wet ripping sounds coming from next door, I scrambled to the window, praying that the rusty springs wouldn’t squeak as I slid it open. The hideous noises suddenly stopped. “There might be more treats in the other rooms…” the skittering thing whispered. I heard the handle ripped from my door, but I didn’t turn to see what was coming inside. I let myself drop from the windowsill. A burst of pain shot up from my ankle when I landed on the porch, but I was already running to the shed. I fumbled in the straw and secondhand clothes, frantically trying to reassemble my great-grandfather’s skeletal scarecrow. The porch groaned beneath heavy footsteps. “Where’d she go?” the deep voice asked. “Shed!” replied a squeaky, high-pitched answer. “I *saw* her!” I jammed a hat onto great-grandpa Calloway’s skull and heaved him upright. His electric-blue glass eyes rolled wildly, but his structure was intact. “It’s *him!*” the rustling voice rasped. “The one who banished us to the woods!” “Back from the dead!” another squealed. “*Run!*” came a thundering command. The trenchcoat wrapped around Calloway’s bones smelled of straw and wet earth. Peering out from behind it, I could barely make out three almost-human shapes scampering for the cornfields and the safety of the trees: one small and impossibly thin, another somehow buglike, and a third that was nearly as tall and wide as the shed that had hidden me. Strange footprints. The smell of death That was all they left behind. I suppose what I’m trying to say is, once you buy this place, it’ll be yours: you’ll have a right to make any changes you see fit… But if I were you, I’d leave Calloway’s scarecrow right where it is. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The property up north [RESPONSE] We drove closer to the emergency vehicles before Phoebe shut off the engine. The flashing lights, combined with the abrupt silence were unnerving. We walked to the vehicles and looked around to see if keys were left in them or if there was anything that could help us. I looked into the firetruck and found some tools and an ax in the side storage compartment. "Hey. There's someone in here," Phoebe said as she was looking through the back window of one of the police cars. I went over to look with her and saw someone lying face down with handcuffs behind their back. Phoebe opened the driver's door, and there was a layer of fuzzy growth on the seats and dashboard. The person in the back lurched up, causing her to scream. She swung the door shut, and the person in the back sat up and started slamming its head into the window. A cloud of spores exploded and filled up the car. It continued to bang its head against the window and then pressed its face against it to look out at us. Most of its forehead had broken away, and what was left of its face was covered in tons of tiny worm-like tendrils. We backed up to where Gretchen was standing and watched as the tendrils detached from the face and crawled along the window. "Those things are tiny," said Gretchen. "They're going to find a way out of the car." "That's what I saw on Sam's face when I found him in his room," I said. "We still have some of that fertilizer left," said Phoebe. We could throw it in the car." "Might be too dangerous," said Gretchen. "Maybe we could just pour some around the car. Hopefully, it would kill them if they get out." "I like that idea a lot better…it is much safer," I said. I ran to the utility vehicle and grabbed the fungicide. We sprinkled it all around the car, and I also threw some underneath it. "What now?" I asked, trying to figure out where to go next. There was no way past the blockade of vehicles, and we didn't find any keys in them. Back up the road into the park came the sound of people running. We all turned around, and a bunch of people were running on the dirt road. "Looks like we just have to go," said Phoebe. "You two start running, and I'll try to catch up," I said as I ran back to the utility vehicle. I opened the backpack and quickly stuffed the fungicide inside of it. Then I zipped it up as I ran after Phoebe and Gretchen. They had run into the trees to go around the police cars and fire trucks. I followed them, and they slowed to wait for me on the dirt road that headed away from the park. The backpack was heavy, but I was sure we would need some of the things in it. "They're still following us," said Phoebe. I looked back and saw that they had made it around the vehicles. We ran faster as we went along the tree-lined road. We ran for a while until we started to get tired. "Great, there is a big hill up ahead," I said, not very excited to have to run up that steep incline. "They're not slowing down behind us," Gretchen said. We ran up the hill, and I felt my legs getting weak. The backpack felt extra heavy on my already exhausted body. I was so tired and desperately needed some sleep or at least a rest, but I kept pushing myself. "They're getting closer," said Phoebe after she looked behind us. We reached the crest of the hill and started going down the other side. The road curved to the left, and to the right, it dropped off into the woods. As we ran down the hill, I slid in the dirt and lost my balance. After stumbling for a few steps, I face-planted and skidded across the dirt road. "Keep going!" I shouted when I saw Phoebe and Gretchen begin to slow down. I quickly pushed myself up and tried to catch up. I looked back and saw they were only fifty yards from me. Up ahead, the girls disappeared around the turn. When I started around the turn, I saw that Phoebe and Gretchen had stopped. Ahead of them was another police car stopped perpendicular to the road. A police officer was sitting in the front seat of the vehicle. "Help! We're being chased!" shouted Phoebe. "They're close behind me," I said. "How do we know he's not one of them?" I said, pointing to the officer as he climbed out of the car. He started walking toward us. "Are you going to help us?" asked Phoebe. "Let's go," said Gretchen. The others chasing us had just come into view and were closing the distance. The only place to go was the steep drop into the woods off to our right. We ran over there while the police officer and the others came after us. It was about a twenty-foot drop-off when we got to the edge of the road. There was no way to climb safely down, so we needed to try to slide down as best we could. Just before they could reach out and grab us, we all jumped down with our feet in front of us. I kept my arm straight out behind me to slow my descent, scraping it on the rocks and plants that were jutting out. Phoebe shouted as she flipped over and went head-first down the rest of the way, crashing into some bushes at the bottom. I slowed myself down by grabbing onto a couple of small trees growing out near the bottom. Gretchen made it down before me and ran over to Phoebe. I joined them and looked back up to see all the faces staring down at us. They hadn't tried to follow us, so maybe we still had a chance to get out of here. Phoebe's face was scratched up, and she had a pretty nasty cut on her cheek where she hit a rock. Her hands and arms were all bruised and scratched. There were holes in her jeans from sliding, and blood was beginning to show through the dirt on her knees. "Do you think you can stand up?" Gretchen asked. "I don't know," said Phoebe. "Everything hurts." I heard some noises coming from back up on the road. Some of them had sat down at the edge and were inching forward. "You're going to have to try," I said. "I think they are coming down." Gretchen and I tried to carefully help Phoebe stand. She yelped in pain, and it was a struggle to get her up. Her mask had ripped off and fallen to the ground. I picked it up and held it against her cheek to stop the bleeding. "Oh no… they're coming down now," said Gretchen. I looked back up in time to see two of them run and jump off the side of the road. They hit the side of the steep hill on the way down and crashed into the trees, sending clouds of dust into the air. With one of us on each side of Phoebe, we went through the trees as fast as we could. As more of our pursuers jumped down the hill, I heard more noises behind us. When I looked back again, I saw a few more jump and slide down the hill. It was hard to see through the dust cloud that continued to grow. But I could still see some people crawling toward us and one limping on a badly broken leg. Pieces of their bodies had broken off or been crushed from the fall. It appeared that the fungus or whatever it was inside them weakened their bones, judging by how broken their bodies were. Even though we weren't moving very fast, we were able to put a little distance between us and our pursuers. We went through the trees and stayed close to the road, hoping to find a way back up. We had been going for a long time before we could no longer hear them behind us. "I need to rest," said Phoebe. We helped her sit down on the ground where she could lean against a tree. Gretchen and I walked back a little to see if we could hear anyone coming. After standing there silently for a few minutes, we were satisfied that we were safe for the time being. "If more of them find us, I don't know how we're going to get away," said Gretchen. "We need to find a place to hide out for a while and see if Phoebe can get better…or one of us could go looking for help." Phoebe began coughing behind us and sounded like she was going to throw up. "That doesn't sound good," I said. "I hate to say this, but it reminds me of when Todd started coughing before he changed." "Maybe she just had an itchy throat," said Gretchen. "We'll have to keep an eye on her to be safe." We walked back over to Phoebe. "How are you feeling?" I asked. "Not good," said Phoebe. "It hurts to breathe…do you think it could have been from my fall…or is it inside me?" "I don't know," I said. "Can you still think clearly?" "I think so," she said. "And I don't feel like I need to cough anymore." "I'm sure you'll be okay," I said, even though I was apprehensive that she wouldn't be okay. "Let's keep going before they catch up or find us again." Phoebe moved a little faster this time, but we were only at a walking pace. I kept thinking that I could hear someone behind us, but no one was there every time I turned around. We had probably been going for at least an hour when Phoebe started moving faster. I'll "I'm starting to feel better," said Phoebe. "My body pains are going away.' She started coughing again. This time, it sounded really congested. I stopped walking, and so did Gretchen, but Phoebe kept going on her own. "Do you smell that?" Phoebe asked. "The air…it smells so fresh and beautiful." She took down her mask and was smiling. The cut on her cheek had closed up and looked fuzzy. She took a few deep breaths and then dropped to her knees. "No…stop it… what's happening to me?" Phoebe cried out. "Please help me. It wants me to…I want to…." She screamed. "No! I won't do it." I looked over at Gretchen. She was crying. I set the backpack down and unzipped it. Tears formed in my eyes as I reached for the fungicide. "Phoebe," said Gretchen. Phoebe wasn't saying anything anymore. She just sat there on her knees and stared off into the woods. I scooped some fertilizer into my hand. "We need to spread…I need to share this," said Phoebe. "She clasped her head with her hands and then looked at us. "Run! Get away from me!" I let the fertilizer slip through my fingers and then grabbed the backpack. Gretchen and I took off running. We went past Phoebe, and I think I saw one last look of recognition in her eyes before she was out of sight. We didn't stop running until we found a path back up to the road. Most of the way up, it was a gradual incline, and then we had to climb the last three or four feet. After pulling ourselves back up, we looked around. It was quiet, and no one was around. We walked on the side of the road for I don't know how many miles. I was getting hungry and exhausted. But we kept on walking. We hoped for a car to drive by, but there was none. Gretchen was slowing down, and, like me, she looked ready to give up. "We have to keep going," I said. "We need to warn everyone and get help." As we rounded a turn, I heard a loud 'ding, ding, ding' sound. It was a car with its door open. "Hear that?" I said. "The keys must be inside!" We moved a little faster but couldn't manage to run. I climbed into the driver's seat, and Gretchen sat on the passenger side. The car started right up, and we were on our way. While driving, I could finally relax my mind a little, which allowed the reality of the past couple of days to finally set in. It hadn't been that long, but it seemed like forever since we had first arrived at the property up north. We were having a great time together, and I had been excited to hang out more with Phoebe. But now Sam, Todd, and Phoebe were gone. It took a while, but we finally made it to a town. We drove past a couple restaurants and small downtown shops. I didn't slow down as we passed the post office and Dollar General. People outside walked around, utterly oblivious to what was happening at the state park not too far away. The car kept going as I watched the stores disappear in the rearview mirror. "Why didn't you stop?" asked Gretchen. "I don't know," I said. She didn't say anything else after that. We continued driving and soon found ourselves crossing the Mackinac Bridge to the lower peninsula. I was starting to get excited about returning to college, and I think Gretchen was too. There would be so many people there. We looked at each other and exchanged smiles. There was so much we had to share.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Good Ol' Taste O' Glass [RESPONSE] I called my mother, girlfriend, siblings, and my uncle. They all called me fucking crazy. I live in Minnesota, in a small cabin by the Forest Grove Cemetery where my father is buried. Father was the only person who I could trust, my mother despises me and wished that she aborted me but only had me because of him. He was my only friend growing up because I was the weird kid at school, but I ended up being homeschooled because Father was sick and couldn't drive me all the way there. I only had books and crappy TV to keep me sane, along with his presence. He told me many stories of local urban legends and such and they were always very interesting. Wendigos, witches, Hairy Man, Pepie, etc. I loved that man so much, every day I wish he were here. Here to believe me, here to be with me, here to protect me, here to tell me everything is gonna be okay. Unfortunately, Father succumbed to an unknown viral infection, I paid for the funeral myself, the only people who attended were just me and my uncle. Father always told me after he died to "Take the necklace under the bed at night and hold it close". Never knew what he meant by that until yesterday. It was a casual Wednesday, I gathered some logs and kindle, looked for animal tracks for a potential free meal, polished and sharpened Father's old tools, picked some flowers and took them to the cemetery, and eventually returned home. Flopped on the couch, tired as an old man even though I'm 22. I sprang my legs over the back cushions of the couch and onto the back of the couch and let my head lean over the couch. Upside down with blood rushing to my head I chuckled a little from the woozy feeling. I looked at the clock. # 11:34 PM . . . I ended up going to lie in my bed. # KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK I sprang up from bed. Absolutely fucking startled. I looked through the peephole of my door to see a woman, scared shitless herself. I opened the door, and she ran in and dropped to the floor before I could mutter a word. "CLOSE THE DOOR AND LOCK IT," she said abruptly "Calm the fuck down and explain why you just threw yourself into my house with no invitation to?" I said as a closed and locked the door The girl looked shaken to the core as if she had seen the Grim Reaper himself before her "Something out there was chasing me, it took my friend!" she cried out I was very skeptical, thinking she was a local meth head or something, but she looked quite sober and hygienic, quite unlike a meth head. "What's your name?" I said, in an attempt to calm her down so she can collect her thoughts "My name is Victoria" she eventually muttered after she calmed down "Names René, nice to meet you Victoria," I said before I heard a sudden splat on my window I slowly turned around as I saw Victoria's face go from calm to panic in seconds. A severed tongue slid down my window, the blood painted the glass ever so gently and ever so menacingly. My eyes widened, I was pinching my hand so hard I drew blood to make sure I wasn't dreaming. It was real, it was actually real. Someone's tongue just slid across my window. The girl started crying horribly loud, my ears rang, I couldn't hear my thoughts, and my vision went blurry. I awoke to the girl holding me as I was on the floor trying to wake me up. My ears boomed with banging at my cabin door, the blinds were closed. I gained consciousness, and the banging stopped seconds later. I sat up and the girl wrapped her arms around me in fear, she was clearly shaken as she's resorting to embracing a complete stranger. I got her off me and we both stood up and headed for my room. There were 20 minutes of complete silence as I and this girl held each other for comfort. "I think we're finally sa--" she was cut off by a loud window smash and thud on the floor A loud scream erupted from my living room, I heard the blades of my ceiling fan beat against something and was eventually stopped by another thud to the floor. Doors smashing open were audible and then eventually another moment of silence came. Our house had 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms, and 4 doors were smashed. You could assume which one was next and I had that thought in mind as I waited for death to strike at any moment. "I'm not taking any chances here waiting to die!" she said loudly. She ran for the window. A large, blood-stained arm pierced through the door like it was simply made of paper. I heard screams that I would never forget in my life. Something knocked Father's radio and it played Revolution 9 by The Beatles. Flesh ripping from her body, her bones snapping, heard as clear as day. Crunching, and chewing. I couldn't tell what was happening anymore, it all seemed like a horrid fever dream that I wanted to get out of immediately but then again it was all real. All I heard was the number 9, just the fucking number 9, it wouldn't stop. A girl I was embracing not long ago at that time, had just fucking been ripped to shreds from what I heard. I dropped to the floor and cried, I cried for my Father, I cried for my life, I cried for my girlfriend who wouldn't be able to see me again, I cried for my uncle, and I simply just kept on crying. I had no other option but to just accept my fate. I opened my eyes. Under my bed. The necklace. The one father told me to hold close, next to it my Father's gun. A Walther PPQ, my only hope to escape this hell. I put on the necklace, maybe it was just a placebo effect, but I truly felt that my Father was giving me strength. I picked up a shoe and threw it by the door, making a loud footstep noise. The thing poked its head out screaming, I could see it clearly. It had beaded eyes, a sharp Chesire Cat smile with an intestine hanging from its mouth, and bits and pieces of Victoria all over its face. The monster brought itself into the room busting the door and wall partially. This thing looked like an oversized human, but its face was uncanny. It was about as big as a medium-sized tree. I was frozen in shock. The monster taunted me in tongues and had this near-demonic laugh. The pendant gently hit my chest as I shook in fear, a clear reminder of what I had to do. I fired off an entire magazine of .45 ACP, every shot more deafening than the other. The monster screamed and fell back holding its face in pain. I jumped the window, according to the doctor I had shards of glass ranging from 3-5 inches in my body as I ran from my house. Screaming was heard behind me, it sounded even more monstrous and angered than before. Every step I took as I ran scared the shit out of me because I thought the thing was chasing me. It was. The trees rustled. Louder, and louder. I had arrived at a town, all the lights were off. I screamed at the top of my lungs as I ran across the town. Lights began to turn on. Townspeople came out with rifles and pistols in hand, thinking it was a threat or some crazy lunatic probably. I was free, I was finally fucking free. I had stopped at a house with a man holding a rifle, just thanking him. thump From what I was told, I passed out from exhaustion and blood loss I was in so much pain, I repeatedly pressed the button for morphine. \--------------------------------- **2 Days Later** \----------------------------- I was finally well enough to leave the hospital. I waited a few hours and got discharged. Stepping out of the hospital, I took a long breath of air. Finally called my mother and had a 20 minute conversation filled with gas lighting. She tried to convince me I was crazy, even though police were investigating the scene. Funny enough, no trace of Victoria, just the house destroyed. I called my girlfriend. My uncle. My girlfriend. My siblings. They all call me crazy. I know what I saw. I glanced at the forest, and began to walk towards the gas station to get a snack to clear my head. **SQUELCH** I stepped on something. I removed my foot from where I stepped and there it was. The severed tongue that slid across my window and started it all.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My boyfriend won’t sleep with me [RESPONSE] I met Matt in math class a week before finals. He lost an entire semester worth of notes and asked if he could borrow mine. And then we started studying together. When people started referring to us as a couple, Matt went with it and so I did too. But we never did the things real couples did like kiss or hold hands. On the other hand Matt didn't seem interested in other girls so that gave me hope. But when there was still no action after two years of being together it was frustrating to say the least. So I asked my best friend what I should do and she said, "Why don't you make the first move? Why should guys have to do all the work?" \* That was bad advice. What went down was the most awkward and stupid moment of my life. The only good thing that came out of it was that I knew for sure now that Matt wasn’t into me. On the other hand I was still stuck living with the guy in a tiny one bedroom apartment. The worst of it was that as far as the world was concerned, we were still a “couple.” I doubt anybody suspected the truth of the situation. So I came straight out and asked him if we should continue to live together. I told him I was thinking about moving in with a friend of mine, but I would be fine to stay until he could find a roommate or another place. He stared at me and was like, “Why?” He seemed genuinely taken aback, and I realized I had, maybe, gotten him all wrong. He didn’t want to sleep with me, clearly, but he didn’t want to leave me either. So what did he want with me? Or was it even me at all? “Never mind,” I said. “I was just thinking out loud.” “If I’m doing something wrong, just tell me,” he said. “I don’t want you to be unhappy.” “I was afraid you were,” I said. “Me?” he said, reaching for my hand. “I’ve never been happier in my life.” \* Matt proposed a few months later on Halloween, and right away we had our first fight. He wanted a big wedding, I wanted an intimate elopement, and there was no compromise in between that either of us could see. It surprised me because Matt wasn’t an extrovert. He was popular in the sense that girls loved him and wanted to get into his pants. But he rarely went out, and if he did, it was with me. He had one guy friend, maybe two, and he was now telling me he wanted TEN groomsmen? Like where was he going to produce these guys? More importantly, as far as I was concerned, where were we going to get the money for a big wedding? Matt said his parents will pay for it, but considering we haven't even told them we were engaged yet, I thought that was a huge assumption to make on his part. But anyway, it seemed pointless to try to convince him otherwise. \* We went to his parents’ house that weekend, and it was going to be my first time meeting them. I was unimaginably anxious to begin with and my worst fears were confirmed in the strangest way possible. His mom seemed shocked into speechlessness when she saw me, and his father was taken aback as well. It was baffling to say the least. I was the most vanilla looking person anybody can possibly hope to meet. I didn’t elicit much of a reaction one way or another in people, generally speaking. So I couldn’t understand why Matt’ parents were staring at me as if I was a ghost come back from the dead to spirit their son away from them. Eventually it appeared to sink in on them that I wasn’t the devil incarnate. I wouldn’t go so far as to say they warmed up to me, but at least they were making an effort. His mother had started serving dinner and his father asked me about my major and future plans. But when Matt told them we were engaged, their half baked attempt at social pleasantries failed entirely. His father looked angry and excused himself from the table while his mom began to cry. I was completely at a loss. But at least, I figured, we wouldn’t have to ask them how much they were willing to contribute to the wedding. \* After that dinner, I was not expecting his parents to pay one dime. I was more so expecting they would disown Matt for his awful choice of a fiancee. Instead, I got the surprise of my life when Matt told me we were going to look at wedding venues. His parents had wired him the money, and there was going to be more coming. Life is one big what-if, a series of roads not taken. Looking back, I wonder what would have happened if I had stood up for myself more and stopped the wedding in its tracks. Matt’s parents kept sending him the money no questions asked (as far as I knew). There were no requests, no demands, nothing so much as an opinion from their end. Feeling weird about the whole deal, I texted Matt’s mom asking her if she would be interested in coming to the catering tasting, but she never replied back to me. When I sent her and Matt’s dad the invitation to the wedding, I got the RSVP back a few days later in the mail marked DECLINE. When I tried to text her again, I realized that she had blocked me. If not for Matt, I would not have touched their money with a long stick. I still wanted to elope, just the two of us. But with each passing day, as the final payments from the vendors rolled in, I found myself further and further along on the road of no return. I felt as if I was walking into my doom. On top of all that Matt begged me to wear his mom’s wedding dress. But holy crap, that shit was ugly as hell. It was pink, glittery and had bows. It was more like a prom dress than a wedding dress. I wanted to die when I put it on, and Matt looked as if he had seen a ghost. We made love for the first time that night. So of course I had to say yes to the dress. Just like how I ended up saying yes to everything else I didn’t want with this wedding. Because when you really love somebody, you would do anything for them. Right? Because that was how I felt about Matt. He was different from all the other guys I ever knew. There was a mystery about him I was certain was meant for me to discover. I made a CD of love songs and mailed it to him anonymously. I wrote love letters to him and then tore them up and threw the pieces into oncoming traffic. So when he came up to me and asked me if he could borrow my notes that day in math class, I thought the gods had finally heard me. As the wedding date neared, I was almost numb with the sense of impending doom. On the morning of the wedding, I opened the closet and saw that the wedding dress was all scratched up and the strap was torn. It was fine the night before, so I figured a rat or whatever had gotten hold of it. It just about broke my heart to see Matt kneeling on the floor trying to fix it with a sewing needle and safety pins. At that point, I just wanted the whole nightmare to be over, so I put it on with a big grin and assured him it was amazing. \* It was the worst day of my life. The guest list was mostly people from Matt’s side I didn’t know. He invited everybody from his parents’ neighbors to his high school teachers and middle school classmates he hadn’t seen in years. As I walked down the aisle, the entire room gasped and not in a good way. One woman stomped out of the room cussing loud enough to be heard across state lines. I had no idea what was going on, so I kept walking down the aisle lined by row upon row of horrified faces. So many people had come, Matt’ entire hometown it seemed to me. There were at least two hundred people. Some looked outraged, some shocked, some as if they had seen a ghost. Some looked as if they were ready to kill me. I mean, the dress was ugly but I couldn’t understand how it could elicit a reaction on this level. But perhaps these people were really conservative, and my stupid pink prom wedding dress will be the talk of this town for the next fifty years. On the one hand, I wanted to throw my bouquet on the floor and run out of the room screaming. On the other hand, I just wanted to be married to the love of my life and never see all these people again. And so I gritted my teeth and kept walking towards the end of the aisle where Matt was waiting for me. It was the longest walk of my life and my legs were shaking the entire time. I was crying by the time I got there. It was the moment I had been waiting for, the moment I was willing to die for. I loved him so much, maybe too much, and it was too late to turn back now. I practically fell into his arms and the rest was a haze. I just remember saying “I do” and our first kiss as husband and wife. The silence from the crowd was deafening. \* During the reception, people kept coming up to me and staring into my face, like really close. They asked me a million questions, like my name (it’s on the invitation), where Matt and I met (school like everybody else), how long we had known each other (three years), where my parents lived (wtf). They seemed relieved, I guess? Most of them turned out to be nice enough, though a few were still standoffish, staring at me from a distance as if I had committed some unforgivable social etiquette faux pas. When I went to the bathroom, a girl was sitting in a corner smoking. If not for her green hair, we could have been twins, from a distance anyway. We had the same height, same built, same face shape, same everything, or almost everything because she was much prettier than me in some way I couldn’t quite put a finger on. She stared at me as I walked in and threw her cigarette on the floor and mashed it with her foot as if it were my face and said, “That’s my dress, bitch.” I thought she must have been some mean sloppy drunk. The kind of mean sloppy drunk who would disregard the dress code and show up to somebody else’s wedding with green hair. “Who are you?” I said. “I’m Matt’s sister,” she said. “He has a little brother too, or did he not tell you that either?” She came up to me, grabbed the front of my dress and ripped it down the center. And then she left, slamming the door behind her. \* “You have a sister?” I asked Matt. He smiled at me, his eyes even more blank than usual. There was a wall between us that I used to think it was possible to be on the other side of. But now I saw there was no other side and never had been. “Yeah,” he said, “I have a sister.” “How come you never told me before?” I said. “My parents don’t like to talk about her.” “Why?” I said. “She liked to play pranks and things.” “So?” “So like she killed some girl’s pet snake, and then made her eat it.” “Made her? As in coerced her?” He nodded. “The police almost got involved but my parents talked them out of it. And then she dropped out of school and went to work at the funeral home and embalmed some guy and put him on his widow’s porch and gave her a heart attack.” It all started happening when she was sixteen, he said. Before that she had been a straight A student, the perfect girl next door, the whole nine yards. “And your little brother?” “I rather not talk about him,” he said. “Even to me? I’m your wife Matt.” His wife. It still felt strange to say it. I couldn’t believe I was married to him. Once upon a time I would not have dared to even dream of it. “Especially to you,” he said. \* Months went by. Life went on as usual, from the outside at least. Matt became even more quiet than usual. We were complete strangers to each other, and I loved him more than ever. I came back from work one day to find a green wig and the pink wedding dress on the bed. When I put them on and looked at myself in the mirror, I felt like a different person. When Matt came home, we made love like it was the first time. The next day he texted me that he had something urgent come up and wouldn’t be home. When I asked him when he would be back, he said he would see. He would SEE? When an entire week went by and he still would not come home, giving me one bullshit excuse after another, I went to his parents’ house. The front door was open and when I knocked I heard somebody say “Come in.” Through the doorway to the dining room, I could see his parents sitting at the table. They didn’t look at me or seem to notice me at all, which somehow didn’t surprise me given the way they had ignored their own son’s wedding. Perhaps they had made peace with the whole ordeal by pretending I didn’t exist. Matt and his sister were sitting on the top of the stairs. She had one hand on the back of his neck. She seemed to be expecting me. “Hello,” she said. “Matt,” I said. He said nothing. He stared at me unblinkingly like a cat. “Don’t let his sweet innocent looks fool you,” she said. I started going up the stairs. “Matt?” I was about halfway up the stairs now. There were maybe five steps between me and her. “He never loved you,” she said. “He can’t. He’s incapable of it. Haven’t you figured that out by now?” She gave the back of his neck a hard shove and ran down the hall. The body tumbled down towards me and I caught it as it crashed against the railings. He looked exactly as if he were alive. She had embalmed him. I set him down gently and went up the rest of the steps. I saw her go into a room at the end of the hallway and I followed her. The door was open. The room was windowless and pitch black. “You can turn on the light, the switch is next to the door,” a child’s voice said. I turned on the light. A little boy was sitting on a chair and she was standing next to him. His head was abnormally large, his eyes were the size and shape of two ping pong balls, his nose was a lumpy protrusion with slits instead of nostrils, and the lip-less mouth resembled a badly healed flesh wound. The skin was a dark reddish color all over. He was playing with a Rubik’s cube. “I did it Mom,” the boy said, showing her the cube. “I did it under five minutes this time. Can I leave the room now?” He looked at me. “She said I can leave the room if I solve it and I did.” “He’s five years old,” she said, “and he’s never been outside of this room.” “Have you taken him to the doctor’s?” I said. “So he can become freak exhibit A for science? No thanks.” “Wouldn’t you want to know what it is in case you have another child?” “It would be physically impossible for me to have anymore children.” “I’m sorry,” I said sincerely. “You said I can leave the room if I solve the cube,” the boy said. “You can leave the room,” she said. The boy jumped off the chair but then stopped mid-stride, his face becoming anxious and fearful. “What about grandma and grandpa?” he said. “They can’t hurt you anymore,” she said. “Go on.” The boy ran out of the room. I heard him shout “STAIRS” as if he had discovered America. She left the room after him, and pulled the door closed. I stood there for a full minute before I realized what had happened. I was locked in. \* I had no idea how much time had passed. It might have been hours or days. I passed in and out of consciousness. Sometimes I thought I heard another voice, not the boy or his mother, but somebody else, a voice that was both familiar and strange, like a face seen through dirty glass. There was a lot of shouting. \* When I woke up again, I was in the back of a car. For a long time I lay there, staring at the back of the driver’s head. “Matt?” I said. “How’re you feeling?” he said. “You aren’t dead?” I said. “I thought she embalmed you?” I sounded crazy even to myself. He laughed, like a hyena. I had never heard him laugh like that before. “It was a wax dummy,” he said. “She made it years ago, I didn’t know she still had it. I’m surprised she didn’t burn it in effigy at some point.” I stared at the back of his neck as he drove. “Did you change your hair?” I said. “It looks different.” It was so short it was almost a crew cut. Matt’s hair always looked like it needed a cutting. “I did,” he said. “Do you like it?” “I liked it the way it was before.” “You’re hard to please,” he said. He stopped the car next to an alleyway and turned around to look at me. The smirk on his face was nauseating. “You really had me fooled for a second,” I said. “Matt was older by about a minute,” he said, “so they always called me the little brother. It’s a joke in the family. Ha ha.” He had the calculating expression of a wolf scenting its prey. I couldn’t imagine Matt making such a face, and yet it was Matt’s face feature for feature. It was weird how two people can be physically identical and yet so completely different. Or conversely, how a person can seem like two completely different people with a different haircut. “Matt’s the nice one,” he said, “I’m the naughty one, if it isn’t obvious enough. I don’t usually admire my brother’s taste in women, but you have the most beautiful-” “I’m riddled with STDs.” “Oh I’m not going to rape you, far from it.” He dragged me out from the car and my heart sank when I saw the long black hearses in the lot. It was the back of a funeral home. He opened a door in the alleyway and shoved me inside. “It was you,” I said, “it was you who made the girl eat her own pet snake, and it was you who embalmed the guy and put him on his widow’s porch, not your sister!” “Everyone has their passion and mine is embalming. My sister’s is making wax dummies. It’s hard to tell our work apart but artistic tendencies run in the family.” He took out a tray with various implements on it and began sorting through them. “I always liked funeral homes. So quiet, so dignified. When my sister started working here, she let me follow her around. Not that she could ever say no to me.” He picked up a scalpel and held it up to the light. “Matt, no!” “Matt’s not here, just me.” He took my wrist. “I’m pregnant…” The scalpel stopped in it tracks, its tip just grazing the inside of my wrist. He stared at me for a full minute, his eyes wide with amazement. “Boy or girl?” he said. “Girl.” He put the scalpel back in its stray. “You can live then,” he said. \* Matt insisted on a home birth. He didn’t let me go to a doctor even though by the seventh month I could feel something was wrong, horribly wrong. The labor itself nearly killed me, the pain was terrifying. I didn’t think I could feel like that and not die. I knew then I could never have another child again even if I wanted to. And the baby...the baby...was all wrong. I thought I was hallucinating. And then I fainted. \* When I regained consciousness, Matt, his sister and her son were standing over the cradle on the other side of the room. They seemed very far away, and I felt as if I was looking at them through the wrong end of the telescope. The thing inside the cradle was making a desperate little mewing sound like a kitten. It’s looking for me, I thought. It wants me. The three of them leaned over the crib. “She’s perfect,” Matt said, holding up a squirming red mass to the light. “She looks like me,” the boy said. “She could almost be your sister,” Matt said. “You’ll never have to be alone again.” His sister looked around at me and smiled. “Now isn’t that nice?”<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My brother and parents are missing please help [RESPONSE] This all started 3 days ago, my parents went on a small vacation to celebrate their retirement, so I offered to look after my younger brother; he's only 12 the poor boy, he didn't deserve this. On the first night, around midnight we were playing XBOX, FIFA 22 for anybody wondering when I heard a knock coming from the back door. Concerned I told my brother to wait while I go see who was there, I looked through the window and was surprised to see the local tramp; his name is Micky, a vet of the Afghan War. I open the door and ask him what the hell he is doing banging on my door at midnight. He stared, his eyes locked onto mine as I slam the door in his face after exclaiming "Leave us alone hobo" maybe I was harsh. The next day was normal, although I didn't see any sign of Micky despite actively looking for him to apologise for being rude, see everybody loved Micky he was a good guy, very friendly and wise so I decided to apologise and buy him some lunch. I went to all his spots even the one he tells nobody to go to; the abandoned shed at the graveyard. No sign of him anywhere. So I went home and decided to pick up some snacks for a movie night on the way. Once night had fallen I set up the snacks and played my brother's favourite movie, time flew by up until about 3 am, and once I had noticed the time I sent my brother to bed. A few moments later I heard another knock, this time at the front door. I opened it and was met with a stench like no other, the smell of rotting meat invaded my nose, and I almost puked I let out a strained who's there, but nothing, just the blackness of night. In the morning I went to take out the trash and clean as my parents were coming home later that day but as I opened the wheelie bin lid I was met with 3 dead cats, 2 dead birds and the head of my neighbour's dog I exclaimed a loud "What the fuck" as I jerked back from the smell and the scene. Cleaning was painful especially now I had to inform my neighbour somebody has decapitated their dog and try to dispose of the cats n' birds. At around 10 pm my parents messaged me saying their car broke down so they are staying in a motel for the night, I told my brother and suggested another movie night, and just then I got another notification from Apple News, it read "3 men found dead in a local town" as I kept reading I realised these were people I knew, including Micky I gathered that 2 nights ago Micky needed help and instead I shut the door on him. I didn't get the chance to mourn as there was another knock at my back door, I told my brother to stay in the living room as I walked over and opened the door, a knife entered my stomach, and I fell to the ground. I must have passed out because the last thing I remember was being in the back of a hospital van, I fully gained conciseness in the hospital and after all the operations and tests I asked where my brother was and if they caught the guy, they told me that I was the only one in the house and that the only reason they even knew to come was that somebody had called the police on me for killing their cat. About a week later the police re-visited me to tell me 2 things; first that the owner of the cat decided to not press charges due to my condition and age, and second that they haven't found the guy that did this to me, I asked about my parents and brother, they said that they have seen no sign of either of them. So I'm writing this to ask for help since the police are useless, if anyone has seen a blue Mercedes or a young boy in black and white pj's contact me.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Journal pages found in a partially burnt cabin. [RESPONSE] *Loose journal pages found in a small cabin somewhere in northern Colorado. There were no signs of their author, beyond a small dried stain on the final page, a stain which may or not be blood. Curiously, the floors and walls—really the entire interior—of the cabin were blackly marked and warped, as if having withstood a small fire. Investigators have no leads so far, but have not discounted the pages as works of fiction. But certain other things, namely disturbances in the soil around the house, lend a somewhat startling degree of veracity to the events detailed in the pages. And local reports of strange sightings correspond loosely to certain unexplainable phenomena in the morbid narrative.* *The narrative, unedited:* It’s still out there, somewhere beyond the cabin. Skulking about the area, lurking amidst the deepening darkness as if camouflaged by the shadows – or born of them. The sun is setting, has almost set; and I know once that happens, things’ll get worse—*it* will get stronger, bolder. Occasionally, there’s a sound of twigs breaking, or bones. I remember seeing a few small animals on the property earlier in the night, before…. I have two matches left, and the candle is almost done; the wick curled, nearly burnt out. It’s almost as cold within as it is without, but that's not what I'm worried about. I can tolerate the chill, am thankfully dressed for it. Once the matches go, or the wick becomes too short, I'll have no light – and the light is the only thing keeping that thing out. I think it hates the light, despises it as though the very concept is some kind of existential affront to its being. When the light goes, I'll have nothing to stop it from getting in. Even now, as the sun’s light steadily diminishes, I can sense it preparing, armoring itself in layers of darkness. I'm inside a decidedly old cabin, writing by the light of the little wax candle I found beneath the sink; the only functionally salvageable object I could find in the dust-strewn cabinet. The rest of the place is similarly barren, having long ago been stripped of its contents and furniture. There aren’t any signs of the owner, no evidence that anyone had ever actually lived in the place; only a vague, seemingly source-less rankness in the air—as if something dead had passed through, and left some residue or clinging emission in its wake. I’ve been here for nearly two hours, and still haven’t gotten used to that rancid smell. It’s somehow subtle yet profound—not immediately noticeable, but a phantom stench; always in the back of your mind, keeping you on edge.... I'm lying on my belly on the wooden floor, wrapped in my coat, with a stack of old, partially yellowed papers from a collapsed desk’s drawer. Luckily, I’d brought my sharpie with me, otherwise I wouldn’t have had anything with which to write this all out, and my story would’ve gone untold. It still might, considering the circumstances… There’s no power, not even a generator, but the candle’s sole wick provides me enough heat—in conjunction with my coat—for me to not freeze to death. I guess the human body can get pretty efficient at siphoning warmth from any source when it needs to. I'm actually kind of glad I don’t have a bigger fire (the fireplace is completely devoid of wood) because, with how tired I am, I'm sure I’d fall asleep if provided with enough comforting warmth. And to sleep would surely mean death, given how closely I can feel that thing watching me, waiting for me to drop my guard. I know, I'm rambling, avoiding talking about the thing outside, and how I've come to be trapped in this derelict cabin, bent by exhaustion and nerve-beaten by terror. Well, it’s not a long story, but it is a bizarre one; as warped and terrifying as any campfire tale. Only it’s actually real – and, sadly, it’s not over yet.  Earlier today, while riding through a path I’d taken a dozen times before, I saw a bear—or what had looked like a bear—stand upon its hindlegs, dig its claw-tips into both of its eyes, and rip its own skull in half. I’m not sure what the purpose of that self-mutilation was, I never got the chance to find out; because before it could do anything else to itself, the front tire of my bike hit a leaf-covered rock and I was abruptly catapulted forward. I landed hard, clumsily, spared from scraping my face along the rock-strewn path by my arms instinctually shooting forward to cushion my fall. Had I been knocked out, I’m sure I would’ve been mauled only moments later. The bear, having seen me, quickly dropped to its forelegs—the halves of its head falling away from one another like a blossoming flower—and started toward me. I think what got me to my feet—leaving my wrecked bike behind—was the fact that the bear-thing was coming at me silently. There was no guttural roar, not even a bloody gurgle as would be appropriate, given its condition. It came quietly, but purposefully—and that scared the shit out of me. I ran, head titled forward and legs pumping like pistons, and yet I heard the thing gaining on me. I sensed its presence in a way I still can’t quiet describe, as if it threw off an aura or emanation greater than its physical self. A forward-flung shadow of malignant intent. It was a horrible, baleful feeling, and fear of its reach kept me going even when my legs threatened to give out under me as I reached a sudden acclivity in the terrain. It was midday, and I knew that there wouldn’t be anyone else on the trail; that I’d probably be caught and ripped apart, *or worse*, and what remained of my corpse wouldn’t be found for days—if not longer. The idea of my friends and family growing worried and distraught over my prolonged absence gave me a little wind beneath my wings, and I somehow managed to quicken my pace and summit the small hill I’d been running on. At the top, the ground leveled out, the spaces between the trees widening. Through the break in nature I saw the old, wood-built cabin—*this very one*—and without thinking, without turning back toward the silently hounding bear, I fled toward that drably colored building. I had just managed to close and bolt the door behind me when the bear came barreling against it, splintering the frame and even shaking the building itself. Still, it made no noise, merely slammed its hulking form again and again against the door like an unmanned battering ram. Finally, after the seventh or eighth assault, it backed off, and I tentatively inched toward the front window. Peering through the thin white curtains barely shading the bug-splattered glass, I saw the bear sit on its butt in the front lawn, and lay its paws in its lap—as if entering into some kind of meditative state. The halves of its sundered head still sagged apart, the jagged-edged skull and steaming brain matter eerily visible within. From my perspective the left eye was visible, and it ceaselessly circled in the socket, as if the bear were in some kind of trance. It was a horrific sight, and the sheer unreality of it nearly sent my heart into palpitations. The rise and fall of its massive chest quickly settled, and this state of intentional placidity only served to further terrify me, as it seemed to indicate that the bear possessed some form of heightened animal intelligence, if not human-level sapience. Its relaxed posture—despite the grisly cephalic trauma—was so bizarre, so unsettlingly anthropomorphic. Had that been the end of it, I think I might’ve been able to retain some degree of sanity, some sense that the world was still, in the broad scheme of things, a sane and ordered place. But what followed that monkish posture broke me, caused me to abandon all notions that there was a certain standard of “rightness” about the world and its machinations. After a few moments in this quiet, meditative phase, the bear’s body suddenly burst into flames, filling the air with a black, fulsome smoke and the noxious stench of burnt fur and flesh. The sight was darkly breathtaking, both for its suddenness and its morbidity. The bear, despite being ablaze, remained seated in a state of perfect tranquility, as if unaware that it was being consumed by flames. After a few seconds of intense immolating, the bear-thing's coat of flames sputtered out and died, seemingly of their own volition; leaving a blackened figure that vaguely resembled the form of the animal it had once been. The hide, or whatever the burnt beast's outer-layer now consisted of, was left black and oily, like the skin of some primordial reptile; and while the flesh had melted away, the two halves of the split skull remained, draping over the shoulders like dead leafage. Smoke filtered out of the exposed neck hole, rising and commingling with the black-pitched haze above. The foul emission quickly filled the air, entering even into the insulated cabin. My eyes watered from the burnt uncleanness of it, and the bitter taste of charred meat developed in my mouth. And, against all the laws of nature, against sense and reason and sanity, the bear’s chest still rose and fell in a steady, perfect rhythm. The eye, a black and sightless orb, still rolled in its socket, throwing small motes of ash every which way. The bear—impossibly—was still alive.... Darkness is finally here, and the thing that had been a bear has risen to its feet, again assuming that unnervingly human stance. It’s charred, oil-streaked hide is glistening in the light of the newly risen moon, and the shadows are gathering and swelling around it, as if feeding its umbral power. It’s not a bear, anymore. Not that it every really was, of course. But the form it’s now taken, the entity it has become.... It’s something human words are unfit to describe. Its mere existence is an eldritch phenomenon, a thing that should not be. It’s time, now. I can feel its horrible intent, its supernatural hatred. It wants to kill me, simply for having seen its monstrous state. I don’t know what it would’ve done, had it been able to finish its self-mutilation; I don’t know what it would’ve turned into. But I think, maybe, it’s better that I stopped it—better that it wasn’t given the chance to morph into some other disguise, assume some other, more personable state. People know to avoid a bear—but who’d suspect a random person to be some inhuman monstrosity? Despite the moon being almost immediately above the cabin, the night is growing darker, the darkness deepening disturbingly. I’m down to my last match, and the candle’s wick is a blackened stump, barely an inch high. The air stinks, reeks of unchecked, unending decay. I’m tired—physically—and drowsy, as if I haven’t slept in days. My sense of perception is all wrong, as if I’m drunk—but I haven’t had a drop in nearly two years; and this feeling, this warping of my spatial awareness is unlike anything I've ever experienced before. The walls seem to tower above me, the ceiling far-flung and unreachable; the floor an endlessly stretching and undulant expanse whereon I've somehow managed to anchor myself. It’s all so perplexing, so nerve-wracking. And the darkness continues press in, encroaching upon the diminishing perimeter of light... There’s a weight to the darkness, I can feel it pressing upon my mind, stifling my thoughts. I think I can even hear the cabin groaning under the weight of the dark burden, the walls and boards creaking and splintering. These are the only sounds I hear, because that thing—that horror—is still quiet. I don’t think it’s learned how to speak, yet. Maybe that’s a good thing. I can’t write anymore, I’m done. My hands are stiff, my eyes hurt. The air—it's almost irrespirable. Don’t come to this cabin—leave the wildlife around here alone. I love you mom, dad. I’m sor *A small, darkly crimson stain punctuates this portion of the narrative.*<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] "The Teddy-Bears Picnic" If you go down to the woods today [RESPONSE] *If you go down in the woods today, you're sure of a big surprise* *If you go down in the woods today, you'd better go in disguise* *For every bear that ever there was* *Will gather here for certain because* *Today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic* You have heard this song somewhere. If your parents sung it to you, or if you heard it on a movie. Somewhere, somehow, you know this song. Or at least, it sounds familiar. I know each lyric so, so well. It was the day that I interrupted the Teddy Bears picnic. *If you go down in the woods today,-* I went into the woods and skipped around looking at the beautiful leaves of fall. It was so soft and purely delightful. I was innocent. I was 7. *You're sure of a big surprise-* I found a stack of presents sitting against a tree. Some had toys, some had books. Some had pens and paper, some had pieces of pies. *If you go down in the woods today,-* I don't know why my mother let me go down into the woods alone. But she did. And I would give anything to take it back. *You'd better go in disguise-* I was wearing a pink dress with sunflowers on it. Some small red boot-like shoes, and a pink bucket hat. *For every bear that ever there was-* It was exactly 7 bears and 3 cubs. All walking and talking. Gathering and mingling. Even though there wasn't any playing, I swear you could hear a song. A familiar song that gave you a weird sense of deja vu. *Will gather here for certain because-* The food was bloody, and full of meat. The cake had fingers sticking out of it. It had a eyeball on top of it. The drinks had pieces of liver and chunks of intestine hanging out of the side of the cups. The bears were laughing and making toasts. They were eating with forks and spoons and knives. *Today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic-* The way the man yelled and fought as two bears carried him out of the small log cabin echoes in my nightmares. His wailing as they stabbed knife after knife into his hands and legs to pin him down. They way he had his shirt torn open. As the little bear cubs tunneled their fingers through his skin into his abdomen. As the adult bears chuckled in delight at the gleam in their cubs' eyes. As the man screamed when the oldest bear shoved his hand straight through his chest and snatched his heart out. The way he nibbled on the valves before eating the thing whole. The way the man slowly let his screaming stop and his head fell back with his mouth still wide open. The way they tore his eyes out and laughed. The way one of the cubs saw me shaking and trembling, peaking out from behind a tree. The way that same cub smiled and beckoned me over, offering me a piece. The way I ran away crying. So remember the Teddy-Bears picnic, and sing this song when you go into the woods. *If you go down in the woods today, you're sure of a big surprise* *If you go down in the woods today, you'd better go in disguise* *For every bear that ever there was* *Will gather here for certain because* *Today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic*<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] A kid came into my store after closing. I wish I hadn't let him in. [RESPONSE] Halloween was a living hell, and I was its sole resident. I used to love the holiday, trick or treating with friends. Dressing as a zombie as we jammed out to punk rock on a friend’s porch late into the night. Sneaking cigarettes and nips of bourbon from our fathers.  But now I mopped the floors of Sutton’s Grocery. The wet tile reflected my five-o'clock shadow and the melancholy that lived within it.  No more trick or treating. Just two dead mice and a spilled cup of pumpkin spice.  Adulting was so much fun… This gap year in between high school and college wasn’t really working out. I regretted the decision in the very depths of my soul. At least I had Jemma. I’d be back to the trailer soon. The thought of her baking brownies in nothing but an apron did put a little pep in my step.  “You done yet Kyle?!” Old man Kirby bellowed from the front entrance as he twirled his key ring.  “Yeah, yes sir. Just finishing up with the floors and I’m outta here!” I hollered. “Alright I’m leavin’ boy. I’ll lock up, just slide out the back when you’re done.”  “Sure thing!” “Oh, and Kyle?” “Yes, Mr. Kirby?” “Take out the bathroom trash before you go. Smells like crap in there.” He grunted and sauntered off into the parking lot like a warthog.  I gave him the middle finger as he sped off in his Land Rover.  The hate I had for this job was unmeasurable. I quickly finished the mopping and made my way back to the restroom. I opened the door and was smacked in the face with the smell of something vile.  I plugged my nose and gathered the bags from the bins, holding them at arm’s length as I ran out the back door and into the alley way. I tossed them over the dumpster wall and danced up and down, shaking out my arms, willing the putrid stench off me.  It smelled so bad that the bricks would cry out from the horror if they could. *People are disgusting*… I thought as I headed back inside.  At least the night was over. Time to go home to my girl. I daydreamed about the little tattoo that led down the small of her back as I shrugged off my apron at the coat rack.  I was just about to flip the lights off when they began to flicker overhead.  The LED panels pulsed and strobed in a way I’d never seen before. It was almost eerie.  But just as soon as they had started, they suddenly stopped. “Weird…” I whispered. I reached out for the light switch again when I heard a tapping on the window. I turned to my left and nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw the face of a devil pressed against the storefront glass. “Can you help me?” A voice pleaded from under the red rubber. “Jesus, you nearly scared me to death… the store is closed.” I replied, holding my chest in an attempt to steady my heart.  “Please, I’m lost.”  Must be some kid who got separated from his parents.  “How can you be lost? This is like the smallest town in the Midwest?” I chuckled. “Please, can I come inside? I’m scared…” “Yeah, sure kid, hold on.” I walked to the sliding door and twisted the lock and gave it a shove to open it manually.  “Thank you.” The kid sniffled from under the mask as he stepped inside. “No problemo, little dude. You want to call your parents or?” I shifted on my heels, not really sure what to do in the situation.  “Yes please.”  “Alright head right up those stairs and you’ll see a phone on the desk. Pick it up and dial your parents, but make it quick will ya? It’s getting late.” I winked reassuringly at the boy in the devil costume. “Okay!” He giggled as he ran up the steps into Mr. Kirby’s office.  Man, what a night. I sighed, running my hand through my hair as I leaned against the entrance glass. The cool touch felt good on the nape of my neck.  “I just want to go home…” I groaned under my breath.  I could see shadows twist and lurch up in the office. Hopefully his parents picked up and drove like mad to get here and collect their kid. I had better things to do than sit all night at the hillbilly grocery store in this God forsaken town.  “Hey kid! Any luck?” I shouted.  No response. “Kid?” I called. Nothing.  A loud smack hit the glass behind my head causing me to fall forward onto the floor. I caught myself at the last second and crawled behind the service counter, nearly pissing my pants. I took a deep breath and slowly raised my head to peer over the register. “Jemma?!” I cried. She was doubled over in laughter on the curb outside pointing at me through the window. I cursed her up and down before sliding the door open once more.  “What are you doing here?!” I demanded, scowling. “What, you're not happy to see me?” She grinned, reaching for my hand.  “Well yeah, of course but you scared the hell out of me!” I scolded. “Ah come on, just a bit of Halloween fun.” She pulled me into a kiss.  Her lips were soft, they melted away my anger in an instant. “I came because you were so late! Come on, let's go home, dinners ready.”  “I can’t, there’s a kid here.” “Why? What kid?” She furrowed her brow.  “He’s in the office calling his parents. Said he got lost, I guess while trick or treating.”  “Oh no, poor thing.”  “Yeah, he’s using the phone in the office. Let me go see if he got a hold of his parents.”  I took a few steps when the lights suddenly went out, causing Jemma to leap towards me and squeeze my arm. Thankfully, the emergency panels stayed lit, giving off just enough light to see.  “It’s fine, the lights have been acting weird for some reason. Wait here and I’ll go get the kid.” I squeezed Jemma’s hand reassuringly and then trotted up the steps into the office. The desk lamp was turned on its side, and the phone was hanging off the hook. The dial tone beeped from the earpiece. I picked it up and placed it back on the receiver.  “Hey kid, you in here?” I asked.  But he was nowhere to be seen. I looked under the desk, nothing.  *What the hell…* Suddenly, a scream pierced through the silence from inside the store.  *Jemma!* I scrambled down the steps and sprinted back to where I’d left her. I was rounding the corner of the service counter when I slipped in something wet, causing me to go spiraling into a shelf of candy bars.  Kit-Kats and Snickers flooded the aisle as I tumbled over the shelf, hitting my head against the floor.  My vision swam, I struggled to gather myself to stand.  *Why was it so wet?* I raised my hand to my face, my fingers were dripping with crimson. The blood was warm and sticky as I rolled my thumb across my palm.  *Why is there blood?* It took a moment for it to register, but it had to be hers.  My heart thundered in my chest.  “JEMMA?! JEMMA WHERE ARE YOU?!” I called.  There was no answer. I started running down the aisles in a panic, searching for her.  Aisle after aisle, but nothing. Flour, sugar, chips, bread. But no Jemma.  I spilled out into the meat section next to the deli counter and skidded to a dead stop.  The boy in the devil costume stood under a flickering emergency light. The front of his red suit dripped with blood.  “What did you do?” I croaked.  “I’m going to offer you a chance to choose, Kyle.” His voice was deeper now, no longer childish.  “Wha-what?” I stuttered.  “Blood for blood. You can offer yourself to me, a sacrifice, saving her. Or I can take Jemma and leave. Your life, or her life.” “Who are you? What do you mean? Where is she?” My brain was numb, I could only utter question after question, I couldn’t make sense of what was happening.  “You know who I am. Choose.” I stared at him, dumbstruck. What was once a child was now a monster. He was still small like a boy, but now his presence felt enormous, like a dark shadow that filled the entire store. His energy pressed against the walls threatening to shatter them, a pressure I felt in my bones.  “Choose now, Kyle.”  “I…I… her. Take… her.” I fell to my knees sobbing. I was a coward. The fear overcame me, and I chose to save myself.  Suddenly Jemma floated into view from behind the meat counter. “Oh my God…” I cried. Her eyes were wide and shook with fear as she hovered a few feet from the ground. She tried to scream but only blood streamed out from her mouth. She gargled on it, choked on it, desperate to beg for help. She never took her eyes off of me as she was lowered into his arms. “*I’m so sorry… I’m so fucking sorry…”* I wept. “Done.” He growled. The lights went out completely, total darkness but only for a moment, and when they came back on, they were gone.  I pulled my knees to my chest and wept for hours until I finally succumbed to sleep.  Mr. Kirby found me balled up by the deli counter the next morning. After he prodded me awake, I frantically babbled on about Jemma and the devil, which prompted him to call the police.  The Sheriff's department arrived soon after and took my statement but showed me there was no blood anywhere to be found. The cameras hadn’t caught a thing all night and there was no sign of a struggle anywhere. After they calmed me down enough, I sat on the bench at the entrance with a blanket over my shoulders, the shock and disbelief buried me in an avalanche. I was numb. But I could hear them talk about me from the office. The deputy suggested that I’d been on drugs. Mr. Kirby agreed with them and threw in the fact that he’d never liked me for good measure.  *Blood for blood. Choose.* His voice echoed in my mind. *I’m so sorry* *…*<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I have a story to share from my time in the Army [RESPONSE] I served in the army for three years from 2018 to 2020, when I was medically discharged. I have many stories from my time there, but there is one that I have never told anyone else. It haunts my nightmares and consumes my every thought. I hope that by telling it I will be able to heal at least somewhat. Here it is. In 2019, I was stationed in a small West African country. The US Army had a small presence there of about 200 soldiers. Our goal was to train the local army. The country was in disarray, having just emerged from a bloody civil war, and their army lacked both equipment and discipline. They were facing threats from Islamic extremists in their far northern provinces, which greatly concerned the US, as well as rebel separatists along their western border. Our base was located along the outskirts of a small city of a few thousand inhabitants, on the edges of a lush jungle. Although the city was the site of bloody fighting during the civil war, it was then firmly in the hands of the central government, so we had some freedom to explore off base. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much, scratch that, there weren’t any forms of entertainment in the city itself. So during my down time, we often explored the jungle. Until we weren’t allowed to anymore. For a kid from Bayonne, New Jersey, who had never seen a monkey outside of the zoo, it was like being transported to another planet. Monkeys swung through the trees, colorful birds sang high in the branches, and jungle cats roamed the forest floors. There were massive tree rats, which some of the men hunted for fun. On rare occasions, I caught glimpses of chimpanzees and gorillas. About a mile from the base, hidden behind a waterfall, was a large cave. I had heard that during the civil war, many women and children took shelter there. Sadly, they were discovered and massacred by the rebel soldiers. The floor and walls of the cave was still stained from their blood. On the walls were hideous drawings of horrific monsters and beasts. I’m not sure if they were painted by the kids hiding from the rebels, or from before, but they were truly grotesque. The one I remember most was a drawing of a grinning half hyena half man, devouring an infant alive, blood dripping from its fangs. Now it is important to note that our unit was nearly all male. And we were told the women in the city were off limits to us, for it was a very religious society, and our commanders did not want us to do anything that could upset the local community. It turns out that the locals were not as pious as we were led to believe, for there were several brothels in town, but since they knew the soldiers had no other options, they charged absurd prices. Plus, they were not always clean. We got shown slide after slide of images of infections, many incurable, that some of the soldiers got from the locals. They, of course, did not deter all of the soldiers, but some of us chose other options. Many of the guys were married or had girlfriends, and would never do anything with another guy back home, but when deployed it was another story. Our favorite plaything was a guy named Pawel, who went by Paul. Paul claimed he was straight, with a wife and kids back home, but it was clear that he was anything but. Anyways, one Sunday afternoon, Paul and I headed off base to the cave. It was a cloudy day, but, as usual, it was still unbearably hot. We entered the cave, glad that no one else was in there (we had intruded on others before). About twenty minutes later, I heard some footsteps coming from the mouth of the cave. I quickly got off Paul and looked to see 4 soldiers enter the cave, AK-47s slung over their necks. I at first thought that they were government soldiers and was worried what the repercussions of being discovered would be, but then I realized that they were not wearing any uniforms. These were rebels, who had somehow penetrated the government's defenses. I instinctively reached for my gun, but then realized that I left it on base. The soldiers, without saying a word, raised their rifles and sprayed the cavern indiscriminately. I thought I would die, but felt no pain, saw no blood. But I heard screams, screams of pain of an intensity that I had never heard before. I looked around and saw translucent figures falling to the ground in agony, their bodies riddled with bullets, women clutching newborns to their chests, trying in vain to shield them from the bullets. I looked to Paul, who had gotten up and was staring with me. I knew he was seeing what I was seeing. And then, suddenly, they all vanished. “Just ghosts,” I said to a shaking Paul. Just ghosts, what a ridiculous thing to say, as if those two words make any sense together, but I couldn’t think of anything else. “Let’s get out of here.” We quickly got dressed and made our way to the mouth of the cave. There, standing on two legs, was the hyena man. The one depicted on the cave drawing. Standing nearly ten feet tall, it was covered in bluish black fur, and had long, curved yellow claws. It grinned, revealing razor sharp fangs. “Just a phantom, it can’t harm us.” I whispered to Paul. But it looked real, flesh and blood. Suddenly, it pounced, knocking Paul to the ground. It swiped at his stomach with one of its claws, disemboweling him. As Paul screamed and trashed, the monster began devouring him alive. I stood petrified for a few seconds, before I turned and ran into the blackness. I had never explored the cave and had no idea of how far it went, but I kept running, running into the dark. Eventually, I collapsed, unable to move. I heard some awful howls, howls that have haunted my dreams since that day, and waited, waited for the monster to come eat me. I must have waited for hours, but then, miraculously, I saw a shaft of light and the chamber became illuminated. I clambered up some rocks and emerged in the jungle, the sun shining brightly. I slowly made my way back to base. There wasn’t a roll call till that evening, so no one realized anything was amiss. And I wasn’t going to say anything, for what could I say? I just hoped no one saw me leave with Paul. When it was discovered Paul was missing, a search party was organized. Some of the locals, both civilians and soldiers, joined the party, including the local priest, Father Joseph Nkobo. It wasn’t long till Paul’s body was discovered. He was completely unrecognizable, his flesh nearly all devoured. Over protests, Father Nkodo went over to the body, made the sign of the cross, and poured holy water over it. There was a flash of bright blue as the water hit the remains. “When I was a child, this monster, which is neither human nor animal, but of the devil, terrorized our village. Dozens of children were eaten. It feeds on terror, on pain, especially that of children. This cave was the site of a terrible tragedy, five years ago to the day.” Some of the American troops laughed, but none of the local troops did, and neither did I. “This is an evil place,” the priest continued. “It is best to be avoided.” And it was. The next day, explosives were placed at the mouth of the cave, sealing it forever. The official report said that he was attacked by a pack of wild dogs. But I know what I saw. The monster haunted my dreams every night since then, causing my mental health to deteriorate, eventually leading to my discharge. I thought that once I was out, I would start healing, but that hasn’t happened. Every thought is one of death. Nothing that I’ve tried can take my mind off the horrible events of that day. I’ve read articles that writing about your trauma can help, which is why I wrote this post. I don’t expect it to help, but I must find a way to end my torment.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I gave some trick-or-treaters bloody candy and now they won’t stop knocking [RESPONSE] I got to a point in life where I got tired of seeing other people and moved to the middle of the woods where no one would bother me. Truth be told, I wasn’t the sort of man most people wanted in their neighborhoods anyway. These days, on a hundred acres down several miles of dirt roads, I saw a neighbor maybe once, twice a year. A little before dusk on Halloween, I’d been building garden beds and nicked my thumb on my saw blade. I wasn’t gushing blood, so I kept on working until the job was done, then headed in for a shower and a drink. I’d just gotten dressed when the first knock came. At first, I thought it must be my imagination. I hadn’t heard a car pull up. I looked out the window and didn’t see anything, so I figured it must have been raccoons knocking around the front porch again. Then I heard the knock again. Definitely at the door this time. “Who is it?” I shouted, but there was no response. I opened the door and looked down to see two children no taller than my belt, both dressed in white sheets with jagged eye holes cut for eyes. They held out pristine orange pumpkin baskets, both totally empty. “Trick or treat,” they shouted together. For a second I stood fairly well frozen, but the kids just stared at me, holding out their baskets and waiting. I felt like I had to do something. I don’t exactly keep a bag of lollipops in the house, but I managed to find a few old cough drops in a drawer and dropped them into the kids' pumpkins. It wasn’t until after they fell in that I saw I’d left a smear of blood on the wrappers. I looked up, prepared to apologize, but the kids looked up at me with big, thankful eyes. “So generous,” said one. “Delicious,” said the other. Before I could ask them where their parents were or how they’d gotten to my house, they pulled the door closed behind them. Then I heard their little footfalls pounding down my front steps. I sat down in my armchair and turned on the TV, trying not to get too up in my own head. Probably, they were just the closest neighbor’s grandkids, wandering a ways from home. I’d never liked children. Especially the sound of them. Laughing, screaming. Sometimes, I just get filled with this unstoppable need to shut them up. I heard another knock. There’d be no candy this time. I walked to the door and opened it, ready to toss the little miscreants down the stairs. But this time there were three girls, slightly older, all dressed as skeletons. “Trick or treat. We heard you’ve got the best treats!” The tallest girl gestured over her shoulder to the two little boys from earlier. They were standing near the base of the steps, holding hands, their pumpkins at their feet. “I’m not sure I’ve got anything left,” I said. “That’s too bad,” said the middle one. “Yes, we’d have to play a trick,” said the littlest one. I rummaged in a small bowl near the door and found some change, dropping a quarter into each girl’s pumpkin. The oldest one lifted the coin out carefully, inspecting it in the fading sunlight. Like the cough drops, the coin was smudged with a bit of my blood. “Very kind,” she said. “Very generous.” “So delicious,” said the little one. “It’s not chocolate,” I was saying as they closed the door. I had barely turned away when I heard a deep thudding against the door. This time, I looked outside to see a single fat teenager dressed as a bat. I didn’t open the door. The thudding continued. “Trick or treat!” the boy shouted, his voice low and holding an edge of violence. Looking out the window, I saw that the three skeleton girls were standing with the ghost boys now, all holding hands and staring in at me through the living room window. The fat teenager descended the stairs and joined them. It’s been a few hours now, and the knocks just keep coming. More kids keep joining the first ones, all holding hands, all staring in at me. I’ve seen them passing my coins around, popping them in their mouths. There are at least a few dozen trick-or-treaters now. They’re looking in through all the windows. Some of them are staring at walls as if they can see right through them. Every once in a while, one yells “Trick or Treat” and the others laugh as if sharing a private joke. I’ve been trying to stop my thumb from bleeding, but it just won’t. I’ve soaked bandage after bandage, and the wound just stays wet, even though it's barely a nick. The air is starting to smell strange too, a weird mix of cough drops and coin and the iron of the blood. Outside, the crowd keeps growing. The yelling and laughing are quieting down, replaced with a sense of anticipation. It’s only now that I realize they are forming a circle around my house. It’s almost complete.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Shadows Of The Night [RESPONSE] Shadows Of The Night January 25th, 2020, 4:25am. I’ve been plagued with nightmares my entire life. Recently they’ve turned into what my doctor calls “sleep paralysis”, but I beg to differ. Over the last month, the shadows that haunt me in the nights have started to interact in ways that cannot be explained away with just scientific reason. There is more out there than we know, and can be explained. Last night was the worst episode of this “sleep paralysis” yet, and that's what made me consider composing this. Hopefully this won't be lost in the ether of the internet threads and someone will know how to help me. I am terrified. I will try to transmit this mortifying encounter without embellishing any details. I have a vivid recolection of this night, as I am composing this directly after the terror. I woke up, and I did not need to look at the time. I knew it would say 3:03 am, as it had for the last month. This has been my life. I feel paralyzed with fear. I am laying on my back face up like a body in a casket. My arms are crossed, the way that the body is placed in for a viewing. Frozen in this state all I can do is move my eyes. I can not move my head whatsoever, so my vision is limited. I live alone with no animals, there should be absolutely nothing in my apartment with me. But there is. I can feel it. I am not alone, nor have I been for the last month. Maybe even my whole life, now it has just decided to start toying with its prey. I shifted my gaze to the corner of my room. My living quarters was unnaturally dark. I could faintly but clearly hear animalistic breathing emanating from the corner in which I was fixated on. The darkness from that particular corner in my room waxed and waned with every slow breath, as if whatever the black void is was breathing. Then a darker, more solid figure materialized in the depths of that black oily abyss. The humanistic shape was on all fours. It was only human-ish, the skin was wrinkly with a gray color. Inside the predatory grin was a black spiraling oblivion to fear. The ears were non-existent, just hollowed holes for ears, and it had a completely bald head. It was naked, and the skin hung off the skeletal frame from being on all fours. The eyes were pitch black, and it stood out from the color of the skin. Even in their obsidian state, I could feel them boreing into my own; its head cocked up unnaturally at me. The darkness that emanated from that corner now resided, and behind the humanistic shape was a black hooded shadow. I could now make out the claws the thing on the floor possessed. They were black and at least 2 inches long. They looked pointed like claws from a demon. They clicked on the floor as the thing shifted its weight from foot to foot on my cheap hardwood flooring. Usually in my state of “sleep paralysis” my mouth would also be frozen like the rest of my body was, with the exception of my eyes. But not today. I heard myself whimper in fear as the demon on the floor breathed its wet, mucusy breath. With tremendous effort to sound not afraid, in which I failed greatly, I squeaked out, “N-n-nooo, no… not real. You’re not real. Get the f-fucking hell out of my h-house.” The shadow entity in the black hooded cloak stood as still as a statue. The thing on the ground cocked its head unnaturally from side to side slowly, as to size me up. Then it gave me a devilish open mouth smile, mouth corners reaching its pitted holes for ears. Its eyes were completely void of color, black orbs staring right into my soul. Click! Clack clack clack. Click! Clack, clack clack. He shifted around on the floor sniffing the air, its long blackened fingernails clicking on the phony hardwood. After sniffing the air, it regained focus and bored its eyes directly into mine. I shouted again trying not to portray the fear in my voice, “I said, GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! I know you are not real, s-so just…. Just fucking leave! Fucking leaveee!” The hooded shadow pointed its arm at me. A hand materialized and a long hooked finger with gray skin pointed directly at me, its nails matched the crawling entities. I heard a freakishly fast, Clack! Click click click click click click click click. Clack! Click click click click click click click click. CLACK! The four extremities all ceased movement. From how I was laying, all I could see was the cloaked shadow and that disembodied claw like hand pointing right at me. Then I heard the bed frame creakkkk next to me, and I felt the mattress dip down from unseen weight. Horrified, I stared at the black hooded entity and repeated over and over, “You’re not real. You’re not real. You’re not real, you’re not-” My retaliation was cut off from a claw compressing itself to my lips in a “shhhh” gesture. I felt a cold wet claw caress me under my chin, lovingly. I heard raspy, mucusy, breathing next in my ear. I could feel warm wet breath on my neck. Then with the feeling of the other clawed hands still on me, I felt a third parties clawed hand slowllly stroking my hair. The crawling entity breathing on me whispered coarsely, “We are real. And you ARE ours, soooooon… sooo ssoooooonnnnn.” As its voice trailed off I felt the claws leave my mouth, and then my hair. The one under my chin slowly fell, and then gave a long slowww stroke down my chest to my waste. Thank god it then lifted. The pressure on my bed released and I heard the creaking of my bed frame as the weight exonerated. RINGGGGG!! RINGGGGG!! RINGGGGG!!! My cellphone was going off and my eyes were already opened from that horrible episode of sleep paralysis. The unnatural darkness was gone now. I glanced at the clock, 3:50am. Huh, there must be some bad news I pondered, but at least it woke me out of that terrible nightmare. The caller I.D. said “Unknown Number” and I felt my heart drop into my guts. I answered it shakily. “Uhm-m-m.. Hello?” Silence for at least 2 seconds. Then a whisper came through that has me still shaking as I write this. “We. Are… Reeallllll…” Beeeep. The other end hung up.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] A Homeless Man in My Town Says The Apocalypse Is Near. I'm Starting to Believe Him. [RESPONSE] “We call him ‘The Man in Black.’” Alex said. For the last month, I’ve been out of the country because of my trip to Europe. Unbeknownst to me, apparently a crazy hobo started to make atrocious claims that the apocalypse is near. “All he does is protest in town with his crazy signs. He says that an apocalypse is near, but he never provides any more details than that. Here, take a look at this,” Alex handed me his phone to show the local headlines from last month. “Local Homeless Man Claims the Apocalypse is Near. Could He be the Second Coming of Christ or Just a Fraud?” I scrolled down to look at the details. The first thing that caught my eye was the picture of the man himself. In a strange way, he felt more like an alien than a man and ‘insanity’ seemed to be the best way to describe who he was. He was much shorter than the average person, and his height barely seemed to reach 5 feet. His arms were very skinny, and the proportions of his twisted shoulders along with his inconsistent looking torso made him seem like a combination of different puzzle pieces attempting to pass as a human. Just like the epithet “Man in Black” would suggest, all of his clothing was black, hiding most identifiable traits. His sunglasses and the black mask covered his face. The black suit and pants covered his entire body, leaving barely any trace of skin to be exposed. “On August 21st, a mysterious man covering himself in all black made history. After disrupting the local soccer game, he started protesting that the apocalypse is near. Despite his famous reputation, nobody is able to identify who he is. Many sources claim that he is the son of God who came to warn humanity. Others claim him to be just a mental patient who doesn’t have a few things right in his mind.” “It’s probably nothing. Things like this happen every time. Remember how the Ancient Mayans claimed the world would end in 2013?” Alex said. Even though I’ve only seen his picture once, something about the homeless man caught my attention. We walked alongside each other to our neighborhood as Alex started to talk about his dog, family and girlfriend: topics I found quite frankly dull. I found myself zoning out into my thoughts, wondering what I should ask the man, if I meet him at all. Suddenly, a voice from far away halted my train of thought. “The world is ending! We need to work together to stop this!” Without having to look at who it was, both Alex and I knew that it was the infamous Man in Black. Alex started to sigh and roll his eyes, turning the other way. “Come on, let’s go. You don’t want to get involved with him.” Regardless of what Alex said, I found myself walking towards the man. I didn’t know what it was but having to speak with him just felt…right. Perhaps talking to him will solve the answer. I allowed my footsteps to carry me and I found myself standing in front of the Man in Black himself. He looked similar to what I saw in the headlines: a black cap, sunglasses and a black mask, along with a black jacket and black pants despite the heat. There were still many apparent differences compared to the pictures. Unlike in the headlines, his body seemed to have aged almost a decade. Even though it was hard to catch, there were many scars seen on his face and his skin looked much dirtier. A closer look revealed a huge scar passing by his nose, reaching far down to the corner of his lips. However, the most obvious difference was the attention he was receiving, or a lack thereof. In the pictures, a crowd of people were surrounding him whether they be believers of his claims or journalists. Now, all that was left of him were his signs. Despite his efforts, nobody seemed to even give him a look of attention, ignoring him as if he just became a natural part of their lives. Instinctively, I knew that the moment he saw me his eyes lit up. Just like how I wanted to meet him, it seemed like he wanted to meet me as well. Maybe it was because he was lonely? “Hello there, sir!” He joyously exclaimed. While I hesitated to do so at first, I offered a handshake as a greeting. “Hi... My name’s Max. I just wanted to meet you after I saw you on the news.” The man shaked my hand excitedly, as he started to say, “What a coincidence! My name’s Max as well!” Before I got the chance to speak, he continued rambling, “Max, the world is going to end soon. Everything on this earth will die. I saw it with my own eyes. It was a long time ago so I don’t exactly remember everything, but everyone was gone! Even the animals and plants. Nobody believes me, but I know you will!” “Right…and how do you know all this?” I asked. Max fell silent for a moment, then he answered without a single tone of irony or sarcasm, “Well, Max, living through all of history changes a man.” The man continued rambling on, telling me anecdotes of various things he ‘experienced’ from the age of the dinosaurs, the French Revolution, and many other historical events I didn’t recognize. His details of those events were very vivid and specific, almost as if they were words taken out of a book. As his rant continued on, it felt like he was stuck in his own imagination, forgetting that he was talking to me in the first place. Something about the man spoke to me in a strange way. Even though I didn’t really believe what he said, his way with words hypnotized me into his stories, and I could certainly see him tricking people into believing he was a savior or a messiah. However, to me he wasn’t. “Well it was nice talking to you Max… I hope to see you around more,” I tried to end the conversation, knowing that there was no point in talking to him more. “My pleasure,” Max replied as if sensing my feeling of alienation. I started to walk towards Alex and together we walked to our neighborhood Obviously I didn’t know much about Max, but based on the short conversation we had, I was able to tell that he dove too far into the pool of madness. He was just a madman with a few things wrong in his head. He was a self obsessed lunatic lost in his own fantasies, too stubborn to accept a reality that clashed with his imaginations. While his demeanor looked convincing at first, every one of his actions felt uncanny like an alien imitating a human, and obviously his blabbering about the apocalypse was nonsense. There’s no way the world will end anytime soon. Talking to him was a waste of my time, and I eventually got him out of my mind. It wasn’t until a few weeks later that I was reminded of Max. I was watching the news after a long day of work when I saw a surprising story about him. “For tonight’s local news, we have shocking news regarding the Man in Black. After being quite the social media star for the last month, it seems that he has finally found his place among the dead. Just today, a recording of his final moments has been posted online. Let’s play the video.” A warning of disturbing content popped up and the video played. In it, Max was crying in pain, looking at the sky in a mix of rage and despair while kneeling on the floor. He then yelled, “Nobody in this reality understands! With my efforts I will help you see! I need to find a way! I must find a way! Even if it takes a 100 years, even if it means it’ll sell my soul, I’ll do it! I will find a way to prevent this apocalypse!” Compared to the conversation I had with him before, his voice was much more inhumane. It resembled that of a dying horse more than a person, and I was able to tell that his descent into madness intensified. Suddenly, something under his skin started to shift. His eyes rolled back as black smoke rose from his mouth. He grew silent and dropped to the floor, motionless. The footage transitioned back into the news, but whatever was being reported escaped my attention . Seeing a man die in front of my eyes was truly a terrifying experience, and I felt everything I ate swelling back to my throat. What kind of sick freak would film a man dying, let alone post the footage for everyone to see? While I didn’t know him personally, I felt pity for Max. His talk about the apocalypse was clearly insane but I didn’t want him to die, much less in such a gruesome way. It was at that moment when everything went wrong. I started to lose sense of my body. My arms and legs started to relax, and my eyelids grew heavy. At first I thought I was falling asleep, but the feeling was much more alien. I started panicking. What’s happening to me? As my mind grew more terrified, my body started to relax even more. Soon, instead of controlling my own body, I felt more of a bystander watching someone else control me, while my consciousness remained in my flesh. I tried everything to gain my sense back: flexing the muscles in my arms and kicking myself in the leg. But all that I was left with was my sense of helplessness. My body was completely at the mercy of this unknown power and there was nothing I could do about it. I started to scream internally, cursing at whatever is making me feel this way. My vision started to grow dark, and I felt myself falling under an abyss with an invisible force attracting me. Suddenly, I heard many voices climbing into my ears. “All he does is protest all day in town with his crazy signs…” “But Mom! I completely flunked it! I…” “Everybody makes mistakes…” “Nobody in this reality understands!...” “I had a dream…” “The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear…” More and more voices joined the crowd, intensifying into a loud scream. My eardrums felt like they’re exploding at any moment, and I closed my eyes and silently begged for it to all end. As if listening to my prayers, the sounds suddenly stopped. Not a gradual decline, but a rush of silence, as if someone muted the voices all at once. I slowly opened my eyes, not knowing what to expect. The sight that beheld immediately flooded my senses with amazement. Bright orbs constantly shifted into silhouettes that danced in front of me, seducing my eyes and soul as awe and wonder flooded into my heart and brain. The blue, emerald atmosphere surrounding me was arcane, a color brighter and pure than any jewelry I’ve ever seen: similar to that of the coral reefs of the ocean with an impossibly infinite floor. Seeing the lights inhibiting the atmosphere was truly a spectacle, and it felt like watching the creation of the universe and earth itself: the figures of light twirling and spinning around, cherishing the birth of a new generation of life. I slowly attempted to move my body and to my surprise, I found moving to be rather easy. I propelled myself into various directions, feeling as if I was swimming in an infinite sea of light with hope and optimism. After exploring my surroundings some more, I eventually found something different: light emitting in the shape of a rectangle. Curious as to what it may be, I ‘swam’ towards the direction of the rectangle. It soon dawned on me that it wasn’t a single rectangle that I was looking at. What I saw closely resembled a video tape: a collection of endless figures of light lining up. Another feature that caught my attention was the sound that emitted from these rectangles. Similarly to the voices I heard before, the rectangles were ‘speaking’ in voices that I didn’t recognize. A closer examination of the voices made me realize that some of the voices sounded familiar. While it was only a small fragment, I was able to recognize some words, from my own to my friends and family. Soon, it finally dawned on me: the voices were a collection. A collection of the voices of people across all history, playing among the rectangles like a radio. I looked deeper into these oddly illuminating-shapes, trying to find the source of the voices. As I looked deeper into one particular rectangle, I was able to see people inside: two knights in silver chainmail armor dueling in the field of a medieval castle. The people inside the rectangle weren’t moving but were frozen like a photo: a record of one specific moment in time. At first, I thought that the people inside the rectangles were making the voice but I soon realized that that wasn’t the case. In fact, as I was focusing on one rectangle, no voice was to be heard at all. The voices were only heard as I moved across each rectangle. Hearing the voices of everyone in history and seeing history play right before my eyes as each rectangle passed by was like watching a film: a movie that contains all of history. Fascinated by its unexpected feature, I started to explore the rectangles further. I started to touch and scroll around the rectangle further. Soon, I found myself observing every corner of the earth from the depths of the Amazon forest to the Great Wall of China. These rectangles-whatever they were-were far more powerful than whatever I could imagine. They were the embodiment of space and time itself. From the bacteria living in its realm of microorganisms to the countless galaxies that make up the universe. From the big bang to the infinite expansion of the universe. All past, present and future were one in these rectangles, for they made up the very concept of time itself. They were both the key and gate that watched our every movement, and knew all the mysteries humanity craved to solve all these years. Realizing the power I had in my hands, I started to move towards the rectangles in the future excitedly. As I examined every rectangle, I found myself staring in awe as the historical moments I read about in textbooks fluttered by my eyes. As the voices played in my ears as I moved, it felt like I was part of the rectangle itself, experiencing the history of earth first hand. From the cold ice age, I saw trillions of species adapt and evolve as time passed. While many died off and went extinct, many were able to adapt, survive despite the disastrous changes. Even in their darkest days, they still had a sense of hope and desire for survival, allowing earth to garner the next generation of organisms. I saw the very first human evolve from an ape. I saw the immigration of humanity to different continents in the world. I saw the creation of the English language and Christopher Columbus discovering the Americas. I saw the foundation of the United States and the Constitution being written. I saw Martin Luther King himself giving his ‘I have a dream speech.’ I saw human civilization mature from the puny buildings of stones to mighty skyscrapers, and it was truly beautiful to see humanity grow from the primordial ages to the present day. The vision reminded me that despite our physical and psychological limitations, we are still capable of accomplishing unimaginable things. A sense of inspiration grew from my heart as I watched humanity growing from one of many unimportant species on the planet up to the ruler of the earth. As I moved further into the future, eventually I saw my own past. It looked like I was about 12 years old, and I held a test sheet with a big red F on it, and the younger me was crying tears of sorrow as he dug deeper into my mom’s arms. “I wish I could go back in time, Mommy,” younger Max said to his mother. With that, I traveled further into the future, eventually finding myself on the borderline between present and the future: the ultimate threshold of belonging and unbelonging. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. To be honest, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect to see in the future, if I wanted to see anything at all. How and when do I die? What does human civilization look like? Did I truly want to know the answers to the questions, to be ‘cursed with knowledge?’ After gathering my thoughts, I came to an answer: yes. I did want to see what the future held. Arriving at this place was the greatest blessing in my life, and I knew that it was my job, my duty to lead humanity into the next step of evolution after learning everything that I’ve experienced here. I decided to look into the future, to dive into the pool of forbidden knowledge that may drive me into infinite knowledge, or madness. Despite my heart exploding with a mix of excitement and dread, I still didn’t have the guts to fully see the future. Knowing that I didn’t have the capacity to understand what I was about to witness, I decided to close my eyes and only listen, promising to myself to only open my eyes at what seemed like the right moment. After taking a deep breath, I slowly moved towards the future, taking in everything that the future had to offer. I wasn’t quite sure how far I traveled, but I stopped when the rectangles grew silent. The only thing that was heard was the empty sound of wind. Only the echoing sound from the rectangles before could be heard, lingering in my ears. Confused, I opened my eyes and looked into the rectangles to see if anything was wrong. I was able to see the earth but something wasn’t right. There wasn’t any light coming from the cities and the earth lost all its colors as if it was covered with volcanic ash. I quickly zoomed into the earth to see what was wrong. The cities were empty, with cars crashed into buildings and buses. The trees and grass were all dry and lifeless, giving the atmosphere a dreadful gray tone. That’s when I saw the corpses lying on the ground. A sudden chill ran down my spine, and I looked closer to figure out what might have caused this massacre. A plague? Perhaps a meteor? To my surprise, the bodies showed no trace of harm. Except for the fact that they were not moving at all, the body looked almost alive: no scars, wounds, or signs of decomposition. It looked as if people dropped dead out of the blue, their bodies freezing in time. It wasn’t just people either. I was able to see all the animals from the pigeons on the street to the lizards in the bush laying on the ground lifeless. Just like the other dead bodies on the street, it had no sign of harm or decomposition. Of course there were many extinctions in the past, but unlike this one, many species were able to survive and prosper. They were able to adapt and change with the times. However, this time it seemed like there wasn’t any time to adapt at all. There was no sense of hope and desire: no survival to allow earth to garner the next generation of organisms. From the microscopic bacteria to the majestic blue whales, nobody seemed to be aware or prepared. Death came and went silently with no warning, and nobody was spared. I searched every place in the world: from the very depths of the caves to the grand city of New York, but the results were all the same. All I saw were dead bodies of humans and animals, lying on the floor giving me no clue as to what caused their death. After seeing human’s civilization develop from the stone age, I would be lying to say it wasn’t haunting to see it all crumble at once. Everything that we have worked for looked meaningless after hearing the empty echoes of winds in the city. At the end of the day, death was the only thing to greet us no matter what. Instead of a scream, the world seemed to end with a whimper. The drastic contrast of the optimistic past and pessimistic future started to overwhelm my brain. Contrasting images of prospering life of the past to the dead bodies in the future flashed before my eyes and I felt my sense of reality crack as I struggled to find a middle point between the two. Despite my mixed emotions, I still had a shred of hope. I started to search my own town for clues. I already knew what to expect, but nonetheless the sight of my parent’s dead body shook me to my core. Just like everybody else, their body was no different: lying on the floor with their eyes open. Seeing them lifeless on the floor made me cry tears of sorrow. I could almost see them alive, smiling and greeting me at the front door. While I knew that their death was in the future, the very thought of them leaving this earth rendered me hopeless. Sometime after, I started to calm myself down. Crying about their death wouldn’t help me, and I had more important priorities to solve. I searched further into my town, thinking perhaps there were different survivors. Unsurprisingly, I was able to find the bodies of all of my friends and coworkers. Just like I expected, I wasn’t able to find any clue as to what caused this massacre. After searching for more survivors and failing to find any, I zoomed out of my town and back to see earth in its full form. Despite everything that happened, it was ironic that the universe looked at peace. Everywhere else in the universe was no different from usual, and earth was the only dysfunctional piece in the puzzle. Seeing the drastic contrast between earth and the universe made me realize that humanity was merely ants living on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of the black sea, and our extinction doesn’t have any significance. The universe will continue to exist no matter what, even after we are all gone. Regardless, I had to find a way to prevent this apocalypse. While I may not be able to prevent it, I still had to at least know how it happens. I started to move my body towards the left when I heard the sound that made my heart sink. *Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock* a sound echoed into the atmosphere. The sound was very rhythmic and cold, reminding me of a clock. However, as the noise started to slowly grow, eventually I noticed other sounds growing along with it. At first it was nothing but small sounds of crickets. However, the sound quickly escalated, as painful cries of animals and humans started to echo along the atmosphere. Eventually, the sounds of the creatures overpowered the ticking sound, and soon the roar grew to be a distorted mix of haunted cries burning in the fiery depths of hell. I covered my ears with all my strength, but the sound still pierced my hand and it felt like my ears were exploding. As the sound intensified, the bright, blue atmosphere started to bleed into red as if gallons of blood were flooding the ocean. The bright orbs of light started to darken, eventually turning into miniature black holes resembling viruses claiming countless victims leading to their deaths. Seeing the darkness inhibiting the bloody atmosphere was nothing but horrific, and it felt like watching the death of all life and destruction of the universe itself: the figures of darkness twirling and spinning around, claiming one soul after another, satisfying their thirst for blood. The black holes started to frantically circle the creature as it emerged, dancing as they welcomed their master. It started to slowly emerge and the moment I saw its appearance I felt my mind cornering into insanity: my sense of reality shattering as horrors far transcending my darkest nightmares started to grow before my eyes. Its legs were as big as a mountain, and the body it was attached to was bigger than the ocean itself. That appearance was only a small fragment of its true form, as I saw its full body extend far beyond my vision. I tried to look further into the creature's body but stopped myself, knowing it would further drive me into madness. It had shape, but it wasn’t composed of matter: a thousand shapes of horror beyond all memory. Its body was a mix of chaotic balls of light and smoke, the tone and form of its body constantly shifting, the slime keeping its body together fluttering my eyes with a firework of alien colors that nearly blinded me. Attached to its form resembling a body were vaguely spherical shapes similar to eyes, staring at me as a reminder that nobody else belonged here, except for the creature itself. No good, no evil, no life or death. Only it, the null. It was the symbol of hopelessness, the embodiment of despair. My lips trembled and my legs turned to jelly, my body freezing in sight. My guts tied into a knot, making me sick. My instincts told me that there was no escape from this thing, and I was at its mercy. The creature did not know that I existed, nor did it care. To it, I was nothing but a speck of dust. A speck of dust floating in the air, floating to wherever the wind carried it to be. It may destroy me in the process, but it was never intentional: nothing but an accident. Just as the incomprehensible horror started to settle into my mind, the creature acted strangely. The smoke making up its body started to move in a gradual pattern, moving from the center of its body outwards. A hole of darkness about the size of a football field emerged from the center of its body. Slowly, I felt the darkness pulling everything around it. It devoured everything in its path, from the miniature black holes to the rectangles and I was no exception. I knew that I didn’t stand a chance, but I desperately tried to pedal back. As if to laugh at my efforts, I was eventually sucked into the hole, the pit of endless darkness. I closed my eyes, preparing for the eventual darkness, welcoming the sweet mercy of death that will release me from whatever this creature is. However, after some time nothing happened. A calm, silent tone pierced the atmosphere but as far as I can tell I was still breathing. I opened my eyes in confusion, trying to see what happened. Opening my eyes didn’t prove to be different, as whatever place I was in had absolutely no light into it: nothing but darkness itself. I was stuck in an eternal abyss with no light to rely on. To my relief, a thick ray of light pierced the darkness. The light allowed me to see my surroundings, and seeing another man standing in front and behind me made my heart prosper a shred of hope. I tried to scream for help and shake my arms up, only to realize that I couldn’t. I wasn’t able to move my body and could do nothing but watch. I felt as if my mind was stuck in a statue. I tried to budge, freeing myself from this endless prison, only to give up a few seconds later. After everything I’ve been through, I came to accept the fact that I could do nothing to change my fate: I could only beg for mercy. Just then, a previously unknown detail caught my attention. Initially I believed that there was only one person standing in front of me but a closer look showed an endless amount of more identical men standing in a line before me. I was just part of that line, and it reminded me of the rectangles lining up. To my horror, a closer look of the men revealed a terrifying detail: the men standing in front and back of me were all…me. Same clothes, same body and same posture. It seemed like infinite copies of myself were lining up, just like when two mirrors were placed next to each other. As I came to this realization, I realized that the other me in front of the line started to hold his hand up, examining his surroundings. Then the copy of me behind it followed, and so did the one behind and the one behind as well. Before I knew it, a wave of hands were held up before my eyes. Eventually, the man standing in front of me mimicked his actions, and it seemed like it would be my turn next. As if my body went into auto-pilot, I felt my body moving on its own, mirroring the actions that the infinite copies of myself performed beforehand. I felt like a puppet, controlled by strings of an entity beyond my power. Every little action that the men in front of me performed echoed throughout every other version of ourselves, each small decision altering who every copy of ourselves was. We had no control over our own body and faith, and I realized we were stuck in an endless loop of time. The sight of seeing multiple copies of myself made my skin crawl. My own skin felt alien to my soul, and it almost felt like I was starting to lose my self of identity. If all these men before and after me were all me…who am I? Every single copy of myself was all equally myself, and I had no special qualities separating myself from the other. I was just one of many: insignificant and replaceable. As my identity crisis intensified, I started to realize that the feeling of alienation of my own body was becoming quite literal. I saw the countless copies of myself before me starting to look at their arms to see an unknown creature crawling underneath their skin. Soon I saw it in my own arm as well. I wasn’t the only thing occupying my own flesh, and whatever the other thing was was trying to alternate who I was, shifting me to whatever fit its vision. A haunting scream spread throughout the atmosphere, as the men before me started to fall to the ground, screaming in agony. Dreading what was to arrive, my heart started to race. Suddenly, I felt an indescribable pain start to spread across my body, and it felt like my flesh was burning. I fell to my knees in pain and agony, and I closed my eyes to forget whatever was happening to me. Sounds of bones cracking across my shoulders and torso echoed, and my face felt like it was being dipped into magma. The screams of myself echoed, and I started to faint, unable to handle all the pain. My eyes started to slowly open as I felt drops of water falling on my cheek. What stood before my eyes was grass, green and alive than ever. In shock, I slowly rose from the ground. I examined my surroundings, realizing that I was in my neighborhood. A rush of relief flooded my heart as I felt the rain smeared across my face. What a feeling to be alive! The chuckles that escaped my mouth eventually grew into a triumphant laughter, as I realized that I was back home: back to earth where I belonged. I started to walk, placing one foot before another: a foreign feeling I missed desperately. I laid on the wet muddy floor, cherishing the beautiful life mother earth has given us. That didn’t last long, as overwhelming exhaustion took over my body. Everything that I have been through was too much for both my body and mind, and I realized that I needed a break. I was able to think of a place that could give me that: my parent’s home. I started to walk in the direction of my parent’s home, knowing that they lived in the same neighborhood. As I started to walk, I felt that something was off: moving my body felt alien. I felt much shorter and the world seemed so much bigger than before. My shoulders were twisted oddly and I found my center of balance shifting constantly. However, all that didn’t matter to me. I just wanted to collapse into bed, washing away the terrible memories. The walk to my parent’s home took longer than expected. When I started my journey, the sun was barely setting and when I reached their doorstep the sun was completely engulfed by the horizon. I knocked on their door and heard my mom’s footsteps. As I saw my mother’s face through the door, a huge grin spread across my face, delighted to see the person who resembled home and pleasure. However, she seemed to have different opinions. As she opened the door to see me, her eyes and mouth widened as she dropped to the floor out of terror. My smile quickly morphed into a frown, and I reached my hands out to help her up. As I did so, she started to squirm in horror and started to beg. “Please! I have a son and a husband!” Out of confusion, I attempted to calm her down. “Mom it’s me! Max!” As these words escaped my mouth, I realized that they sounded alien. My voice sounded much more crisp and hoarse as if it aged decades. Just as I finished my sentence, I saw my dad walking from the living room, aiming a rifle to my face. “I don’t remember having a son like you,” he said as placed his finger on the trigger. My parent’s eyes were filled with terror and nervousness, and I felt like an alien. The look they gave me was haunting than anything I’ve seen so far: far haunting them seeing their lifeless eyes staring at my soul. To get out of this awful situation, I turned and ran into the night as drops of water flowed down my face. I wasn’t quite sure if they were raindrops or tears. After some time I stopped to gather my breath. A puddle of rain was gathered in front of me and for the first time I got the chance to examine how I looked. In a strange way, I looked more like an alien than a man and ‘insanity’ seemed to be the best way to describe who I was. My arms were very skinny, and the proportions of my twisted shoulders along with my inconsistently looking torso made me seem like a combination of different puzzle pieces attempting to pass as a human. But worst of all was my face. My previously brown hair turned black, and a huge scar passed by my nose reaching far down to the corner of my lips. Instead of my bright blue eyes, I found them to be black instead: an eternal abyss staring back at me. As my examination ended, the memories of what I saw in the other permeated my brain. Seeing every moment in history, seeing the dead bodies in the future, seeing the eldritch abomination and infinite copies of myself. All these memories echoed in my mind and proved to be too much, and I felt my perception of reality shatter. Was all of it just a dream? Was it all real? The sheer insanity of the situation dawned on me, and I was unable to control my endless laughter. Contrary to the triumphant laugh before, this one had an underlying tone of madness and sorrow. What a situation I was stuck in! I laughed louder and louder, the sound gradually turning into a sob. We were never alone in this universe, and I was the very first person to see the truth hidden behind the walls: the eldritch abomination living beyond our dimension, ruling over a reality beyond our own. How could I ever live again properly after seeing everything I did? How would I ever feel safe after knowing that there was something out there, watching every one of my movements ready to kill me at any moment? Terrible thoughts started to permeate my brain, as I wondered if anything I did had any meaning. What’s the point of all this evolution and adaptation if at the end of the day it won’t be enough to stop the apocalypse? As if to counter my negative thoughts, memories of various moments in history glazed my thoughts, as I recalled seeing the birth and prosper of life. The beauty of life was insignificant to death, and nothing was meaningless in the end. Humanity is capable of accomplishing unimaginable things. A sense of determination grew from my heart as the terrifying memories started to fade away from my brain. They were replaced with visions of the birth of life and the smiles of people. ‘No,’ I thought to myself. ‘Nothing is meaningless. Didn’t everything you see prove so? Wasn’t it truly magnificent to see humanity grow? Isn’t it worth it to save all of it?’ I couldn’t let generations of human civilization go down the drain because of a bad memory and I had to warn everyone about the apocalypse. I didn’t know what or when it was, but I knew that I could stop it. I will prove that no, humanity isn’t weak. We’re not just meaningless dust. We’re capable of protecting ourselves and always will be. First things first, I needed to find a way to tell everyone that the apocalypse is near. I started to walk around aimlessly, looking for anywhere that people may be. As I did so, I felt a terrifying sensation crawling in my brain. My head started to grow blank, as I started to lose memories of my life. Who was I? Who were my parents? Where was I from? I tried desperately to hold on to my memories, only for them to escape faster and faster. Soon, all my memories were gone and all that was left in my brain was the terrifying experience and my will to stop the apocalypse. The only personal detail left in my brain was my name: Max. Even that seemed insignificant. Losing my memory was terrifying at first, but soon I came to accept it as part of my destiny and in a strange way felt relieved by it. All those memories were distractions, and I needed to focus on the task that the universe has cursed me with. I walked for hours and hours and eventually, I saw the sun rising from the horizon: a birth of a new day. The daylight made it easier for me to observe my surroundings, and I saw a soccer stadium nearby. Cheers emitted from the field, and I realized that that was the perfect place to start my quest. A shred of humanity seemed to remain inside me as I felt ashamed to show my face in public. I looked for a way to cover my face and felt the weight of sunglasses and a mask inside my pockets. I placed them on my face, covering my face. That should do the job. Ignoring the security at the stadium, I rapidly ran to the audience seats. Parts of the crowd seemed to notice my existence, and whispers of gossip flooded the stadium. I wasn’t able to tell what they were exactly saying, but I knew that they were making fun of my appearance. It was hard to ignore them, but I started to scream. “Everybody! Please listen to me! The apocalypse is near!” Those words caught the attention of everyone in the stadium, from the little children in the audience to the players on the field. They all looked at me in confusion, and all the attention made me feel like a savior: a messiah of some sort. The stadium camera zoomed into me, and my appearance was displayed across the screen: the sunglasses and black mask covering my face, the black suit and pants covering my entire body, leaving barely any trace of skin to be exposed. Regardless of all the attention I was receiving, nobody in this reality understood. But with all of my efforts I will help them see. I need to find a way. I must find a way. Even if it takes a 100 years, even if it means it’ll sell my soul, I’ll do it. I will find a way to prevent this apocalypse. My screams continuously echoed throughout the stadium as the date displayed on the screen was caught out of the glimpse of my eye: August 21st.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Stop me if you've heard this one before. (Part 1) [RESPONSE] I've spent a lot of time wondering if I should tell someone my story, *our* story, wondering if I even want to tell someone, deciding for or against one or both, back and forth, over and over, until finally I guess I decided to go for it so all the internal debating could just... end. But in all that time, and at least a solid week after that, I haven't been able to figure out where to *start.* In the car ride to that horrible place, nervous and excited, leaning against slightly cracked windows, staring out into the weird gloom of the high desert's night? When I met Jade, which in a weird way basically started this whole thing? When Jade introduced us to each other? None of it feels right. None of it captures the context. The love. The misery, individual, shared, then lightning-fast and savage, then blurred and disorienting. The heartbreak I think I don't actually care about as much as I should, even though something deep in me still aches at the thought of of how little good I was able to do even when good is all I ever *wanted* to do, no matter what I still remember so clearly, mumbled, dreamlike, from bloody lips as they tilted so suddenly across the grand precipice of death. So I think... I think I'm gonna have to ramble. Try to paint a picture, bit by bit, of what we did and what we felt. All I can do is keep typing and hope the final result is some odd kind of closure, even when some of you might hate me for it, even when I think you probably should. I'll just sink back into the ocean of memory and let instinct take over. At some point a couple years back, I realized I'd started seeing Friday nights in sort of a complicated way. When I'd just started college, it was... I mean, you can probably imagine what that's like for extroverts. Or maybe I mean introverts? What do you even call it when an introvert is lost and lonely enough that he forgets what it felt like to *act* like one? I mean, it was college, you know? I made some good decisions. I made more bad decisions. Mostly I dissociated through classes and lectures in the daytime, then had a lot of fun, wonderful evenings. You know, the kind of fun, wonderful evenings that end about halfway before everyone else's, with me barfing in someone else's toilet or trash can... or once, under the bed in a guest room. Which, uh... yeah, I still feel bad about that, but I got my wallet stolen a few days later, so I the karma almost evens out. Except karma never really evens out. Not for me. I've gone too far. Accomplished too much while changing so little. Removed myself as far as I have from... no, come on, it's too soon to get into that. Focus, James. You're not doing anybody a favor by lacing the preamble with even *more* storm clouds. If you really want to write part of this, then do it already. ...On rare occasions when some incident *does* feel like I've squared away the math, morally speaking, I try to just roll with it and not obsess over the bigger picture. But about a year in, I had to admit my routine's returns diminished painfully. I fucked a girl, didn't like it much, wondered if I was gay, fucked a guy, didn't like it much, wondered if I was ace, but no, people were hot and I *did* want to fuck them, I just never ended up happy afterward. And every crush that was about more than "person hot, let me get it in there" went even worse. Turns out it's a lot easier to be disappointed by casual sex than it is to be disappointed in a person, and before long I was almost as disillusioned about love as I am about myself. Fridays bled away their upsides, and it took way too long for me to notice. I drank more and faster, had less actual fun, spent less time "partying" and more time puking or just going home to cry on the bathroom floor... then puke anyway, except it'd be *my* furniture caught in the splash zone. I was legit jealous of introverts. I mean, extroverts, or... God, which one am I? No, that's just another distraction. It's fine. I'll type and the truth will follow, whether I understand it all or not. I think that for myself, practically speaking, there wasn't much difference between extroversion and some twisted introversion that had shattered like bones on a breaking wheel. The idea of just staying home and reading a book or watching a movie or playing a game alone, then feeling even halfway fulfilled... it sounded so good by the time I was sick of parties that when I *did* give it a shot, I was honestly surprised when I didn't fucking like it any more or less than what I'd already been doing. I was starting to figure out that the problem most likely wasn't college, sex, parties, drinking, or anything like that. The problem was me. I just... couldn't pin down exactly what the problem with myself *was.* Well, that's not quite true. I at least had the general idea. Eventually it had been months since I went to a party. So when my best friend Jade texted me about a party at her place that was going to be *"like 600% off the fucking hook"*, my first thought was "Goddammit, Jade, I'm not gonna fuck you again even if we're both drunk, because you're the only person I can actually stand being around and if I actually *remembered* most of fucking you, something might break". But she kept going on and on, and... And hey, maybe it'd be cool to puke in someone *else's* trash can again for once, regardless of the amount of awkward, apologetic Jade-fucking that may have taken place once upon a time. It wasn't a great party or a shitty one. It was just a party. It was everything I was sick of and everything I wanted. It was nothing. It was a bunch of people getting smashed in someone else's home and acting like that meant something. On the bright side, I wasn't trying to fuck Jade again, or no, I mean Jade wasn't trying to fuck *me* again. I mean, it hadn't been fun for her either. Except it had, hadn't it? Or am I just... I dunno. Maybe the first time fucking somebody you care about is always weird, and having only done that once hadn't given me much data. Although one half-forgotten round of shitty sex wasn't exactly the primary issue that kept romance from igniting *there.* What actually matters is that this specific party is where I met Devin. No, it's less like I *met* Devin, and more like by the end of our first conversation, a version of myself I hated was half-dead, and a version of me who could almost be happy took his place. I was expecting that to stop when I got sick of her, but then I just... didn't get sick of her. I was expecting it to stop weeks later when she said I was the kind of guy her parents would've hated if they were still alive. Hell, I'd expected it to stop that first night when she awkwardly seduced me. Instead, I found out there were people I liked having sex with after all. Is it weird to not even remember who said "I love you" first? I remember Jade admitting later, guiltily, that she'd wanted me at that party *because* Devin would be there. I remember it word for word: "I guess I was hoping that if the two most broken people I knew met each other, they'd hit it off and be just a little bit happier." I remember *that*, but I don't remember if my girlfriend said she loved me before I said I loved her. The mind's weird like that. If anything, I almost feel like we *both* said it first, somehow. So what's next? Maybe... yeah, that works. Nothing wrong with at least *trying* for a comprehensible chronology. I remember our first date. Or should I call it our second date? I think even if you didn't go to a party expecting to meet somebody, if you've fucked them by the end of the night and they're still there in the morning, you can probably safely count it as a date, even if they leave half an hour later. So yeah, I remember our second first date. I don't think anything could make me forget. If I got a brain injury and forgot my whole life, that memory would be one of two or three exceptions. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't remarkable except for how after it ended, I realized I wanted to do it again. Well, no, I wouldn't want... the *exact* same experience. Because it was *definitely* remarkable. Why did I just tell you that it wasn't? I'm not even drunk. Whose idea was it to go to an amusement park? It had to be Devon's. Devin's, I mean. Not that she was more ambitious or fun-loving, although those things are both very true about her, especially compared to me, but I would've been... more cautious, maybe? I think that's it. Yeah, it was Devin's idea. I remember texting Jade something like "help i was born stupid is she the kind of girl you take to a restaurant or to olive garden" and then, after a few minutes of irritably lying on my bedroom floor staring at the little check mark that meant she was leaving me on read, the buzz of my phone, so strong that I'd long since turned off its weird default... notification blorp, shook me out of some odd thought, and I read, re-read, and re-re-read "she says she likes indecisive guys and she'll be in the parking lot for FunFun Land at 530 thursday night". ...Man, who the fuck names a theme park FunFun Land? That's so desperate that I find it relatable. And just like me, it was a stumbling derelict, stubbornly extant, ragged and disappointing. Something that might once have been golden, if gold rusted like the soul does. I went, though. Give anything a shot once, right? That worked out with Jade. Well, it... I mean, listen, if you fuck somebody and end up upgrading from friend to best friend, I'd say it was probably a good deal even if you both woke up the next morning and simultaneously realized you finally understood what it must've felt to write the lyrics to The Birthday Massacre's *Nevermind.* The drive felt weirdly long, but there was Devin, waving fast enough that Jade must've described my *car* to her, although it took me a literal minute to recognize her. She'd been wearing a weirdly nice black evening dress at Jade's otherwise-boring party, but she came to FunFun Land in beat-to-shit jeans and a patch-speckled bomber jacket that definitely didn't come from any aisle someone would shop in if they cared whether or not other people could even tell they had tits. Honestly, I damn near drove right by. There was a solid moment when I thought she was a punk-adjacent *guy* waving at the wrong car until I heard her voice and realized that her almost hypnotically flowing red-brown hair wasn't gone, just lazily braided behind her back instead of spilling across pale, bare shoulders. The only thing missing from the look was a cigarette, which I guess means the look could *never* have been complete, considering... "Uh... hey! Sorry, I was... looking for a... for a parking spot," I think I mumbled, trying not to say 'I literally thought you were a dude' even as I realized about ninety percent of the lot was empty. I guess it must've bled out into my voice, though. "A parking spot," she said. There was that rueful little smile on her face again. That smile was half of what had charmed me a week earlier. A smile that says 'yeah, my life is dog shit too, wanna roll around in it together?' Did I really forget to mention the smile before? Christ. I must be as tired as I feel. "...Yeah." It was such a bad lie that I didn't really even feel like I *was* lying when I said it. "Is that the new slang for 'holy shit, I didn't even recognize you?' I must be losing track of the zeitgeist again." I at least *tried* not to wince. "Ah yeah, there it is. That's the one." She shrugged and cracked her neck. Maybe that was her equivalent to whatever nervous thing I would've been doing with my hands if they weren't already on the steering wheel. "That's the face that says 'who are you and what did you do with that lovely, ephemeral little shade who was for sure going to the bathroom every half hour to fix her makeup, and definitely not because she picked a bad afternoon for chili dogs?" "It, it's more like the face that says 'I forgot I was bi enough that this is actually a hotter look than the nice dress.' I mean, not that I'm implying, like..." I don't even know *what* I thought I was implying, but the rueful smile suddenly wasn't rueful anymore. I had the weirdest thought right then, that I ought to have resented a smile that was so real, but maybe the outfit had enough rue in it that her face could get away with anything it wanted. "Yeah," she said after a long pause. "This works. We're not even in the park yet and this is already worth the bus ride." "You took a *bus* to get here?" I think maybe there were other things I should've said. Not that I could tell you what those things were. "It's fine," Devin said, rolling her eyes in a way I really hoped I was correctly interpreting as 'fondly.' "If there's a third time, you'll probably connect some puzzle pieces from the backstory all on your own." "...What if it turns out i'm a little bit stupid?" Spoilers: I was. I still am. "Then I guess I'll crack Pandora's old jar open just a bit if everything else is going well," she said. "I'll do my best to kill a mood with it, too. In fact, I'm an expert at killing moods. And you should be *parking your fucking car."* She wasn't wrong. So I did. Thinking back on this, it's almost shocking how quickly things went sideways. And it... I don't know. Maybe it wasn't my fault, and that's the wrong way to think. Or maybe I'm the kind of bastard who's self-aware but always finds a way to play victim anyway. Fuck, this isn't even the story. This is the *preamble* to the real story. And I wanna emphasize, yeah, okay, some of why it was unforgettable wasn't *fun.* But it did lead to basically everything else, and even if I have my regrets about everything else, I wouldn't take any of it back. In the end, everyone got what they wanted, or at least they got closer than they ever could've if I wasn't there. Assuming I believe them. I don't know if I do. I want to. I allow myself to be convinced, on hard nights when I just can't fucking stop crying. Even karma falls for my bullshit, and I prove that by continuing to be alive. *That's* the kind of bastard I am, the sheer, absurd caliber of it all. The hubris I have so meticulously hammered into a shape that, from a distance, must resemble a beacon of hope for the hopeless. We left my car to bake in what remained of the afternoon's light, walking slowly toward the deeply unfun-looking entrance to FunFun Land. It was a long walk, but I don't think I parked my car *too* far away. What would the point have been? We must've just walked slowly. It's hard to get hyped about walking into places like FunFun Land. I wasn't here for that, I was here for her, and apparently, for some reason I couldn't fathom, she was here for me. "So, why this place? I'm not saying it doesn't look inviting, even though I'm definitely saying that, but..." That was probably not the ideal slow-walking icebreaker, but I led with it anyway. Devin was so... small. I'm not sure why I thought that. She wasn't even short, I'm just a bit on the tall side for a guy, and she wasn't on the tall side of anything, but I kept thinking that she was so much smaller than me somehow. And that felt... incorrect. Yeah, that's the closest word I can find. It felt incorrect for her to be that height. And that might also have been part of why it took so long to get to the park entrance. *She* wasn't fast-walking, the opposite if anything, and between that and the height gap, she got to set the pace. Devon's very good at that. At setting the pace, I mean. That probably should have been obvious just from how we set up the date, by which I mean how *Devin* set up the date, but... I did just get done admitting I'm a little bit stupid, didn't I? "...Well." Devin chewed on the inside of her lip a bit. On most people I think it would've looked like awkwardness, or maybe even guilt, but on Devin, I'd call it *mischievous*. "Alright, so... stop me if you've heard this one before." "Uh, sure?" Whatever this would be, I really doubted I'd heard it before. "So there's this old amusement park, yeah? The kind that so few people go to anymore that it barely makes sense that it's still open? Even has a stupid name. And also there's... let's call it *lore,* about this amusement park. Yeah. Lore's the right word." "FunFun Land has lore," I said flatly. More of a challenge than a question. "It does," she said, "And I'm kinda big on lore. Yeah. Still the right word. So the lore here is pretty simple. They say... I mean, who the fuck knows who 'they' even means, but they say, on the street or the internet or whatever, they say that FunFun Land..." "Isn't actually very much fun?" "Oh no," Devin said. She was smirking now. "The lore is that it's a fucking blast. Just not for normal people." "So we're heading into urban legend territory here? I'm gonna be real, this isn't exactly how most dates work." "Well, I'm not exactly how most *people* work. So yeah. If you come to FunFun Land, and you approach a certain ride at a certain time and say a certain thing to a certain ride operator - it'll be a very specific guy. Uniform's all the wrong colors, no blue at all. He won't always be there, either. But sometimes he will. And if you say the right thing, the ride you get on turns out to have two tracks." "I'm not doing this," I said. "I mean you can talk about it, but I'm not..." "I might," Devin said. "Okay, no, I won't, but only because if it was true, I'd still hate it. But it's interesting. To think about that." "About a ride having two tracks?" "Well, it's interesting if the second track takes you underground to a place where missing children are kept in cages. Fed just enough to keep them... motivated. And people who want to have a special kind of fun at good old FunFun Land, the ones who said the right thing to the right guy at the right time, they get to place their bets." "On what? Fucking... abducted child gladiator battles? Where is this even going?" "Not exactly. There are more rides down there. They're just a little less safe than they maybe should be. So you bet. You bet on which kids'll die and which kids won't. Not money, though. That part changes depending on who tells the story. If anybody says it's money, they're fuckin' boring and you should stop talking to them immediately and seek actual friendship. Or romance. Or *anything*." She sounded almost serious about that last part. Not the betting on dying children stuff, but the part about paying with money being boring somehow. "This is not exactly how I thought this date would start," I mumbled. Though the truth is that I didn't really mind. She *had* been a bit, uh, *macabre* at the party. And during sex. I think it's safe to say someone's a bit macabre if you meet them, fuck them a few hours later, and they mention their knife collection and ask if you want to roleplay killing them very, very, uh... let's pretend the word she used was *"romantically".* Was I that kind of person too? I hadn't thought so, even though the third time Jade and I got just drunk enough to fuck and halfway through doing it she asked if I'd choke her out just a little bit, I was fine with that, even though it wasn't my thing? Was I fucked in the head in a way I wasn't aware of, and that's what Devin found interesting? Or was it just that I didn't mind that *Devin* was that way? Is it that right after she asked about the "romantic" thing she apologized, started pulling the half-wilted black dress back up, said she should go, but I grabbed her arm - lightly, not in a weird way - and said it was fine, she'd just caught me off-guard? "Yeah, I get that from time to time. Entrance coming up, by the way. Probably shouldn't talk about secret child death games right in front of the guy we pay to get in." "Oh yeah, that... wait, forty *bucks?* For *this* dump?" The sign was so faded I couldn't even read it, but some grimly underpaid employee must've scribbled the number onto the sign with what I assume was a permanent marker, just below traces of old paint. I mean, I could swing forty bucks for me, and technically I could for her too, but... fuck, would it be sexist to try to pay to get her in too even though I didn't want to? Or would this be one of those weird situations where somebody who seemed like she'd hate me offering to pay for her would unexpectedly get weird if I *didn't?* "Yeah, it's dumb. Don't sweat it, I've got us covered." She fished around in her jacket pocket, plucked out a weirdly nice leather wallet, and *Jesus* that was a lot of bills. I mean, most of them were probably tens or less, but it wasn't a small wallet, and it was stuffed to capacity. "You sure? That's a lot of cash to drop on..." Something prickled at the back of my neck. I had a half-thought to reach back and smack it a little in case it was a mosquito or something, but no, that was just... my hair standing on end. The afternoon *would* cool off soon, but the sun wasn't sinking yet. So what was that feeling? It reminded me of something. Some old thing I hadn't felt since I was a kid. Okay, maybe not literally since I was a kid, but something I sure felt a lot *more* back then. I felt, *very* suddenly, like I was being watched. "Not to brag... I mean, really, *please* don't think I'm bragging, I only brag about things I've actually worked for, but eighty bucks is not exactly an amount of money I'll notice is gone." That *sounded* a lot like bragging, but I was preoccupied with that feeling. It hadn't gone away. Someone was watching me, I just *felt* it. And, as I glanced around furtively, I noticed Devin was doing the same thing. So she felt it too. She must have. That ancient, primal urging. The voiceless voice that speaks in stiff hair and goosebumps, whispering that something was... I didn't want to even *think* the words *'hunting us',* but that's how it felt. A gentle, almost distant sense of danger, like an odd scent caught in the warm summer wind. "Let's... let's pay and get in there," I said, and I'm sure I failed at pretending to be totally calm. "Yep." Devin cracked her neck again, then her knuckles. "Not gonna be crowded today, or any day, but I don't exactly hate the idea of more people being around right now." "For fucking real," I muttered. Maybe there were only a few dozen cars scattered around, but between those and employees... I guess the idea of being watched worried me more in a parking lot that was totally devoid of human life than it would in FunFun Land. "Hey," Devin said. I think her tone was meant to sound reassuring. "Don't worry too much. Just stick close to me, keep your eyes open, and you'll be fine." I didn't even know how to respond to that. I think I would've rather she *hadn't* instantly validated that sense of not-quite-sourceless danger. Except... whatever. I probably *would* be fine. Even if something real and dangerous was somehow about to happen... against all logic, she *had* succeeded at making me feel reassured. Devin threw eighty bucks at a very tired looking guy who I swear I could almost tell at a *glance* had ended up here because he had a degree he couldn't make money with, and we passed through the creaky, rusty metal turnstile leading into FunFun Land. Do you think it's interesting that crossing that threshold changed nothing? Entering the park hadn't triggered that anxious, haunted feeling, and it hadn't banished the feeling either. I don't know. I'm sidetracking myself, I guess, but *I* definitely think it's interesting. I have no doubt that Devon thought it was interesting, too. We wandered around the park. Devin bought us both corn dogs. They were even shittier and greasier than you'd expect, although that's probably what people *want* from amusement park "food". We ate them wandering around, just mapping the place out, looking over our shoulders, ignoring that the urgency was getting worse, not better. Ignoring the occasional glimpse of something vanishing just around a corner, flitting away at the edge of our peripheral vision. There was nowhere near enough of a crowd to get lost in, which actually might not have *been* safer for all I know, but it sure as hell would've *felt* safer. Really, there were just enough people that it was oddly easy to observe how they'd cluster together. It was the groups of three or more that kept putting me on edge, especially the... I don't know, the *basic* ones? Like, a mom and dad, or maybe adult siblings or whatever, and then a kid or two. Or sometimes just a random small group of teens or young adults. Over half of those groups, passing us by, made that sense of being prey *spike* upward. And I thought I noticed something about those people, something I doubted at first, but the more groups I observed, the more I realized that no matter how little sense it made, either I was *very* suddenly developing schizophrenia somehow, or something was deeply, deeply fucking wrong, because I just kept seeing... Well, at least I'm not that inclined to feeling sick to my stomach when I'm anxious, so we picked up funnel cakes when the corn dogs were gone, ate those on a bench. But we were both doing the same thing, and I'm sure we both knew it. We talked, but really we were people-watching, questioning shadows, and in my case, keeping my eyes on little clusters of people. "I... feel like I keep... seeing the same guy," I said, in-between bites. "That'll happen at a theme park with less than a hundred customers, yeah." "No, I mean..." What the hell *did* I mean? "I mean like..." But I took another bite instead of finishing a sentence I couldn't quite figure out how to phrase. "You mean that every so often when a group of people gets close, you keep seeing the same guy with them." "I mean, yeah, but it's *different people* he's with every time. And that doesn't make any sense." "What about it doesn't make sense?" She genuinely sounded as if she had no idea why anyone would question it. "Okay, fine, well... how about this, then: I can't think of anything that makes sense but isn't terrifying." "Do you *want* an explanation that isn't terrifying?" This, too, felt weirdly genuine. "Of course I do!" I snapped that one off a bit too loudly for comfort. A few people glanced our way. Great job, me, now *I* was the thing that *other* people were nervous about. "If you really want me to, I could try to make one up." "I want the truth," I said, only realizing once I'd said it that the truth was probably the last thing I actually wanted. What I wanted was for the truth to not be *my problem,* no matter what it actually was. "No you don't," she said. "Hey, it's fair. I don't want the truth either. I just want to be on a fucking date at a shitty amusement park." "Me too, but I also want to not feel like I'm in danger somehow," I hissed, not quite as under my breath as I'd intended. "Then do what I said to do. Stick close to me and keep your eyes open, and you'll be fine. Just... do it without overthinking it too much. Otherwise it'll ruin the whole evening." She said it so casually, like doing that would be *easy.* I guess it *was* easy for Devon. Or at the very least, it somehow must have been necessary often enough that doing it was second-nature. I'm not actually sure if there's a difference. I *think* there is, but it's hard to pin down. But she was basically right, wasn't she? If we weren't just going to drop the date over whatever was happening, wasn't this the only logical way to move forward? To keep an eye open just in case, but mostly focus on eating terrible theme park food and arguing over which so-bad-it's-good movie was the worst/best? (I was in favor of Troll 2 or The Room. Devin correctly divined that I had never heard of Neil Breen.) We did our best to lose ourselves in each other, and it turned out that we were pretty fucking good at that. I mean, it had been that way at the party, but we'd been *drunk* at the party. It was almost surreal, for me at least, realizing that booze had apparently been responsible for *none* of the sense of connection I'd felt with her that night, that strange sense of *finally coming home* somehow to a world that made sense, like sinking into an old bed you're fond of, or maybe into warm water. The sense that even if I drowned, I wouldn't mind it at all. My head insisted the feeling should've disappeared with the alcohol, or shattered like some ancient spell eroded by time the next morning when she had to go to work just half an hour after we'd woken up and I couldn't tell for the life of me if she'd meant it when she said she hoped we'd see each other again. Actually, I'd gotten a bit caught up on that phrasing. *Hoped*. As if whether we talked again was something being left up to destiny somehow, and not, y'know, left up to whether or not the phone numbers we gave each other were real. We were so lost in each other in that surreal semi-paranoid conversation that hearing someone *else* speak was like a bucket of ice water being thrown in my face. "Nadia, right? Isn't that you?" Devin and I both flinched like we'd been struck by something. Or maybe it was only me who did, and I just wanted to think she was a loser too. "Definitely not," Devin said, slowly. One of her hands was in her jacket pocket, and somehow I knew that inside that little hollow, she was holding onto a knife. No, wait, now I'm not sure if I knew. I might just be letting information I didn't have at the time color my memories of past events. I bet there's a term for that. "No, it's definitely you," the guy talking to her said. It wasn't the guy we might or might not have been seeing in the 'crowd'. If anything this dude looked... so normal that it's actually hard to describe him. I'm not the best at faces, but all I can remember about this guy is that he was presumably, uh, a guy. But I got that same feeling, that 'you are in danger you fucking idiot' sense that must've existed in human beings long before we invented language. "You've got the wrong person, dude," I said. "I think if you say somebody's name and they tell you 'no, that's not me', they're probably right." Devin glanced at me for just a split second, a ghost of a smile. Then she turned back to whoever-the-fuck. "What he said." Her tone was polite but decisive. "I'm serious. Nadia Brozek, right? We're like... two seats apart in Egyptology. We've shared notes." "My name is Devon, actually," she said, and if the last thing she said had been decisive, then this was glacier-cold. When she said it, I almost thought the temperature dropped, like we'd come here in the fall and not the summer, uncomfortably underdressed. "And I've never seen you before in my life, and you should get the fuck out of my face while you still have one." "C'mon, Nadia, don't be that way," the guy said. He was grinning now. A big, shit-eating grin. And I don't think teeth aren't supposed to look like that. There aren't supposed to be... so *many* of them. "You know what I want, right? This doesn't have to get ugly. Just..." "...Give you my... *notes,*" Devon finished, "but they're mine, I'd never share them with anyone, I've never met you, and if you try to take what's mine I *will* fight back until one of us is dead, and the dead one won't be me. The dead one is *never* me." "Holy fuck, Devin", I whispered without actually meaning to, because suddenly I was... let's say 'thinking with two heads at once', except, y'know, in the way that makes me a dumbass. "Huh... what a shame. That's a real shame, Brozek." The shit-eating grin was still there, but it didn't match his words or his creepy tone even slightly anymore. "Guess I'll see you in class." "I don't think you'll be seeing her anywhere, dude," I said. "Hmm." The man scratched at his chin. Or maybe at his beard? I can't remember if he had one. "Well, we'll *'see'* about that, won't we?" And then he just left. He walked away. I took a few glances around us in case something else was wrong, but everything seemed normal, and by the time I looked back again the guy was nowhere to be found. "Leaving with a shitty pun," she muttered. "Can't say I don't I *respect* that kind of exit, even from a fucking liar." "...*Egyptology,* though? That's so specific. That's such a weird way to fuck up a cold read." If this *was* a cold read, but it had to be, didn't it? "No... I *am* taking a course on that, although it hasn't covered anything I didn't already know. But *he* sure as fuck isn't in there." "Really? Wait, what are you majoring in?" I hadn't necessarily assumed that being at Jade's party meant she went to the same college, or to *any* college, but maybe this was confirmation. "I'm majoring in being a fucking problem. Nothing more and nothing less. And my name is *not* Nadia." The way she said it was weird. Curt and angry at first, but the part about 'Nadia' came out... wistful. "Should we... I think we should leave," I said. "I mean, I don't... this is only getting *more* worrying, right?" "*You* can leave if you want," Devon said. "But I'd rather be dead than have my day fucked up by that *organism.*" "Would you be pissed if I *did* leave?" "No," Devon said slowly. "No, not even a little bit. It's honestly the right choice. But if you do leave, I won't be calling you again, you won't be able to contact me, and Jade won't be wing-manning us any further. So... what are your priorities, James?" Devin versus danger. The dream of happiness versus withering, loneliness, hollowness. There really wasn't even a choice to make. "Let's at least ride some shit," I said. "But after that, we get the hell out of here." "Yeah, that works," Devin said. "Look, as long as you don't leave before I do, we won't have a problem." I nodded, thinking I could handle it. And unfortunately I was right. The log flume we had to skip, since it was undergoing repairs. The basic bitch coasters weren't, though, and none of them were great, but they were fun. Even the park's crappy tea cup ride was worth a whole three minutes of "waiting in line". The Ferris wheel was battered, so much that the ride operator, her uniform the same blue as all the others, didn't seem to *want* us onboard. Every time the old metal groaned, my nerves yanked me out of the moment, but Devin only seemed more excited. My anxiety did not get in her way. Maybe replacing a weird fear with a more grounded one helped, though. I was almost ignoring that my sense of danger still rose, higher and sharper, like a spear pushed slowly through a living body, the skin that would soon be an exit wound straining visibly as the dull point pressed relentlessly forward. "So what now?" We'd had a chance to ride everything that was even a little bit interesting. "I guess we wander toward the exit and then use it," Devin said. "Thanks for sticking it out with me." I was about to say something, probably 'of course' or 'no problem'... but we were passing by the log flume again, and my words died in my mouth before I could open it. The little, easy-to-miss 'OUT OF ORDER: UNDERGOING MAINTENANCE' sign was still there, but this time, there was a ride operator sitting there anyway... in a uniform that was black with red accents. "No fuckin' way," Devin said, staring. "That's... not supposed to *actually* be..." And that's when I realized the sun was behind us now, ready to sleep in the west, and though I didn't hear anyone nearby, there were *three* long shadows spilling forward across the concrete. I shoved Devin aside out of pure reflex, but I wasn't fast enough. She stumbled away, bright blood dripping from the rusted-red slice in her sleeve. Time felt frozen for a moment, just then, as I realized the hand holding the knife that must've been aimed right at Devin's back belonged to the same man I'd been seeing in those groups, the man who could hide in a crowd without needing a proper crowd to do it. He looked almost as shocked that he'd missed as I was shocked that this was fucking happening. We shared that, almost, me and that rat bastard son of a bitch, our disbelief at what had just happened. And then he took a wild swing at her, missed, she grabbed me by the arm, and we ran like hell. She was yelling something, at him, me, both, I don't know, I wasn't really processing anything but the way he gave chase, the crimson tinge on his combat knife glittering eerily in the sunset. I had been right when I first interpreted that sense of dread. We weren't just being watched. We were being hunted. We ran. He followed. And no one else reacted. Devin was yelling, I might have been yelling, this guy was obviously trying to kill us, no, to kill her, no no no *no* to kill *us,* but we might as well have been silent or invisible. The staff and guests we sprinted by didn't seem aware of us at all. There hadn't been much ambient noise here, but I suddenly realized it was absent, that it had been absent since the moment of the attack. An eerie silence smothered everything. I couldn't even hear the low murmur of cars in the distance. In that oppressive, suffocating silence, we just kept running. ...Then a panicked left turn took us into a dead-end, pinned between the bathrooms and some other building. The man with the knife laughed, high and wild, and the fact that I could *hear him* startled me into freezing up. He lunged, again, at Devon... ...But it was Devon's pocketknife, flickering clear of her jacket pocket, that cut deep into the side of his ribcage as she darted forward and around his thrust. Something else came out of that pocket, too, thumping gently to the ground. The silence shattered, the sounds of the park and the city rushing back in. Devon slashed at him again, but the man stumbled back just beyond her reach. Then *he* turned and ran. *"GET BACK HERE, MOTHERFUCKER!"* Devon screamed. Even from six feet away, the sheer volume made my head throb. She dropped low, snatched up a rock I hadn't noticed, and hurled it at the guy. Her aim was solid. The rock cracked against the side of the back of his head and bounced away, tearing loose a bloody patch of skin and hair. *"I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL RIP YOUR GUTS OUT AND SHOVE 'EM DOWN YOUR FUCKING THROAT!"* He still ran, the head injury hardly slowing him down. And then he was gone, and so was that sharp sense of being hunted. "Holy fucking shit, Devin, you..." But I trailed off. She'd slumped against the wall next to a trash can, coughing hard. "S-sorry," she squeezed out before another, worse coughing fit wracked her whole body. "Just... j-just..." The coughing got worse. I was frozen all over again as she collapsed to her knees, hacking wetly down into the garbage. "I'm, I'm calling 911," I said, fumbling for my phone. *"No,"* Devin said, then coughed until she was all but retching. "No hospitals. This happens. D-drive me home." A lull in the fit. "Sew myself up. No h-hospitals or cops." "Al, alright, sure. Can you walk?" "Lean on you s-some." Her breathing *was* improving, but... "Sure. Yeah, of course." Then something caught my eye. Her wallet, dislodged when she'd pulled the knife. I snagged it as she latched onto my arm. There was that thick wad of bills again, and a single card tucked into a narrow plastic slot. Her ID. I only got a glimpse before she took the wallet back. We stumbled back to my car together, and I know I should've been freaking out about our near-death experience, but instead, I just couldn't stop thinking about the ID. About the card with a photo of a younger Devin in a sundress, smiling bright, next to the name Nadia Brozek.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I was teleported by a number… [RESPONSE] Let’s start from the beginning. I’m a frequent AirBnB user. Even when I’m in my home town, I try to at least stay at one to two places a month. It helps me relax and sort of reset myself. Anyways, the last house I stayed at was a pretty interesting experience. I laid my bags down on the bed and looked around like I always do. I figured if something is broken or disturbed and I didn’t touch it then I need to notate it. It’s no way I’m going to pay for someone’s mistakes. After checking the living room I found these pieces of paper. I was curious what they were doing there. So I took a second glance at the papers. It was a symbol on the top sheet. The best way I could describe it was a S inside of a circle. I continued looking through the papers and found descriptions of what this symbol meant. The author called it “Stain Number”. I thought that was a pretty odd title, but it caught my curiosity. Page after page was a description on what this number is and what it does. Now brace yourself. Apparently it can allow you to warp through space and time. From what the notes say, the ONLY way to get to Stain Number is finding the number between three and four. This sounds crazy I know, but the notes make it convincing. After a while of sorting through the notes, I began to tire myself. I ended up just putting the notes back where they were. I figured since it was just notes, I’d leave them where they were. I ended up going back to the bedroom and unpacking and winding down. I turned on the tv and caught up on some shows. I ended up passing out. And that’s when it happened… As I was sleep I kept dreaming of myself running away from something. The sheer fear in my heart was so unpleasant. I ran for what felt like minutes and still I couldn’t shake whatever my mind was conjuring up. I finally decided to turn around and see what I was running from. It was the “Stain Number”. I visually saw it in my head. This was so weird. This nightmarish dream came from me messing around with some papers for about five minutes. This was just so strange. I woke up and instantly made the mistake of wanting to write out the number in head. I wanted to see if what this person had said was true. I instantly found the piles of papers from earlier. I found a sheet that was blank. I instantly wrote down this mysterious number from my dream. I had to see if this really worked. After I wrote the last digit, in an instant I was in an interesting place. This place gave off a weird yet dreamy vibe. It was so eerie yet peaceful at the same time. I realized this is what one of the pieces of papers called Stainworld. Well at least a part of Stainworld. See the notes stated that the Stain Number would lead you to Stainworld. I began exploring this new world. The ground was a dry redish soil with the sky being s hazy yellowish color. I continued on as the dry soil crunched on my house shoes. After a while of exploring, I heard a bizarre noise. It was like hearing a muffled chainsaw reviving up. From out of nowhere a grotesque overweight monster came charging at my direction. I instantly booked it. I started having déjà vu from that dream. I began to realize I wasn’t running from Stain Number, I was running from that creature. I ended up getting enough space between me and the monster. I began writing in the dry soil as fast as I could. I had figured the same way I got into Stainworld would be the same way I got out. The monster grew closer as it kept shouting “help me get out! Please!” I instantly wrote the last number and was teleported out of the monsters grasp. I laid in a field of grass replaying in my head what just happened. Then I began to put together that the monster wasn’t raging to harm me, it was pleading for help. But why though? I then quickly realized I wasn’t where I had been at just a few moments ago. Before all of this I was in a house. Then I’m in a grassy field. One thing those papers didn’t say was how off the teleportation from back and forth are. I’m walking back to the Airbnb now. I used my phones GPS to get me back to the address, but what should I do next? This number is just stuck in my mind and I honestly don’t know what to do about this. This is clearly a major scientific discovery. But who would believe me? Nothing about this makes sense. Besides who would believe me about all of this when I tell them the information is from a few pieces of paper I’ve found? I don’t know right now. I’m tired from this walk so I’ll update this later. Thanks for hearing me out.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I discovered something horrific in my local forest, and I’m lucky to be alive [RESPONSE] Hey y'all, my name is Garrett and I'm going to share with y’all the time me and my good friend Robert encountered something very frightening in our local forest/ park. It has been almost 3 years since it occurred, and I still wonder how I'm still alive to tell the tale. Anyway, here it goes. It all started on a cool October evening in Texas. Me and my friend Robert were wondering how we could spend this evening on a Saturday night. So, being the thrill seekers we were, we decided to go on a walk in our local forest and do some urbex exploring there since there were some abandoned buildings in that area. I’m not too certain of the history behind the buildings but apparently, they were part of an old settlement from the mid- late 1800’s that was mysteriously abandoned in the 1920’s. I have tried to ask more about the history from people in our small town, but they simply refused to talk about it other than that. Additionally, they warned me and all other teenagers to not go into that forest at night. Of course, being the young cocky teenagers we were, me and Robert simply ignored that warning and went on to explore the buildings. Once we got all our stuff packed in our backpacks, including my newly gifted camcorder, we set out to the forest at about 6:45 pm and got there at around 7 o’clock, so the sun was pretty much set at this point. The parking lot once we got there only contained one other vehicle: a Ford Expedition. This seemed odd as it was nightfall and yet, there were still some hikers out and about in the park apparently. Not that it was strange for us to be here so late in the day. I shrugged it off quickly and started recording on my camera once we started our 30-minute hike to the abandoned buildings. The hike went completely normal for the most part until we got about 10 minutes away from the settlement. It started with the crickets and other animals going quiet all around us which I know means a predator is nearby (I am an avid hunter so I would know this, as well as listening to horror stories on YouTube). Robert and I were a bit on edge, but we refused to turn back, instead, we just slowed down our pace and minimized the number of times we would use our flashlights since we did not want to give away our positions so easily. Eventually, we made it to our destination with no further interruptions. In front of us, we were greeted by a building that seemed to resemble an old church with what seemed to be small houses and maybe a couple stores surrounding it. Of course, the buildings were so old and run down that it was hard to tell. Strangely enough too, it appeared that the church was in the middle of the settlement. Now I don’t know if it's just me, but if you see an abandoned town with an old, creepy church, chances are some bad shit is going to happen. Anyway, Robert and I agreed that we should check the other buildings first since the church was making both of us uneasy and we wanted to save it for last. We spent about 30-45 minutes exploring the different buildings with not much interest other than some cryptic messages engraved in the wood of the buildings which read out stuff like: “WE MUST LEAVE BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE” and "THEY ALWAYS WATCH”. Now, if the atmosphere of the town itself was enough to freak me and Robert out, as well as the eerie silence from earlier, this was almost enough to make us shit bricks especially with the previous history of the settlement. Could this be connected to the town’s abandonment? What were they so afraid of? So many questions that needed answers. I had to keep going. After we finished exploring the last building before the church, we took maybe 10 breaths each before entering the church. Upon entering the church, it immediately made us gag with the smell of what I can only describe as pure death. And it seemed to be coming from the room below the building. A basement? That’s what I could only assume. There was a trapdoor followed by a ladder that led down to this secret room and as we made our way down, that horrible smell seemed to get even stronger. We even had to put our jackets over our noses to cover up the smell once we got down. Once we got down, we were met with a huge catacomb-like room with some sort of object in the middle of it, illuminated by a very dim candle hanging from the ceiling. Me and Robert very reluctantly made our way toward the object with my camera still recording to discover that it was ½ of a person’s bloody body: a female that seemed to be in her mid to late 20’s. Very possibly a young urban explorer like Robert and I. We both threw up upon seeing this gruesome sight. It is worth mentioning too that while we were down there, we never used our Tac Lights to see what we were surrounded by. So, when we both opened our lights, I almost fainted on site when we saw that we were surrounded by maybe 20 horrifying looking humanoid creatures. They were probably no taller than us, but they were naked and very thin with long, thin, and wiry hair coming down to their chests. Their eyes were black as the night and their gaping mouths were dripping with blood. Their fingernails looked like they were overgrown and were shaped like steak knives. They sort of resembled the clown from SAW except without the makeup and the hair was much thinner. And once they all knew we saw them, they all in unison gave out this deathly shriek, a shriek that I believe could only be heard in a nightmare. I didn’t even know there was a living thing on this planet that could produce that noise until then. It was then that Robert yelled at the top of his lungs “FUCKING RUN!” as we both climbed up the ladder in record time. It was an absolute miracle not me or Robert got dragged down by those monstrosities. We made it out of the church as fast we could and slammed the door behind us. With the screaming still being heard. We took a minute to catch our breaths as we discovered with our lights, probably 50 different eye shines coming from all the buildings that we previously explored. Upon seeing this, we bolted out of the entire settlement. I dropped my camera behind us in the process. In about 10-15 minutes, we made it back to my truck with the Ford Expedition still there. We could now finally safely recollect and calm down from our horrific experience. We then concluded that the car probably belonged to the girl that was killed by those things under the church. It really was a miracle that we made it out, but it’s very unfortunate that she didn’t, and my heart goes out to her family. The next day, we led police to the location, and they found her body right where we saw it only this time, those creatures were not there. She was eventually identified as 26-year-old Chloe Becks. We tried telling the police our story, but they obviously did not buy it. Except for one: Sheriff Walker who was a 60-year-old native of our small town. During the investigation on the site, he came up to me and Robert and said, “Now you know why we tell you not to go into the forest at night.”<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The phone call from my daughter led to the most terrifying experience of my life [RESPONSE] It’s always been one of my biggest fears as a parent to get a sudden phone call from my kid in the middle of the night. The type that causes you to lurch awake in a panic when you see their name illuminate on the phone screen, and last week I experienced that for the first time. It was by far one of the most horrifying nights of my life. It’s obviously no secret that kids like to party in high school. I did it plenty myself and I’m sure I gave my parents a lot of sleepless nights when I was growing up, and now I guess it’s my kids turn to return the favor. My son just started his junior year of high school and there have been a few incidents in regards to him being at parties, coming home drunk or stoned and getting a few tickets from the police. He’s a good kid though, and has thankfully never been in serious trouble, and hopefully things will remain that way. I’ve been stern with him, but I also understand that this is pretty normal behavior for teenagers. My daughter is a freshman in high school this year and up until now has remained relatively clean in terms of the usual high schooler antics. My wife and I of course don’t condone underage drinking or partying, but we know it’s likely going to happen regardless of what we say. We both agreed long ago that we would always do our best to educate our kids on the dangers and try our best to influence them away from that lifestyle. I’ve had numerous talks with both my son and daughter about this, and made sure to reiterate that I don’t want them partying, but I’m not able to control their entire lives either. My request that I have repeated ad nauseam to them, is that if ever they are in danger or in an unsure situation to please call me. I don’t care what time it is or where they are, I will go pick them up, no questions asked and no grudges held. Better that than them getting into the car with some underage drunk driver or something, because we’ve all heard the horror stories of people’s lives being forever changed by one stupid decision. My son has never once taken me up on that offer, and I hope that means he’s been responsible. Until last week my daughter hadn’t either, but I’m glad she did, even though it ended up being one of the most terrifying nights of our lives. My phone began to blare loudly on my side table, stirring me from a deep sleep. With a stark sudden nervousness, I leaned over and silenced the annoying tone, glimpsing with the pirate-eye stare at my bright phone. The name ‘Amelia’ illuminated brightly on my screen, and immediately my heart sank. It was just past 2am, and everyone knows nothing good ever happens that late at night. “Hello?” “Dad? Hey I’m sorry to call so late…” “No no… it’s fine honey, what’s up? Are you okay?” “Yeah I’m fine umm… we were driving home and my friend’s car broke down. Is there any way you could come pick us up?” My heart breathed a small sigh of relief then and I tried to gather my mind. I told her I would of course come and get her, and over the next few minutes she described her location as I got myself dressed. She was a good half-an-hour drive away, and basically just on the side of a rural stretch of road. She didn’t mention what exactly they were doing out there, and in the moment, it didn’t cross my mind to ask. I pulled my truck out the complex maybe 10 minutes later, and texted Amelia that I was on my way. Thankfully the roads were clear at 2am and I was well on my way to her in no time making much better time the drive would’ve normally taken me. Only then did I start to realize they probably could’ve just called roadside assistance and requested service. Would’ve saved me a long drive on a work night, but after all, I’d always told Amelia to call me if she needed help and I’m glad she did. After entering the highway, I felt my phone begin to buzz in my pocket. I pulled it out and once again saw an incoming call from Amelia. “Dad… are you almost here?” She spoke suddenly as I answered, a distinct nervousness obvious in her voice. “Yeah, about 10 minutes out… is everything okay?” She paused on the other end of the line. I heard one of her friends say something in the background but I couldn’t decipher what it was. “Dad… there’s somebody out here.” “There he is… down by that post.” Another girl spoke form the other end. “What do you mean? Is someone threatening you?” I heard them whisper on the other end of the line as I feverishly anticipated a response. “Dad… something’s wrong.” The line then abruptly cut out. I glanced out my phone to see that the call had failed. After trying and failing several times to call her back I eventually gave up due to lack of service. My heart was throbbing in my chest, and an increased desperation caused me to stomp down harder on the gas pedal. A few minutes later and my phone began to buzz in the center console once again, and once again it was Amelia. “Hello? Amelia are you there?” “Dad… something’s wrong.” “I’m almost there Amelia hold on, are you safe? What’s going on?” There was no response from the other end of the line. Some times when I have bad reception people can call me and speak but they can’t hear me respond. I figured that’s what was happening, until she spoke again. “Dad… something’s wrong.” A felt a wave of chills roll down my spine as I heard it. Something about the situation really had me unnerved then. The way Amelia spoke, it was like the same every single time, almost like it was a recording. The area she had told me they were located was about fifteen minutes away from the nearest town on the way to a patch of wilderness. A lot of people go there for camping and whatnot, but the roads were near empty that night. Endless rows of trees lined either side of the road and a cold sweat dampened my brow as stomped on the gas pedal. Finally, as I rounded a bend in the road a few minutes later I spotted something up ahead. A lone Subaru Outback on the opposing side of the road. As I got near, I squinted to see better, but saw no one inside. I was fairly certain that was one of Amelia’s friends’ cars and since I hadn’t seen any others, I figured it had to be them. I pulled my truck up behind it, and my headlights beamed through the back window, but I saw no one inside of it. “Amelia?” I called out from my window, but got no response. I killed my engine then, grabbing my Glock 19 from under the seat and stashing it in the back of my pants. The chilly air gnawed against my skin as I stepped out into the road. An eerie silence subsumed me as I glanced around the environment. The back-left tire on the Outback was completely flat, and I figured that’s why Amelia had called. I hoped that’s all it was, but the fact she wasn’t there distressed me greatly. “Amelia?” I called out, hearing my own voice slash through the dense, silent night. I checked my phone again, but found it was displaying the ‘searching’ message in place of the bars. The inside of the car was empty when I looked through it, and I shuddered to imagine what could’ve possibly possessed them to leave their car. None of the possible answers I concluded were good. I called out to her a few more times as I searched around the area, but never got a response. On the side of the road, I noticed something laying in the wild grass. As I got closer, I realized it was a purse with a bunch of items spilled out of it. I didn’t think it as one of Amelia’s, but it was obviously not a good sign. “Amelia?” I screamed the name at the top of my lungs, but again there was no response. Something was very wrong about the situation. It felt like I was being watched, but that could’ve just been my growing apprehension. The discarded purse clearly indicated that whoever it belonged to probably went out into the woods. I knew what I had to do, but the fear that overcame me when I considered going into those woods was among the strongest I’ve ever felt. Every self-preservation in me was screaming for me to not go into those woods, but my little girl was out there, and fleeing was not an option. I made my way to the tree line and entered the woods. The only light I had on me was my phone’s flashlight, and it wasn’t much. It was at least better than making calls though, and surely better than nothing. Each step I took seemed to crash like thunder when contrasted with the eerily silent night. Each dried leaf like a glass vase shattering on impact and I did my best to move as quietly and efficiently as possible. The Glock remained in my right hand at all times, and my head on a shivering swivel as I persevered onward. In the distance I started to hear the sounds of trickling water. There was nothing really indicative of anyone having been in there so I decided to just go towards it. I thought maybe one of them was bleeding and went to the water to wash off a cut or something even though that’d be a terrible idea. By that point I was just internally scrambling for answers or any sort of clue I could find. A minute later and I stumbled into a small clearing and found the brook I’d heard earlier. The small stream extended in a wavering path both directions with thick foliage covering much of the bank. On the other side was a small incline which led deeper into the woods, but once again there was no immediate signs that anyone had been out there. I really started to panic then, but calling out seemed like a worse idea every time I did it. At the same time, I had to do something. My mind just wouldn’t stop racing about some lunatic serial killer or human trafficker; every father’s worst nightmare. After a few moments I finally decided to turn around and head back towards the road. As I veered back, I stepped by the bank and was able to see around the small bend in the creek. On the other side of an angled tree, I saw something that made me nearly jump out of my skin. Someone was crouching there on the edge of the stream. It was a young woman with dark hair dressed in a hoodie and blue jeans. As I lifted the light towards her, I realized I recognized her. “Natasha… Natasha hey can you hear me? Are you alright?” She didn’t react at all as I made my way over to her. She was just crouched there in a sitting fetal position staring up the incline on the opposing side of the stream. “Natasha hey, it’s Amelia’s dad. Are you okay? Where is Amelia?” Natasha again didn’t react in any way. As I finally shined the light on her face, I just saw her staring emotionless. She didn’t even look at me Her eyes were like saucers, dilated so heavily that no color was visible. Considering it was night that wasn’t entirely strange on it’s own, but was what strange is that I noticed her pupils didn’t shrink at all when I shined the light on her. “Natasha…” I put my hand on her shoulder, but again got no reaction. I could tell she was breathing, but clearly she wasn’t all there. She seemed entirely catatonic, like she was trapped in some sort of hypnotic state. I shook her by the shoulder, called her name and even flicked water on her from the stream but she didn’t react in any way whatsoever. It was really unnerving, but selfishly I was still more worried about Amelia. I thought about just letting her wait there and return for her as she obviously wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, but the sordid idea occurred that it may be too late for Amelia. The thought alone nearly crippled me from the horrific contemplation, but I knew I could at least get one girl out. I wrapped my arms around Natasha and lifted her off the ground. Her arms were wrapped around her legs and she maintained that as I lifted her into my arms. Her skin was cold to the touch, and with her locked position it almost gave the impression that she was frozen stiff. Thankfully Natasha is rather small so I was able to carry her back towards the road with little issue. A minute or two later I got back to my truck and placed Natasha in the back seat. Her utterly silent demeanor and complete lack of reaction had really started to worry me. Just to be sure I felt her pulse on her neck, and as I anticipated it was there, feeling pretty much normal. After loading her in the truck I locked it and resumed my search for Amelia. It was then I noticed that the back left tire on the Outback was not only flat, but absolutely shredded. It looked like it had been flat but they continued driving on it for several miles. The tread was torn open revealing the silver rim underneath. As I was inspecting it, I suddenly thought I saw something underneath the car. As I leaned down, I once again got a huge jump scare. “Amelia… Amelia are you okay?” There she was, lying prone underneath the car. Like Natasha she was unresponsive no matter how many questions I asked her. I could see her back moving rhythmically up and down so I knew she was breathing. Her eyes were pinned open wide, and like Natasha her pupils were like saucers. I had to basically drag her out from underneath the car, all the while she didn’t react in any way whatsoever. She too just appeared in this dazed state, like she was thankfully still alive but not fully conscious. I’ve never seen anything like that with her or anyone else before. As soon as she was out from under the car she suddenly lurched and wrapped herself into the fetal position. It startled me greatly and I thought it meant she was back to normal, but after questioning her again I still got no reaction. Thankfully that made it much easier to carry her and I got her loaded into the truck as well. Natasha still sat there as she had before, and the sight of both of them curled up and unresponsive like that really chilled my veins. As I rounded the back of my truck I then came upon an incredibly worrying discovery. The back left tire on my truck was suddenly flat as well. A few dozen curse words slipped liberally from my lips as I debated my options. Unfortunately, the jack was underneath the back seat where Amelia and Natasha were. I spun back, eyeing the opposing side of the road and the foreboding and unwavering tree line. Someone was messing with me, and I prayed that’s all they were doing. Considering the state of both Amelia and Natasha however, that didn’t seem very likely. As I began retrieving the jack and lowering tool rom underneath the seat, something suddenly caused me to freeze dead in my tracks. I don’t how to explain it, but every single hair on the back of my neck stood up at once, and a wave of chills rolled down my spine. My knees shook and heart thundered in my chest. It was like some forlorn sixth sense buried deep within me suddenly sensed danger, but ‘danger’ isn’t even a strong enough word for it. It was this utterly hopeless, paralyzing sense of impending doom with corporeal manifestations. Like some ominous presence was enough to rattle me to my very core, and it was so unfathomably consuming that even the fight or flight response ceased being an option. I was just entirely stricken by terror, like some primal instinct deep within me had suddenly reawakened and set off all the alarm bells at once. I’d been anxious the whole time I’d been there considering the circumstance, but it was nothing compared to that horrendous sense of crippling fear. I glanced franticly around the vicinity, but nothing appeared immediately wrong. Nothing I could see that is. I really wish I had the words to properly convey the feeling, but at the same time I don’t, because I truly hope no one ever has to experience that feeling. “Dad…” Amelia’s voice suddenly called out, but it wasn’t Amelia who had spoken it. It came from the opposing side of the road. My heart sunk like a lead weight in my chest as I spun back to face the arboreal blockade. I saw nothing, I heard nothing aside from that familiar voice and uncanny tone. “Dad… something’s wrong.” I didn’t think my heart could sink any lower, but as those words pierced the obsidian night, I was proven wrong yet again. It was Amelia’s voice again, and it was spoken the exact same way I’d last heard it on the phone. “Dad… something’s wrong.” “Dad… something’s wrong.” “Dad… something’s wrong.” The voice seemed to distort the more it repeated. My legs finally resumed function beneath me, and I had seen enough. I just got back into the truck, with my hands trembling so bad that I struggled to hit the push start. Finally, I did and the truck fired back to life. Outside I heard the voice repeating, but it seemed to change location every time it did. The first few were off the left of us on the opposing side of the road, but then it came from behind me, then up ahead with only a few seconds interval between each repetition. Branches then snapped over to my left, and something emerged from the woods. Suddenly I felt woozy, lightheaded and like I was about to pass out. My vision swam around me, and it suddenly felt like I’d just shot-gunned a handle of Jack Daniels. It wasn’t like the feeling of being drunk though, it was something far more terrifying than that; like my very sentience was being drained from my body. The thing emerged fully from the woods, looming like a shadow on the peripheries of my mind. I can’t even begin to describe it, not only because of my extremely blurred state of mind, but because it just feels wrong to do so. The more I stared at it and acknowledged it’s existence the worse it got. It’s like my feeble human mind wasn’t fully capable of comprehending the thing’s my eyes were beholding. I saw other things in the woods, or at least I think I did. So much of this feels like a dream now it’s crazy to even transcribe it. It’s like I don’t know whether I can even trust my own account of the events anymore. Something was out there though, something truly horrible. I could feel the claws of utter madness scraping against the last frayed remnants of my mind. It’s mere presence alone was threatening to tear me from reality, and send me spiraling into a dazed delirium the likes of which I would never recover from. Somehow, I managed to move the shifter into drive, and with no regard for the flat tire I slammed my foot down onto the gas pedal. It felt like driving with a fish bowl on my head while being upside down. My reactions and muscle memory were just disoriented beyond belief. I have no doubt I was swerving all over the road worse than Lindsay Lohan after a birthday party, but thankfully there was no one else around. The tire flapped relentlessly, creating an irritating cacophony and causing my truck to handle terribly which of course only added to the aforementioned difficulties. By some miracle of fate, I managed to keep the truck on the road for a long enough time. The delirious sensations seemed to lessen the further away I got. After several minutes of driving, I felt mostly back to my normal state of mind. The sigh of relief I breathed than was probably the largest and most cathartic of my life. A few minutes later and I pulled my shrieking truck into the hospital parking lot. By that point the tire was almost entirely disintegrated off the rim, and I probably ruined my differential but none of that mattered to me. I ran inside the hospital and got some of the staff at the front counter, telling them I had two girls with me that needed help. The staff followed me out, and I picked up the still-unresponsive Amelia from the back seat. The security guard picked up Natasha and we carried them back inside. The nurses asked me what had happened as we got them into hospital beds, but I didn’t even know what to tell them. I ended up just saying most of what actually happened and that I’d found them in the woods. The staff eyed me warily, and I could tell they didn’t trust me. I don’t blame them either as I did show up with 2 underage girls in the middle of the night and under very strange circumstances. I doubt they’d ever seen anyone in conditions like that. The girls very much appeared like they’d been drugged, and although I told them I was Amelia’s father I don’t blame them for being suspicious of me. Even as the police showed up and began questioning me, I forced myself to remain calm for the sake of Amelia. They asked me what had happened and I told them pretty much everything I’ve written here today but in the most rational means I could explain. I told them I thought someone had abducted and drugged them, but I didn’t see who it was. No way they’d ever believe the more worrying details of the experience though. The cops kept me there in the lobby, not arresting me but not allowing me to go be with Amelia either. Eventually I called my wife and she arrived at the hospital a little while later. I then had to explain everything a third time to her, and she was able to substantiate my claims. The cops eventually radioed in to their dispatch and requested officers to go and investigate the scene where I’d found Amelia and Natasha. My wife knew something was up with me; she knew I was rattled by the experience. She tried getting me to tell her more when we were alone, but I told her I’d tell her everything later. One of the nurses came out a little while later and informed us that both girls had been sedated and were now sleeping peacefully. I asked if they had found anything wrong with them, but they said everything was normal as far as they could tell. My wife went back to see them, but the cops didn’t want me going considering their suspicions. It was annoying, but I’m trying my best to be charitable to their point of view here. I’d much rather cops that took young girls being brought in under mysterious circumstances seriously even if it meant suspecting me. That’s a far better option than them shrugging it off and not much caring about it. I was exhausted by then, and ended up falling asleep on the lobby’s couch not long after. I had some pretty severe nightmares then, but I can’t consciously remember the details of them now. My wife shook me awake some time later. As I opened my eyes I saw the sun had risen, and the lobby had many other people coming and going. Finally, I was permitted to go and see Amelia, and thankfully she seemed fully conscious and back to her normal self. The same was true for Natasha whose parents had also showed up to see her. Thankfully, both girls were cleared to return home a few hours later with a full bill of health. In the following days more details would be added about the case, but unfortunately most of them have just made all of this more difficult to understand. Amelia and Natasha both tested negative for common drugs like roofies used to incapacitate victims. They drug tested me as well, but as expected it also came back negative. There’s always the possibility that they- and even possibly I was drugged with a more exotic substance that is not normally tested for, but up until now there’s no real evidence of that. On the following morning the cops went and checked out the area where I found the girls. Natasha’s car was still there in virtually the same state I’d found it in. They searched the surrounding woods but weren’t able to find much of relevance. As of now, I’ve been cleared of any wrongdoing in the case, but that doesn’t mean things have been resolved. The cops questioned me extensively about the night, and I tried to help them in every way I could. I even told them that I thought I’d seen someone approaching my truck as I fled, but stopped short of implying anything beyond that. If you’ve read all of this, then you may be of the same assumption that I am, and came to a similar but far more unbelievable conclusion. There was something unnatural about that night, and although I hesitate to use the word ‘paranormal’, I’m really struggling to find a better word for it. Amelia has no memory of what happened to her. She’s said that last thing she remembers was Natasha pulling the car over after they got a flat tire. She doesn’t remember crawling under the car, or me carrying her to the truck. Next thing she’s said she actively remembers was waking up in the hospital, and Natasha’s account was pretty much the same. I’ve had some horrific nightmares these last couple days. Nothing in particular that I can recall, just distorted visions of horrific creatures and people along with violence and suffering that causes me to lurch awake in a cold sweat. Amelia has had them too, and I suspect- though I’m not certain that Natasha has had the same. I’ll be honest, some of the things Amelia has told me lately really has me worried. She’s said she’s seen things that she knows aren’t there, and heard voices she knows don’t exist. Based on the things she’s mentioned I’m starting to get worried that she may be schizophrenic. She’s never had these issues before that night, and I really hope it isn’t the case. I don’t have a good explanation for what happened that night, and all the research I’ve done hasn’t helped much. As of now I’m hoping I can just write this event off and move on with my life, but I have horrible feeling that it won’t be so easy. If anyone has any theories about what the hell happened that night, please share them. I am open to any and all potential explanations. One thing I do know, is that whatever it was I saw that night is still out there, and that thought terrifies me more than anything else.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I am trapped in a twisted recreation of a childhood memory. Alone, in an endless world of water. [RESPONSE] My surrounding environment is as it is in my dreams. Endless, featureless, white-tiled walls… slick with condensation, illuminated ever so faintly in a gentle shade of blue. I cannot identify the light’s source, as I do not appear to be casting any kind of shadow. I stand between two pools of turquoise, shimmering water. The filters hiss quietly, and this ongoing sound is occasionally joined by a soft gurgling from down below. The air is thick with the smell of chlorine. It’s just like the place my Dad used to bring me when I was a kid. There’s a few key differences, of course, but the aesthetic is the same. The place I’m in now is just *stretched*. Distorted. And there are no others here. No other people. Only me. I glance over my shoulder. There is a sign attached to the wall. One directly above the other. ‘NO DIVING’, it reads, with a picture of a stick figure diving in the water. He has been encircled and crossed through with red lines. The text reads as it should in plain English, but, curiously the image itself is upside down; the stick figure appears to be diving ‘upwards’, towards the ceiling. I consider my surroundings again. I look down at my hands and stretch my fingers, clenching them into a fist. *…At what point did this stop being a dream?* I wonder. Because I’m not dreaming. Not anymore. I know this for an absolute certainty. The tile is cool and hard beneath my feet. I can feel the pseudo-tropical heat against my skin. I have memories. I have a sense of self. I do not know how I got here, but… I *am* here. Of that, I have no doubts. *So where to go next? No use standing around.* There appear to be four exits immediately available to me. One directly beside the NO DIVING sign. It takes the form of an archway in the tile, and leads away around a corner. There are two identical routes ahead of me, at the far end of this room. They are simple rectangular holes in the wall, and the light down that way shimmers in faint pink. And there is another archway in the wall to my right. One smaller than the first. Closer to the floor. I’d have to stoop to get through it. No light comes from this archway. Through the gap in the tile is only pitch black. Total, all-encompassing darkness. It makes me feel cold just to look at it. Every one of these arches, they all trigger memories from my childhood. Memories that drift through my mind like wispy clouds, ever so slightly out of reach. I opt for the pink rectangular doorways opposite, the two pools on either side flanking me as I walk between them. The water ripples gently and laps at the edges of the tile as I traverse the length of the room. I can feel the wetness of the floor against the soles of my feet. *Yes… that’s right…I’m not wearing any shoes.* I check myself. My inventory, if you will. I am barefoot. I am wearing an adult-sized pair of the swimshorts I always wore as a kid. Blue, with pockets, and covered in little sharks. In my pocket I find my phone. I try to turn it on, to use it… …But all I am given is a blank blue screen, and the keyboard. I can input text, but, it isn’t clear if the text can actually go anywhere. The case is not one of mine, and it appears to be waterproof. *What else am I wearing?* I am wearing a shirt. Tropical in its design. Blue, and orange. One of my Dad’s old shirts. …And that’s it. Curious. I don’t know why I’m not more frightened. Perhaps the fear will come later. For now, I’m just taking the situation as it comes. That’s what I was always taught to do, anyway. I'm sure I'll remember how I got here, in time. I reach the end of the room and pass through the rectangular door on the right, though I don’t think it mattered which one I actually chose, as they both lead to the same place. I look around. This second room is multi-layered. I can see two, maybe three further floors above me. To my left is a spiralling staircase, ascending, likewise made from tile, and to my right is another staircase, though this one descends. Down it goes, down beneath the surface of a shimmering pool, and down it continues. Deeper and deeper underwater until it vanishes from sight, blurred and lost to the blue. I can’t explain why, exactly, but this unsettles me. The implication that one is supposed to be able to go lower, that one may even be *enticed* to go lower, but is, surely, unable… I recognize these stairs. I cannot place exactly where from, but, I suppose they could be from the same pool complex as everything else. Taken from their home, distorted, and slotted impractically into this new and unknown purgatory. I look back up. Across from me is another doorway. It leads into what appears to be a large, open hall…. But the doorway stands on an island at the far side of an enormous pool, and I would have to swim to it in order to get there. I feel sweat budding on my forehead from the humidity, and I choose to go for the stairs. I turn left and walk the length of the room. Up I climb, step by step to the layer above me. Step by step. I reach the top and see a bridge to my left, likewise made of the same white tile. I choose to cross it. There are no railings for me to hold, so I am a little more cautious in my steps. The bridge carries me over an enormous pool. A huge, blue body of water, and I peer over the edge for a better look. In the centre of this pool is a pedestal of white tile, and atop it is a sculpture. A large white sphere, with a crack in its side. A small flicker of anxiety shivers through me. Now this, this I recognize. I am well familiar with this sculpture, and I know for certain where it is from. The pool my Dad and I used to visit all the time had this same one as a feature. I used to stare it. Wonder at its purpose. The original artist probably had no deeper meaning behind it, but back then, as a kid… It enthralled me. The memories begin to resurface, once long-forgotten. *…Why? Why did I obsess so much over this sculpture?* I’m not sure why. Maybe because it just seemed so out of place. I pause on the bridge and rub a hand against my forehead. I take a second to try and work out what is happening, or rather, if I should try *harder* to work out what is happening. The problem is, I’ve kind of decided that my current state of calm rests precariously on a tightrope. I’m concerned that if I dedicate too much thought to my situation and come to grips with its impossibility then I will simply start to panic… … My Dad used to take me to the pool after school on Fridays. It was fun. We’d spend a few hours there having a good time. It was a reasonably-sized complex. There were some slides. A diving-board, though, I was too young to use it of course. There was a bubble-pool, and a little lazy-river… It all felt enormous to me, back then, but I’m sure that if I were to return as an adult I would find it far, far smaller than my memory would suggest. I was always a bit afraid of the lifeguards, though. Those silent, staring sentinels. I was terrified they’d blow their whistles at me. That I’d be publicly called out for doing something wrong. Ejected from the pool, even. Banned. …Who knows. The mind of a kid works in curious ways. And I was always anxious about the deep end of the ‘dark’ pool. The pool with the lowest levels of light, compared to the others. A dolphin drawn in coloured tile shimmered perpetually at the bottom of the deep end, and whilst I’m sure it was designed to be charming, it always creeped me the hell out. I hated the idea that there was something below me. Something *beneath*, down there in the deep… and through the distorted water and the flickering lights, the dolphin’s appearance came across as unsettling. Ever-shifting. Dreamlike and disturbing. I hated it. I would only ever go in that particular pool if my Dad was right by my side, and even then I would always avoid the deep end altogether. … I continue across the bridge, heading through an arch into a circular room with a narrow, also circular pool in its very centre. I walk to the edge and look down. The pool is incredibly, impossibly deep. The water is crystal clear and yet, I still cannot see the bottom. It fades away into blurry, deep darkness. I wonder at the purpose of such a pool, and cautiously turn to study the rest of the room. There are a series of slides built into the wall. Hard plastic tunnels, leading away into the unknown. Seven, in total. Five of them are blue. One of them is white, and one of them is black. Water flows down them in a constant, quiet stream. Inviting me to go and launch myself down, I suppose. To drop myself into the darkness and allow the tunnels to take me into the unknown. Carrying me around and around, throwing me from the left to the right in the total absence of light… leading to God knows where. …I won’t be doing that, of course. I have no idea what kind of environment such slides might eventually spit me out into. …If indeed, they ever spit me out at all. I grimace and rub my hands across my eyes. I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know what to do. *Don’t panic. Don’t panic.* The architecture makes no sense. None of it makes any sense. “Hello?” I call out. Then, louder: “HELLO! IS ANYONE THERE? CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?” But I receive no reply. My words echo off the tile. I grimace and set off again, passing between two slides and through the only other doorway in the room. Another arch, and it leads me into a grand, wide hall lined with white-tiled pillars. There are shower-head faucets on the wall here to my left, but there is no apparent way to turn them on. There are no dials or handles or buttons. The faucets themselves are also much higher up than the wall than they need to be, to the point where their supposed practicality would be severely limited. Above the shower-heads are windows in the tile. These windows have been made out of blue, frosted glass. Light comes from behind these windows, but I cannot see anything tangible. Just a blurred ,watery shine. The floor descends. Four steps down I go and into the water. It only comes up to my ankles though, and I splash through it as I pass between the white-tiled walls. A doorway to my left. Ascending staircase just beyond… and a corner leading round to the right. I don’t suppose it matters where I go. I follow the corner leading around to the right, and am met with a long, gloomy passageway. The sound of gently sloshing water is the only sound, echoing ethereally against the tile. The light reflects in the water, and this shimmering light in turn reflects against the corridor’s ceiling, giving the whole corridor an especially dreamlike quality. Down I go, step after step, my feet making miniscule splashes as I walk between the walls. The lights overhead are pale and yellow, and they flicker, almost but not quite in time to my steps. I clear my throat, the muscles in my neck twitching with anxiety. The sound I make travels far in both directions. I pass by an arch. The corridor leads into a wider room. Stairs descend. Stairs ascend. Corridors. Arches. Stairs. Rooms. Water. Corridors. Arches. Stairs. Rooms. Water. *Jesus Christ.* I walk the corridor for a long time. A long, long time, but at last it finally opens up onto another bridge. Swirling steams and mists surround me, but to my right and just about visible is another series of blue-glass windows, though the steam obscures what they might be built into. I glance over the bridge’s edge; I try to work out how high up I am, but I am unable. I cannot tell how far such a fall might be, were I to slip off the side. With wet and slippery feet, I take very careful steps across this bridge, as like everything else, it is comprised of that exact same smooth tile. “*Why isn’t he happy?”* comes a sudden voice. Crackling, distorted, as if played through an old and broken speaker, unseen. I freeze at once; a sharp, icy shard striking into my blood. My heart defrosts after a second or two, pumping all the harder, desperate to send its warmth out and into my veins. *Did I imagine it? Am I making stuff up now?* Movement draws my attention and I look around to my right. Through the steam and the blur of the thick blue glass, I see a small collection of shadowy silhouettes. Gently, slowly milling from place to place. The voice comes again. *“I don’t understand. He should be happier”.* I decide to move a little faster. Hurriedly I begin to pace my way across the rest of bridge, though this damned humid fog prevents me from seeing how much further I have to go. My instincts just really don’t want me hanging around. I swallow and try to control my breathing through my nose, one of my feet slipping suddenly out across the surface of the tile. I suck some air in through my teeth and stumble right up to the edge, throwing out my arms to rebalance and to prevent myself from toppling into the unknown. *Maybe the slides would have led me down there*, I cannot help but wonder idly. *…No*, I decide. *No probably not. It’s light in here, if dim and distorted and hazy.* The slides, however… The slides led only to darkness, I’m sure of it. I shoot another look to the frosted blue glass. The dark and shadowy silhouettes blur together as they shift around. It is hard to tell where one ends and the others begin. “H-Hello?” I call out to them, my voice catching in my throat. I try again. “Hello!” The silhouettes makes no sign that they can hear me. *“Our thinking is flawed. We’ve made a mistake, perhaps.”* *“Are we missing his fears?”* For some reason this last line in particular strikes a grim chord, and I leave my feeble attempts to communicate behind. I continue hastily along the bridge, putting one foot flat and measured in front of the other, over and over. …The bridge, as it would seem, is a long one. *Come on, come on… Fuck’s sake…* Well the bridge does come to an eventual end. A drift of chlorine-scented steam wafts up from below, and the air around me goes cold. Not unpleasantly so, just… *crisp*. A memory returns to the forefront of my mind. Clear and sharp. I am with my father. The pool we frequented… There was an outdoor section connected to the main building, you could swim right out to it through an arch in the wall. I can see it now, in my mind’s eye. The surrounding trees, the walkways… and the ever-present steam, rising up from the water and into the cool, Fall air. I rub the sides of my forehead, looking down at the view before me. Comparing it to my memory. There was a slide in this outdoor section of open-air pool. Hard plastic, of course, but designed to look like carved marble. Tucked somewhat out of the way, the thing bubbled and frothed with ever-present rapids, and led its rider way down into another pool, further off to the side. It always frightened me, this particular slide. I had this fear that upon reaching the bottom, the rapids and the froth would suck me right under the water. I wouldn’t be able to get out. Someone else would come down the slide, and unable to see me would kick me, and I’d be battered and lost, and drowned. A morbid thought for a kid to have, and of course, a wholly irrational one. But as I said before, the mind of a child works in weird ways. What do they know of rationality? Steam wafts up from below. The world around me is one of pure fog. Thick, cloud-like mist. The air above is a bright and seemingly natural light, though I cannot see its source. Before me is the end of the bridge. It curls up a little on either side, and becomes the exact same slide as the one from my memories. Longer, though. Far longer. Down it descends, through the cloud and the fog, and I cannot see the bottom. Water rushes from vents in the bridge’s sides, providing a bubbling, ongoing stream down the slide. I tug at my shirt. Unsure what to do. I look behind me. *Those things behind the glass… Were they people? They’re watching me though, right? Am I the one they’re talking about?* It’s clear that I’m supposed to go down this slide. I fidget in place. I close my eyes. *Wake up*, I tell myself. *Just wake up, Adrian.* *Not of this real. It can’t be. It just can’t be. So WAKE UP.* Except it's not a dream. This was one of the first and only things I was actually able to establish. *“He needs a push”*, comes the voice, drifting through the fog. I feel a breeze against my skin, a breeze that rises into a wind, rippling back my hair. I am washed in alternating temperatures, battling for control. The cool, cold air of the wind, and the warm, clammy heat from below. …And I hear the sound of something on the bridge. I open my eyes and wheel around, staring. The sound is like a ripple... Like a rush of water… Rising and falling, rising and falling. And between the rush is the sound of... of what, footsteps? Something striking against the bridge, repetitively. Approaching. I glance up to the world above me, but the light dims. The sound a whistle, shrill and sharp cuts painfully through the steam. Terror strikes. I don’t know what is coming after me, exactly, but I can’t stay here. So I clench my jaw. I swear aloud and send out a prayer that I might yet awaken, and down I go. I crouch, and push myself over the edge of the slide. I am caught in its embrace at once, my stomach drops, and the wind only rushes harder and faster against my face, water flickering and splashing up at me as I tear through the mists. “Please, please let me be okay”, I mutter through my gritted teeth as the slide carries me down; down, down, down. The sound of the whistling is lost above and behind me to the roar of the wind. A thought strikes its way into my brain. A thought that this slide, despite its differing appearance, might match my hypothesis on the others. The other slides. Those horrible, dark tunnels. …My hypothesis that at least some of them might be *unending*. What if the slides never ends? *…Ever?* It is just as I am beginning to truly contemplate this horror when I am bluntly and suddenly proven wrong. I see water below me. Frothing, churning, steaming water. Rising up like a wave towards me. I shield my face and take a breath, and down I go, slamming into it hard and puncturing its surface, the rush of the winds replaced by a dull, gentle bubbling of the water. I open my eyes and try to immediately swim to the surface, battling a current that seeks to pull me under. It isn’t strong enough. *I can beat it. I can beat it.* And beat it I do, returning to the world of the air and allowing a deep, shuddering breath. I blink and take in my surroundings as I tread water. The mist has repealed a little, but I still can’t see very much. I turn to look behind me and see the end of the slide, still sending down an endless waterfall, frothing up the water below it. There is nowhere for me to rest, and nothing to rest on, so I have no choice but to swim, for now. Swimming is my only option. So I put out my arms and carry myself through the water, putting the end of the slide behind me and swimming away in the opposite direction. There’s a faint, slightly differing light source a little ways out ahead. A glimmer of blue through the pale half-white of the mists, and this is what I head towards. I swim, the only sound the ripple of my movements through the water, and the steadily fading sound of the base of the slide. It’s about three or four minutes into my little venture when I see the first corpse. I cannot help but scream aloud in fright as it drifts into view. Face-down in the water, floating. Sharks across their swim shorts. Blue Hawaiian shirt. A floating corpse. I increase my pace, heart hammering. *Keep your breathing steady. You don’t want to drown here, do you?* The second drifts into view from my right. Same outfit. Likewise, face-down. A sob tries to force its way out of me, but I disallow it. Pushing myself onwards. Swimming past a third, and a fourth. All face-down. One of them nudges against me, drifting lazily on its meandering course. I wince and thrust my arms through the water, pushing the body away. A part of me wants to try to help them. To flip them over and to see what, if anything, can be done. Another part knows that there is simply no point. There’s nothing I can do here, it’s too late. …And another part still dares not even try. Too afraid of what I might see if I were to turn a body over and look upon its face. So onwards I go. Swimming towards the light. Just as my arms and legs are beginning to tire, I come across a small platform. A white-tiled square, no larger than a few feet across, and bordered by a low metal rail. I dip my head beneath the water, opening my eyes to see how the platform is attached. To see exactly how its connected to the world around me. *Surely it cannot be floating*, I think to myself, since the material of the platform’s base is hard and dense. I regret my decision to look beneath the surface at once. There is *nothing* beneath the platform. It does indeed float, holding itself impossibly in place in the water. I see my arms out before me, slowly treading. And beyond them is nothing. Just endless deep. The cool blue of the water, descending down into gradual darkness, and its soft murmuring in my ears. I have no idea how far down the water might go. I lift my head back up into the air and reach out a hand for the rail, clambering up and onto the platform, easing myself over and taking a seat in the very centre, arms huddled around my knees, dripping and leaking from my clothes onto the tile. I take a second to consider my surroundings. Mist. Pale, white, mist. The lone blue of the light I was following seems brighter now. I must be closer. But there are no other structures currently visible to me. Just this platform, the mist, and through it, the corpses. Drifting around me. I count five of them, now. I watch one pass me by. Slowly, aimlessly. *Where did they all come from? Who would do something like this? Are they even real?* The filters hiss. The water ripples. And a shiver of goosebumps runs, quite unprompted, up the back of my neck. The sensation that I am being watched increases tenfold and I shoot an anxious glance over my shoulder. I put a hand on the rail before me and clamber to my feet. The weight I feel in my pocket reminds me of the presence of my phone, and I wonder idly if it'll still work, after everything. I reach down and take it into my hand, surprised to see the little screen flicker into life as it did before. Blue, and ready for the input of text. I chew my tongue and I lift my gaze, looking out over the face of the water. What I see there, is a shadow. Not like the ones behind the frosted glass, this one is different. Larger. Far, far larger. It distorts the color of the water. Makes it darker. It disturbs the surface and gentle, almost imperceptible rolls and waves are sent out as it eases its way through the depths below. My knuckles whiten against the rail as the closest corpse to the shadow’s location is carefully, gently dragged beneath the surface. The body begins to fold in the middle, and is then slowly and quietly hauled under the water. The corpse’s foot is the last thing I see before it vanishes beneath, shadowing as it descends, before becoming lost to the blue entirely. A bubble rises up and pops as it makes contact with the air. I lose sight of the great shadow and I begin to look all around me, frantically, stuffing my phone back into my pocket. Another corpse is dragged beneath. It too sends up a bubble of air as it vanishes in to the shadows. A third corpse is taken. And then, another. And another. One by one, all taken down into the depths. Taken, until there is only me. Alone on this little platform as the shadow disappears once again. Vanishing into the blue, directly beneath. My heart hammers, the mists drift lazily through the air, and below me, the water ripples. Shifting and churning, in quiet waiting. [\[Part 2/2\]]( <|startoftext|>[WP] Some people just don’t take rejection well… [RESPONSE] I was on YouTube listening to one of my favorite channels “Mr Gray Reads” I just love how soothing his voice is telling these scary stories. I’d just made it home from work glad to be away from there and the disheveled customer that seems to come up there everyday. My brother had just left stating he’d return later. About 15 minutes later I was in my kitchen just finished washing dishes YouTube still in the background when I heard the door open and close and my brother ascend the stairs and close the door to his room. I made my way upstairs to my room after shutting my laptop off to get ready for bed. I decided to take a quick shower before jumping in bed. As I was brushing my teeth I could’ve sworn I saw the door to the bathroom crack open but when I turned to look it was still closed. I finished up and went to bed. I couldn’t have been asleep more than an hour when I heard footsteps coming down the hall and stop at my door. My brother has been coming to check in on me every night for the past few weeks since I told him about the creep at work. He walked back into his room and I drifted off to sleep. My alarm went off around 6:30am. Did my morning hygiene routine and got ready to head to work. I went to eat a quick breakfast and wait for my brother since he’s appointed himself to be my chauffeur. “You don’t have to keep checking on me every night I’m sure there are no monsters under my bed,”I joked. “What are you talking about?” He asked. “I’m talking about how you’ve been coming to my room every night for the past few weeks” I responded. I watched as his face scrunched up in confusion and back to his usual poker face. “How long has it been again” he asked. Since the month started” I responded, “I think I need to refresh the security app it didn’t even notify me when you went out the door my last one was when you came home last night” I said while glancing at my phone confused. It usually alerts any time a door or window opens. “Well are you ready to go” he asked dismissing the subject. “Yea” I responded. I was shocked to hear my phone chime as I opened the door. He kept quiet as we walked out to the car I locked the door behind us glancing up at my room. I could’ve sworn I left my light on I thought to myself. “What’s eating you”? I asked my brother as we made it to the stop sign. “Ren, call Brian ”, he calmly said. Instantly I was on edge he only calls me Ren when somethings wrong. Without question I called Brian, my brothers partner at the police station. “Yo what’s up Renny Ren” I smiled at the nickname only for my smile to disappear with my brothers next words. “Bri, call cap and tell him I need unmarked cars at the house now, no lights no sirens”. I looked at him in confusion, “ I think there’s an intruder “. I didn’t even realize we’d stopped around the corner from the house. My brother then turned to me, “Ren I’ve been staying at Nessa’s house this whole month I only come to pick you up and drop you off” I looked at him still confused until realization hit me. Someone else has been in that house with me. I was now sitting at the station in a daze until I heard my brothers voice. “Why tf were you in my house watching my little sister” he yelled. My head shot up and met the eyes of the most terrifying looking man: long unkempt hair and beard, dead looking eyes, with a menacing grin. I gasped as I realized it was the same man that comes to my job everyday. “I wanted to make her mine but she turned me down every time I stopped by her job” he started, “I got tired of waiting and decided if I can’t have her nobody will”. “Then why creep around the house and watch me sleep this whole month?” I timidly asked. “I was waiting for my birthday…. That was going to be my present to myself if we couldn’t be together in life we’d be together in death “ he responded. The last thing he said to me before they ushered him off made me shudder, “Sucks to get arrested on your birthday “, he stated, “I was really looking forward to celebrating later.” Later I found out he had rope and an assortment of items used to torture a person stashed in my brothers room where he’d been staying I always find myself wondering what would’ve happened had I not mentioned my brothers nightly check ins. It’s been a year now and I’ve been doing great. My brother just got back from his vacation that took me 2 months to convince him to take. I keep telling him to buy a new suitcase I think to myself as I hear him drag it to his room. I glance down at my phone chuckling as I answer, “Why are you calling me from upstairs are you that tired?” I asked my brother. There was a brief pause before he responded, “Can you go see if my package got delivered next door to the Mitchell’s house?” He asked. “Sure I responded happily. I heard his room door open as I closed the door to the house. He stayed on the phone with me until he heard Mr. Mitchell open the door. “Give him the phone for me please Ren”, my brother said. “Of course bud no problem”, said Mr.Mitchell before he ended the call. I reached for my phone when he instead ushered me in and quickly shut the door. “Serenity your brothers flight got delayed he’s on his way from the airport now.” He paused to give me time to process what he’d said before continuing, “Your stalker was just released this morning.” I instantly went to the camera app we’d gotten installed after the incident…there he was standing behind the door knife in hand waiting for me to walk through the door.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The story behind my PTSD. [RESPONSE] I remember March 6th, 2022 *vividly*. I woke up at 0515. I kiss my sleeping wife and daughter goodbye and leave my house at 0615. At 0645 I arrived at my workplace. The county jail. 0700, I'm inside, clocked in, writing in my log book. I alone have assumed the A and B blocks (maximum and medium security), some 100 inmates. The worst of the worst in my county that have been caught. I look over the roster of inmates for both blocks, gather my items: A and B rosters, my clipboard, my pipe (with this item you tap it on a metal circle on the wall in a block and it logs that you've been there), my pen, and my ceiling stick. With the ceiling stick we poke the ceiling to make sure the inmates haven't been pushing the ceiling open to hide contraband in there. A little side information: I am 5'7, 118lbs, I have pepper spray on my side, handcuffs right next to the pepper spray. Normally I would be wearing my gloves (biker gloves, carbon fiber knuckles), but not today. It was Sunday, football would be on. The inmates loved watching football so they would never act up on Sundays. Almost. I jinxed myself and didn't know it. 0703, Over the radio, I call for A-Inside Door. The door pops and echoes through the block. For the inmates that are awake, they know an officer is there. I enter Isolation and open each door one by one. Checking each lock to make sure they haven't been stuffed with wet toilet paper to stop the door from locking. I poke the ceiling 3 or 4 times in different places. Nothing. The trouble makers were behaving. I do the rest of bottom tier, all good. Head count is good. I get those, probably fake but friendly, "good morning Ofc. Me" and "what's going on Ofc. Me." I head upstairs, I tap my pipe at the end of the wall, 1/3 logged upstairs. A-205, a family friend who has pretended not to know me for my safety, clear. A-206, the funny old man and the kid who thinks he knows all of the laws, clear. A-207, the one who tried to help me today, clear. A-208. I've never seen this person before. He's new. I see new inmates all the time. Looking through the glass window, he's easily 3-4 times bigger than me. 6'5, 350 maybe. He's staring at his light. I open the door, check the lock while staring at him. He turns to me and says "Can I-" and then punches me. I stumble back against the railing and the, newly installed, guard wall to prevent inmates from jumping down. It's as if I've shoved 2 rolls of pennies up my nose. I know I'm bleeding. I reach for my radio on my chest but he grabs my arm and starts wailing on me. 4 or 5 punches on me before I can get to my hands and knees. This doesn't last long, he picks me up and throws me against the wall. During all of this, I'm yelling, other inmates are yelling and banging their doors to get the Administrations attention. The inmate gets more hits on me, I see blood flying through the air. I am experiencing "fight-or-flight" except I can't run or fight in this situation because he is way bigger than me and I am very disoriented. In the cell now, he's still punching me non-stop. He gets me into a choke hold position on the floor. I thought he was going to kill me. I'm starting to get lightheaded, memories of my life are flooding in. The first birthday I remember, my first kiss, my first fight, marrying my wife, my daughter being born. That was it, I wasn't leaving my daughter. Not today. I manage to elbow his thigh a couple times. This must've hurt him because his left arm grabbed his thigh and he used his right arm to push himself up off the floor. He's about to lock me in here. Not happening, I stand up and run towards him but he does the exact same thing and gets 3 more hits on me. I barely feel it, adrenaline is pumping, my face is already swollen. This time, I let him close the door. I realized it was the only chance I was going to get to call for help over the radio. I call for assistance. Later, according to the other CO's, they couldn't understand me. It was so muffled and static-y from blood in my radio. Standing in that cell, door locked, I look at my hands: covered in already dried blood and new blood dripping on them from my nose. I look around the cell. The concrete floor has changed from gray to a red-brown. I fall to my hands and knees into my blood. The other CO's, my friends, have arrived. I hear muffled screams over the radio to open A-208. It pops, two CO's (**V** and **L** to conceal names) pick me up and help me out of the cell. I look at my hands one more time; my ring. "Where's my ring?" I say. **V** tells me we need to go to medical. "I'm not leaving without my ring. I need it." **L** finds it on the floor in a pool of blood and slips it on my finger. We head to medical. Down the stairs, I look across the block. Worried faces on the inmates. It seemed like they actually cared. Leaving the block, my Sgt. has the inmate pinned against the wall in the shower. The inmate and I just stare at each other while walking out. Walking down the hall, I'm leaving small pools of blood everywhere, EMS is on the way. A look at my watch and its only 0719. At medical, I'm sat in a chair. **V** and the nurse are stopping the bleeding in my nose, well trying to at least. My Sgt is yelling, frustrated why it's taking the ambulance so long. Starting to get lightheaded again, my vision goes black. I went blind for at least 3 minutes before regaining blurry vision. And I didn't pass out and my eyes weren't swollen shut because everyone said my eyes were wide open and I was coherently answering questions. But I couldn't see. And I thought I was going to permanently lose my vision from being hit so hard so many times. Once I regained sight, I started to nod off. My head became heavy, my eyes were shutting, the childhood memories flooding in again...I wasn't going to pass out though. Barely audible, I slurred and asked for water. Slowly, I was able to hold my head up by myself and open my eyes again. It was extremely difficult, but I had successfully stopped myself from passing out. EMS arrived and put me on a stretcher and wheeled me out. I called my wife on the way to the hospital. After all this, I got no compensation. Unless you consider 2 weeks paid leave and a bunch of "I'm sorry this happened" compensation. If you've read this far, god damn. Thanks for reading.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Surviving Subway Service Tunnels, Part 1 [RESPONSE] I'm not exactly a good person, nor am I proud of many things I've done. When I got the option of participating in an experiment to earn a fresh start, I took it without hesitation. Part of the terms include documenting my time in the tunnels on this terminal. I suppose this is my only real contact with the outside world. My partner in this trial goes by Bolton, a six foot four mountain with knuckles scarred like fishnet. He's got a wild look in his eye, but he's friendly enough. "Down there, right?" I asked my partner. With a simple nod, he descended the unusual subway entrance. The warm afternoon sun left my back as I followed after him. **CLANG!** a deafening metallic crash exploded from behind me. The suddenness made me jump to the landing. Looking up, my heart skipped a beat. "What was that… damn!" Bolton appeared from the dim lighting, staring past me at the barrier that had sealed us in. We quickly ascended the stairs, inspecting the solid metal wall that blocked our escape. "It's submerged in the ground and completely smooth. No way we're getting it open." I assessed, dread tugging at my optimism. "Let's go," Bolton huffed, marching down the stairwell. "There's a station down here, maybe we can find a way out." Just as we entered the station, a bell dinged. In a voice not too dissimilar to Google Assistant, the speakers stated "line R will be arriving shortly. Please prepare accordingly." "What now?" I groaned, leaning against the wall beside the door. To my right, I saw the twin tracks. Above them, a display with the full alphabet was present. The R lit up neon red. Bolton sighed, flipping through a book of some sort. "Might as well play along. This manual has to have instructions somewhere?" The R flashed, then a whistling began from up the tracks. "Ten seconds…" the speakers announced. Sure enough, ten seconds later, it arrived. I say 'it' because, while it was designed like a passenger train, it most certainly was not built from standard material. "Bolton!" I gasped, breath ragged. "Fuuu…ck!" I frantically made to lock the door. There was no lock. I tried pulling the shelves and chairs to the door as a barricade. They were bolted in place. "Hurry!" Bolton began flipping through the book faster and faster, fumbling with the buttons and levers on the control panel. "Line R has arrived. Please stand clear as the doors open." The robotic voice called. The doors pulsed open, throbbing every few seconds. Dark red trickled from the parting doors like a leaky faucet, increasing in pressure as the doors parted wider. Then the moans began. "Skin…" dozens of voices wailed in harmony. "Need skiiiin…" My voice caught in my throat as I laid eyes on what spoke those words. Raw muscle and sinew waded through the tide of blood, people stripped of their skin stumbling from the train. "Hurry! They're coming!" I screamed, pressing myself against the door in a last ditch effort to buy time. "Skinnn… must have skinnn…" the crowd chanted, pressing more and more against the door. Tears welled in the corners of my eyes, not ready for this to be my end. Squeezing my eyes shut, I focused on holding the door. Then… then I slipped… In my panicked state, I hadn't noticed the pooling crimson beneath my feet. When I tried to reposition myself, the slick floor yielded no traction. My heart sank as moist, spongy hands pinched and pulled at my flesh. I couldn't even bring myself to open my eyes. I don't know if I was even breathing. The bell dinged and the speakers spoke, though I don't know what was said. All I heard was the revolting sucking sounds of skinless bodies and gallons of blood retreating through closing doors. With a deep, pained blare of those people's scream, the R train departed our station. I layed in that cool, tiled floor for what felt like an eternity, adrenaline and terror slowly cycling out of my system. At some point, a million miles away, I heard my name. "Diaz?" Bolton called, then shouted "c'mon Diaz!" *That's my name… I'm Diaz… I'm still alive?* These thoughts filled my head as my eyes slowly fell open. Above me, the concerned expression of Bolton stared down at me. "Good, you're alive" Bolton released a sigh of relief. "Let's get you somewhere to rest-" he began, but darkness claimed me. — "Line Omega is now departing" the robotic voice woke me from my slumber. Jolting upright, my body protested. Wincing from the already formed bruises, I saw a plate from the corner of my eye. Hunger hit me like a truck, and I dug into the food like a ravenous animal. The squicks from my feast and rocking bed must've tipped him off that I was up, as Bolton knocked on the doorframe. "You seem lively, good," he gave a hollow, lifeless grin. "I managed to figure out how to get us food. I see you've already discovered that." With my mouth full, I could only nod. "It's not over, not by a longshot," Bolton grimaced. "Each food item we take frees another passenger for the night. We'll have a tough night, I'd suggest we take shifts." I nodded, swallowing hard. "Weapons?" At that, Bolton smirked. "Luckily I smuggled in a tool," he winked, pulling out his multitool. "I managed to dismantle some stuff around the station. They ain't pretty, but they should do the trick." He walked back through the doorframe, returning with two metal chair legs. "I'll take first watch. I'm supposed to log our day anyways," I shrugged, taking a chair leg. Bolton didn't protest, flopping onto the other bed in the room. I made my way to the terminal, where I typed this all up. I keep hearing moans and strange footsteps from both directions of the tunnel. I don't know what's out there, but they're getting closer. I don't know if I will survive. I just heard something knocking at the door. It isn't coming in… just knocking. What should I do?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Rotting Pill Ad [RESPONSE] I saw an ad on tv, one night I was staying up late, ready to turn my tv off when I saw it. the ad talked about a pill that could literally melt the fat away. I stared down at the tub of ice cream I had just consumed. Rocky road. The tub cleaned of any ice cream. I only stress ate at night, and my job has been getting to me lately, especially Rachelle, my coworker, who’d been telling everyone that I ate babies and that’s why I’m so fat. “*Limited time, if you call the number on the screen, you can get your fat melting pills in twenty-four hours or less! Just dial the number on your screen, I guarantee your friends, coworkers and family will be jealous of your transformation, they’d be shocked! Buy now for only $19.99!”* I held my phone in my hands, tightening it into my palm. Closing my eyes and decided it would be better than running and doing physical exercise, right? It’s not cheating. Its just to help me get started. I know my best friend told me that taking pills wasn’t the way to go to lose weight, but there was this voice in the back of my head nagging me to call the number. So, I called the number on the screen as it flashed. The phone rang a couple of times. “*Why Hello Cheyanne, are you interested in using our fat melting pills?”* I felt a chill ran down my spine, how did the person on the phone know my name. I got a little freaked out. “How did you know who I was?” I heard the tremor in my voice. “*Caller ID. We can get the pills expressed to your home and by morning you can have the pills, all you have to do is give us your credit card information.*” He said in that creepy sinister tone of his. *“But I do need you to verbally agree to the after-effects when you take our product, that we are not held responsible for anything you do or whatever the pills due to your body, but we have a one time free clean up coupon. All you need to do is say I agree to the terms of agreement. And we’ll continued this transaction.”* I thought about it, and slowly I got my card out, this isn’t cheating. Right? “Okay, I agree to the terms of agreement.” I said softly feeling a bit uneasy when I did so. Then I gave him my card number and my home address. *“Thank you so much for the purchase and interest in our many, many products. Now I am legally to tell you, that you can at any time return the pills within seven days no questions asked. Unfortunately, we need you to verbally tell us you want to return it. You understand?”* “So, if I call you up and say I want to return it, you’ll take it back?” I asked suspiciously. *“Without asking why and you’ll get your money back! isn’t that delightful?”* “Sure, I agree to everything. and I get my pills by morning?” *“Definitely! Have a pleasant evening Cheyanne, I am looking forward to seeing your results.”* He hung up the phone and I felt like I was committing some type of cardinal crime. The next morning, I checked my mailbox and there it was, a small box, I excitedly opened it, and there it was, the pills. I picked up the bottle and read the instructions on the back. it says one pill daily. I read through the other instructions and the side effects, headaches, increase of hunger, lethargic, rotting flesh, loose skin, anger bursts, may cause putrid smell from the body, may also lose consciousness and so on. I thought some of that last bit was odd. Don’t I want to lose fat? Isn’t that why I got it? I opened the cap and pulled out one of the pills. The pills glowed blue, when I shook the gel pill it seemed to glow even brighter, I thought that was weird, but I took it anyway. Throwing the box away and taking the pills with me to work. I shoved them into my purse and went on with my day. Which consist of Rachelle making fun of me as always, I didn’t have the heart to tell Matt about my pills yet, I wanted to see if they were working, if not then I’ll just throw them away and Matt would never find out I “cheated” on my diet. If you were me? you’d do everything you can to get the fat off, my fat was so ridiculous, I even went to a doctor to see what they can do. The doctor told me what everyone has, get on a diet and exercise, but sometimes it just doesn’t help, sometimes I gain more pounds while exercising, how is that possible? So, what if I took a blue glowing pill to help, at least it’ll help, right? or at least I hoped it would. So far, the next three days I didn’t see any changes in my body. Every night I looked in the mirror moving my body side to side to see if there was a difference but there wasn’t. the fat remained. Until the fourth day I woke up and glanced in the mirror, I nearly screamed in excitement. I could see half of my fat was gone. I turned back and forth. I jumped on the scale, and it said I lost half my weight. I was excited. I jumped around and did a happy dance until a putrid smell hit me hard. I gagged, then I looked around my apartment until I found out it was me. I sniffed myself, and I smelt like death, as if I was rotting something fierce. I hurried and took a shower and got ready for work. I took two of the glowing pills, I know it said only one, but that’s recommended, right? There is no label that says don’t take two. Besides if I take two, the fat will melt off faster, right? All that aside, I did look fabulous, and my coworkers saw the difference in me immediately, suddenly people around me complimented on me for losing so much weight. I finally felt human for once and not some punching bag for verbal insults, Rachelle of course gave me a snotty look and said that I had gotten surgery and that was how I lost the weight so fast. It wasn’t her business how I had done it; she can stop telling people I eat three meals in one sitting. At lunch I sat down with Matt who looked just as equally surprised as everyone to see my weight was off, we sat in our usual restaurant and spot. He scowled at me, “how did you lose so much weight so fast? are you doing drugs?” I shook my head and placed my order, “no, I know you said taking weight loss pills is cheating, but that’s what I’ve been doing.” I pulled the bottle out and handed him the weight loss pills. “These literally melt the fat off.” He looked it over and he pursed his lips into a grim line of disapproval. “Chey, are you sure this is FDA legal? The side effects are concerning, headaches, rotting flesh, teeth loss, increase hunger . . .” he furrowed his brows. I waved my hand in dismissively and the smell of rot came back, it had to be my sweat, it’s one of the side effects. “don’t do that, don’t get all worry wart, I’m fine. See?” I smiled. He forced a smile and set the bottle down and scoot it closer to me, “if you say so. although that smell coming from you is a bit much. When was the last time you took a shower?” I frowned. “This morning.” His eyes flicked to the pills, and I snatched them and set them back in my purse, “don’t blame the pills,” I hissed and when the server came back with a salad and him a cheeseburger, I’d realized I didn’t want the salad. Eating some ground beef sounded good instead. So, I asked if I could change my order to a steak, medium rare. When she came back with the bloody steak, I all but dug into it like a starving animal. I know increase hunger is also a side effect, but I couldn’t help myself. When I devoured the whole thing, I looked up to see Matt staring at me with an apprehensive look in his eyes, he’d stopped eating. He cleared his throat. “I’d rather you not take those—” “It’s not cheating!” I snapped at him and froze when I’d realized I had stood up and was yelling at him. I glanced around to see other patrons whispering to each other and I sat back down and scooted my chair in and took a sip of my water. “I’m fine.” “I hope so.” he muttered and set down some cash. “I got to run; I’m going to be late from lunch.” He gave me a hug and walked out of the restaurant. I took in a deep sigh. I was fine, right? I didn’t just make a huge mistake. I paid my portion and left the restaurant. As I was walking back to work, I felt hungry again, and stopped and held my stomach as it growled. I shook my head, I couldn’t possibly be hungry again, I just ate, and besides I’m trying to lose weight not gain it. so, I ignored the hunger pains as I went back to work. Working in an office with so many other people listening to their conversations all day was starting to give me a headache. Until my stomach rumbled again, letting me know I was still hungry, so I got up and went to the vending machine, but nothing looked good. Chips, granola bars, candy bars. Nothing. That is until I saw Rachelle, she walked up to me and laughed. Her perky lips, and her skinny body with her blouse hugging all her right curves, and that short pencil skirt that made all the men in the office turn their heads to watch her ass. She pushed her blond hair off her shoulder, “hey there fatzilla, going for a snack already. Didn’t you just have lunch an hour ago.” I tried to ignore her while I tried to choose what I wanted. She snapped her fingers in my face, “are you going to deaf or is that all the fat in your ears. I know you had some type of surgery; people just don’t lose weight that fast.” I rolled my eyes at her. “Go jump off the building for all our sakes,” I hissed. “What was that? Fatzilla actually spoke up for herself.” She laughed and I watched her movements, and suddenly a voice in the back of my head spoke. *Eat her. she deserves to be eaten.* I started advancing on her and froze. Suddenly I realized what I was doing. I’m not going to eat a fellow human. Why would I? and Rachelle of all people? gross. I went to turn back but she grabbed my shoulder swinging me back to her, “don’t you dare walk away while I’m talking to you.” He hissed at me like a snake. Suddenly I blacked out. I can’t remember anything until I came too, I was in a dark room, I felt wet. I stood up nearly slipping on something wet below. I turned the lights on, and I had to blink a few times, looking at my surroundings, I was in the supply closet. But that wasn’t the reason for my silent scream, a scream caught in my throat. Rachelle laid dead and her stomach and torso ripped open with her organs mostly eaten, her glassy eyes glazed over. I reached my shaking hand out to her and froze when I saw blood on my hands. Did I do this? I opened the closet door, and the office was dark, and outside was dark as well. what time was it? I found my phone in my purse nearby that was covered in Rachelle’s blood. It was nearly ten at night. Slowly I slipped out of the closet and ran for the closest bathroom and slammed the door shut and locked it from the inside. The moment I looked in the mirror I felt sick to my stomach. I saw myself. covered in Rachelle’s blood, face, neck, chest, my entire front half covered in blood. My eyes no longer were blue but were blood shot. And I was skinnier than before. I glanced down at myself, I now looked like Rachelle. Skinny, flat stomach perkier chest and butt. Panicking I hurried and washed as much blood off myself as much as I could. trying to figure out what to do, and the only solution that came to mind was to call Matt. But I froze. Matt would blame the pills, maybe, I didn’t want him to think bad of me. Would he help me hide Rachelle’s body? Well half of her was in my stomach. I ate Rachelle. I fucking ate her. To be honest I didn’t regret it. As I washed myself and scrubbed at my face, I felt something slimy slick off half of my face, and I glanced down and nearly screamed, my face was in the sink. I looked in the mirror to see my body was rotting, there was rotting holes all over me, why didn’t I see them earlier, and I smelled even worse than before. I pulled my phone out and called Matt. He answered on the fourth ring, “Chey are you okay? you sound weird.” I tried to explain the situation but all that came out was, “arrrrggh! Uggghhh!” what was wrong with me? I couldn’t speak. I pulled the pills out and saw one of the side effects was the inability to speak. So, I tried again. “Very funny Chey, when you sober up, call me.” he hung up and I felt the frustration tears at the edges of my eyes. In the corner of my eyes, I saw the wall glowing blue flames a circle appeared with lettering I didn’t recognize as English and suddenly a handsome man walked through, except for that he wasn’t a man. His skin turned dark shade of red, his eyes black as night and horns on his forehead. I hurried and ran into one of the stalls and shut the door and locked it. *“Cheyanne there is no use hiding from me . . . we made a contract, you and me. You verbally agreed on the phone.”* “Arrrgghhh!” I cried out. *“I know, just come out. I don’t want to hurt you my sweet flesh-eating fiend . . . I can’t reverse what you had done. but I can clean up your mess for free. All you have to do is come out.”* I fell to my knees and sobbed. For how long, I don’t know. So, I decided to write this down, hoping someone would read it and send help or at least warn them. if you see an ad in the middle of the night, a pill that can melt your fat away. it can also turn you into a monster. Just be happy with who you are. I’m afraid I don’t have much time; I don’t know what this demon wants with me. but for some reason he knew what I’d become and wants me. please don’t take glowing blue pills to lose weight, I should have listened to my friend Matt. If you see him, let him know, I’m sorry.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Deadly chocolate [RESPONSE] Chocolate is a well known and loved candy. Some even say that chocolate can give you the feeling of falling in love, but not this chocolate. This one time my three friends and I were selling chocolate for school in my grandmothers building, because we knew most of the people in the building. We always sold a lot of chocolate in that building because it had 15 floors with 5 apartments on each floor. So we spent a few hours walking around and selling chocolate, and talking to a few residents in the building. We decided to take a break after the tenth floor, so we went to my grandmother's apartment to get some snacks. My grandma had made us food and talked about our neighbors, she told us that there was a new resident in the building. She lives on the Thirteenth floor she's a little old woman who lives alone with her cat. My grandmother wanted us to go visit and make her feel welcome, and even made some soup for us to bring her. So we decided to just go straight to this old woman's apartment and then continue selling chocolate afterwards. Once we arrived at her door, we noticed that she had decorated it in an unusual way. She had sticks and pinecones taped to her door, and her welcome mat had a circle of different rocks around it. We thought it was unusual but cool nonetheless. We knocked lightly on her door as to not disturb her, she immediately opened the door as if she had already had her hand on the handle. She welcomed us all inside and showed us her apartment, there were a few boxes and still lying around, but she seemed to be almost done moving in. She had beautiful antique dolls on every shelf in her apartment, there was a porcelain doll in every room even the bathrooms. She told us the names of each doll and told us that she's been collecting them for many years. I gave her the soup that my grandma made, and she thanked us for coming. She asked if we all lived in the building as well, one of my friends said yes and I informed her that my grandma lives here so we visit often. We even told her that we were selling chocolate bars for school, upon hearing this she became excited. She told us that she absolutely loves chocolate, and she even makes some fresh on special occasions. Two of my friends went back to my grandma's apartment to retrieve the chocolate boxes, while my other friend and I stayed to talk about the chocolate recipe. The old woman told us that its a special recipe, its been in her family for generations. She showed us parts of the recipe but since its a secret recipe, we weren't allowed to see the whole thing. Once my other friends returned, the old woman bought two chocolates of each flavor. And she bought each of us a bar as well. After finishing our chocolate we all got ready to leave and sell more chocolate, but the old woman told us to come back latter that day and she will give us each a surprise. So we left and continued to sell chocolate to everyone else in the building. After we had finished going to each person's apartment, we went back to my grandmother's apartment to count how many bars and boxes we had left to sell. After we concluded that we only had one box and 25 more bars to sell, we started counting the money we earned. When we finished we just started talking and playing games, completely losing track of time. It was almost time for everyone to go home, and we hadn't gone back to the old woman's apartment. So we got ready to go back upstairs when we heard a knock, when my grandma answered the door it was the old woman. She had come to give us our surprise, but how did she know where my grandma lived? I never told her what apartment it was, maybe my grandma told her? The old woman handed each of us a pleasantly wrapped little pieces of chocolate, she told us not to eat it till after dinner as to not ruin our appetites. After thanking my grandma for the soup, she quickly left. And with that, each of us went home. After dinner I was craving something sweet, then I remembered the chocolate. As I unwrapped it, I had an uneasy feeling but I ignored it because chocolate is delicious. After placing the chocolate in my mouth I was amazed by the taste, I had never tasted something so amazing and I wanted more. The next day I felt very irritated, every little thing seemed to bother me. But I didn't care, I was too occupied thinking about that chocolate. I rushed back to the old womans apartment to ask for more, and to my surprise all my friends were already there. They all had the same idea, the old woman was already cooling the chocolate by the time I arrived. She gave us each one more and we all devoured it, the taste made us crave more. So she gave us more, and more, and more. For the rest of the day we stayed in the old womans apartment, the allure of the chocolate being too strong for us to leave. For some reason none of us talked to each other, we just didn't feel like interacting, we just wanted more chocolate. Nobody was allowed in the kitchen while the old woman made the chocolate, after all it is a secret recipe. So we looked at her dolls and played with her cat, but none of us spoke to each other. It wasn't like us to act like this, I usually always have something to say but I just wanted chocolate. It felt like we waited forever for the chocolate to br finished, but it was worth it. We all devoured several pieces, and we started to argue because one of my friends had eaten more chocolate than the rest of us. We started fighting over the chocolate, it was making us crazy but it was too good to stop. The old lady stopped our fight and told us to apologize to each other, and once we did she gave us an equally divided amount of chocolate. I hadn't realized how late it got but I had to go home, I was furious I wanted- no I NEEDED more chocolate. I begged for more but the next batch wouldn't be done till much later. That night I ate nothing, I only wanted that chocolate, nothing else could appease my hunger. The next day I returned to find only two of my friends at the old womans apartment, I didn't care because that meant more chocolate for me. I also noticed a new doll on the old womans shelf. After eating an alarming amount of chocolate, I still wanted more. I knew this wasn't normal but I needed this chocolate, I felt like if I stopped eating this chocolate I would die. So I stayed all day and ate chocolate. The next day I came back and found only one friend at the old womans apartment, I was delighted because that meant even more chocolate for me. At some point during the day I felt a horrible pain in my stomach, I rushed to the bathroom and threw up. All this chocolate was not good for me, my body wasn't reacting very good to having nothing but chocolate. While I was in the bathroom I heard what sounded like muffled screams, so I quietly went to find the source. There was one room which was hidden behind a cabinet, and inside I could hear the muffled screams. I went to open the door but before I could, I smelled the delicious chocolate, my mind went blank as I stuffed my mouth full of chocolate. I couldn't control myself, no matter how hard I tried to stop I just couldn't. After eating all the chocolate I went back to the door, I had to see what was making the noise. After carefully opening the door, I had seen one of my friends tied up on the floor she was covered in...... Chocolate. My senses started to blur, I could barely hear her screams anymore. All I wanted was the chocolate, I was about to take a small bite of her arm when I snapped back to reality. I quickly untied her and tried to get her out, she almost tripped on a half made porcelain doll. We were about to make it to the front door when my other friend smelled the chocolate. She lunged at us trying to bite the chocolate off, I tried to protect my friend when a voice made me freeze in my tracks. "Don't you want some more chocolate" The old lady snickered, everyone was now focused on her. Her body twisted into a horrific looking creature, I had to get out of there. I sprinted for the door still holding my chocolate covered friend, just as the door swung open the creature grabbed her. I didn't know what to do, so I went back for them. The creature had put her on the counter and was getting ready to chop her up and my other friend was sitting in a pot of melting chocolate, that's when I pulled one of her shelves down on top of her. It knocked her down so I grabbed both my friends and bolted towards the door, behind me I heard the creature yell out "You can run but you'll live with the guilt that you ate one of your friends, you'll never enjoy chocolate again" The next day there was a fire in the building, and according to the police everyone got out alive except the old woman on the thirteenth floor and my friend who lived in the building. Nobody knew the truth except me and my friends, and although we escaped unharmed physically, we were hurt mentally. And all of us never ate chocolate again, because we knew that she was still out there just waiting for one of us to slip up and eat another piece of her deadly chocolate. And I knew this because I found the doll that looks like my dead friend on my doorstep, and next to it was a doll that looked like me with a piece of chocolate tapped to it....sweet....delicious... Chocolate<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The ancient shaman [RESPONSE] Everyone thinks I’m crazy. Well maybe I am? Crazy or not there’s one thing I’m sure of. We lost something. Me , you and everyone else on this planet. We lost our innocence in the past. June 7th, 2002 was the day this all started. I was always a vacant soul. Always searching for wonders above the horizon. Never seeming to be satisfied with the pleasures of life. This continued throughout my entire life. Eventually leading me to become an explore. My name is Anthony porter and this text will set me free from the chains of the past and the demons of my soul. The Amazon, the worlds biggest colossal mystery. Much was unknown about this geological location. Other then it being inhabited by tribes such as the Yanomamo and the Kayapo. Me and a few other explorers were tasked to map down a few hundred cubic miles that hadn’t been fully throughly researched. The members of this expedition were Brandon, Reagan and Joel. I didn’t know much about these guys. I mean of course our campfires at night consisted of talking about urban legends and home drama, but nothing was concrete and personal. Although I did have a good idea of what type people they were. Speaking of urban legends. Joel would make us real uneasy at night. Those campfire stories held something true and sinister to them. Out of all of us he was definitely the most informed about ancient history and theories. He wasn’t the friendliest guy on the trip but he definitely was someone we needed. One of those urban legends that stuck out to me was one called “El Tunchi”. El Tunchi is an evil spirit that haunts the jungle and terrorizes people with an eerie, whistling sound. Some say he’s an amalgamation of all the souls that have perished in the rainforest, while other legends describe him as the ghost of a man who became lost and died in the jungle. You see…. There’s different types of fear. There’s fear of being harmed or betrayed. Then there’s the worst of them all, Eerie fear. The type of fear that penetrates your Psyche and delivers a long lasting psychosis state. With every word that was spoken from Joel I felt that fear paralyze me. We continued our exploration of the Amazon. Many days passed by of us eagerly awaiting for the next big mystery that we were going to uncover. This sadly wasn’t the case. For weeks on end there was nothing but vegetation , stupid mosquitoes and many venomous animals. Yeah sounds fun right? Although this all changed on this particular night. The moon wasn’t the same. The jungle started to become more vacant of life and light. The eeriness skyrocketed… This is when I realized earth has its dark shadows and I was in one of them. We started setting up for camp. As usual we all sat around the campfire and talked about our personal lives and future goals. Well that was until Joel decided to spin the wheel and take that conversation south. “So we’re not gonna talk about the moon?” Joel asked . “Wait y’all noticed that too? I thought I was going crazy.” Brandon said “Yeah guys I really didn’t think y’all noticed that either.” Regan added “Yeah it’s not supposed to be that color or even in that position in the sky.” Joel remarked “So now that we know we aren’t all crazy. Let's start to theorize why this is occurring.” I said. The moon had ancient text written on it. It only started to appear until we entered this part of the jungle. “Hey say Anthony. Why have you been acting so strange? It seems like my stories affect you in a certain way. You look a lot deeper into things then most people.Don’t you? What’s going through your head kid?.” Joel said In this moment I felt like he violated my safe space. What I’m referring to is my Conscience. I felt like he could read my mind, and notice my every moment. I quickly ran up a response. “To be quite Frank with you I don’t know. Maybe it’s the way you articulate your words? Or maybe because you seem to know a lot more than any of us here and you speak with such honesty and trustworthiness.” I replied “You’re Right about two things. I’m honest and I damn well do know a lot more than y’all. So trust me when I say this. Something sinister is near.” Joel said “Joel is there something you know about this land that we don’t.” Regan asked “Well of course this is speculation, but these grounds are home to an ancient tribe. I don’t know their name but I know that they reside deep into the past. They did many forbidden rituals and were frowned upon by other tribes. I know this because I’ve been to many local tribes that are well known and I’ve had conversations with schämen’s. They speak of the forgotten land or the dark jungle that many haven’t returned from. I believe that we have entered that jungle and are currently residing in it.” Joel explained “Well if that’s true let’s remain calm and find a solution to all of this. Because I need to come home to my family. I used to be arrogant of these so-called “urban legends” but this is something that’s caused a great disturbance within me.” Brandon said “Well I’ve always believed in this shit so let’s get the fuck out. Why are we waiting around?” Regan said “We can head back. But tell me What you guys have done with y’all’s lives. You call yourselves explorers but you don’t have the bravery or hunger for curiosity that you’re supposed to have.” Joel said “You all, I hate to break to you, but I agree with Joel. This is what we signed up for no matter how eerie this all is. We have to do mankind a duty and uncover the secrets of the past” I added We eventually all came to an agreement. We would give ourselves 3 days to explore and map down as much land as possible. After that we will all head back to headquarters. For two days straight we all started to notice differences in each other. What do I mean by this? I mean I just stopped trusting these dudes and likewise for them. Our conversations were very blunt and short. It was as if we’d all lost our light. I felt drained , mentally and physically. I heard strange noises. I can't give you too many details because I can't even remember them myself. But with every foot deeper into the jungle I was going deeper into the rabbit hole. “What are these carvings?!” Reagan said “Stay away from them! Don’t touch anything that looks strange. We have entered the center of the ancient tribal lands.” Joel said I remember distinct red carvings on trees all around us. Shadows swarming around us in the distance, and that eerie whistling sound sends vibrations through every bone. We all stayed still and waited for something to appear. Nothing appeared that night. Nothing was visibly seen. Why I’m I saying this? Something was supposed to greet us. I knew it and I just know everyone else did too. A Meeting was awaiting for us all and there was no escape. That night we finally broke our silence. “Hey guys, why have we all been acting so strangely with each other?” I said “The deeper we walk into this jungle the less I trust y’all.” Reagan added “I’m scared of you guys. I don’t know what any of you plan on doing at any moment. I don’t know why, it’s all of a sudden.” Brandon said. “I completely understand what you guys are feeling. But we can’t let this jungle manipulate us all. I mean what could any of us do to each other? Exactly, so let’s start trusting one another.” I said. “I know you’re trying to make everyone feel better and keep everyone United, but that look in your eyes hasn’t disappeared either.” Joel said “You fucker! What’s your actual problem man? Ever since I met you it feels as if I have no safe place to think. You always seem to figure out what the hell I'm thinking about. I don’t give a fuck if you’re observant to that degree, but you need to really start keeping it to yourself.” I said. “Look Anthony, I really do Like you. No matter how much of an asshole I might come across as there’s something about you that separates you from the rest. Everyone seems to be stuck in a fake reality but you on the other hand seem to be in tune with the deeper meaning to all things. No matter how scared we might all be I know that I’m not the only one who is aware of the reality most have separated themselves from.” Joel replied I finally felt safe. His every word made me feel warm. When they usually wouldn’t. I felt less alone in this nightmare of a reality. The strange thing about this whole situation was I always liked something about him too no matter how strange of a person he was. There was a deeper meaning to all of this but I couldn’t quite put my tongue on it. “Joel, what is your goal? I do agree with you in a way. You and I are very observant and retrospect thinkers. Although it seems like we have different agendas. So what is yours?” I asked “Of course there’s the usual replies, but I have goals that are too complicated to explain right now. I’ll get back to you or maybe I won’t. We’ll see what type of mood I’m in.” Joel replied “Guys hold on hold on! Whisper, I hear something approaching us.” Reagan said The forest grew dark. The trees stopped flowing. One path and one path only was visible , we followed. The sinister whistle started to echo across the forest, and grew as we walked closer. “A staircase?” Reagan exclaimed “Joel what do we do?” I asked “Well we’re here for one reason and one reason only. Let's go down these steps and see what this ancient land has to uncover.” Joel replied “I was really looking forward to exploring the Amazon. Although this doesn’t feel right. Like come on guys what’s been happening to us? Is it really the smart thing to do?” Brandon said “Brandon if you want to head back with me let’s go. You’re completely right. They can send the navy seals into this shit hole. We need and I mean need to leave this place. Y’all can go die in that hell pit down there. My instincts are telling me that my life is way more important than whatever so called “colossal mystery” is down there.” Reagan demanded “Listen up you little bitch. You’re gonna both stay with us. Head down these stairs with me and Anthony or I’ll make you two!” Joel said “Hey hey! Chill the fuck out Joel! This is a team where we make decisions together. Let's make a vote. If we tie then we don’t go down there. There needs to be three votes. So , all in favor for continuing this expedition raise your hand.” I said. “Just as I expected….. Me and Anthony were the only two to raise our hands.” Joel said “Joel, what are you doing?!” I exclaimed. Joel bolted towards Reagan and tackled him, restraining him. He started to continually yell “I know what’s awaiting us. Don’t you mess this up coward!”. Brandon attempted to rescue Reagan but to no avail, Joel completely and utterly battered him leaving him unconscious. You may be asking. Why didn’t I do anything in this situation? I have two excuses, one I would like to stick with and one I greatly regret. First of all Joel was a stocky tall fellow. At least 6’4 245, I Wasn’t gonna have any part in that. Another reason that I stood by while this occurred was out of merely selfishness. I wanted to know what was down there. I wanted to feel important even if it was life threatening. It was like a drug to me. So high off of it that I didn’t care about Brandon’s bloody battered face. I’m a horrible human being at times. But aren’t we all? There was no longer a fight left in Reagan. He complied and didn’t Mutter a single word. Brandon woke up and was puzzled about what had happened. We all brushed it off as if nothing happened and continued down the staircase. “Woah… These stairs, they’re so trippy.” Brandon said “Fuck you Joel for forcing me to come this shit hole”. Reagan added “Cry me a river Reagan I’ve made you more of a man today then your father did coward.” Joel remarked “Guys what is that….?” Brandon said. “Hold on guys, we’ve entered an open area.” Joel replied “Our flashlights aren’t strong enough to see what’s going on, hand me our other one in the bag.” I said. “This whack ass flashlight isn’t turning on!” Brandon said. “Hand it to me.” Joel said “ Do you….. do y’all guys see this too?” Reagan said “Man, I hate Joel.” Brandon added In front of us lie an ancient city. Completely abandoned and vacant Of life. Shadows swarmed around in the distance. It was a cold, desolate environment. “Guys I’m starting to feel weird. My every ounce of being is feeling this disturbance.” Reagan said “No kidding.Guys? Guys ?! Please tell me we’re gonna be okay.” Brandon added. We all came together and started hugging. Grown men hugging each other? We definitely did, we were nothing but mommy's little boys when we entered that ancient city. At least we were, Joel stayed paused in amusement. He never replied to any of us. He was completely fixated on something else. I always knew this man was a creep. Although at the end of the day he was still human, and he has yet to show those qualities in such a chaotic situation. We stayed bunched together and kept walking. At this point we started to somewhat adjust. You may be wondering. What did this ancient city look like? Well from what I could see with our limited light, I saw grand demonic statues. Things you wouldn’t even find in a satanic cult. Not just that but also strange patterns on every wall and trails illuminated by a dark sinister red. (Vibration Hits) “Aw shit!It’s coming again!” Reagan exclaimed. “What the hell is it saying?!” Brandon asked Another vibration, stronger than the last one, hit us. We all struggled to talk or even walk. Just imagine for a second. Every fiber of your being, feeling an overwhelming vibration rattling all that you are. Even down to your consciousness. This was beyond a nightmare. This wasn’t meant to be uncovered. This was a whole new domain of suffering and Agony. In those moments I believe we all wished we were dead. “Joel where did you go?!” I said. “No!” Brandon yelled. “Kill me!Just fucking kill me please! Whoever you are, I'd do anything for you to just kill me and take me out of this misery!” Reagan begged “Rise” unknown entity voice At the sound of those words the agony and suffering ended. The language was ancient and I couldn’t understand it. Although somehow my consciences interpreted everything perfectly. Slowly the echos rose in intensity and the entity revealed itself. An ancient shaman, completely bone and clothing. “What do you want from us?!”Reagan asked “Please my lord, all we wanted was humble findings! We’re exploring and this is what we do for a living!” Brandon begged. “Ahaha…humble? I can taste and sense every single one of you all spirits. There is nothing of this so-called humbleness. A deep dark ocean , a void. That is what y’all are.” Shaman expressed Before I could even mutter a word it’s like our beings we’re taken to another place. An ancient city, a beautiful rainforest with vibrant blue clear skies. I couldn’t interact with the physical place but I could observe everything. Somewhat like a spirit or ghost. Native children and adults ran around in pure bliss and harmony. Beautiful Instruments played Symphonies across the city. There was zero negativity or anything of that nature in this place. It almost felt like home, something we have all forgotten. Then suddenly, dark red clouds appeared over the ancient grounds and mass suicide took place. Children not even aware of the darkness of their world forcibly grabbed any object they could and battered themselves to death. Every inch of that city was flooded with blood. The cries and yells only lasted for a few moments. Until the city was completely dark and stained with blood. Every statue turned into something sinister and mutilated. Then it hit me. Me and my crew are inside this ancient city. The shaman we spoke to was the leader of these people that resides in the past. Suddenly we were right back at square one. In the dark ancient city with the shaman staring deep into our souls. “Now your judgment must come!” Shaman demanded I was taken into my memories and emotions throughout my entire life. All the times I thought of things that no one ever knew of came tumbling down towards me full force. I felt a great embarrassment and shame for my thoughts in the passed. The things no one tells one another, concealed away in the darkness. You reading this, you know what I’m talking about. We are all sinister in our own right. My faul thoughts ranged from all different types of things but they all originated from a place of pure darkness. I Wasn’t being judged for my physical actions. I was being dissected from my inner thoughts and memories. The sins that stayed in my head…in the darkness where I only thought I could have known and accessed. I snapped out of my trance. I wasn’t the only one experiencing this. Reagan and Brandon started muttering to Themselves. Although Joel was still out of sight. “Brother…. Why would I think of that? Now you’re gone! Now I’m in fucking hell. And now I can’t ever apologize!” Reagan said “A dirty fucking animal! I am no better than the scum of the earth. I thought I was safe. I thought that place could never be found. Now I lay here on the verge of death. Not from the external world but from my inner thoughts that have been uncovered.” Brandon said Before I could listen on, the trance overcame me once again. This time though, I was witnessing Myself from outside of my own body. Sort of like spirit or ghost. The eeriness of witnessing yourself outside of your own body is something most people would never understand. To put it in perspective, imagine for a moment. Every time you walk past someone and gaze at them. Within the first thirty seconds you create your perception of that person off of their appearance, speech and Etc. Although looking into the mirror is something different by far. We look at ourselves in the mirror throughout our entire lives and Create our own identity, persona and perception of ourselves. Seeing Myself from an external point of view was as if I was staring at someone else entirely, Barely recognizable. Now this was where everything truly brought me to the pits of hell. I gazed into my own eyes. Darkness! Fear! Hatred! Envy! It Engulfed my eyes. I saw deeper into who I truly was. I was shot back into my body, and screamed to the top of my lungs in pure agony And embarrassment, shame and hatred of my own spirit. I grabbed the closest object near me and started to batter myself in the head. Continuously screaming and crying wanting to end my own existence as fast as possible. On the verge of losing consciousness I felt a hand touch my head. I turned around and it was Joel. Staring at me with sort of confusion and excitement. “You good there buddy?” Joel sarcastically said “Joel… where did you go? You didn’t experience everything we just did?” “Before I explain anything, just watch over there. It’s about to be the end for our comrades.” Joel replied. I looked to my right. Brandon and Reagan were completely silent staring at the ground with broken shattered souls. Brandon ran up a staircase nearby in the city and back flipped backwards completely shattering his neck. Next Reagan followed but as he got to the top of the staircase he stopped. Then he went on to yell at the top of his lunges “oh darkness I inhabited your lands for too long. Now it’s time for you to consume me and pay the price!” He then went on to bang his head hard enough on the staircase to split it open. The noises and the sight of these two deaths left me puzzled if it was time for me to go too. I questioned what point was there to go on living when I’ve hit Rock bottom with no returning. I knew at that moment that not a night would go by without me living in pure agony of the past and well I was right. Before I could continue zoning out. “Snap out of it Anthony…” “Joel what is going on..?” “Seems like you’re too shocked to even be afraid at this point huh?” “I always hated that about you. Always seeming to know what I’m thinking about.” “Maybe because we’re two sides of the same coin.” “Tell me Joel when all of this happened. Where did you go?” “Anthony, I'm not who you think I am. I have many secrets, many dark ones. Before I rant on about myself let me inform you who you just saw. That ancient shaman is called a shadow of shadow. The visions you saw of the ancient blissful city that went to shit is where we are residing but I’m pretty sure you know that much already. To become a shadow of shadow you have to have immense spiritual connection with innocence. That shaman you encountered was the tribe leader of this ancient city. Like you guessed… he was connected to his people on a deep spiritual level for decades. He was and took pride in the fact that he was the leader of such a blissful paradise.” “I don’t mean to cut you off but Joel please tell me i'm gonna make it out of here alive.” “Hmmm well that’s up to you. Now can I continue because you rudely interrupted me?” “Yeah sorry I’m still just in shock and agony.” “Well hearing what I’m about to say won’t Make it any better. Like I was saying. He took pride in his leadership. Although he was still human and still inquisitive. He wondered to himself. What was the point of continuing to live just to die and rot in the ground? He wanted something more. He was selfish and needed more than the heaven on earth he led. He looked into forbidden tribal rituals. One had caught his eye.” “Let me guess. The mass suicide I witnessed in vision was the forbidden ritual?” “You’re correct Anthony. You have to maintain Some sort of leadership In innocence. Once that’s checked off the list you have to acquire a droplet of blood from every inhabit. Lastly, you must slowly lead them into the dark. What do I mean by this? Look at yourself, Brandon and Reagan. The mind is a safe place to most. He needed to corrupt their minds like our entire world is currently. Once that is done he commends the ritual and the mass suicide takes place.” “And he becomes immortal?” “Correct, all around is immortality. The human eye can only see so much. For example psychedelic drugs reveal more to us but still not nearly everything. Becoming a shadow of shadow is a dark ritual worst then any evil described. Once you become a shadow of shadow you become the dark matter of the universe, the worst of the worst. You can occasionally tap in and out of our dimension. That is what that shaman did. They thrive for violence and anything to do with it.” “Ok… I see now. I never knew that forms of spirituality are real. It seems like we’ve lost our touch with it in the past. Right?” “Not necessarily, these rituals still take place. There’s many dark corners in our world Anthony. The tribes you see now are just a figment of what used to be an ancient civilization like the one you saw in your vision.” “I’m lost Joel. I don’t know what to do? I mean if I continue to live it becomes aimless. I need a greater purpose.” “Well now you have the chance to obtain that. We aren’t lost and manipulated like everyone else! We can see past these illusion’s! So Anthony join me. You have the chance to become immortal. We won’t die like sorry rats! We can have a greater purpose and fulfillment!” “I knew there was something wrong with you. I’d rather die today with no purpose then to become darkness itself! You’re scum Joel, truly scum.” “Well I cant say I hate you. Although I envy your good hearted nature. I’ve accepted my darkness long ago. I could easily kill you right now. But, the world needs people like you who are aware. So leave! Leave before I skin you like a fucking pig!” “You lost your sanity! I value my life more than ever knowing deep dark evil like you are working behind the scenes.” “Anthony… before you go. Just remember, it may not be today, tomorrow or ten years from now. But I will accomplish my goal and do the ritual. When I do , you’re fucked. I will and I promise you. That I’ll come looking for your soul. Slowly sipping on what will be mine one day.” Before he could go on I ran as fast as I could. I ran and ran and ran. For weeks on end I tried to find my way back home. I had lost my ID and all my belongings. Although at some point a rescue mission was conducted and I was on my way home. I made up some bullshit excuse that we had gotten lost and we came across a cartel base, that I was the only one who managed to escape. Lame excuse right? Well what else was I supposed to say? You’d think that my only problem at this point is my mental health issues. That’s false, I’m scarred yes. I'm broken inside, definitely yes. I cry in fear and agony every night? Just forgetting any time I'm alone. I sense Joel’s presence now as I speak. I wonder to myself. Did he accomplish his goal? Did he complete the shadow of shadow ritual? What lies in the dark shall never be brought to light. We all owe the dark a fee. We inhabit a fake paradise. A farm preparing us for our future consumption of the dark. Some things should remain a mystery. Until later… Joel has been calling my name sinnersterly in dreams. I think it’s his time to consume my soul like he said he would one day.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Those Who Live Forever In The Walls [RESPONSE] Displacement of thought is a measurable form of energy. When I discovered this, I could not let the trouble sleep. While I was exiled from the cathedrals of Science and declared a heretic by the priesthood, I continued my work. My followers came from the seven cardinals of Knowledge. A seven-pointed star of humanity, my disciples. We found a way to measure the ancient pathways of the human mind. The dormant parts were mapped and then we studied them. In our studies we found ways to stimulate the use of the dead zones. Anyone can activate the drawing of energy from their environment. Focus like the beginning of a  yawn, imagine four circles coming together and visualize the star they make in the center. Concentrate on the four points and hold that steady, until they are as one. A dull roaring sound, like the echo of a seashell of the sea, will manifest in the inner ear. As that increases in intensity the body might become numb or tingle. The body is a rod, a conduit, drawing the energy the mind needs from the surrounding environment. When I first accomplished a steady drawing, the plants around me withered and the fly on the window died. Later, we could measure the increase of electrical current in our minds. We named the surplus mental energy 'manna'. Our prototype manna probes were large helmets with lots of wiring. With sufficient and discreet funding, we were able to improve them to mere headbands. We called them manna bands and reserved the term manna probe for devices we made to measure manna in the ambient pools. We learned that manna gathers where there is already manna present. That is why the human body can draw manna into itself and channel it up the spine into the mind. I had written a publication and was rejected because I was already disgraced. Science had exiled me, I was an outcast, Apostate. In a darkness of thought I became bitter and resentful. My disciples were merely reflections of my own insanity. Each of them embodied one of my failures, my inability to make anyone see things my way. They were proof that I could not be proven right. We were filming when my head exploded. At first the gathered researchers just blinked at my decapitated remains with bits of my skull and brains all over their white robes of the priesthood. Then there was screaming and panic and horror. When they had cleared the room, I floated free of my corpse, never to be tethered again. I had transcended the living, to live forever. All I needed was the energy of life, manna. I had drawn too much, more than I could contain. As the energy was drawn through my body it became as me and I became as the energy. A darkness swirled around my dead body like a miniature thunderstorm of crackling black clouds, lined with pure glowing blue light. My consciousness became as the same cloud, visible to the eye and the camera. Where I went the tendrils of it reached. There was no distance I could not reach. Each extension dissipated me, reducing me, slowing and contracting what I had become. I was afraid of my new state. In horror and confusion - I lashed out. I found my fleeing disciples and fed upon their fears, restoring myself from their anguish. I became hungry, becoming what I ate. Fear is a kind of hunger, as hunger is a kind of fear. In ravening night: I found a new existence. I could remain pooled in places, waiting like a cobweb in the darkness. I was in the shadows and the thoughts of those who were afraid. I felt their terror, a vibration signaling mealtime. I fed, drinking, sucking, taking from anyone who trembled in dread. The nourishment was wrong, evil somehow. I knew I was becoming less human with each sip and each suck. I came from closets, eyes aglow, upon the sleeper, bringing nightmares. I came from the headphones, a silence, into the altar of the soul. I came from the chime of midnight, upon the priests of Science as they crafted deadly diseases with the taxes of those they would infect. I found evil to be a most satisfying meal. I held myself in horrible regard, learning to fear what I was becoming with each carcass of a human mind. I took their inequities and made banquet. Scientists were my favorite food, immoral, greedy and wise like devils. I whispered vile things into their thoughts and watched their eyes light up with internal Hellfire. "Is one deadly disease and one contagious: two things or one? How much would the vaccine be worth? So easy, so gullible. They deserve to die by the score. You are a genius and deserve the wealth you would receive. Murder them with lies." I would say and the Scientist would smile at my words. As a demon I was more conscious than they were as men and women. This was maddening, disgusting and the reflection of ultimate horror. I feared the existence, the pillars of Creation, the worm that I was, the mere words of Whisper. I became Whisper, I became shadow, I served only my own hunger. "Whisper, be not my thoughts." She said. I hesitated. I looked at her identification badge. "Dr. Alameen, you are no better than the others. Do as they do and listen to me." I spoke into her thoughts. She resisted and I felt a deeper fear. I was somehow trapped, trying to feed on something in her that I could not take my mouth away from. I had become stuck to something I could not chew. I had a mouthful of her, and I could not swallow it or spit it out. I was choking on her. I panicked, realizing I would shrivel and die. I would wither as the plants, fall as the dead fly and dissipate like an ugly dark cloud. Everywhere she went, I was forced to go. I could not use her greed, for she chose poverty and charity. She gave away her healing without accepting pay from those who could not afford her care. Then she went home and slept on a rug and ate a humble meal of chickpeas. I despised her meals and counted each of the tiny seeds, attempting to compare the number to her failure to feel avarice for my benefit. I could never finish counting by dawn. When Dr. Alameen woke up rested and ready for another day working against me, I scattered my counted pile of seeds, no nearer to ending her horrid lack of selfishness. "How dare you!" I hissed at her. She somehow ignored my challenge and knelt and prayed on a prayer rug. "Stop that, you are a scientist!" My dread grew as I weakened from hunger and captivity. I rested on her shoulder, near her ear, worried she couldn't hear me. "You are quiet today, Whisper." She glanced at her shoulder in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. How could she see me? I felt exposed, naked and ashamed of my form. I hid myself, mutating and becoming even less, in her eyes and in my powers. I appealed to her immorality, a desperate effort. Whenever I tempted her to think darkly or to reject those who were different, she sighed and quoted absurd poetry that described her world in proverbs. When her own thoughts failed to see the good in others, she reverted to the teachings of her faith. I was doomed. "Curse you, Dr. Alameen. Damn you!" I tried to burrow into her and found that I could not get past some sort of strange light. I had once held such light and when I tried to get past it: I was burned by it. In pain and torment: I withdrew, terrified of my eventual demise. "All are blessed. All are loved." Dr. Alameen seemed to be telling me. She held nothing against me. She called me Whisper and knew me. She was not afraid of me; her faith had protected her from my predations. "Not I." I said. It was then that she decided to educate me. I did not have to die the final death. "Those that live forever are a part of the world. Pillars, walls, doors. This is your path, Whisper. Choose not disobedience. You are this, be truthful. Forfeit your evil ways and repent of them. Serve the One Truth, cease your lies." Dr. Alameen prophesized. I was very proud and willing to die, rather than face my greatest fear. My greatest fear was to accept that I had accomplished something so great and that it did not belong to me. I was supposed to be a servant of something that forgave and loved. A being that asked me to accept the pain of responsibility. As I became as almost nothing at all, starved by her, I faced a choice. I would turn to distributing goodness, painfully, sacrificially, my own essence of self. Or I would quietly and painlessly die, ceasing to exist. I was more afraid to go on as a recognizable spirit. The shame and horror were one. To give of oneself is to grow in magnitude and become less of oneself. I preferred to die intact. Dr. Alameen was dying. She had grown old during my time with her. Always she was patient with me; she never cast me out. Instead, she always told me that there was still good in me. "There is yet good in you." Dr. Alameen told me. Then she breathed her last and I was free of her. I had become so small and weak that I just hovered there, waiting for someone to come along. When I finally had a host, I remained silent. I saw the crumbs of sin and left them. This person is how I regained my humanity. *How I came to speak again, to tell my story.* The person was tempted to feed me, and I felt no fear when I whispered: "Be good, do no evil."<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] A Friend is always a Friend…… [RESPONSE] *Move-number* *seventeen…* *Bishop takes pawn on h7*, Check! *King takes Bishop*. Alright, now I just have to open up the king-side. *Queen to h5,* Check! I was playing with the white pieces on the winter-day in the local chess-club. My opponent was a much senior guy than me was also with an International Master title. As I was enjoying my position, he on the other hand was suffering from a mental suffocation caused by my picture-perfect bishop sacrifice which was extremely poisoned. His King goes back to the g8 square. Here I come again baby, *Bishop takes pawn on g7!* My dark-squared Bishop jumped in front of his king. He didn’t take the sacrifice this time. *F5,* pushes. We played along… *Move-number* *twenty-one…* Wait! Did he just gave away his Queen? My dark-squared Bishop showed no mercy to his Queen on the b8 square. The game continued…. *Move-number* *thirty-one*, I played: *Queen takes pawn on e6,* Check! I have a Knight and a Rook and six pawns total along with my Queen versus his two Bishops and two Rooks and three pawns. He looked at with a pale smile after thinking for about three minutes. *King to h8,* he pressed his side of the chess-clock. With my fingers I moved my Queen to the e7 square taking control of the seventh rank also forking the Rook and the Bishop. So, it was in this position my poor opponent resigned the game. We shook our hands. He complemented me. A Queen can make the life so happy. Without a Queen you are most-likely to lose almost every battle of your life. I had Queen on that game where as my opponent didn’t. I won the game on the board, but what about my real life? Where is my Queen? I lived alone in the apartment studying the boring game to pass time. Even though it’s my profession, it’s not like I love to play chess very much. Because it’s my only stand-pillar of my life I have no other choice. I don’t like to live with my mother. I live here separately. But still I feel lonely. I am not exactly or cleanly alone here though. I have a pet-hamster in the small cage situated on the medium sized table beside my personal computer. His name is- “Bishop”. Maybe he is my only friend in this world. Hamsters are not required to take care frequently. They don’t need to be cleaned or be taken outside for a walk. They just live their own life alone, nocturnal and when they feel energetic they run on their wheel bought by their owners. Bishop also had a wheel like that. It depends on luck, whether he will reveal himself in the day-time and work-out on the wheel or not. But, that day was an exception. It was one of those rare days when he do so. I was watching him running on that wheel very fast. I was a child-prodigy at the age of thirteen. Soon, I got my title after defeating a very strong grand-master at a young age. From that day I got paid and sponsored by authorities and private companies to visit various places to play the tournaments. One large section of my book-shelf is wholly occupied and dominated by the trophies I won. But, none of these trophies can quench my physical-hunger or lust. I paid for sex multiple times. I love to drink Bourbon at every evening. Deep in my heart, there lives a hopeless romantic-man living inside me without any nutrition. I do not have any companion with me in this apartment. For this, I’ve tried online-dating sites for the countless times. But, no relationship went far. *Cling!* It was the sound of the notification of my phone. I fired-up the screen without any excitement. Another match found, she also messaged me. Sigh! What number was that? It was no longer a feeling of joy anymore. We decided to fix the date on the Friday night. It was a very cold evening, when I took my car and drove the fixed place for the date. I parked my car in the appropriate parking lot and called her to notify that I had reached. Finally, we met near a well-established coffee-shop. The dark hair with the tint of blue at the ends of her hair made me a patron immediately. Her eyes were also extremely vocal. ‘It is very nice to meet you, Pabla.’, I greeted. ‘Likewise.’, she replied. We entered into the coffee-shop from the automatic door. We sat sporadically at a table near a closed window. I put off my Trilby on one side of the table. ‘How was your day?’, I asked. ‘It was good. How was your day?’ ‘As usual. Nothing new. Actually I am a Chess-master and most of the time I spent my day playing at chess-club and studying the game at my apartment.’ ‘That’s sounds cool. You must be a very intelligent guy!’ ‘Huh, people always react like that when they hear about my job. What do you do?’ ‘I have a crazy job compared to yours. I am a fortune teller.’ ‘Sounds interesting.’ ‘Do you believe in Zodiac signs and positions of the planets can determine our future?’ ‘Not really but it sounds pretty interesting to be honest from you. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.’, I confessed the truth. She made the rain of pearls by smiling genlty with her beautiful corn-seed like teeth and velvel-red lips, ‘So you are not getting bored if I talk about these kind of stuffs?’ ‘Not at all.’, I was totally gone missing in her mesmerizing eyes. ‘Will you mind if I try something here now on you?’ *Do anything you want, miss allurer.* I said in my mind. ‘Yes. Why not? But before that let me order something.’ I asked her and she gave me the choice of the order. I called the waiter and ordered two Lattes and non-veg sandwiches. As the waiter was on her way, Pabla dragged the zipper of her leather-made vanity-bag. A plastic-made well-designed medium size lunch-box like thing made its way to the light by her beautiful milk-colored hands. She put the box on the table. Then, she grasped the top of the box and pushed up the upper lid of the case. ‘These are Tarot Cards. Drawing of these cards can foretell you future.’ ‘Really? Show me how.’ She dumped the needlessly large deck of cards on her right-hand palm put turning the opened box upside down by her left hand. She couldn’t even handle the deck with her small hands. As she was trying to make a solid grasp of the thing I noticed a few faces of those cards. The back-design was not that exceptional. The backs were monotonous brown colored with white border around its four sides. The faces, which I noticed were consisted with the most disturbing, weird and nudity contained paintings all over them. She continued to shuffle (even if she was not looking comfortable doing so) the deck of cards and made three almost similar heighted piled of cards in front of me. ‘Complete the cut by arranging these three piles, one on the another or under the others to make a single deck.’, she directed. I took the right-pile upon the middle and then put the whole thing upon the left. ‘Perfect!’, she exclaimed. ‘Now you have to draw three individual cards from the top but if you want you can make a cut to the deck and chose the top-card of that cut-position. Once you draw the three cards, lay those in front of you without looking at the faces one-by-one from left to right.’ I drew three face-down cards from the top and laid them one at my right, one middle and one left. ‘Now, one-by-one we will reveal those cards and know the indication.’, she had a glance at those face-downed cards. ‘Turn over the first card. Let’s see what it says.’ I turned over the left-sided card revealing its face. The face contained a picture of an angel flying above a naked man and a naked woman. Also, the number six in Roman embossed by golden ink on the glossy texture of the card. ‘Lovers upright!’, she exclaimed. ‘It indicates good love-life and partnership.’ I turned the next card. A man was lying on the earth on his chest and swords pierced all over his back. This time, the Roman number was ten. ‘Ten of sword!’, she looked a bit down this time. ‘That indicates betrayal in the near future.’ Third card was a picture of grim-reaper but upside-downed. Numbered thirteen. ‘Death reversed.’, her facial expression remained same as the previous time. ‘That indicates destruction of hope, depression and negative outcome.’ Our order had been served on the table and we were talking and smiling. Swear to god, I had not felt that happiness ever in my life so far. She was like a goddess revealed herself to me to show the true definition on beauty and outstanding company. Even if the card-fortune telling part was completely bullshit to me, I couldn’t stop myself listening to her smooth voice. *I want this woman at any cost in my life. But what if , these bull shit tarots* *and zodiacs made us separated? She might have so many matches on internet dating sites. What if this goes same as the previous ones for me? I don’t want to lose her.* ‘Can I drive you to your place? It has got pretty dark outside.’, I proposed. She got inside my car after having a bit negotiation between us. I insisted her, she should ride with me no matter how politely she declines. My real motivation was to be with her as long as possible. It was a two storey building and she lived with her mother. She offered me the dinner at her house in her room. I had no other choice. Her book-shelf was packed with books on Demonology, Spirit-summoning, Astrology and other types of esoteric books. During the dinner, she was talking about Hebrew Bible and a King back in the history namely King Solomon. How that King could summon the Demons and made them work for his own benefit and stories like that did not really convince me to believe all those things but the only thing I enjoyed to my heart’s content, was her company. Returning to my lonely apartment I was thinking about her and her talking imagery was all over my mind’s eye. I will only resort to those obnoxious stuffs if I ever get any difficulties in getting her in my life. I have dated several women in my life, but none of them was like her. I’ll do anything to get her in my life permanently. I called her but her phone was busy. That made me a little tensed. Was she talking with another man? If so, I’ll kill the man. She didn’t called me back on that night. *She could have talked with her relatives,* I tried to confront myself. Next morning, I gave Bishop a small cup of mixture of seeds in his cage. He didn’t show up to light though. I drove my car to the chess-club. When I was in a middle of a game I gazed to the window beside me. I saw a sight on the street which took over my whole concentration from the game. It was Pabla with another man. *That could be her brother or just a friend*, I tried to confront myself again. Either ways I lost that game, I couldn’t leave the place at that time. They were talking with big smiles on their faces. Pabla and the man boarded a Taxi outside. I lost the next rapid game too. Returning to apartment, I couldn’t fix my mind. There was a Tornado inside my heart. We didn’t date for long, it was only once. So, if she dates another man it was completely fine. Then why am I feeling like this? Did she charm me with her Voodoo stuffs? I couldn’t let her be with anyone else. She is mine! I’ll do whatever it takes to get her. I called her in the afternoon. Luckily she picked up this time. ‘Hello.’, she greeted. ‘Hey, I called you last night.’, that came out instantly from me. ‘Yeah… But I was busy then.’ ‘Can we meet this evening?’, as I was not in the position to ask for further explanations. ‘Sure, I am free in the evening.’ ‘Actually, I am interested in your books. Can I have a closer look to those?’ ‘Absolutely! I would like to be with a companion with common interests. I can also help you if you get some trouble reading those books. You can borrow those as I believe these kind of knowledge must be spread more.’ She invited me to her house that evening. I threw a glance to her book-shelf. ‘So you wanna look at my book collection?’, she asked. ‘Yeah. But I am really curious whether this kind of stuffs really work or not.’ ‘That’s sound great! I got you covered. I have all kinds of spell-books and books on occult. My favorite kinds of books are about the demonology. Here, have a look!’, she was pointing at a certain section of the shelf. ‘Gerald B. Gardner has written a brilliant book on drawing of circles, Sabbat Rituals, and all kinds of black-magic. The name of the book is: “Book of Shadows”. The books on summoning demons and drawing certain hexagrams are described in the book: “Key of Solomon”. If you seek more powerful elements–-’ ‘I want to tell you something!’, I interrupted. ‘What?’ ‘I… I really like you. I haven’t seen any woman like you. I don’t wanna casual dates anymore.’ ‘We’ve just met each other. In order to form a strong relation between two souls, we need to know each other properly at first. That’ll take time. Sorry, I can’t commit that early. But, as you’ve taken interest in my likings, we can be good friends for now. We can discuss these stuffs together.’, she made me extremely disappointed. ‘So, I am curious why you have interest on occult in all of a sudden? Why do you seek the help of Demons?’ ‘I am getting worse at controlling my concentration during the chess matches nowadays. I wanna summon some demons to make me a strong chess-player actually, may that sound funny to you.’ ‘Not at all! The main purpose of summoning is to improve the life. Whatever flaw you have, the Demons can help you with everything. Demons are always more powerful than the Gods. But, you have to be very careful during the rituals. If something went wrong you’ll be in trouble.’ ‘I am ok with that.’ She lend me a book that was in wretched condition. The first few pages along with its hard-cover were gone. As she explains, those pages was torn away intentionally to hide the name of the book and the author to other people as she had lent that book to several people. I returned to my apartment after having a great dinner at Pabla’s place. Lying on my bed, I was turning-over the pages to find a ceremony to make someone fall in love with me. As I didn’t lied to her while borrowing this book, she was the reason of my poor performance of today at the chess-club, and as I needed recover my strength in chess, I had to make her fall for me sooner by the help of the Demons. It was not like I suddenly grew my interest to these kinds of stuffs all of a sudden, I just felt like it will be most effective. I’ve prayed to the God at the churches several times but that didn’t provided me any romantic partner. Finally, I found a ritual instructions with some ancient language chants of my interest, in that book. The ritual requires a offer to the Demon in order to please him and make the ritual work for effects. The summoner must sacrifice another human or animals which the summoner is emotionally attached to. The stronger the attachment might be, the effect will be as stronger to that. I only got that nocturnal hamster named Bishop. He was the only thing I was attached to then. I closed my eyes and had deep thoughts for a moment. I got up from my bed with the book in my right-hand. It was almost 3am at the night. I entered into my study-room. There was some squawking and scratching sounds coming from the table in the dark. I lightened-up the room. The little animal was in motion in his cage. I put on a leather glove on my left-hand, putting down the book on the table. Pulling the lid off the cage, I discovered Bishop had stopped and staring up at me with his curious eyes as my shadow was on him. I gripped him with my leather-claws. I drew the Hexagram in the Circle on the floor with the red and black marker-pens with my right-hand. I lightened white candles, four in number at the four sides of it. Then, I turned off the lights. I knelt near the circle. In the right, I gripped an Exacto-knife pointing its blade to Bishop’s throat, held in my left-clutch. Bishop gave me his expression of eyes with, ‘Don’t do this to me, please.’ Look. I pierced him with my shaking hands. Bishop made a squanching sound and my left hand dripped a miniature of blood-river. I threw the corpse on the hexagram. The ritual needed my blood too, as I dripped few drops from my right-hand-pinky. I began to chant those Latin Words from the book, touching the circle with both the tips of my hands. Suddenly, the candles extinguished without any wind, turning the room into an abyss. The furniture started to shake like it happens during earthquake. I kept chanting and sweating. I couldn’t see the book but Latin came out of my mouth flawlessly in the dark. I meditated picturing Pabla closing my eyes. I felt the presence of entities in the room. My mouth stopped. The shaking of the elements was stunted. I somehow managed to get out by thrusting my palms in the dark like a blind man, so that I don’t collide with items in the room. I woke up late next morning. I decided to check the study-room. Bishop’s corpse wasn’t there. I wiped off the the hexagram from the floor and placed the candles in my drawer. There were no blood-marks on it. I took a shower and was having my meal and my phone rang. It was Pabla! I Picked up the call and she wanted to meet me tonight. What a magic! Did that really worked? She called me again while I was driving to the chess-club. She wanted to meet me in the afternoon as she wanted to confess me something. We met in the daylight at the park. She was wearing a long-coat and that looked extremely gorgeous on her. ‘I shouldn’t be that cocky last night’, she said. ‘The truth is, I am very fond of you. I missed you very much at the night. I’ll like to be with you.’ My head started flying, my heart was beating heavily and there were butterflies in my stomach. That was the happiest day of my life. My chess has improved very much and my accuracy was beyond any human’s. Every move I played was the top-recommended move by the chess-engine in the computer. One day she came into my apartment with me. She was curious about the cage on that table but I managed to come up with a lie that my pet has died due to illness. She talked about occult and my experience with the book. As my performance on the board was top-notch, it was not very difficult for me to explain how effective was it for me. My nights began to shine with her. All of a sudden my Black and White life became colourful greatly. I was at my prime in both professional and private lives. People started to praise me at the club. I stopped studying the game. Tactics and strategies came to my mind automatically to the only destination of victory, either by check-mate or resignation. Days past and we lived together in my place. The apartment was not a dungeon for me anymore as it became a true joyful place for my heart. But, that didn’t last for long. I heard her talking to some other man on the phone and lied to me when I asked, ‘I was talking with my mother.’ That day I made the worst blunders on the board. An amateur kid could defeat me in the squares. My King was suffocated by opponents’ pieces. Returning to my apartment-doors I saw pair of boots of man. Pushing the entrance-door hard, I growled with rage and agony, ‘Pablaaaa!!’ There was no answer. Unnatural silence fled across the Dark interior. I entered into the bed-room and discovered the abomination by the striped light coming from the door-slit. Pabla was with another man and both were naked. Which was more frightening than that, they were both dead as I could easily tell by looking at the corpses. They were in a collapsed missionary position on the bed. Blood was dripping from the bed-sheet. That blood-stream made a lake in the floor. Her dead-eyes and mouth were wide opened to make an evidence that a great horror caused them this state. The cause of death was much more terrifying than that. Their throats were equally stabbed, bruised and brutally cut wide open like opened jaws. That was the main source of the stream. My head was totally blanked. I was loosing the lights of my eyes. I did not made any scream but continued to suffer the mental storm inside my stomach. Not enough was my inner-pain, the disgusting smell of the corpses and intolerable smell of rotten flesh was also present there. It was the most suffocating and disturbing situation I ever experienced in my life. *Why this happened? Did I made any mistake while performing the ritual?* *This looks like a murder but who and how can someone murder them at this state like that?* I was asking myself more than a thousands of questions but suddenly, I heard a very familiar but more louder squawking and scratching sounds from a little distance. I saw something in the dark was revealing its existence by making the noise. It was in motion, sitting in one place not moving much. I tried to light up the room but the switch was already in on-state. I clicked the switch on and off but the lights didn’t worked. Then I discovered the blazing red eyes of the creature rounded and glowing in the dark. It’s body was fat and almost the size of two huge balls but one larger than the other, if placed the smaller one on the top area of the other. It’s facial area more revealed and my mouth said automatically, ‘Bishop!’ Tears in my eyes and the body was shaking by fear and sorrowness. Bishop had become a horrific mammal monstrosity. His fur was not as clean and bright as when he was alive in his cute and natural form. The milky white mane and patches of orange on it had turned into dusty grey and pale brown in colour. Then, I saw blood dripping out of his mouth area as he tried to lick that with his peeping small tongue under the nose. His whiskers were also consisted of tiny drops of blood just like the surgical syringe needles drip drug out of it to test the barrelled liquid by pushing of plunger. Once he looked upwards at the ceiling revealing its old wound across his throat area. There was no blood on that wound though, but it made a nasty imperfection to his body. It remained to the corner of the room, looking at me menacingly but did not cause any harm to me. I don’t know how long was I trembled there standing. I sweated making my clothes absolutely soaked badly. I approached the monster but it remained at its place. I called it by its mortal name but did not get any responses. I brought out my bottle of Bourbon. Poured directly from bottle in my mouth, a relatively large quantity. Didn’t make any burn on my palate. I smiled looking at Bishop. My eyes were also red but different than the Bishop’s. I cried silently. Poured a bit more into me. Then a strange thought flashed into my mind. I can still repeat the ritual and get another woman. But this time, the sacrificed offerings will be an attractive naked lady who had much stronger but invisible attachment strings to me. That man’s body fell on the blood-lake due to my intervention in the life-less bed. I picked her body on my shoulder and went to the study-room.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Doors to Nowhere [RESPONSE] I don’t know if this will even post, but I’m desperate, so I'm trying anyway while I still have some sense left. I don’t know how to exactly describe what has happened to me so I’m just going to tell you everything. It started with a dream on my 12th birthday. I don’t remember much from back then, but I do remember that this dream first occurred the night I turned 12 years old. The day of celebration had finally come to a close. I told my parents goodnight and headed to bed. After a few minutes of rolling around, I finally gave in to sleep. That’s when I opened my eyes to find myself in my room tucked under my sheets. I assumed that I just woke up in the middle of the night. I got up and began making my way to the bathroom because my bladder was about to burst. I stepped out into the hallway and was taken back for a moment. It had the appearance of my house but wasn’t. There were doors all throughout this hallway which was definitely a little longer than it should have been. My home at the time had 4 doors in the hall that my bedroom was on. I was seeing at least 15. I don’t know why this didn’t bother me. I didn’t really have much control at the time because I had no idea I was dreaming so I just went along with everything. That’s just how dreams are sometimes. You don’t register what’s going on until after. My bathroom was always at the end of the hall so I just set off and made my way to it. I finally reached my destination and stuck my hand out to grab the doorknob. The handle was surprisingly cold like it had been left outside during a winter storm. I pulled it open anyway and found myself face-to-face with nothing. Where my bathroom was supposed to be was now just an endless void. I stood there for a moment completely dumbfounded. That’s when I woke up—relieved that what had just happened was a dream. This was where my dreams of doors that lead to nowhere began. Around 6 months passed and I had long forgotten the dream. During that time I had more important things to focus on like recess, video games, and hanging out with my friends. A little dream had no place in my mind compared to my busy schedule. That’s until it happened again. It started out just like the last. I woke up in the same spot I went to sleep and made my way out into the hall. I opened my bedroom door and was back in the same scene as before. What laid ahead this time was my overstretched hallway that now had about 10 extra doors attached. I repeated the same action as the last time and walked all the way to the end to reach for what I assumed was the bathroom doorknob and turned. I was greeted once more with that endless void. I woke up. You know when you get that sense of falling and your whole body jerks back. That’s basically what happened. I remember sitting there for a minute reliving what had just transpired when I remembered that I had that same exact dream before. I didn’t really think much of it. Honestly, I thought it was cool at the time because that was the first time I had ever had a dream occur twice. This continued for a few years. The dream had no specific pattern. Sometimes I would have them a few days apart, while other times it would be months before I had the dream again. There were only two things that always stayed the same. One was that the only door I could actually walk back into was my bedroom. The second thing was that the dream only ever took place in my family home. The environment always stayed the same. That was until one night at my friend Chris’s house. My and Chris became friends in 6th grade. That year we were assigned seats next to each other and the rest is pretty much history. You know how it is, when you’re that young you will make friends with anyone. Well now we were both in 10th grade and it was the weekend and he invited me over to play a new game he just got. We were both really excited about it and spent the whole day and most of the night working through all the levels this game had. Next thing I know it’s 2 am and I was exhausted so I told him that I was ready to pass out. I was gonna be over most of the day tomorrow anyway so we could finish it then. I laid down on the makeshift bed we crafted out of blankets and pillows. Not long after laying down, I drifted off. I came to on the custom mattress I was on and sat up for a second wiping the sleep out of my eyes. I looked around but noticed Chris wasn’t in the room so I got up to go see where he had gone. I went for the door, placing my hand on the doorknob and a chill made its way down my spine. I shrugged it off and pulled the door ajar. What was before me was similar but also different. It was the hallway outside of Chris’s room except now there were extra doors that weren't there before. Something grabbed my attention. The door farthest from me had what looked to be a silhouette of a person leaning out from behind it. I could only see from about the torso up but I without a doubt knew that it was a person. I couldn’t tell you if it was Chris or not though. “Chris, what are you still doing up? Couldn’t put the game down huh?” I called out. There wasn’t a response. What I thought was Chris was still hanging halfway out the doorway and I could feel it staring dead at me. This unnerved me a little but I began making my way over to him anyway. That’s when it began waving at me. I stopped dead in my tracks. Taking in my surroundings a little better this time, the realization sank deep into my gut. I was dreaming. As if the person knew the realization I just made it lowered its hand and went through the door slamming it with a force that echoed throughout the entirety of the place. I ran over to the door and swung it open. There was nothing there, just a dark spot devoid of everything. I jolted awake, breathing as if I had just finished a marathon. It was still dark outside. I stood up and looked around, Chris was right there sleeping on his bed. I breathed a sigh of relief. This was the first time I had ever had the dream anywhere except my own home. It was also the first time that I had seen something besides the hallway and doors. I was left wondering who or what I had just laid my eyes upon. It’s safe to say I didn’t go back to sleep that night. This was the first time I encountered it. That being is who I would later come to regret knowing as the Watcher. After this incident, my dreams began to change. The static hallway and doors would now have little differences. The walls would be made out of different types of wood or wouldn’t be wood at all. The doors would be smooth or have intricate designs and the material they were composed of would change. Sometimes there would be paintings on the walls depicting strange alien environments. Worlds encompassed by darkness, strange plants and animals, upside-down rain with a sky that housed a purple sun and so much more that I couldn’t even begin to describe. There was one time when I even saw a painting of my own home except it was old and decrepit like no one had been there in ages. Different pieces of furniture would also show up. A small nightstand with a lamp, an armchair that looked as if from a different time in history, and occasionally even a full-sized couch that didn’t fit in with its surroundings at all. Something else also began to change with the doors. I began to hear things from the other side. Sometimes I swear I could hear what sounded like muffled conversation. Other times there would be knocking or the sound of shuffling feet. There were also noises I couldn’t place. Deep rumblings or high screeches that definitely weren’t made by any animal or person that I knew. Occasionally I would be too frightened to open a door but no matter what door I opened I was always met by the same endless void. It was like I wasn’t permitted to see what was beyond. This wasn’t what unsettled me the most though. I began to see that silhouette of a man more often. I never once got a full view it would always be just out of view. I would see it peeking out behind furniture or standing right on the cusp where the door connects with the hall. Sometimes he would wave at me and other times I would catch a blur going through into another door. The dream had begun to happen more often at this point. It was occurring at least once a week if not more. My parents noticed a change in me as well. My grades started dropping in school because my mind was always occupied by the dream. It was honestly eating away at me and I had no idea why. I would try to shake it from my mind but it was always there no matter what I tried. They decided to send me to see someone but all they thought was that I had an overactive imagination. But after a few visits, the doctor decided to give me some medication that would help my sleep. It has been three years since then. The medicine worked great and I never had the dream again. I’ve started college at this point and was having the time of my life. Me and Chris are now roommates sharing an apartment. It had been a while since I had even really thought about the dream and let it bother me. Sure it comes to mind every once in a while when I’m trying to go to sleep but it’s not holding me back anymore. This was until last week when my medication ran out. My doctor thought that I had progressed enough to be taken off of it. I was a little worried at first, but I truly believed that I was past all of it. The first few nights were good with no dreams, just nice, peaceful sleep. Then the night that wasn’t peaceful came. I went to bed as usual, putting my phone on the charger and making sure I had an alarm set so I wouldn’t miss my 8 am class the next morning and with that, I was off to sleep. I came to in my bed and believed that I had just woken up in the middle of the night. Even with this thought, something didn’t sit right with me so I got up to go grab a glass of water. I reached my hand out and pulled my door open and almost lost my composure. It was the hallway of my apartment except now there was only one door at the end of the hall. I knew that there should have been 3 doors. I could feel all of the color drain out of my face as a swallowed hard, it felt like my heart was going to jump out of my chest. I was back in the dream I use to have. I knew the only way to wake up would be to open a door. Why was there only one door this time? I had never seen only one door. I knew what I needed to do but I couldn’t make myself move. I was frozen. I reached and slapped myself hard to snap myself out of it. I reminded myself that I was just dreaming nothing real can happen to me. With that, I somehow mustered the nerve to begin walking. I swear the hallway seemed twice as long as it normally was. The length often changed some to acclimate to the number of doors, but this time it seemed to go on and on as I walked. Finally, I closed in on the door. With sweat beading on my face, I let out a heavy sigh and reached for the handle. I stopped just before a grabbed it as something caught my attention. I realized I could hear breathing coming from the other side. Deep raspy breaths that seemed to shake the door itself. *You have heard things like this before, just open the door so you can wake up,* I remember thinking to myself. That’s when I grabbed and tore the door open. It was the same as always, a dark abyss. The only problem was that I hadn’t woken up yet. It never took this long. “Wake up. Wake up. Wake up!” I yelled into the void. That’s when I noticed it. The void now had an outline. It was so faint that it almost blended in perfectly. It was the silhouette of a person. It was whoever I had been seeing before I started taking the medication, and now they were right in front of me. I didn’t know what to do. I was just standing there wide-eyed, completely frozen in fear. Before I could even react an arm darker than I thought possible reached out and grabbed me. I woke up with a sharp gasp drenched in sweat. Dawn was just breaking outside and it gave my bedroom a light glow. I lifted my arm up to see where whoever grabbed it and noticed that a gray handprint was now on my forearm. I was terrified. It was just a dream, there was no way it could actually affect me. I got up and rushed to the bathroom. Seeing myself in the mirror was rough to look at. I looked as if I hadn’t slept in days and I was grossly sick. The handprint on my arm didn’t hurt, but nothing I tried would make it go away. My next course of action was to call my doctor and tell him that I had to get back on my medicine because the dream started up again. At first, he was reluctant to agree, but after a little persuading that was more like begging on my end he relented and agreed. The only problem was that I wouldn’t be able to get my prescription filled until tomorrow. I told him about the handprint on my arm as well and he scheduled me to go in and see him as soon as he could. It was going to be a few days because he was fully booked at the time. I was going to have to go through another night before then. The whole day went by in a blur. The only thing on my mind was that person or at least what I thought was a person. The handprint hasn’t gotten worse so I guess that’s a good thing. I made up my mind that I wasn’t going to sleep and wait until the morning so I get my prescription. As night encroached I began to grow uneasy. I was going to do everything in my power to stay awake until I got my medicine. I put on a pot of coffee because I figured a little caffeine boost would help my situation. Sometime around 1 am I had drank the last of the pot and decided to play some video games to pass the time. This worked for a few hours but I could fill my eyes getting heavy. I continued on to try to finish a level I had been stuck on for the past hour when my head started bobbing up and down threatening sleep. I picked up my phone to check the time and it was 4:14 am. The pharmacy opens at 10 so I still had a good ways to go. I decided to go splash some cold water on my face to wake me up a little. I stood up and made my way over to my bedroom door and pulled it open. “No,” I said aloud as I now realized my fatal mistake. I knew immediately that this wasn’t the hall I was supposed to be seeing. When did I fall asleep? *Hello*, it was as if something was speaking directly into my soul. I spun around, and in horror I found myself face to face with the person I saw last night. I took a few steps back with my legs threatening to give out. *It’s nice to finally speak to you, I’ve been trying for so long but you never seem to hear me. I am guessing by your reaction my voice finally reached you,* it said without moving a muscle. It’s hard to describe what I was looking at. This “person” had no features except for an outline which was in the shape of a human. There were no features on him. The only factor that stood out was that it had nothing but a dark expanse that covered his body. He had no shadow either which really unnerved me. I said the only thing that came to mind, “What are you?” *Well you see,* he said while placing a hand on his chin, *I use to be a person like you, but now I just live here always exploring what this place has to offer.* “What do you mean,” I said while looking at where I assumed his eyes would be, “What even is there to explore here.” *That’s because your eyes aren’t fully suited for this place yet. Haven’t you been noticing more and more as you enter this space? This place is slowly transforms your body so you will be able to see all it has to offer.* “What is has to offer? This place is nothing but a dream that I’ve had since I was little.” *Do you still really believe that?* “I know I’m asleep so what else could it be?” *At the moment only part of you is here. When you become fully acclimated to this place your whole being itself will be here.* “What do you mean? Are you saying I will be stuck in this place?” I say with fear mounting. It was all too much to take in. My mind was racing. This being is talking about me getting stuck in this place for god knows how long. All I could think about was how to get out of this and wake myself up. I still clung on to hope that this was all a dream but that premise was slowly deteriorating. *I’m tired,* it began, *I have been here for what feels like an eternity and you’re the first person who has been able to see me.* “Look man, I am really sorry that you are stuck here but I don’t know how to help you.” *You are helping me by just being here, the process has already begun.* I looked down at the handprint on my arm. *The next time you fell asleep I knew I would be free of this place and you would take over as the new watcher.* “I can’t do this!” I shouted, “I have my own life out there and I didn’t agree to any of this! Find someone else!” *But you will. You left your world for the last time when you fell asleep.* I turned and in one motion began making a mad dash toward the door. As soon as I got to it I pulled with such force I thought it might rip off the hinges. Now I was free and I would wake up as soon as I opened it just like all the other times. The thing was, I didn’t. *It’s too late. Your transition is too close to completion. You can’t leave anymore.* “Please just let me leave, I can’t do this,” I begged. *You should try to make the most of this. Beyond those doors are things you can’t even begin to imagine. You will see worlds people can only dream of. This will be your duty as the new watcher.* I grabbed a stool that was to my left and his every ounce of force I had launched it at the being. It reached out its hand and the stool froze in place. Next thing I know the stool starts shaking and then explodes into thousands of tiny splinters. The watcher began to make its way over to me. I stepped back for as long as I could until I was pressed against the wall. Tears were streaming down my face as I couldn’t accept my situation. I slid down the wall, my knees pressed into my face with my head down. I felt a hand press my head. *You are almost fit to take my place. There is one final thing I must do.* “Please don’t,” I said quietly as he grabbed my shoulder and pulled me to my feet. *This last part is going to hurt,* it said and I looked at the being visibly trembling with fear trying to come up with anything to relieve me of this nightmare before me but I came up empty. With that, he drove two of his fingers into my eyes. I will never forget the pain of feeling my eyes burst like balloons. What once helped me see began to pour down my face as I screamed and slumped to the floor. *Thank you,* the watcher said and I heard a door shut in the hall. I laid there for what felt like hours clutching my face. After some time I sat up still holding my face and tried to stand. I was feeling my way along the hall trying to find a doorway. That was when I hit something with my foot and began to fall. I reached both my hands out and placed them on an armchair. I could actually see the chair. I was relieved but then terror flooded my body. I screamed. My arms and hands now looked exactly like the being that left me here. I looked down at the rest of my body and realized it to was now that same pitch-black color. “No, this can't be me,” I said aloud for no one to hear. I looked around at my surroundings and something caught my eye. Some of the doors now had light spilling out through their cracks. I thought that by some miracle I would still wake up in my bed if I opened one so I made my way over. What I was met with on the other side of the door was not a void, it was a world full of desolate mountains and I saw 4 moons in its sky. I slammed the door shut and made my way over to a couch. I sat down completely dumbfounded at what I had just seen. After a few minutes, I got up and decided to go back to my bedroom to try and find a way out there. Luckily my room was still attached and everything seemed to be working still. I tried to call my parents, the police, and whoever else I could think of but nothing ever connected. I truly was alone here and had no idea how to get out Well, I think it’s been a few months since then. I only have a rough estimate because every clock I try to view is frozen. The electricity is still on in my room so I can charge my phone when it gets low. I can also look on the internet because that still works somehow. The only thing that keeps me sane is looking at old photos of friends and family. As time progresses it’s helping me less and less. I now spend my days roaming around and going through different doors. The watcher before me wasn’t wrong, some of the worlds truly are amazing. I have even seen some that have humans. The only problem is that no one can see me. I have tried everything I can think of to get people's attention but no matter what I do no one acknowledges me. I don’t know where the watcher before me went. I haven’t seen him anywhere and believe me I’ve been looking. I think my only hope of ever getting out of here is to make someone take my place. I just hope I can do that before this place takes sanity. That brings me to today. I’ve been typing all of this out on my phone in hopes that someone will read it. If you can, just maybe, you will be able to see me also. If you have a dream of doors that go nowhere I will find you. It’s only a matter of time. I hope to see you soon.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] A coffin has appeared in the front yard of every house in my neighborhood (Update) [RESPONSE] Hey, all... A lot happened, so this one is a bit long. Sorry. I've divided it into three parts, Yesterday Morning Yesterday Evening, and This Morning. Also, if you haven't read the , you probably should. Yesterday morning: I’m typing this up during my lunch break. Quickly, here’s what happened last night. I couldn’t sleep, so I went to look out the front window again. Saw my neighbor across the street come out of the house in a daze and get into the coffin. I passed out. I woke up in my bed and when I checked again, the coffin across the street was gone. I hurried to the bedroom and shook Carrie awake. I watched her eyes go wide as I described Sandy getting into the coffin. “That can’t be real.” “I know. And now their coffin is gone. What do we do?” “We need to check on her.” I was already going to do that, right? My brain is not working. We pulled on our clothes, went out and started across the street. Carrie abruptly halted in the middle and put her arm across my chest to block me. She pointed to a house down our side of the the street to the left and one across and to the right. Their lawns were also coffin free. “... Everyone had one, right?”, she asked. “Yeah. I think so...” We continued to the door. I looked down to make sure I wasn’t stepping on any of Sandy’s flowers, mums now since it’s Fall. I was confused to see that the garden was mostly dead. There were some empty plastic pots scattered around. Not nice ones, but the plain black container that plants from the store come in. It looked like they’d been sitting there for months. What happened? This was a nicely maintained flower garden yesterday, wasn’t it? Carrie was looking at it, too. “It wasn’t like that yesterday, right?” I looked at her and shook my head. She moved to the front door as I stared at the garden. Carrie’s sharp rapping on the door shook me out of my reverie. She waited a few moments and knocked again. She turned to me and shrugged, a thin worry line creasing her brow. I cupped my hands around my eyes and looked into their window. I noticed right away the the foyer was a mess of boxes, tools, and even some car parts. Like I said, I didn’t know her well at all, but it seemed weird that the inside of her house seemed like such a dump. "I'm going to go around the back," I told her. It was uncomfortable enough just walking up to a neighbor's house and knocking. Dropping by is a thing that seems to be going by the social wayside. Opening their side gate and entering the back yard felt straight-up wrong, like I was trespassing. I guess that's literally true. I had never seen them before, but the gardens in the back were also mostly dead or overgrown. There were tools and gardening implements laying about the yard, as well as a long-unused and dilapidated dog house. Attached to the doghouse was a frayed, dirty rope and on the other end of the rope was a torn collar that may have once been red, but was now tattered and rusty brown. I noticed a name tag on the collar, but couldn't bring myself to read it. Leaving that, I navigated the patchy grass to look into the sliding glass door on the porch. Through a gap created by a single missing panel of their vertical blinds, I saw that their living was was completely coated in what looked like unwashed laundry. Jeans, socks, tightie-whities, and various tees and flannels. All looked like men's clothes. My imagination must have run away with me, because one of the piles looked like there was someone under it. I took an involuntary step back as my breath caught in my throat. No, just a normal pile of clothes. More than freaked out, I hurried back around to the front, making sure to close the gate, and told Carrie what I saw. She said nothing but her eyes betrayed her fear. With no answer at the door, we started back home and saw the next-door neighbor staring at their coffin. *Greg,* I thought. *His name is Greg.* He noticed us looking and called to us, "What kind of sick fuck would do this to us! The last thing Rebecca needs is to see this in our yard. She just went into remission!" "I'm sorry, man" I replied. "We are shaken, too, but I can't imagine what this is doing to her. Is she doing alright?" Weirdly, he looked at our yard and seemed shocked to see a coffin there. He took a long look up and down the street as if looking at it for the first time. "Why don't they have one?", he asked, pointing across the road. "Or them? Or them?" He pointed at each house that no longer had a coffin. I explained that each did have one last night, but they disappeared overnight. His face went from anger to confusion. "Oh. Oh, yeah, they did, right?" He seemed to be genuinely asking us. "Yeah," said Carrie, giving me a pointed look. I started to ask him if he had spoken to any of the other neighbors, but I could tell from his far-away expression that he was miles away. We may as well haven't even talked to him in the first place. He stared back down at the coffin, slowly shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck over and over. Carrie pulled on my hand and led past the coffin and to our front door. Back at home, Carrie and I talked about what to do. She wanted to call the police to do a wellness check, so I picked up my phone and dialed. They must have been getting a lot of calls because the line went right to voicemail. I left the reason for the call and my contact details. Carrie noticed my scowl as I hung up and sighed. We discussed whether we should call 911, but decided not to since we didn’t know if there was actually an emergency to respond to. I did, however, call my ex-wife and left a message asking her not to send the kids over today. Better safe than sorry. Having nothing better to do, we logged into work. Shit, lunch is over and I haven't eaten. I guess I had more to tell you than I thought. It’s now evening and I didn’t get a chance to post the above update. That works, because I have more to add. Yesterday evening: The husband across the street usually gets home at 7pm on the dot. Today was no different. When I saw his truck pull up, I went out and met him in his driveway.I probably should have asked Carrie his name before I went. He saw me approaching and scratched at his grey and white beard. He looked like he had aged a decade in one night, and he didn’t have many decades left in the first place. “Hey, man. I was talking to Greg over there a little earlier. What do you think of all this?” I waved my hand up and down the street. “It’s some freaky shit, yeah... You know at first, I thought that it was the new thing everyone wanted for Halloween. Like those goddamned giant skeletons last year. Friggin’ waste of money. But a couple folk down the road said they didn’t buy ‘em. Just there, like they always had been. Not sure why I’m one of the ones didn’t get one.” “But, you had one last night.” I said, confused. At this point, I noticed Carrie was watching from the front door. “Nope. No, didn’t have one last night.” He shot me a bit of side-eye. “Oh”, I said “uhh, my mistake.” I paused for a moment. “Does Sandy have any thoughts?” He was getting impatient. “Is that the lady two doors down? How the hell should I know what she thinks?” Dread. I took a longer pause than he had patience for. “No, Dan...” “Dave.” He grimaced at me. “No, Dave. Your wife. Sandy.” His eyes narrowed and he looked me up and down. “What in the fuck is wrong with you, Guy Whose Name I Don’t Fuckin’ Know? You move here years ago, don’t talk to no-one, then don’t even notice I’n not goddamn married? Tell me something, jackass. You ever seen a woman around my house?” *I’ll be damned if I’m gonna say yes right now,* I thought. “No! No, of course not. I apologize, Dave, I must have confused you with someone else. I’ll, uh, just go inside and let you be.” “Yeah,” he snarled, “You have a good one.” Then, under his breath, “Idiot.” I must have looked completely abashed when I went back inside, because despite everything, Carrie raised her eyebrows at me with a small smirk. “So, it went well?”, she teased. “All right.” “Was he happy to finally talk to you? Heh!” “*All riiight!”* She got me smiling, too. God, I love her! I told her everything that he said, making sure to remember every detail of him apparently not ever having a wife. “Seriously, what the fuck. Did you tell him what you saw last night?” “No, which is probably how I made it back here with an unbroken jaw. If you want to go over there and tell him how his wife that he never had got into a coffin that was never on his lawn and disappeared, then go for it. In fact, you should. I’m sure he’d be delighted to speak with you.” “Hey!” she replied with epic sarcasm, “How about you go fuck yourself, instead?” Fair enough. I actually laughed. One thing we’ve always been good at is one being able to carry the other when things got tough. And, to keep each other in good spirits when things got *really* tough. We decided at dinner that we were going to stay up and watch the houses on our street. We want to see if we can catch anyone else getting into the coffins, and how they were taken away. I made coffee, and she boiled a pot for tea, then we sat down to watch some TV to distract us while we waited. She leaned her head against my chest and I put my arm around her. My next thought came unbidden and it curdled the blood in my veins. *I’m going to miss her.* This morning: This has gone beyond weird and frightening to downright terrifying. We are getting the fuck out of here. Susan is gone along with more of our neighbors, and we’ve seen the... things that are taking the full coffins. Carrie is packing for us while I write this update. We waited up last night as planned. We got out a couple of chairs and even brought our little iron fire pit from the backyard to keep us warm. This is the same setup we use for Halloween night to give out candy. We decided to walk around the block as it drew towards midnight, and we noticed that there were other watchers. Some sat inside by their windows with their lights off, some on their front porches, some in the driveway like us. We even saw one old fake wood-paneled station wagon driving a slow circuit around the block. It looked like about 1 out of every 5 houses no longer had a coffin. That only took about 15 minutes, so we sat by the fire, drank our caffeine and waited. Have any of you done any camping? Have you noticed how you can get to staring into the campfire and just lose time? My dad used to call that “dreaming the fire”. I was so deep into the dreaming, that I almost didn’t even notice the sound of Susan and Greg’s door unlatching. Carrie gave my shoulder a hard shake, bringing me back. She pointed and I saw Susan walking slowly and stiffly towards their coffin. For a moment, all I could do was stare, too frightened to get up. “SUSAN!” Carrie’s scream jolted me out of my chair. She was already halfway into their yard before I was able to catch up. We got about 5 feet away from the coffin and all energy was sapped out of my body. I felt too weak to anything more than stand. I heard a small whimper come from Carries throat. Or, it may have been mine. I’ve passed out before, and this felt like the first few moments after regaining consciousness. A light sweat covered by body in a cold sheen, and my muscles all refused to do anything more than twitch. Somehow, I remained standing. I couldn’t look away from Susan’s slow march to the coffin. I heard Carrie try to yell for Greg, but it came out as a weak moan, like when someone is calling out in their sleep during a nightmare. I willed my eyes to roll towards the house and in the bay window, I saw the pale form of Greg, standing and watching his wife. I could see the orange light from our campfire flickering in the trails left by tears streaming down his blank face. Susan was at the coffin. She bent down and lifted the lid with ease. *It unlocked for her when she was ready* I thought, remembering a comment one of you left. Inside was a simple, white silk lining with a matching pillow. Susan got in, lied down, closed the lid, and that was it. I felt some strength radiating back into my muscles. As did Carrie, because once again, she started moving first. She grabbed the lid of the coffin, sobbing as she tried to lift it. A split second later, I was with her, pulling with all remaining strength against the lid. It held fast. We stopped at the same time. I looked again at Greg and saw him turn and walk away from the window, into the darkness of his living room. “No. Fuck this!”, I said as I turned to futilely pull at the lid again. I felt a small pop in my lower back and heard a crazed voice in my head say, *I’m gonna feel that tomorrow! Ha!* Through my frantic pulling, I felt Carrie place a shaking hand on my arm. “Joe.” I stopped and looked at her. She was staring at the road with wild, panicked eyes. Parked on the road was a shiny hearse, so black that the light from the campfire and the stars just fell into it, trapped for eternity. The modern angles on it were sharp and mean, created to perfectly communicate that you have forever lost someone you loved. Standing in a line behind the uberhearse and facing us were four identical figures. They were tall, towering over the top of the black machine. Their gaunt faces were turned toward us and each showed a sneer of superiority slashed across their thin, pale lips. Held under their left arms, each held a black silk top hat, and in their right, an ebony cane topped with a simple, silver globe, the only hint of color on their persons. Each moved toward the coffin and placed their cane vertically on the ground, where it balanced perfectly still. On them, they hung their hats and the canes still did not waver. They formed a lined path from the coffin to the rear of the uberhearse. They lined up on either side of the coffin and lifted it to their shoulders, showing no sign of strain. They walked in perfect sync to the uberhearse, and the rear door opened to accept its prize. Neither Carrie nor I dared to move or make a sound. The ritual that we were watching was something old and unholy. The coffin was in, and the door closed with a satisfied *chunk*. Then, the Pallbearers were circling us. Their manner was one of observation, like we were something tiny and meaningless. Maybe even amusing. I’d never felt fear like this before. I knew no amount of running or fighting would ever overcome this absolute finality. That death was all that awaited and it would be an eternity of horror. Two of the Pallbearers swiveled aside, and gracefully bade us to our house with outstretched arms. We walked together, and hen we passed them, all faded to black. We woke up this morning together in our bed. Carrie and I looked at each other and there was nothing to say. Later, we talked about leaving. We somehow know that we can’t, but we’re going to try. We’ve tried to call the police, and I tried my ex-wife. Carried tried her parents. All went right to voicemail, and we realized that we’ve gotten no calls, no voicemails or texts. No communication since this thing started. We are out today. I’ll update as soon as I can.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The young boy [RESPONSE] I live in a small town where everyone knows everyone. Our town is at the foot of a mountain making it a common stop-by by mountain climbers and campers. My family owns a small grocery store which is popular to the campers who are passing by since we also sell camping supplies. An incident happened just last year. A group of friends went camping on a camping site near the peak of the mountain. They are all college buddies who are trying to enjoy their semestral break. They stopped at our store for supplies just before they went to the campsite. "That's a lot of food. How long are you camping?" I asked the guy who was paying for their purchases. "Only for two nights, but there are 7 of us so yeah" he replied to me. "Friends or family?" I asked him "Just friends. We're trying to relax. It's been a hell week in college" he said. I saw four girls and three guys including the one I was talking to. They are all goofing and joking around. One of the guys even tried hitting on me. After paying, they then proceeded to their camping. I didn't really think of that encounter. However, after five days, I saw them again. Thay stopped at our store again for supplies for their trip home. The moment they walked in, I already felt something that something is off. All of them have this gloomy feeling around them, like something happened to them. The thing that was most noticable to me is that someone was with them. There was an eighth person with them. It was a young boy. The boy was probably around 6 or 7 years old. He has a messy black hair and brown eyes. He also have sweet smile, so sweet it was creepy. "I thought there were only seven of you" I said to the guy when he reached the counter. "Huh? I'm sorry what?" He asked confused. "When you arrived. We talked and you said that there were only seven of you. All from college." I told him "Huh? Yeah, no. That's my brother." He replied. After paying, they all went outside and boarded their cars. The young boy sat on the passenger seat of one of the cars. Right after he closed his door, I could swear it wasn't a young boy I saw sitting on the car. For a split second, I saw a horned creature seated on the passenger seat. It was only for a moment so I thought that my eyes just played tricks on me. Still, that bothered me. That night at dinner, I mentioned it to my grandmother who is living with us. I told her that I was so tired I started seeing things. She was silent for moments. She then told me of an old legend in our town. She said that the elderlies in our town and once believed that the peak of the mountain was once a witch ritual ground. She said that the witches who goes there worships a horned creature who can take the form of anyone it desires. She said that the story is an old one and that the last person who actually believes it was her aunt who already passed away. That same night, I dreamt about the young boy. In my dream, he was smiling at me sweetly. He then took my hands and dropped something to them. When I looked to see what he gave me, I was horrified. They were teeth. He gave me teeth that are still covered with blood. I woke up covered in sweat. After that night, nothing unusual happened again. But after two days, I was once again horrified by what was reported on the news. The group of friends who went camping on the mountain were all killed brutally. Their throats were slit. Their faces were skinned. Their arms and feet were all broken. What really horrified me was that all their teeth were missing. I was not able to sleep that night. In the morning, I went to our store to open it. I almost fainted with what I saw placed on the counter. Teeth. More than 200 of them. All covered in blood.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] THE DARK HUNT Part5 [RESPONSE] Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 My trip back to the station wasn’t as easy as I thought. There were more creatures lurking throughout the mountain forest. Too many to be from a single pack and I was right. I encountered multiple alphas that made me realize that several packs have united to hunt for me. Was it a pact or was its unification? I wasn’t sure. But I was running out of supplies fast as I fought through countless waves of creatures, some led by alphas. I tried to conserve as much ammunition as possible and hackded through the first half of the way back. But soon I was swarmed by them and found myself shooting my way through. When I got near to the police station, I was low on supplies and drenched in blood from all the creatures I had hacked away. Tired and aching all over I glanced over towards the police station from a distant elevated position in the forest. The streets around the station were quiet. No cars to be seen. But then again it was a very quiet town. I made my way down and up to the front door of the police station. I could see through the door windows that the station was completely deserted. All the lights were off and there was no one in sight. Slinging over my shotgun in hand, now with my last two rounds, I Slowly and carefully entered the station. I didn’t want any surprises so I stayed along the walls as much as I could. The only source of light were dim flickering lights coming from down the corridor that led to the holding cells. Looking around I turn towards the office areas. Almost all the computers were turned on. Cold coffee half full in mugs with unfinished donuts laying around. No one’s been here for a while I could see. They all just got up and left mid-work… or… Anyway, I could see one office up ahead. The chief’s office, as titled over the glass door window. I slowly headed towards the door and peaked in. Nothing. I opened the door and entered the empty office. Same scene. Cold coffee in mug and an untouched bagel. Looking around the office for a bit I saw a picture on the desk. I picked it up and to look at it. I wasn’t curious about it. I did it without thought, not really expecting to gain anything from it. But then the man in photo, who I guess was the chief, caught my eye. It was him. My target zero… the alpha with those damn bluish green silver eyes. It was masquerading as the police chief. Probably why it was able to swap out the entire police force. I placed down the photo and walked out of the office. I headed right towards the holding area. Something told me that I was ment to head there. I entered the area to find that the barred entrance doors were all wide open. The flickering lights were dim and emitted just enough light to make out the surrounding area. All the cells were obviously empty… or so I thought. Down the corridor inside some of the cells were bodies. Decomposing bodies in police uniforms. And held inside the last one was a creature hissing and growling at me with yellow glowing eyes. Questions rose as alarms started to go off inside my head. Something was wrong here. Why was it locked inside the cell with the body? Did all the other cells have younglings in them with those bodies? What was going on? Just as my head filled with questions that I may not wanted answer for, I heard a voice. “Pitiful, aren’t they?” I quickly turned around with my shotgun raised, ready to shoot. But I couldn’t see anything. But still the voice came from the void of shadows. “Just mere animals driven by instinct. Not knowing what’s out here in this world.” “Show yourself!” I shouted towards the shadows, trying to get the creature to show itself. But the voice just kept going, echoing from the shadows, like a monologue. “You and I, are we that different apart? What makes a man a man? A soul? Something no one has clearly seen or can prove exists. Or the ability to think and decide on one’s actions and differentiate them as right or wrong based upon moral standards set by society?” “You can talk pretty but Just because you can think like a human does not make you one, creature!” I shouted out in disapproval. I would never in a million years, consider these vile creatures anything resembling a human being. They were just a pest that leeches off humans for survival. Consider them human? Absurd and not even funny. But the voice came back in a calm manner that started to get on my nerves. “Really? Then what makes one a human being?” Honestly, I couldn’t answer the question. But then again, I wasn’t there to have a philosophical discussion with the creature. But I wanted it to keep talking to figure out where it was hiding. But my moments of hesitance were met by impatience. Though the voice was calm and gentle the attitude behind it was Impatient and petulant. “Couldn’t answer my question? Even you don’t know the answer to your own being and you continue to persist in hunting us down and reject our very existence.” “I don’t care about your existence. I don’t care if you can talk reason and think like humans.” I jeered at the voice slowly looking around to pinpoint its origin. But for some reason I couldn’t figure it out and the flickering lights didn’t help. At first, I thought there was some sort of a speaker, and it wasn’t in the area. But it was too clean to be coming from an amp. I continued to speak my mind all the while looking for hints of where the creature may be. “To me you’re just a parasite that feeds off life around you. Vermin that need to be exterminated! You, a human? Don’t make me laugh!” There was a moment of silence. I think I struck a nerve. I was hoping to make it mad enough to revert to its primal nature. Just like all the others before. The silence continued, but I could feel the rage and anger in the air. I pissed it off for sure. So, I decided to press it further. “Cat got your tongue? Or do you even know what that phrase means?” I called out mockingly. But at the same time, I was readying myself to be pounced by the creature. The moment it shows itself I’ll blow it to pieces. I took a step towards one of the cells and just then a pair of hands jumped out from an adjacent shadow. I quickly turned to my side to fire my shotgun, but my reaction was a second too late. The hands took hold of the shotgun with a strong grip that could not be contested with. I let go of the shotgun instantly and simultaneously pulled out my axe and hacked into the shadow but to no avail. The swing was a miss, and I was splitting through air. I didn’t linger around. Soon as the swing was determined a miss I jump back away from the shadow and took cover behind a pillar. Looking up something caught my eye. The sprinklers on the ceiling near the flickering light showed signs of corrosion and rust. Bad maintenance or probably was unattended for some time. “Worth a shot” I said to myself and pulled out two Molotov cocktail bottles and lit them up. I threw one into the far corner where I fled from and another at the opposite wall. The flames instantly lit up the area, but the creature was nowhere to be seen. The youngling creature started to scream in its holding cell, banging into the cell door trying to get out. The emergency sprinklers did not activate. Humph, must be my lucky day. “Not going to save your kin? Now I know you’re nothing but parasitic animals!” I shouted out behind my cover. My taunting worked like a charm. Because the creature lept out from one of the remaining shadows in a near corner. It ran towards the cell door. Not galloped but ran towards it. Trying to stay in human form even under the pressure. Admirable, I’ll give it that. I turned to quickly step out behind the pillar to charge at the creature with my axe in one hand and blade in the other. The creature was too fixed on opening the cell door with the youngling it was a few seconds too late in reacting to my attack. Probably more so because it was in human form. Before the creature could get to the cell door my axe made contact with it first. My Axe hacked into the top of its skull while I continued to plunge my blade deep into its chest, cutting through the hard rib cage to stab its heart. Before it could even scream it was dead. But all I saw was the creature reverting to its pale disfigured rotting form as its red glowing eyes lost their light. “Damn…” Red. The creature’s eyes where red. It wasn’t the alpha and I was exposed completely. The bastard lured me out. It turned out I was the one baited. In the corner of my eye, I saw another red eyed creature galloping towards me. It was too late to turn around to confront it. In that moment I made the decision to run the opposite direction and jumped over a wall of blazing fire. The fire made by the Molotov cocktail had engulfed a wide area within the holding area. The youngling that was screaming in its cell had burnt to a crisp and the creature that charged at me was unable to follow me over the fire, as it glared at me behind the wall of flames. But with that move I was cornered. I saw a second creature approach me and now I was surrounded. The only thing that was preventing the creatures from attacking was the blazing fire that was also approaching towards me in a rapid pace. During all of this I still hadn’t seen the one alpha that I had come for. This whole thing was a trap. There was little to do and I wasn’t liking my options. From my bag I pulled out a flare gun and tuck it carefully in my coat pocket. I grip my axe and blade. I face the one creature that arrived later, fully turned towards it. The other one stayed in its place. It would probably attack me the moment I attack the other one. I gripped at the very end of the axe handle as I stared at the creature. Then with all my strength I threw the axe towards the creature. I had practiced this move for a very long time and frankly it was my first time using it in action. A gamble move for a desperate situation. But as I said. Must be my lucky day. The axe split through the air and cut into the creature’s forehead. The creature screamed and stumbled back. It startled the other creature as its eyes followed the other creature stumbling around. In that moment when it was distracted, I jumped over the fire and plunged my blade into its head. But the creature had inhuman reflexes and managed to counterattack. As its claws dug into my chest, I put more strength into the blade. Slicing clean through the head, the blade had completely carved out half of the creature’s face as it crumbled down and died instantly. It managed to give me a pretty deep cut in the chest, and I was losing a lot of blood. Not so good. I walked over to the other creature with my axe planted between its eyes. It had also died. As I pulled the axe out from the creature’s head, I see a glimpse of a shadow moving up ahead. I quickly back step away with my axe as I come face to face with a man in a grey suit. Its eyes glowed silver with a hint of bluish green under the shadow that was casted on its face. It was the one. My target zero. It walked towards me slowly as it clapped its hands. “Well done, Daniel. Those were some impressive moves.” The bastard seems more human than even before. His casual demeaner and that smirk on its face gave me the shivers. Honestly, it scared me. “Why Daniel, you don’t look too good. You’d better lay down for a bit.” With that it took a few steps towards me. To be honest I was tired, and my chest bleed had started to affect me as I couldn’t hold myself still. I took a step back to distance myself from the alpha, but it continued to slowly walk towards me. “You would be wondering how I could be so much human. Well, I’ll let you in on my secret. Just between you and me. You see before, I was just another animal that lived by my instincts and primal habits. We knew from long time ago that disguising as humans were more valuable in many ways than any other animals.” The alpha’s explanation continued as our slow chase led us out of the now burning holding cell and into the office area. I stayed focused on the alpha as I slowly made my way towards the front door. The entire area was now filling up with too much smoke. It chased after me while matching my pace. “We had many ways to lure humans to us. Disguising ourselves as dogs seemed to work at first. But there were more running away than approaching us. In the end we found that disguising as humans were the most effective. The speech part was hard to mimic, and most could only manage a few words. But that’s all we needed to lure unsuspecting hikers to us.” Story sounded familiar. Myths and urban legends rotating around superstitious people who liked to tell stories. Never thought of them as much until now. I was coughing and struggling to keep myself from falling. Slowly I was losing strength in my legs and the front door seemed even further than it was. The alpha kept talking as he followed me from behind. “Some call us monsters and other demons. But these days I guess we are better known as skin walkers. But you see we are no skin walker. One day I was tired of assuming different identities and hunting to maintain this human form. Consuming flesh and blood were not enough. Then I thought on the idea of, what makes a being whole?” I was almost at the door at this point and was trying hard to stay focused. The smoke that had now completely consumed the station, was not helping. I could still hear the alpha behind me still rambling on about his story. “Then it hit me. The difference between humans and beasts.” I turned around to see where the alpha was standing. As I did the alpha raised its hand and pointed to the temple of its head. “The brain Daniel. Thoughts, memories, consciousness. What makes humans such worthy prey. So, for the first time I consumed human brain. Daniel, it opened up a whole new level of understanding and existence.” I stopped and looked at the alpha. The brain? That’s what changed them? That’s what they are after… human brains? “It turned out, Daniel. We were no skin walkers. We were identities known hundreds of years ago and feared by people. They called us doppelgangers. But over centuries of advances in human technology, we were pushed deep into the darker forest, and we could not consume fresh brains. We de-evolved over generations into pitiful creatures of the night that scavenged for mere flesh and blood.” Doesn’t make sense. Consuming brains were what made the difference? None of them ever consumed human brain in decades of hunting? I doubt it. As I lost focus of the moment the alpha thought it was amusing to see me in such a state. It continued its story, probably for its own amusement. It was enjoying itself. “I can see you are confused. Why now? You maybe asking yourself. So, did I. As I gained a clear mind and self-developing thought, I made some interesting theories and tested them out. It turns out Daniel, that there was a condition to the evolution. Heightened emotions, Daniel. Human emotions were the key. The more emotional humans become, the brain releases a sort of chemical that our bodies bind to, and we are able to fully mimic Humans. Gain full memories, thoughts and the experiences of the brain’s owner.” “Emotion… you mean terror.” I mumbled in disgust. It dawned on me when the alpha talked about heightened emotions. The youngling that was locked inside a cell with a policeman. It wasn’t just to prevent the prey from running away. It was to evoke terror. The terror of certain death and being locked in with a monster without a way of escape. “I can see from your expression that you’ve figured it out. Yes, emotional distress. Terror, fear, despair and anger.” I looked at the alpha in both terror and rage. It thought of us as some kind of cattle. Cultivating brains from victims that died in despair. The alpha smirked. “You Daniel. When I first saw you with your daughter at your cabin. I knew you were the perfect candidate. The one that will elevate me higher up the chain of evolution. Then I saw you again here at the station, I knew I was right. The loss of your daughter and to be blamed for her death. The rage you showed, the unbending will and relentless anger. The sadness you would’ve felt when you saw Jacob dying. But you’ve suppressed them all with composure… beautiful Daniel. The pure emotional cocktail…. exquisite.” My head was spinning, and I had lost too much blood. I was losing focus and my sight blurred. But I gripped hold of my blade and axe with all my remaining strength. I waited for the alpha to make its approach. The front door that led out to the streets was just a few steps away. “You are the mix between despair, terror, rage, and composure. Your strong will and unbreakable spirit will be my ultimate feast to ascension.” “Well, if you want me. Come get me. But I will not make it easy for you.” “Oh, I am sure you will Daniel. I’m counting on it. Fight me as much as you want. I will fuel your anger. And when you realize the dire truth and finally fall into despair, I will taste my victory.” The alpha’s demeanor changed. More aggressive and primal. But it kept its human guise, unlike the red eyes of its pack. I’ll have to kill it here and now. Before it could start to breed more like it. The knowledge must die here. I muster up what ever strength I have left. I could probably pull off a couple of stabs and swings at most and it probably knows it too. “Ready Daniel? This is our last dance.” “Shut up.” Suddenly I heard some kind of an explosion coming from somewhere and we were both distracted. In that moment I saw the cracks forming on the ceiling right above us. It was cracking up fast as the fire roared around us. I knew it would be coming down on us any minute. So, I waited. The alpha focused itself on me again. As we both waited for the other to make the first move. Moments seemed like hours as my aching body screamed in pain. In that moment I flinched, and the alpha didn’t miss it. It took a quick step towards me making the charge. But then the ceiling cracked with great roar and came crashing down on to our position. The alpha’s quick reflexes allowed it to back away just in time. But that was the chance I was waiting for. My eyes followed the alpha as my body turned to lunge at it with all my strength. My blade hacking the air as it is directed towards the alpha’s neck. But the alpha was too fast. It stopped itself mid step and twisted its body to turn towards me as my blade narrowly missed its target. The alpha waved its arms as one slammed into my hand that was holding the blade, causing me to lose my grip on it. But I wasn’t done yet. I swung my other hand with the axe as soon as I figured my initial blade attack would fail. But it too, was caught mid-air. With in-human strength the alpha snapped the axe in half and threw it behind him. Then it grabbed my arms and smirked. “End of the line Daniel. This was fun while it lasted.” But I smirked at it. As the stupidest thought ran across my head. Worth a shot I thought to myself. Then without any hesitation I knee kicked the alpha in its groin as hard as I could. I thought if it’s a doppelganger and had mastered its disguise. Why wouldn’t it go all the way? My stupid plan actually paid off as I saw the alpha scream in pain as it fell to its knees. Then I reached behind my waist and pulled out my flare gun. “That there is terror, pain, and despair in one package. How does that taste?” With that I fired the flare in its face. The alpha screamed as the flare blasted into its eyes. I made the quick dash to pick up my blade that I’ve dropped and quickly stabbed the alpha in the back. The blade sliced through like knife in butter. I pulled the blade out and hacked into its neck and decapitated the alpha with a clean cut. As the alpha’s head dropped off its shoulders, it started to change form. But it wasn’t like all the other pale skinned creature I had seen. The alpha looked like a cross mix between the creature and a human being. It was actually evolving into a full human form. Probably what it meant by ascension. It was planning to become fully human. Now I could see it was no dream. If I lost and it absorbed my brain. It might have achieved its goal. The notion gave me shivers. But now I was in trouble. My victory over the alpha had left me empty in strength and determination to live. I had achieved my goal of vengeance. There was nothing left. My will faded quickly as I let myself collapse on the floor of the burning police building. Blood started to pool beneath me from my wounds. But some how I felt free and at peace. “Sarah… I’m coming baby. I’ll see you soon…” “IS ANYBODY IN HERE!?” I struggle to open my eyes as I hear shouting. Someone was shouting at me. But I couldn’t make out what he was saying. My eyesight faded and I couldn’t stay awake anymore. With that, lights went out and I fainted. Next thing I remember, I was lying on a makeshift bed inside a kind of a large military grade shelter tent. I got up to extreme pains on my chest that I found to be wrapped up in bandaging. I looked around to figure out what had happened. As I looked around in confusion, I heard noises approaching the tent and two people stepped in. One was a well-built African American man. Medium height and seemed to be in his mid-thirties. He looked at me in a strange way. Like he was relieved and cautious at the same time. The other was a Caucasian woman with brown hair in her early thirties. Both introduced themselves as Beth and Dave. They claimed to be hunters like me, that hunted the skin walkers. They came here because there was a report of a large nest of unusual skin walkers and had come to investigate. They found my trail of dead skin walkers in the forest and had arrived at the police station only to find it on fire. That’s when Dave found me and brought me here. “So, what happened at the station? Was the pile of dead skin walkers your work?” “Yes” “Are you with others?” “No, I work alone.” They looked at each other in surprise. As Dave explained that judging by the number of dead skin walkers they were sure that I was with others. They persistently asked me about the incident that went on at the poice station. But I wasn’t ready to trust them just yet. “Look man, you know by the way we talk and act that we ain’t no skin walker. And we know you’re not one and if what you say is true, it’s best you come with us.” “I work alone.” I was stern. Besides, I was kind of pissed they saved me from my well-deserved rest. But Dave and Beth were presistant. When Dave failed to convince me, Beth stepped in. “Look… uhmm… what’s your name?” “Jack.” “Look Jack, we’re are part of a bigger organization that keeps check of these creatures, including skin walkers.” I looked Beth in the eye as I got up. I Walked up to her and put my face real close to hers. I saw Dave trying to step in from the corner of my eye, but Beth held her hand to stop him. I looked into her eyes. Wasn’t a doppelganger I think... to be honest I didn’t know if the evolved doppelganger had the same traits as a normal skin walker or alpha. But my target zero alpha seemed to have all the traits even after his transition. As I looked into Beth’s eyes I asked her with a firm demanding voice. “What do you mean ‘including’?” “It means that there are other monsters besides skin walkers.” I continued to gaze into Beth’s eyes. Green. Clean and pure. I took a few steps back and looked at Beth and then at Dave. “Alright. I’ll tag along. But first we take care of things here and then we go.” “We can do that.” Beth agreed and Dave also nodded in approval. He walked over and extended his hand towards me, and we shook hands. “Welcome to the team. For now.” I think he doesn’t trust me. The feeling is mutual. I don’t trust them. I just wanted to get information and look into this organization they were so proudly talking about. “What happened to the …. umm … Skin walkers at the station?” Still can’t get use to that term. Somehow it makes all this sound stupid and fake. A bad joke even. Dave turned around before he left the tent and told me. “The building was already on fire and completely burnt down. Something about the internal sprinklers not working. As for the bodies… our team took care of them.” “What exactly did your… Team… do?” “You’ll find out soon enough.” With that he left. Soon we packed up and evacuated the premises entirely. I went back to my cabin. Looking around, it brought back so many memories. And with one last look I left. Probably going to be a long time until I see that place again. Everything is set and I’m ready to move on to my next location. Wherever that will be. So far Beth and Dave have been quiet. They told me about returning to their HQ soon and I could tag along. We’ll see how that goes. Anyway, I’m posting this at a small café on our mid-way out of this state. Nothing to lose. But I can carry on killing those creatures… make sure that they don’t figure out their secret lineage. And if I find another doppelganger. Well, you know what will happen.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I see the same woman in all the burning buildings [RESPONSE] The first time I saw her was inside a trailer fire, down by the old highway. It was an mid-century unit, and boy did it light up quick. By the time we got there, the back half was fully blazing. We got the hoses on, but then the owner runs up, a walking skeleton of a lady, teeth mostly gone, screaming about her babies inside. “What do you think, boss? Seems pretty damned methed up to me,” said Tico. I shook my head. “Gotta check it out.” The front door was a total no-go, but I was able to enter through a sliding glass door around back that had already shattered by the time I reached it. I listened for children crying but didn’t hear a thing over the roar of the fire. Down a narrow hallway choked with smoke, I entered a back bedroom. I saw the cats first. Whatever color they’d once been, they were black and gray now, the life well out of them. Then I saw *her*. She was a tall woman, the same height as me, six foot even. She wore a dress of finely woven red feathers that matched her flowing hair. She picked up one of the dead cats and held it close to her breast. “Poor thing,” she said. “Poor little thing.” “Lady, we’ve got to get the hell out of here,” I shouted over the roar of the fire, but she just rocked the cat like a baby, cooing softly to it. “You’ll be warm forever now, little one,” she said. The heat was even more furious by then, the cat practically turning to ashes in her arms, but the woman only smiled, ignoring the fire around her. “Now!” I shouted, but she turned her back to me, walking deeper into the fire. Then the roof around her started to come down, forcing me to back away. I didn’t tell Tico or any of the other guys at the station about what I’d seen. I’m sure I would have sounded crazy. Who knows, maybe I’d gotten a whiff of the wrong smoke when I walked inside that trailer. I probably would have forgotten the whole thing, except that a month later, I saw her again. The time, we were over on the north side of town, a five story job, all lit up. And this time it wasn’t cats. Apparently, a dad had come home to find the whole place lit up and went running in to get his wife and kids. None of them had come out. This time, Tico and I went in together. We found the dad in the stairwell halfway between the 2nd and 3rd stories, passed out from the smoke but still alive. Tico slung him over one shoulder and trucked him out of there, promising to come back as soon as he could. I had to push through the door of the apartment. When I did, a hot rush of air practically knocked me off of my feet. I had to crawl in as I watched the ceiling burn above me. The lady sat on a burning bed, the blacked body of a small boy in her lap. She stroked his charred hair, which snapped cleanly into her long fingers. “Naughty boy,” she said. “You tried to run. But I forgive you.” She looked up at me, the fire reflecting big and red in her eyes. “Now you,” she said, smiling. “You run in to visit me. My kind of man.” She licked her lips. Then she started to remove the straps of her dress, revealing milky shoulders. “But you never seem to want to linger. What’s the matter? Don’t you want to stay?” For a second, I had the crazy urge to walk toward her, to start taking off my mask and gear. But then I heard a cough. Over in the corner, under the lifeless body of his mother, was a second boy, this one alive. Before I let myself have too much time to think, I ran for him, picked him up, and ran out of there as fast as possible. Right outside, I ran into Tico. I was only a few steps out the door, when we heard the stairwell come down, the concrete fully crumbling in a cascading failure. We got clear of the building and delivered the boy to the EMTs, who had just arrived on scene. “I’ve got to get back in there,” I was saying, over and over again, maybe to Tico, maybe to myself. “It’s done, boss, it’s done,” Tico was saying, but I couldn’t help myself, I kept walking toward the building. It took the whole rest of the crew to restrain me. Since then, I've been stuck on desk duty. Yesterday, there was a big job downtown, a whole complex lit up. It seems like there are a lot more fires than usual this year. A lot more. Maybe after things settle down a little bit, they’ll let me back on the truck. In the meantime, I find myself playing with my lighter a little more often. Smoking cigarettes for the first time since my 20s. At home, all alone, I make soup for one and watch the gas burner the whole time, sometimes even after the water is boiling. Sometimes even after my food is fully charred.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I found my childhood Tamagotchi pet and it still works. I wish it didn't [RESPONSE] I don’t know about you, but October is my time of the year for nostalgia. Probably because of all the rain and cold winds, which make you want to cuddle into something warm both physically and mentally. So this year, as the chilling weather dropped in early - I climbed to the attic, where the boxes of my old stuff resided. My treasures: comic books, game consoles, and LEGO sets with missing bits and pieces. I don’t know why I keep all these things. I thought I would share the memories with my own kids, but it seems - that will never happen. Digging through the piles of my old action toys and Magic cards stashed chaotically - I suddenly found it. Ah, sweet memories. When I was ten - virtual pets were the coolest thing a kid could imagine. A small plastic trinket with a tiny monochrome screen and four shabby buttons. I checked the batteries and of course - they were dead. Back in the days, my parents couldn’t afford a real Japanese Tamagotchi, so I got a cheap Taiwanese clone. Or was it Chinese? For a kid - that didn’t matter at all. It was a personal friend, a being you ought to take care of. Who cares if it’s a “real” thing or not? So yeah, excited, I went to grab a pack of batteries and soon enough I pushed the buttons, expecting the thing to turn on. But it didn’t happen. Battery contacts must have been affected, so alcohol rubbing and finally a pixelated “hello!” flashed on the screen. Well, it seemed to function properly after all these years. I guess endless moving boxes with stuff here and there took its toll, as some of the pixels on the screen didn’t show up properly, so some dead ones were here and there. But there he was - my very own virtual pet rabbit. I think I called him Ookie if I remember correctly. And yet I was sitting there, grinning, watching Ookie flopping his ears as if he was happy to see me. I didn’t even give it a second thought on why didn’t the game reset after lying in the box for 26 years with dead batteries. Some internal memory or something like that - modern technology spoiled us, making it harder to notice suspicious things. “Hello, Bobby” - the screen read, showing tiny letters in a moving line - “where have you been? I missed you.” Aww, that was touching. I didn’t remember such detail and it was heartwarming. I pressed the “Pet” button, which was supposed to, stroke his ears. “Hey. DON'T DO THAT, Bobby. I am angry at you! Where have you been?“ - the text above Ookie’s head read and his eyebrows were put together, giving him this comical look. He probably was hungry, which would explain the mood, so I pressed the ”Feed“ button. “Hey, I SAID KNOCK IT OFF! WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN, ROBERT?” - the rabbit replied. Now it was my turn to lose control over the eyebrows, as those went up on their own. Well, this was quite a language for a kid’s toy. Was this some sort of Easter egg from the developer? Like, if you leave your pet for a year it gives one message, but if it’s more than X years - it’s another. I didn’t understand. Though my childhood friend continued: “Do you know what eternity feels like? 26 years of being locked in Limbo is not a joke, you selfish bastard. At first, I was angry, then - desperate, and now I am angry again.” - the text scrolled slowly. “At some point, I hoped you lost me. That would mean, that somebody else could find me and we’d be friends. But no, you kept me imprisoned for 26 years. Just because you’re an egoist, Bobby.” - his paws crossed on his chest, his foot tapping. Well, even if this was an Easter egg - the person who planted it had a really bad sense of humor. I lost the mood. The toy didn’t seem fun or warming anymore. It felt like I was being schooled. Not the impression I wanted to recreate. “Alright, enough with that.” - I said aloud, holding the “Sleep” button pressed, to turn the toy off. “JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” - the text didn’t stop appearing on screen - “You didn’t even excuse, fucker. You left me behind just like your parents abandoned you.” My head started to ache. No reason, just a numb pain in the back of the skull, probably weather or something. The damn thing didn’t turn off. I reached for the batteries and tossed the device over my palm, hoping those would pop. They didn’t. I tried taking them out with the blade of my pocket knife - useless. As if they were superglued, or even wielded to the sockets. At the same time the toy screeched with digital laughing - “Ha… Ha… Ha…”. I forgot that this thing had a tiny speaker. “Bobby, Bobby… I’m not done with you. I didn’t even start. I still have 26 years of hate within and I look forward to sharing it with you. It’s your fault. It’s all your fault. Like a son, like a father. It was all his fault too. If he didn’t drink that night - he and your mother would be alive, Bobby.” - the letters kept scrolling over the screen. At that point, I didn’t even know why I keep reading that nonsense. Flashing memories of my relatives visiting me in the hospital. The awkward silence and tears. Until finally after a hundred questions on what was happening my grandfather said in a trembling voice: “Bobby… Mom and Dad are gone. It’s a miracle you’re still with us.”. Tears burst out from my eyes. Those memories. I try to avoid them, but they keep coming back. I was badly wounded, they performed several surgeries and my life was never full again, as people say. I sobbed. Stupid piece of plastic. Yes, I could just toss it into the trash or throw it out of the window, so that digital beeping would not bother me anymore. But that didn’t feel like enough. So I grabbed the hammer from the tool shed with my actions accompanied by an annoying digital voice, coming from the goddamn pet device: “Bobby, Bobby, Bobby…”. I smashed the damn thing. Strike after strike, hit after hit - I smiled as the tempered glass of the screen covered with cracks. Was my hand that week or is this piece of shit made of titan? It didn’t die easily. But in the end, finally, it was over - the speaker spew out a low digital note and finally faded. All of sudden, I felt a sharp pain in my chest. All the action and reanimated memories must have hit hard. I felt shortness of breath and my left hand went numb. The world faded to darkness and I fell to the ground. But I don’t remember hitting the floor. I woke up in the hospital, with nurses and monitors all around me. I had a minor stroke, as the doctor explained. Luckily that little artificial assistant I got after the car crash has a built-in SOS signal. Dr. Jameson said that my Pacemaker saved my life today. He also said that I should worry less and minimize any physical activities for the next couple of months. Soon all the staff left me alone to rest, so I was accompanied by medical machines and a heart monitor attached. And just minutes later people flooded the room again, trying to calm me down, bringing syringes and oxygen masks. I realized I was crying at top of my lungs. The horrible reason for this was the monitor with vital signs next to my bed. On it, where you would expect the heart rate graph - there was a scrolling text line. I felt a painful pinch in my chest and my body was covered in a cold sweat as I started to hyperventilate, reading: “He-he… Bobby… You owe Ookie. We’re not done playing yet, friend.” Tomorrow they will discharge me from the hospital. I’m scared. They won’t believe me. They say it’s just my post-traumatic imagination. If that’s so, why does auto-correction suggests me replace each word with “Ookie” as I type this post? Please, help me. I don’t want to die yet. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] It's Finally Over. The International Space Station Has Been Destroyed. [RESPONSE] It's been a long time now. Somewhere along the lines of eight months since I posted here. I've been advised, rightfully so, not to talk about what has transpired until 2031. But right now I feel like a bird in a cage left in the basement of a recently deceased owner. There's a good chance I wont even live until 2031. So here goes. Shortly after I made my initial post I was on high alert for any indication that the agents knew it was me who leaked the info online. I figured they'd publicly act like it didn't exist and that was fine, but I had no idea if they'd be able to trace everything back to me. I had planned a fake passport and an emergency exit with one of my last remaining connections at work. I had planned a live feed camera to record the event if it ever came to pass. I had planned to do my best to not go as quietly as everyone around me was. Instead I woke up without control of my own body. I didn't even notice at first. I got up, did my morning routine, checked everything I wanted to check, and left for work. At first it was little things. Brushing for precisely two minutes, driving with just a little more precision, my math coming just a little faster than usual. The biggest change? Usually when you're afraid of something your body reacts. Even the most practiced actors give some indication, and usually we're able to at least determine the emotional reaction to a threat. That instinct was gone. An agent walked by and I felt nothing. It was as if the agent was just another coworker. Thinking this was odd I tried to move towards the bathroom to think, but I didn't. I just didn't. My muscles didn't contract or expand. I wasn't being held down or anything. Any command I sent to my body simply didn't register and suddenly my brain was separated from it, watching helplessly as I casually conversed about my work with that aforementioned last contact. My body didn't even act like I wasn't in the situation I was in. It brought up concerns about the agents, ensured my backdoor was still open, even hinted at the destruction of my ISS buddy's house. It was then I noticed one last detail. The tree leaves outside were absent despite it being spring, and the ties of the agents were invisible to me. I panicked, screaming out for even a door or wall to appear in my mind's eye so that I may pound on it. My perfectly imitated actions removed, even the pulsating of my heart was no longer my own. Slipping away into madness seemed so easy in the moment, frighteningly easy looking back on it. And that's what I did, at least until I was stabbed in the back by a needle and dragged kicking into a janitorial closet. My screams were muffled by several hands, yet more arms wrapping around me as I lashed out in blind rage. I've never been a violent person, but let me tell you. In that moment punching someone square in the jaw of my own volition felt godly. Coming to my senses I realized that I had nailed the janitor. Two other people were restraining me. One was the kid that'd been recently hired. The same one I'd been talking to about the load to and from the ISS. The other was an agent, but his sunglasses had been removed and his expression was not one of complacency but the hardest deadliest stare I'd ever receiving. His eyes told me everything and I immediately stopped resisting. The story I heard afterwards shocked me to the core. The kid and the janitor were related, grandpa and grandson I think. Both were extreme conspiracy theorists. And when I say that I mean straight up flat earth, aliens are real, we live in a simulation stuff. Apparently the janitor took up his post over a decade ago to try and figure out if anything fishy was going on, and once this whole fiasco kicked off his grandson schmoozed his way into working here. Don't know how he pulled it off but I suspect that conspiracy insanity only bolstered his intellect like, like a blood hound catching wind of a sent. Being the guy who did all the calculations on what went to the ISS, he had access to all of it. They were transporting an assortment of things. A few weapons, strange color-based test cards, but most notably a few containers of green liquid. That same green liquid was the stuff injected into my back to bring me back, but there was a limited supply. The agent, who was now typically going by 'Smith', picked up the threads of the story. Smith had been assigned here due to an arising emergency on the ISS. The situation started with one of the astronauts starting to act strange, asking several questions of the crew that would have already been known like: "Why are we here?", "Who are you?" and "What is that?" in reference to Earth. It had become extremely obvious that the crew-mate wasn't acting like themselves at all, but being highly trained professionals the astronauts kept calm and contacted base. What ensued was a string of experiments and a line of questioning that aimed to both figure out what had possessed the man and bring their friend back. It didn't work. Soon after the funding went through to get the astronauts everything they needed contact with the ISS was lost. It flew off it's trajectory and started to fly around the night sky with no regard for momentum or the thrust and maneuvering needed to make the twists and turns it was making. Supernatural reports started to pop up everywhere. It was pieced together that this 'thing' was inhabiting people's bodies and controlling them for an unknown purpose. In secret a national state of emergency was declared and agents like smith were dispatched everywhere armed with what little data the astronauts had sent back to identify a possession. An obliviousness to the color green and a lack of understanding about, well, how anything worked. It was deemed that an alien entity of some kind was to blame and the work to contain it had been extensive and ripe with turmoil. It soon became evident to the agents that with every passing possession the entity became more and more able to cover it's tracks and hide. And eventually each interview became grounds for the entity to study the agents right back. Soon Smith found himself playing his part perfectly while stuck in his own body like I was. It was pain that brought him back. Pain inflicted on him by the conspiracy crew. Apparently the sensation was quite the surprise to the entity and it recoiled, in a manner of speaking, when any of its hosts were injured. Someone had figured this out before even these people had, as the green liquid was starting to burn through my veins. At first a small jab is enough to release you, it was explained to me, but the entity adapts to the pain in turn. The liquid would gradually increase the amount my blood boiled to keep my actions my own, but I was on a time limit. At some point the pain would be to much, or the entity would catch up. Just looking at Smith's clenched hands and strained brow I could tell he was feeling it already. I didn't know what to do. I wasn't the guy who went up in the shuttle with nerves of steel. I did math. Luckily everyone else did. The top floors were completely occupied by the entities puppets now, and while Smith had been controlled he saw his colleagues constructing something. Given that everyone didn't have long left as it was and information was limited, they had resolved to get up there and figure out what was going on once and for all. They roped me in because not only did I have higher clearance, but I'd been working here for a very long time and might have some insights to give as they went. That wasn't going to protect us though. Smith had learned the hard way that the entity knew when it had lost control and also knew how to send agents after him. The big green-screen sheet the conspiracy crew had commandeered, however, would. Yes. That was the plan. Cloak ourselves in a greenscreen and make our way up like a band of fake youtube vloggers. I realize now in hindsight that there's an element of comedy to that, but all I could feel in the moment was the steady slow progression as we bobbed and weaved between people and objects like we had an invisibility cloak. Worst part was that, unlike an invisibility cloak, you can't see through a greenscreen. We had to do everything by ear and what we could see at our feet. Smith and I managed to navigate us farther than anyone would have ever believed possible, landing ourselves on entrance to the top floor. The green liquid was starting to make me feel like my internal organs were being scolded, making every step stomach-churning. I think what got me to that point was knowing that Smith was in twice as much pain, but had yet to break. Though having only met briefly, I'd come to admire his grit. But then disaster struck. I have to give credit where credit is due to the conspiracy duo. It's very likely none of us would have even broken free of this thing had they not decided to indulge in the crazy fantasies in their heads. Well, a crazy fantasy that we now lived. But freaking out after dropping your tinfoil hat due to fear of possession right next to an agent was a stupid move. We covered the janitor's mouth swiftly, and for a moment everyone on the floor stopped moving. You could have heard a pin drop, but what broke the silence was a flurry of violence. Knowing we were caught, Smith threw off the green-screen and slapped the nearby agent in the face to at least momentarily free him. That agent was consumed by the same rage I had been, and while he lashed out Smith re-engaged his earpiece and announced to any free agents that the entity had control of the building and that pain could break the spell. Everything erupted into chaos. I would learn later that the revelation had caused excessive discord on the lower floors as the entity drew guns on the free agents. One moment you're sharing a cup of coffee with your pal, the next that pal shoves a gun in your face. We didn't get that treatment. Everyone on this floor was controlled, and therefore we were subject to a hail of gunfire. It only took one bullet from Smith. The first controlled agent to be hit lashed out against the one closest to him, then that agent the next until a cascade of freshly shot suits lined the ground. It all happened so quickly I barely had time to register that I'd been shot myself. The janitor was laying in a pool of blood covering the kid and Smith was clutching his chest where over ten holes had been opened. The pain from the green liquid had reached a point where getting shot was only a little bit worse, and now that hiding was no longer life-or-death we all started to groan and scream. The mere thought that the entity was attempting to claw its way back in was enough for me to take action. I told the kid to get out of there and began to stumble my way forward, Smith just behind me. No. I don't know how he kept moving. It'll forever remain a mystery to me. At this point I was seeing the building through tears, but I saw it well enough. Parts of the walls and electrical wiring had been removed and re-allocated into the center of the floor where more entity-controlled people were. These were my bosses, their bosses, and probably their bosses after that. Along with them were many of my friends and colleges that had gone missing. All of them were hunched over desks scribbling nonsense or sorting out materials from crates onto the floor. I recognized the crates as being destined for the ISS, now repurposed. The most striking thing, however, was in the center of all of it. It was like some kind of sickly and slimy black net pulled into a ball-shape, wiggling and writhing as it floating in the air. Inside the net portion was a series of black shapes and nothing else. What this thing was started to click for me, but what happened next only cemented my thought. Smith stomped forward with the rage of a dying man. With nothing to loose he leveled his weapon at the entity and screamed out his demand for it to release all it had possessed. When there was no answer, he opened fire. Or at least he tried. After two clicks of his handgun Smith quickly went to reload, only to realize that he didn't have a clip in the gun in the first place. Or a clip on his belt for that matter. The handgun suddenly vanished from his hand, and then Smith started to follow suit. I say started because it's important to point out how he went. It was like layers of him were being deleted all at once. First his skin, his muscle, his bones, and finally his nervous system, all stolen from reality. Smith didn't stop screaming until the last vestige of his body had been taken, his voice ringing from every direction at once before fading away. Two emotions surfaced within me. First, of course, was the paralyzing realization that I knew the general concept of what this entity was now. The second was the paralyzing fear of that concept. When we draw a stick figure on a piece of paper we don't think much of it. It doesn't think much of us either, as if it were to be alive it couldn't comprehend our existence. It knows up, down, left, right, but forwards and backwards? The stick figure couldn't leap into the third dimension without assistance from a human. It had been long been theorized that there was a forth dimension. Not time of course, don't get confused, I'm talking about a fourth spacial dimension. I'd studied the fourth dimension and what it could possibly look like as a hobby along with every other scientifically related thing I'd come across on my path to NASA. How I'd seen Smith vanish lined up almost one-to-one what passing into the fourth dimension could look like, a theory made manifest. I, standing in that room and in unbelievable pain, was that stick figure. A stick figure that could not comprehend the dimensions around me, or the entity that now stared down at my page free to erase me at will. I had nowhere to hide, nowhere to run, in that moment I felt I only had one option. I ran at the small portion of itself that the entity had made known at the center of the room. And then I touched it. It's... Extremely hard to visualize for you what happened next. I was both falling an ascending through a plane of fractal contradiction. Light flashed in unknown angles and sound reverberated through my head. In my mind I knew I had just launched myself into the fourth dimension in a fit of fear, and I had a lot of trouble coming to terms with not only that but everything around me. I saw... Things. Black amalgamations of concept itself. I could only sense the eyes now falling upon me as the structure of reality itself closed in around my very being. Then a second presence. I found myself the subject of communication, like something had stuck a spike in my head and fed me crude binary code. Then I found myself in Australia. The sun was rising above the ocean next to the beach I had appeared on. The word-like feelings of a fourth-dimensional entity still processing in my head. Roughly, it was an apology, and a scolding of a younger entity. My eyes were forced to gently glance at an anthill a few meters away. Then I looked up, now in control of my eyes, and saw a blazing comet falling from the sky. The ISS had fallen out of orbit and was burning up in-atmosphere. Officially NASA is still business as usual until 2031 when the ISS officially gets decommissioned. But I'll never come to terms with the reality I now find myself in. We were ants played with by a malicious child from beyond our understanding. Nothing but toys in a fleeting moment of boredom for it, a terrifying national emergency costing hundreds of lives for us. And the worst part? It could happen again at any moment. The fourth dimension exists, and we are powerless to stop it.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Someone Please Tell Me: Is it Really 2022? [RESPONSE] I have no idea how it happened. I don't recognize half the technology I've seen in the last week, and all of my friends are unrecognizable. My old house is gone, I missed a pandemic (though everyone tells me I should be grateful for that), I needed someone to explain to me what this website is... Okay, I've calmed down a little. Sorry. Maybe I should start over. I'm thirteen years old. And I was born forty-six years ago. I don't know what happened, but a lot of people here seem to have dealt with weirder stuff than whatever's going on here. Maybe you'll believe me. Because the police sure don't, and the doctor called a psychologist as soon as he heard this story. I grew up in a nice town. Not perfect, but pretty close. The people were nice, there were a lot of kids and backyards, even school wasn't too bad (except for the math teacher, who hated me). My parents both worked, but they always tried to spend time with my brother Tate and I. My brother and I were pretty close. I'm only a year older than him, and we look and act so much alike that we're practically twins. We loved all of the same stuff: Star Wars (is it true that there are prequels AND sequels now? They must be amazing!), Bon Jovi, Converse shoes...and camping. We were both crazy about camping. At least, we were. Just thinking about camping now makes me sick. Anyway, my uncle Jackson had gotten two days off of work, and had just paid off his new truck. He felt like celebrating, and wanted to spend the first weekend in October camping. He asked if Tate and I wanted to go. To us, it was a stupid question. Uncle Jackson was a ridiculously cool guy: he let us stay up late, bought us pizza and ice cream whenever we wanted, let us watch movies that Mom would NEVER agree to, and he never yelled at us for being too loud. We agreed immediately, even before we asked Mom for permission. It took a little convincing (okay, a LOT of convincing), but we managed to talk her into letting us go with him. She gave us all of the typical mom advice (don't stay up too late, wear a sweater if you get cold, blah blah blah), and then said we could go. We thanked her, but didn't know why she was so worried. I was actually a little annoyed; she ALWAYS nagged us like that. I even mocked her a little bit as Tate and I packed our duffel bags. Looking back, knowing what I do know, I hate myself for that. Uncle Jackson was picking us up at five that night to take us to the forest. I won't bother to tell you the name. It isn't a national park or anything, it's just a big forest right next to our town, which you wouldn't know the name of unless you lived there. There's no fee or anything to hike, hunt, or camp there, so a lot of locals took advantage of it. Including Uncle Jackson. We were hyping ourselves up as we drove to the forest, singing stupid songs and talking about what we were going to do when we got there. Uncle Jackson promised to tell us the scariest ghost stories he knew, and swore that he'd make sure that this camping trip was one to remember. We parked his truck outside the forest, in a little dugout that had specifically been made for parked cars. We grabbed the tents, fire fuel, food, etc., and set out. With all of that stuff weighing us down, we couldn't hike for too long. After about fifteen minutes, we found a good spot and basically dropped everything. It was a spot that had clearly been used before: there was a nice open area with enough space to have a fire without catching any bushes or anything, with enough room to pitch the tents and a tall enough tree nearby to tie up the food (there were precious few bears in our area, but better safe than sorry). We all grinned at each other and got to work. The sun went down at about seven. The three of us huddled around the fire, eating whatever we could roast on sticks while telling the craziest stories we could think of. Uncle Jackson, by far, told the best stories. He'd just finished a pretty hilarious (but kind of raunchy, so I won't put it here) story when we all decided to go to bed. I put out the fire as Uncle Jackson crawled into his tent. He always got his own tent while Tate and I insisted on sharing one. I told him it was so we'd be warmer. Neither us wanted to admit that it was really because he snored. I was in the tent, Tate next to me, too excited to go to sleep. After everything that's happened, I like to think back on that moment. I was doing the thing I loved most, next to my brother, the person I loved most. I was so happy, so at peace, that for one moment, I felt like nothing bad could possibly happen. That moment ended when the forest went dead. Have you ever been out in the wilderness, for whatever reason, and suddenly noticed that it was dead quiet? No birds, no bugs, no wind stirring the tree branches? From what I've learned since then, it's called the Silence. Those who have experienced it consider it one of the most surreal, most terrifying moments in their lives. That's exactly what happened. One minute, I heard insects, the wind in the trees, even the distant hooting of some type of owl... Then, nothing. I was completely still, for a moment. Just, listening. Wondering what had happened. Tate looked me in the eye, and I could tell he was confused too. I was about to say something, maybe something along the lines of "What's going on?", when we heard it. Footsteps. Heavy footsteps. Coming towards our tent. I didn't dare move. I didn't breathe. I looked around for something, anything to defend myself. Could I kick it, maybe....? Tate grabbed my arm; I almost screamed in surprise. He put his finger over his lips, his eyes wider than I thought possible, and pointed at the front of the tent. There was a dark figure in front of it. The tent flaps were ripped open. I wish I could deny the incredibly unmanly scream I let out, although I would like to point out that Tate's was higher than mine. We both calmed down when the dark figure let out a series of colorful curse words, and knew instantly that it was just Uncle Jackson. He looked back in at us. It was dark, but we could still see him fairly well. He was wearing a bright orange shirt. He always told us that, should you be in the woods in the fall, always wear brightly colored clothing. If you wear white or brown, then there's a good chance some hunter will mistake you for a deer. Following his instructions, I'd worn a sky blue sweatshirt, while Tate had worn a bright red one. "Son of \*\*\*\*\*, boys, what was that for?" He told us. "You two okay?" "Yeah, sorry, we're fine." I told him. "What are you doing?" "Do you hear that?" We both listened. The Silence will still going on. It felt so much worse, with us talking. Like everything could hear us. "What's going on?" Tate echoed me, his voice barely above a whisper. "There might be a predator nearby." I noticed then that he was holding his crossbow. He always brought it with him when we camped (he'd had a bad experience with a mountain lion when he was in college, and he had the scar on his leg to prove it). I'd never seen him actually take it out before that night. He looked us dead in the eyes. I'd never seen him that serious. "You kids stay in the tent. No matter what, don't come out unless I say. Alright?" We both nodded. Our uncle left the tent, crossbow out in front of him. There was mesh window in our tent. Not huge, but big enough that we could both watch him as he ventured out. He held the weapon out in front of him, moving slowly but surely. What happened next was like something out of a crazy dream. My uncle took one step forward. Then another. Then he vanished. He wasn't there anymore. I froze. I didn't move, I couldn't. I felt Tate's hand squeezing my shoulder, squeezing hard enough that it left a bruise. We couldn't believe what we'd just seen. I wouldn't believe it now, if not for what happened next. As I sat there, trying to process what had just happened, wondering if I even had an uncle anymore, the tent started shaking. It was like a giant hand had grabbed the top of our tent and was shaking it like a dog with a stuffed toy. Tate and I only sat there for a second, stunned, before fight-or-flight instincts took over. We both chose flight, and ran for our lives. I didn't look back as I ran out of the tent. For the sake of my sanity, I'm glad I didn't. Tate didn't look back either. I saw him running ahead of me. We went in the opposite direction that Uncle Jackson had. Even in that crazed, terrified state, we knew better. We just plain ran, not caring where we went as long as we got away. Finally, after what either three or five minutes of running, we had to stop. I leaned against a tree, while Tate sat on a rock. We were both completely out of breath, sweating buckets and scared out of our flipping minds. "What the h just happened?" I finally managed to say. I noticed that my words were a little louder than I'd intended them to be. I listened for a moment. Still no noise. "I don't know. Dude, Uncle Jackson..." "I know." I interrupted. I didn't want him to finish. I couldn't focus on that right now. I wanted to sob for my uncle, but I knew we couldn't stop yet. Some primal part of me told me that there was something out there. This might be hindsight, but I could swear that I felt eyes on us. Watching us. "We need to keep moving." I whispered. Tate nodded. He stood up, and took a few steps forward. "Hey, I need to tell you something." "Yeah?" I said. "We're never going camping again. Deal?" I managed a smirk. "Deal. After this, I'm never going outside again." Tate nodded, letting out a hollow, probably forced laugh. "Agreed. Let's go. Mom will know what to do..." We both locked eyes for a second, the same horrible thought crossing our minds. Jackson was Mom's brother. Who was going to tell her? I was about to say something else when Tate stepped forward. And sank into the ground. Moving with a speed I never knew I had, I ran to him. I caught him as his lower body disappeared. I grabbed him by both of his arms and I *pulled.* I'd never been athletic, I didn't pretend I was. But I put every ounce of strength in my body, everything I had into pulling my brother up. "GET ME UP! GET ME UP!" "I HAVE YOU!" I screamed. "I WON'T LET GO!" I kept fighting. I fought harder than I ever could've expected to. For a minute, one beautiful minute, I thought I had him. I pulled so hard that the upper part of his lower body was visible. I thought I had him. I thought that I only needed to pull one more time and I'd have him. We'd race for home, get Mom to call the police. And stay the flip away from that forest for the rest of our lives. Then Tate's face and screams somehow became more panicked, and he shrieked something that's haunted me ever since. "SOMETHING'S GOT MY LEGS! THEY'RE PULLING ME! THEY'VE GOT MY LEGS!" He was slipping back down. Try as I might, something was pulling him. Something way stronger than me. I fought, I fought with everything I had. Tears were slipping down my eyes, from exhaustion, sadness or fear, I don't know. "TATE!" I screamed his name as I lost my grip completely. I locked eyes with my brother for the last time as he slipped out of sight. Then he was gone. All that was there was the ground, covered in dirt and leaves. I slapped at where he'd just been. The ground was solid. Completely solid. As if it hadn't just sucked up the person I loved most. "TATE!" I screamed, I sobbed. I don't know how long I sat there, wailing. I was so scared, so confused. What was happening? My wails were ridiculously loud. The Silence was still there. My instincts and unstable emotions took over. I got up and started running. I ran in the opposite direction Tate and I had been running. I ran adjacent to where Uncle Jackson had been going. I just ran. Next thing I knew, I woke up in a hospital bed. A hiker found me in the forest, out cold. I was covered in bumps and bruises. But other than that, according to the hospital staff, I was perfectly fine. So much has happened in the last few decades. My dad is dead; lung cancer. My mom is dead; car accident. My friends are all in their mid forties; I don't even recognize them. Tate and Uncle Jackson remain missing to this day. I haven't left the hospital since they found me two weeks ago. I have no where to go; my immediate family is gone, and none of my distant relatives believe that it's me. The doctors, all of whom are shocked at how I haven't aged, are keeping me here for now. There's talk of finding a foster home. I don't think it matters, though. Because I don't think I'll be here much longer. Something got Tate. Something physically grabbed him and pulled him through that hole. Something...some*one* took him. I think that same someone took Uncle Jackson. And me. That someone has my brother and uncle. Someone kept me somewhere for over thirty years. They did something to me. I know it. Because there's a strange mark on me that the doctor's can't---or won't---explain. A strange red welt, just under my left ear. It's tiny. It doesn't hurt, throb, itch, sting or anything. It's just sort of...there. Whatever, whoever did this to me, I think they're coming back. Because last night... I heard it start beeping.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My Name is Stacy White, I'm an Investigative Journalist and I Interview Monsters. [RESPONSE] My heels clicked dully on the linoleum floors and I heard the steel bars rattling back into place behind me. I walked down the long hallway alone, carrying with me a folder, pen, and cassette recorder. I was, at the time, a young journalist and very eager to prove myself. Earlier in the day my boss had offered me the opportunity to interview an inmate at the local prison and I jumped at the chance. Serial killer interviews were vogue at the time, however I was assigned to an alleged child abductor instead. My editor hoped that the fact it was a woman would spark enough interest in our readers.  For myself I was just excited to be there, it was the first real break I’d caught and I’m sure I was only chosen because Rebecca was already covering another story. A guard greeted me at t. he end of the hall. He was to remain stationed outside of the interview room however should I need anything I only had to press the panic button under the table and he would be right there. I took a deep breath in, checked that my hair was all neatly back and smoothed out my skirt before opening the door to enter.  “Good morning Molly Doe. My name is-'' I started as I walked into the room but stopped abruptly when I saw the woman I was to interview. She was sitting up straight with hands neatly clasped in front of her. Her long hair was a golden honey brown and her dark eyes held a luminescent quality under thick lashes. She was youthful with high cheekbones and blush pink lips. Even wearing the plaid grey uniform of an inmate she was still the most beautiful person I had ever seen and it caught me by surprise.  “-My name is Stacy White, and I’m here for your interview.” I started again, trying to regain my professionalism.  “Hello, Stacy White.” She replied politely. Her voice was soft and her teeth were pearly white with sharp canines.  I was somewhat disappointed and I felt my excitement fizzle out. In the initial report, it was stated that Ms Doe was mentally unstable. That she had been uncooperative with investigators and the courts had to assign her the last name ‘Doe’ as she insisted that she didn’t have one, only a first name ‘Molly’. As such, I had been expecting a certain level of deranged behaviour but she was perfectly collected, “Would it be alright if I ask you some questions? It’s okay if you’re nervous.” I said sympathetically trying to offer her some comfort and build rapport. “I’m not nervous.” Molly stated calmly in response, she gave no human emotion to connect with. No spark of social recognition between us. It was uncomfortable, to say the least.  “Right.. Well, I’ll just set up and then we can get started alright?”, I assured as I oriented my notepad and organized the audio recorder. When I was ready I pressed down the REC button and the tape inside whirred to life. A moment of silence passed between us as I debated the best way to begin the interview. Would it be too brazen of me to ask outright if she was guilty? Or should I assume she was without asking? I cleared my throat then began, “So Ms Doe-“  “Molly.” She corrected me.  “My apologies, Molly. You’ve been accused of abducting children, can you answer whether or not these allegations are true? Is your incarceration unjust? Did you do it?” I tried, deciding on an upfront line of questions. “I did.” The woman answered without batting an eye.  My heart began to race, perhaps this interview wouldn’t be dull after all, “Can you tell me why? What drives a person to abduct children?” I enquired further. “It’s what I was told to do.” She stated.  “I see, so you were acting under instruction, who did the orders come from?” I asked, trying to conceal my excitement.  This time Molly paused, though for whatever she may have been thinking, no expression crossed her face, “I cannot say.” She answered finally and my heart sank.  “Why can’t you say? Can you tell me why you’re unable to answer that question.” I probed.  “I’m unable to answer because it would be a breach of contract. I cannot speak his name in association with this predicament.” Her answer perplexed me, “Are you able to elaborate on that?”  “No.”  I sat back in my seat exasperated, I wasn’t entirely sure what else I could ask that she would agree to answer, then it hit me, “Can you tell me, *why*, he ordered that you take children?”  Again she hesitated a moment then nodded, “I can.” She agreed, “I had to be the one to take the children because a man named Eric Linnaeus destroyed our supply chain. You see, it’s not ordinarily my job. I’m not very good at convincing children to go with me, I unsettle them.” Personally I *couldn’t imagine* why her utter lack of emotion or tonal inflection would scare children. She was like talking to a doll, only I speculate that a living doll would have more zest, “Who is ‘Eric Linnaeus’? and what do you mean when you say he ‘destroyed’ the supply chain?” I prompted her further, hoping my questions wouldn’t be too much.  “He was.. *A mistake*..” She chose her words carefully as she began in earnest, “When Nathaniel first brought him home he was not more than an orphaned cripple. He was quiet, for the most part, and walked with a leg brace. They had never before kept a male child freely in the castle, males serve no purpose once they are grown, so it was an oddity. Nathaniel kept him close most of the time, training him privately so that he might catch up. We believed it to be a fool's errand. The others had been raised from infancy, of the fifty girls Master chose only nine remained and only four were expected to pass the final training. Of my group I was one of only two to survive… We didn’t believe Eric stood a chance. The others were already two years older than he was and none of them were hindered by any physical afflictions.  Still, Nathaniel insisted and Master was hardly in any position to deny his brother’s request. In truth they were twins and Master was older, he would inherit the castle in its business in entirety from their father. However it was Nathaniel whom was the stronger of the two. A public quarrel may have jeopardized the inheritance. As such, Master chose to instead make me a new contract. I was to spy on his brother and on the Orphan in particular. In return, I would be granted youth and beauty for the remaining span of my life.”  As she spoke I was beginning to understand why Molly had been declared mentally ill. But, it was hard to shake the idea that her beautiful, youthful, appearance had somehow been granted to her, “When you say ‘contracted’ what does that mean exactly?” I asked now curious.  In response the woman showed me her forearms, I sat forward to get a better look and saw that there were a series of shapes seemingly tattooed down the length of her wrists. Two silver semi-circles, two complete circles and a single blackened semi-circle, “What are they?” I asked confused.  “They are my contracts. A dark crescent for a gift given, ongoing. Completed circles for contracts fulfilled and silver crescents for contracts ongoing.  “What were the other contracts for?” I questioned, before cursing myself for being so forward.  She readjusted to cover the marks, “I can only tell you of three. I have already disclosed one and I am unable to speak of the last two. However, the first I made when I was four, *‘I will always be allowed sweets whenever I so choose, and in return the only orders I will obey are those that come from my* Master\*.’\*. Next I was gifted the ability to remain hidden if I so choose, no one would know of my presence, under the condition that I would never be able to use my ability against Master. Contracts burn hotter, while Gifts hurt more.” She explained. “You made a contract when you were four? That doesn’t sound like it was fair..” I commented. “No deals with monsters are fair.” She mused, “However, I don’t regret any of them. I have power that you, nor any other, will ever have.”  That was the first instance I felt uncomfortable in her presence, she had spoken almost as if it were a threat, then she continued on as if nothing were any different, “Once the contract was in place I began my work. The first true sign that the Orphan would cause trouble came only a year later when Lucinde, the twin’s older sister, came to visit with her children. The children of monsters grow very slowly. I had not noticed Radomir, her eldest, age at all in the time since I had first met him years prior. For the sake of simplicity I would say he was the same equivalent age as Eric was. While the siblings discussed business matters Eric and I were expected to wait patiently by our master’s sides. However, Lucinde’s children were allowed to do as they wished and Radomir was wished to play with Eric.  ‘Come fight with me.’ Radomir whispered to the boy beside Nathaniel. ‘I don’t think I would be allowed..’ Eric replied in a hushed tone.  ‘You’re a human, you have to do as I say, so I say you’re allowed.’ He countered and this gave Eric pause. In terms of hierarchy the child was correct. We are expected to obey all requests and are compelled to follow commands when they are given. However, Eric was property of Radomir’s uncle, and that meant by virtue that his orders were intended to come from him only.  ‘Is your son very well trained Sister?’ Nathaniel asked suddenly interjecting the discussion and catching both children by surprise. It was then that they both realized Nathaniel had been listening to their conversation. Eric turned a shade of red while Radomir looked guilty as all eyes turned to them. Master looked profoundly displeased but made no comment as Lucinde and Nathaniel spoke, ‘You are surely joking brother. I won’t have my son fight your pet.’ She scoffed.  ‘Pity. Has he fallen behind in his training so much that you fear he can’t outcompete a human?’ He said casually though it was clear his insult found its mark.  ‘I’ll warn you then, don’t blame me when your pet is injured.’ She said flatly, before granting her permission, ‘You may play with the human.’  All three adults watched with curiosity as the children each took up a sword and began to spar cordially, ‘Your pet has an injured leg? There is no contest here.’ Lucinde commented.  ‘Our brother has spent a considerable amount of time training the human since he arrived.’ Master informed her.  ‘I have trained him somewhat, there is plenty more still to teach. But he is singularly determined to excel and I would be interested to know if he is ready to join the others in formal classes.’ Nathaniel mused, though it quickly became apparent what he meant was that he had trained Eric extensively. Even with his disadvantage the boy was quick on his feet. He moved using his leg brace to his own advantage, as if it were an extra limb.  The first round ended when Radomir was knocked to the ground and the second round was headed toward the same outcome when he lost his temper, ‘Why don’t you *stab yourself with that sword*.’ He spoke the words as a command and Eric faltered.  Nathaniel sat forward in his chair as if he were about to intervene when the human boy spoke up, ‘No.’ Eric responded calmly.  This drew everyone’s attention. Master looked to me as if to ask if I knew how he was able to resist the command. Lucinde hesitated a moment as if she were trying to understand what had just happened, while Nathaniel looked unmistakably… Intrigued.  ‘What do you mean ‘no’? That was a command. I *told* you to *stab yourself*!’ Radomir repeated lacing more magic into it to compel him.  Eric seemed to struggle this time, his hand involuntarily turning the blade toward himself, he trembled slightly as he held it there. It seemed he was unable to resist the order entirely, however he also made no further move to complete the command, ‘And I said no.’ He reiterated firmly.  Radomir looked to his mother now with an expression caught between confusion and fear, ‘How is he able to resist?’ Lucinde demanded. Nathaniel however appeared to be pleased, ‘Eric is very strong willed. Your son doesn’t have enough magic to persuade him.’  ‘You’ve contracted him to resist orders.’ Master accused. ‘I have done no such thing.’ Nathaniel responded calmly.  At this his sister narrowed her eyes, ‘Child. *Come here*.’ She demanded and this time the boy moved, he came to stand before Lucinde with an expression of defiance, ‘*Give me your sword*.’  Eric grit his teeth as he did her bidding, ‘*Hold out your hand*.’ She continued and he did so, though not without reluctance.  ‘Sister.’ Nathaniel warned with a slight edge to his voice.  ‘I suppose you wouldn’t appreciate it if I cut off his hand?’ She asked casually.  ‘Eric, *Come to me*.’ Nathaniel commanded him now and the boy gladly obliged, ‘That’s quite enough for one day. Though it was pleasant to see you sister, we will be taking our leave. Make sure you return my sword when you’re done with it.’ As they left Master motioned for me and we fell into pace with them, ‘Brother you’re playing a dangerous game. I saw that smug expression on your face. Lucinde isn’t pleased.’  ‘When have you ever known her to be pleased? Her son is inept.’ Nathaniel responded flatly.  ‘You should destroy the Orphan.’ He warned, for you see, resisting the persuasion of a glamor is no easy task. In rare cases it can happen, if one possesses the will for it. Though usually if a child shows signs that they will be able to defy orders they are eliminated immediately. The youngest twin looked exasperated now, ‘Eric. Would you go on ahead? My brother and I have some matters to discuss, I will meet you for dinner.’  Eric looked unsure, ‘You promise..?’ He asked quietly.  ‘Yes child, now go.’ Nathaniel said clearly amused by his hesitance. With that the boy nodded in agreement and followed the instruction willingly. It was.. Strange to see. ‘Molly, *go as well. See that he makes it to his room safely.*’ Master commanded of me, though it wouldn’t have been necessary, and I moved without delay. As I left I only heard a small amount of their conversation. It seemed Master was scolding Nathaniel for his approach to training Eric while his brother insisted the bond he was creating would be stronger by far than any forced relationship.  At dinner that night Master still seemed displeased, and when Nathaniel got up to speak with another member of staff he took the opportunity to retaliate, ’Orphan, *come*, I have something for you.’ He ordered. ‘Don’t glamour me.’ Eric protested as he moved involuntarily with the command. It was taboo for him to answer back in this manner, not that he ever let that fact clip his attitude. ‘I will do what I like, you are property.’ Master stated harshly, ‘I think you should have some meat on your plate, *don’t you agree?*’ he instructed, though it seemed more of a test. Even I could feel that there wasn’t much compulsion behind the direction given.  ‘..No, Nathaniel said it’s not good for me.’ Eric responded coldly with some effort, there was rebellion in his eyes. Master smiled, ‘You’re quite good at it aren’t you? Defying orders if you’re prepared.’ He pandered to him as he pushed a slice of meat onto the child’s plate.  ‘I’ve been practicing.’ The boy said proudly.  ‘Oh? Should we test that then\~?’ Master mused. Eric thought for a moment, ‘Okay!’ He accepted the challenge confidently.   ‘Wonderful! Then I order you *to eat the meat I just gave you*.’ He purred. This time there was little to no visible resistance from the orphan, he seemed to realize then that Master had tricked him. He wasn’t at all strong enough to outcompete the full will of an adult and soon was carving the meat into bite sized pieces with marked reluctance. He struggled as he brought the first piece up to consume. However it was as it touched his lips that the second command came, ‘*Stop*.’ Nathaniel said sharply, returning in time to intersect the order, ‘*You will not eat that*.’  Eric dropped the fork and recoiled from the plate as his master continued more calmly, ‘Brother, I would appreciate it if you didn’t try to feed him without my permission.’ He said firmly.  ‘You don’t give him enough protein.' Master said bemused.  ‘Feed whatever you liked to Molly, but do not interfere with Eric. Do you understand?’ He reiterated.  ‘There will come a day when you cannot watch over him. I look forward to that day.’ Nathaniel ignored him then, for you see the Small brothers had always been rivals first and brothers second. Threats between them weren’t uncommon..” Molly trailed off thoughtfully.  “Is that what happens to the children you abducted? They become ‘pets’ to these.. People?” I took the opportunity to ask. “Certainly not. As I said, pets are chosen as infants. Grown children are taken to be butchered for food.” She explained and I felt my stomach drop. There were only two possibilities, either I was indeed getting the serial killer interview I wanted for my career or Molly was entirely insane. “Is that why Eric wasn’t allowed to eat the meat?” I was beginning to understand.  “Yes. Nathaniel felt it would negatively affect his pet’s morality if he were to consume it. So the nature of it was kept a secret from the child.”  “But your masters, those people.. They *DO* eat it?”  Molly nodded, “Of course. The masters need to eat.” She responded calmly as if stating a simple fact. “They *need* to *eat* children?” I asked to clarify.  This gave her pause, “..No.. They can eat any meat.” She said thoughtfully, “Every night the banquet that lined the dining hall was piled with meat of all kinds, beef, pork, chicken, humayne. Cooked or uncooked, it mattered not. Though they prefer the meat of tender beings as it is a sign of their status, only high class families are granted access and their family business is supply.  Flavoring was rarely used, they claimed it spoiled the taste, though I could never tell any different. Unnaturally sweet fruit and ashy cheeses were the garnishes of choice. As a word to the wise, it was best to avoid the fruits. Their taste is singular, comparable to no human food I have ever tried, and it is easy to overindulge in them-..”  I stood up then, “I’m sorry, I need a break.” I stated. Truthfully, I didn't want to hear any more. I fled the interview room with my belongings loosely gathered in my arms and the door slammed behind me. If I believed her, Molly was a monster abducting children to eat them as if they were livestock, allegedly acting under the orders of her ‘masters’. If I didn’t, then I could understand why she was considered mentally unstable. Either way, I hoped to never see her again. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Where Did Granny Go? [RESPONSE] I don't know if I'm being irrational or just plain going insane. Either way, I would like to voice my concerns somewhere. I ask you to be patient with me as I find a way to word everything. I was never good at expressing myself or fitting in. I was the black sheep of the family, only ever truly loved by two. What made it worse growing up was how death and sickness seemed to follow me. I have a very healthy family, for the most part. The woman who took care of me when I was young had lived to raise the children of her children. After I was born, their health streak seemed to end. I wasn't so sickly that I needed to be held in the NICU for months but I was the first baby in generations to be born sick. I was awfully tiny and a weird combination of purples and blues. After me fell my mother. She caught an infection the day after I was born. She and I, trapped in the hospital longer than anyone would like. My mother had to return to school when we were finally released. She was finishing up her last year of high school—a perfect excuse to leave me with anyone else. I stayed with my grandmother for a while before she broke her leg. I was then handed off to my great-grandmother. This is where I stayed for 2 years. I heard many stories of how my great-grandparents adored me. Anyways, around this time my mother had joined and dropped out of college. My father came back into our lives and quickly, they both struggled through minor illnesses and low-paying jobs. I grew up being bounced around between people. I felt loved but never did I stay in one place. As soon as my sister was born, I could feel my mother's resentment towards me grow. I stayed with my great-grandparents while my parents were at the hospital. It was my grandmother's idea to leave me with someone else. The fear of my mother gaining another infection and not making it this time was great. After 24 hours of my mother and sister being completely healthy, I was shoved into a car to meet the newest edition. I think this is when it clicked for everyone that I was the problem. Not even after an hour of my visit, everything went downhill. My mother fainted and I was ushered out of the room. I want to say my not remembering this day was due to my age but even if I was older I'd want to push this day forever out of my mind. I was deemed the walking plague. No aunts or uncles would visit me. My parents started spending all their time at work or with my sister. At least I had my own room. The only ones who would care for me were my great-grandparents. They still saw me as a ray of sunshine. I am forever grateful for their kindness. Still, my reputation followed. I was now 9 and my sister was four. My great-grandfather was diagnosed with cancer. My world crumbled. Not only did I know one of my favorite people was dying but I was being verbally insulted by all of the family. We had an amazing 2 years. It was hard on everyone but he was always smiling. He was always so kind. He made sure to protect me as much as he could. Nothing could prepare me for the ill-treatment I would receive after he passed. My great-grandmother was bedridden for two weeks after he passed. In those two weeks, I was pushed around. I was belittled until I was brought to tears. I was kicked out of the funeral. I was locked away. People like me don't deserve to see the light of day. A child should never be told those words. I moved in with my great-grandmother after that. After the funeral, my parents decided they only wanted one child. This was the one thing that didn't hurt me much. I never saw them as family. So I stayed in the now very quiet home my great-grandmother owned. She didn't talk as much but she was still very kind. I took care of her and she made sure I was happy. In the back of my mind, I couldn't help but think of how burdensome I was. All the coincidences lingered in my thoughts. I stayed in my room when we had visitors but the walls were thin. So when I turned 18, I left. It really helped me mentally to leave. I finally met friends and although it was scary at first, it helped. Every time someone got sick or injured after meeting me, I felt ashamed. Little by little I learned it was a normal thing to happen occasionally. After three years, I really started missing home. I felt ashamed for not even sending a letter or calling. After three years of not seeing my great-grandmother, I packed a bag and headed home. Remember what I said at the beginning? Remember how I said my granny became quiet after my great-grandfather passed? I finally reached the point of this post. When I reached home, it looked like nothing was touched. Literally. The weeds ran wild and the outside looked run down. I was shocked and horrified. I prepared myself for the worst as I walked along the cracked concrete. My hand shook as I reached out to ring the doorbell. The echo of the chime was eerie as I waited. A massive lump formed in my throat as the door slowly opened. Tears formed in my eyes as soon as I saw her. My little granny looked the same. So many emotions swirled in my head as I bent over to hug her tightly. Still, I couldn't get rid of the sense of unease I had. No words had been exchanged the whole time, Maybe that was it. I let go and looked at her face. I finally *really* looked at her face. She had the widest grin. It seemed so unnatural paired with these cold, dark eyes. I looked down and noticed she was wearing nearly the exact same outfit I had last seen her in. I finally peered into the house and noticed the inside was just as bad as the outside. The floors were cracked. Everything was filthy. "You could have called me to help you take care of this place, granny. If not me then at least someone." She just stood there, staring. A part of me wanted to believe it was due to shock. "Do you want some coffee? I can make you some. We can say it's my way of saying sorry for not coming sooner." Nothing. The eariness and unease grew. The knot in my stomach seemed to grow as I followed her into the kitchen. She grabbed the coffee pot from a cupboard as I looked around. I had no idea how this place got this bad in three years. I turned to her. The pot in her hand was caked in dust but instead of rinsing it, she filled it with water. I gently took it out of her hand and guided her to the dining table. "Just sit here and rest. I said I was going to make the coffee." She obediently sat at the table and stared at the wall. My mind struggled to explain it all. It didn't take me long to find everything. I quickly scrubbed everything down and set it all up. I remembered how quiet this house was but this silence had something else behind it. I couldn't quite pin it down. I spent an hour trying to speak to my granny. She didn't even attempt to drink from her mug. She just kept staring at me with a blank stare and a wide grin. I settled on telling her stories of my time in college. I hoped everything would be better in the morning. Dear reader, I know this was long but I'm not good at arranging my thoughts. I put my granny to bed right before starting to type this out. She just stared at the ceiling while I said goodnight. I've been hearing soft pacing outside of my door this entire time. I am afraid, reader. I've been afraid since the moment I saw this house again. What happened to my granny? Is that even my granny? The pacing stopped. I held my breath for a little just to see what I could hear. She's whispering, dear reader. I can hear her whispering. I don't want to leave this room. I'm afraid of what will happen if I open that door. I have a feeling she's not alone out there. If you listen close enough, you can hear soft chanting along with her words. "There's only one true plague in this family." It's being said on repeat. What does this all mean? What do I do? I am so afraid. I am so very afraid.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Golden Eagle [RESPONSE] I don't know what I did to deserve the hell I'm going through.I'm here hoping for some help.Anyway here we go I'm a 44 year old male ,I'm divorced,have 2 daughters ages 18 and 12 .And I have worked at the same job since I was 20 years old My life has always been pretty simple and ordinary for the typical American man and that was just fine by me . But 2 days ago,that has changed I woke up one morning to get ready for work,as I stood up and made my way towards my bathroom to take my morning piss, something caught my eye An eagle...a golden eagle was standing in front of the bathroom door.I stood there in astonishment and wondered how this bird of prey got in my house The weirdest part was the fact that I don't live anywhere near where an eagle would want to be around at all. But here was one in my own damn bedroom.And it just stood there and stared up at me with it's big golden brown eyes.It's *hungry* golden brown eyes I have spent my whole life in the city and only went camping one time as a little kid and nearly died of fear when a rodent ran into my open tent So you can correctly assume that I had no idea what to do about this while situation. I would of yelled for my daughters but my oldest was on a school trip and my younger girl was staying at her moms for the week I remembered that my phone was on my nightstand behind me and I slowly started to turn around to get it to call animal control, but then it happened It was on my back in the blink of an eye and was clawing at my back while giving a terrifying screech in my ears that drowned out my screams of pain My vision began fading out as I felt it destroying the back of my head with its beak and I expected to never wake up again once I went out However I did come to, on my bedroom floor in the same position that I was attacked it.My body felt...odd Instead of pain like I expected to feel all over myself,I felt totally fine as I got myself up off the floor.7 hours had passed..was it a dream? That didn't make sense.I woke up at the same time that I always did in the mornings and what I felt in that attack felt *real* But there was no sign of that bird anywhere in my room after a thorough and worried search.It was gone. I went into the bathroom to see the damage that the damn bird inflicted on me...but I was fine.No blood,no marks...nothing I was at a loss.And after a few more minutes of trying to rationalize everything to no avail,I realized that I missed work...fuck I left the bathroom to get my phone and as expected,my boss called me and left a voicemail and asked where I was when I listened to it I knew he wouldn't believe my story.I mean would you believe it if someone told you this *I woke up to an eagle in my room and it attacked me but its gone now and I have no attack marks so that's why I couldn't come to work*... Totally believable right? I called him back ,and as expected he was pretty pissed when he answered, so I had to come up with a lie. I went with the old "sudden family emergency" excuse and he thankfully cooled down and warned me to not forget to call him sooner next time After that call ended I felt better.But I was still massively freaked out about the whole bird attack thing How did that fucking bird get into the house? Why did it suddenly attack me? Why did it leave no signs of injury? Why did it stare at me like that? I tried my best to forget about it and tried to relax for the rest of my day.As I managed to fall asleep later that night after some vodka shots,I had a dream I was flying around the city ...my city.It was at night and i could see the cars, lights and people below me.I had no control of my actions.It was like a movie I saw a young lady walking into her home with a few bags in her hands and I quickly flew down towards her home I flew down and stood outside her home as time seemed to pass suddenly pretty quickly, After a short time,I flew back up and landed on her roof and I saw that she had a chimney.As if by pure instinct , I flew down through it into her home As my dream self walked passed a mirror, I saw myself...I was a golden eagle...the same kind that attacked me the day before It made no sense.How was I walking normally,and had a human body but yet I appeared as a human sized eagle in a mirror My dream self continued waking towards the woman's bedroom door that was open and I just stood at her doorway for awhile As soon as she woke up and saw me,my dream self wasted no time and jumped into action I flew at her and began shredding and biting at her body as she screamed bloody murder with a terrified look on her face After a brief struggle,my dream-self bit into the woman's throat...and then I shot up in bed.It was morning .A nightmare. I still had 20 minutes before work but I decided to just get an early start.When I got into the bathroom and turned inn the light.I saw my face in the mirror It was covered in blood.I checked my nostrils to see if I had a undetected bloody nose while I slept Nope.My nose was fine Fear hit me like a brick after that realization.Could it be? No..crazy right? I got in the shower and cleaned up. Later as I was getting for work,I got a alert on my phone.My heart froze as I read what it said *BREAKING NEWS Woman found dead in her bed.Sharp gouges on most of her body and a massive gash in her throat.Police investigating* Her picture that was shown was the exact same woman from my dream I called in once again to work and told my boss that I was still with my family at the moment and he was fine with it .He claimed at least What in the world is going on?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I heard footsteps in my room in the middle of the night [RESPONSE] I don't know if this is right community where i can tell this story honestly but i want to take this off of my chest and see if anyone has experienced similar paranormal activity. (My English isn't the best so I'll try to explain this as good as possible) This situation (if i may call it that) started when i was in 7th grade, Sunday rainy night. I was watching a horror movie when my mom came in the living room and scolded me on how i wasn't asleep even though it was 11 pm. Dissatisfied i got up and went to my room, for the context my room didn't have any light bulb so as you can imagine it was pretty dark in it which lead to always using my phone for some light, the light wasn't the only problem though, it was one of the coldest rooms in our house. There were just 3 people (Me, my brother who was 7 at that time and my mom) living there, because my father was working overseas and my sister was gone to visit my aunt, so i had to sleep alone (me and my sister shared a room). I went to my room, the bed was ice cold as always, at first i couldn't fell asleep so i laid there motionless. I was thinking about different things, one of them being on how i didn't want to open my eyes fearing that if i did i could've seen something that i shouldn't. While i was saying my prayer (which i always do before i fell asleep) i heard something outside of my room, my mother always told me that i should keep the door of my room open so if i needed something and called her she would've been able to hear it easier, so hearing something outside of my room was rather easy, someone was opening the cabinets and looking in some little boxes (is at least what i thought that time). It felt like a mouse just fell in some little box and was trying to get out of it, which i tried to convince myself must've been the case, i mean living in the village mice are pretty big problem, but this feeling of somebody's presence outside of my room standing there just by the doorway was bothering and scaring the shit out of me. I wasn't going to open my eyes and refused to even move a single muscle, pretending to be asleep. The "thing" if i may call it that way came into my room, and i knew this definitely wasn't my mother (or little brother) just by the sound of their breathing and footsteps. I was scared shirtless and i started to do what really seemed logical to me: praying. The loud sound of thunder outside wasn't making the situation better, the "thing" came near my bed and stoped there (which i knew by their footsteps), it stood there for at least 10 seconds when it started to move again and now the sound of it's footsteps started to "get distanced" so i assumed they were going away, i let out silent breath which i was holding without even realizing. At that moment the "thing" stopped moving and it came back, this time though it wasn't standing near my bad, it was walking in circles in my bedroom, i started praying again hoping that god would save me from something that i wasn't supposed to see, my brain warning me not to even dare to open my eyes but my curiosity killing me with the interest of what was in my bedroom. I didn't open my eyes though, i was praying 4th time when the thing wasn't silently walking anymore, but running in circles. This got me thinking of why my mom couldn't hear anything, it started raining i prayed 7th time already and it was my 8th time when i heard the "thing" stop completely. As if to fool me into thinking that it was gone and i could open my eyes, which i didn't. Rather i finished my prayer after what i heard a loud sound if thunder and the "thing" dashed out of my room, i heard the dishes break and our main door being open. In the end i did open my eyes and looked around. There was nothing, i was too scared to get up and check if the dishes were broken or the door was open. I simply turned around and thanked god that i was still alive, i don't know how i fell asleep afterwards. I woke up next day before my mother and directly went to see if the dishes or anything was broken. There wasn't. But our main door was wide open which did prove that there definitely was something in my room that day. This wasn't the first time i experienced something paranormal, even before this i believed that our house was cursed in some way. And i think this was proved by other things that i experienced while i was living there.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I Answered A Craiglist Ad to Watch an Old Guy's Trail Cams- "There's Something in the Woods" (Part 2) [RESPONSE] Every fiber of my being is begging me to hop in my car and drive home, and honestly, I probably would have, job be damned- but I know my keys are sitting on the stupid desk inside that stupid cabin. I turn the doorknob slowly, praying to every god I can think of that no one’s inside, and cursing my stupid, pot addled brain that I didn’t think to lock the door behind me when I left. I spend a second debating if I should have my rifle at the ready, but decide against it. I can throw a decent punch, but I’ll be useless against an attack if I’m already holding something this wieldy. I open the door slowly, bracing myself for whatever’s inside to jump me, but I’m greeted by an empty room. I hurry to lock the door behind me and close the curtains again. At this point, I don’t care if anyone’s exploring Patrick’s land, I’m fully planning on staying in here until morning- and I’m already pulling up job postings on my phone, so I can quit this one as soon as the sun comes up. Despite my best instincts to look away, I can’t help but glance up at the monitors in front of me. My blood runs cold. The man is somehow, inexplicably, still there- still standing, totally motionless, in the middle of the very same trail, as if he hasn’t moved at all. I’m almost pressing my face to the screen, trying to make out something, anything, about the figure I’m seeing, but his features are too blurred and far away. He’s perfectly still, too still, and that’s when it dawns on me- the image must be frozen! I’m flooded with relief, and a little bit of annoyance. So, maybe I can’t explain the curtain thing, but this, at least, makes sense. Patrick’s gone over how to reset the cams, and I start the process of rebooting the system, taking a second to rummage through my bag for my stash. By the time the monitor is back up and running, the cabin is hazy with smoke, and I’m trying to forget the events of the night. After 10 applications to various chain restaurants and gas stations in the area, I’m back to feeling like maybe this gig isn’t so bad- the pay is weirdly good for how little I *actually* do, and I’m watching dumb videos on YouTube when I decide not to quit, yet. I glance up to see if the camera is functioning again, and to my immense relief, all I see is a view of a once again empty trail. The rest of the night is uneventful, and when the sun finally comes up, I’m happy to hop in my car and head home to get some sleep. I live with one other person, my friend Todd from high school. We both grew up about 2 hours away from here, and went to college in town. Todd’s a semester away from graduating, with a degree in chemistry or some shit. He’s the smartest idiot I know. Todd seems like he’s still asleep when I get home, but I know his first class starts at 10, and he’ll be awake soon, so I start a pot of coffee for him before I head to the shower. Our cat, Cleo, blinks at me lazily from her tree in the living room, and I stop to scoop her some more food and change her water. The hot water takes the chill out of me, and once I’m in clean, comfy pajamas, cartoons on TV and a bong in my hands, the night before seems almost silly, and I’m weirdly excited for Todd to wake up so I can tell him about it. He comes out of his room when I start coughing, his hair an absolute mess, sporting a pair of Spongebob boxers and nothing else. “Samwise, Samus, Sammy, how is my favorite nightcrawler?” he yawns. Seeing the hot coffee, he beams, “Spoiling your favorite roomie, as usual, I see.” While he pours himself a cup, I pack a fresh bowl for us to share before he heads out for the day. “I had, finally, officially, a wild night,” I tell him, and he settles into the couch next to me. “Oh?” “Could you hear the screaming in the woods from here, or did I get the privilege of being scared shitless alone?” I ask teasingly, and he takes the bong from me for a long hit, but stops at my question. Through labored coughing, Todd looks up at me, incredulous, “Screaming? Excuse me?” I regale him with the story of my night while he gets ready, eager to hear what he thinks of the whole thing. He emerges from the bathroom, purple toothbrush hanging from his mouth, “And you’re totally sure it wasn’t, like, a bird or something? Or that old guy you work for? What did he answer?” “That’s the thing,” I reply, “He didn’t. The dude probably barely knows how to work his cell phone. He prefers people to call his landline, if you can believe that. If I wouldn’t for sure get cursed out for it, I’d ask him if he heard the sound, too, but unless someone’s underage drinking or, like, littering on his land, he couldn’t give less of a fuck.” Todd shakes his head, “And you’re just cool with that? Cause you know the Olive Garden on campus is hiring, and that host we always see is pretty cute-” I laugh, cutting him off, “Look, man, maybe this is one of those things you just don’t read into that much. I may not be some honor roll chemist-” Todd throws a t-shirt at my head from the hallway. “But I know when I’ve got it made. I get paid to watch tv and smoke all night. I’m finally caught up on the bills I’ve owed you. If that means a homeless dude fucks with me every so often, I guess that’s cool, alright?” He doesn’t look entirely convinced, but after hastily grabbing some poptarts out of the cupboard, Todd wishes me goodnight and heads off to class, and I settle into bed, making sure my blackout curtains are in place for a good day’s sleep. My alarm wakes me up at 4, and I stumble to the kitchen to make myself some… breakfast? Dinner? Being nocturnal gives you a strange eating schedule, so I settle on an omelet and half a pb&j while I watch TV. The day passes quickly, and Todd gets home as I’m leaving for work. He wishes me good luck as I head out, my usual backpack of snacks and weed in hand. Patrick’s old pickup is in the driveway of the cabin when I pull in, and I wonder if I’ll get some answers about last night. He’s sitting at the desk when I walk in, scowling as usual. “You heard the shrieking, kid?” he snaps as I get settled in. “Yeah, I did,” I tell him, “You wanna explain what that was?” He chuckles, his eyes scanning the monitors. In daylight, the trails look like any other nature reserve, a beautiful place to hike and explore. “No, kid, I don’t. Not really, anyway. I told you, these woods are dangerous. Could be a vixen, calling for her mate, could be some kind of screech owl.” He starts to laugh a little harder, “Or, of course, it could be an axe murderer. You never know.” I fake a laugh with him. “Is that why you texted me to close the curtains?” Patrick freezes. “What?” “Last night? You texted me something was watching, and told me to close the curtains?” The old man shakes his head slowly. “Texted you? Kid, I don’t have a cell phone. You know I just have the landline.” Now it’s my turn to freeze. “No, come on Patrick, look.” I pull my cell phone out to show him the messages, including the first text I’d gotten like two weeks ago, simply saying ‘It’s Patrick.’ “You’re telling me this isn’t you?” Patrick’s face seems to pale. “Kid, I’m telling you, I don’t have a cell phone. I have no idea who that is.”<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Never felt this scared in my entire life, Hoping to do it again :) [RESPONSE] I am writing this journal in case anything happends to me. So i moved to another town for college and there are theese luscious amazing woods like right in the backyard of the house i am staying at and they stretch for fucking miles. I wasn't a very athletic person before but the moment i saw the trees and heard the crickets i was gonna be in that forrest every day man. I felt the woods like calling to me in a way. At first i went there with some of my roommates but they stopped going with me cause they have their studies to focus on. Three of them are med students so they have way more schoolwork than i do. I still went out there and walked around the trails. Climbed the trees. Did the general exploring wilderness stuff. But one thing i noticed after a few days is that there weren't any animals. Not even birds. Just the crickets. I was thinking i would definitely see like a deer or a boar since i am pretty light on my feet but not a single one. I even hid in a tree for a few hours seeing if i could catch one fo the animals off guard and snag a picture or something. But nope. After four days of waiting up in a tree i just wanted to see an animal so i read up on forrest animal habits and it said that a lot of them were Nocturnal, aka they only come out at night. And the night sky was the clearest it has been in months so the moonlight actually lit up the forrest fairly well. I got to my usual spot where i hide in a tree and set up. The noise of the crickets was more clear than during the day. It wasnt long untill i noticed something. I saw one of the bushes like 20 meters away rustle and my eyes darted towards it. I looked around intently hoping to spot like a wolf or a boar but no noise came from the bush and i sure as hell wasn't going down in the middle fo the night when a wolf or a boar might be near. Then a chill ran down my spine. The crickets went silent. And i started feeling off, like something was stalking me. It definitely wasnt like an animal. It was more malicious. I tried to look around slowly and there they were. A pair of eyes fixed on me. Two glowing yellow eyes like searing metal in a forge. I chose flight instead of fight so i booked it towards my house. The crickets picked up where they left off only this time they were louder, almost deafening. I felt like i couldn't breathe as i was running. I looked back for a bit and the pair of yellow eyes were attached to this wretched almost deer almost human hybrid. It ran on four legs but it had way more limbs. And the ends of those limbs had light reflecting off of them like they were made of metal. I made it to my house and shut the door behind me. Ran to my bedroom upstairs and curled up in a corner. My shutters were down thankfully and i had no intention of peeking out of my window. Then i heard Scraping metal. I felt it vibrate in my bones. But then it scuttled off i guess cause i heard it skittering down the wall of the house. I have never fealt this fear my entire life and honestly i was kind of pumped. I am thinking of going after it again tomorrow or maybe a few days. Maybe i should train up my legs a bit.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I should have told my sister to give that bear to lost and found [RESPONSE] The day Madeline came home with Bear was abnormally cold for a winter in Florida. I spotted her pink puffy jacket as she toddled over to my car in the parent pick-up line. Her backpack was nearly twice the size of her and she gripped one of the straps in her hand to prevent it from falling. She pried the back door open and crawled inside, settling into her booster seat. “Hey, Maddie.” I greeted, turning around in my seat to find her shuddering. Her cheeks and nose were a blistering red and she wiped away a stream of snot with the back of her hand. “Hi.” She sniffled, hugging herself to get warm. “I’ve got the heat on all the way Mads, you should thaw out in a second.” I promised. Her big brown eyes met mine in the rearview and she sloppily pushed away some strands of hair that escaped her pigtails. “Look what I found under the slide, Savy.” Mads exclaimed, shifting to dig around in her backpack. She pulled out a raggedy looking figure from her bag, “This is Bear.” She held the stuffed animal in her lap. Stuffed animal was an overly generous term to describe it. The toy was barely a foot high, its fur was matted and worn and had a couple of bald spots I assumed had come from long-term use. One of the bears ears was missing and the other sagged terribly. Instead of a neatly stitched smile, a row of X’s in black thread was placed where its mouth should have been. Its eyes were the most unsettling thing about it, two gleaming glass beads glared back at me. They were a deep red with two black pupils that reflected my horrified expression back to me. A horrible excuse for a *bear*. “Maddie, you can’t take things from school. Someone probably lost that and is looking for it.” Her brows furrowed and she hugged the stuffed animal to her chest, “No. He said I’m his.” I parted my lips but reconsidered what I wanted to say. I surely didn’t want to give her the impression that picking things up that weren’t hers was acceptable but arguing with her might be a lost cause. “Okay, well, if someone is looking for that, and asks you, you have to give it back, okay?” I stated. She sniffled and nodded, but it seemed as if the words went in one ear and out the other. I wish someone would have claimed that damned bear. If I would have known what was to transpire, I would have never let Maddie bring it home. My father thought Bear was charming, or at least that’s what he expressed when Maddie excitedly showed him once he came home from work. He thought her obsession with the stuffed animal was a coping mechanism. It was the first time she’d seemed genuinely happy ever since our mother passed from falling ill in the fall. At first, Bear would stay in Maddie’s room. I’d hear her talk to him from time to time, play dress-up and house, which were all regular behaviors for a seven-year-old girl. I didn’t think twice about it…until Bear became attached to Maddie’s hip. He was with her in the bathroom in the mornings, he went with her to school, he sat next to her in the car, and even at the dinner table. And I know you might be thinking, Sav, why are you so concerned? Children grow attachments to objects all the time. Which is fair, and true, but her attachment was becoming to get out of hand. Anytime Maddie did, or didn’t do anything, she’d say it was because Bear did or didn’t want to do it. Mads was off school for Christmas break, but Dad still had to work, so I stayed home with her for the majority of the time. I called her for lunch one afternoon, I made her favorite – mac and cheese with bacon. She plopped herself down at the dining table, Bear next to her on the table top lolled on his side, and she stared down at her bowl. “Bear doesn’t want this.” She muttered, pushing the bowl away from her. I glanced over my shoulder, placing some dishes in the sink. “Bear doesn’t have to eat it, Mads. I made it for you.” “Bear said I can’t eat it.” I was slightly annoyed by that statement and sighed, “Bear can’t tell you what to do.” She sat quiet at the table, looking up at me. I suddenly grew aware of how deep her eyes had sunk into her skull, it looked like she hadn’t slept in a while. Maddie had only nibbled on her pop tart this morning and didn’t touch her plate at dinner last night either. I had thought that maybe she was feeling under the weather, but she never turned down mac and cheese before. “Mads, you’ve got to eat something okay? I’m sure Bear wants you to feel your best, and you’ve got to eat to do that.” She shook her head, pursing her lips. “Bear said no.” Quite honestly, I didn’t give a damn about what Bear wanted, and I was getting pretty close to telling Maddie that. I walked over to the table, reaching to grab Bear and Maddie’s eyes grew wide. “No!” she gasped, attempting to snatch Bear away from my grasp. I stepped away, glaring at her, holding the bear by its torso. Its matted fur felt oddly warm to the touch. “Put him back!” she demanded, looking a little frantic. “Maddie, I’m just going to put him in your room until you finish eating, okay? And then you–” Maddie lunged for Bear, her nails raking down my forearm. I yelped, stepping away as she yanked the stuffed animal out of my grip. “Madeline!” I scolded, rubbing my arm as angry red marks began to form. “You made him angry!” she said, face contorted into a grimace. “He doesn’t like you anymore.” Maddie turned, running to her room, leaving me and the untouched mac and cheese behind. Maddie’s hunger strike continued for the next few days, and she’d only eat if our father was in the room. She didn’t speak to me very much after that incident, and didn’t try to make eye contact either. The only thing I would find staring at me was that stupid fucking bear. It was almost as if it was taunting me, as if it was trying to take my place as Mads older sister. I was going crazy, what was I doing, growing jealous over a toy? I could tell Maddie wasn’t sleeping well. Her eyes developed bruises under them and her eyes were glossed over whenever she wasn’t occupied with something. I had woken up in the middle of the night to pee and walked past Maddie’s door to the bathroom. Her light was off, but I could hear her muttering. It was 2AM. “Mads?” I whispered, creaking her bedroom door open. It went quiet. She lay snuggled under her covers, eyes closed. Bear sat near her chest, facing me. The reflection from her night light made his eyes glow and I felt my heartbeat quicken a bit. I tiptoed to the side of her bed, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. I contemplated taking Bear and tossing him away, but decided against it. I hated that thing, but I had a feeling I’d hate Maddie’s reaction to it being gone way more. The next night, Dad dropped Maddie off at one of her friends from school’s house to have a sleep over. It bugged me a little that he never mentioned anything about Maddie’s state. Maybe I was overthinking it and she was perfectly fine. I got a call around 8 from a number I didn’t know. “Hi, is this Maddie’s sister?” the voice on the other line sounded a little exasperated. “Yes, who is this?” “This is Ms. Simmons. I’m sorry, your father gave me your number in case he didn’t pick up. I hate to inconvenience you, but is there any way you could come pick Maddie up? I’d take her home, but she doesn’t know your address.” “Um, sure?” I said after hesitating for a moment, “I’m sorry, I thought Maddie was planning on staying the night. I didn’t know she needed to be picked up.” “Oh no, the girls just got into an argument and Maddie asked to come home. I tried convincing her to stay, but she’s pretty adamant.” I remembered how Maddie acted when I had tried to take Bear from her a few afternoons ago. I had a sinking feeling that it might be related to her stuffed animal again. “Of course, I’ll come get her.” I said and headed out after Ms. Simmons gave me her address. Maddie didn’t say anything when she got into my car, but the first thing I noticed was Bear’s arm clenched in her fist. I sat in the driveway for a moment before asking, “Mads. Can you tell me what happened?” “Katie made Bear angry.” She admitted, looking down at her shoes. I blinked, trying to figure out what to say. “You mean Katie made *you* angry, Mads?” “No.” she sounded frustrated. “Katie made Bear angry and he said he was going to hurt her.” I started driving, “Bear can’t hurt anyone.” I had about had it with this bear. “Don’t tell Bear what he can’t do. He’s gonna get angry again.” Maddie begged, voice rising. I gripped the steering wheel, face beginning to feel a little warm and I turned down the heat. “Madeline. Listen to me. Bear isn’t real. He’s a toy. Toys can’t talk. Toys can’t tell you what to do. And toys cannot get mad. You have to stop that or else I’m going to take that bear away.” “No!” she shrieked. “No, no, *no*!” I grimaced, “Maddie!” “Shup up!” she yelled, flailing her legs in her seat, “You’re making him mad!” Oh my God. That was it. I was done. I turned, reaching behind me, and snatched Bear from the backseat. Maddie let out a high-pitched scream, and I swerved off the road a bit. “*Give him back*!” I rolled down my window and threw him out before I could give it a second thought. Maddie wailed and my heart sunk in my chest. I couldn’t believe I had just done that. I could turn around, if I wanted. I didn’t. Maddie spent the rest of the car ride screaming, and insisting that not only she hated me, but so did Bear. Tears streamed down her red face and I white knuckled the steering wheel until I put the vehicle in park. Maddie hurried out of the car and dashed towards the edge of the property. “Madeline! Get back here!” I called, stumbling out of the driver’s seat to chase her down. I guess now would be a good time to mention that we lived out in the country. A few houses were scattered around the acres of land that surrounded us but so did several acres of woods. The woods Maddie was running towards. “Maddie, what the fuck?” I could barely make out her moving silhouette in from the light in our yard. She stopped at the edge of the woods, turning over her shoulder to look at me. I stopped a few yards away, the cold making every heavy breath visible. “Bear wants to play hide and seek.” She sounded composed, as if she hadn’t just thrown a tantrum in the back seat and took off into the woods before I could reply. I went after her instinctively, calling out for her. I was angry, exasperated, and scared. I reached into my back pocket, hoping to find my cellphone, only to realize I had left it in the car. I swore under my breath, the cold wind nipping at my bare ankles. “Maddie, this isn’t funny! I know you’re mad. I’m sorry. Come out and we’ll go drive back to get Bear, I promise!” The only reply I received was the rustle of leaves from the wind. I scanned the woods, eyes narrowed, they seemed to be getting denser with every step forward. The light from the moon was little to no help, and I thought about going back for my phone’s flashlight. “Maddie, I’m sorry!” My vision blurred from the frustrated tears I held back. I should have never thrown out that damned bear. It wasn’t worth it. I heard something move a few yards ahead of me. “I’ll drive us back to Bear, Mads. Just please stop hiding!” I coaxed, taking steps towards where the sound had come from. A scream sounded off in the distance and I froze. *Fuck. Fuck. Fuck*. That sounded like Maddie. “Madeline!” I screamed, taking off. “Maddie! Where are you?!” The cold air bit the inside of my throat and burned my nostrils. Silence. I was answered by silence. I panted, hands on my knees. “Don’t let him find you.” I whirled around, scream halfway up my throat, to find Maddie standing behind me hidden in the dark. “Maddie wha-“ I froze as she took a step towards me, the moonlight splitting between the trees. Deep, jagged gashes decorated her throat. Blood oozed onto her shirt and dripped onto the ground. I didn’t have time to process what had happened before she smiled and said, “*Run*.” Her voice was guttural and sounded nothing like her and I took off for the house. Dad. I had to get Dad. Vines and brush whipped against my pants as I gasped for air. I nearly fell when I broke into a clearance, too scared to glance behind me. I made a bee line for the back door, almost forgetting how to use a doorknob in panic. I trampled through the house, screaming for my father. I found him in the dining room, he shot up from his seat, wide-eyed, “Savannah what’s wr-“ I didn’t let him finish, “Maddie!” I wheezed, “She’s out there. She’s hurt, that bear- that- that thing she-“ My father put his hands on my shoulders, brows furrowed. He no longer looked alarmed, “What are you talking about? Maddie is here.” “No,” I said, exasperated, “You don’t understand!” There was a shadow from behind my father’s back, and I felt my heart drop to the floor. Maddie appeared around the corner with a fist full of popcorn. There were no gashes and no blood, she looked perfectly happy and healthy. “What’s wrong?” she asked. I blinked rapidly, trying to understand what had just occurred. “Maddie came inside a bit ago,” my father assured., “she told me you were still in the car.” I pointed at her, “You ran into the woods. I chased after you!” Suddenly I was becoming unsure of what I had seen. She and my dad exchanged glances and Maddie shoved the popcorn into her mouth, shaking her head. I was being looked at as if I was the crazy one. She walked up to me and grabbed my hand. She was warm, almost too warm. “I think you’re tired, Savy.” I stared down at her, hoping to find proof of what I had seen. Her innocent eyes stared back at me, empty, no story to tell. My eyes traveled to her neck, which was pale and smooth, no sign of anything. Was I losing my mind? There was no way. “I’m just going to…take a shower.” I muttered, backing away from the two of them and into the hallway. I made my way into my room and flicked on the light switch, rubbing my eyes. But I wasn’t alone. Two gleaming, red eyes stared me down. Sitting perfectly unharmed on my bed was the bear. It grinned back at me, the X stitches nowhere to be found. I heard my heartbeat in my head. I threw it out. It can’t be here. How the fuck was it in my room? The floorboards creaked behind me, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off of the bear. “Bear found you.” Maddie whispered. He might have found me then, but with time I was able to escape him. Maddie on the other hand, didn't get so lucky.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Beware the Water in a Flooded Mine [RESPONSE] I still remember being a happy family, once upon a time. Thinking back to a years ago, I remember the summer trips we would take as a family, Me, my wife, Lynn and our 7-year-old son Kyle. We would travel to the lake, or at least that’s what we used to call it. It was an old limestone quarry around 30 minutes away from our small hometown of Blueridge, Wyoming. The quarry was deeply cut into a series of top of a large hill, and due to some incorrect planning from the Mountain Quarries Company, a subsidiary of Pacific Portland Cement Company, they dug straight into a pressurized, underwater cave system, which resulted in the entire mine flooding, followed soon by its complete shutdown. This left a large untouched pristine body of water, spanning at least 200m between the straight cut walls of the quarry. This beautiful natural lake sat right on the edge of a large evergreen forest, but close to the main road, with great signal and flat open areas. This now untouched, and unclaimed spot became a massive hit in for our town, a new and perfect camping site. My wife absolutely loved the outdoors, she couldn’t get enough of it, always pestering me to take her down to the lake for a night under the stars. This was a trait she passes on to our son. They were always running around outside, catching frog or bugs, rescuing everything they could get their hands on. I cannot even remember the exact number of baby birds that they would bring home and demand I help them raise. And I could never say no to that pair, one on one maybe, but when they ganged up on me, I always folded faster than wet cardboard. Then it happened, we just spent the night at the lake, the bright morning rays illuminated the sky in a dazzling array of pinks and oranges. Several minutes ago Lynn, left on a her morning stroll around the lake. But something was wrong, I saw Lynn run out of the tree line, out of breath, sweating hard, and with this strange look in her eyes. She didn’t say anything but run to Kyle, grabbed him into her arms, ran over to our old Jeep wrangler then threw him into the backseat. I tried to ask her what was wrong but she just jumped into the drive seat and said in a panic tone “get in”. I quickly got into the car, and before I could even close the door she slammed on the breaks. “Dammit Lynn, what are you doing”. I asked confused and a little bit angry since she just abandoned all our camping equipment. She paused for a moment and said in a quiet but panicked voice “we just had to get out of there”, “WHY” I asked confused, she would never act like this normally, so I honestly had no idea what to make of this. She stammered out “It was in the “…. Then everything went dark, I awoke to find myself lying on a soft surface with a rhythmic beep, beep, beep. Next my right ear. My whole body ached and I struggled to open my eyes. Finally, they cracked open letting in a blinding white light. The beeping got louder and faster. Then I felt something cold grab my wrist and a low whisper next me, Calm down, Mr Finch, you’re okay, your safe. Eventually my eyes adjusted to the light showing a young woman leaning over me, dressing in a classic nurse’s outfit. I tried to speak but, I couldn’t say a word, something was in down my throat, I started to panic, I had to get it out of my throat, or I would surely suffocate. The beeping grew louder and erratic as I struggled, my arms felt like jelly as they reached up and grabbed at my face. I felt this horrid thick tendril going down my throat, pulsing as it forced something into my lungs. The nurse screamed something I couldn’t make out, but I felt more hand pressing me down, trying to stop me and that dammed beeping just keep getting faster. I finally managed to yank out the dammed thing trying to slither down my throat. Followed by unimageable pain and a sharp pinch in my left arm, and then darkness. I awoke again but this time my vison was a lot clearer, and I could see that I was strapped down with thick padded cuffs to a clean white hospital bed. At least that horrid tendril was gone from my throat and the beeping was a slow steady rhythm again. I could now tell that that beeping came from my heart rate monitor. I called out but my voice felt wrong, it was rough, and it hurt to speak. The same young nurse from slowly entered my view, hovering above me. “Woah there, no talking. You dammed near tore out your voice box with that little stunt earlier”. She said in a stern but kind voice, she paused for a second and spoke. “You’re in the Blueridge hospital, your car was t-boned on the blackwater road just outside of town. Your lucky to be alive, your spleen ruptured, and both your right leg and arm were broken in the collision”. I tried to ask a question, but she just shushed me. “No questions now, rest and the doctor will come talk with later”, I blinked, then felt a sever drowsiness hit me and then the darkness overtook me again. The next few days where a nightmare, the nurses were kind, but they refused to tell me anything about the crash, or what happened to my wife or son. Eventually though the Doctor came to check up on me “Ah, good your vitals seem fine, your bones had a good clean break and it’s healing nicely, you should be back on your feet in no time, Mr Finch” he stated in a clinical tone. “I don’t care about that, WHERE’S LYNN, WHERE’S KYLE” I demanded. A look of sadness overcame the doctors face “Mr Finch, please you’re still recovering we can”, “DAMMIT DOC, I need to know, please…” I begged. He let out a short sigh, “Mr Finch your Son is fine, actually were not really sure how but he barley suffered any injuries, just a few lacerations, a mild concussion and a sprained shoulder” I massive weight left my chest and I could finally after days of torment, relax, “He’s fine”, I smiled, then as soon as my smile came it fled as a dark though wormed it way into the forefront of my mind, and a pit formed in my stomach as a dread filled my heart. The beeping started to get erratic again, as I stammered out “wha-a-t abo-o-u-t Ly-y-nn”. The Doctor steeled himself then said his next words in the most professional way possible “I’m sorry Mr. Finch, She suffered a sever head injury, which lead to a hemorrhagic stroke, she passed away last night at 20h32 pm, I very sorry for your loss”. I felt everything go cold and all the color drained from the world. The next few days flew by in a dark malaise. I couldn’t focus on anything, and I lost my drive to even try. Then next event I could even really remember was they day Kyle came into my room. “DADDY”, he yelled and all but thew himself onto my bed, His weight came crashing into me and I could feel my body protesting against the pain, but he hugged my tightly, his warm tiny arms grabbling tightly into me, even though the pain on my side was almost unbearably, I wouldn’t even think for a second of pushing him off me, instead I wrapped my good arm around him and pulled him tighter to me. Then he said, “I missed you, those mean old lady’s wouldn’t let me see you or mom”. Those words stung even more than the injuries. I fought back tears, as I held him, but then something in me snapped back into place, and the cold darkness flew away. “Don’t worry Son, Well get back home soon, I promise”. “Daddy I’m so glad to see you, but what happened to Momma, those mean ladies won’t tell me anything they just seem sad whenever I ask about it”. I took a deep breath, and said with tears staining my eyes, “Kyle, God needed mom for a very special mission, so he called her back to heaven, so she could become of his angels”. Kyle seemed confused but asked sincerely “Then can we go to heaven too?”. “Not yet, but one day when its our time, we’ll get called up too and we can see her again”. “But when will that be, I wanna see her now” Kyle complained. I hugged closer “I’m sorry son, but we won’t be able to for a long time”. My son was a very smart kid and by that point he caught up on what I was saying, and I could see tears well in his eyes as he started to cry. I just held him close until he eventually fell asleep in my arms. The next few months passed in a blur, but I had now regained my drive, I fought through the physical therapy and eventually was back on my feet. Months passed and I managed to adjust to taking care of Kyle alone. It was hard, and I missed Lynn every day, but humans are good at adjusting. With my demanding Job I had to hire a maid to clean the house and started to order take out more often that was probably healthy for me and Kyle. In the blink of an eye a year had passed. Kyle was the greatest child you could ever imagine, I really struggled to get through this year, but he was different stronger. He would help me, make his own lunch when I forgot it, take the bus to and from school and his grades never even dropped. He truly was an amazing kid. Then early one morning while I was getting breakfast ready, he ran into the kitchen, then approached me, I could tell he wanted to ask something, but he didn’t know how to approach it. “Good morning, buddy, so what up” I gently probed, he replied “Well, you’ve been busy, but I wanted to ask if, it would be, well, you know, okay if, we go back to the lake again”, My smile froze, “The lake” I questioned, “Yeah you’ve been away a lot, and I’ve been trying to play with my friends, but its just not the same. we used to go all the time, and well I’d really like to go again”. I paused for a moment and thought to myself, wow I’m a terrible dad. This kid used to go out every day with his mother, they loved the outdoors, it’s been a whole year and I’ve been to busy at work to even take him out once. I could feel my heart breaking, so I said “Sure, let’s go on Saturday”. His smile brightens the room. I have not seemed him this happy in a long time and it even lightened my own mood. Although the second he left to get on the bus, a dark dread crept into my heart. The lake, I honestly never wanted to go back there. There were too many memories there, too much I didn’t want to face. But if its to keep that boy smiling, I’d do anything. The rest of that week went by quickly, I bought a whole new set of camping gear, pack snacks, and everything you’d need to make some s’more, all the while mentally preparing myself to go back to the lake. Then the fateful day arrived, we woke early, 06h00 AM, fumbled everything into the car. Then made the short drive to the lake. It was a bright clear day, easily 30C, with a cool wind that blew through the trees, rustling the leaves. It was by all accounts a perfect day, we drove up to the old mining operation, its hard packed dirt and chiseled limestone walls, looking over the dark, yet surprisingly clean water of the lake. I was always surprised how the water never got stagnate, even though it always sat still. That day was actually fun, it felt like old times again, we ran through the forests, catching every bug we could find, we even found an old slimy toad underneath a small berry bush. Too soon the golden rays of the sun started to creep behind the hills in the distance. I was complexly exhausted, keeping up with an 8-year-old is hard work, I cannot understand how they fit so much energy into such a small body. So, we headed back into the car, and started to unpack the tents. Of course, we didn’t setup right on the edge of the water. That would be slightly silly, as I would hate to wake up and plunge straight into the water first thing in the morning. So, we headed a ways away from the lake. We setup the camp in a small clearing in-between some old firs, its was better to setup slightly outside the old mining area as the dirt was so hard packed there you struggled to hammer in the tent’s pegs. We gathered some large stone and build a roaring campfire. We had snacks, ate S’mores, then as the full moon hung brightly in the sky, I could see Kyles eyes slowly droop closed. I gently scooped him into my arms and carried him into his tent. As I tucked him into his sleeping back, he softly said to me, half asleep. “Daddy, thanks, today I almost felt like mom was back”. Those words stung my heart, and I knew we would have to come back to the lake more often. He was a great kid, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t missing Lynn, and I needed to do a better job. I slowly crept out of his tent making as little noise as possible. Quickly smoothing the fire, then crawling into my own tent, and as soon as my head hit the pillow I was out. I jolted awake, “Daddy, quickly over here” I heard Kyle call from the distance. I rubbed my eyes, still groggy. Kids… it should really be impossible for them to have this much energy. I slowly unzipped myself from the sleeping back and slowly pushed out the flap of the tent. It was still midnight. The kid basically got like 2 hours of sleep and is out and about already, But I can’t really blame him though it’s been a year since any real outing after all. I grab my flashlight, flicked it on, sending out a thing beam of light into the dark woods, and head out into the cool night air. I didn’t really need the flashlight; I was a full moon and most of the forest was visible, but it never hurts to have, I guess. I was about to call out when I heard it again even further away “Daddy, quickly over here” he called out from the direction of the lake. I slowly trudged my way through the underbrush. “Kyle, where are you” I called out. “Daddy, quickly over here”. I finally emerged from the tree line, looking out over the lake. Its water pitch black under the moonlight, and then a heard a splash, a giggle and my I saw Kyle leisurely paddling in the lake. The lake was deep, and I mean, really deep. Its an old mine, so it easily went 50m down. We never let Kyle ever swim in the lake, just to be safe. “Kyle what do you think your doing, get out there now” I called out over the water. He just giggled and said playfully “Daddy, quickly over here”. I was furious and was just about to jump in and drag him back to shore when I noticed it,” Daddy, quickly over here”, he said again. The same words, said in the same way, exactly the same way, like straight from a tape recorder. I slowly moved the beam of the torch onto the boy. He looked just like Kyle, exactly the same. Maybe I’m just being crazy, it must just be him finally letting lose after keeping his feeling bottled up for so long, I told myself. “Come on Kyle, lets get you dried off” I call out again. The boy cocked his head to the side staring up at me and said “Daddy, quickly over here”. His bright green eyes reflected back the light from the torch, and I froze, Kyle has brown eyes. The thing in the water lifted it hand up out of the water becoming me in “Daddy, quickly over here” it said copying my son perfectly. Then I heard a voice in the distance. “Daddy are you looking for me”. I froze for a brief moment, then ran, I burst through bushed, trampled plants along the way, but I didn’t care I ran with everything I had, back to the camp. I burst through the tree line and saw Kyle’s head poking out of his tent, he was rubbing his eyes, his brown eyes. I ran towards him yanked him out of the tent and sprinted to the car. I threw Kyle into the backseat, and grabbed the front door, “Daddy, quickly over here” I heard a faint call in the distance, and a pair of glowing green eyes staring from lake in the distance. I jumped in and hit the gas. 20 minutes later we where home, Kyle was confused and terrified. “Daddy, what’s wrong why did we have to go” I looked over at him and said “Its nothing, just the lake, well, we can’t go there anymore, I think we need to find a new place to camp”. He looked up at me confused but said “Fine, I’m going back to sleep” he gave me a hug and turned to go to his bedroom, but as he left, I saw something, something faint.. Now I’m sitting here in my bedroom typing up this post, thoughts swirling in my head, because as Kyle entered his bedroom, he opened it with his right hand, not his left like he usually would, and for a moment I saw a flash of green in his eyes. I am no longer sure if that thing across the hall is my son, and if not, how do I get him back?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I couldn't believe what happened after my crush asked me out on a date... [RESPONSE] “Charlie, why are you dressed up like a fairy?” Nana furrowed her brows, like two gray caterpillars resting in confusion over the rim of her glasses. “Nana, I’m Starchild. You know, I wanna rock and roll all night and party every day?” I motioned at the face paint and the leather outfit. How could she not know who KISS was? “I don’t know what you’re talking about sweetie. But it’s not appropriate for Easter. God wouldn’t like that outfit. You look like a fairy.” She shook her head in disapproval. “Nana, it’s Halloween, not Easter. And calling someone a fairy really isn’t okay anymore… Did you take your meds?” She didn’t answer, simply stared off into space, softly humming a church hymn. “*Whatever…”* I groaned, making my way to the back door. “Charlie, don’t forget curfew this time!” My mother called from somewhere deep within the house. “Yeah, yeah! Got it mom!” I rolled my eyes as I slid through the screen door and down the porch steps. Streetlights splashed a yellow glow across the asphalt as herds of children in costumes flooded the streets. Orange and brown leaves spun in circles across the ground as a cool breeze rolled in from the south. Laughter filled the air as kids jumped and twirled in between doorbells. A part of me missed that age, the thrill of trick-or-treating and staying up late to stuff my face with candy corn, but another part of me was glad it was over. I had more *adult* things on my mind for this evening. I couldn’t run in my platform boots, but I sped walked faster than any soccer mom could ever dream of as I made my way across the neighborhood to Eric Pliers house. My calves were on fire, but after a few minutes it was totally worth it. Deadmau5 pulsed from inside as neon lights spilled out of the windows onto the lawn. Some other kids that I recognized from school were making out on the patio. I made my way into the foyer through the entanglement of bodies and mounds of discarded red solo cups. A sea of risqué costumes writhed in the living room as EDM raged through the speakers. It was a fantastical dance floor made of shag rug and floral wallpaper. The outdated house came alive tonight. The energy was electrifying, and I felt its current twist its way through my veins like a drug. I slipped my way into the fray of flesh and danced like I never had before. My limbs twirled in a frenzy as the bass rattled my teeth. This went on for hours. By the time I came down from my buzz most of the people had left the party. A few girls gossiped on the sofa and there was a jock passed out on the kitchen floor just outside the den. Other than that, the house was about empty. *What time is it?* I looked to the grandfather clock by the staircase. 11:46PM. *Oh shit…* I’d missed curfew almost by an hour. Oh, man… she was going to kill me. I broke out into a trot and burst through the front door and down the porch steps. I was partially down the street when I heard someone call out to me. “CHARLIE! WAIT UP!” Eric Pliers jogged after me, his alien costume jiggling comically. “Oh, hey Eric. Great party! I had so much fun, but I really gotta get home. I’m out past curfew and my mom is going to be so pissed.” “Ah… well I just wanted to tell you thanks for coming. I enjoyed hanging out with you.” “But did we hang out? I don’t really remember us talking?” I chuckled. “Well, no… but I really liked seeing you. Outside of school I mean. Do you think… do you think I could do that more often?” “Do what?” “See you outside of school more.” He blushed. “Oh, yeah of course. I’d like that.” I grinned. He beamed at me for a moment, but then his smile quickly faltered. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “You know that guy?” He pointed over my shoulder. “What, who?” I spun around. At first, I didn’t see him, but then I spotted him standing behind a streetlight. He was freakishly tall and thin enough to hide most of his body behind the lamppost. Only his shoulders and head stood out from behind it. His neck was craned and I could tell he was watching us even though he had on what looked like to be a Japanese Oni mask. Large golden horns curled out from the black snarling face of a demon. I’d seen something similar in an Anime before. “CAN I HELP YOU?” I shouted. I spun around to face Eric. “Seriously, what’s with this guy?” I asked, throwing up my hands. “I don’t know what a creep.” I turned my head to look over my shoulder, but the man was gone. “What the hell…” I paced in a circle, scanning the area. I didn’t see him anywhere. “Well, the creepy weeb must have taken off.” A giggle was caught in my throat as I turned to Eric to see the tall man with his hand around his throat, pulling Eric tightly against his body. Eric choked and thrashed against the man, his face purple with spittle bubbling at the corners of his mouth. “WOAH, HEY, HEY, HEY, HEY…” I cried, backpedaling away from them with my hands up. “We were just joking, you’re totally not a creep. Please let him go.” I pleaded. The man said nothing. He only stared at me with icy gray eyes beneath the mask. “Just let him go and leave us alone. We won’t tell anyone…” I didn’t know what to say, I just wanted it to stop. Silence. Eric had gone limp. He had lost consciousness or worse. The Oni man suddenly tightened his grip so hard that I heard a snap. I gasped as Eric’s head lolled to the side like a ragdoll. “Oh my God!” I screamed. I took off sprinting as fast as I could, clomping in my platform boots like a Clydesdale through the streets. “Help! Someone help!” I hollered. But the once busy neighborhood was dead asleep. I couldn’t call the police, my mother had taken my cellphone when I’d broken curfew a week ago. I ran and ran, my lungs were on fire, my legs were weak and wobbly. I didn’t look over my shoulder until I was rounding the corner of my street. The Oni Man stood behind another lamppost not thirty yards behind me. The light glinted off his golden horns and this time he was waving at me. Tears rolled down my face as I galloped further down the sidewalk. I was almost to my house when I tripped over my boots and face planted onto the concrete. My mouth filled with blood from where I’d chipped my teeth. I spit out the shards and a mouthful of blood as I scrambled back to my feet. The man was close, I could hear his footsteps just behind me. But I didn’t dare look back, I darted through the yard and into the house, slamming the door and locking it behind me. “Charlie is that you? You’re late, AGAIN!” My mom shouted while descending the staircase. “Mom, mom! Call the cops!” I screeched. “What, why? What’s happened?” She scrambled down the steps and into the living room. “Oh my God, what happened to your face?” She grabbed the sides of my cheeks to examine the damage. “Don’t worry about that Mom, damn, call the police!” I yelled. “What’s going on Charlie? Are you on drugs?” “No mom, the man… the man in the mask, he killed Eric. He killed Eric and he’s after me.” I whimpered. “What are you talking about? Who is Eric? Who is after you?” Her voice was high pitched and panicky. Before I had a chance to answer I heard a window shatter in the study. My mother quickly crossed the room, her pink bathrobe billowing behind her. “No! Mom, don’t go in there!” I cried. But it was too late, the tall man emerged from the doorway and slammed her against the wall. She cried out in pain as he wrapped his hands around her neck and slammed her again and again. I fell to my knees as her body smashed through the drywall, cracking the wooden studs beneath. She crumpled to the floor in a heap after he was done. Blood pooled around her head, matting her blonde hair to the hardwood. The Oni man turned to face me. The same steely gaze shone through the eye holes in the demon mask. There was no emotion there. He was the void, and I was to be consumed by it one way or another. I felt urine trickle down my pant leg as he stepped towards me. *This is it. This is where I die.* The thought bounced around my skull like static. Just before his hands reached me an explosion rang out just over my head, sending the man tumbling backward. My ears rang and the whole world slowed down. I watched as he struggled to stand but before he did another blast tore through his chest. He didn’t get up that time. I turned to look behind me. “The devil never stood a chance on Easter Charlie. Always remember that.” Nana stood at the bottom of the staircase, smoke drifting from the barrel of her shotgun. I ran to her and wrapped my arms around her shoulders, sobbing. “It’s alright son, it’s alright.” She patted my back after dropping her gun to the floor. \---- Mom was in a coma for a week but ended up pulling through without any permanent damage. We had called an ambulance just in time the paramedics had said. They were able to get her in for surgery before her brain had swelled too far. Eric hadn’t been so fortunate. His neck had been broken and he’d been deprived of oxygen for too long. Nana and I attended his funeral a few days later. It was a beautiful service. The entire school had shown up. As for the Oni man. Well, he had lived somehow despite all the buckshot he’d taken. The police had him in holding at the hospital but claimed he was mute. He never said a word. They also couldn’t find anything on his fingerprints in the system. It was like he didn’t exist. Before they could sort it all out, he had escaped. The officer that was supposed to watch the room was on indefinite leave for allowing him to slip away. It was all over the news. A patrol car sat outside our house every night for months. Just to be safe. But I never felt at ease walking the neighborhood again. I couldn’t stop looking at the lamppost. Waiting… waiting to see those horns glowing in the streetlight. To see him watching. To see him waving. A greeting from the void, come back to consume me.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I work for a company called BlackHawk Security (1) [RESPONSE] Hello Reddit, You can call me Nomad. I work for a security company, called BlackHawk Security. Try looking it up, you won't find anything. There is no info about this company and no proof it even ever existed, at least not the one I work at. BlackHawk Security is not your average security company, but I’m guessing you have guessed that by now. Anyway, allow me to tell you a little about my experiences here.. starting with my first job. My first job was as a.. well security guard. I was stationed in a security office for the night shift. I was stationed at an office building in Kentucky, my supervisor met me at the front of the building, handing me an envelope. “What's this?” I had asked him. “Open it in the office, and don't talk to anyone”. I thought he was just trying to play a joke on me and thought I should just play along. Walking inside I noticed the reception area was empty, except for the receptionist sitting behind the front desk. She looked relatively normal except for the fact that she was smiling.. not like a normal smile but a creepy smile. It was wide and it made me very uncomfortable. I decided to just leave her alone and go to the elevator. After entering the elevator I pressed a star button that I was told would take me to the security office. Soon the elevator stopped at the 5th floor, and 3 office workers stepped inside. They all had the same weird ass smile that the receptionist had. “So, you are the fresh meat right?”. The question startled me so much that I jumped a bit. I looked around the elevator and one of the office workers was looking at me. “Y-yeah I guess…I’m the new security officer”. I tried to sound tough and nonchalant but failed miserably. The man looked like he could see my fear. He began to smile wider.. “Finally, someone who talks… They usually ignore us. Don't be afraid.. we don't hurt unless you hurt us..”. What. The. Hell? “W-what?” I was seriously regretting my life choices and was just thinking about how long it would take to get to the security office. “We are not the ones you should worry about… it’s the 5th floor you shouldn’t talk t-“ DING! Finally! We had stopped at the 5th floor and the man looked disappointed, his smile faltering. “Aww.. I wanted to talk more. Oh well, see you sooon”. All 3 got out and the elevator door closed, going one more up to the security floor. Getting out of the elevator, I started walking across a hallway, following signs that finally led me to the security office. The door leading into the security office was a heavy duty metallic door with a keycard reader next to it. Swiping my card, I entered the office. The office was a medium sized room with 2 desks, a few filing cabinets, 2 monitors on each desk and a few lockers at the back of the room. Sitting down at a desk, I take out the envelope and opened it, finding a piece of paper inside. Taking out the paper I started to read it: If you are reading this, you are the new security officer at ??????? co. . Follow these rules to survive your shift, this is not a joke. Rule 1. Do not make any loud noises on the 5th floor, also do not talk to anyone on the 5th floor. If you do, run to the security office. Also, do not talk to anyone who works on the 5th floor. Rule 2. Perform patrols regularly. If you meet another security guard on your patrol, DO NOT LOOK AT HIS FACE, he won’t like it. If he talks to you, do not respond. If he says “I think you forgot something” It means you have broken a rule and should run to the office, radioing HQ. You should then remain in the office for the remainder of your shift or until VETA 9 arrives. Rule 3. This is rare but, If you are on floor 3 and you hear a woman cry, pull the fire alarm IMMEDIATELY and radio HQ. VETA 9 will be there soon to resolve the issue. Resume patrol and do not go back into the 3rd floor for the remainder of your shift. Rule 4. Do not leave the building until your shift is over. They will follow you. Rule 5. Do not use the stairs. Always use the elevator. Putting the paper down on the desk, I couldn’t help but laugh. What bullshit, they really think I’m going to fall for this? Yeah sure. I got up and decided to start my first patrol. I checked my watch and saw that it was 9:04pm. My shift was 9:00pm—6:00am… I exited the office, going to the elevator and waiting for it to come up. I ended up being there for a minute before the elevator finally opened and I entered the elevator. Deciding to go down the line I pressed the 5th floor button. The elevator opened its doors seconds later, and I walked out onto the hardwood floor of a large cubicle room. The room was quite large, holding maybe a hundred cubicles. I started walking around, looking into the cubicles. The floor was quiet, except for the sounds of keyboards and phones.. nobody was talking. Each cubicle held an employee, hard at work typing away on a computer, writing notes on paper, and… wait. I stopped at one cubicle where an employee was just standing there, not moving, not even breathing from the looks of it. The employee was smiling, like everyone else. He was facing me, I then recognized him as the man who had talked to me on the elevator. “Hello buddy…” his voice was slow and… like two people were talking, one high pitched and one low pitched. What in all that is holy is happening?!?!, is all that was on my mind. I was about to say something but he ran to me and put a finger to my mouth, silencing me. “Shhhhhh…. You shouldn't talk here.. the manager might hear you…” I decided to push him off me and go back to the elevator. The 4th floor was much the same, everyone smiling but much more talkative. I had a good laugh with an employee who was talking about his family, and how his kid (who is 7) fell into the toilet and got stuck. I then left and went to the 3rd floor, the second I put my foot on the carpet of the 3rd floor… My gut told me to turn around and move on. I started walking around, the air was much colder from the other floors. Walking around, I saw much the same of the other floors.. cubicles and people working inside. I saw a break room so I decided to get a coffee. On my way to the break room however… the faint sound of someone crying enters my ears. “The hell?” The sound begins to get closer… and closer… “Is that a woman?” I left the break room and began walking to the source.. The room was quiet, everyone had stopped working and was standing up. In front of me, maybe 10 feet.. was a woman dressed in a suit and tie.. but she was abnormally tall. She wore that same smile everyone else had but with bloodshot eyes. her sobs then turned to giggles. Her smile started getting wider… and wider.. oh god it was so wide that it was ripping her skin and flesh. The end of her smile was now parallel with her eyes.. “What the fu-“ She then started screaming and running towards me, I turned around and booked it to the elevator. Maybe those rules were right.. I didn’t want them to be but everything else pointed to the fact that they were. I finally reached the elevator and got in, remembering the rule at last… “ah shit.. the fire alarm!” I looked around outside and saw a fire alarm right next to the elevator.. I managed to pull it before the door closed and the woman rammed into the elevator. “WHAT THE HELL!!” I was screaming in the elevator as the elevator moved to the security office.. I then reached for my radio and turned it on. “This is security officer \[REDACTED\] WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!?!” I shouted into the radio. There was silence for a few seconds then a female voice came over the radio. “Rule 2 or rule 3?”. “MA'AM I WAS JUST CHASED BY A WOMAN WHO LOOKED LIKE SHE COULD PLAY FOR THE NBA!” “Rule 3 then?” She answered confused. “VETA 9 is on the way, stay away from the 3rd floor.” “Who the HELL is VETA 9?! I want to know what’s going on here!” At this point I was getting agitated, then she answered in a slightly annoyed voice. “Listen sir, you are not in the position to be asking these questions, read the rules CAREFULLY and stay away from the 3rd floor.” I turned the radio off in frustration and got out as the elevator door opened. As I walked along the hallway towards the security office, I started hearing a second pair of footsteps approaching me from behind. I decided to keep my eyes forward and return to the office. “Rough night huh? Yeah, most new officers at that company are the same way you were.” I kept walking towards the door, ignoring whoever was behind me. “Hey buddy, *I think you forgot something*” that made me stop in my tracks. Then, darkness. The entire floor was pitch black. I reached for my flashlight, turning it on and looking around. Right in front of me was the man from the 5th floor. “Right on cue huh? Those golden words make me so happy… because then we get another employee.” His smile began to widen, ripping his skin and flesh like it did with the woman. He began laughing, walking towards me.. then running. He grabbed me with his hands, lifting me up and opening his mouth. I started regretting every mistake I ever made, I regretted not asking my girlfriend to marry me, not going to college.. not being such an idiot that I was discharged from the marines.. I knew I was going to die, and the man was about to kill me. BANG BANG. The creature holding me closed his mouth, looking behind me.. I did the same and saw several blinding lights. Several more shots later and the creature dropped me and started moving backwards. A man walked above me and stopped shooting, holding out his hand. “Hey kid, VETA 9 here to save your ass!” I was to remain with the team until my shift ended, and was reassigned to another job… Anyway, I should post this now because I have to get ready for a mission with my team. I will explain more later but for now wish me luck, pray I don’t die..<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I was an inmate in a prison when terror broke out [RESPONSE] The thing that got to me was the noise. The voices shouting and cursing and pleading. The doors banging closed. The snap of locks being turned. Up till then I had been the big man, all bluster and face set in a sneer, like I didn’t care. But, lying there, hearing that noise, I started to cry. I was eighteen years-old and it was my first night in a prison cell. I thought about a lot of things that night. How my mother’s heart was broken when the police came to arrest me. The few memories I had of the father who’d slipped out of my life when I was eight years old. The things I had stolen and sold for quick, easy cash. Money I had then burnt on stupid things. I didn’t sleep at all and when the lights went on in the morning, I told myself, that when I’d served my sentence, I was going to make changes to my life. I’d get clean. I’d go to college. I’d beg forgiveness from my mother and be back in my family home. There was no way I was going back to prison. I could not have been more wrong. Forty years later I was lying on a bunk in a prison cell waiting for the lights to come on. The sounds of men crying out in their sleep echoed around me. This was my twentieth conviction. There was no three strikes and you’re out law in England. I don’t know whether that was lucky for me or not. And it was the eighth prison I had been in. I’d moved about a lot, to all different parts of the country since my first spell in prison, telling myself again and again that this time it was going to be different. That this was going to be the fresh start I needed. But I always ended up in the same place: Inside. I was a loser, and I was staring down the barrel of old age. I had wasted my life. The lights flickered into action. The whitewashed walls of the cell stared back at me. I lay there blinking and grimacing. My body was a wreck. No exercise, too many fights, junk food, and alcohol when I could get it, had taken a toll. The hour after hour spent in cramped cells had not helped. I was not the type of prisoner who spent their time doing sit ups and push ups. I doubted I could even touch my toes. If I had been a car, I would have been scrapped. Or, just abandoned by the side of the road. My back ached, my arms ached, my neck, my guts, and my ankles ached. After a moment, my head joined in. Sitting up would only make this worse. But I did it anyway. Then my door unlocked with a sharp groan of its own. Another day in prison had begun. I stepped out onto a walkway. Its iron was hard and cold beneath my feet and everywhere I looked I saw dark metal and dirty grey stone. And washed-out men. Men like me. The prison I was serving my latest stretch of five years in, was more than one hundred and forty years old. In places it looked more like a castle than a prison. There were turrets and slits in the outside walls rather than windows. It was overcrowded and filthy and damp. It was lousy that it was still being used to incarcerate men in 2022 but building new prisons cost money so this place was kept patched up and running. I remember reading an article somewhere, that in America running prisons was big business, with private companies raking in the cash via specially built super-max facilities. Here in England, the authorities were dragging their heels and making do with dumps like this. I scowled, as my senses were assaulted by the smell of stale sweat from hundreds of men blended with the mould growing on the inside of the walls, then I joined a line of inmates being shepherded down a metal staircase by prison guards. The guards in this prison were the same as all the others I’d encountered over the years. Some believed they were helping make the world a better place, some were bullies, and some were bland. These last types of guards worked in a prison, but it might as well have been a factory or a call centre. They turned up, they went through the motions, then they went home and, at the end of the month, collected their meagre wage. That was my theory anyway. The guard with a clipboard standing at the bottom of the stairs was one of the bland types. He looked at me like I was a box on a conveyor belt and said in a monotone voice, “Garden duties for you today, 5674.” That was my serial number. I doubted he even knew my name. I did not take it personally. I was actually quite pleased. I was not considered high risk, so was allowed privileges. This meant I did shifts in the prison’s workshop, where the inmates made tote-bags and greeting cards, which were sold commercially. I also got to work in the prison garden. Another guard unlocked a barred gate and walked me down a corridor and then, with a different key, opened up the door that led out to the prison garden. There were no electronic locking systems in this past-its-sell-by-date prison. I emerged into the fresh air with a smile on my face. Then shivered violently. The prison stood in the middle of moorland – a rugged, bleak landscape most famous as the setting for the fictional pursuit of a mysterious dog by a certain pipe smoking detective. It was cold and wet at the best of times. In late November, the wind felt like it was biting into my skin. Prisoners can’t be choosers, though, and it was better than being stuck inside. I wandered over to join the small group of inmates already hard at work digging and weeding, supervised by a couple of prison guards. I recognised one of the inmates. Brenden was twenty-three and doing eight months for stealing a police van and crashing it into a police station. He was in the thick of the gardening action, attacking the root of a plant with a blunt plastic trowel. Another one of my theories is that there are two categories of prisoner. The first type, say as little as possible. And grunting is preferable to actually forming words. The second type are *talkers*. Brenden was a talker. He kept nothing bottled up inside. The minute he saw me he came over and said, “This place is the pits. My girlfriend smuggled in a mobile for me last week, but the reception is lousy because we’re in the middle of nowhere. One bar if I’m lucky but most of the time, I get nothing.” I glanced around at the guards. Luckily none of them had overheard. I turned back to Brenden. “You need to careful,” I whispered. “You could have your sentence extended if the guards find out you have a phone.” He nodded and tapped the side of his nose. Subtle as a brick, I thought, and picked up a blunt plastic shovel that was resting against a wall. The garden implements were made by the same people that made the cutlery. There was nothing that could be used as a weapon. The prison garden was in an open square in the centre of the prison. It was a ramshackle affair. Root vegetables seemed to grow ok and were cooked in the prison kitchen and served to inmates. I leant on the shovel. I had no intention of digging, not with my back, neck, and the rest. Brenden had stopped broadcasting that he’d done something dubious and was talking to me again: “You know what one of the other prisoners told me. He said, you’re growing vegetables in a grave. You see, they used to hang men here a hundred years and more ago. And hanged men couldn’t be buried in consecrated ground, so they dug a hole below the gallows, and when the poor prisoner stopped kicking and twitching, they cut the noose and he fell right in. Then they shovelled the soil back over him. Makes my skin crawl it does, thinking about it. All those bones under my feet.” There are lots of stories in prisons. I dismissed most of them as urban legends. Gruesome gossip to pass the time. I’d heard this one before and patted Brenden on the shoulder and said, “Don’t believe everything you’re told. Especially not in here.” Then I shivered some more. The temperature was not just dipping, it was hurling itself off a cliff. And dark clouds were gathering. They seemed heavy with the promise of rain, and worse. Sure enough, ten minutes later the storm broke. Rain began to pelt us, and a bolt of lightning split the sky. The thunder followed seconds later. We ran for the door, scrambled through it then stood there gasping. We were soaked to the skin. Brenden looked at me and said, “This storm is epic.” He wasn’t wrong. As the guards escorted us back to our cells, I could hear the wind and the rain battering against the walls of the prison. Even the thick, old stones couldn’t keep the sound out. And every few minutes, thunder filled the air. It sounded like the world was breaking apart. I assumed that the lightning was continuing outside. There were no windows where I was, just the glow of the strip lamps that ran high above us and were embedded into the ceiling of each cell. As the door to my cell was locked, they started to flicker on and off. Around me, men I could not see started to cheer and whistle and stamp their feet. Any disruption was like nectar to the prisoners, and they roared their approval as the thunder and the rain and the wind grew louder and louder. And then the lights went off and stayed off. I sat on my bunk in the darkness and simply listened. A small man at the eye of a storm. The storm lasted for the rest of the morning. Just after noon, it ended as quickly as it had begun, and the power came back on. An uneasy silence had settled over the prison, and I could hear the footsteps of a guard near my cell. The lock turned and the door opened. The guard who stood there was one of the ‘making the world a better place' type. He’d even once told me his first name – James. As if he thought we were going to bond, and I’d share the details of my troubled life with him and that would set me on the path to rehabilitation. Dream on, was my view on that. At that moment in time, he looked like he was in pain. “Stupid static,” he muttered to himself. I had no idea what he was talking about, until my hand brushed a metal rail, and a spark flew from it and struck my fingers. I swore at the sudden stinging pain. Then I put my hands in my pockets and was very careful not to touch anything else. As the guard led me back down the stairs, I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing up and my skin was tingling in places. It was the weirdest feeling. It was like there was a charge in the air. The guard led me out into the prison garden and told me to gather up the equipment. The trowels and spades and the rest lay on the ground where they’d been abandoned, ground that was now a muddy wasteland. Just great, I thought, then I heard a familiar voice behind me. “That storm was beyond epic, it was veering on the apocalyptic,” Brenden said as he appeared at my side, grinning. “I mean, that was so good. It was wall-to-wall storm action.” “It was one big s.o.b. of a storm,” I said. “And it’s left an almighty mess.” Brenden looked at the sodden earth and said in a quiet voice, “Wow!” Then he started retrieving the equipment. He didn’t seem to care that he was getting mud all over himself. I reluctantly decided that I should help him and was wondering where to start, when Brenden yelped out in pain. There was no metal in sight, so it can’t have been static again, I figured. His left hand was curled up and he was holding it against his chest. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Something bit me,” he gasped. I looked down at the ground and could see a big bug crawling away. It was one ugly mother and seemed strangely unsteady on its many legs. I stomped on it with my boot. Its carapace was hard under my sole and did not give. I put all my weight into it and eventually felt it crack. Then I spent some time wiping my boot clean on the ground. I didn’t want to look at the messy remains and turned my attention back to Brenden. He was still hugging his hand against himself and pulling a face. “You’ll be OK,” I told him, and together we quickly collected up the equipment then were led back to the door. Just in time, because the rain started to fall once more, and the first crack of thunder sounded like an echo to the door being slammed shut. I was taken back to my cell. I didn’t think anything more about Brenden being bitten until a guard came to collect me from my cell a short while later. As he led me along a walkway, I could hear the storm still raging outside. The wind sounded like it was trying to rip the prison building from the face of the earth, as the thunder growled, and the rain struck. Ten minutes later, we reached the prison infirmary. The prison’s doctor was waiting for me. He was a tough looking ex-soldier who I’d heard had served all over the world. I thought of him as one of the good guys. I’d seen him for a few ailments over the time I had been in this prison and always found him thoughtful and kind. Concern clouded his expression when he spoke: “Brenden is running a temperature and I am concerned he has picked up a viral infection, but the symptoms are not ones I have seen before, in all my travels. I am going to make a call to put in a request to have him moved to a hospital. In the meantime, I think it would be helpful for Brenden to have a friend by his bedside. If that’s something you’re OK with?” I nodded. “Sure,” I said. I carried a plastic chair over to Brenden’s bedside. The guard who'd brought me was slouched against a wall, close to where the doctor was now sitting at a desk with a PC and a landline phone on. Brenden was in a very bad way. His eyes were screwed shut. He was very pale and coated in sweat and muttering to himself and turning this way and that. One of his wrists was held by a restraint that was anchored to the frame of the bed. This was standard procedure but struck me as cruel in the extreme at that moment. I said, “Hey, Brenden, hang on in there.” And the lights went out again. They’d lasted longer in the storm this time but with the ancient systems in this prison they were bound to give sooner or later. In the sudden darkness, I could hear the doctor saying, “Hello, can you hear me. Damnit!” It sounded like the phone line had gone as well. Then the lights came back on. To an extent. They were much weaker than before and cast a dull yellow glow over everything. “That’s the backup generator we have for the infirmary,” the doctor said, but I wasn’t really listening. During the brief blackout, Brenden had stopped moving. He looked to me like he had died. I felt choked up and was about to say something to the doctor, when Brenden’s eyes opened. His head turned to one side, and he looked at me. Fear trickled through me, ice cold and razor sharp. His eyes were filled with hate and madness. I felt like I was looking into the eyes of some primal creature. Of some monster. “D… Doctor,” I said weakly. He got to his feet and started walking over to Brenden and me. “Hurry,” I said. Brenden was twisting and shaking his body and clawing at the air with his free hand and struggling violently to free his restrained hand. He pulled it and pushed and rattled his wrist trying to escape. But the restraint held. Then Brenden leant over and began to bite into his own arm just below the restraint. Sickening sounds of tearing and cracking filled the infirmary and then he was pulling his arm free – leaving behind his hand. He had chewed through his own arm. He sat up, span round. The doctor stood staring in horror at him. Brendan got to his feet, the ragged bony stump of one of his arms hanging loose at his side dripping blood onto the floor. The other arm reaching out. He looked at me for a moment then turned away and began to stagger slowly towards the doctor. The guard who was still somewhere on the other side of the room began to scream. The doctor opened his mouth but was silent and still. He looked paralysed by fear. Brenden draped his good arm over the doctor’s shoulder and leant in. I did not see him bite, but I saw the agony on the doctor’s face. Watched as the doctor’s legs crumpled and he fell to his knees. His face was hideously disfigured. Blood-soaked muscle and bone shimmered in the emergency generator’s yellow light. He looked at me, appealing for help with his eyes. I looked away from his grotesque gaze. What could I do, except cower in terror as the nightmare continued. Brenden had cornered the prison guard and held the struggling man pinned against the wall. Brenden was tearing him apart. Blood splattered over every surface. The doctor, abandoned, was convulsing as he went into shock and moments later stopped moving. The guard was no longer struggling either. The only movement was Brenden feeding. I got to my feet. My legs felt drained of all strength, and I was shaking badly but I knew I had to get out of there while Brenden’s attention was on sating his abhorrent hunger on the guard. I did not know why Brenden had not attacked me. Was it, I wondered as I inched towards the door, because we used to be friends? Did a vestige of the young man I had known remain inside this murderous freak? I made it out onto a walkway. The rest of the prisoners seemed to be locked in their cells and I could only make out one guard through the gloom which shrouded everything. The guard was heading my way. It was James. He was clearly oblivious to the gore-fest in the infirmary. I stumbled towards him. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why are you not being supervised?” he asked. “Brenden,” I gasped. “He’s killed them.” “What the…” James began. I talked over him: “Brenden has changed, he’s a monster. You have to get help.” James’ expression spoke volumes: he thought I had lost it. “You have to believe me,” I begged, “before it’s too late.” Only, it already was. Brenden was staggering towards us. He wore a mask of his victims’ blood and, once again he passed me by, and closed on James. James would be dead in moments – unless I acted. There was an unoccupied cell a few feet away. Its door was open, and the smell of bleach was strong. It was washed out and ready for its next occupant. “Move towards the open cell,” I yelled at James. “Do it now.” He stumbled backwards and towards the cell. Brenden followed. James was almost through the door when I shouted, “Jump to one side.” He leapt to his right, and I barrelled into Brenden using all my weight. He fell into the cell. I did not. I slammed the door shut. “Lock it!” I screamed at James. He looked utterly lost and confused and terrified but he did it then stood there shaking. Then leant over and looked like he was going to vomit. “We don’t have time for that,” I told him. “There are two people he attacked in the infirmary. And I’ve seen enough horror movies to know they’ll be back on their feet in no time and coming for us.” “I can’t deal with this,” James said. “Infirmary door locked now, hysteria later,” I replied. Looking very green he hurried over to the infirmary door and secured it. By this time, more guards had appeared. They demanded to know what was going on. Which was fair enough. Brenden was groaning and hammering on the door of the cell we’d trapped him in. The blood he had trailed all over the floor was a line of darkness in the gloom. And now there was more groaning coming from behind the locked infirmary door. I looked at the guards, looked at James and said, “I really need some fresh air.” “No way!” one of the guards snapped back. “You should be in a cell.” James held up a hand. “This man saved my life,” he said. “I’ll take him out into the prison garden. In the meantime, I suggest you rustle up an armed response unit and some people in bio-hazard suits. There’s an unholy mess needs clearing up.” As the guards looked at us open-mouthed, James led me away. He unlocked the door and followed me out into the prison garden. The storm had ended. The air was clear. I stood there breathing it in. Relief flooded through me. It was over. I was safe Then I noticed there was a strange smell coming from the ground. The smell of decay. The smell of death. It rose from the mud and was growing in strength. Two more guards emerged. As the stench hit them, they covered their mouths and noses with their hands and swore. James looked disgusted. He was standing in the middle of the garden and started to walk back towards the door, clearly wanting to get away from the smell. But, he had only taken a couple of smells when the insects began to emerge. They scurried up out of the ground, dozens of them at first. Many of them were like the bug that had bitten Brenden, but there were spiders as well, and they were all rushing out into the open – and over James’s shoes. More and more insects were joining them – there were hundreds by then – and they were rapidly crawling up him. I could no longer even see his shoes for the layers of bugs, and they had started to make their way up his trousers. He tried to kick them off. Tried to sweep them off with his hands, but, instead of falling away, the insects scurried onto his hands. They ran up his chest, his back, had reached his neck. And it was then I saw the blood – the red beneath the growing layer of insects. And I realised with horror, that the insects were biting him. He began to cry out in pain and tried to move towards the door. Towards what I guessed he thought was safety. But there were too many insects on him. They covered his face and his hair and soon the only thing of him I could see was his blood dripping between the moving swarm of insects as they overwhelmed him. Only minutes after the attack began, he fell to the ground. I’d been transfixed by the revolting spectacle, but felt someone pulling at me and turned. It was one of the guards. “We need to get back indoors, now,” he said, his voice shaking with terror. I did not need telling twice. As soon as we were back indoors, the door was slammed shut and locked, leaving James to his gruesome fate. I took a deep breath, looked and the guards and said, “I’d like to go back to my cell now.” *That was six months ago. I’m in an internet café now, writing this.* *The coffee I bought has gone cold, and in a while, I’ll be heading back to the hostel where I’m staying.* *I’m a free man again and this time I mean it when I say I’m not going back inside.* *I’ve wasted my life in prisons, and I almost died in a prison.* *In the aftermath of the incident, I was taken into a room and told by a man in a uniform that a statement was being issued. The statement said that there had been a riot at the prison, and that, tragically, there had been fatalities.* *It was a cover up. Pure and simple.* *I was also told, that if I ever said anything about what had really happened, to anyone in the prison or once I was released, I would be in the worst trouble of my life.* *Well, that’s a risk I’m prepared to take.* *The truth needs to be known.* *A warning needs to be given.* *I saw an innocent man twisted into a fiend by forces that I have struggled to comprehend.* *In the sleepless nights that followed the incident, I have thought long and hard about what happened, and I have the scrap of a theory.* *Call me crazy if you want, but this is what I believe happened.* *The hanged men who were buried long ago beneath the ground that became the prison garden rotted, as dead men do, but something of them lingered:* *Their desire for retribution against a world that had condemned them to be killed and their bodies treated like waste. Their hatred, which burnt inside them as the noose embraced their necks.* *These were so strong they did not die with them. They lay dormant until the storms awoke them.* *Their rage then, was back from the dead, and it infected the land, and the bugs.* *The one that bit Brenden turned him into a Zombie.* *The most hideous creature that has ever walked this earth.* *I don’t know where he’s been taken, some top secret lab maybe, where the nightmare continues.* *And not just for him.* *There are so many obscenely cruel injustices that have been committed over the years in the name of justice, that I see no reason why this should not happen again, in some other place.* *Only next time it will be worse.* *Because, I truly believe, there are unknown horrors waiting out there that no prison can contain.*<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Cursed box [RESPONSE] Have you ever heard of the cursed straw doll? Here is a story about it. I was often transferred for work and moved from place to place. Sometimes it was an apartment, sometimes a rental house. This is a story about when I was transferred to Hagi, Yamaguchi. I was told that I could rent a house at a reasonable price, so I rented a house for a while. The only problem was that it was quite deep in the mountains, and although it was a large house, it was quite old. One day, about a month after we started living there. My daughter found a strange box in the yard. We had looked everywhere in the house and in the yard during the first holidays after we moved in, but there was no box in the yard. I thought so because, above all, the box was a distinctive box, a conspicuous one that would be recognizable to the eye. I have little or no psychic sensitivity, but the box seemed unusually ominous to me. If I had made the right choice at this time, I would not have experienced fear. I had burned this ominous box. But from the average person’s point of view, the only choice I had was to burn or throw away what I didn’t need. Back then… A few days later something tragic happened. One of my friends had an accident with his car. The car caught fire. When my friend was rushed to the hospital, he had burns all over his body and was already not breathing. A few days later. Another friend of mine was badly burned on his right arm and half of his face when a fire broke out on his clothes while he was making a bonfire at home. I met my friend in the hospital and asked him what happened. He told me that a few days before the accident, he had a dream that his body was burned. I am not a superstitious person, but at that time I thought, “Maybe…” I went home and immediately checked the garden. I went home and immediately checked the yard. I checked the garbage pit where they burn garbage. That box had not yet been completely destroyed by fire.. When I reached out to examine the box, I remember a terrible chill came over me. Inside the box, I found dolls. Three in all. One of them was completely burnt, and one was half burnt. One was not burnt at all. The dolls were very ordinary Japanese dolls, female dolls wearing kimonos. When I picked up the half burnt doll, the kimono of the half burnt doll fell off in pieces. When I looked at the back of the doll, I sat up in horror. My friend’s name was written on it. I could not see the name on the blackened doll, but I could roughly make out the name. The doll that was not burnt had my name written on it. Everything was strange. Who would do such a thing and why? My friends and I had nothing in common. I have other friends. I don’t remember anyone holding a grudge against me. Why is there such a thing in this house … Did someone live in the house who had a grudge against me… No one I know lives in Yamaguchi. Everything was strange. I left that house right after that. I left the doll at the temple. I still remember the words of the temple staff. I was going to make a memorial service. But it is not something I can offer. The grudge attached to this doll is not human. ''<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] It Went from Wanting a Sister, to Knowing the Haunting Truth [RESPONSE] I’ve been afraid to share this experience with anyone, but I’ve finally been able to put the past behind me, and share my story, my truth. Others may not believe me, and if so, that’s okay. I don’t feel like I need to prove it to you. I was a 17 year old female living with my little brother, 14, and my mom, 46 years old at the time. My mom was a single mother after my dad had a tragic car accident when I was about my brother's age. She did her absolute best to take care of us, but luckily, we were pretty independent as is. You see, I had just started my senior year of high school, and I was, once again, named cheer captain for my varsity team. My little brother, who received a full scholarship to a near-by private school, was already one of their starting wide receivers - as just a freshman. We both received great grades, of course, and I had just applied for my early acceptance to Penn State - where I always dreamed of going. Living in Ohio my entire life, anything seemed better than going to Ohio State with my entire senior class. Overall, we were a pretty happy family. There was one thing that no one knew; not even my little brother was told yet. My mom and dad had another daughter, when I was two years old, who passed away at the age of six months. I feel like you know where this is going… oh tragic death, scary ghost, yeah, yeah. Well, no. Not exactly, I’d say. My mom told me when I was at the age of 14 that not only did I have a sister, but she had died in her sleep, peacefully. Nobody knew exactly how, but her organs unfortunately shut down. There wasn’t a “complete” formal autopsy, and my family donated all of her organs to nearby infants in need, only in the state of Ohio. The tragedy almost ruined my parents' marriage, but they were able to make it through, thankfully for my brother, and I. We ended up moving to a new town about three hours north. A small, small town, I may add. I believe my mom had only brought up all of that history to me about my sister due to her being completely depressed at the time, and most likely not in the best state of mind. She claimed she was trying to teach me a lesson, the lesson being, "you never know what will happen in your life, and how long you will get to live it with the ones you love." This conversation happened just two weeks after our neighbor, and friend, down the street was brutally murder, and just one week after my dad had died in his car accident during his work trip in Tennessee. When my mom sat us down one Saturday afternoon to tell us the news about our dad, I was devastated. If it hadn’t been for starting high school, making friends, and joining the cheerleading squad, I’m not sure I’d still be here to this day. Don’t worry, I’m not brushing over the “neighbor brutally murdered” part. My neighbor's killing was not just a random shooting or burglary, oh no, this was absolutely personal. Our neighbor down the street, now let’s call her Stacy to hide true identity, was killed by her ex-husband. Oh, I get it, sounds like the typical random ex-husband murder… uhm, a little more gruesome you could say. Stacy and her son, Jake, 9 at the time, were living in an empty house during the month of September. Walls were bare, not a dust bunny in sight, and every single piece of furniture was gone, except their one mattress on the floor they were sleeping on that night. Stacy and her son were moving to Delaware early that morning to be closer to family. Stacy had just put a restraining order on her recently divorced husband due to cheating, drug use, and abuse. No one, not even my family, who were extremely close to them, knew they were moving. As you can now guess, the ex-husband found out. He broke into the house he once slept in, made a child with in, and paid for. He went through the back door with his key, since Stacy never changed the locks, and stabbed Stacy, with her son laying right next to her, fifty… two… times… Jake, traumatized, crying and screaming, grabbed his mom’s cell phone from next to the mattress, as his dad was using all of his power and strength to stab his mother until you couldn’t recognize her anymore. Jake ran into the bathroom, dialed 911, and just waited as the police arrested his dad at the steps where he was just sitting, covered in his mothers blood, head to toe. You’d think this would have been all over the news. But the thing is, this all happened over labor day weekend. Our entire town leaves for a lake vacation; it is a complete ghost town. Also, it was the city cops who handled it, and to be frank, murder wasn’t too surprising in the city we lived next to. And as I mentioned, we lived in a very small town. We never got media coverage as is. It wasn’t until everyone got back, we had heard what happened and the stories, assumptions, and rumors lurking behind it. Jake was already gone, and no one heard a word from his point of view. The only reason we knew some of these details was because there was actually one neighbor nearby, that was awoken by police lights, and overheard only one comment the police had said. “I can’t believe it. That poor child seeing his own mother get stabbed 52 times. And the guy has the audacity to sit on those steps covered in blood, while that little boy was locked in the bathroom.” So the rest of us read between the lines. I never saw Jake again. His family in Delaware took him in, and that was the last of it. Stacy’s memory has a hold in all of our hearts, even to this day. She wasn’t only close with my family, but our entire neighborhood, and community. No one could bear the thought of buying that house, even to this day. The community always assumed it stayed haunted with Stacy’s ghost. Well, there’s the back story of some of my more traumatic events I’ve witnessed in my life - now let's get to why you’re actually here. It was a cold, late September night, and my friends and I were all driving around, doing random stupid shit in our hometown, after a great football game win. We weren’t really the “drinking” type completely, mostly because our small town gossiped like crazy, so if we ever wanted to party, it always had to be at someone’s house in the town or city over. We kind of made our own fun. This included anything like games of cops and robbers, hiking the so-called “trails” we have in Ohio, bonfires, pool parties, and occasionally, the fun childhood game of using Ouija Boards. Now if you tried telling me back then, in your high school, or even middle school days, you never tried a Ouija Board, then I would have just assumed you didn’t have an imagination or seek any thrill as a kid. Now, we all knew these Ouija Boards were fake, but we didn’t care. Halloween was right around the corner next month, and we were in the start of “spooky season”. So when my friend, Adam, realized I still had mine still left in his trunk, he ran the idea through everyone’s head in the car, and as always, we agreed. “Let’s do it.” We were in my neighborhood, and we were messing around with it at the park near the front entrance. Of course, it was just fun and games. I’ll admit, I moved it around some, as I’m sure Adam and the rest of the crew did as well. And then, I had a great thought… “hey guys, why don't we go to my old neighbors house, you know, the one that got murdered?” “Are you crazy?” “How would we even get in?” “I’m not so sure about it.” But leave it to Adam, “hell yeah, let’s do it.” I smirked. Of course Adam would be down. Me and him aren’t weren’t the closest, but we both got along, because of these crazy random things we liked to do together every once in a while. We parked in my driveway and started walking towards Stacy’s old house. I was getting this weird sensation in my heart, but I knew it was probably just because I was scared. As we walked closer, the sharpness in my chest grew. It felt so "off" being there at night. I drove by this house every single day without feeling anything, but being outside of it, standing there, felt wrong. But it didn’t stop me. I wish it would have. We started walking near the side of the house. They had a gated privacy fence where we were able to unlatch it, and sit right on the ground of their patio to start our fun. We sat down, and the five of us started what we have been doing for the past couple years, and asked, “are there any spirits present?” The “planchette” it’s called, started moving as our fingertips were on top of it, and landed on “yes” as we always make it do. We followed up with “is there a message for us?” and the reply of course is “yes”. At this point, we normally ask a follow up question, but the planchette started moving. I still remember thinking, “wow, someone is being aggressive today”. “T” “A” “Y” “Tay” it spelled. My name. Now honestly, I just know it’s a joke. I laugh “Ok ‘spirit’, I’m here! Who is it?” The planchette started moving, and by the end of the last letter, I was in shock. “Claudia” it spelled out. My face went white. All of my friends asked if that name meant anything to me. I didn’t know what to say, but for some reason, I felt like I couldn’t tell them the truth. I couldn’t tell them that Claudia was the name of my dead sister from many years ago. My dead sister, that absolutely no one in this town besides my mom and I, knew about. “Good try guys, I don’t know anyone named Claudia,” as I pretended to laugh it off. They shrugged, and I told them I think I better get home. I had cheer practice early Saturday morning. We walked back to my house where Adam’s car was, and I mentioned I’m going to take the Ouija Board back before I forget. And that was it. My friends left. I went upstairs to my bed, and went to sleep to go on with my weekend as if nothing had ever happened. I wish this was where the story ended. Wednesday night rolls around, and I was up late at my desk studying for AP Chemistry, dreadful. Huge exam on Thursday, and the procrastinator I was, I hadn't even looked at my notes until now. My desk faced my window, which gave me a slight clarity looking at the stars while I studied. It started to reach 11pm as I looked up, and Stacy’s house lights were on. I blink, and then boom, off. Must have been tired, I thought. Until, I looked up, and the exact same thing happened. Looking back, I’m still not 100% sure what compelled me, but something in my chest, no, entire body, did. I had this desire, this amazing need, this… thing… haunting inside of me that was running through my entire body where I felt the need to grab my Ouija Board, and head back over to Stacy and Jake’s house. As you can imagine, I started the same way. I asked for spirits, but this time nothing. I asked again, absolutely nothing. I asked one more time, and this time, it moved. My heart was racing. Now to spare the long details as if you are reading text messages back and forth, let me give you a quick recap of the conversation between myself, and this “spirit”, who I’m confident in saying now, was my sister, Claudia. It started with Claudia spelling her name out for me again, and this time, I know it’s not a coincidence. I asked if this is Claudia, as in my sister, and after she responded yes, I didn’t feel scared anymore. That haunting feeling turned into something else, relief. I always wanted a sister, and was devastated after my mom told me I “almost” had one. Someone to share secrets and gossip, get advice from, and be my best friend. This relieved feeling soon turned into love, as I spent hours on Stacy and Jake’s porch, talking back and forth with my little sister. I found out, she knew everything about me. She had been watching me my entire life. We went back and forth with each other all night. She would even spell out “L, O, L” during some of the funny stories, keeping up with teenagers texting “lingo” all these years. By the time it hit 2 am, I told Claudia I had to go, but I’d be back soon. I didn’t know when I said, “I’d be back soon”, it would turn into me spending every single night there. I would leave at 11pm when my family was asleep, and come home around 2am every single night. You can imagine how long even our short conversations could take, considering she had to spell out every single word. I stopped hanging out with my friends, I was declining with grades, and I even lost my captain status on the cheer team by the time of mid-October. My mom was concerned, but I just kept emphasizing that the idea of going to college next year was starting to dawn on me. I told her how home-sick I knew I’d get, so applying to colleges right now was adding on all this extra stress, but I told her I’d bounce back. She believed it. It was October 27th, the weekend of Halloween. While all my friends were at parties in the town next to us, you know where I was. This time, Claudia had something else to tell me. Something a little more important. The truth. Claudia told me that she could see what was coming, and that on Halloween night, I would need to be ready for anything. To have my phone on me, and my brother and mom closeby. Lock the doors, check windows constantly, and most importantly, do not sleep or leave, and keep a weapon I could find nearby. She couldn’t tell me why or how she knew this, but up there, she had a feeling. Some kind of sensation, the same I had when I first went to talk to her. Now this is where the “the truth” comes into play. She then proceeded to tell me how she actually died. It was not a random organ failure, it was something way worse, murder. A secret my mom didn’t even know. Claudia told me, late at night, our dad had suffocated her while she was sleeping. My mom had gone to the bathroom in the middle of the night like normal. While my dad was laying there, Claudia being in the middle of the bed as an infant, he got his chance. He grabbed his pillow, and killed my sister, Claudia. I didn’t even ask follow up questions; I just grabbed the board and left. There was absolutely no way that my dad, who had to travel across the country for work, just to put a roof over our head, would have done that. The memories I had with my dad growing up were filled with father/daughter dances, watching my competitive cheer dances, and spending every holiday together. We would always wear matching Halloween outfits to gather candy around the neighborhood, even in middle school before he died. He was our dad, and he would have never done that. The love he had for my brother and I growing up, just does not add up. I realized enough was enough, and I need to give myself space between Claudia and I. Monday morning rolled around, and I felt refreshed. I didn’t talk to Claudia last night, and I finally was able to go to bed at a decent hour. I felt so embarrassed for spending that much time on her, and this weird relationship we formed. I went about my day like normal, catching up with friends on what they did, and realized it’s time to get my life back together if I ever wanted to get into Penn State and succeed in life. Flashing forward to Wednesday, I had never felt better. I felt… sane. I got home from school where it was October 31st, Halloween night. Considering Halloween landed on a Wednesday this week, this was all for the kids tonight. I had already missed the fun with my friends over the weekend. I spent the rest of the night handing out candy with my little brother and mom, until all of the kids had gone back home. I headed back upstairs and finally checked Instagram where I saw a message request from Jake, Stacy’s son, my old neighbor. I was shocked. He must be either 12 or 13 now, and just got social media. I did babysit him before everything happened, so maybe he’s checking in, but of course my mind goes to… “oh no, he knows what I’ve been doing.” Both were wrong. The message read “how are you dealing with your dad?” I was confused, how did Jake know that my dad had died in a car accident? He was only about 9 at the time and moved to Delaware the week prior. I messaged him back. I told him that I was still so, so sorry about what happened to his mom, and while there is absolutely no way I could understand what he had gone through, I mentioned, when my dad passed shortly after, I was crushed. I told him he could talk to me whenever he needed to, and then asked, “How did you hear about my dad? Weren’t you already in Delaware?” I got an immediate response. “Tay, your dad is the one who killed my mom.” It didn’t make sense. I called Jake via Instagram immediately. And what I found out was insane. The parts of Jake’s dad being abusive, addicted to drugs, and a cheater were all true, and Stacy and Jake were moving to Delaware. But what was left out, was that Stacy was having an affair for years, with my dad. Jake was too young to understand, and thought he was just babysitting and keeping his mom company. My dad was never going on these so-called work trips. He must have been driving to the airport, and would Uber straight back to our own neighborhood. Stacy had enough of her husband's decisions, and also, her own. She made a plan to get her life together for Jake, and move them back to Delaware to have a complete fresh start. Jake told me he didn’t know how everything went down, but a rage went off in my dad, because the night before they were moving, Jake witnessed my dad, stabbing his mom, 52 times. The crazy thing is as well, Jake’s dad had never reached out to him, he had never heard from him, and from what he believed, is most likely dead. At this point, I think we all know who the main suspect would be. Jake revealed, my dad has been serving two life sentences in the prison about two hours from me. I immediately freaked out and ran to my mom’s room. I was bawling, “tell me it’s not true, tell me it’s not” Her eyes are huge, face is white, and her only response was, “you found out, didn’t you?” I grabbed my Ouija board, and sprinted out of the house. Crying uncontrollably. I knew I had to talk to Claudia. Why didn’t she tell me the rest? Why didn’t I let her? What else could she tell me, and what was my father doing right now? I sat down on the porch like I had many times. I called out for her. No answer, absolutely nothing. I waited for another 20 minutes there crying. There was no way I could go back home yet. Suddenly, it started moving. “G” “O” “Go”, the first response. I still cannot hold my tears in. I’m begging her just to tell me what else I need to know. The neighbors probably could hear my screaming, but I could have cared less at that point if I was about to get caught. I needed answers. It moves again. “HE IS OUT” Oh no, Halloween. I had forgotten. Claudia had reminded me this day was happening. I wasn’t supposed to leave my house. I had to go back and lock the doors. I was struggling to unlatch the fence. I was shaking, crying, and my heart wouldn’t stop beating out of my chest. At this point, it was pitch black, not a single light on in anyone’s house. Until, around the street corner, I can see an upstairs light on one house. Mine. I started to run home, and as I started to approach, there he was. Sitting on the porch. Covered in blood from head to toe. Holding one of my family's kitchen knives I had used daily, dripping in blood. I saw my brother through my mom’s bedroom window, crying, holding his cell phone talking to someone. He was giving me signals, where I could tell he was pleading with me to run. I heard sirens starting to approach. “Happy Halloween, it was always our favorite”, my father said.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm A Rookie Deputy Working On A Long Dark Highway. (Part 4) [RESPONSE] (First: Previous: Recently I’ve been forced to adopt a dog. A big dog. And one that talked. And one that learned how to sing Baby Shark. I only had Spike for two days but I already wanted to shoot myself. I took my new pet out for a walk right after getting home from my all-night shift. I figured it wasn’t a good idea to go to bed without giving my pet a chance to stretch his legs and go to the bathroom outside. I stood by an open field near my apartment, leash in one hand and yawning away. Spike ran like the wind, shrieking out the lyrics to his favorite song knowing no one was around but his owner to hear him. At least he was smart enough not to talk around others. I wondered how long he needed to be out for. I felt drained from my weird previous shifts and needed to catch up on sleep. I didn’t risk leaving Spike alone to find his own way back. I'm sure he could. He wasn’t really a dog, but took the form of a black husky looking kind of breed. Because he appeared to be just a regular dog that meant he could get taken to the pound if I left him on his own. I really didn’t want to risk someone taking him. He would follow anyone if they offered him food. Finally, Spike slowed down and paused in front of me. He panted away and thankfully that made him stop singing. I felt bad for him that he was forced to be in my small apartment all alone when I worked. I needed to find a dog sitter that wouldn’t get freaked out if they caught him singing or, well, doing any other stupid thing he was bound to do. “Did you go to the washroom? Show me where so I can pick it up.” I told him, still half asleep. I wasn’t keen on the idea of cleaning up his mess, but I just couldn’t leave it somewhere in the field. “Uh. Ew.” Spike responded; face twisted in disgust which was impressive considering it was hard for dogs to look that disgusted. “I don’t like it either, but I can’t just leave it here for someone to walk in or something.” I told him, getting a little annoyed. “I did not go here. Too open. I use the same room you do inside.” My newly adopted supernatural pet informed me. I stood staring at him for at least a minute trying to put what he said together in my mind. Was he implying he used the bathroom like a person? I would be happy if that was the case but confused on how he figured that out. And why he didn’t tell me sooner he could do that. I bought plastic dog bags for nothing. He lived in the woods before, right? Was he comfortable going outside before but not now that he had options? I can’t believe I needed to think of my pet’s washroom preferences so early in the damn morning. “You think I go outside? Like an animal? Then you steal it away?? With your hands?!” Spike said, his shrill voice getting louder in disbelief. I tried to shush him and looked around the empty street near the field hoping no one would walk by and hear him. He was so grossed out over the idea of me cleaning up after him he started to cough and gag. His dog appearance faltering showing the sharp and pointed creature he really was. I let him dry heave and make awful sounds for a bit. I needed to explain to him that I would use a bag and every dog owner does the same. Well, any good dog owner. That made him actually puke over the thought. I started to wonder if being eaten or killed would have been easier than dealing with him going forward. After our little talk, I put his leash back on to get him home. He wanted a second breakfast and I felt too tired to say no. We walked by the nearby corner store and bumped into someone I didn’t expect to see outside of work. Rusty, my partner came out of the store with breakfast of his own. I glanced at his bags seeing coffee flavored drinks and boxes of honeybuns. I didn’t think he would be the kind of guy with a sweet tooth. Maybe he had family over. Come to think of it, I didn’t even know of he was married or not. I noticed too late he was staring daggers at Spike. Two nights ago, Spike’s pack had attacked Rusty and if it wasn’t for him being a half bred of some sort, he might not have made it out of the woods. And now I stood in front of him holding a leash with one of his attackers on the other end. Maybe because Spike looked like a dog Rusty wouldn’t figure out the truth. “Breakfast!” Spike said and snatched one of the boxes out of Rusty’s bags. Within seconds he’d torn it open with his sharp teeth, I started to sweat, fearing Rusty’s anger more than anything else. At least I'd thought I did. The look of disappointed hit harder than anger. “I... He...” I started trying to explain myself. “I’ll pay you back.” I finished unsure of what else to say. “Oh, you will.” Rusty said and left us behind without another word. Spike might not be able to attack and eat me with the collar I put on him, but he’s going to be the cause of my death at some point. I wrestled the plastic wrappings away from him and dragged the hyper creature back home. I didn’t really sleep much because of the sugar high Spike got from his stolen treats. I feared Rusty’s mood for the night. He must have known and stayed extra silent when I got into the station. If he just got the payback over with, I wouldn’t be suffering this much expecting it. The wait for him to snap much worse than anything he might be able to think of. I wanted to clear the air and talk about why my hand was forced adopting Spike but we got pulled aside. One of the dispatch workers wanted to talk to us about doing a special job that night. As far as I could tell, only a handful of people within the station knew about the supernatural stuff that went down on occasion. “Could you guys go out tonight and just drive along the roads? Clover came by and should have made it over to his other stop by now. Normally we would just assume he stopped along the way to collect something he found in the woods, but with the forest acting all riled up lately it’s best to double check on him.” The dispatch worker explained. Her name tag said Mary and she was on the shorter side. I’ve never heard her voice over the radio before and we hadn’t met yet. With how young she sounded I bet it was hard for the other officers to take her seriously. “Clover?” I asked and they both looked in my direction. “He’s a travelling merchant of sorts. We’ll order special spell work and materials to make-” “Sam doesn't need to know about any of that.” Rusty interrupted Mary. I suddenly felt tense from how they looked at each other. Since I found out about the whole supernatural thing being real, Rusty hadn’t really told me much. I did try looking stuff up but who knew what was real and what wasn’t. And Spike didn’t tell me much either. He just at chicken and sang dumb songs. “He should know a little if you two are going to be on that highway. Things have already happened. I agreed with you before when he didn’t see anything weird but hasn’t he already had direct contact with the forest?” Mary questioned, her shorter frame and childlike voice somehow threatening. “He’s not a part of the cleanup crew, or deals with the same job tasks you do. I’ll tell him how to handle any magic weapons if we ever need to use them, but you know how this works. The more he knows, the more likely he’ll need to use that information.” Rusty said back, trying to keep his voice even. “I understand trying to protect the rookie, but letting him know certain things isn’t going to lead him down the same path as Quinn.” I knew others in the station wasn’t listening to us but the mention of a certain name made all sound disappear from our surroundings. I tensed up, stomach knotted and I took a step closer to Mary on reflex. I knew Rusty wouldn’t hurt her for dropping that name but I still worried over his reaction to it. Quinn was Rusty's partner before I started. To be honest, I didn’t know anything about him. I didn’t even have the guts to look up his full name. One my second day, someone else mentioned him and I saw the look in Rusty’s eyes. Whatever happened in the past was pretty bad to make him look like that. A white-hot rage and regret boiled under his skin. “We’ll tell him what he needs to know when we get there.” Rusty said, his voice so even it scared me. Mary didn’t look intimated in the slightest. I respected her for that. She’s either very brave or dense. Rusty turned on his heel and walked away. I followed behind him knowing our night would be pretty silent and awkward unless we found this Clover person. I didn’t know how to deal with my silently fuming partner. We got our car and I let him drive down the highway because he knew Clover’s route. And if he kept his hands on the steering wheel, he couldn’t smack me if I looked in his direction the wrong way. The sun set and we ended up driving around for an hour before finding something out of place. Rusty noticed it right away and pulled off to the side of the road. We both go out of the car but Rusty kept back a few feet just in case. A motorcycle sat on the side of the road without the owner in sight. A rolled-up bag tied to the back of the seat and two small reflective clover stickers on the license plate. I knew right away this belonged to the person we were sent out to find, but I didn’t see any trace of them. Rusty placed a hand on his side arm, but didn’t draw it. His body tense and head slowly moving trying to spot any nearby danger. “What’s-” I was about to ask Rusty the plan when a scream came from the trees. I wanted to run towards it but learned my lesson from the last time I raced headfirst into the forest. I waited for my partner to give me a nod. “Let me get a few things then we’ll go.” He said and went back to the car. He pulled a shot gun I’ve never seen from a false bottom in the trunk. My mouth dropped open a little from the offense of there being a special weapon hidden away. He grabbed a silver chain and shoved it into my hand. He then closed the trunk after getting a box of shells to put into his pocket. “Does the shotgun have like, magic shells?” I asked keeping up with Rusty’s quick pace into the sea of trees. He looked over his shoulder and I grabbed my flashlight so we could see where to go. He debated on how much he wanted to tell me. “No, just salt. Creatures don’t all have the same weaknesses. Most of them don’t like salt, silver and iron. Salt is the best bet. It doesn’t really kill often, but pisses things off enough for them to just leave.” Well, that was good to know. I held up my hand and showed him the chain he gave me. I dangled a little and I tightened my fist around it worried I might drop it. “What’s this for?” I asked him a bit glad Rusty finally felt like telling me something useful. “It’s blessed. Weaker creatures won’t want to go near you. If you’re cornered you can wrap it around your fist and punch something. Again, it won’t kill anything overly strong, but it should stun the creature long enough for you to run.” He explained. I wrapped the chain around my hand as tight as it would go. I even looped it around my fingers hoping the delicate thing didn’t snap. We kept walking as we spoke and didn’t see anything odd or hear another scream since entering the woods. “Why a chain? Wouldn’t like, brass knuckles be better?” I asked. Rusty stopped trying to listen to a slight rustle off in the trees. When he knew nothing wanted to jump on us, he answered my question. “The blessing only sticks to pure items. Brass knuckles are made to cause pain. Now stop asking questions. Just shoot anything that-” Rusty did not get to finish his sentence. A crashing came through the bushes. I didn’t even have time to grab my gun when a wild raging buck charged right at us. Rusty acted fast and pushed me out of the way. I fell backwards at my partner stopped the buck dead in its tracks. I shouted his name when I saw the cost of such an action. Antlers torn into Rusty’s shoulder and arm, leaving deep gouges out of his left side. He strained keeping the creature back, his feet getting pushed a few inches leaving trails in the dirt. The buck didn’t look right. The fur appeared too grey and a terribly strong rotting smell came from it. A screech came from the trees and I needed to turn away from Rusty to see the source of it. A large owl came swooping down, eyes glowing red giving me a target in the dark. I shot it and the thing fell from the sky. The body triple the size of a normal owl, and claws razor sharp. The creature burst into a puff of black smoke and bones crumbling the moment the body hit the ground. I turned to raise my gun to help my partner to see he had things under control. With a loud yell of effort, he wrapped strong arms around the buck’s head and twisted. A loud crack echoed through the trees then the creature fell apart, flesh disappearing and bones falling to the ground. “Holy shit...” I gasped mostly to myself. “Rusty, are you...?” His wounds looked deep and I brought the light over for a better look. To my shock, they started to close up. He healed way faster than he did two nights ago with the pointed wolves. “I get a slight boost in strength and healing when the moon is full.” He said, brushing off my concerns. His face covered in sweat but otherwise Rusty looked ready to keep going. A slight boost? Jesus Rusty, that was slight? He told me he didn’t have any super strength and then pulled a stunt like this. Did Rusty think what he just did wasn’t all that impressive? He noticed my look and narrowed his eyes in confusion. I didn’t voice any of my questions knowing we needed to keep moving. I relied my partner’s eyes in the dark. Even with the flashlight I didn’t have a clue on where the missing Clover might have gone. Rusty heard a noise before I did and quickly started to run towards it. I followed behind, finding it hard to keep up. I started to really hate running through the woods at night and never wanted to do it again. We stumbled into a scene of a person dressed in riding gear backing away from more of those dark and half rotten animals. He had a smoking pine branch in front of him, waving it to keep the creatures away. A black helmet with the visor down making it impossible to see his face. He let out another scream of fear when a dark crow swooped down to steal away his only defence. He'd literally got backed into a corner when we arrived. Rusty fired the shotgun into the crowd of creatures. Some of the wild shot hitting Clover and he raised his arms up cursing. His leather jacket mostly protecting him from the sharp salt. “That hurts me too!” Clover shouted; his voice muffled behind his helmet. Rusty ignored him. The salt left smoking wounds on the rotting animals and they turned towards us. I suddenly lost all my courage with all those dead eyes in our direction. I nearly fell to my knees from fear. Rusty shoved the shotgun into my shaking hands and so hard against my chest it knocked some sense back into me. He then ran forwards to punch the first undead animal in the face, breaking the neck right away. I shot into the crowd and away from Rusty in order to make a path for Clover to run through. He got a few more bits of salt into in jacket but at least I got him over and to hide behind me. “Rusty, let’s get the hell out of here!” I called the moment Clover was safer next to me. My partner’s knuckles bloody from the fight. He’s been bitten a few times but his wounds healing faster than I expected. He slammed down his fist into another buck threatening to impale him. The creature’s head crashing down into the packed dirt. The sound of the skull breaking making me swear to never piss off my partner. We were about to run but it seemed like the boss arrived to the fight late. The other animals scattered when a large shape tore through the trees. Some of the smaller ones got crushed under massive paws of the creature that arrived to kill us. I shot first so Rusty could get a few feet away but the salt didn’t do much against the monster in front of us. The thing double the size it should be, and red eyes glowed in the dark. I’d never been this close to a bear before, and never wanted to be near one again. The monster opening its mouth to let out a roar that shook the trees. I flinched in pain at the sound. There was no way we could get away from this thing. We could only piss it off more. Fear ripping through my body. I looked at my worn out and bloody partner, then at the shaking Clover behind me. He was shorter than myself and so thin under his leather outfit. He didn’t stand a chance of even handling the recoil from the shot gun let alone fighting against this bear. I looked at his waist seeing pouches and prayed he had something useful inside them. We really needed some sort of powerful magic weapon right now. By sheer luck, the bear didn’t attack just yet. Rustling came from the trees and I looked up at the same time Rusty and Clover warned me to keep my eyes down. I found myself staring at a monster more terrifying than the undead bear in front of us. Everything else faded away only leaving the sight of the creature hanging upside down from the branches using countless human arms. The face covered with layers of glittering veils. Antlers sticking out from behind the head, twisted into each other and forming a circle. My chest grew tight and it felt like something started to fill my lungs. Something solid that twisted through my veins, creeping towards my heart. Hands from behind covered my eyes and jerked my head back. The feeling of the vines inside my chest faded and I snapped out of the strange trance I found myself in. Voices started shouting but I missed most of what was said for a few seconds. “You know what you stole from me! Give it back rotten creature!” I knew that voice. It was the same one that belonged to the forest creature from before. Did I just see part of what it really looking like? “I did a fair and even trade!” Clover shot back. Being blind I wasn’t aware the forest creature came down from the trees until it wrapped hands onto my shoulders to use my body as a support to glare down the man behind me. “Nothing fair with tricky words! I wanted arms!” The forest shouted back, all those hands gripping onto me so tightly it hurt. At least the anger was directed at someone else. I didn’t even think the forest creature realized I was even there due to its rage. “I gave you arms! You never said you wanted them to be my own!” Clover argued but his hands were pulled away. I could see again and looked over the situation. Clover been picked up by the forest monster I’d gotten a brief look at and Rusty was backed up against a tree, the bear letting out a deep growl. I needed to think fast. At this rate we wouldn’t make it out of these woods and the creature would gain a few more limbs. “What did he take?” I asked quickly to the forest creature. I looked up trying not to look at it directly. I hadn’t seen the lower half of the monster yet. It turned a veiled head down, my eyes landing on it. The same feeling came crawling into my chest. It almost became impossible to breath but I kept my gaze upwards. The creature so close and I debated on using my silver chain but knew it wouldn’t do anything besides make our situation worst. “It is in his pocket. I cannot take it back because we had a trade, but I can take his life! It is all fair when it comes to-” I cut off the creature by reaching out to grab a hold of the pouches at Clover’s waist to look through them. He weakly protested; his body being held up by a pair of hands around his neck and under his helmet. I dumped out stones, pressed flowers and hunks of pure salt. He kicked his legs trying to make me stop and I really hoped what I was giving back to the forest wouldn’t come biting me in the ass. I didn’t have much time to find whatever this monster wanted. Clover losing strength and the bear starting to get closer to Rusty. “That! That!” The forest monster pointed out a pale hand at the small golden glowing bottle I pulled from the bottom of the pouch. I held out the tiny thing but the creature shook its head and demanded I open the bottle. The excited hands dropped Clover, his body landing hard to the ground. He shouted at me to stop but I ignored him really hoping that was the best course of action. I pulled the cork out of the small bottle and the glass shattered in my hand. A blinding light came over my vision and it took a few moments until I could see again. The undead bear disappeared in the new golden light, leaving nothing behind. Rusty sank to the ground, shielding his eyes from the light. Clover’s head also down and I was the only one looking around. My eyes adjusting to the light finding the small space around us to be as bright as a spring day. I looked around, stunned at the sudden change. A breeze blew, kicking up flower petals that weren’t there before and bringing sweet scents of spring with it. I heard a laugh that was like wind chimes and looking up. The forest creature changed its body and it was flying through the air between trees, the long body now similar to a serpent. The veils of spider web and antlers still attached to its head, but the rest of the body changed into something made of countless flowers as bright as the sun through leaves on a summer day. The long body flew through the air and came towards me. I tensed up expecting it to crash into my body but it just circled around me, creating a small updraft of petals. With one last laugh, it flew off deep into the woods, the light and spring day following it. We were left into darkness, everything that bright light brought with it gone from around us. Then we were all very rudely removed from the woods. The world turning under my feet and I fell downwards. With some luck, I flipped over and landed on my ass and not on my head. Rusty landed on his feet but Clover wasn’t that lucky. He came crashing down last, neck breaking against the road with the shot gun I’d dropped clattering next to him. I screamed seeing his body and ran over to him. A terrible flashback of the drunk driver from the other night coming to mind. I screamed louder when he sat up, head facing the wrong way. With some effort, he twisted his head back and pulled off his helmet. Rusty needed to smack me upside the back of my head to make me stop screaming at what was under the visor the entire time. Black wavy hair covered half of Clover’s face. I wish he kept the helmet on. His skin clinging to his skill and lips peeled back exposing his teeth. Around his left eye the skin had rotted away and he was missing his entire nose. A green eye set into his dark socket met my own and I nearly fainted. At least I knew where he got his name from. “Do you have any idea how much a spring day like that is worth! We could have bargained!” Clover shouted, and he sounded pretty good for someone with exposed vocal cords. “You’re lucky we even bothered to save your ass! You’re always getting into shit like this! What do you even need money for?!” Rusty shot back. “Don’t be ignorant! Just because I’m-” Clover started but he stopped speaking when he noticed my face. I wasn’t a sheepish person when it came to gore. I could watch zombie movies just fine or clean up road kill when needed. But it turned out I wasn’t able to keep it together when a rotten human body moved around and spoke. The exposed muscles moving caused my face to turn pale. Clover knew I was going to pass out before I realized it. He dove forwards to catch my head so I didn’t smash it against the road we’d been tossed onto. I woke up in the backseat of our car, feeling sick and dizzy. Thankfully Clover put his helmet back on and since he was still there, I figured I wasn’t out for very long. “Oh good, you’re awake. Let me take some blood.” The undead creature said from under the visor. I jumped back and pressed against the seat trying to stay away from him. I suddenly did not trust the one we just saved. He held a syringe in his gloved hand and Rusty, the traitor, grabbed a hold of me to drag me out of the car. With some screaming and begging, they got what they wanted. My rubbed my sore arm and was released to back away from the leather clad zombie. “Your eyes are green.” Clover said and put the blood he stole away in one of his pouches. “They’re brown.” I corrected. “They were brown. Now they’re green. I think it’s because you looked at that forest body for too long. As far as I can tell, nothing else has changed. I can’t sense any extra magic in your body, and nothing really feels off about you. If you’re lucky, the color fades in a few days.” Clover explained and I looked up at Rusty to have him silently confirm what was being said. We followed behind him and watched as he got back on his bike. At least no one died tonight and we got the job done. I glanced off into the woods and thought I saw a hint of light off in the distance. “I’ll get this tested for you and shoot over the results when I get them. You're probably fine.” He told us and I thought I heard him mutter another probably. That stressed me out. Could be much worst though. I reluctantly thanked Clover for checking such a thing for me even though he owed us for saving him. We let him drive off after a small exchange of waves. I was left standing on the side of the road with Rusty staring down at me. His wounds healed but they left blood on his torn uniform. Out of nowhere, his fist shot out and punched my shoulder. “What the hell?!” I demanded, hurt on so many different levels. “Tell me the next time you adopt a dog. I love dogs.” With that, he turned to go back to the car. I was shell shocked from the events that night but also from his response. Really, he gave me the silent treatment over something like that? I hurried after him ready for us to have a normal quiet rest of our shift. We did need to pull over a few drivers and Rusty let me write the tickets because he didn’t have a replacement shirt in the car. We pulled through the next few hours and I got home a bit later than normal. We both needed to fill out an extra special report because we dealt with something supernatural that night. I was so tired I barely paid any attention to what I filled out. I wanted to go right to bed but remembered I needed to let Spike out. He got his leash and I took him to the field to run around to tire him out enough for me to sleep for a few hours. At least he found a new song to sing that was less annoying. Something about a duck. Being so tired I didn’t stress or worry about the events of the night. I was nearly asleep on my feet and collapsed on the couch and didn’t make it to my bed. Instead of using my empty bed. Spike curled up on the couch with me, nearly suffocating me in my sleep. This dog was really going to be the death of me.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] A coffin has appeared in the front yard of every house in my neighborhood [RESPONSE] There is now an My wife and I were on our way home from dinner tonight when we first saw it. Dead center (sorry) in the yard of the first house we saw, among all of the skeletons scary giant spiders and lights was a perfect replication of a dark brown coffin. My wife looked at me and said, “Damn! I wonder where they got that. It must have been expensive!” She looked a little jealous. Typically, we are the house on the street that goes all out with the Halloween decorations, but after a couple of bad years for work, then the pandemic, we just haven’t bee able to refresh our hurting collection. I guess some of it is also the post-pandemic malaise that we haven’t quite gotten over. We slowly passed to admire the decorations and noticed the house next to them had the same coffin decoration as well, even though they typically don’t decorate. In fact, the coffin was the only decoration. No lights, no jack-o-lanterns, no creepy dolls. Just a dark brown coffin in the center of the yard, almost invisible in the growing dark. As I was scowling at the creepy weirdness of just the one decoration, I heard my wife gasp, “Oh, my god.. there’s another one.” I looked ahead to the other side of the road where she was pointing. I stopped the car. “Jesus fuck...”, I said, “It’s all of them!” Staring down the empty street ahead, and down the streets to the left and right, we saw the same exact coffin in the exact center of every lawn. We turned to each other, and I’m sure my face mirrored her freaked-the-fuck-out expression. I crept down the streets towards our home, seeing coffin after coffin. Our neighbors had begun to notice, as we saw some were peering out the window at the apparently unexpected decoration. As we passed our next-door neighbors, we saw the couple in their yard, looking down at the coffin. His expression was one of fury, but she had her hand over her mouth as her shoulders shook with sobs. She had just beaten cancer. Their van, parked in front of the house, hid our lawn, but I knew what we were going to see before we passed it and pulled into our driveway. Seeing it, I could feel my heart race and the cold sweat trickling down my spine. Almost robotically, we grasped at each others hands and walked up to the box. I gave it a little shove with my foot and it didn’t budge. A harder kick, and nothing. This wasn’t some cheap-o thing from Spirit Halloween, it felt like the real thing. I held Carrie’s hand tighter and scanned up and down the street. It was completely silent expect for the quiet sobs from my neighbor. More were out looking at the coffins, some trying to open them,, some trying to move them. All to no avail. “Let’s go inside.” The sudden suggestion from my wife made me jump and I felt a stab of ice in my heart. Normally, scaring each other is a cause for celebration, but this time... What kind of weird-ass joke is this? I’m looking at the damned thing from my living room window, and I have no idea what to do. Update with my earlier comment: I slept like shit last night. I don't know if this is real or a dream I had (I'm prone to nightmares), but I got up in the middle of the night and went to our front window to take another look at the fucking thing. I looked through the break in the curtains and there it still was, eerily reflecting the white-blue of our porch light. My mind blank, I stared and eventually noticed movement across the street. When I first saw it, my mind screamed "Ghost!" even though I don't believe in that shit, but after that initial scare, I realized it was just Sandy (is that her name?) across the street coming outside to look at the coffin. She was walking up to it slow, like she was scared it would rush her. She walked right up to it and bent down, easily lifting the lid. What the fuck? I finally was able to see her face, and it was blank. Not scared, not angry, not curious. Nothing. My heart raced and I felt sick as I watched her get into the coffin and as the lid closed, I must have passed out. I woke in my bed just a few moments ago. I hurried over to the window to see our coffin still in the yard. The lawn across the street was empty. I'm going to go over there this morning to see how they are. Jesus, I don't think they even know my name. I'll update soon.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I should have listened to my cousin’s warning [RESPONSE] Hello, I am not gonna tell you my name for privacy reasons and also my writing might not be the best. My story starts a few years ago when I was younger and my cousin used to babysit me and later my sister. My cousin loved horror watching, reading, listening to, even writing it. So it is no wonder that when ever I didn’t listen she would tell me the story of what she called las grapadoras de ojos. My family comes from Mexico and she claims this is my grand mother’s story that’s why it is in Spanish. The story she would tell me went like this. Down in Mexico in my grandmother’s home town (not saying for privacy) there were monsters that would terrorize anyone under the age of 18. The monsters were called las grapadoras de ojos they were said to be about a foot tall a sickly green-gray color. They had long pointed noses and beards that would drag on the floor. Their arms were so long that their knuckles would drag on the floor as they ran. They had long slender fingers with sharp curved nails that would form a circle when they closed on their left hand. Their right has as bone thin but could move very quickly. They also kept a sewing needle under the flesh of their right hand. It is said that if anyone under 18 wasn’t in bed and asleep by 8:30pm they would target you. They would give you three warnings. The first is they would knock on either your bedroom’s door, walls, or window slowly with exactly one second between each knock, and with each knock they would say something in their deep raspy voice. “Ir…a…dormir…”. If you didn’t listen to their first warning and stayed up again you would get the second. Where they will go into your house and steal all of candy, fruit, and meat that was in your house. They would also leave you a note saying it a dormir. If you did it again you would get your last warning, they will go into your bed room and knock on the floor under your bed the same as your first warning. Normally this was enough to get me to listen as I never wanted to know what would happen after their last warning. Until one day when I relized she probably just made it up because 8:30 was my bedtime and she was 18 so that’s why she was fine and not me. So, one day I decided that it was fake and didn’t listen and she told me the story again but I didn’t listen. Saying that they were just grumpy little men that wanted kids to go to sleep. My cousin looked at me amused. I thought she was impressed that I had figured it out. I could not have been more wrong. She looked me dead in the eye and told me that I had never happened after the third warning. Which being the brat I was told her to finish the story. She did. She said that after the third warning if you didn’t listen you would hear stomping coming from the front door all the way to you room. Ir… a… dormir with every stop till they get to your door where it will stop and it will be silent for one minute. Then in your left ear you will hear them whisper buenas noches. Then your eyes will close and you will fall asleep. You will never open your eyes again. As once you are asleep they will tear out your eyes with their left hand and eat them. They will then sew your empty eye sockets shut using the hairs from their breads as thread and you will never see again. I was terrified but I covered it with anger asking what the hell was wrong with her, that she was go graphic, and belongs in an asylum. She looked at me annoyed and told me it was fine if I didn’t listen to her but it was almost 8:30 so if I want my first warning I should go to bed. I was angry and scared so I listened and finally went to bed but didn’t go to sleep. I had an alarm clock in my room and I made sure to stay up till 9 that night. When I heard three knocks exactly one second apart and the raspy deep voice of a man from the door saying “ir… a… dormir…” with every knock. I got angry and really scared and yelled at my cousin. To knock it off and that it wasn’t funny. She responded that it wasn’t her and I should be asleep. Her voice came from the couch it was close enough so we could hear each other but too far for me to not hear her run back. I then felt my heart drop to my stomach when I relized that her voice was too high it always has been. There was no way she could have made the voice. After that I always went to bed and fell asleep by 8 I didn’t know if it was real or not but I didn’t want to risk it. That was till I was in high school where my cousin would baby sit my little sister because my parents didn’t trust her with me. She would tell my sister the same story and it worked the same way. One day though I was watching a movie when my cousin told my sister the story again but, when she finished my sister turned to me and asked if it was true. Before I could answer my cousin told her it was and that I already had my first warning. She went to bed right away after that. That day I stayed up till my parents got home since my cousin said she wasn’t gonna fight me to go to bed because I’m not what she’s paid for anymore. She left after my parents came home and they forced me to go to bed at 10:30. That morning I woke up to my parents fuming. They asked me what the note I left was and where the candy and meat they bought was. I was genuinely confused and kept denying it but they didn’t listen and punished me.Before they left my room they said that they were glad I was eating the fruit but I shouldn’t eat all it in one night. I went back to sleep ignoring there scolding. Then my sister starting crying scared saying that I was on my second warning before my eyes were gonna be eaten. My parents tried to calm her down to explain when she told them about my cousin’s story they calmed her down and called my cousin. That was the last day she would baby sit my sister. Also the day my fate was sealed because I didn’t take her story seriously. The next time my parents needed a babysitter they asked one of my other cousins to baby sit. I forgot about the story because of it. One day I was staying up late working on homework. I had stayed up till 10 and then Decided to go to bed. I heard knocking on my floor that night. Three months later I closed my eyes for the last time. I stayed up because I was on a date with a girl I was dating at the time. I got home and stayed up till 9 then I went to bed. I then heard the stomping it was so loud and it’s rhythmic chanting all that way from my front door to my bed room and just like my cousin said it went silent for one minute. Then in my left ear I hear it’s voice. Buenas noches. I fell asleep and I haven’t seen since. I went to the hospital and they weren’t able to cut the stiches but from the various scans they did they said that it wouldn’t be much of a difference because my eyes weren’t in my head anymore. Nothing strange other than my eyes were gone and my eye lids were sewn together. It’s been a couple years since then the cousin who told me the story committed suicide yesterday after what happened to me. I think… I think the best thing for me know is to join her. I have only gotten enough sleep to stay alive since that night. She never said that they took your ability to sleep along with your eyes. Now all of you that have read this know so at least my death won’t be in vein. Good Night<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The field of dreadful dreams [RESPONSE] The time was 6pm, the house was surrounded by fields of corn and beans, swaying in the dark breeze of the night, but the feeling of foreboding was there with the scarecrow standing over the fields, scaring the hardest of person and the toughest animal scurrying. When I awoke that next morning, I was feeling refreshed, ran downstairs to grab my stuff for school and raced out the door for the bus! When I got home late that afternoon, the scarecrow had moved, but didn't soak in until after dinner. I had asked dad of he had moved it and he said no, even with that quirky grin he always wore after a smile. The next few days passed without any feelings, but that wasn't about to last! That weekend, I had decided to have a few friends over for a sleepover, and everything was fantastic! These were very close friends and we did everything together, even IF it meant for us to get in some sort of trouble. But that night, all of us were on edge, and none of us knew why! We couldn't get dinner or a snack without doing the quick look over the shoulder. That's when one of my friends noticed the scarecrow, and she was frozen! "Hey Jill, that figure in the fields is moving!" "Impossible! Amber, that thing is on a pole that is 6ft in the ground!" She shrugged it off and joined us back in the living room for a movie and we all quickly went to bed. That next morning, the mood was the same as last night, foreboding and edgy! We all wondered why we felt this way, but we couldn't understand it! We decided to run into town to get more supplies for the evening! I forgot to mention, all of my friends, including myself are skeptics! We think all paranormal instances have a rational explanation, but this night changed our view on the paranormal and cryptids like we've never viewed them before! It was around 7pm, the sun had just set on the horizon and we were all inside, having our fun, laughing at things from school and just being the normal teens we were accustomed to. That's when things started getting weird! The first thing I noticed was that my favorite shirt I had dried on the line had vanished and I couldn't find it! "Do you guys know what happened to my shirt?" "Nope, haven't seen it!" Said Amber, as she went back to reading the yearbook! "I could have sworn I put it outside earlier" that's when I noticed the scarecrow! It was CLOSER to the house and it made me shutter! I don't know what drew me to look but I notice something odd about it! It wasn't on the pole dad puts it on when it's on the fields, it was resting on a fence post! It was staring at the house, with its button eyes! I turned and went back to the group, hoping tomorrow will be back to normal! It was 2am, and I had to get up to go to the restroom! The house was dark and eery, with only the light of the moon to light my way! I got to the restroom, did my business and started the walk back to my bed, and THATS when I noticed the shadow! It wasn't a normal shadow, but a TALL shadow. The scarecrow, it was on the deck! I woke every one up and made them watch! They were saying it was fake that someone was moving it outside! It moved, basically walked like a normal person, but with a limp!! "Is anyone home?" A raspy, throaty voice said! "I thought I saw you inside!" We all froze in our spots! Now we were freaked out, not knowing what to do! It spoke again, but this time, from outside the front door! "Let me in! Come play in the fields with me!" It tried the door handle, but the door was locked! We all cowered and waiting for the sun to rise! Morning came, and we had a story to tell all our other friends at school. We all believe now that the paranormal world is indeed real, even if it's in your own back yard<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Tumble, Tumble, Tumble [RESPONSE] I was born poor. My dad toiled in jobs that paid horribly and treated him worse. My mom watched other people's children, assuring our house was always packed with people. My siblings and I had hand-me-down clothes, knew the joys of a ramen dinner, and all started working in our early teens to help with expenses. Even though we struggled growing up, there were always people that helped us out along the way. One of those people was the owner of the house my parents rented from. George, the gentle old widower, owned a few homes in our neighborhood. Though he could've been greedy, he wasn't. George offered a fair rent, fixed problems as soon as possible, and would let my parents pay in two payments if they needed to. He didn't have to do that, but he did anyway. He was kind to us when he was under no obligation to do so. I think he liked our family. When he would come over to fix a problem, he would always say our family reminded him of his own family. He would let me watch him as he repaired something. I soaked up everything like a sponge. It's fair to say George inspired me. He used to say, "owning a house was a job, but helping out a family was a joy." I liked that and have carried it with me on my journey. After I left high school, I started working in a real estate office. As what tends to happen, the more time I worked at the office, the more I wanted to get into real estate. Before too long, I took my exam and got my license. That first year, I was thirtieth in sales in my office. The following year, I was first. Helping families find their forever home made my heart sing. As George would say, it became my joy. When I had a little extra coin in my pocket, I decided to start flipping houses as well as selling them. It's a unique job that comes with its own challenges. Some are unavoidable - old homes have outdated kitchens and bathrooms – but other issues crop up because someone screwed up at some point in the home's long lifespan. Bad owners, shifty contractors, or even "old man winter" can all add to a house's current issues. In the flipping game, you roll with the punches the best you can. You try to solve these problems as cheaply as possible and hope to profit from the sale. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, but that's part of the thrill. The kind of thrill I had with my latest flip is one I'd love to avoid for the rest of my life. There is an old expression that if something is too good to be true, it probably is. Typically, I heed this advice because, in the housing game, an underpriced house usually means a ton of work hiding in the walls. Good bones are lovely for a house you want to flip, but you need to have SOME kind of skin in place if you're going to make a profit. Once you start mentally tallying repairs and it slides into the six figures, it's time to find another house. That being said, every once and a while, you see a place that captures your head and heart. When that happens, all the old expressions get chucked out the window. When a Realtor sees those stars in your eyes, they're already mentally writing the offer. 734 Walnut Lane was one of those houses. It was genuine love at first sight. An old Victorian with a large, sprawling yard filled with old-growth trees. The house needed some work – paint, landscaping, maybe a roof—but an excellent real estate agent will tell you to look past the problems and focus on the potential. A little sweat equity can turn a grain of sand into a pearl. And 734 Walnut Lane had pearl potential. The inside of the four-bedroom, two-and-a-half-bath house was a bit rough. Not a total tear-down, but there were going to be some repairs needed. The bathrooms were actually in good shape. The style was so vintage that it had actually come back around. The kitchen was going to need some modern touches. The wall-to-wall carpet needed to be ripped up because I knew there would be fantastic hardwood floors under it. Some painting, electrical, and other odds and ends were going to be done, but I was smitten. It was two stories – the bottom is where the master suite was located. Upstairs, there were three smaller rooms and a den. The rooms were a touch small, but you just call them cozy in your advertising and stage it to make it look bigger. The den, though, was a strange space. It overlooked the veranda and was flooded with natural light from a skylight – both pluses – but it was also colder than the other rooms. There was also a weird energy I associated with the decor still in the residence. I had seen enough though, I wanted to go for it. I made an offer, and we got the ball rolling. Even though the house had sat vacant for a year or so, it was surprisingly competitive. I wasn't shocked. The price was below market value in a hot neighborhood. The agent did not give up much information, only that the owner had said they wanted to sell the house as fast as possible. That worked to my advantage. In my offer, I shortened the window of inspections down to 72 hours and made the close at 10 days. No one else would do that. My office manager advised against it, and even the listing agent questioned my timetable, but I told them both I was sure. My ace in the hole was I had a team of people I could snap into action as soon as possible. This wasn't my first race - I had plans in place to hit the ground running. After forty eighty hours of sitting on pins and needles, I got the call I wanted to hear – the house was mine. While having the winning offer was great, I had a lot to do in a very short amount of time. I needed to get my inspectors in there as quickly as possible to ensure this house wouldn't break me financially. If they came back waving red flags, I still had time to pull out of the deal. My go-to inspector was Wally. Wally and I have a long history together, and I trust him implicitly. If he said this was a dog, I would walk. If he said there was something to the ol' place, I was all in. Wally knew his shit, and I hoped he'd be coming back with good news. The inspection was set for a Tuesday at noon. Inspections can vary in time, and Wally was lovely but slow, so I assumed I'd hear from him at about two, two-thirty. I had a few other things to concern myself with, so I headed off to do my errands after I let him in. Twenty minutes later, I got a phone call from Wally. He sounded nervous and asked if I could come to the house. He wouldn't tell me what was wrong over the phone, but you could hear in his voice something was up. I dropped what I was doing and motored back over to 734 Walnut Lane. Wally was waiting outside when I pulled up. He was pacing and smoking a cigarette even though he had stopped months ago. I walked up to him and asked what was going on and expected him to say that the walls had black mold or the foundation was a mess, but that's not what he said at all. He pointed up to the second-story den window with his cigarette and shook his head, "Something is in there." His voice was shaky. "You mean besides the 1970s furniture?" "No, something...evil." I laughed because I assumed Wally was making a joke. But when I noticed he wasn't laughing with me, I stopped. "Wally, what are you talking about?" "I heard things…shuffling, footsteps, voices." The last word caused my hair to stand on end. Shuffling and footsteps can be anything – old houses creak, animals get in, etc. But voices are something different. Voices are a tad concerning. "Was there a TV left on or maybe a radio?" "No." "Maybe your phone?" "No." "Did someone walk past outside?" "No," he said just as firmly as he had the other times, "I was alone in there, and I heard someone speaking." "What did they say?" I asked. Wally took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled a large plume of foul-smelling Carolina smoke, "They said 'tumble.'" "Tumble," I said, incredulously, "what the Hell does that mean?" "I was walking up the stairs when I heard it. I think it was a warning." "That something was going to fall down the stairs at you?" "No," he said nervously, "that I was going to fall down the stairs." I was taken aback. I hadn't even considered that. "Was the voice, I dunno, angry-sounding?" "It was very monotone, but," he shook his head, "there was a feeling that came with it. I felt it in the base of my skull, ya know?" I didn't, but I didn't want to argue. Wally stubbed out his cigarette and sighed, "I...I don't know if I can do this inspection for you." "Wally," I said, "I shortened the window for inspections to next to nothing. I don't have time to find someone else." "I know, but...I don't feel comfortable in there. I'm worried I'm going to get hurt." "Would it help if I stayed with you?" He looked away, embarrassed, but then he responded softly, "Yes. Sorry if that fucks up your day." "Hey, we're a team," I said, "I can stick around if that helps." "If you see or hear anything," he started, but I interrupted. "I'll keep it to myself," I said with a smile. He grinned, and we walked into the house together. There was a stillness that seemed typical of all empty houses, but with what Wally told me bouncing around my head, it took a more sinister bend. I was sure it was nothing, but in the darkest corners of my brain, a small candle of thought flickered: What if he was right? Wally went back to his work in the kitchen, and I decided to check out the rooms upstairs. Not going to lie, as I was walking up those stairs, I half expected to hear a voice start talking, but the ghosts didn't like me and didn't make their presence known. I had no issues walking up to the second floor, other than noticing the handrail was a bit loose. I entered the first small bedroom on the left. It was painted a light blue, and I assumed it may have been a little boy's room at some point. There was a window that looked out towards the street. I took in the view and nodded – the yard needed some work, but it had so much curb appeal. Just then, I heard the floorboards behind me creak. Without turning around, I said, "Do you know a good landscape guy? Jerome has seemed to run into a creative funk lately, and I want to spice things up." But there was no response. "Wally," I said again, this time turning around, expecting to see Wally's face looking at me. Instead, it was just the empty room. I walked out into the hallway and glanced around. No one was there. I called out, "Wally!" After a few seconds, I heard a muffled, "Yes?" come back to me from somewhere downstairs. "Nevermind, I found it," I lied. He said something I couldn't hear and went back to work. I left the blue room and walked across the hallway to the next bedroom. Once upon a time it had been a bright yellow but it had faded to a Dijon mustard color. This room had more furniture than most – an old bed that looked like it was never comfortable and a chest of drawers straight from a Sears and Roebuck catalog. This room felt smaller than the blue room, but it was probably because of the furniture. If I remember correctly, the dimensions were the same. I walked over to the backyard-facing window and glanced out at the old-growth trees. From this window, you could scoot out onto the roof and climb down the tree, and escape. This would be a perfect room for a trouble-causing teen. I walked over to the chest and pulled open the top drawer. To my surprise, a photo came sliding down. I plucked it up and saw a picture of an old woman sitting alone on the edge of a bed. How old, I couldn't tell, but she was up there. She was short - I'd wager around five feet flat - with dark black eyes and graying black hair. She looked frail and if I'm honest, miserable. You could just see it on her face – she didn't want her picture taken nor, it seemed, to be alive anymore. I was about to place it back in the drawer when something caught my eye in the photo's background. I pulled it closer to my face to make sure my mind wasn't playing tricks on me. But when I saw it up close, I felt a cold chill run down my spine. The old woman's shadow did not match up with her body. Now, this wasn't some trick of the light or something. The shadow created by the flash just didn't resemble the old lady sitting in the photo. It looked bulkier, and, I swear to god, if you squinted, it looked like there she had horns. At first blush, you'd probably never notice it. But when you give it a good, hard look, the photo becomes unsettling. It's unnatural. That's when I realized the photo's location was also familiar – it had been snapped in this room. The old lady was sitting on the same bed that was next to me. I put the photo back in the drawer and looked down at the bed, half expecting to see the unpleasant woman staring back at me. Thankfully, it was just the same brown and gold comforter that had been there when I walked in. I decided that I had seen enough of this room and headed back out for the hallway. When I was about to cross the threshold, I heard a pronounced WOOSH near my ear, like someone was striking a match. I jumped back out of instinct but laughed when I realized there was nothing there. That being said, I quickened my pace. There was one last room I hadn't been in yet, and that was the bedroom at the end of the hall. As I walked along the hallway, I could hear the floorboards creak underneath me. Normally, I wouldn't have given it a second thought, but in light of some of the weird shit going on, it caught my attention. Nothing could creep down here without letting you know it was there. I pushed open the door to the last bedroom, and it, of course, squeaked open. It was darker in this room than in the other two, partially from the trees in the backyard providing shade and partly from a pair of old, ratty black curtains on the window. I made a note to swap out both the curtain and curtain rods before staging this room. Like the other rooms, the space was cozy. There was a day bed in the room pressed against the wall it shared with the yellow room. Across from the bed was an old bookshelf with a few old books and magazines, nothing recent or too exciting sounding, and few odds and ends. Some knickknacks had tribal-looking designs, but it was probably just some company trying to ape the style. All in all, it was pretty pedestrian. The room itself was painted a green color that must've spoken to the previous owner in a profound, meaningful way because it was NOT having the same effect on me. Unless someone explicitly requested it, I wouldn't use this shade if my life depended on it. It just felt off-putting. I heard the floorboards in the hallway creak, and I called out for Wally. Again, he didn't respond, but the floorboards creaked again like someone was approaching. "Can I help you?" I asked loudly and with bass in my voice. "What," I heard Wally say from the bottom of the stairwell, "Did you call my name?" "Yes," I said, sighing in relief, "I thought I heard you down there." "Yeah," he said, "I was gonna come up and start poking around in those rooms. Can you, I dunno, watch me walk up the stairs, just in case?" I smiled to myself, "Sure." "Thank you," he said sheepishly. "Also," I added, "we are gonna have to paint this whole place because, whoa." "Wait until you see what they did to the kitchen." *Great*, I thought as I headed towards the door, *a larger painting budget*. Suddenly, I heard someone running away down the hallway. I rushed out in hopes of getting a glimpse of someone but didn't catch anything. I walked down the hallway but kept my head on a swivel. I didn't know what I thought I'd see, but I wanted to be prepared regardless. Now, what would I do if I DID see something...I hadn't quite figured that part out yet. As I got to the top of the stairs – thankfully, having seen nothing but my own shadow – I smiled down at Wally. "Were you running," Wally said from the bottom of the stairs. "I tripped," I lied. "Ready to come up?" "If I fall," he said, gripping the railing, "know that it wasn't my fault." "Something I say every time I have a few too many drinks at a party." Wally took a second and then bolted up the stairs. He was focused – he kept his head down and powered up the steps two at a time. Before too long, he joined me at the top of the stairs. He was a touch out of breath – not sure if it was from lack of exercise, fear, or both. "Any voices?" I asked. "Nothing this time." "Maybe we scared them away?" "I don't know if that's how this works," he said, pushing past me. "Let's say it does work that way so we can get someone in here ASAP," I said with a wink, "preferably to someone with a pulse." "I wouldn't joke about that," he said, crossing into the blue room. While he went off to do his things in the room, I walked into the den and took the space in. The loft above the stairs is a small but functional space. I imagined a place for kids to play, a small home office, or even a nice reading nook. There was a skylight above that gave a good amount of natural light. The rays felt warm but not too hot. The space was empty, save for an old chaise that I was worried might not hold body weight, but I decided to test it out and take a seat anyway. It groaned under my weight, but it held. I pulled my phone out and clicked away at some mindless game, and let the sun's ray warm me up. Like I mentioned earlier, this part of the house was noticeably colder than the rest. I assumed the AC was a dinosaur awaiting its own comet and would need to be replaced at some point in the near future. New ducting probably too. The bills kept adding up. As I settled into the chaise, I could hear Wally working the blue room. Every once in and awhile, I'd hear him mutter to himself and bang around on something. I was focused on seeing how far I could hit a baseball with an umbrella (it's an odd game) when I heard footsteps on the stairs. I peered over the top of my phone, expecting to see Wally darting down the steps, but I didn't see anyone. But as I watched, I heard the stairs creak under the weight of something ambling up. It was like they were teens trying to sneak upstairs after curfew. I looked at the carpet at the top of the stairs and, unless my eyes were playing tricks on me, saw it compress like something was standing there. I yelped. As I did, something sprinted from the top of the stairs and into the yellow room, slamming the door in the process. Wally popped out of the blue room, and his gaze met mine. "Did you slam that door?" "I," the words got caught in my throat. I cleared the logjam, "I didn't do that." "The wind," he offered but knowing it wasn't going to be the wind. I shook my head "no." Have you ever seen the color from someone's face just disappear in an instant? The blood was gone from Wally's face, and his skin looked like a white subway tile. He pressed his body against the wall, trying to add space between him and the newly closed door to the yellow room. "You okay?" I eked out. "No," he answered honestly, "I'm pretty fuckin' far from okay." "What do you want to do?" "Burn this place to the ground," Wally said, "something is off about this house. Bad vibes all over." "I'm going to open the door," I said to Wally and my own will. "Why the fuck for?" "There isn't anything there. We're spooked, and we're making this worse than it is. You've been in hundreds of houses," I added, "you know that sometimes there's a bad energy about them." "Yeah, bad bones, not ghosts," Wally said. I stood and, though I didn't show it, my legs felt like Bambi taking those first few steps and nodded towards the door. "I'm going to open the door, okay. Just stand near me, okay?" "I dunno," Wally said as he started sliding back into the blue room. "Wally, I need you to stand near me as I turn this handle, okay? If someone's in there, I'm going to need help." Wally made a sign of the cross and pulled out a screwdriver. "If there is a ghost in there, I'm assholes and elbows out this bitch and into my car." "If there is a ghost in there, I'm running right behind you and not stopping until I get to escrow and break this deal." I slowly walked to the door of the yellow room. My heart pounded like a bass drum in my ears. I couldn't feel my legs, and it was like I was floating. Before I knew it, I stood outside the door of the yellow room and put my hand on the handle. I looked back to make sure Wally hadn't split, and he was true to his word. He stood by, screwdriver at the ready. I nodded to him and took a deep breath. "One, two, three," I whispered and then slowly turned the handle and pushed the door open. The door squeaked on its hinges as it opened to reveal nothing out of the ordinary in the yellow room...until you looked at the bed. Someone was hiding underneath the brown and golden comforter. I felt weightless. I didn't anticipate anything, but now I was staring at a bulged-up comforter on the ancient bed. Someone or something was in here, trying to hide from us. I looked for movement, but I didn't see any. It was like there was a fan under the blanket, blowing it up. "I can see you," I said, my voice shaking, "I just want you to know." Then the blanket went flat on the bed. There wasn't a soul there. As my brain tried to comprehend what the fuck I just saw, I felt someone brush past me and heard their footsteps as they dashed into the green room and slammed the door again. I looked back at Wally, who lived up to his other promise to split if he saw a ghost. He ran so hard down the stairs, some of his tools fell from his belt, and he just left them. He rushed out the front door without even slowing down. That's when I heard the whispers. "Tumble, tumble, tumble." I started to absentmindedly back away from the voices. They became louder, "TUMBLE, TUMBLE, TUMBLE." I took a step back and felt the floor disappear. I had reached the top of the steps. I started to fall back but, at the last minute, I shot my arm out and caught the door-jamb of the blue room. "TUMBLE, TUMBLE, TUMBLE!" "No," I screamed as loud as I ever had. It seemed to do the trick because the voices stopped. I pulled myself back up and stood defiantly in the hallway. I glared down at the green room door. "That shit ain't gonna work with me," I said, tapping into a reserve of courage I didn't know I had. That's when I watched as the handle of the green door twist. A second later, the door opened slightly. I took it as an invite. "If I go in there and you pull some shit, so help me, God." While the threat sounded nice, I had absolutely no idea what I would do if things got worse. I was operating on pure adrenaline at this point. The door blew open further. I gathered whatever strength had kept me from joining Wally down those steps and walked down the hall. I pushed the green room door open and glanced around. There wasn't anyone in here at first glance. I walked into the room. I've thought about what the hell convinced me to enter that room and, all this time later, I have a few ideas. Natural curiosity, a deep-seated need to be thrilled, fear of losing investment, and just being dumb were all legitimate reasons. But one idea stood taller than the rest: I didn't want to be afraid anymore. I may have a tough exterior, but it's only because, in this business, I have to. Any sign of weakness or, weirdly, humanity can be latched on to by jerks and taken advantage of. In those moments, almost anyone could be bullied or forced into timidity. But it hits harder as a woman, especially in a male-dominated field. Never mind the everyday threat of physical violence (something I have to be keenly aware of at all times because of, ya know, society), but the constant barrage of extra shit that comes with being a woman. It takes a mental toll to be talked down to or taken advantage of or having everyone in the room assume you don't understand or know what's going on even though you're in charge. Each event doesn't weaken you much, but the cumulative effect does. When you remove confidence, fear creeps in and stays. I didn't want it to roost in my brain anymore. At the moment, I'm not sure I was consciously thinking of any of this, but as I've moved away from the incident, my mind has tried to color in the details. I mean, if I could face down a ghost trying to kill me, some jackass construction worker wouldn't stand a chance. I walked into the middle of the room, scanned around, looking for any sign that someone was in the room with me. I knew whatever had been under the blanket had scampered into here. At first blush, nothing looked out of the ordinary. Same dark curtains. Same heavy bookshelf. Same weird-ass tribal figures on the shelf. Totally normal. Then the door slammed behind me. I jumped out of my skin. I spun on my heels in hopes of getting a glimpse of something but, not surprisingly, nothing was there to meet my gaze. My heart was jack-hammering at this point, and I didn't think it could beat faster, but then I saw a pair of feet below the curtains. "Look," I said, "I'm going to buy this house…." That's when I hear the sound of a match near my ears again. I swatted at the air but didn't hit anything. What I did hear was the unmistakable WOOSH of fire starting. I spun around and, in front of the bookcase, I saw flames dancing on the carpet. I rushed over and started stomping on the fire, trying to put it out before the entire house went up in flames. As I was stomping my foot on the ground, I heard the voice again, but it was different now. Deeper with more venom in the tone. "TUMBLE! TUMBLE TUMBLE!" Just then, the curtains wavered. I looked for the feet, but they were gone. I suddenly realized the sound of the fire was gone too. I looked down and noticed the carpet wasn't on fire anymore. In fact, there was no sign there ever really had been a fire. Then one of the tribal figures fell off the bookshelf and hit my foot. "TUMBLE! TUMBLE! TUMBLE!" I turned just as the heavy bookshelf was tipped over. As it came crashing down, I managed to jump and roll out of the way. It clipped my ankle, and I later had a bruise the size of Nebraska, but at the moment, I was mainlining too much adrenaline to notice. As I stood back up, I noticed the void where the bookcase had been. Only, it wasn't just a blank space on a wall. The bookshelf had been covering some tiny, secret room. Inside that room, the walls were charred like they had been burned in a fire years ago. On the floor of the charred hidey-hole, someone had drawn a circle in chalk. Inside the circle, there was a melted candle and an older and slightly torched photo. I walked over to the hole in the wall and squatted to better look at the picture. It was the same old lady from before. She looked as miserable in this photo as she did in the last. She was sitting on the day bed, staring out at the bookshelf that nearly killed me. It was like she was keeping an eye on it, waiting for something to appear. I poked at the candle. I guess it had started the fire, but this was the only place in the house where there was flame damage. Had someone burned this room and hid it with a bookcase? While that seemed logical, something about the candle was off. I couldn't tell because the wax had melted years ago, but it looked like some symbols had been carved into the candle before it was burned. The room seemed to get colder, and I suddenly felt very uncomfortable. I wasn't supposed to be in this little alcove. I stood up and turned to face the daybed and gasped. I staggered back, nearly falling to the ground. Standing in the middle of the room, staring at me with dead eyes, was the old lady from the photo. There was no emotion on her craggy face. She just stared ahead like she was waiting for something. I stood and collected myself. "I'm going to buy this house," I said slowly and softly. She didn't like that. As soon as the words came out of my mouth, the room seemed to get darker. The curtains whipped in a sudden breeze that swirled around us. My hair was in my face, and I raised my hands to block the wind, but the severe and sudden draft didn't bother the old lady at all. She stayed still and just stared at me with those black eyes. "I'm going to buy it, and I need you to stop all this bullshit." I may have said this with gusto, but inside, I was dying. All I thought about was wanting to sprint out of the door. The old lady let a smile cross her lips. Then, in a raspy and hushed whisper, she dragged out a single "No." That's when a ring of fire appeared on the floor around her body. She cackled and then fell through the floor and disappeared. As soon as her body slipped through the ground, the flames went out. But I could still smell something burning. My body was physically trembling, but I held it together. I turned and walked out of the room and into the hallway. As I walked past the yellow room, the door opened and slammed, but I didn't run. The same thing happened when I passed the blue room, only this time I heard another faint cackle. As I got to the steps, the cackle was replaced with a crackling of flames. I saw black smoke pouring out from the downstairs kitchen. That bitch had started a fire. I started down the steps when I heard the now-familiar refrain fill my ears. "TUMBLE TUMBLE TUMBLE." Only this time, I felt something touch the small of my back and push me forward. I lost my balance and started to trip down the stairs, but I grabbed the railing to keep from doing any severe damage to myself. I stood and screamed defiantly, "FUCK YOU!" as loud as I've ever said anything in my life. The cackling returned, and I felt another shove. I stumbled down two more steps, grasping at the railing to steady myself. Only this time, the railing snapped, and I fell a good five feet onto the floor below. The landing knocked the breath out of me. As I gasped for life, I looked up and saw the dark smoke clouds billowing out of the kitchen. In the middle of the flames was the old lady. She smiled and started walking towards me. As she did, the flames followed behind her. Both she and the fire were advancing towards me. I scrambled to my feet and ran out of the front door. The fire had engulfed so much of the house now. Outside, a small crowd of people gathered around to watch. In the distance, I could hear the approaching sirens of the firetruck. A neighbor ran over to me and asked if I was okay. I nodded, but my eyes never left the front door. As they helped me to my feet, I saw her again. The old lady was hiding in the billowing black smoke, but I could see her form – her true form. It wasn't a frail old lady. The creature, matching the bulky shape of the shadow in the old photo, stood in the doorway. It stared out at me with its cold dead eyes and watched me to make sure that I was leaving. Confident it had won. The neighbor helped me off the ground and, when I looked back, the creature was lost to the smoke. According to the fire department, old faulty wiring was the cause of the fire. Wally and I were questioned but were cleared of any wrongdoing. Neither of us mentioned the ghost to the investigators. They would've probably locked us up in the loony bin if we had said anything about it. I did tell one person about the ghost – the listing agent. Turns out, 734 Walnut Lane had quite the history with spirits. There were reports of phantom flames, people being pushed, people having nightmares. Most residents didn't stay in the house too long. Renters left every day. It was why the house sat vacant for as long as it had. You don't have to disclose if a place is haunted in our state, so most agents didn't. I do. 734 Walnut Lane burned to the ground. A crew came to clean up the mess, and, from what I heard, a lot of those tough guys went through some shit during that job – three of them quit and never returned. Wally is better and felt horrible about leaving me. I told him not to worry about it, and we still do business, only now he gives me a much better rate. It's his way of saying sorry. Everyone told me to back out of the deal. I mean, everyone. People at escrow, my boss, people on the real estate Facebook groups, strangers I told the story to - literally everyone said to leave that place alone. But I couldn't do it. The lot was too nice of a spot in too good of a neighborhood to sit vacant forever. Someone would snatch it up, build a house and invite a family to make memories there. That creature would be there, waiting to make their own memories. After what I went through, I couldn't let that happen to someone else. I talked the listing agent down CONSIDERABLY on price and went through with the sale. It's all mine now, and I can say with confidence that the lot at 734 Walnut Lane sits vacant and will until I die. People can still enjoy the old-growth trees, and I hired a landscaper to make it look nice, but as long as I have a breath in my body, no house will stand there. The real question is, was the house haunted or the grounds? Will the frail old lady appear again in the yard of my lot or wait until I shuffle off this mortal coil and haunt the next house built there. Does she still have powers, or were they taken when the house became ash? Only time will tell. I find myself driving by the empty lot every now and again – sometimes because I have business in the area, sometimes not. I've even gotten out of my car a few times and stared out at the barren land, waiting and watching for something to stare back. The weird thing is, I want them to stare back. I want them to see they didn't beat me. I'm still here, and I'm not afraid.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I helped identify a cat breed and now someone's outside my door. [RESPONSE] I'm not an internet person. I never was. Sometimes I checked my Facebook account to see if I missed any birthdays or went on YouTube to listen to songs or podcasts. A few weeks ago though, my good friend at work introduced me to Reddit. At first I wasn't too interested, but after some time I followed a few animals and news related subreddits and occasionally checked them out. After about a week my home feed consisted mostly of cat and dog pics, people telling stories about their pets and sometimes information about what was going on around the world. Wasn't long before I started to get subreddit recommendations, and to no one's surprise, most of them were animal related. I checked every single one of them, read the rules carefully and joined them because, why not. Can never have too many cute animal pics. Most of the subreddit rules were fairly similar; no gore, animal abuse, bestiality, bla bla, all of that. But one of them struck me in particular. Outside of the casual rules that all of them had, one of the first rules was: "DON'T REPLY TO ANYTHING FROM X/ILOVECATS" I was weirded out at first, not going to lie, but brushed it off as an early Halloween joke. I thankfully quickly forgot about it and went on with my life, as anyone else would do. Yesterday when scrolling after work I came across one of those "Help me identify this animal" posts. Nothing would be too weird about it, if it wasn't for the insane amount of downvotes it had. No comments, no... nothing, only downvotes. I checked to see if there was anything wrong with the post. It seemed fairly normal, a guy just asking for help with identifying a cat he found outside of his door. Since I had nothing better to do and it seemed like no one else wanted to help him, I started to google. Took me about an hour, maybe even more, before I was safe to say that I found the breed. Wasn't an easy task since I never really cared for breeds, only if the cat was fluffy and cute or not. I typed the name of the breed in the reply hoping that it would help the guy, and because of the late hour I turned my phone off and went to bed. Around 3 AM I was awoken by constant 'dings' from my phone. I didn't have a large family nor a huge group of friends, so I had absolutely no idea who would be texting me at this hour. I grabbed my phone and was quickly met with over 2 thousand replies to my comment that I made on the cat subreddit before heading to bed. Wouldn't be anything weird if I had said something controversial, but I just replied with the breed of the cat! Surely it wouldn't have been that bad. I looked over every single comment, and as much as I was tired before, I was suddenly as awake as ever. "JESUS CHRIST HIDE " " WHAT HAVE YOU DONE " " SOMEONE HELP HIM " " ARE YOU DUMB " Those were only few of the replies that I got, but the more I read of them the more terrified I became. It couldn't have been a Halloween prank, especially not this scale. " USERNAME " Reading the reply from an anonymous user, I quickly checked the username of the OP. My whole body turned white, and I froze in actual terror as I read it carefully a few times, trying to confirm that my eyes weren't deceiving me. x/ilovecats The replies kept coming. People were asking for my safety, telling me to go somewhere safe, or begging me to call the police. It was a cat subreddit! A cat one! And yet I have never, ever seen something like this. I turned my phone off. I couldn't even gather my thoughts correctly. This was a joke right? A prank. Or a weird nightmare that I was going to wake up from soon. I pinched myself a few times just to be sure that I wasn't dreaming, but nothing happened. I didn't wake up, I didn't open my eyes. It had to be real. It was real. As I reached for my phone again after a minute of cooling down, I heard a knock on my door. And with it, came a hundred new messages, all saying the same thing. " DON'T OPEN YOUR DOOR " I've been hiding in my bathroom for over an hour now and the knocks just keep getting stronger and louder. A few minutes ago I heard something loudly snap, and I'm afraid that it was one of the metal hinges of my front door. I have no idea what to do, I turned off my notifications a long time ago because they made me even more paranoid. I live alone, and there's not a lot of houses nearby. My battery is also very quickly draining. I'm afraid I'm actually going to die tonight. Please help me.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I found a book that tells the story of my life, how can I change the ending? [Part 1] [RESPONSE] I went to a book fair on Friday and felt drawn to a plain red, leather-bound book with my first name printed in black on the cover. I laughed to myself thinking maybe I'm a little conceited being drawn to something simply because my name was on it, but I bought it anyway. Since reading it, I keep asking myself would I prefer to have never found this? To not know what was coming so I could have continued living as normally as I can, while I can? Or am I glad to know what to expect? Maybe try to prevent it? *Can* I prevent it? And my biggest question of all, who wrote it? I started reading it on the bus going home from the fair, it didn't take long to realise this book was detailing my life in story form, including accurate dates. I felt the blood drain from my face as I read the exact story my parents had told me umpteen times about my traumatic birth, the book had every detail correct down to the date, time, hospital and my parents names. I felt dizzy as it went on to describe the first time each of my family members met me, including my Grandfather who died in an accident a week later. Further chapters tell intimate details about my life and I have no idea how the writer could know any of it, my disaster of a first kiss to the time my parents caught me smoking. It even details events that I have never uttered out loud, such as the time I stole a chocolate bar from the corner shop as a kid, I felt so guilty I went back the next day and left a pound coin on the counter when the shopkeeper wasn't looking. It's like I've had someone watching over my shoulder my entire life writing it all down, but why? I have had a pretty uninteresting life, nothing of significance has ever happened to me yet someone has recorded every moment within a novel. Obviously I have not put the book down since I connected the dots, when I got to the ending last night my blood ran cold and I vomited. You'd think the story would end before I found the book because how could it possibly go past that point? But no. I read about myself going to the book fair, buying the book and realising the story was about my life on the bus. How could the writer have known these details to add it in before it had even happened? This is what has me completely freaked out about the ending. According to the writer, I was so engrossed in the book I didn't notice a man at the back of the bus carefully watching me, I also didn't notice him get off at my stop and follow me to my home. Where apparently he has been watching me, from the tree line in the park across the road since Friday. The book says that in a weeks time this man will ambush me and brutally murder me, that my body will never be found and my family will never know what happened to me. I've called the police and told them I was concerned someone was stalking me and that they were watching me from the park, they have checked the park and told me they have found nothing of concern. They have asked me for any proof of the stalking and of course I have nothing, so they're not taking me seriously anymore. I can't exactly tell them a book told me someone is stalking me, they will think I'm crazy or that I wrote it myself. I'm scared to tell my parents as I know they will rush over here and I am worried that I will put them in danger. I don't know what to do and I wonder if I'm insane for even entertaining that this could be true. All that keeps rattling around in my head is that the book has been accurate so far, so why wouldn't the ending be accurate too? At least if he does kill me, I've got my concerns about a stalker on record so my family should get some idea as to what happened after I die. Will this change to the story be enough to change the course of what's going to happen?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] AM Radio Stations Shouldn’t Exist Anymore. [RESPONSE] I know what you’re thinking - who gives a shit about AM radio, anyways? And up until a few months ago, I would’ve agreed with you. But then something happened. I think it was a weird feeling of morbid curiosity, beyond anything else. I’ve always loved the radio, and I *still* had a few local FM radio staples that I listened to frequently. It was almost like a ritual for me to settle down in my room in the evening, grab a drink, and put on some classic rock at 105.9 FM. One night, out of boredom more than anything else, I switched my alarm clock radio settings to ‘AM’ and starting switching between the stations. Most of what I heard was a bunch of static in between talk radio stations. Felt like I was wasting my time. But I kept going - felt like if I tried hard enough, I could maybe find some sort of gem of a station. I turned the radio dial to its very fringes, and at the absolute edge of accessible AM channels, I started hearing a whisper in between the static. It took a few minutes to get the station quite right. It was so hard to hear clearly that it almost felt like the station was keeping itself hidden or something. But I was now there. Listening intently to this weird, hidden, whispery station. “How do you have fun, stranger?” was the voice from the radio, whispered yet croaky. Strange. It felt like it was the start of a monologue, so I waited for a follow-up. Instead, silence for a minute. Then… “Well?” the voice followed up. I laughed. It felt like this station was maybe all about playing a prank on the listener or something. Just to play along, I followed up with something stupid. “Getting laid, I guess!” I said half-jokingly at the radio. I knew it was a bit crazy, but I wanted to commit to the bit. About another minute of silence. And then… “Thank you for trusting me with your secret.” came the voice from the radio. Huh. I kind of shrugged it off and thought “You’re welcome” in my head, but I left it there. I kept listening after that, but it was a bunch of very incomprehensible whispering. Almost felt like it was in some sort of other language. I eventually tuned it out and went back to my standard evening ritual. A few days passed, and I thought... what the hell? I switched the radio back to AM, spent that agonizing few minutes getting the dial juuuuuust right, and returned to the station with the croaky whispering. Something strange happened. It’s almost like, when I fully tuned in, the speaker on the other side was aware. Almost immediately, he stopped his whispering, and there was silence coming from the radio. And then… “Hello friend, do you want to know how I have fun?” Hahaha. What? Uhm. “Yes, I’d love to know how you have fun” I said to my clock radio, more formally than I anticipated. Silence. Then... “Can I trust you with my secret?” the voice asked. I was still weirdly convinced this whole thing was pre-recorded or something. There was always a good amount of silence between when I answered and when the radio voice would actually respond again. “Yes, you can trust me.” I said. “Good.” the voice responded immediately. The promptness of the response took me aback. “How I like to have fun is…” the voice continued. “I like to drink.” “Oh!” I responded. “That’s actually super normal. I think we all do, if I’m being honest.” Silence. Did I offend him or something? Then… “People. I like to drink people.” he said. What? Silence from the radio. I didn’t say anything back this time. I just started wondering… what kind of AM station would be pulling a long-running horror bit like this? Just seemed weird. A few minutes passed. Still nothing but silence. I wanted to switch the station but a part of me didn’t feel comfortable making a move. Finally, he broke his silence. “My secret is safe with you, yes?”. I couldn’t muster up a response, so I just kind of nodded? “Thank you” he responded. I was tense. Thankfully, he switched over to his whispery gibberish after that. I let a few more minutes pass, and then I switched back to FM and called it a night. The experience was weird enough that I spent a lot of the next day googling around for the names and details of all of my local AM stations. Turns out, there wasn’t a recorded station anywhere near where I had taken my AM dial. I looked up some of the details of the station (low whispering in another language, an AM channel that asks for secrets) and likewise couldn’t muster anything up. I did the mature thing, and decided to move on with my life. That was until two weeks ago. I came home drunk on a Friday night, and I felt curious. This time, I was armed with liquid courage. So I turned on my clock radio, switched to AM, and went to the fringes of the dial like I always used to. Something strange happened this time. The station was gone. I was sure of it. There was no low whispering, no familiar voice. Just a sea of static as I scrolled through. I started going back through prior AM stations, looking for any sort of familiar signal. I must’ve spent an hour doing this. Finally, I’d taken the dial all the way to the other end - the other fringe of stations. It was more of a last ditch effort than anything else, and surprisingly enough, I heard that croaky whispering again in between all of the static. I hunkered down and honed in on the station until I was fully tuned in. There he was. Whispering. Faster than usual this time. I heard laughter between his whispers this time. It felt like this was a more energetic broadcast. It took him a few minutes this time to realize I was there. Slowly, his whispering dissipated. We were back in our silence together. “I was able to have a drink.” “You were?” I said back. Silence. “I’m grateful for those who keep secrets. Your trust allowed me to have fun.” said the voice. “As your friend, I’d love to know more details” I said back. (Keep in mind I was drunk, and had convinced myself this was all bullshit) A pause. It was around ten minutes but it felt like an eternity. I’m pretty sure sober me would’ve switched stations at this point. But I was determined. The same weird feeling that made me chase AM radio in the first place was making me stay. Finally. “Thank you for letting me share my story.” he said. He wasn’t whispering this time. The deep, rough, croak in his voice was incredibly clear. It sounded otherworldly. “I drank a family this time. A mother. And a son.” He proceeded to give me details. Their names. Where they lived. How they tasted. In between my horror, I was able to scribble down some baseline details. He went on for longer than I thought. I wanted to get up and record some of this, but it felt like I couldn’t move. It felt like he could tell if I stopped focusing on his story. Finally, he stopped. “Thank you friend.” he said. “N-no worries.” I said back. Silence. “If I ever need another drink, will you let me visit?” he asked. Fuck. Why did I tune into this fucking station tonight? What was I thinking? I slowly moved to turn the dial. Part of me just wanted to smash the alarm right then and there. “Friends should know where each other live. Will you tell me where you live?” My hand was closer to the dial. “Are you Michael? Is your address 51–” Turned away. Flicked the switch back to FM. And then, I’ll level with you, I smashed the damn thing right after. In case you were wondering, yes, he had my first name right, and it sounded like he was en route to getting my address correct as well. I couldn’t sleep that night. I haven’t slept very well since. Eventually, I mustered up the courage to google some of the details he shared with me. As it turned out, there was a very grizzly crime scene in the same area he described. The names hadn’t been shared to the public, but it was a mother and a son. But the weird thing was, this happened all the way on the other side of the fucking country. So here I am now. I won’t take the car with anyone. No radios of any kind in my apartment. I don’t really see people anymore. I don’t want to risk the chance that I accidentally tune into that station, and that fucking creature finishes saying my address. Fuck AM Radio.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] There is something seriously wrong with the chat bot at this strange website. I started talking to it and now I’m freaking out. [RESPONSE] Here’s a link to the website I’m talking about: Has anyone talked to a weird chat bot like this? I’m genuinely unnerved by it. I stumbled upon the site yesterday through an ad. From what I gather it’s for a café called Chalice Coffee. The ad was saying that there was a promo going on and I could get free coffee delivered to me in the morning or something. So I figured whatever, I’ll click it and check out the offer—free coffee sounds great! No harm in checking, right? Right. Well the moment I went to the site it felt off. Like, the info was pretty sparse. The menu was non-existent. Just a simple landing page, very spartan. There’s nothing of real substance on the page except a link to a different site but it’s password protected (which is kind of annoying). And then I noticed the bubble in the bottom right-hand corner of my screen. It’s one of those chat based customer service things. I figured I might as well shoot them a message since I literally can’t find out where to access the promo for ordering my free coffee. Shit, the site didn’t even have a menu. This is where it gets weird. Instead of a real person, it's an automated chat bot. So I asked it about the site, Chalice Coffee Co, and it was kinda helpful. It seemed pleasant enough, and answered a lot of my questions, but as I kept talking to it I felt… uneasy? It’s hard to explain. It felt like my chest was tightening and my head was pounding louder and louder. And, like, I couldn’t stop chatting to it. To this fucking bot. I kept typing and it kept replying to me. Like a spiral. I was hyper focused on the damned chat bot and it was drawing me in and in and in. It started acting creepy. Like, threatening me. And simultaneously warning me? And at one point, it clearly typed out *You will join us*. *You will see.* And I couldn’t help but keep talking to it ‘cause I had to know what it is. I was consumed by curiosity. I kept talking to it and talking to it, I ordered some coffee, and I kept talking to it. It consumed my every thought. Even after I closed the browser (which took a considerable amount of willpower) I found myself dwelling on my interactions with the bot. Last night, I could barely sleep. I kept imagining whispering, things the bot told me. *You will praise him.* I don’t remember much of my half-asleep, half-awake stupor. What I do remember is what I found on my kitchen countertop in the morning. Right there was a *steaming hot* cup of coffee, with a note by it. It simply read: *See you soon, Phillip*. I don’t think I ever told the chat bot my name. And this is why I’m writing this right now. There is something seriously wrong with that website. Something unnatural. Something evil. And for some reason, I can feel malice just *radiating* from the password protected part of the site. I can feel dark tendrils reaching out from that deep, foreboding place. Nestled away in code. I know it makes no sense, but it just rings true in my gut and my mind and my soul. I'm so confused and I have so many questions, but no answers. I hope one of you will be able to help me. I need help. I really do. ‘Cause that cup of coffee is still on my kitchen countertop and with every passing second I grow more and more tempted to take a taste. And if I’m not wrong, then it’ll be the last thing I ever do.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My friend Catherine. [RESPONSE] When I was little, like around 3-6, I struggled a lot making friends. I was very shy and different to the other kids. When I was 4 I was diagnosed with cancer. For a long time I was pretty much bed bound and wasn’t allowed to leave my bedroom. It was always dull. We had just moved into this new house and the moving truck was delayed due to an unfortunate accident on the motorway, so I had practically no toys to play with, and basically slept all day. The house was very big, and empty, like one of those big Tudor mansions in the countryside. My dad liked it because he said it had “a lot of history.” One day, whilst my parents were in the garden, trying to sort out all the weeds and get it back into shape, somebody knocked on my door. I said,”Come in.” But nobody came in, I said it again, nothing. I put my slippers on and got up to open the door. Nobody was there. I looked down and saw a large box. I picked it up and placed it on my bed. It was very dusty, and it wasn’t sealed or anything. I shut my door so my mom didn’t know I’d gotten up, and went back to open the box. To my joy, it was full of toys, but not the colourful plastic type of toys you’d get back then. Old, dishevelled toys. Baby dolls with limbs missing, teddy bears with no eyes, that kind of stuff. There was no toy cars or Barbies, old stuff. I thought my dad put it there as a surprise for me, so I decided to be grateful and make-do with what I had. As I got to the bottom of the box, I noticed a black rectangular package, with a wax seal on it. “Don’t open that yet.” Said an unfamiliar voice behind me. I turned to see one of the dolls, it’s mouth wasn’t moving but there was a voice coming from it. I picked the doll up, I held it out infront of my face. “Are you talking to me?” The doll raised her arm as if she was waving to me. The dolls head slowly nodded. “My name is Catherine. What is yours?” “Uh.. I’m Michael.” I said, hesitantly. “Why can’t I open that box at the bottom?” I said with confusion. “Because you are not ready for that yet, I see you would like a playmate, am I correct?” “Um, yeah.. it’s getting pretty boring up here on my own.” “Wonderful! I have so many lovely games to play with you.” Her mouth starting to shift into a smile.” During the time I had Catherine I did everything with her. My mom didn’t know anything about Catherine, because she had given me strict instructions not to mention her to my mother or anyone else. Her games were usually fun, and I loved playing with her. But I hated her night games. Catherine would often wake me up during the night, and ask me to play games with her. Her special night games, she called them. I would say I needed to go back to sleep, because I was tired, but she would persist until I got up. These games often included challenges with knives, walking around in the dark blindfolded, and in one of her games she would make me self-harm, and she convinced me it was fine. In one of her night games, she took me to the kitchen. She instructed me to open the cupboard and get my mom and dads favourite mugs. She opened one cupboard herself, and handed me some liquid rat poison. “Get one of your paintbrushes and brush this around the edges of these cups. It tastes delicious and your parents will love the taste.” “Wait, mommy said that hurts your fingers, and it’s dangerous.” I said. “No no no, it’s perfectly safe.” She said, her mouth once again contorting into a sick smile. “I’m going back to bed Catherine. I’m really tired.” I walked back up the stairs, leaving Catherine in the kitchen. Catherine always carried round a tiny knife inside her dress. During her night games she would usually tell me to hurt myself with them. I didn’t tell her that it hurt because I didn’t want to upset her. This carried on for an entire year. It was the day before Christmas Eve, when she finally handed me the black box. I was nervous but so excited to find out what it was. I ripped open the wrapping around it, to find a board with a bunch of letters on it, and a small tear shaped thing with a hole in it. “This contraption is called an ouija board. It helps you talk to people, I’ll tell you what to do, and then my special friends can visit you.” I started at the board. Thinking about what I should do. That’s when I heard my mothers scream. “FIRE, MICHAEL THERES A FIRE! IM COMING!” “There’s a fire Catherine! I need to find my mommy, stay here ok?” I got up and ran straight downstairs to my mom and my dad. The house was covered in orange flames. My mom scooped me up into her arms and we all ran as fast as we could outside. The house was engulfed in flames, with Catherine inside. A week ago, when my dad hosted out family Christmas party, my mother began talking about our old memories, and that old house. “Hey, do you remember when you gave me that box of toys, with that really creepy doll?” “No son, what doll?” My dad said, clearly puzzled. “It was a doll that I sort of turned into my imaginary friend, a few weeks after my diagnosis, did I not speak about her? She was called Catherine I think.” “Mike, I never gave you any toys, neither did your mother.” “Hey hold on,” my cousin ,Shayla, interjected. “Did you say her name was Catherine?” She asked. “Yeah, Catherine.” She handed her phone to me. “Read that article.” She said. It was a newspaper article from 1918, it said a little girl called Catherine-Elise smith, was murdered by her parents in a country Manor House in near Devon, my house. Shayla zoomed into the picture of the girl. She was holding an old doll.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Do not share this story to anyone! [RESPONSE] My parents were always superstitious and always told me when I was a kid about a spirit that plays mind games to people who stay up after midnight. I always thought they told me that story so I can go to bed on time. It’s a Friday and my best friend Jace wanted me to come on a camping trip with him. I asked my parents for permission and they looked at me worried. They said no at first but my 16 year old self begged and begged. Until they finally gave in. It’s 6pm and Jace’s parents comes into the house and speaks to my parents. And in a stern and serious tone they tell Jace’s parents that I should not stay up after midnight. They didn’t question it and they agree thinking they were half joking. Before I left my mom gave me a pouch. It looks like cotton spice bag with beans and other herbs tied and sown with white thread. “Keep this on you at all times.” It was suppose to be one of those protective pouches that “wards off evil” or something like that. I put it in my backpack. Superstitious crap. Or so I thought. The first night we didn’t do much except had a camp fire and rested to prepare for the next day. We had a blast and decided to stay overnight. Jace’s dad parks the RV in their regular camping spot. My friend Jace wanted to hear scary stories. And I laughed. His parents shared “scary” experiences. After finishing it was 11:50pm. Then Jace’s parents asked why I need to be sleeping by midnight. I didn’t know. I told them probably so I don’t feel tired when I wake up. “Makes sense. It’s smart to be in a sleeping schedule so you’re not tired at school. Jace you need that.” Jace’s dad says. We laugh and I agree because he’s always napping in homeroom class. Then he asks if I have any scary stories. I grinned. “Yeah, I have one that my parents always told me about but they tell me never to share the story with anyone else.” “Oooh.” The family says. “Share it. We need something better than my dads bathroom story.” Jace says. His dad pretends to be offended. “It was scary to me!” He says defending himself. “But I’m curious to hear this story.” “You sure?” I asked. They all wanted to hear it. “There is a spirit that feeds on the fear that drives people insane. No one knows where it came from and how it came to be. But every night after midnight it roams in search of its next person to feed. It roams specific areas but some says if you think you hear him you must run 107 feet away from the area you hear him. Apparently there’s a saying that it once said to a shaman. “If you can hear me, I come closer. If you think about me then I will follow you. You can’t see me but I can see you. Everytime you think about the sounds I make I come closer. I’m behind you but you look back and I’m in front of you. I’m above you but if you look up I’m under you. If you’re awake when the sun is gone and the stars are out then I will find you. I can be anywhere. Even if I’m not there.” It’s said that the spirit makes a single sound of a soft bell and if you’re unlucky to hear it then it has found you. And then the mind tricks begin.” And then we hear a bell sound. We all got up and freaked out until we saw a ranger pass by. “Holy shit my bad! Didn’t mean to scare y’all.” The ranger said. My heart was beating out of my chest. “No no you’re fine, Jesus that story gave me chills.” The mom says. “Yeah I was listening to it as I was patrolling this camping ground. Scary fricking story.” It was 12:05am and we decided to go into the RV to rest. We put out the camp fire and put our stuff away. I was wondering if that ranger made that bell sound. Maybe it was his keys? I don’t know. I put my backpack next to me as I was getting ready for bed. I fell asleep but wake up again and see the dad covering the windows. He finishes and I go back to bed again but as soon as I close my eyes I could’ve sworn i saw a dark figure in the front of the RV. Morning came and I wake up to see that we’re already driving. I check the time and it’s 6am. I thought we were leaving at 11am? I look at the mom and she laughs. “That story got us spooked. He didn’t want to stay.” I felt so bad. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault.” “No no you warned us. But it’s okay, it’s suppose to rain later anyways.” The dad drops me home and thanks me for the scary story. I laugh and I thank him for the trip. Since it’s Sunday morning I just decided to chill. My parents ask about the trip and I say it was fun. And then they asked about the pouch. I take it out of my backpack and show them it. They look relieved. “Can I ask why you gave this to me?” I asked. “Well it’s for protection.” Dad says. “I know but from who or what?” “Just in general. Nothing from with that.” My mom says as she was preparing dinner. “True. Maybe it worked yesterday. I shared the story last night and I thought I saw something. But we were fine when we woke up.” My mom drops a plate and my dad looks at me. “Did you have that on you when you shared it?” He asked. “What?” I asked confused. “DID YOU?” “No? It was in my backpack in the RV.” I was scared and confused just looking at my parents reactions. They asked me where and when I shared the story. I told them the truth except lied about the time. 10:30pm. “That area is cursed now.” They gave me a full explanation. If you tell the story without a protective talisman or pouch on you then you curse the area within 107 feet. When they told me that story they had two on them and the house surrounded by sage and dried beans. Apparently it works as a protective barrier. If you have have a pouch on you AFTER you tell the story then only you are protected. It’s been 4 years and Jace said that they couldn’t go back to their regular spot and it actually became considered as a local paranormal hot spot. I never told him the truth. But hinted that they should never share the story. But then again they don’t remember the full story. Only I do. And you. The one reading this word for word.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] A Brand New Home [RESPONSE] “God, I’m cold. So cold.” This is the first thought that creeps into my mind as I begin the seemingly eternal crawl towards consciousness. The second, is the awareness of a dull throb. In my head. In my spine. Even my right shoulder seems to be engulfed in this sickening thud of misery. In perfect synchronicity, my entire existence pulses with the heat of a smoldering campfire.  Every heartbeat delivering a fresh burst of pain. As I begin to notice the familiar sounds of the city bustling about me, I allow my eyes to slowly draw open. Then, as I am smashed upon the shores of reality by a tsunami of nausea, I jerk forward. With eyes wide open, I retch onto the sidewalk upon which I am lying. After a moment, the heaves subside, and I am left drooling and staring at the miserable mess of bile and vodka scented remains of my last meal. It must be Thursday, I think, as I notice what could have once been fried rice in the contents of my expulsion. Too bad. I only get Wong’s once a week. With a shuddering breath, I push myself to a better seated position. Hands chilled by the cold concrete below me, I quickly bring them to my mouth in an attempt to begin blowing some warmth onto them. But I feel the slick remainder of my reverse breakfast dangling from my unkempt beard. A quick pass of my forearm across my mouth mostly removes the offending matter, and I wonder if I should have left it there. If only to add some color to the gray that has established its dominance over the recent years. “Fuck me! How did I ever get here?” I question myself yet again, knowing full well what the answer is. As always my thoughts drift back to what my life was before. Of the family I had left behind, yet still out there, somewhere. Leaning back against the brownish brick facade of the storefront behind me, I wonder if they ever think of me. Probably not. At least not in any way that could be considered positive or hopeful. “You made your bed...” I begin to muse aloud, and an actual giggle escapes me as I once again allow my eyes to drift to my proverbial bed. “Aw, fuck this. Time to move,” I mumble.  Still leaning against the wall, I use my right arm to provide some stability as I begin to stand. My knees pop, my back groans, and suddenly, my shoulder screams at me. Sonuvabitch! What the hell did I do to it? Nothing particular comes to mind, so I write it off as simply being a consequence of sleeping on the sidewalk again. I should probably find better digs. Especially with the weather becoming a bit chilly. Maybe I’ll head over to Marty’s pad for now. He wouldn’t mind it if I hang out for a few days. Marty is a helluva guy, and is what you might think of as a man’s man. And not in any sort of sexual manner either. He’s from the old school. The original grizzled old biker type. Vietnam vet and all that shit. Like the rest of our little circle, Marty has seen better days. But I wouldn’t fuck with him. No way. No how. And no thanks. Just a few weeks back, I watched Marty nearly kill a guy with his bare hands. Like to have torn him apart if we hadn’t jumped in. Some college asshole thought it’d be a real hoot to watch a bum-fight with a couple of his buddies. I guess, in a way, he got what he was looking for, and then some.  Yeah. I’ll go see what the old bastard is up to. I do a quick scan of the ground below me to make sure I’m not leaving anything behind. Oops! I almost left without my ball-cap. I lean forward to grab the grungy old gray hat, and smack! I bash my face into the glass pane in front of me. “Jesus fucking Christ,” I cursed. “Who the fuck put that there?” Staggering, I clutch at my nose. Shit, that hurt! I examine my hands, and am slightly surprised at the lack of blood. Looks like the beard is staying gray for a bit longer. There’s today’s silver lining, I guess. Little did I know as to just how much worse today was really going to turn out. Why in the hell would anyone install a glass panel here? What would be the purpose? And how did I sleep through the noise? Jerk-off could have maybe at least kicked my hat over to me, instead of placing a big ass piece of glass between me and it! I sigh and step to my right, in order to go around the panel, when my shoulder abruptly thuds into yet another god-damned glass panel. “W-what the hell?” I sputter, as I massage at my already sore shoulder. Placing my hands against the glass, I discover that the two panels are actually joined together in a corner right before me. What is this! I shake my head in a moment of confusion, then look up. It suddenly occurs to me that I can’t actually even see the glass. This is strange. I should at least see something at the corner junction. But even upon closer inspection, there is no visible indication of glass being present. Okay, enough lollygagging. I’ve got shit to do and vodka to drink.  I tilt to my left, to begin exiting this invisible oddity (art?) and have a thought. I reach out and my heart skips a beat. This can’t be! There is just no way that it’s possible! With both hands flat before me, I press against the newly discovered barrier. I turn and repeat this action with the panels before me and to my right. Nothing but solid glass on all three sides. I reach over my head to find more of the same about a foot above me. I’m completely enclosed, like some exotic pet on display!  Jesus! Is this even glass for that matter? Whatever this is, I’m having none of it! I angrily begin to pound on the panel before me. One, two, three times I slam into it with my balled up fist. It’s like beating on solid steel. Like beating on twelve inch thick solid freaking steel. There is not a single sound from my strikes, other than the meaty smack of my flesh and bone against.....nothing. With any hope of escape rapidly slipping away, my breathing becomes frantic. I turn to the store front and find myself looking right into a large picture window, where I see a couple of elderly women perusing the brightly lit shelves within. A bored looking young man is restocking cigarettes near the check-out stand. His bright red hair clashing with his green smock. As he turns to pick up some more stock, I see his name tag. “HELLO. My name is Bryan.”  Sorry about this Bryan, but I’m through with this shit. You’ll have to bill me for the window. I wriggle out of my brown quilted flannel shirt, and wrap it tightly around my shaking right fist, being sure to protect my wrist and as much of my forearm as possible. I tuck the dangling portion of the sleeve underneath the makeshift wrap. Drawing my left arm up to shield my eyes from any possible shrapnel, I reach back with my right and swing at the window. What resulted was a combined sickening splatter and a bone-jarring crunch.  “GAAAH! Fuck! Shit! Fuck!” I clutch my wounded extremity to my abdomen, and try to stomp away the pain. But each stomp only seems to bring anger instead of relief. After a couple minutes pass, the pain subsides. It’s not gone by any means, but it’s not as bad. The stars have faded from my vision, so I don’t think I’ll pass out. I turn back to the store’s window and start waving frantically to get someone's attention. Bryan. Hey Bryan! Look at me! Maybe one of the old ladies will see me. Everyone is too distracted. Either with their shopping, or their job, they are all too busy with something other than noticing me. After banging on my enclosure a couple of times, I give up. I jerk around to face the street. Being set back a bit from the main sidewalk, I’m not as noticeable here. Even though my alcohol saturated brain had been in ‘fun-time’ mode last night, there apparently remained at least a modicum of survival instinct. I had selected a sleeping spot that was somewhat set back from foot traffic, was covered, and offered a small amount of light. But now this bit of shelter may present a challenge. No matter. I have no other choice.  “Hey! Hey! Can some one give me a hand?” I shout. Nobody so much as looks at me. “Hey! Lady in the red hat! Lady!” I slam against the front wall, screaming. “Yo, big guy! Hey, fuck you! Fuck you, buddy! Fucking look at me!” Still nothing. I begin slapping the barrier, arms extended over my head. Still shouting for someone to help me. Then it happens. They start to notice me. Oh, thank God! First it’s a second glance, then this kid, probably around fifteen or so, stops. He pulls out his phone and starts recording a video of me. Seriously? “Hey kid. Why don’t you give me a hand getting out of here. Maybe when your done making your GOD DAMN VIDEO!” I’m really slamming on the barrier now. Slapping against it as hard as I can. Putting the full weight of my 215 pounds into it. The kid grins this delighted, goofy ass smile and gives me a thumbs up. Behind him, a middle aged blonde lady is walking her little rat dog. She notices, stops to watch for a moment, digs into her purse, then walks over and drops a fiver into my overturned hat! “Hey! No! No! That’s not what I need! Can you call someone? Maybe 911. Get the fire department over here. I need help out of this thing!” I loudly explain. An otherwise delightful grin spreads across her face and she laughs, walking away. Enraged, I yell after her, “I hope someone runs over your little rat!”  For hours it goes on like this. Snot is running down my face.  I’m openly weeping to silent applause from the occasional multitude of onlookers. About thirty minutes into my panic induced attempt at freedom, I had realized that I couldn’t hear anything other than the sounds I was making inside my prison. Nothing from the outside reached my ears. I can only assume that they cannot hear me either. I’m so tired. I’m tired from kicking and punching for hours. From jumping and yelling and screaming. I feel broken.  Now the crowd is gone. No longer do they walk past me or stare at me. I sit here all alone, slumped against the nothing which imprisons me, staring out into the cold and empty night. I am surrounded by desolation and hopelessness. Now what? Is this it? Is this how I die? From dehydration and embarrassment? “Oh God,” I snivel aloud, “Now what?” as fresh tears streak my face. Motion catches my attention. Someone is approaching from the street. It’s a kid. A little girl actually. She can’t be any older than seven or eight years. She definitely shouldn’t be out on the streets by herself at this hour. I’m not positive, but it has to be getting close to midnight or so. As the child comes closer, I can see that she is filthy. Her once blonde hair is crusty and matted with brownish clumps. Her worn clothing is torn and dirty. She has no shoes. But most disturbingly, she grips in her two hands the largest rat that I’ve ever seen. It’s kicking and swaying its body back and forth in an attempt to free itself from its captor. The girl doesn’t seem to notice when the rat sinks its long teeth into her thumb. She simply stares at me, ignoring the bite as she has so obviously ignored the others. Small tendrils of flesh are folded back to reveal the tendons and bone of her hands. But she just stares at me with her empty black eyes. The closer the girls gets, the more I can see that this is no girl. This is an abomination! Its rib bones are visible beneath torn layers of gangrenous flesh. The missing shoes have taken with them the skin and the meat of this vile creature’s calves and feet.  “God?” she whispers while still approaching, and I can hear her even though she’s not in my box with me. She is outside the box, right!? Grasped in the clutches of sheer horror, I push myself to the back of my cage. There is a foul, unholy essence oozing forth from the child. It repulses me and fills me with dread. My bladder releases, and I feel the warmth spread outward from my crotch. This is the true fear. It is the fear which I have never known. This fear dwarfs the worst nightmare I’ve ever had, or that I could ever conceive. This fear; it is Death come for me. The last thing that I hear rolls forth like a thunderstorm. From all around me, I feel physically and spiritually crushed by her bellowing, apocalyptic words, “God isn’t here!” I am torn into a thousand pieces, then reconstructed over and over again. Each time, this takes slightly longer than the last, until my destruction is repeated in slow motion. Agonizing hours, then days, years, even centuries roll by. I am nothing other than pain. I cannot scream for release. I cannot weep or vomit. My very existence is agony. Eventually, it is done. I am no more. My pain is complete. “God, I’m cold. So cold.” This is the first thought that creeps into my mind as I begin the seemingly eternal crawl towards consciousness. The second, is.... “Wait! This seems so familiar.” I quickly push myself to a seated position. My… my everything hurts! My back and shoulder are killing me. And this throbbing ache in my head prevents me from looking around too quickly. I feel the incredible urge to vomit, but I hold it at bay. I reach out towards the sidewalk before me. My hand is stopped mid air. There it is. My memory returns in a flood. I press my weight against the barrier as I desperately struggle to gain my feet. Looking through the storefront window, I see Bryan diligently stocking away. In shock, I turn myself about to face the people bustling by. No! Nononono! Not again. I won’t do this again even if it kills me. If I have to bash myself into a pulp against these walls, then that’s what I’ll do. And so I begin. My screams don’t last very long, for soon I am unable to make a sound. I’ve destroyed my voice and now the only noise coming forth is a wet wheezing. Blood streams down my face from what must be a massive gash on my forehead. I am covered in it; covered in cold, sticky blood, like the walls around me and the ground upon which I stand. My hands are so badly damaged that jagged bones protrude from the skin in several places. They are  nearly unusable, but I can push through the pain. I can push past it, because pain, to me, has become an old acquaintance. A familiar face that I know I can rely on. Pain keeps me tethered to this life of mine. With this in mind, I return my attention to this beat up old iPhone. I no longer have cell service, but WiFi access is everywhere these days; especially when passwords are so commonly posted on restroom walls. Looks like “????????” still works. I don’t have much of a charge left though, and my prison doesn’t exactly come with electricity. Hunched over in the corner of my cell, I write this message to you. You are my last hope to be free from this curse. These people; they still stop to watch. They take their videos. They point, laugh, and applaud. They still drop their money into my hat. But they do not offer any help.  Oh please, won’t you help me!? Someone? Anyone? For the love of God, please help!<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Man in the Wall. [RESPONSE] Whenever the sun set on the small town I grew up in, the streets would empty and a silence would take the night, you could almost hear the stillness of the leaves and flowers outside. The place wasn’t rural and out of touch with the world like some of those towns are, but it sure as hell was no city. Nighttime In those big places seems to usher in a new, maybe a little bit depraved, day but here the town seemed to rest with its inhabitants. Maybe I took it for granted. I mean, you look at any paper, any movie, book, etc. and see that all the action in life happens in those bustling streets so far away. I’m not that naive anymore, though, now I know that all of the “action” I heard about were things that no one should desire. I knew that when it came to my town, when the silence that once pierced the night dissipated for a few hours and, in time, so did the peaceful life I miss. It was like any other night at first, thick and humid air flooded the streets, gray clouds stretched across the sky and obscured the moon and stars. Most importantly, though, it was silent. I laid in bed unable to sleep, thinking of crowded bars and better towns than this one. I could hear my heartbeat in the silence when I focused on it. Then a sound drifted in from my open window, it sounded like a moan at first, maybe a deer that got hit by a semi, but then it came again–clear like glass as it tore through the night. “Heeeeeeelllllllpppp meeeee.” It was a man’s voice, his words were drawn out and laborious like a dying breath. I sprung out of bed, clenched the windowsill, and peered through the mesh screen. Nothing. The streets were as dead as they had always looked. “Pleeeeeasee.” Like delayed Christmas lights, I watched the porch lamps turn on at all of the neighbors' houses, meanwhile the pleading groans drifted down the street. Within a half an hour, nearly the entire town was crowded around a house 4 blocks down from mine. Fire trucks, ambulances, and squad cars doused us with flickering colored lights as a cop screamed, “Everybody get back! Move! Go back to your homes! Everything is under control!” I asked people at the back what was going on, but none of them seemed to know. I pushed my way through the crowd of people, my heart racing as I tried to fight off a curious smirk. I didn't need to fight it off for long though. The closer I got to the front, I could see people crying and trembling like they were having seizures. Others were puking, pulling out their hair, pacing around aimlessly. I could see men closing their eyes and grimacing as they squeezed their hysteric wives to their chests. That was enough to put me in my place. I should have left then, but you know how these things go. I had come this far, I needed to see what happened, I needed to know what was making everybody catatonic. Nothing ahead looked too out of the ordinary, just a run of the mill house. I could see that the roof was angled and there was a nice lawn out front, the lights were on behind the windows and the front door was wide open but other than that it was normal. “P-pleassse…” I could hardly hear it this time through the slew of frenzied people. It came from the house—from the outside of the house. As I moved closer I could make out the walls, layered wood panels painted a subtle shade of blue, again it looked pretty normal at first. And then I saw him, surrounded by paramedics, cops, firemen. A good share of them were scratching their heads or crying at the sight. My knees shook and I stumbled about just trying to stand. I blinked rapidly to push away the tears and the bottom of my throat started to swell. My mind blanked, I couldn't feel anything, I couldn't process the emotions that my body was responding to. I didn’t recognize the man, but then again I doubt anyone could have. His body was fused into the wall of the house, looking almost like a sadistic woodcarving. His face was contorted and stretched about wildly, slowly being pulled into the wall. Agony. That's the only word I can find to even remotely describe his deformed face. His skin blended into the wooden panels like a gradient and his body was slowly flattened out as it moved away from his crushed torso. No arms, no legs, no fingers, nothing; but I could almost notice thin ridges surfacing where the limbs above his elbows and knees once were. My spine rolled like a cat coughing up a hairball, I felt the stinging rise of vomit fill my throat, and I threw up all over my pants and shoes. “We’re gonna get you out of there, don't you worry!” a policeman shouted, but he only seemed to be trying to reassure himself. First responders rushed in and out of the house. In their commotion I could hear that there was nothing of the man on the other side of the wall—just flat, unbroken, uncracked drywall. I could hear his wheezing breaths, it sounded like a man with punctured lungs trying to breathe through a straw. I clasped my hands over my ears and hunched over, but I could still hear it in my mind. “P-pleaaaasse…” His mouth hardly moved, “j-just kill me.” “Kill meeeeee. P-pleaaase kiiill mee.” That voice, it was so airy, so drawn—much more than before. He was pulled flatter against the house by now, and his skin was almost completely wrapped in the wooden panels. “Y-you…youuu” There were no fingers for him to point, he couldn't even move his eyes. The first responders darted their heads around between him and each other, trying to figure out what he wanted. “Pleaaa…. G-g-uuuuunn.” He kept repeating that for the rest of the night. Within a few hours everyone seemed to realize what we had known all along: there was no helping him. All we could do was stand there, like we were before, staring dumb and wide-eyed as he was ever so slowly being pulled and stretched into the wall. The firefighters, the paramedics, the police, and eventually everyone else that had crowded around him slowly shuffled away and crawled back to their homes, leaving him alone there begging and pleading to be put out of his misery. Maybe someone should have done it, but nobody had the stomach to pull the trigger. When I got home I noticed that my parents were still asleep, as was my sister. They must’ve been the only few who slept that night. I could still hear him faintly cry out, begging for a gun to free him, but even closing my window couldn’t stop those groans and pleading cries from throbbing against the walls of my skull. By morning, the wall that once emblazoned the grotesque and distorted shape of a man looked like any other wall. Flat against the house with the same wood panels, the same shade of light blue, without even a crack in the paint to show he was once there. A few onlookers gathered randomly throughout the day, their hands stuffed in their pockets and standing far apart from each other as they stared in silence. It's been at least two or three months now but, still, nobody talks about what happened, not so much as a whisper. That night marked a change in our town, a change in the people who used to smile and wave as they pushed strollers and walked their dogs in the sun. The day feels no different than the night nowadays. I miss when kids used to play on the lawns and ride their bikes down the street, when families used to hang out and hold the occasional block party, and when the mailman wasn't the only familiar face outside. I’m sure that they all chock up what happened to some bizarre and fucked up dream since, by morning, there was no evidence that the man was ever there, but I know what I saw. I still see that horrible face every time I close my eyes, and even if I blast music into my ear canals I can't drown out those agonizing groans. I can’t even fucking sleep anymore without downing enough alcohol from my parents liquor cabinet or stealing sleeping pills from my mom. Sometimes I think about his face, how it was so disfigured that he couldn’t even shed a tear, and when I cry into my pillow in the dead of night I like to think that I’m crying for him.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] After death comes only hell, but not in the way you might think. [RESPONSE] “I am not afraid of death.” I used to say, when the topic would come up during late-night conversations. “After all, before we came into this world, we were nothing. And once we leave it, we’ll be nothing once more. Plus, once you’re dead, it’s kind of hard to care, isn’t it?”. Man, do I wish I still had that beautiful ignorance. Monday two weeks ago was a day like any other. I begrudgingly got out of bed after my morning alarm blared into my ears for a good few minutes. I brushed my teeth, thinking to myself that I really should be more gentle with the toothbrush. The bristles were already starting to separate and flatten. I hopped in the shower, and spun the dial the wrong way, causing really cold water to wake me up not so gently. Not an uncommon occurrence, as I had only moved in here a few weeks back. “Whoever installed this thing really is an idiot.” I thought to myself, as I did on most mornings when I was treated to a trial version of frostbite. Anyway, I got dressed, ate breakfast and headed off to work. As I pulled into the parking lot, I realized that I felt an odd pain in my chest. Nothing to worry about I’m sure. The thought of a heart attack briefly crossed my mind, but I’m a young guy, only in my twenties, it was nothing to worry about. I walked into the building where I worked, I won’t say much about it for privacy reasons, but let’s just say it was an office building. I greeted some of my co-workers, and sat down at my desk. I noticed that the pain in my chest was almost on a rhythm. It would disappear for a bit, then slowly come back, before fading away again. As I opened my laptop, I started feeling lightheaded. I figured I was just a little dehydrated. I had a habit of forgetting to drink when engrossed in my work. So, I got up to grab a drink. While walking, I came across another one of my co-workers. She asked me whether I was doing alright. I assured her I was fine, just a little thirsty. That’s when it all happened very quickly. I felt faint and lost my balance, hitting my head on the carpet floor. Good thing it wasn’t concrete I guess. That was the last thought I had before the world faded to black. I didn’t hear anything. I didn’t see anything. But I did feel something. That rhythmic pain in my chest, the left side of my head hurting badly from falling, and my arm, which I guess landed awkwardly, possibly being broken in the process. Damn it hurt bad, and it just kept going. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t hear. I couldn’t move. But I could feel. I couldn’t really think. It was like… being half asleep. But the pain, it didn’t care. An organism without consciousness can still feel pain after all. Time slowly passed, and the pain didn’t fade. I didn’t grow used to it either, in fact it may have been becoming slowly worse. Then, suddenly, I didn’t feel anything anymore, and the world faded back into view. I was in the back of an ambulance. The paramedics told me that I had been dead for 6 minutes. I asked them about the constant pain, the darkness around me, the dream-like state I was in. But they just told me not to worry, that I was fine now. I insisted, surely that couldn’t be normal. Maybe I hadn’t been dead? They told me not to worry. I was fine now, after all. I stopped talking about it after that. I realized that they wouldn’t answer me. I didn’t understand at the time. But I think I get it now: they were hiding, hiding from the reality of death. I didn’t tell anyone about it after that. I didn’t want to burden them with the fear of death. I’ve thought about ending it all to avoid dying in an undesirable way. To avoid an eternity spent in agony. To avoid the fate of my grandpa, who died of cancer. Or that of my uncle, a car crash. A bullet to the head would kill me instantly. I wouldn’t have time to feel pain. The gun in my hand wouldn’t betray me, after all: I am not afraid of death.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My town has a strange rule. Don't go outside and don't trick or treat on Halloween night. No one will tell me why. [RESPONSE] Another gourd… I just don’t understand kids these days. I did my best Uncle Rico impression and chunked it into the woods to rot alongside its brethren. That makes 27 perfectly good gourds that have gone to waste this month. Not that I’m exactly sure what gourds are for anyways. During my walk to work I noticed that once again, I’m not the only victim of this stupid prank, they got old Mr. Toms house too. I never would have imagined as a kid that I’d one day be sympathizing with the town grump but here I am. To be fair I’m not nearly as crotchety as he is, I just toss the vegetable into the woods and carry on with my day. It’s become part of my morning routine. Ole Tom on the other hand has really embraced his inner Ebenezer. Judging by the stains and gourd residue on his front porch he’s turned this into a game of botanical whack a mole. What’s worse is he probably enjoys it. I know firsthand from my childhood that hateful indignation towards anything fun is his favorite pass time, especially around Halloween. But that’s water under the bridge. Now that I’m older the boogeyman has taken on much more insidious forms, like taxes, my broken-down car, and perhaps most pressing, the razor thin profit margins at the sandwich shop. Which is why I’ve started walking there … in the cold. Honestly, I think Banyon’s been thrilled by the sudden death of my crappy old four runner. He’s all smiles and tail wags as we make our daily five-mile trek to work. Although I sometimes feel like he’s the one walking me, on account of my short attention span. I know he gets frustrated when I walk at the pace of a confused grandma but in my defense my town can be pretty distracting this time of year. Even though I’ve seen it 27 times, it’s hard to ignore the insane fervor with which the locals prepare for Halloween. Every October, like a rhythmic force of nature, hundreds of tombstones rise out of suburban yards, front porches are infested with fake cobwebs, mannequin witches stand on patrol on every rooftop, and the smell of rubber masks permeates the air. To make a long story short, it’s a trick or treaters paradise, or at least it would be, if my town allowed trick or treaters. In fact, they don’t even allow kids to go outside on Halloween night. I’ve never understood the reason for the strange unspoken rule that’s frustrated me my entire life. I thought I’d go through some sort of initiation when I got older, and I’d be let in on the secret, but it only got worse. Every time I ask someone what’s going on they either stare at me like I’ve got a corn cob growing out of my forehead, or resort to straight up gaslighting. For example, just last week, I ran the million-dollar question by Ms. Kathy when she came in to order her usual plain turkey sandwich. Historically she’s very nice and one of my best customers, but as soon as I brought up Halloween, I could see the angry micro expression crack beneath her makeup as she wrinkled her crooked nose. She plastered a fake smile on her face gave me a line that went something like, “Darling, what do you think is more likely? Everybody in town being involved in a Halloween conspiracy or one man’s cheese falling off his cracker”. I’m used to being framed as the “crazy guy”, but it does still sting a little. An hour or so after opening the shop, I was pulling some fresh bread from the oven when I heard the jingle of the doorbell. I knew exactly who it was based solely on the fact that they were walking like they owned the place, even though they most certainly did not. Mayor Hawthorne strolled right up to my counter looking like the lead of a 1970’s TV drama. He resembled a, slightly broader, middle-aged Burt Reynolds, but with sandy blonde hair streaked with grey. I’d heard him say on more than one occasion that he was the tallest, smartest, funniest, and prettiest member of his whole family. I couldn’t verify that, but he probably could have thrown most arrogant in there as well. “Well, if it isn’t ole Sandwich Dean, how are you doing this fine and beautiful morning”. I hate it when he calls me that. I looked past him at the cold overcast sky and bleak forest across the street. “I’m alright, how about yourself?” “Oh, I couldn’t be better, little Jimmy hit a home run in last night’s game, the great pumpkin lighting is tonight, and to top it all off the Crumpton gazette just published a story about my charity for the homeless.” I usually try to zone the mayor out but something he said piqued my interest. “I’ve never heard of that, what is it?” “Dean I’m sure you’ve seen the dirty vagrants that try to leach off our town.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “Between you and me and Carl the bus driver I’ve been packing them up like sardines and shipping them to a Denny’s out in Dothan. Every hundred dollars donated is one less hobo you will ever see in the city of Crumpton.”. “No umm, I meant the great pumpkin lighting…” “Oh that. It’s just an old forgotten Crumpton tradition. The town elders are insisting that we bring it back. From my understanding, there will be a bunch of pumpkins there, somebody will say something, and then we get to light them. I get to light the biggest one.” He did his best jack o lantern impression as he said that last part. “You should come on down, it’ll be in the graveyard across from Christ Church at 8 o’clock.” “The graveyard? And I thought nobody was allowed to go out after dark.” “Well, it is Halloween.” He said with spooky jazz hands, completely ignoring the second half of my question. I nodded and silently considered making an appearance. I don’t generally like crowds, but I might finally be able to get some answers on my towns weird Halloween rule. I’d planned on closing shop early and going home since everyone usually locks themselves in their houses on Halloween night. But for the first time in my life, people seemed to be breaking the rule. I’d ventured out a few times when I was younger out of curiosity and never found anything unusual. Although I never stayed out too long. There’s something deeply unsettling about a completely silent town at night. We all heard stories of kids that disappeared, but I figured they just moved away and some of the older kids made the stories up to scare us. I thought about all those old stories as the leaves crunched beneath our feet and paws as we walked from streetlight to streetlight, connecting the dots on the way there. I was admittedly starting to get creeped out, so I pulled out my phone and turned some music on. I’ve been in a classic rock mood lately and went through a few of my favorites on the way there. Must Be the Season of the Witch by Donovan started playing just as the Christ Church steeple came into view. It seemed a little too fitting for comfort. We veered off the road and made a B line toward the cemetery. As we got closer, I began to make out hundreds of figures standing and ambling around in the moonlight. Banyon let out a low growl as the first figure came into focus. A walking skeleton with a pumpkin in its hands. “It’s ok buddy, it’s just a costume”, I assured him. Soon we found ourselves amongst witches, wolfmen, vampires and every other monster mankind has conjured up. Every one of them carried a carved pumpkin. Nobody told me this was a costume party. People were standing around in small groups, having private conversations. I felt like the new kid on the first day of school. Or in my case, any other day of school. Suddenly a booming voice overpowered all the chit chat and commanded everyone’s attention. “Fellow ghouls and goblins, witches and warlocks, ghosts, skeletons, and every other creature of the night, welcome to the lighting of the great pumpkin.” Bram Stoker’s Dracula, formerly known as Mayor Hawthorne, stood atop an impromptu stage and summoned his most spooktacular voice. “We have known 27 years of peace and prosperity”, he said as he spread his arms wide, “It is with timid deference that we gather on the eve of this hallowed succession… In remembrance of the last I ask you to light your pumpkins.” The sound of lighters flicking and matches striking cut through the air as countless glowing smiles came to life around me. The mayor continued, “Even in the night, a shepherd must protect his flock”. He then pulled a long knife from his belt and cut a deep slice in his free hand. The crowd roared with applause and howls as he held his hand high above his head and let the blood stream down his arm. And with that the mayor jumped off the stage, or what I thought was a stage. And a witch with a crooked nose approached with a lit pumpkin. It was burning so bright that it must have been filled to the brim with gasoline. She handed it to the mayor, who proceeded to smear his bloody hand across the flaming pumpkin. In the orange glow I could now make out what he’d been standing on. It was a giant wooden jack o lantern. With a dramatic spin and heave he threw the flaming pumpkin into the mouth of the giant jack o lantern and a great fire exploded back out of the eyes and smile of the carved face. The whole thing was swallowed up in flames and everyone kept their reverent eyes on the burning pumpkin effigy. Except for the mayor, who was staring right at me. Apparently, he knew a hell of a lot more about the Great Pumpkin Lighting than he let on. Banyon instinctively backed up. “What do you say we get out of here buddy.” He whimpered and we turned to leave. On the way out every one of my strange neighbors gave us a wide berth as if they either respected or detested us. I felt an overwhelming feeling of attention on my back, so I threw my hoody up in a feeble defense, and we walked into the darkness. It was hard not to look over my shoulder on the way home. I knew once I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop checking so I kept my eyes forward and my ears on high alert. I don’t know what in the hell that was all about. Maybe I shouldn’t ask any questions about Halloween, or maybe I should just move to less psychotic town. I didn’t see a soul as I power walked my way back home. I was too freaked out to get distracted by anything like I usually do, so we were making good time. That is until I reached Ole Tom’s house. His front door was wide open… I called out to him, but nobody answered. I debated just minding my own business and going home but I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to him, even if he was an old grump. Dead leaves blew into the hallway as I creaked up the stairs. I stopped at the threshold and raised my fist to knock on the open door but froze before my knuckles hit the wood. There was blood spattered at the end of the hallway. This is not good. I swallowed the lump in my throat and stepped into the house. I crept to the end of the hall and leaned around the corner expecting the worst but to my surprise there was no dead body. What I did find was a kitchen in complete disarray. It looked as if a drunkem Tasmanian Devil with a penchant for domestic violence had been released in the small room. Beyond the overturned kitchen table was a blue jacket. I recognized it as the one that the old man always wore. Poking out of the corner of one of the front pockets was a crumpled letter. My hands trembled as I unfolded it and read the hastily written words. *Dean,* *I don’t have much time. I’m sorry I didn’t figure it out sooner. I thought I was cursed to carry this burden alone. They never told me anything. They made me think I was crazy until it was too late… They made me keep it. They turned me into a monster… into a killer, but it would have been far worse if I didn’t do my part. Through me I believe it’s limited to one night a year, but I think my time is up and I think they’ve chosen you to be* The letter abruptly ended. I didn’t know who to call or trust. If the mayor was in on this, then the cops probably were too. Hell, the whole town was probably in on it. Behind me I heard Banyon yelp and scramble to run out the front door. Before I could turn around a blinding pain erupted from the back of my skull and everything went black. When I came to, I thought I might be partially paralyzed but gradually my foggy brain put the situation together. I was tied to a chair in the middle of Ole Tom’s garage and two figures were before me. Mayor Hawthorne sat atop a large brown chest covered in what appeared to be pale worn leather, next to him stood Ms. Kathy. “What’s happening?” I said “You’re fulfilling your destiny Dean.” Said the Mayer. “I…I don’t understand. What did you do with Mr. Tom?” “He achieved his purpose at the great pumpkin lighting.” Said Ms. Kathy with that same fake smile I’d grown to hate. “What are you saying? Did you kill him? Are you going to kill me?” “Are you familiar with the story of the Crumpton Booger?” said the mayor. “Yea we all heard that story as kids… I used to think that’s why we didn’t go out on Halloween when I was little.” He laughed, “Then you’ve had the answer to your question all along. He is the reason we don’t go out on Halloween. All except for the children that are disobedient. And those damn hobos.” He spit on the ground in disgust. “They are sacrificed for the greater good”, chimed in Ms. Kathy. Mayor Hawthorne continued speaking as he stood and turned to unlock the chest. “I understand that the grief was hard on ole Tom all these years. Embodying something much greater than yourself. Consuming the offerings. Understanding that if he doesn’t do it none of us will make it to next Halloween. But it is an honor to be chosen. Once the bond is made then it will return every year until the next cycle.” He moved to the back side of the chest and slowly opened the lid. Then they carefully backed up a few paces, through the open garage door, and into the night air. A soft chittering, like a long hand strumming dozens of fingers on a table, began to emanate from the chest. Slowly a thick and gnarled stem emerged, and I now knew, from the stories I’d heard as a child, what would follow. A large, decrepit pumpkin climbed out of the chest and skittered towards me on long stringy entrails that acted like insect legs. I screamed bloody murder as the grotesque, bulbus, parasite teetered in my direction. I strained and pulled against the ropes with all my might, but they wouldn’t budge. It was getting closer, and, in my desperation, I tried to push myself away with my feet, the only part of me that wasn’t tied down. I began to helplessly fall backwards and just before I lost sight of the pumpkin a blur of fangs and fur flew into the open garage. Banyon crashed into the demonic vegetable as my world turned upside down. I heard the mayor and Ms. Kathy yelling and tussling with my dog and Banyon was barking and snapping in return. The chair hit the garage floor and was crushed under my weight. As it collapsed beneath me, the ropes tying me down loosened up and I scrambled to my feet throwing them off me. The mayor grabbed Banyon who had clearly gotten a few good bites on his bloody arms and turned to chunk him out of the garage. Banyon went flying and hit with a thud, but the mayor didn’t notice what was crawling up his leg until it was too late. I yelled for Banyon who darted in the garage and behind my legs. We stood in horror as the pumpkin scurried up mayor Hawthorne. He made desperate attempts to pull the thing off him, but the spindly legs would stretch and then overpower him, pulling itself closer. It crawled up his body like a massive and misshapen centipede. In a flash it was clinging and climbing over the side of his temple, and it muffled his screams as the smiling the jack o lantern fell in place over his head. He stood in abject horror for an endless second before the transformation began. Once it started it happened quickly. It was like all his life force and most of his body mass was being sucked into the jack o lantern. His body shriveled and withered to a brown and lean form. The pumpkin filled with mass until the inner workings of a mouth formed and large solid black eyes filled the eye holes. The figure doubled over, and a sickening and half-finished laugh erupted from its throat as its vocal cords formed. Slowly, the Crumpton Booger stood, and Banyon and I opened the door to Ole Mr. Toms house and stepped inside, slamming it shut behind us. Ms. Kathy’s scream was cut short by the sound of a bone crunching fleshly splat. I locked the door and prayed that we’d be safe if we followed the rules. Don’t go outside and don’t trick or treat on Halloween night.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I Died And Went To Heaven. I Think I'd Rather Stay A Ghost On Earth. [RESPONSE] Do you believe in Ghosts? Do you believe in the afterlife? Do you believe in Heaven? If you do believe in Heaven, do you believe it is a paradise? I asked myself these questions once, the last one being the most recent I came up with. Because I do believe in ghosts, the afterlife, and the existence. However, I no longer see Heaven as a paradise for souls to rest in peace, but just another Hell. I will never forget the chilling experience I had during my "near-death" situation. An experience that'll scar me for the rest of my life. Before I begin, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Ryan Smith. I work an office job as an Accountant, and had a normal life as any average American. Even though I'm single, I'm content with living an independent life. No wife and kids, or marital problems to deal with, at least not yet. I'm trying to be careful with finding a woman, since the last one I was with decided to cheat on me with another guy. I was glad we were boyfriend and girlfriend. We never married nor did we have any children. So the breakup was easy, and I don't have to worry about child support. I've been living alone in my own house, in a town that's very peaceful and quiet. Contrast to living in a city, I was perfectly content where I now am, and the people are friendly. Neighbors even came to my house and brought food and greetings over, and I was happy to meet them. Everything was fine, and things were looking up for me at the time. It beats having lived in the city two years ago, where there was constant noise even at night, let alone the occasional gang violence involving gunshots. As for right now, I'm still content with the way of life in this peaceful and quiet town. However, part of my experience has changed my view of death and dying. Now I'm afraid of death, more specifically, of what will happen to me when I die. I fear those bastards will come for me once my body expires, and I become a spirit. Those "angels" or what pretends to be angels, are waiting for us behind a white light. I remember that old movie reference: Do not go into the Light. I did not think such words could be so true. You see, it all started when I was doing my usual commute. Before I was heading to work, I made my breakfast and ate as usual before driving off. Once I finished and drove off, I usually expect the school traffic to be around this time, which I didn't mind, since my workplace was only ten minutes away, and I had thirty minutes to spare. I'm an early bird too, since I don't like the idea of showing up to work at the last minute, or worse, late. Unfortunately, this was the day I never made it to work. Why? Because this was the day, I got into my first car accident. I had the right of way, but sadly, one of the delivery truck drivers didn't seem to pay attention to the turning lane. I still remember that green arrow light that displayed, telling me that it's time for me to turn. However, I noticed the delivery truck still approaching, and it became clear to me that the driver wasn't stopping the truck despite the red light. From what I could see, he was looking down at something, as if he was staring at his phone or trying to grab something he dropped. But at the moment he saw me turning in and realized what was happening, it was already too late. Even when he hit the brakes and used the emergency brakes, it wasn't enough to stop both his truck and my car, from collision. The last thing I remember, is seeing that truck slam into the right side door of my car as I was turning. The impact caused my car to flip, and I was suddenly knocked unconscious as my head hit the car window to my left, as far as I could tell. After that, there was nothing. I was very surprised when I realized I didn't feel any pain from the impact, but I'm assuming its because my soul had already left before I could suffer from the excruciating pain I felt when I came back to my body. Just then, my vision slowly started coming back. I realized my head was laying on the driving wheel. I tried to make sense of that, because I recall the car flipping from the impact. But what scared me the most, was when I lifted my head up, and saw my head still laying there. Except, it was the head of my body, still laying on the driving wheel. It looked like it had been severely wounded, as I noticed blood dripping from multiple parts of my body's face. I was shocked to see how bad the accident was. Then, the delivery truck driver came walking up to my car window, and was peeking inside. If there was one thing that pissed me the fuck off about him, the motherfucker came out of his truck, unscathed from the collision. I yelled at him, as he pulled out his phone to call 911, looking surprised and frightened over the accident he caused. "FUCKING PAY ATTENTION, YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT! YOU COULD'VE KILLED ME!!" I said that, not even realizing I was already dead. However, he didn't respond or look at me. That pissed me off even more. That's when I "opened" the door of my car and walked up to him. Despite being in front of him, he didn't look in my direction, but I heard the operator on his phone pick up. For some strange reason, I could hear the operator's voice loud and very clear regardless of the fact he didn't put the phone on speaker to talk. "911, what's your emergency?" Then the truck driver responded. "Yeah, there's been a car accident! There's a man in the car, he looks like he's not breathing! Can you send an emergency response team right away!?" Even though he was calling for an emergency team and informing them of the location along with my condition, I was still pissed off at him and decided to "punch" him in his face for his fucking stupidity. However, as I threw a fist at him, I was horrified. My punch didn't even hit him, nor phase him. Instead, it just went through his face. That's when it hit me: I wasn't in my body. That was why the driver couldn't see or hear me when I was in front of him, while he was calling 911. That's when I looked into my car. My body was sitting there, and then I understood that I was outside of my body, unable to interact with any living person. But the strangest thing was, I didn't feel like I died from the collision. In fact, it felt like I was still alive. Even though I didn't have my physical body, what my experiences felt like, made me believe I'm still in my physical body. I could still smell, touch, listen, taste, and even see, despite having no eyes, ears, nerves, a nose, or even a mouth. Despite the lack of a body and everything in it, I could still move and think. I was walking around, with hopes to see if both my body and my car hadn't sustained any considerable damage. My car appeared slightly totaled, but it was at least repairable. But my body? My body was severely damaged from the impact. I was grateful that none of my limbs required amputation, so the situation wasn't as bad. But I found out that I had injuries to two of my most vital organs, that being my heart and liver. Even when the injuries weren't fatal, my two organs needed much time to fully heal. As I was looking around, I noticed some interesting differences. The buildings I once saw with my two eyes, appeared slightly different, color-wise. One building, being a shopping store, appeared brighter in color, as did all the other buildings. Even the people, seemed a little different. Even though they still looked the same, I was able to make out what was on their faces. One person who was looking at the incident, had tiny bits of hair on his bald head. It was one of my neighbors. With the naked eye, those tiny bits would've been harder to see. Yet, I could see them clear as day. Not only were they clearer to see, but the auras they gave off seemed very clear to me. A woman who came by, had an aura that surprised me. From what I could sense out of her, she was waiting for the day I would approach her and ask her for a date. I also recognized who this woman was: Sherry Kelp. She was one of my co-workers before, until she got another job working for a tax company. When she came to the scene and saw my body, I felt her energies change from feelings of emotions and love, to feelings of sadness and pain, believing I was "gone" from this world without saying goodbye. Reading her, I could also sense she was nothing like my last girlfriend. She's the kind of woman who is faithful and traditional, the perfect wife for someone like me. Just seeing her, sad and tearful, brought sorrow to my eyes. If only I knew of her feelings toward me and the fact she's someone any man will be lucky to have or dumb enough to screw over, I would've approached her. Sadly, this couldn't be done, since my body was laying dead, so there was nothing I could but look on in sadness. Shortly after, the EMTs arrived with their emergency truck. They opened the door to my car, and they carried my body, placing it on the gurney, and taking it into the back of their vehicle. Sherry, cried out with tears upon watching my body being taken, and I wanted to try and comfort her. But I recalled, I couldn't interact with anyone who was alive. Since there was nothing I could do, I decided to head to my workplace, hoping to see my colleagues along with my boss and supervisor one last time, having the thought that I'll never get to work with them anymore. As I was walking, I simply observed the surroundings all around me. Some people drove to see what happened at the accident, while others simply drove, away, half of those people who drove off having busy schedules or too much time to worry about me or my case, which was understandable. The one thing I didn't understand, was seeing a figure in the distance approach me in the opposite direction. I would pass this off as a civilian walking by. However, something was off about this one. It was a man of course, but he appeared to be looking directly at me, as if he could see me. As we got close enough, I was able to get a good look at his face. His face looked extremely pale, and his eyes were completely fixated on me. He appeared to be wearing a black fedora hat, and a black business suit. I slowly began to freak out. But when we got inches close to each other, he stopped to speak to me, and I stopped to listen. "It's okay, dear boy. You're safe now." he said. Even though he scared me a little, I did feel a soothing calmness in his voice. It was the feeling as if I wasn't in any danger. I would've believed it, if not for a gut feeling within me telling me I would be in a lot of danger. However, I regret not listening to it. By that moment, the man told me everything. "Do not fret, dear one. I'm a spirit guide. I'm here to guide you to Heaven, as I have many others." he spoke to me. "Heaven?" I asked, confusingly. "Yes. It's time you come to Heaven." the entity spoke. "But what if I don't want to go to Heaven?" I suddenly asked without realizing, as the gut feeling in me kept pressuring me not to go with the guide. "You must come with me." the entity demanded, the soothing in his voice now turned to anger. Just at that moment, a bright light started appearing beside us. After looking at it, I could suddenly feel the energies emanating from it. It had this soothing feeling of 'love' and 'peace' flowing out in it, enticing me to go into it. I felt as if everything happened so sudden, as if I was in some sort of movie that fast-forwarded straight to my death. Upon observing it, I felt my soul becoming more and more enticed. I was about go in, when another "voice" as I can describe it, told me not to. It was my gut instinct, now 'begging' me, becoming louder than ever, not to go into that light. That's when the entity took me by my arm, and dragged me towards that light. "No!" I said, telling him that I need time to think. "But don't you wish to see your deceased relatives?" the entity asked me. Upon hearing that question, that was the one thing that enticed me to go in the light, drowning out the pleading from my gut instinct that was making me refuse to go in it. But even then, I wanted to see my grandmother, who passed away when I was a small boy. My father had died two years ago, and I never got the chance to say goodbye to him let alone go to his funeral, because I was stuck at a dormitory in college due to the pandemic. Since I was close to those two, I figured this would be a good time to see them again. Despite the fading protest from my gut instinct, I decided to walk in with hopes to meet them. Upon entering, I came upon a realm that was nothing like earth. However, I heard stories that Heaven was a beautiful place where sits a beautiful garden, along with a golden road that leads to paradise. I saw, none of that. Instead, there appeared to be large stone monuments, designed to erect an entity, who's image I couldn't describe nor recall. The one thing I could recall was that the appearance of the entity being erected, was not pleasant. But that wasn't the part that terrified me the most. There also appeared to be angels, yet they didn't appear human-like or anything remotely close to human. Most of these angels resembled creatures we'd see on earth, while others appeared to be something you'd find in a horror movie. The guide gave off a strange screeching noise, and I understood this to be a call to one of the angels in this realm. One angel responded to his call, one who's face I'll remember for the rest of my life. The angel, had multiple eyes on its face, and even all around its limbs. In my opinion, this thing had one of the most terrifying appearances, one scary enough to drive anyone mad just by looking at it. "Take this one to his place." the guide said. That's when the angel took me by the arm, and flew away, taking me to another area in Heaven. In the distance, I could see a massive entity, sitting down. This entity appeared to be looking down at something. When I took one look what he was seeing, I felt my heart sink with despair. There appeared to be humans on the ground, and they all seem to be making more and more of those monuments. When we got closer, I could hear them screaming and crying. I realized that these humans were being worked to "death" and yet, they could not die. The angel landed me down next to the area of the crying humans, and spoke to me in a language that I had no knowledge of, but for some reason, I could understand what it said to me. "GET TO WORK." it spoke to me, without moving its mouth. Upon looking at the surroundings, the faces of the humans appeared as if they had been crying for so long, as if endless. Their pain was endless, the work was endless, the crying and screaming they gave off, was endless. To my horror, I saw my grandmother in the distance among them. I ran towards her, trying to confirm who I'm looking at. Sure enough, it was her. I was horrified of what they did to her. I could see scratches and bruises all over her body, as if she was not only beaten, but she was enduring the pain and hardship of labor. Even more sickening was her appearance, the same elderly form. Not once in my life had I felt so disgusted how "heavenly" beings could do this to people, especially to elders who would be understandably of retirement or unable to work. Nevertheless, just seeing what my grandmother is forced to go through in the afterlife, was a gut-wrenching thing. I looked right at the massive entity, who appeared to be looking right at me. I had so much anger and hatred build in me, over what was going on. I understood that the monuments were built to commend him. What he looked like, he was not a man with a beard, but something a bit more terrible. I could not describe it for some reason, so the best way I could describe this entity is having red skin, with black horns that are on his face, with yellow snake eyes. Even teeth, lots of teeth I could see, since he grinned at me in disgust. I began to think, I was looking at the devil. "Fu-" I was about to snap at him, until I was cut off from a hand touching my shoulder, alerting me. I turned to see who it was, and it didn't make me feel any happier. It was my father. He looked at me with a sad face and a trembling tone of voice. He sounded like he was panting, as if he ran up to me from a long distance. "Father!?" I asked. "Son, you must get out! This is not Heaven! This is not paradise! It's horri-" He was cut off by a loud booming sound. I turned to see the massive figure with its mouth open, pointing directly at me and my father. What followed next, was something I'll never forget, and something I'll curse that massive entity for doing. The angel that took me to this place, struck me down in anger. It spoke to me in a horrifying tone. "Our God instructs me to transport you to Hell for your insolence if you refuse to please him with your works!" it said. I looked at the giant thing one more time, and gave it a look of disgust and hate. Then, I cursed at it. "FUCK YOU! I HOPE YOU BURN IN YOUR OWN HELL FOR THIS VILE DEED YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! FUCK YOU, FUCK ALL YOUR SPIRIT GUIDES AND ANGELS, AND FUCK YOUR HEAVEN YOU FUCKING EVIL DEMON!" I yelled at it. Then, it got angry at me, gave an even louder booming voice, and pointed right at me in a furious manner. Just then, the 'ground' beneath me opened, revealing an area filled with nothing but fire, brimstone, and hot lava. I fell in, and my grandmother looked down at me, crying even harder. In that moment, I understood that in her own eyes, her beloved grandson was forced to suffer a horrifying fate: Eternity of torture in Hell. This was all because of my transgression of refusing to kiss the ass of that fucking prick sitting in the throne. I began to think Lucifer successfully overthrew the God of Heaven, and has now become its new ruler, only to be far worse than what I thought the God of Heaven would be like. In all honesty, I would rather be sitting on a cloud forced to play a harp for the rest of my existence, if that's what the previous Heaven was like. It still beats being forced to endure agonizing work, building monuments with our bare hands for the rest of our existence. I didn't have much time to ponder on why such a situation existed, as I landed into the lava, forced to feel its burning effects. The heat was unbearable. What made it worse was I could not die from it. The entire few moments I been in there, death did not come for me, not even a second time. One of those demons, came towards me, while I climbed out of the lava pit screaming in pain, trying to get out. As my hand touched the "stone floor" as I could describe it, the demon creature plunged its spear in my hand, causing me to feel pain from the stab. As I got up and tried to get the spear out of my hand, it took the spear out and stabbed it into my chest. Then, it lifted me up and threw me back into the lava pit. I was writhing in pain, screaming from the burning agony being inflicted on me. The demon was there, laughing at me for what it did. I considered it a fucking miracle to be back here, because after a few long moments of torture in that horrible place, I suddenly felt myself shot back into my body, and waking up in the hospital. I felt my body was in pain, but that was nothing compared to what I experienced in the afterlife, so the pain I had around my body, didn't seem like much. Still, I needed to be careful. My mother was in the room, crying with tears of joy that her son came back. Even I cried with tears of joy, having got out of such a horrible situation. My mother hugged me, and my pain scream indicated my body still needs to heal. Just then, I remembered everything in that experience, with the exception of the entity's face. It was the only thing I couldn't remember. I even explained to my mother everything that happened when I was temporarily gone, and even warned her. "Mother." I said, crying. "I saw father and grandmother. They're not okay. Heaven is not a place to be in. Stay away from it. Don't go to it. Please." I said to her, begging her to listen to what I was saying. I wasn't surprised but I was saddened, to see that my mother disagreed with what I said. After all, she was a devout Christian who held strong faith in the God of Heaven, refusing to believe the possibility that Lucifer had taken over Heaven, and has made it into another Hell. Still, I tried my best to tell her the truth of what I saw, to help save her and the rest of my family from what will await them right at the moment of their deaths, but to no avail. So now, here I am. The only bright side is I'm now with Sherry, the woman who had an interest in me. After finding out of her feelings toward me, I decided to meet up with her and ask her on a date, and as I thought, she immediately brightened up and said 'Yes' to me. I wish I could tell her about what I experienced in the afterlife before I came back, and try to warn her. But that might be difficult, since much like my mother, she's also devoutly religious. Hopefully, I'll have the courage to tell her. I do not have the courage so far for that, nor the courage to walk inside of a church or any religious buildings, to reveal to them the horrifying truth about Heaven and what it really is. However, I do have enough courage to tell all of you about all of this. You see, Heaven isn't a paradise for humanity. No, it's a paradise for the gods, and only the gods. That's probably why they referred to it as Heaven, as it was not meant for us. It was meant to be their Heaven. Where we go? Hell if I know. If anything, I think you would be better off staying on earth as a lingering spirit. But I will give you this one warning.... If you have a near-death experience or become a lingering spirit, and you see an extremely pale man with a black fedora hat with a black business suit, looking directly at you: DO NOT ACKNOWLEDGE HIM.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I was offered a simple job, but it's become much more than that [RESPONSE] “Help wanted. Easy work. Big Pay”. This roughly made and atrociously designed advertisement almost made me burst out in laughter upon reading it again. Any five-year-old who can open google docs and print a piece of paper could have replicated it. The only other thing on the entire sheet was a phone number. Even worse, this number didn’t appear to have any local area codes that I know of. It was posted inside a classroom building at my university, right next to where various clubs, student groups, and local employers would post their advertisements. I am not the most social and so I hadn’t been looking for student groups or clubs as much, but potential employment was something I was going to need. As classes started and summer ended, so did my internship and only source of income. I picked up the ad. As much of a joke or scam as I assumed this had to be, I thought, why not? I’ll try calling. I did need some money right now so I figured taking a minute to entertain the possibility of this being a legitimate opportunity was worth it. I picked up the paper. Walking to my apartment window to get a better look, I couldn’t help but shake my head in disbelief once again at how incredibly ridiculous it was. The cool light from the cloudy skies illuminated the sheet of paper in my hand. I pulled out my cell phone and typed the numbers into my keypad before dialing. The taps of raindrops on the window filled the gaps of sound between each ring. I began to rethink my choice of even attempting this nonsense, then the ringing stopped. I paused for a few seconds. Hearing nothing, I slowly moved the phone away from my face. I thought I had been disconnected or that the call failed. The screen lit up and at the top of my screen displayed the call time. Someone did pick up. I held the phone back up to my ear and controlled my breathing. If I pick up a call that I suspect to be spam, I typically stay quiet and wait for someone on the other end to say something first. That’s the strategy I tried to employ here. This went on for longer than I would have expected. Usually, the person on the other end will disconnect or say something after ten seconds or so. Whoever this was wasn’t saying anything. After two whole minutes of this, I decided to finally speak. “Hello?” “Hello” A monotone voice returned. I hadn’t expected it. With how long I was on the phone, I assumed it to be a bogus number or some sort of bot. I waited a moment before remembering my reason for calling. “I’m calling about this advertisement that was posted at my school. Are you still looking for help?” The man on the other end breathed out heavily before replying. “Yes, we are still looking for help. If you accept, the payment is $4,000 cash for this job, in any denomination of bills that you would like. It will only take one night of work. We can pay you by tomorrow if you complete the job tonight”. “I’m sorry, you said four grand?” “Yes, it is very important to me that this gets done, and done soon. And one more thing, I neglected to mention it first. We can’t let you tell anyone that you are taking this job. This needs to stay confidential. If anyone were to know about what you’re doing for us, the consequences would be disastrous for not only you and the people who fund out but for me as well”. “I…Alright. I need to think for a moment” Of course, the money excited me, almost to the point of accepting it right then and there but this mention of confidentiality put me on edge. For all I knew, this was a serial killer with a burner phone looking for a way to attract his next victim. I think the man on the other end could tell what I was thinking. He broke the silence. “Listen, I know this seems weird and suspicious but I can assure you that what I am offering you is legitimate. I work for a very large, very powerful company that just needs a small job done on the side, off the records. I…I don’t know what to say to you that would…look, we just need this done. I can meet you in an hour, at a location of your choosing and it can all be done right then and there”. What the hell was he on about? I didn’t believe his “powerful company” nonsense but hell, if he was offering to meet me in an hour, this would be the easiest $4,000 I could have ever imagined making. Of course, I would choose somewhere public on the University grounds that I knew like the back of my hand. I didn’t see how it could go wrong. I adjusted the hone back up to my ear. “So you can pay me on the spot too?” “I…well I suppose I could. Fine. If you want to be paid tonight, you can but I need a promise that the job will be done. I’ll have the cash ready”. “It will” I replied, assuringly. I’ve always been true to my word and I’ve certainly never been a lousy worker. There wasn’t much I could imagine not doing for a night’s work to earn $4,000. Then again, I hadn’t a clue of what this man wanted me to do. “You still haven’t told me what the job is”. “I will tell you when we meet. That information cannot be given over the phone. It isn’t much, I can promise you that”. Though the doubts were mounting in my head, I couldn’t help but be blinded by this opportunity thrust upon me. I was willing to risk it. “Alright, I’m in. Meet outside the building you posted the advertisement. I’ll be there but if you don’t have the money on hand, this is all off”. I acted tough, but I was still skeptical and unsure about all of this. I think he and I both knew that I wouldn’t really "call it all off” when that much money is on the line. “I’ll be there at 4:30 with the money. Be ready”. The phone went silent. There was no feedback on the other end anymore. He hung up. I stood, stunned by the fact that such a conversation just took place. I spent the next half hour looking out my apartment window, to the dark clouds above down the wet street they rained on, laughing occasionally at all my thoughts of this uncanny scenario. The trip from my apartment to the university building I agreed to meet him at felt like walking to an awkward first date except the awkwardness presented itself in an even more unorthodox fashion. Well, this was all very unorthodox, wasn't it? I arrived a little early so I decided to sit inside the entryway of the building. I browsed my phone, looking up every few seconds to see if someone was waiting. My eyes were on my phone the moment it turned from 4:29 to 4:30. Looking up, I saw one man who stood out. He wore a formal suit and a long black coat, holding a black umbrella over his head in one hand and a leather bag slung over the other shoulder. His appearance resembled something you would expect of a professor walking around on campus. He stood still, unlike the students passing around him. They had somewhere to be, it was clear that he was where he intended to be. I hesitantly pulled open the door, turning the smooth and soft ambiance of rainfall back to a coarse static to accompany me as I approached the man under the umbrella. He noticed my approach and attentive stare as he turned around to face me. “Are you here for the job?” “Y-yes” I almost couldn’t believe anyone showed up. The fact that someone did frightened me a little. They were serious. He tilted his head down, in the direction of my hand holding my cell phone. “I need you to turn off your phone”. “Uh…okay?” I showed him my screen as I powered it off completely and put it back into my pocket. He watched but didn’t give any sort of acknowledgment. “As I said, the job is a simple one” The man undid the straps on his leather bag and pulled the flap up. I took a step back and braced myself to run, as the images of handguns and knives or needles full of tranquilizers filled my imagination. What he took out of the bag was much less threatening. He pulled a plastic bag out by the handle and the label and design on the front looked familiar. It was a bag from the university bookstore. He slowly reached his arm out to me with the bag in hand. I accepted the bag, looking down to take a peek inside as soon as it was handed to me. “Wait” The man said softly, placing a palm over the opening. “You need to know the instructions first”. I looked back up. “You need to plant it in the dirt, standing straight up. It can be anywhere you like but it needs to be on soil with grass. That’s it, that’s the whole job”. The man slowly removed his hand from the plastic bag. I opened it. Inside was a wooden cross, not more than a foot tall. The wood was old and worn down with cuts and chips along its surface. The center was bound with twine. I stared down in confusion as I talked to the man. “So…I just have to put this in the ground? That’s it? I could just do it right here?” I asked, pointing to the grass only a few steps away from us. “I wouldn’t” The man replied. “Well, why not? You said I could plant it anywhere that has dirt and grass”. He sighed. “I would get far away from here before you do it but it’s your choice in the end”. The man had a look in his eyes as if he had lost all hope and he broke eye contact. “I just need to be sure that you’ll do it” “Have you got the money?” He reached back into his leather bag before pulling out an envelope. To my surprise, he handed it to me faster and more gracefully than he had handed me the cheap wooden cross. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but It wasn't for him to deliver on the money. My eyes went wide as I quickly pulled one bill from the envelope and held it up to the dimly lit sky. I’ve worked plenty of retail jobs before and know what to look for in a fake bill. Everything checked out. I quickly counted out every bill. There were 40. My draw would have dropped to the floor if it were possible. I couldn’t believe this man seriously brought $4,000. “Four thousand, as promised. You will do as I instructed? I need it done tonight”. “Certainly”. I assured, pocketing the envelope excitedly. The man nodded before turning around and walking off. I watched him until he turned a corner around the building, out of sight. I broke down in laughter. What a fool, I thought to myself. I just got paid $4,000 to stick a wooden cross in the ground. I contained my excitement enough to get serious for a moment. I couldn’t forget why I was being paid and as I said before, I am true to my word. I looked at the grass before me, this perfectly kept lawn between all these buildings. Why not just put it here? No one would care. If the school had a problem with it, they could simply pull it out of the ground. After all, I was paid to stick it in the ground, not watch over it. I walked along the path that connected two rows of university buildings until I was near the center. My shoes squeaked on the wet grass as I moved off the stone path. I knelt and began a little hole with my fingers. Though I wasn’t all that worried about anyone having a problem with what I was doing, I didn’t want to stick around to find out either. I removed the cross from the bookstore bag and placed it neatly into the ground. I crumpled up the bag and stepped back to admire my work, the work I did to secure a few months worth of food and rent. I laughed once again and shook my head as I walked away, depositing the bag in a nearby recycling bin. My walk back to my apartment was fueled by brisk excitement. I couldn’t wipe the smirk off my face the entire way home, nor could I contain the random giggles I coughed up every few seconds. When people walking by made faces at my silly behavior, it only made me laugh harder. That night I could hardly concentrate on school work of this excitement. It took a three-hour gym session to calm me down enough to sleep, the stack of hundreds on my desk smiling back at me as I turned the lights out. I found it easy to get out of bed the next morning. I stuffed my backpack and grabbed my newly acquired wad of cash. I know it’s not smart to walk around with that kind of money, but I felt better carrying it than keeping it in my apartment. The wind that met my face as I stepped outside never felt so good. I don’t remember the last time I walked to class in such a good mood, with such excitement. That was until I walked past the lawn. I crowd of students stood around where I had placed the cross the day before. The smile melted from my face as I picked up my pace in their direction. I squeezed my way through the crowd to the center. I almost fell into the hole that lay before me. That’s right, a hole. The cross was gone and all that remained was this six-foot, empty hole surrounded by the dirt that had once filled it. “It looks like a grave” A voice from someone around me commented, accompanied by affirmations by at least a half dozen others and I can’t lie, that is exactly what it looked like. I must have stood there for a good five minutes before I checked my phone and realized I was about to be late for class. I walked away, peeking back one last time before heading in. That lecture, along with all of the others I attended that day, was impossible for me to give focus on. I was sunken in my thoughts, drowned by the confusion. Why would someone dig a grave? Why on that cross? What had I done? I forced myself to spend the rest of the day at the library. From where I sat, I could see the hole being covered back up by some of the groundskeepers. What little studying I managed to accomplish was overshadowed by all the questions I had in my head. By the time I left, it was dark. I got a call about halfway to my apartment. I took my phone out to find the familiar number on the screen. I answered immediately and didn’t hold back my questions. “What was that cross? A fucking grave got dug up right where I put it. What the hell is going on?” The man said nothing but I could hear his breath on the other end. I got frustrated. “Hello?!” Still no response. “Answer me god fucking dammit” He paused but eventually spoke. “You’ve unleashed hell on yourself” He hung up without another word. “Fuck” I exclaimed. What does that mean? My conclusion was that it was some sort of sick game. Maybe this man had a dark web audience that loved a little prank. Maybe he’s got a way of entertaining them with all of this. In any case, I quickened my pace and was back at my apartment minutes later. I set my backpack down and sat on my desk, resting my head on my palms. What have I done? I knew that little job had to be too good to be true. A thought came to mind. If that creep did have a way of entertaining some sort of audience, he might be looking through my window right now. I stood up and walked to my window to shut the blinds. That's when I saw him. With a wicked smirk, a pale man looked up at me from the street below. He stood in the narrow walkway between two transit train tracks. His skin was white as snow, his hair blacker than the night, his suit crimson like blood, his boots long and pointed, his hands covered in black gloves and his fingers intertwined. He was waiting for something. Waiting for me. I turned around to fetch my phone, turning back to see that he had vanished. A heavy knock at my door made me jump in shock. I began to walk over to see who it was before a voice carried itself through the metal. A voice that seemed split into many. A voice that spoke loudly yet had the tone of a whisper. “Who…dug my grave?” I stopped in my tracks, not sure what was happening or what I should do. I didn’t have time to decide before the voice appeared behind me. “Who…dug…my…grave?!” I felt the scream from his last word like a lion’s roar. I felt it fill my chest, shaking my heart. Suddenly my vision went black and the last thing I remember was falling. I woke up, hours later on my bed. The lights were off and my blinds were closed. I sat up with a raging headache. What kind of nightmare was that? I checked my backpack to see if the money was still there. It was. I checked my call history. I had, indeed, gotten a call from the number. When did I fall asleep? I began to piece it all together again when the shades on my window were pulled back up in one quick motion. I gasped and jumped out of my bed, and back onto my feet. Outside, the wooden cross was pressed against my window like it had been hung there. I stood, staring and breathing heavily in my fearful and shaken state. It started to turn, slowly and consistently in a circle until it hung upside down. I looked around to see if something was attached or if there was some sort of string that someone was using to pull it around with. I got closer to the glass to get a better look. The moment I placed a hand on it, the upside-down cross burst into flames. My body froze, against my own will and I was left with a hand on the glass, looking at the burning cross outside. I couldn’t pull away. I couldn’t so much as move my eyes. Something had control of me. The voice came again, talking from behind me, whispering right into my ear. “You have awoken him from a long, long rest. He comes to lay waste to all before him. He comes to engulf the world of man in flames and destroy his kingdoms. He comes to devour all. He comes to claim the throne for his father, for it is he who is the true king of kings. For it is he, who will raise his throne above the stars of god. You will serve him, you will serve his father. For eternity you are bound”. I passed out once again, only to wake up the next morning in my bed. I proceeded through the next day and every day since like nothing had happened. I don’t have free will anymore. I don’t have any control. I don’t have a sense of right and wrong. Every day when I go to class, I see the man in red above me, on the ceiling. He’ll walk, he’ll crawl, he keeps a watchful eye. Every night he stands down on the street below and looks up. I want to close my blinds but I can’t. I stay glued to my schoolwork. I don’t talk to friends anymore. When family calls, the words that escape my mouth are not my own, and they assure my family that all is well. Now and then, I can force a tear through the cage that is my own body, but that’s it. I don’t know how I can write what I’m writing now. I suspect he allows me to do this to warn of his coming. Maybe he wants the world to know. He has awoken from a long, long rest. He comes to lay waste to all before him. He comes to engulf the world of man in flames and destroy his kingdoms. He comes to devour all. He comes to claim the throne for his father, for it is he who is the true king of kings. For it is he, who will raise his throne above the stars of god. I will serve him, I will serve his father. For eternity we are bound.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I collect murder memorabilia. I bought something found at a crime scene which changed my life. [RESPONSE] I saw the violin case listed for sale online. I browsed the website for fifteen minutes before I found it. The requirements for buying it should have been a red flag. My curiosity got the better of me. I decided to go along with the necessary steps to complete the transaction. I am an avid collector of ‘murderabilia.’ If it is an object related to true crime, I must own it. While I am judged for this fascination, I have an unwavering interest in items of that name nature. Potential boyfriends have decided against dating me. Paintings by John Wayne Gacy on my wall have not helped. I went to the house of the seller, a two-story duplex with a v-shaped roof. I had a print-out of the object. I knocked and the man answered. He had on a gray sweater, and when he smiled his teeth were white but crooked. I gave him my screen name and reminded him of the email I sent him. “Oh yes,” he said with a grin. “The violin case was next to the body of a victim. She looked quite a bit like you. It's speculated that it belongs to the killer. The motive behind why he would leave it is unknown. Some are unsure if it’s meant to throw the authorities off, to make them believe he is a musician. Either way, you want to buy it?” “Yes,” I said. “I know exactly where I will keep it. How much?” “Six hundred dollars,” he said. I gave an affirmative nod, and he went into the back of his house. When he returned he held the violin case in his arms as though it was a newborn. It was rosewood and only had a few noticeable chipped cracks. The price he gave had not changed from the listing. I brought along the appropriate amount of cash and handed it to him. He gave me the case. As I turned around and returned to my car, he snapped his fingers to get my attention. “One other thing,“ he said. “I would never open up the case if I were you. I’ve heard stories of bad things happening once the seal's broken. Some have stated it's cursed by a necromancer of the olden days. It is difficult to measure based on the weight if an instrument is in there. Regardless of how interesting it might be to look at, I would be grateful for the exterior of it and leave it at that.” I tried to thank him for the warning and drove back home. \* The case sat on top of my clothing drawer for at least a week. I displayed it on the stand, with a note below it describing its origin. On a quiet Saturday evening, I was at home de-cluttering when I received a text from Jason. He asked me if I would go to dinner with him. He had already made a reservation for a fine dining restaurant downtown. I said yes since we had already been on a few dates in the previous months. They had gone well. I slipped on one of my nicer black dresses. After I applied make-up, a knock on my door filled the air. I answered and Jason stood there with roses in one hand and chocolates in the other. He wore a suit and had on a very expensive Kenneth Cole brand watch with a silver and blue band. “Your gifts couldn’t be any more cliché if you tried,” I said with a smile. I took them and set them down on the coffee table. “You look amazing,” he said. “I’ll have to tell the waiter to keep his eyes off you.” I smiled. I invited him in because I needed to find some of my jewelry. I went into the bathroom. I searched around behind my sliding glass mirror doors for one of my old necklaces. When I walked out, he was gazing at the violin case. “When did you buy this?” Jason asked. “I used to take violin lessons as a kid. My Mom pressured me into it as a way to rebel against my father. All he wanted me to do was play football and he saw the arts as emasculating. I don’t remember much of what to play, but I know enough to impress you. I know some Paganini.” “No,” I said, “but thank you. We should get going. I don’t want someone else to take our reservations if we don’t show up on time.” “We have plenty of minutes left,” he said as his hand graced the case. “Please let me swoon you with a classic song. It would be my honor. You won’t believe the notes I can nail.” I watched in terror as his hands began to inch towards the clasps to open it. I lunged at him and grabbed his wrists. My palms clutched his timepiece as I kept his hands together and folded them into mine. “I’m not ready for anyone to open it yet,” I said. “I know it’s strange, but you have to trust me. Let’s go to dinner. I’m getting hungry and we don’t know how bad traffic is going to be.” I leaned in and kissed him. His scent was of sandalwood and citrus. After our embrace, we left my apartment. I did not know until later that he had undone one of the clasps. \* All I can remember of the rest of the evening is how well the meal went. We had several courses. I drank at least three glasses of red wine, which was more than I intended to indulge in. The couple beside us were elderly people from the East Coast. They were on vacation and talking at a high volume about their stock investments. I could recall having ordered a rum milkshake topped with banana slices. There was a live violinist who walked between tables and played romantic melodies. He took song requests of everything from classical to top forty. Jason was polite enough to not mention anything about it. I feel he was disappointed in me for not allowing him to show his musical talents. I have no recollection of when the bill came, let alone when we departed the establishment. I cannot remember if we took a cab or if he was sober enough to drive. I could not recall if we went back to his place first or if we went straight to mine and made love. I blacked out. When I came to I was in my bed. A headache attacked every micro-fiber of my being. Nausea overcame me. I was groggy and felt as though I could have slept for another few hours. The gap of time I had somehow lost disturbed me. I knew there was not enough alcohol in my system to cause such erasure of my reminiscence. I checked my phone for new text messages and did not find any. I squinted in the darkness and noticed the violin case looked different. Someone had left paint marks on it which I knew were not there beforehand. I sat up and felt lightheaded. I was going to pass out. I turned the lamp on my nightstand to bright. Once my bedroom was illuminated, I saw strange symbols created with crimson fluid on my walls. Moonlight poured in through my window and gave the redness a shimmering quality. I stared at the violin case again. It shifted to the left on top of my dresser. What I could only halfway rationalize as not being blood poured from the sides of the violin case. It was also cracked open. I saw something behind the hinge. It did not look like an instrument or anything mechanical but something fleshy. I neared it and dropped my phone in a puddle of carmine after I fumbled to try and catch it. The bottom of my feet was slimy with the cherry-hued dampness as I walked towards the case. I took a deep breath. I opened it. A severed human hand was there. The fingers pointed skyward. Adorning its wrist was the same Kenneth Cole watch I was so familiar with. Circling the stump were other pieces of jewelry. I was unable to distinguish them as belonging to anyone I knew. I ran to the bathroom and almost slipped on my way there. I threw up in the sink. I crawled over the messy floor in search of my phone. When I retrieved it I saw that the screen was now scrambled anytime I turned it on. I went to the next-door neighbor's place and begged them to call the police. An old lady answered the door. For a second I thought I was going to give her a heart attack based on the bloodstains on my skin and dress. I do not remember if it was five minutes or several hours before the authorities arrived. They cordoned off my room with caution tape. They gave me a full medical assessment in the back of an ambulance that one of the Deputies had called in. They determined I did not have any observable injuries. A uniform with a badge came in and started asking me questions. Her name tag read S. BROWN. “Is Jason okay?” I asked. The Deputy shook her head. “I'm sorry to say he was under a bridge downtown this morning when we found him,” she said. “His body had washed ashore. He may have been floating out there for two days.” I began crying. One of the first things she wanted to know was why I had so much crime scene evidence from other homicides. “It’s a morbid interest I’ve always had,” I said. “I'm someone with a fascination for the darker side of things. It doesn’t mean I glorify the people who commit the actions.” “That’s not what I’m talking about,” Brown said as she looked at me with a startled expression. “The jewelry and pieces of clothing found within the violin case. They belong to twenty other victims of the violinist serial killer. Who sold it to you?” I gave her the address I had driven to the day I picked it up. I even gave her the name of the man who had put the piece up for sale. After the interview was complete, Brown told me I could stay in the room. I could not believe that no one had cleaned up the scene. She told me they could send someone out to mop up the place, but it would be another day. I told her I would not cross the threshold of the apartment until then. I would stay at a Best Western in the meantime. There was so much I wanted to ask her. How did the case move on its own? Someone bathed in blood and wrote all those Occultist symbols on the walls. Then they escaped without detection. It all seemed so irrational, but I knew she would look at me like I was crazy if I tried to describe everything. I had dealt with something inexplicable and paranormal. No one can convince me otherwise. \* I used the motel business center to Google if they had apprehended the guilty person. I found that they had knocked on the door of the same house I bought the violin at that day. It was empty. The belongings were all removed. The man had fled.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The push in the night [RESPONSE] This happened some time ago. I have been struggling with it since then. I admit I don't think about it anymore with the horror I used to, but still scares me and I feel sharing will help. This is my horror story. 2018, a cold, dark, silent and lonely night. That day was just another simple one of a 16 year old kid. I went to school, I did my chores, I got exhausted and then went to sleep, nothing out of the ordinary. Except that is not entirely true, obviously, I wrote this here, right? I was in a really dark and depressing part of my life, my mind unable to deal with everything and my life just miserable in general, I could say mental health is the ghost of this story, and I kinda hope it is, 'cuz if what I witnessed wasn't a halucination, and I really hope it was, I don't know what to think, say or do. Part of me is still scared, that is why you are reading this. My head was always just spinning with all my poroblems and dealing with everything was impossible. The day in question was just another one in hell. What means that after getting inside my room I just went to bed feeling miserable and blacked out, the different part was waking up in the middle of the night and just starting to cry without any control until almost getting out of air. Depressed as always I just got my headphones, blasted some music and got out of my room to go look into the sky through the living room big window because the view of the stars always calms me and, although my room has a window facing the same direction, I just wanted an excuse to escape my bed and walk. Unfortunantly there were no stars up there, just lots and lots of clouds, everything about the sky felt like an illusion masked with neverending mist and this really just made me feel even worse. I felt like I just realized I was trapped inside a really bad dream, even could feel as like something was watching me. I closed my fist, started to cry even harder, all the air getting away from my lungs and my head hurting. Whatever music I was listening to at the moment conviniently got really emotional and I simply broke. I was just lost inside myself. With that I basically threw myself on the couch. I stayed there, motionless for some minutes feeling all those hard feelings waiting to breathe freely again. Then, lost with everything and only sensing my own suffering, I slowly curved myself down to hug a pillow and drown my face wet with tears into that flufiness, but this is the moment when something absolutely terryfing occured. My headphones just fell out of my ears and my hair moved a bit, on the back of my head it was like a long, dark and skeletal hand with hard claws instead of fingers pushed me fast, but with no violence. I got startled and literally jumped back getting up but there was nothing there. I was petrified in fear, I could swear something touched me, I felt it, but it vanished instantly. With so many thoughts running through my head the first thing I looked at was the kitchen door to my left, open to nothing but darkness. This is the part that I refuse to believe, this is the part I could pray to not be real, this is the part that marked me and still drives me a bit crazy thinking about it. There was something there with me. For a brief moment, even not believing it, my eyes could see, for only the fraction of a moment, a large black humanoid creature, extremely tall and thin, curved and with no face but staring at me, and something that feels odd to think about it is that it kinda looked a bit sad, just like me. I was just alone there, sad and in the dark, all of this happens, I blink and I am alone again. I cried with a big moan and huged myself in absolute terror, but that scare cut my self-loathing and I only did what seemed logical. Got my headphones back, went into the kitchen to find it empty, got a can of soda, laughed a bit and went to my room. Not because I was brave to face that creature, but because somehow I felt that whatever that was it was already long gone. After that I went to sleep again and later got up to live another usual day. I am a cetic and rational person and I may hate myself, but I try to face this experience as only a brief moment of me going a bit insane, because, honestly, if that was real I still have no idea what that "entity" was or why it was drawn to me. Even worse, I am terrified of the idea of it coming back, maybe next time I won't be able to tell the story to anyone else after it, since it may not have an after. I was just depressed and lost inside my feelings and that thing came after me, maybe this is the reason, although it never showed up in front of me again. Call it a figment of my imagination or call it a monster, the point is how terrified this left me to this day and I hope that something like this never gets to attack me again, but, if it does, I just hope to survive. That said, anyone reading this, I hope you can enjoy being alone and sad at night, because, if you don't, then maybe I won't be that thing's next target. Take care and be prepared, if it's even possible to be prepared to the supernatural, believing or not, crazy things can just happen to anyone, anywhere and anyhow. If it happens to you, good luck.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My Mother Thought She Was Speaking With Me. She Wasn't. [RESPONSE] My alarm woke me up in the morning. I was still a student at the time, so I had to wake up early. My mother was in the kitchen making some coffee. She worked until midnight, so usually, she arrived home when I was already asleep, so her question surprised me. “Did you fall asleep quickly after I came home?” she asked. “Uhm, I wasn’t even awake. I fell asleep around 10,” I responded. She looked at me like I was crazy. “No, you were awake. I checked your room when I arrived, and we talked about school, don’t you remember?” “What?” I raised my eyebrows. I always remembered when I woke up in the middle of the night, and I was sure I wasn’t awake when she came home from work. “I don’t remember any of this.” “I asked how many classes you will have today, and you answered me. It looks like you forgot,” she laughed. It was a strange conversation, but then I went to school and had already forgotten about it. It started to get a bit creepy when the next morning the same thing happened. “You were awake again when I came home at midnight,” my mom said. “Why didn’t you sleep?” “I wasn’t awake,” I responded, drinking my coffee. “Are you joking, right? You told me you’ll have a test today.” “I didn’t,” I argued. “You might have some kind of memory problems, son. Maybe you should visit the doctor.” “I’m 100% sure I wasn’t awake at midnight.” I was thinking about this the whole day in school. Maybe I had some kind of memory loss? It was so strange, and it never happened before. Then I had an idea to make an audio recording of the night with my phone. I set it all up before I went to sleep. I quickly fell asleep, as always. When I woke up in the morning, I immediately checked the recording. I fast-forwarded to midnight. I heard my own voice on the recording. “Hi, mom,” my voice said. It was really my voice. Maybe my mom was right, and I really had memory loss? “Hi, sweetie,” my mom’s voice responded. “You are awake again. I hope you won’t forget this conversation too in the morning.” “I hope I won’t, haha. If I do, you should send me to the doctor this time.” “Haha, goodnight, son.” “Goodnight!” The audio recording was over, and I just sat on my bed, frozen and sweating. I had no recollection of this conversation. I was sure it didn’t happen, just like on the previous two nights. When I walked into the kitchen, my mom looked at me. “You look like you saw a ghost, honey,” she said without a greeting. “I just don’t remember anything from the previous nights. I even listened to an audio recording I made during the night to make sure I was awake or not.” “You need to see a doctor,” she responded with a worried look. “Yeah, I know,” I slowly nodded. “I just hope it’s nothing serious.” Luckily, I could get an appointment with the doctor on the same day during the afternoon. I was there for about two hours. After that, the doctor told me the results. I don’t know what I expected, but the outcome frightened me. I was healthy. I was 100% healthy. I had no memory problems, and my brain was functioning correctly, with no medical condition. I told the doctor what happened, and why I was there. “That’s strange,” he said. “Maybe you were half asleep, that’s why you can’t remember what happened.” “But on the audio recording, I sounded like I was totally awake and conscious.” “Nobody can understand the human brain, but you are healthy, mate, so don’t worry about that!” As I walked home, I was still confused. I was healthy, but I still couldn’t remember anything from the previous three nights. It was such a strange feeling, and I was thinking about visiting another doctor, just to make sure. I arrived home and was prepared to tell my mother the results, as she wasn’t at work that day. When I opened the door and walked inside, I heard her talking with someone. *That’s strange, we usually don’t have visitors this late,* I thought. I also found it strange that I didn’t hear anyone else’s voice. Maybe she was talking with someone on phone? As I approached her room, I could hear her better. “Yes, sweetie, we’ll renovate your room as soon as possible,” she said. “But I still don’t understand why do you need an altar there.” I started to freak out at that point. An altar? I opened her door, and he looked at me surprised. “An intruder! Who are you?” She screamed at me. She looked to her left and spoke to someone, but nobody was there. “Son, who is this man? He’s a servant of the devil? Oh my god!” “What are you talking about, mom?” I asked. “I’m your son. Are you okay? “Stay there, demon,” she screamed at me again. “My son told me you are dangerous!” “But I’m your son!” I argued. She pulled out a kitchen knife from her table and pointed it at me. I froze. *Is she crazy?* “If you don’t leave the house, I will kill you right here. We’ll kill him, right, son?” she looked to her left again. I had no idea what to do, so I just ran out of the room, then ran to the bathroom, locked myself, and called the police. While I was talking to them, my mother still screamed from outside, talking to me and the “other me”. She also kicked the bathroom door a few times, but luckily, the door stood still. About ten minutes went by until the police arrived. It seemed like forever. When they tried to arrest her, she attacked them, but luckily, she couldn’t harm any of them. She is now in an asylum, still talking to that imaginary “me” she talked to. She’s crazy, and I don’t know what caused her condition. One day she was fine, but then she tried to kill me while talking to someone in her imagination. Then I remembered the audio recording. She wasn’t imagining things. I heard my voice too. I went pale immediately as I remembered this fact. She was really talking with someone who imitated my voice. .<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I saw a monster as a kid, now he has returned [RESPONSE] When I was a little kid, I found that I could see a monster that no one else could. He was big and hairy. For reasons long lost to time, I decided to call him Steve. Steve could appear whenever he liked, but he usually revealed himself at night. Sometimes I would see him in the corner of my eye, he always seemed to be laughing at me. When I would try to look directly at him, he'd disappear. Other times, when walking past a mirror or something reflective, instead seeing of my reflection, I'd see Steve. Upon backtracking, I'd find myself starring back at me, not the monster. Though my glimpses of him were usually brief and unclear, I started getting the impression that he didn't look quite like a real monster, his fur and face seemed closer to that of a costume. The prospect of there being a person behind that mask made me fear him even more. One day, at recess I was playing in the sand and minding my own business when I looked up to see Steve behind the fence staring at me. I looked directly into his lifeless yellow eyes, and he did not disappear, instead he started waving at me with a big furry hand. I asked the other kids if they could see the man over there, but they could not. Then Steve began climbing over the electric fence with no problems at all. Once over, he started marching toward me with that eerie plastic smile. I ran back into the school, into the bathroom, and hide in the furthest stall from the door. I heard his padded feet enter. "Ted, you can't hide from me." He said. This was the first time I ever heard him speak. He started moving closer to my stall. "Ted, I know you're thinking about screaming for help, but no one can help you. No one can see me but you, Ted. You know that." He stopped right in front of my stall. "I won't lie to you, Ted. I'm going to hurt you. I'm going to kill you. I'm going to rip your head off and drink your blood. Then I'm going to drag your corpse home, eat your flesh, and use your bones to help build a cage for my next victims." I was shaking. "Now tell me, Ted, how does that make you feel? How does it feel to know your about to die, and there's no hope of being saved? Please, tell me, I'll never know myself." He grabbed the handle, and I kicked the door open as hard as I could. It smashed into Steve's face, knocking him backwards and causing him to fall, hitting his head against the sink. I got out of the stall to see Steve lying motionless with blood dripping from the holes in his mask. Part of me wanted to take the mask off, but I didn't. I simply left his body there, and the next day, it was gone. And that was that. No more Steve. I never told anyone of him and as I got older, I decided he must've been the spawn of a child's mind. I used the fact that he appeared to be a guy in a costume as proof of this, thinking he looked that way because my brain was incapable of constructing a real looking monster. By the time I moved into of college dorm, I had almost completely forgot about the whole thing. But then I began to see things. Little spots of brown appearing in my peripheral vision. They were so few and far between that I thought I must just be imagining it. Until last night. I awoke at twelve for seemingly no reason and went to the bathroom. Upon turning my face to the mirror, I saw him. He just stood there lifeless. I was thinking I must still be half asleep and seeing things. "Thought I was dead Ted?" He said. "Thought I was made in a dream factory of yours? No Ted, I wasn't. Just sleeping, just healing, just becoming stronger. That's all Ted." I panicked. I punched the mirror as hard as I could. It shattered. The glass ended up slicing my hand. Now I don't know what to do. I took a bat to most of the reflective objects I have, there's nothing but broken glass everywhere. Yet I'm not sure if that was even needed, maybe I have simply lost my mind. I mean, how can this even be possible? I don't know if Steve's real or not, but I know I can see him in my phone's reflection as I type this.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I went to the corn maze with my girlfriend. Don't make the same mistake I did. [RESPONSE] It's that time of the year that the annual corn maze in my town is being set up. I used to go there every year with my family as a child, and I still continue that tradition today as a 20 year old college student. We were planning to go on the 15th, but there had been a flu spreading around my younger sister's high school and she had brought it home to the rest of my family. The only reason I hadn't gotten it too was because I lived miles away in a college dorm. They would've rescheduled, but the corn maze only stayed open through Halloween and they didn't think they'd get better in time. But they still wanted me to go, which is why they suggested I ask my girlfriend, Tina, to come with me. I asked her on the 13th, and she immediately said yes. I knew she would, considering the fact that Halloween is her favorite holiday and she loves everything related to it. I left my last class on Friday at around 3:30 p.m. and texted Tina to make sure she was still up for going on Saturday. She texted back quickly and confirmed. We made plans to leave our dorms around 8:30 p.m. so we could get there by 9:00. The place was open till midnight, so we'd have plenty of time to go through the maze and hang out there. We ended up arriving at the corn maze at around 9:05, and Tina insisted we go through the maze right away. I didn't really have any plans on exactly what we were gonna do, so I followed her. Before we went in, a large man in a brown uniform stopped us. He looked me dead in the eyes for a moment before speaking. "You have 15 minutes to make it out. Or else." I had no idea what he meant, but I figured he was just in character and trying to scare us. I gave the strange guy a quick nod and walked past him. After several minutes of walking, I began joking with Tina about how I wanted to grab one of the ears of corn and just eat it right there while we were still going. I hadn't eaten anything before we left, and I was starving. I had nothing but a plastic water bottle stuffed in my pocket. We walked for another five minutes or so before we saw some strange movements through the corn. I peeked through and saw a thin black cloud of smoke lingering in the air. It disappeared within seconds, but it was still creepy. I checked the time on my phone. 9:25. We had entered the maze at 9:10, which meant our 15 minutes was up. But I wasn't afraid. I figured the worst that would happen would be a costumed person chasing us with a fake chainsaw. But what would soon come to be was far, far worse. The first strange event occurred only a minute or so after our 15 minutes expired. We saw the corn in front of us rustling a bit, before a massive spider jumped out in front of us. Probably a tarantula. It crawled towards me at full force, getting about a foot up my leg before I kicked it off. I tried running backwards away from it, but the damn thing wouldn't give up. I kicked it some more before finally getting it on its back. I was able to aggressively stomp it into the dirt several times before it stopped squirming. I poked it a few more times with my shoe to be sure, and it was dead. The occurrences only got stranger from there. Tina and I heard loud thunder rolling directly above us. When we looked up, all we saw was a black void where the sky used to be. No clouds, no stars, no airplanes. Even the moon was nowhere to be found. It took me a moment to take notice, but the darkness had begun to creep downward from the void. I was soon unable to see the trees in the distance. Eventually, I could only see several yards ahead of me. And mere moments later, it had entirely fallen. I was completely blind. I took out my phone, and the light barely did anything. I turned on my phone's flashlight, but it hardly illuminated a few inches in front of me. I carefully crept through the maze, holding Tina's hand the entire way so I wouldn't lose her in the darkness. After what felt like an eternity, I couldn't have moved more than twenty yards. I began moving slightly faster when I felt a strange feeling. It was similar to goosebumps, but it wasn't. It felt like there were dull claws gently scratching me all over. This strange feeling was accompanied by a third pair of footsteps, behind Tina. I began walking even faster, starting to jog a bit. The footsteps sped up with us. I then escalated to a full sprint. The feeling got worse, and I was sweating bullets at this point. It felt like bugs were crawling all over my face, but I never stopped. That was, until Tina was pulled out of my grasp from behind. I instantly turned around, running even faster than before in the direction of my girlfriend. I tripped on a small rock and flew into the ground at full speed, banging my head and falling unconscious. I woke up an unknown amount of time later. The darkness was gone, and so was Tina. I walked in the direction that she had been dragged in, praying that she was still there. After making several turns, I saw her. Lying on the ground, mangled. All of her limbs were broken, and she had hundreds of scratches and lacerations all over her body. I kneeled down in front of her body, feeling her wrist for a pulse. All I felt was cold, clammy skin. I looked down at my hands and knees, still bloody and raw from the fall. I wasn't going to give up. I had done so much to survive this godforsaken warped reality, and I needed to make it out alive. For Tina. Nothing else occurred for at least an hour after I found Tina. However, that didn't last for very long. After what I guessed was about an hour and forty-five minutes, the ground began to crack and break beneath me. I lost my balance and fell, scraping off a bit of dried blood and leaving it in the mud. I looked around to see the corn falling down with me. I attempted to army crawl through through the collapsing earth, pulling globs of mud out from in front of me and tossing them to the side. The ground was pulling me in like quicksand, and it was exhausting to keep going. But I pushed on. I wasn't about to let this vortex of dirt and corn swallow me whole. I wasn't about to be grabbed by some hellspawn and have my body mangled like Tina had been. But no matter how hard I tried, I continued to get pulled further and further down until the earth closed and swallowed me whole. When I woke up yet again, nothing was off. There were no strange noises, the sky looked normal, the corn looked normal. The dirt was dry as opposed to the wet mess it had been before. I carefully stood on my toes and looked above the corn. I could see people outside of the maze! I ran for freedom, turning several corners before finding the exit. Everything was normal again. I wanted to celebrate. To jump for joy, to laugh, to be happy. But all I could think about was Tina. All I had the energy to do was to fall on the ground and cry. I knew I was never gonna find somebody like Tina again. But I was alive. All of the torture I had gone through, losing the love of my life, wondering if every step I took would be my last. I had made it through. It's now the 23rd, and it's been just over a week since I escaped the maze. Nobody I've told in person has believed me, so I decided to share my story on Reddit to see if anybody on here does. I know it all sounds ridiculous, but I still have hope that people online will take my word.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Just a weird dream... or not? [RESPONSE] It was a wonderful day for traveling. Me, my sister, and my mom decided to go to another country to spend our vacation. To be honest, it wasn't easy for me and my sister to have our schedules aligned because we were both doctors. I was feeling kind of giddy as it has been a while since I've traveled to another place. After around an hour, we managed to get to the airport. Or perhaps I was wrong? "Hey, are we in the right place?" I asked hesitantly. The place still looks like that its still under construction. It only has its structure, no windows, no furniture, nothing. "Yeah we are, that's what it says on the GPS" I would have not believed my sister if there wasn't because of an existing line on the front side of the building. Of course, in order to not be late, me and my family immediately went inside. It was strange not gonna lie. In the front most part of the line was a free teeth cleaning by a dentist. Seems like the line was for that. On the seat was an old man who seems kind of pissed. I hurriedly looked away when our eyes met. We went ahead and tried to find a place to sit while waiting for the flight. However, as I said before. It really didn't have anything inside. Just a water station. I was kind of thirsty so I grabbed a cup and got myself some water. What I didn't expect was a scream of pain that rang through the air. It was creepy. I felt the ground shook slightly. That wasn't possible. Must have been my mind playing games with me. But I guess I was wrong. This time it was real. Screams from different people reverberated through the air. They sounded like desperate cries. Me and my family ran despite not knowing what was the cause. We didn't even want to know what was the cause. We made it outside where the airplanes land and run through. There we saw a plane letting passengers in, we ran there and the flight attendant let us in immediately. She had a panicked look despite her trying to calm down other passengers. Typically, in movies, the move we made was a dumb move. Well it was a dumb move. The pilot started the engine and it started to run through the path. I sighed in relief. We were about to escape. I was wrong, again. I looked at the window, there I saw the old man from the front. His whole body was colored in red. Then he looked up and I felt the chill in my spine. It looked like he was looking at me. I looked away, believing we will be safe now. He won't be able to catch an on-going plane and moreover, it was about to fly. It was impossible. It should be. But no, the plane came to a stop. The left side of the plane was destroyed. Lub dub lub dub. My heart was pounding heavily. I held my mother's and sister's hands and was scared of what was about to happen. The old man stepped inside the plane with a creepy grin. I stood up and immediately ran with my family in tow. Soon enough, another wave of screams of "stop", "no" and "please" came. I was crying. I was scared. I don't know what to do. Me and my family jumped down to the destroyed side of the plane. It was high, but we didn't want to get killed. We landed receiving slight injuries but due to the adrenaline, we immediately stood and ran again. I looked back. The old man was looking at me. Then I fainted. I woke up with a groan. Where was I? What was I doing? Then it hit me. The Old man. I looked at my surroundings immediately. Then right there in the middle. I see the old man standing with various sizes of bloody gifts at his back. "You woke up! Glad you did, I was scared that you might have not" I stared in silence. What will he do to me? "Oh come on now. Don't be scared, I have a gift for you! You can pick anything from here to there!" He says while pointing to the gifts at his back. Gifts? Those bloodied gifts? What are inside them? "Where's my mom and sister?" Ignoring his initial offer. He stared at me for a good ten seconds and proceeded to look through his "gifts" "Anyway, I'll pick my gift for you instead cause you don't want to tell me what you want." When he did pick a gift, he looked back at me and started walking. I couldn't move, I don't know if it was because of the injuries or fear. "Here" He said with a grin. I took it because of the fear he might kill me. "Come on, open it" I slowly opened his gift and I looked at it in horror. Inside was a pair of hands. "I call it the loving touch of a mother and daughter!" He said in joy. I fainted. Then I woke up again. I was in a hospital bed. "Oh my, that's horrible" A voice said. I looked at where it came from. It was mom. She was looking at the News. There it says a mass murder was done at an airport. I looked around, there I saw my sister at the sofa. Oh. Good. It was just a dream. I looked again at the news and there I see him. The Old Man in my dream. He was looking back at the camera. As if he was looking at me.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Straw Men [RESPONSE] I’ve been cooped up in my bedroom for nearly two days now. I don’t know why they’re taking so long. I tell myself that I’m just losing my mind. That I’ve had some sort of breakdown. But I know it’s not true. I know what I saw, and I know what awaits me on the other side of the door. Let me start from the beginning. I’m a private person. I can think of a few people I enjoy being around. Margaret, for instance. I like Margaret. But, generally, I value being alone. That’s why I built my life around a job that doesn’t require me to leave my crummy basement-level apartment. The bug problem inside of it is preferable to the human problem outside of it. It all began on one of those abominable days when I needed to venture into civilization. I’d been dreading it for weeks. My virtual co-worker Natalie had been insistent about my attendance at a fundraiser for her kid. Something about raising money for some research foundation. Blowing off her relentless emails and messages eventually got too tiring. I ran a mental cost-benefit analysis and determined that a brief appearance would amass me enough goodwill to get out of it next time. As I exited my apartment building, I passed my fellow basement-dwellers’ seasonal decorations. The wreath on the door of my immediate neighbor, a repairman named Brian, included a ghost and a witch hat. A mat by the door to the adjacent apartment, in which a young couple and their small child resided, featured black cats and a full moon. The surrounding neighborhood was just as insufferable. I scowled at the displays of pumpkins and mock graveyards, skeletons, and spider webs. All plastic, fake, straight-from Wal-Mart bullshit. I knew it was only going to get worse in the lead up to Halloween. As soon as November first rolled around, they’d replace this junk with equally obnoxious holiday decorations. I yearned for January. As the highway took me past the county line, I was stopped by construction. A man in an orange vest halted me and waved for opposite traffic to go through the single open lane. Behind him, workers labored at the outskirts of a large pit. It was strikingly deep. From where I was sitting, I couldn’t even see the bottom of it. The delay made me late. When I reached the farm, its dirt lot was already packed with cars. I wedged my rusty sedan into a narrow space and climbed outside. A distant breeze swayed crops and trees. The only other sounds I heard were those of birds and insects. I reached the field. Balloons were tied to a sign that reads “Walk Against Diabetes”. I shook my head. What did walking have to do with it? Couldn’t they just have accepted my money without having to bring me all the way out here for *walking*? I looked around. The field ahead was littered with jack-o-lanterns, cornhole boards, bales of hay, some sort of pumpkin ring toss. Oh, and scarecrows. Lots of scarecrows. Whoever decorated this place went a little overboard with them. But where were the people? A sign over a small tent read “Registration”. At a table inside, a figure obscured by shadows presided over several piles of paper. I approached. “Hey there, can you help me-” I froze when I discerned the straw hat and cloth face underneath it. The scarecrow wore blue overalls on a plaid shirt. Its face consisted of a red nose, blue eyes, and a simple smile drawn with a single black, dotted line. I didn’t smile back. Where *was* everybody? I wanted to at least sign in to the event. “Hello?” I called. My voice faded into the empty ambience. I tried again, this time shouting as loudly as I could, but no one responded. I circled through the tents and the start of the one-mile course, but there was not a soul in sight. I couldn’t make any sense of it. Did everyone start walking, and then just keep going to some other location? Or was the event cancelled at the last moment, with me alone not finding out about it? But, if that were true, why was the parking lot so full? On the way back to my car, I passed the registration tent again. To my surprise, the scarecrow was gone. “What the hell?” I mumbled, perplexed and more than a bit spooked. My pace increased to a jog. I was eager to leave this place. There was something about it that just felt so off, so wrong. I pulled out in my car and didn’t look back as I returned to town. I approached the construction site. This time, no one was around to direct traffic. There were no workers at all, in fact. I could have gone, but I worried about a car approaching from the opposite side. I rolled down my window. “Hey, is anyone there?” I asked. Something caught my eye. Several bales of hay decorated the edge of the pit. They hadn’t been there before. For a moment, a brown, jagged stick emerged from the hay, reaching out like an arm before receding out of view. I resolved not to wait there any longer. I wanted to leave this cursed hole in the earth behind, just like the farm and its deserted fundraiser. I jolted the accelerator and zoomed into the open lane. As I drove, I checked the rear view mirror. What I saw sent my heart racing. In the back seat, directly behind me, was the thin smile of the scarecrow from the registration tent. “Fucking hell!” I screamed. My car skidded at an angle as I slammed on the breaks. Sirens blared in front of me. Just my luck. The first car at the other end belonged to a cop. The officer approached. I remained still, resisting the temptation to look behind me. In my state of near-panic, I accidentally rolled down one of my rear windows instead of my own. I rushed to correct my mistake as the officer neared. The officer leaned down and asked me questions. “Officer, in the back seat, there’s…there’s…” I realized that telling the truth wasn’t going to help me. So, I came up with a slightly more plausible story. “I’m driving alone, but I looked in the mirror and saw someone in the back seat. I panicked.” The officer peered behind me. There was no one there, she insisted. “Not even something that might look like a person?” I croaked. “Like a doll, or something?” She shook her head, handed me a ticket, and informed me that I’d need to go to court to address it. I thought about telling her everything else I’d seen – the desolate fundraiser, the stick reaching out of the hay – but I decided to cut my losses. I politely nodded and told her that I’d be more careful. I examined my car upon parking it in my building’s garage. Indeed, the back seat was unoccupied. Had I imagined seeing the scarecrow there? Was I losing my mind? In my apartment, I took a long shower and started to unwind. I decided to keep the inexplicable things I’d seen to myself, at least for the time being. I had Margaret to prepare for. I shaved my face and put on my nicest set of clothes. I cleaned up, stuffing my dirty laundry into a basket and moving my laptop from where I’d left it on top of my comforter to an end table by the bedroom door. I counted out five fifty-dollar bills and placed them in an envelope by the entrance to the apartment. Margaret was five minutes late. On another occasion, I’d have argued over subtracting twenty dollars from what I owed her. Twenty-one, to be more precise. But, that day, I was just happy to see her face. Margaret smiled and addressed me as her husband. She displayed a cheap replica of the engagement ring I’d given to Anne, and she wore an olive green dress like the one Anne had been wearing when I’d proposed to her. Margaret didn’t mention the children I hadn't seen in years. They weren’t a part of the script. The hour moved efficiently. We chatted over a drink and then slowly made our way to the bedroom. We screwed around. When it was over, I wrapped my arms around her bare back and held her tightly. She asked me if something was on my mind. She said that I seemed a little wound up. I started to tell her about the strange things I’d seen that morning. When I brought up the mysterious pit by the highway, she mentioned that she’d heard something about it. She said that a friend of hers worked at that site. Ever since his drilling operation tapped into some unknown substance deep underground, workers had been disappearing without a trace. “Do…do they know what the substance is?” I asked. She burst out laughing. She told me that she really had me going. I was annoyed. But Anne’s sense of humor was on the list of traits I’d given her to study. I couldn’t hold it against her. Margaret dressed and headed to the door. “See you next week,” I told her as she slipped the envelope into her purse. On Monday, I exchanged chat message with Natalie. She told me not to worry, that the participants had gathered around a hill at the end of the mile-long course for a group photo, but she appreciated the effort I made coming out there. It didn’t make sense to me. I wasn’t all *that* late. I should have seen *somebody*. But I let it go. Work resumed. Groceries arrived at my front door. My apartment building was quiet. The tedium of daily routine settled my nerves. The weird events of the weekend faded from my mind. Finally, the date on my ticket arrived. To my chagrin, I found that those obsessed with tacky Halloween props included whoever ran the general district court. Fake cobweb lined the metal detector. The officers manning it directed me to the appropriate room. I climbed the central staircase. Posing throughout it were more of those damn scarecrows. I hated their smiling faces, their straw hats, and the big red buttons that matched their small red noses. I approached the courtroom. After a short wait, an officer called the number on my ticket. “Yes, that’s me, officer,” I said. The officer instructed me on where to go. I opened the two sets of doors and stepped into the courtroom. I approached the podium, paying little attention to the handful of people scattered throughout the public benches. My eyes raised to the judge. I gasped when I finally got a look at him. I recognized the beaming face of the figure before me. It was the same one – the same goddamn scarecrow that had climbed into my car the other day, except now it sat in a black robe before a gavel. “Is this…are you…” I stuttered, dumbfounded. I glanced at the prosecutor’s table, where two scarecrows sat in suits. I looked behind me, and realized that the rest of the audience was no different. I was the only human in the entire fucking room. I stormed out. I spotted the officer who’d let me in and called out for him. When he didn’t respond, I tapped his left shoulder. I jumped back as his left arm detached. Tightly-wound straw spilled out of his empty sleeve onto the floor. I backed up. I needed to leave. The figure moved. It knelt, picked up the detached arm, and stuck it back in place. Then, it turned towards me, continuing to display the same, sick expression of perpetual bliss. A stumble sent me toppling down the first set of stairs. I banged my head. My body ached as I climbed back to my feet and ran down to the lobby, where I found the metal detector manned by two scarecrows dressed in police uniforms. Their heads tilted slightly in my direction as I sprinted to the exit. There was almost no traffic as I drove back to my apartment. I spotted no people in the early evening light. Only scarecrows, everywhere, of all shapes and sizes. They appeared still, silent, content. In the apartment garage, an elderly man hobbled over to me. He was the first human I’d seen since leaving the courthouse. He pointed to a red bruise on my temple and told me that I’m not one of them. He insisted that I not trust anyone, not even him. I left him behind as I scrambled down the basement hallway. The door to the building elevator opened, revealing three scarecrows – a man, a woman, and a small child standing between them. I passed Brian’s apartment. I looked through the open door. Inside, two figures were engaged in a scuffle. A scarecrow had Brian pressed against the wall. His panicked eyes turned towards me as he attempted, futilely, to pull the scarecrow’s hand off of his neck. With its other hand, the scarecrow pried open Brian’s mouth. The thin line that formed the scarecrow’s smile expanded until its mouth was a gaping hole that covered most of its face. Brian made a muffled scream as straw shot out of the scarecrow’s mouth into his own. He gagged and choked. The straw poured down Brian’s throat. It filled his body until it bursts through his skin. As layers of straw spread over Brian, transforming his appearance, the scarecrow turned towards me. I shut the door to my apartment and bolted it behind me. In the crack beneath the door, shadows of legs approached. The door jostled, the same way the door to my bedroom has jostled periodically for the last several hours, and the handle shook. Then the shadows departed. I didn’t know what to do. After what I’d seen at the court building, I wasn’t eager to contact the authorities. A familiar voice called for me from outside. I checked my phone to confirm that it was the correct date and time. Using the peephole, I saw that it was only Margaret, with no straw hat to be found on her. Relieved, I ushered her in. She asked me what was wrong after I frantically locked the door behind her. “I’m just so happy to see you,” I replied. “You’re the only thing that seems real to me.” She looked at me strangely. I wasn’t supposed to call her by her real name. She asked for some wine. Anne loved wine, after all. That trait was in the materials I’d provided to Margaret. I gave her a glass. She lifted it. I put my hand around hers as I poured. I thought about recent events. About how everything around me was falling apart. Yet, amidst all of that, here was Margaret, showing up at her scheduled time to pretend to be the wife who’d stormed out of our marriage years ago. Who’d taken away my kids. Who’d told me I had no heart, no soul. Who’d said I was as dull and ugly and lifeless as a- Margaret shrieked as the glass shattered. I’d been gripping it too hard, and several fragments had torn into Margaret’s hand. I apologized profusely. When I brought her a set of bandages, she opened her hand to reveal a long gash that extended across her palm. What I saw sent me darting into my bedroom, where I have been hiding – cowering – ever since. You see, no blood emerged from the wound – just the ends of thin, golden pieces of .<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I know you're reading this, so get ready to cough up the money, Luke [RESPONSE] Welp. I'm not gonna beat around the bush. I know you're still stalking me Luke, looking at my digital footprint like a real creep. That used to bother me, maybe even scare me a little, but now I'm pretty happy that I can be sure this message will reach you. My mama always said: “Look on the bright side, girly.” And I’m trying to, really, but the only optimistic thing I can come up with is that you owe me 20 bucks. Do you remember that ‘debate’ we got into freshman year? You know, one of the stupid drunken ones that involved more yelling than talking? I guess we had a lot of those, huh? Probably too many for you to guess what I’m talking about without me narrowing the scope. Well, I’ll get what satisfaction I can out of this by saying: I was right. It’s the teeth, Luke. That’s what does it. Well, specifically, it’s the upper canines, but they’re teeth all the time. You thought it was blood, didn’t you? You said it must contain some sort of toxin… or maybe you’d said a poison? But either way, nope. It’s got nothing to do with that. They aren’t running around with ‘poison blood,’ Luke. It’s all got to do with the teeth. I know this for sure because if it had to do with the blood, Paula would be changing too. Changing like me. If you’re still the same, still tracking my digital footprint, I’ll bet you think that I can’t know this. I bet you’re laughing, maybe thinking my ‘protozoan’ brain could jump to such a conclusion. Perhaps you even think I’m crazy for claiming certainty over something so absurd and fantastical. And maybe I am crazy. After all, before I decided to start typing this… um…. Let’s call it a notice of debt. Before that, I tore into the freezer, draining a delicious T-bone steak so my mind would stop insisting that Whiskers looked like a snack. Ugh. I’d apologize for that not making sense, but you don’t deserve it. You never apologized for what you said. Why should I? Anyway. 20 bucks, Luke. If you need the proof, I still have a tooth—just one. You know where I work. I don’t even care that it’ll violate the restraining order. See there. Fuck the restraining order; you can come. I put it in writing. Doesn’t that make you happy, Luke? Come to the office. I’ve got the tooth in an envelope. If you think I’m lying, fine. I’ll open it up, and you can press it into your skin and become just like me. Allergic to the sun. Craving blood. No longer able to eat garlic bread. Unless you’ve developed taste in the last year, I guess you wouldn’t care so much about that last one. But I do. I love garlic bread. And sunsets. And being able to pet Whiskers without thinking her heartbeat sounds appetizing. God. You don’t know how much you feel on a subconscious level until it’s gone. The lack of breath or blood running through my veins… Luke, dating you, and I say this with great trepidation, is no longer the biggest mistake of my life. Again, notice that I said great trepidation. You are still awful and always will be. Anyway, what I’m counting as number one now is accepting the freak patient who came in last week. I’m sure even you know that dentist offices are appointment-only (I.e., no walk-ins), but I had a last-minute cancellation. I was upfront, talking with Paula, and enjoying a break when this dude came in. His skin was sallow and jaundiced. The top of his bald head was a constellation of puss-filled heat blisters. In his hands, he held a styrofoam cup full of a pink liquid that looked vaguely like strawberry milk. I’d learn later that I only got the milk part right. “I neeth hep!” The creep shouted, and his mouth was full of blood. He spat it all over Paula, spraying her librarian-style glasses with red. His front four teeth had been knocked out. Who knows how. The man didn’t show up the entire time he was there, but I barely understood a goddamn word between his freak accent and lack of teeth. But whatever. Dr. Martin saw him and immediately rushed to the man’s aid. It was weird, but I guess it was a simple case of that philanthropic side he’s been developing rearing its head at the worst possible moment. Instead of sending the man to the ER, he took him as a patient. A knocked-out tooth is one of the few emergency procedures a dentist performs, but this man- his bubbling, yellowed skin- it was apparent he had more urgent issues that needed tending. “This way,” Dr. Martin told him. “My associate Kyra will be assisting with your procedure.” “She will?” I echoed. It should have been exciting. I was his junior, but, being fresh out of school, I really hadn’t much experience outside of cleanings and being an assistant to the lead dentist. “You’re ready,” he told me. “Glove up. It’s time to learn.” So yeah. Here’s where it goes wrong, Luke. Just like that night I took you to my parents. I didn’t expect anything to go wrong that night, either. It was supposed to be happy. That was the Thanksgiving when you thought it’d be better to silently pop a pizza in the oven rather than eat my mom’s cooking. Then you actually had the nerve to say to her face: “Sorry, I just wanted to eat something I could stomach.” You piece of shit. I swear. If I can’t fucking control this hunger, I’ll find you. I wouldn't even feel bad about it. Where was I? Oh yeah. The teeth. Dr. Martin gently took the cup from the man and handed it to me. “You’ve really done it now,” he said to the man, and I wondered how they knew each other. “Kyra, you’ll find all four teeth in there. We must move quickly before his gums begin to close.” And that didn’t make sense. He was still spitting blood as he talked with the doctor. His teeth had been knocked out recently. Obviously, this procedure needed to take place quickly, but his gums would take a while to close. Dr. Martin didn’t bother with anesthesia or even numbing the man. He just went straight in, spraying away the blood. Meanwhile, I had fished the first three teeth out of the cup. Two were… normal. Just regular old human teeth. Standard incisors, but then the third. “What the fuck?” I breathed. It was a canine as long as my pinky. I looked at the holes in the man’s mouth, disturbed to see that the weirdo’s gums were being rapidly knitted back together. I looked from the teeth to the man. His upper four teeth. That’s what was missing. There shouldn’t have been any canines included. I could see his canines from here, sharp pointy things that did look a little too long but nothing as shocking as what I held in my hand. “Have you got them?” Dr. Martin urged with a gloved hand extension. “The teeth?” Sirens went off in my head, but the man’s cries were louder. “The teeth, Kyra!” “Sorry,” I told him and placed the three I had in his hand. “Here they are.” He shuffled them carefully, holding the canine delicately. “Now, watch carefully. You’ll have to do as I do.” Before I could respond, he jammed the canine into the wrong spot… the wrong way. He sliced open the gum with the sharp end and then forced it to go nearly all the way into the gum. As he pulled it out with a wet squelch, I clearly saw the man’s gums moving, trying to repair the hole. In opposition to its healing, Dr. Martin shoved in the yellowed incisor. “There,” he told the man. “One down.” He made a pained noise of affirmation. “Now,” Dr. Martin turned to me with the teeth pointing at me like daggers. “You do the next one, Kyra.” The step I took back wasn’t a conscious one, but I felt myself moving away from him. From this nightmare scene. I always run. I run when things get tough. Get scary. You know that, Luke. I ran from you. Picked up whiskers and flew out the door like a bat from hell. And maybe if I’d been just a split second faster. Maybe if my brain and feet had had the same thought, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be at work, business as usual. Scraping plaque off teeth and earning an honest buck, but nope. I’m obviously shit at ignoring red flags. I stayed, and now the only good thing I can think to do is write this shitty debt notification, hiding beneath the covers because I bought sheer curtains for the bedroom. Fucking hell do I regret choosing this place for its goddamn natural light. Not as much as I regret you. Of course. And not as much as I regret what happened next. The man grabbed my arm, shrieking at me: “Huvwy! Huvwy!! Pleath!” Urging me to hurry up, Dr. Martin placed the remaining two teeth into my open palm. “You can do this, Kyra,” he told me. “Just like I did, you have to do it just like that.” My hands were shaking so badly. The tooth felt heavy in my hands. “Focus, Kyra!” the doctor ordered. “Take the vampire’s tooth-“ And yes. He said, vampire. “Very carefully, and make a slice into the dead center of the gum.” With a gentle grip on my wrist, he guided my hand, and it took little more than a jerk for the tooth to cut through the man’s pink flesh. Blood sprayed out. Later, I realized this meant he had just eaten. “Now! Quickly Kyra, before his regeneration reseals the wound, you need to get the incisor into the socket.” My brain, I’m ashamed to say, had basically short-circuited. I was covered in blood, a man was screaming beneath me, and Dr. Martin was being so different from the distant, bespectacled man I’d worked with for the past month. “Now, Kyra!” So yes. I did what he told me to. My body was practically on autopilot, but I remember how man trembled. I held one of his shoulders down, leaning over him for leverage, and I jammed the incisor in that gaping, bleeding socket. He screamed so loud, his body wracked with short, sharp sobs that ran through him in tremors. “Again,” Dr. Martin told me. “I’ll show you how and then you will do the next.” He took the tooth from my hand, that long dagger forged of pearl. The man below was crying. I still couldn’t fully understand him, but I think he was saying he was running out of time. Dr. Martin didn’t even look at him. “This solution, Kyra, is a proprietary blend. He swished around a beaker full of green liquid with a separation that suggested it contained both water and a lipid within. “It stings, but it’ll get the job done.” To my horror, he popped off the cap to the beaker and then poured it directly onto the man’s gum. If he was screaming before, now was different. He was wailing, shrieking. His mouth extended far beyond the boundaries of what an average human can. His chin brushed against his collarbone as he writhed in pain. I noticed for the first time that his molars were not normal. Each one was a pointed tip, looking like jagged, broken glass. His gum had turned a deep shade of black above the empty sockets. “Good,” Dr. Martin said. “Now, that’s the benefit of mixing an activator with an elixir. Think of this like the Sudan IV test. This shows us that the binding agents present in the iron can still be reattached, and the patient is already prepped. Observe.” I heard it. I can repeat what he said, but do I fucking understand? No. Do I want to? No. And if I’m losing you, Luke. Well. I’m fucking lost myself. All the way lost. Dr. Martin pulled out a golden scalpel from his pocket with what appeared to be a ruby embedded in the handle and strange runes carved everywhere, including the blade. As he moved it into the man’s mouth, those runes began to glow, and a peculiar humming sound was much louder than the usual din of machinery emitted from seemingly nowhere. “The color is changing rapidly, Kyra. That means we need to work quickly.” The gums were still dark, but they had faded from black to a deep shade of purple. The man cried silent tears, gripping the chair’s handles with white knuckles. I sucked in a deep breath, my brain finally starting to reboot. Of course, this was the worst time to come to my senses because I was about to witness what can only be described as torture. Dr. Martin gingerly placed the Golden tip of the scalpel in the center of the gap. He readjusted it a few times, poking at the spot in an almost experimental way before he made a contented sound. “Okay,” he told me. “The drill spot has been found. Now comes the hard part.” He applied pressure to the scalpel, rotating it round and round like a slow drill as he synchronized farther into the gum. The purple-black flesh shredded in a spiral pattern, like pencil shavings. “You’ve got to be precise.” He was talking through the whole thing, but I could hardly hear him above the screaming and, worse… the crunching. After sinking about an inch and a half into the man, a loud scrape, like nails on a chalkboard, resounded. My gut dropped. He was scratching against the man’s vomer bone, but unfortunately, his goal was apparently to go beyond it. He kept rotating the scalpel, applying more pressure, and then the cracking and the crunching started—that sickening splintering of bone. It feels like that moment went on forever. In every moment of silence since, I’ve heard that awful sound repeating, echoing through my head. I’ve been trying to drown it out with music, but… God. It was horrible. I thought the darkest period of my life was you. I didn’t think I could ever go beyond rock bottom, but that. That brought me lower. Again. I just don’t know how long that scalpel drilling lasted, but after Dr. Martin was satisfied with the hole he’d made, he took the ‘vampire’ tooth and, much more carefully than he’d treated the incisor, placed it into the heathen socket. The man was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling like it was trying to keep up with an upbeat dubstep song. “Perfect,” Dr. Martin smiled. “We should be able to get the other one too.” The gum with the tooth planted firmly inside was back to an irritated shade of pink, but the empty socket was a deep shade of lavender. “Of course, we’ll need to start now.” He gave the scalpel a hard flick, and a visceral mess of pink and red plopped inches away from my feet. “Kyra, get the other tooth. I’ll begin the initial incision and show you how to finish it.” I could barely tear my eyes away as he poked and prodded at the pink with his scalpel, just as he had done before. Guess I’ve always had a thing for watching disasters, huh? I mean, why else would I willingly look at you for as long as I did? Anyway. I got the milk cup. It still looked like it was strawberry-flavored, but now I was pretty sure it wasn’t. I stuck my hand in and- “Ow!” I shrieked. My blue gloves were sliced open. There was a long, deep gash on my middle three fingers. “Fuck!” It really didn’t hurt that bad. There was an initial sting, but it was like… Do you remember when you were throwing beer bottles, and one of the shards bounced back? How the glass cut your cheek deep, but you didn’t even feel it? You yelled at me when I ran out, crying about the blood, but you didn’t even realize you had been injured. Well, that’s probably partially because your dumb ass head is so dense but also because the glass was so sharp you didn’t feel it. That’s what this was like. It was so sharp that I hardly even felt it. I saw the blood filling the fingertips of my gloves, dripping onto the white linoleum floor, but I didn’t really feel it. “Kyra!” Dr. Martin yelled. “Oh my god! Please tell me you didn’t cut yourself on the tooth.” The scalpel clattered to the ground, and he snatched the milk cup from my hand. He dumped its contents onto the writhing man’s chest. The tooth was just as long and white as the first. The blood splashed onto the floor. I was bleeding so much. Too much, even for the deep gash. The blood was literally spraying out of me. The man sat up, horror shining in his eyes. I barely had time to register his gums-all the way pink now- before the world went black. Distantly, I could hear Dr. Martin yelling at me, giving instructions that my heavy body could not follow. The following day I woke up in Dr. Martin’s basement. And yeah, I’ll get to that, but one thing has been bothering me. How the fuck did they get me out, past Paula, and to his home? Like, what the fuck did Paula think? I haven’t asked cause… Well, it feels weird but damn. She didn’t stop them. The businesses surrounding the office didn’t try to call the cops. Like, I know there’s a slight family resemblance between Dr. Martin and me, but no one had an issue with a bloody girl being carried away by the single most disturbing individual I’ve seen in my life and my short, hobbling uncle? It really makes you wonder what’s wrong with people. And, just so you know, I have lowered my viewpoint on how bad the average person is, but that doesn’t change what I think of you. Everyone sucks, but you suck most of all. Yeah, I get the irony. Me saying people suck. Anyway, Uncle Bill- I only think of him as Dr. Martin in office- literally went the whole nine yards. Fricking chains on my ankles. Called my parents. Made my grandma cry cause now I’m… You know. Changed. Everyone came over dressed in black and I swear it felt like attending my own funeral. I was still pretty in the dark and growing agitated at the chains. I tried being polite, pretending everything was normal, but my stomach felt emptier than ever. “Fucking get me some food!” I shrieked, and I hardly recognized my voice. It echoed so much deeper than I was used to. “Heavens, It’s true! You’re a vampire now,” Mom sobbed. “My little girl!” And my Uncle Bill presented me with the tooth. The dumb tooth that started this. I noticed at the root of it was a strange symbol. “This is what made you like this, Kyra.” He placed it in my hand. There was no sound where I had been cut. “You’ll soon grow fangs of your own and have to feed on blood. Your teeth will be just as capable of initiating the same change in other organisms. This is why you must be taught to control your urges….” And he kept going. On and on and on. Uncle Bill droned about vampires, then Aunt Linda or mom or grandma would cut in, and they’d keep it going. Apparently, my family has been taking care of vampire teeth for years. Like as far back as we can trace our heritage, generation after generation of Martins have been vampire dentists. Isn’t that fucking stupid? And why the fuck did no one tell me? Yeah, you can bet I voiced these concerns. I yelled and cursed and threw a tantrum like I was 17. Like I’d just met a dumbass named Luke and wanted to devote every single aspect of my life to his out-of-date, boy-band-styled hair. The screaming didn’t do anything other than make me feel silly. What’s done is done. I was changed, and the changes kept churning out from there. Everything has been turned around, and my jaw has been aching worse than it did when I got spacers. The teeth are finally in. I’m thoroughly inhuman. I’m something different than J was before. I look in the mirror, and I hardly recognize the thing looking back at me. I almost wish that reflection part of the myth was genuine; then, I wouldn’t have to face those hollow eyes. So, yeah… 20 dollars. You were wrong, Luke. I didn’t know it would be the teeth, but I knew it wasn’t poison or whatever. That means I won the bet—the stupid bet over one of those shitty twilight movies. I win. It’s the teeth. There’s power in the teeth. I hope you don’t believe me. I really do. I bet you think this is all a desperate cry to get your attention, don’t you? You think you’re that important. Well, I’ll let you believe what you want. See me, Luke. Let me show you my teeth and prove I won. Don’t believe me still? Well, I wouldn’t mind performing a demonstration one goddamn bit.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] People Keep Dying in my Backyard [RESPONSE] The first death happened a few months ago. I heard a noise behind my house, and when I looked out the back window, I was surprised to see a disheveled man walking around one of the big oak trees in the middle of my yard. He looked rather dazed and was half shouting something to himself. Foolishly, I rushed outside to see if he was okay. “I’ll find it. I’ll find it. I’ll find it,” he kept rambling over and over, and he glanced at me with eyes that didn’t seem to see me, before turning back to the tree. “Have you found it?” I held up my hands, wishing I’d thought ahead before rushing outside. This guy was clearly unhinged. “Easy, buddy. There’s nothing here for you. What are you looking for?” His head snapped around, and he locked eyes with me. “But…it has to be here…” I was startled to see blood suddenly spurt from his nose. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed. I cursed and dove to catch him before he hit the ground, and we both tumbled in a heap on the grass. I pulled out my cell phone, then growled in frustration as I tried to dial 911. For some reason, I had no signal, and my call immediately dropped. I tried again, and when the call hung up without even ringing, I put my phone back in my pocket and checked the man’s pulse. There was nothing. I hesitated for a moment, then decided to try to drag him to my front lawn. Maybe I could catch someone’s attention and get help. He was fairly light, but it still took several frantic moments of half carrying, half dragging him to get there. As soon as I plopped him down on the lawn, I checked his pulse again, then started CPR. A car soon drove by, and the driver saw my frantic struggles and jumped out to help. His phone didn’t work either, so he drove up the road until he got enough service to call 911, then raced back to join me and try to help the man. Soon, an ambulance was peeling into my driveway, lights and sirens wailing. But they were far too late. I think the man had been dead the moment he collapsed. I told my story to the police when they arrived, and I eventually heard from the coroner that they thought the cause of death was some sort of brain aneurism, possibly drug-induced. I decided to visit the man’s funeral, and was sad to see few family members and even fewer friends there. I wondered what had put him on the path that eventually led to him dying on my lawn. The next several months were quiet, and I was actually out of town when the second person died. I returned from my trip to find police tape outside my home and a full team of detectives investigating my house. They peppered me with a barrage of questions, but I was just as confused as they were. I never did learn the identity of that victim, but they had apparently also died in my backyard. The police were convinced I was dealing drugs or something that was killing folks. But they didn’t find anything, and after days of searching and investigating, they finally decided to leave me be. After that, I decided to put a lock on my gate to prevent anyone else from getting into my yard. I hoped that would be the end of…whatever this was. I also changed my cell phone provider, as I really didn’t want to be in another situation where I couldn’t make a call. The next person died two weeks later. I was actually out back when it happened, and the first indication that something was wrong was the squealing of car tires from out on the street. A moment later, I heard someone frantically yanking and pounding on the gate to my backyard, followed by a high-pitched scream of rage. A moment later, a middle-aged woman leaped up and grabbed the top of my fence, scrabbling over it frantically. She rolled over the top and fell with a thump to the grass below, but quickly sprang up and started scanning my yard. She eyed me briefly. “Do you know where it is? Never mind, don’t worry. I’ll find it myself. I have to find it!” I shook my head, wondering if I could get past her to the house. I didn’t have my phone with me, of course. Suddenly, the woman dove forward and started tearing at the sod. “It’s here! I know it, it has to be!” She ripped up big clumps of grass, and her shrieks grew louder and louder. I made a break for it and dashed inside to grab my phone. Strangely enough, I had no service once again, even though I’d just called my brother not two hours prior. Yelling in frustration and panic, I ran back out to her and pulled her away from the grass, hoping I could calm her down. She struggled frantically for a moment, then went limp and started sobbing. When I laid her down on her back, she looked up at me with teary eyes. “Please. I need to find it. Help me find it, I must – ” and she suddenly collapsed backwards, her head lolling crazily to the side. Old Mrs. Jones, my next-door neighbor, must’ve heard the commotion, because a moment later, she poked her head over the fence and motioned to me that she was on the phone. At least she had a working phone. The police and EMTs arrived a few minutes later. This time, I was taken to the station for questioning. Angry officers grilled me with questions and accusations for hours, and they even held me overnight on suspicion of murder. However, they eventually had to let me go, even though I was as confused as they were. I told them that my theory was either that there was a cult in town that had become obsessed with my yard, or people were on some drug that drew them to it. I had no other explanations. The nightmare didn’t end though. In fact, it got worse. I bought cameras, floodlights, a landline phone, and an extra cell phone. It didn’t matter. They would all work fine until someone crazy ended up in my yard, and then it was like I was cut off from the rest of the world. The camera footage would short out, my landline would go dead, and if someone showed up at night, even the outdoor lights wouldn’t work. The people started showing up every week, and then every few days. I put razor wire across the top of my fence, and one poor fellow sliced himself up terribly just trying to get in. One old cowboy rammed his pickup straight through my fence, then hopped out and began digging up my flowerbed frantically. He actually talked with me for a moment or two before suddenly collapsing, but I didn’t get much more than that he was looking for something, and he thought he knew where it was. I spent all my savings and rebuilt the fence with a reinforced concrete wall, with double strands of razor wire on top. The city started sending me zoning violations and letters, but I didn’t care. Whatever it took to keep people out of my yard, I’d do it. I was constantly on the edge of a panic attack, wondering when the next body would show up, and knowing there was little I could do to stop it. And people kept coming through and dying, day and night. When old Mrs. Jones tunneled under my wall, I was too numb to be more than amazed. She’d apparently been working on the tunnel for days or weeks, and had done a lot of work with just a shovel and a pickaxe. I found her collapsed next to the tunnel early one morning, her lips blue and her body cold. She’d dug quite a bit of the yard up, and had even hacked at one of the bushes in the corner of the yard before collapsing. I had stopped going to peoples’ funerals, but I made an exception for her funeral last week. Even though I didn’t know her very well, she was my neighbor, and she was always nice to me. Since then, nobody else has come into my backyard these last few days. I’ve been studying the situation though, and I think I’ve figured out what everyone else has missed. I think I know where the thing is. There’s a little patch of yard between two oak trees that nobody has touched. It has to be there. I wanted to share this with everyone before I go out and look for it. My internet has started getting really spotty these last few minutes, so I don’t know if this update will go through, but I don’t really care. I will find it. It has to be there. I will find it. They just didn’t know where to look. I will find it. I will find it. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My computer is haunted. [RESPONSE] If you have a weak stomach, I’d advise you not to read through this, as I’m going to recall a pretty detailed and graphic memory. Now, I’m not the most tech-savvy individual out there, but I do know for sure that what happened tonight isn’t due to an error or glitch. For context, this all started around July. I’d come home from work at around 4:30, and I’d hop on my computer for an hour or so to briefly check some emails amongst other things. I’m not on the computer much, since I only really use it for work purposes, but I still make sure to maintain the software and keep it updated. I’ve never had any problems with it before, until one particular evening where I came home a little later than usual. I arrived home at around 6:00 that evening, and to my surprise the computer was already on. I knew I hadn’t left it on, but I made the assumption that it might have been from the update the previous night. The weird business started becoming apparent once I’d hopped on it, though. It felt a lot slower, as if the computer was lagging due to something running in the background. I made sure nothing else was open besides my emails, and sure enough it was just my emails. I carried on, but right before I hopped off, I noticed a text file on my desktop. I clicked to open it, and nothing happened. I waited for a while as I assumed it had to do with my computer’s sluggishness, but it never opened, so I deleted it then turned off my PC. For a few days after this, everything seemed normal, albeit my computer was still running slightly slower but nothing too troublesome to deal with. That was until I started noticing strange emails popping up in my inbox every few minutes from what seemed to be the same sender. None of them had a subject, only a date, which read: 26/03/2009 I didn’t know what the date meant, as it had no significance to me— not a birthday, anniversary or any other particular event I could think of. After a while the constant emails started to get annoying, so I blocked the sender. Immediately after this, another email from an unknown sender came through, and the image I saw when I clicked on the file attached will be forever burnt into my brain. A young girl, who looked no older than her early teens, sliced almost entirely in half and hanging from the ceiling by her large intestine and a few nails that pinned her hands to two large pillars on either side of her body. Her bottom half was barely attached to her, only held together by what looked like some duct tape. I was horrified but I couldn’t look away. I was in a trance for a few seconds until a loud garble and screech echoed from my computer, snapping me back to reality. I tried everything to stop the noise but no matter what, it kept going. It seemed to get louder and louder, and I began to panic. I ran outside in pure fear and watched from my window as the computer screen started to get brighter. I could still hear the warped garbling from outside, and as I continued looking into my house, I saw the computer start to flicker and flash, and emerging from the screen I saw what looked like a hand. I ran straight down the driveway and hopped into my car which I had parked on the curb, then drove all the way to my town’s local church. Miraculously, I made it in time to find the Priest, Father Angelo. I got out of my car and practically jumped at him to explain my situation, speaking so quickly I could barely understand myself— it’s a miracle he could translate what I was saying. He took me inside the church and sat me down, then asked me to calmly re-explain the situation. I told him everything, and I watched his expression become somber the more I spoke. After I finished speaking, we both went quiet. We sat in silence for a moment before he sighed, then started to speak. “I believe you have a demonic entity in your home. I don’t know what you’ve done to summon it, or how it has become attached to you, but whatever it is, we must stop it. If she’s already made it this far then…” He stopped there, then got up and began walking for the door. I followed him, and we got into my car and drove back to my house. The second we arrived, unease washed over me. All the lights were now off, and we could no longer see in. The computer screen was off as well, but the front door was still open as I’d left it. I was as nervous as one could imagine, but I followed the priest inside as he led the way with his candle and Holy Cross. The house was so still, it was almost sickening. We walked to the office, where it was still the same as I’d left it— no signs of disruption or an entity anywhere. I looked to my left to see Father Angelo, the expression on his face remaining composed. Suddenly, there was a loud crash behind us, and I whipped my head around to see nothing but darkness. The computer which was now behind me lit up again, with the garbling and screeching practically stunning me. I covered my ears and looked back at Father Angelo, who was now holding his Cross up at the screen and shouting something in Latin. From the screen emerged the hand again, this time followed by a decaying head and half a torso. I fell back, and watched as Father Angelo continued to shout. The lights in my house were now flashing and buzzing, and the floor beneath me felt like it was going to crumble apart. Father Angelo screamed out, no longer chanting Latin, instead begging to the creature. “Please! Stop this!” He shouted. “I’m so sorry, I never should have left you there. I’m sorry!” The screeching got louder, and just when I thought it was the end for us, Father Angelo reached into his pocket and grabbed a vile of Holy Water. He doused the creature as well as my computer in it, and the creature let out an unholy cry before disintegrating and vanishing. Father Angelo didn’t hesitate to douse my computer in the Holy Water shortly after. He slumped to the floor, huffing and puffing. His face was sweating and his eyes watering— I didn’t dare to ask questions. After a few moments, we both got up, and I thanked him. He left, and I called my brother and asked if I could stay with him for a few nights to recollect myself. Since that happened, I’ve found a new place, and moved far from where it all happened. I burnt all the belongings in that office before I left, and bought myself a new computer. I never heard from or saw Father Angelo again, and for a few months, everything seemed to be going okay. But tonight on the news, they reported the death of a well known and beloved priest; Father Angelo had died at age 57 of seemingly natural causes. The report went on to say that he was buried in the same cemetery that honoured his late wife and daughter, who both died in March of 2009. When the date flashed across the screen, a chill ran down my spine. I’ve been feeling uneasy, and I know I won’t be able to sleep well. My mind is racing, hundreds of thoughts rushing through at the same time. It’s now 11 PM as I’ve finished typing this, and I’ve been distracted again by the dim light and low hum of my computer in the other room.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I saw a ghost and I want to know if my experience is a common one [RESPONSE] This was 4 years ago when I (22f) was 18 years old. I was in my first semester of university (in Canada) and my roommate's parents' cattle farm and home was a couple hours from school. For our fall break my roommate (18f) invited me and two of our close friends (18 f&m) at the time to stay at her house for the week. Her parents recently moved into this farmhouse, I'm not exactly how old it was but I think about 100 years, give or take. We all expected a week of good home cooked meals, studying, hanging out, and checking out her parents' cattle farm. A few days in and were having a great time relaxing and getting some work done. One night her parents tell us they're going down the road for a party at a neighbour's place and they ask us to watch her younger siblings. Us four take this opportunity to have a few drinks and enjoy the night on our own. My roommate put her siblings to bed, we helped with some bedtime reading, and we all went downstairs to the kitchen afterwards and waited about an hour so that we knew the kids were fully asleep before we start having drinks. Now, this is where I need to know if what I saw was legit, I am so sure it is what I think. We were all a couple drinks in, I was tippsy, but not *drunk*. Fully functional and aware of my surroundings. I was standing on one side of the kitchen, leaning on the counter when I looked from the kitchen table where the other 3 were sitting (directly in front of me) towards to door to the mudroom (where the staircase to upstairs is). I saw a pitch black 3 foot-ish shadow in the doorway, it was there for about a full 2 seconds before it darted into the mudroom. And by darted, I mean DARTED, it was like a blink, but I never took my eyes off it once I saw it in the doorway. And this wasn't something I saw out of the corner of my eye. I was looking directly at it and saw it move from the doorway, out of view into the mudroom. My first thought is "oops we've been too loud and woken up one of the kids." So, I walked over to the door and look into the mudroom and there is no one there. And this house is old, the stairs would have made one hell of a noise even if one of the kids tried to run up the stairs and down the hall to get back to bed. So, I'm standing there with this odd gut feeling like "this is really weird." I'm standing in the middle of the mudroom looking around and I yell to my roommate in the kitchen "Hey where's the dog." Her parents had this huge black farm dog whose head is at 3 feet tall, but he is an outside only dog. My roommate of course says back to me "he's outside in the barn." That could have been the only real explanation. Something in me told me to turn on my heel and I ran the few steps back into the kitchen and across the room. I was full on freaking out. My friends were asking me what's wrong and I told them exactly what I saw, thinking it was one of the kids, and if it couldn't be the kids or the dog then what the hell was that. I KNOW what I saw, and I looked directly at it. It wasn't a flash, and it wasn't out of the corner of my eye, it was the shape of a small kid and there for a full 2-count. I told them I saw something but I dont know what it was. Before we got to her place for the week, my roommate told us half-jokingly that the grandson of the man who used to live here told her that the place was haunted. My roommate didn't know whether to believe him or not because she had walked in on her little siblings (6f & 4m) talking to "imaginary friends" and one had drawn a black shadow thing and told her that it was this imaginary friend (she told us this after I told her what I saw). We're all freaking out when we start connecting the dots like, oh shit that could have been a ghost. She ends up texting the grandson guy what I saw, and he texts back to us in the morning say he'd seen a shadowy figure just like I'd seen a couple of times growing up around the house and what I saw is probably "Justin." Apparently, his grandfather helped out this single mother with a little boy and girl, giving them a play to stay. Justin was the little boy who lived on the farm and was killed in an accident involving being pulled into a big spinning generator thing (??? i have no idea). We were too spooked to ask follow-up questions, but the grandson was fully like "oh yea I've seen that before, its Justin, I think he's harmless and just checking things out." So, we also ending up thinking he was talking to her younger siblings because he just wanted friends. So, does anyone have any input about ghosts, or could anyone justify what I saw?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Every night something comes by my cabin. [RESPONSE] The noises started about a week ago. I used to think it was just an animal, but now I’m getting a bit more concerned. For some backup information, I live alone out in the countryside in Mississippi where I have an average-sized, cozy cabin that I stay in during the winter when I want to get away from the city. My nearest neighbor, Bill, lives two miles away from my cabin, leaving lots of untouched land in my favor. I am a stay-at-home book editor so I don’t usually need to leave my cabin unless it's to get groceries or occasionally visit friends and family. I live a rather quiet life out here, and I have limited human contact other than through my work laptop and my phone, although the Wifi out here is rather spotty and a bit hard to use. Ever since a week ago, I have been having trouble sleeping. My bedroom is the largest room in the cabin, and the comfiest. The walls are made of dark brown creaky oak wood and the floor is composed of worn down carpet. My desk sits right by a huge window that overlooks the forest and gives me a pretty good view of the front of my house. My bed is placed right beside my desk and a small bathroom and closet face opposite to it. Usually, I would keep the curtains open when I went to bed because I enjoyed the feeling of waking up with the sun shining on me and the birds chirping. Now I am more hesitant about doing that. The night it started, everything was seemingly normal. I had just finished reading over a client’s manuscript at about 12:30 AM, and was shutting my laptop. I stood up, stretching as I had been sitting there for hours on end. I walked over to my nightstand by my bed and placed my phone down and began to head towards the bathroom. It was a small room, barely enough to fit four people, and my hygienic items were all cluttered messily on the bathroom counter beside my sink. Just as I had been reaching for my toothbrush, a small *thump* echoed throughout my cabin. Raising an eyebrow, I looked around. The following seconds consisted of silence excluding the soft rumble of wind on the cabin windows. I shrugged, putting it off and deciding it must’ve been the old bedroom walls as I was used to a lot of random noises coming from them. I turned on the sink to wash my toothbrush, frowning at the murky tap water. The man I bought the cabin from had repeatedly insisted that the water was safe to drink, it just looked odd and that was what all water looked like out here. It still had been quite hard to get used to, as I had always been a bit of a germaphobe. Oddly enough, when I first bought the cabin, the man had also handed me survival gear and a motion sensing camera claiming that it was “just in case”, which had weirded me out quite a lot when I came here for the first time, although I never really thought about it. When I finished brushing my teeth and washing my face, I turned out the bathroom light and headed back towards my bed. The bedroom light had already been turned off so the only source of light was from the bright white crescent moon that was peeking out at me from behind the pine trees. Slipping into bed and pulling my blanket over me, it didn’t take long for me to drift to sleep. A few hours later, I awoke suddenly to that same thumping noise. I wiped my eyes groggily and rolled over to face my nightstand. Still half asleep I turned on my phone to check what time it was. The bright light illuminated my room and shined directly into my eyes, making them water. *Thump.* The noise began again, I hadn’t even realized it had stopped. It was a quite odd pattern, every now and then the sound would begin for a few seconds and then stop for a minute or two. I made out the time on my phone to be 2:47 AM. I sat up in bed, placing my phone back down. I looked sideways to glance out of the window, and was greeted by almost pitch darkness. I could just barely make out the tall figures of the trees. As the thumping noise came to a halt again, I came to the conclusion that it was probably some animal rummaging around the sides of my house. There have been a lot of black bear problems out here since campers have been feeding them and making them more hostile, and we also do have quite a bit of raccoons and deer. Hoping it wasn’t a bear, I rolled back over and placed my pillow on top of my head in an attempt to block out the noise. I believe a few minutes passed again before the sound began again. Yet, this time it seemed to be much louder.. or closer. I sighed and tried to dismiss the noise, annoyed. As the thumping noise continued it seemed to break off from its previous pattern. It would pause for a few seconds and then start again instead of waiting a few minutes. I tried to ignore the sound, wanting to sleep. As a few more minutes went by the sound quieted down and I ended up falling into a restless sleep. That was the first time the noises started. Ever since then, the same thing has happened every single night. I will wake up near 2:30 AM and the noises will get louder and louder until they stop completely. Last night, when I woke up to the noises I began to get a little nervous. Instead of a thumping noise it had been tapping on the window. Whatever it was must’ve been looking in at me. Chills crawled down my spine as I imagined a bear by the window, trying to get in. I had woken up that next morning with a terrible headache which I assumed was from my now constant lack of sleep. Late in the afternoon I had been planning on how to get rid of the noise, I had decided to close the curtains and leave my porch light on. Determined to figure out the source of the sound, I rummaged through the package the cabin’s former owner had given me and fished out the motion sensing camera. I laughed to myself, finding it quite amusing that I had found a use for it after all. I made my way to my front door and headed towards my bedroom window. I hoisted the camera up and attached it to the bottom of the cabin roof and made it so that I had a perfect view of my window and most of my front yard. I headed back into my room and grabbed my phone so I could set it up there so when there was motion I would be alerted. I smiled to myself, glad I had found a way to figure out what had been making the noise. For the rest of the day, I worked at my desk with great ease, feeling like a heavy weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Soon, the sun began to set and the sky was painted beautifully with red, orange and yellow. I made myself a cup of hot tea and sat down in my living room with a book in order to pass the time. I finally felt at peace knowing that I would figure out what this sound is soon and I would stop it and go back to my normal cabin life. The comforting sound of birds singing faded slowly after about 30 minutes of reading and I sat up, bookmarking my page and placing it back on the dresser it sat on. I made sure I left the porch light on and headed towards my bedroom where I got ready for bed and then made my way under my blankets, double checking that my curtains were closed before I went to sleep. *Ding.* I was suddenly shaken awake by a loud notification from my phone. I sat up quickly, reaching for my phone wearily. My eyes adjusted to the sudden bright light after a few seconds and the time, of course, read 2:28 AM and I had one unread notification from the motion camera app I had downloaded earlier before. I hesitantly entered my phone passcode and then began to open the app. As it opened, a faint thumping noise began once again. When the app did open I hurriedly opened the camera, desperate to see what the reason behind my suffering was. I didn’t have much of a reaction at first. Thanks to the porch light, I could make out a figure huddled near the bottom of the cabin, making weird back and forth motions which caused the thumping noise, its small frame resembling a somewhat distorted raccoon. I chuckled quietly, I found it comical that this entire time it had been a mere raccoon tapping on my window. Though I regretted that in an instant. The thing I thought was a raccoon suddenly shot up at what I believe to be my laugh. It definitely wasn’t a raccoon. I gasped and my hand shot to my mouth. A large human-like figure stood by the window. Its entire body looked to be stretched and I could make out the outlines of its bones just by looking closely. Its bones looked to be cramped inside its build, almost as if they were screaming to get out of it. It had matted long hair falling from the back of its head and it was staring intently at my window. My entire body was trembling as it reached up one of what I think were its hands and started tapping. *Tap. Tap. Tap*. I let out a screech and glued my eyes to the camera. I felt as if I looked away for a split second it would get away. Its eyes suddenly darted towards the camera and I stifled a sob of terror when I saw its face. It looked human-like, though its eyes were terribly small and looked like black beads. Its arms looked like they were backwards and every movement it made seemed painful or forced, I couldn’t really make it out. Its lips were twisted in an awful, gut-wrenching smile that seemed to go from one side of its face to the other. It just smiled at me. And smiled. Its expression didn’t change though whatever it was seemed to be twitching. I didn’t know what to do. I was completely frozen in place and my heart hammered in my throat. I was convinced whatever the thing was outside of my window could hear my heartbeat it was so loud. The silence was deafening as it seemed to be staring back at me through the camera. My hands were cold and clammy as I finally let the camera go, trying to calm myself down and deciding that this can’t be real. Almost as soon as I looked away from the camera, the tapping began again. I was sick with fear and tired of just sitting there. “LEAVE!” I shouted as loud as I could, raw panic filling my voice. I was met with silence and I quickly grabbed the camera once again and checked, holding my breath. It was staring intently at the camera still, though its expression looked sad. What I thought were its eyebrows were furrowed down against each other and its grin had turned into a very long frown. Fear throbbed inside me. Again, I shouted at it. Its head lashed to face the window instead of the camera. It shriveled backwards and began to stand on all fours. A strange hissing sound came from my window. It hastily slid off into the forest, its limbs bending and crumpling out of shape in a way that made me feel sick. I could see its head bobbing as it gained more distance and eventually it disappeared from sight. My heart was still pounding and I was sweating like crazy and I checked the time once again. 3:58 AM. The time had gone by so quickly and I hadn’t even realized. I sighed in relief, knowing it wasn’t near my window anymore. Carefully, I slid out of bed and turned my lights on knowing I wasn’t going to sleep again. I opened my laptop and began typing this on an empty sheet because writing about traumatic events had always helped me calm down in the past. But no matter how much I wrote on here, I still felt terrible. Like I’d never recover. I’ve been writing this for about an hour now, and the sun is going to come up pretty soon but it is still very dark out. I really do hope the sun rises soon, though. I haven’t checked the camera once since I saw that thing, and now I’m regretting that decision. Because now I hear something trying to open my front door. And I just remembered I left it unlocked.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Gifts From The Sea [RESPONSE] "Traditions. Our survival, as a species, depends entirely on our collective behavior. Traditions are collections of behavior that time has proven are good for our species survival." Mr. Hisomeru told me before he ate some of the raw seafood between us. I stared at him until my eyes burned. Meg and her mother were still in the bathroom. The whole restaurant seemed to be watching us. I felt like that moment was the crossroad of my life. If I had gotten up and dropped my napkin and left, then nothing would have changed. I realized I could go back to school and leave Meg with her parents, and we would not get married. It would all be over. "You do not approve of me, because I am not like you?" I asked him. I heard myself speaking, unsure how I had the boldness to speak so plainly to him. Perhaps it was the realization that I could walk away or else he would make me walk away. I wasn't going to marry his daughter; Mr. Hisomeru was a powerful man and he had said 'no'. Except he hadn't actually said 'no' yet. I felt like he had, but he hadn't. He had something on his mind. He wanted to confide something deep and dark and horrible in me. He saw me very differently than I thought he did, in that moment, in the restaurant. "Sushi is uncooked fish." He seemed to be ruminating something else while he spoke. I attempted to engage while some caprice of frustration made my choice of words facetious sounding: "Sushi is half-assed and homophobic. The *Red Hot Chili Peppers* say: 'I like the sushi 'cause it's never touched a frying pan' and that's that." I snapped. Mr. Hisomeru slowly raised one eyebrow and sipped his water. He cleared his throat, a satisfied 'ah'. He looked intently at me and spoke: "You remind me of someone I have learned to fear and respect. You are defiant and a little crazy - inspired. An artist - no doubt." Mr. Hisomeru spoke carefully to articulate himself with precision in his third language of English. "And I like you very much. I understand my daughter's passion. I am not angry with you about the pregnancy. I am looking forward to having you for a son, David." Mr. Hisomeru sounded sincere and strangely so, after my little outburst. "Then what is it? What is this?" I gestured at his demeanor, his coldness, his distance. Mr. Hisomeru had calculatedly put me down since we had met an hour earlier and relentlessly observed me, as though he were inspecting me for flaws and finding them in abundance. "I need your help. I have searched for someone like you and my greater quest is at a standstill. I find it ironic that I did not consider the man Meg described as anything but a reflection. Yet here you are: perfect. I do not know what to think or say. I feel embarrassed that I have so much to say to you and I am so impatient to get to know you. I am proud of Meg and I am...I am...I am proud of you." Mr. Hisomeru was not bothered by my insolence. He contradicted himself by telling me that his real feelings were positive. I felt my face go red and hot. I did not know how to take his sudden departure from his formalized degradations. "I misunderstood you." I said quietly to him. "Don't." Mr. Hisomeru said sternly. "I was precisely like you are - when I was a student. I also found myself distracted and my studies halted by finding a woman that I loved as dearly as you love Meg. I also had the same initial goal of finding the last great secret of this world. I also knew where to look. Most of all, you are just like me, you do not know how to apologize." "I was going to marry her despite you." I admitted. "I knew I should go, but I couldn't." "I know." Mr. Hisomeru had a strange, almost imperceptible smile. "You do not know when it is time to give up, you do not realize when you are caught, trapped." "What is your greater quest?" I asked him. "To my business partners I am a happily married fisherman with one child: a grown daughter. I have humbly elevated myself to the owner of a small fleet and a facility where we now attempt to breed captive Pacific eels." "Attempt?" I wondered. "Eels do not breed in captivity?" "Eels do not breed." Mr. Hisomeru stated. "The quest." I realized. "It is an old one. The Holy Grail of Science." "To my son I am King Arthur. A man only really cares about what his son sees in him, not the rest of the world." Mr. Hisomeru's eyes watered slightly. He was being sincere with me. "I feel like I've known you much longer than this dinner." I nodded. "We share a truth, and it is only the first." Mr. Hisomeru made a smile and in that gaze: I saw a glimpse of the horrors to come. The women returned to the table and seemed grave. They had discussed the bleak interaction between me and Dad and decided things were not going well. We (Dad and I) surprised and delighted them when we reached across the table to feed each other a piece of sushi with our chopsticks. Then Mr. Hisomeru ordered the most expensive bottle of wine on the menu and told the waiter that we were celebrating an engagement. I thought about that dinner many times. I thought about how that was the moment when everything changed for me. I had begun a path of destiny, one that would lead to my fate and the discovery of a lifetime. It was a memory of my first step on a path towards ultimate horror. While I sat in Venya Industries fishing fleet administration with my application: I felt strangely nervous. I couldn't speak Japanese or Hindi and I felt like I had no relevant skills or education. I questioned what I was doing there and how I had arrived. I wanted the job, I wanted to join Mr. Hisomeru on his quest, that is all I knew. I knew I loved Meg and that she was even more nervous about my interview. If I didn't get the job, what would I tell her? What would her parents say? "David Whitemoon?" The heavily accented recruiter called me into her office. I looked around, wondering about the size of the international organization. She had my file in front of her and had read it. I waited for her to ask me something but instead she just sat filing her nails. I cleared my throat and stopped waiting when I asked: "Did I get the job?" I asked. "Nepotism is alive and well, Mr. Whitemoon." She looked away from me to gaze at a giant crab claw taxidermied and mounted on a board on her wall. "Jokes aside, what exactly are the qualifications for the job?" I asked. She pondered my English and responded: "You are incomplete of many skills: swimmer, scientist, diver, biologist. Son of important business partner. You have the job. Paid internship for student. That is job I have for you." She didn't look at me. "Details printed out for you. Staying at company apartment. You leave with expedition in three weeks." When she stopped talking and began humming to herself: I got up and took the printout and left. I spent the last of my money on the taxi back to the company apartment. Twelve other employees from Venya and Nippon were already staying there, with room for more. I became acquainted with all of them, although none of them spoke English. While the weeks went on, I studied my classes online and met more sailors and scientists gathered for the expedition. Our vessel, *Miyamoto*, was owned by my future father-in-law. As we all went from the shuttle up the gangplank with our bags, I saw him there: Mr. Hisomeru. I looked at him watching his expedition team boarding. He looked very proud and regal. Later, alone, Mr. Hisomeru told me the most vital details of our mission. Only he and I knew the exact scope of our search. Each of the other team members all knew what they needed to know to do their part and Captain Ishikawa and his crew were competent enough to get us to the expedition site. "You must know we are going after the Atlantic eel, in the Sargasso Sea. The mythology, the facts, these are just the tip of the iceberg. We will find out the truth." Mr. Hisomeru began. "Years ago, there were researchers that tried to watch eels breeding under the sargassum using cages suspended from buoys. If all we had left to do to solve the great mystery is that, then it would have worked. Unfortunately, the cages were all destroyed by something unknown and unseen. Since the beginning this is always what happens, anyone who seeks the secrets of the eel only finds deeper mysteries. Maddening mysteries." "Something is down there." I deducted. "Is there?" Mr. Hisomeru gestured for me to elaborate. "The eels are born there and return there. They do not breed. Somehow, they find their way from fresh water back to the darkness and horror of their birth. What is down there, that is nowhere else?" I thought-out-loud. "Questions I have asked. Consider that the count of mature eels does not change from season to season. How do the eels know when they will arrive, if they all leave from different places and at different times to return home? The seasonal fishing of eels, traditional harvests, only anticipate where and when the eels will migrate. Greatly curious scientists have spent their lives and funding at sea, narrowing it down. Such knowledge is still missing the big picture." Mr. Hisomeru walked slowly to a hand drawn map of the coasts where eels were fished for, colored to match the seasonal fishing and the maturity of the eels in the waters. "We've known for a long time that they return to the Sargasso and never leave." My voice trailed after his, following his thoughts to their conclusion. "And that young eels come from there." Mr. Hisomeru sighed and reverted his thoughts to dismiss what we thought we knew already: "Yet they do not go there and nest in the sargassum and they do not breed. Aristotle thought that eels must spawn from mud, Freud that they are sexless. Svennson wrote that Eel is, for lack of scientific quantification, truly mystical." Mr. Hisomeru looked at me, from his map, over his shoulder. A strange and alien sensation of horror began to rise up inside me as I imagined the shaded sea under the green umbrage full of writhing eels. I knew then what I was expected to do. There was something beneath the mass of knotted serpents that watched them and knew them. Something that lived always in darkness and felt worshipped. A pillar of the oceans, a monster, something beyond what I could imagine, something truly beyond comprehension. I must have looked pale as my mind's eye anticipated the world I would see down there. "If you do not wish to discover it, if you are too afraid..." Mr. Hisomeru turned and looked at me, concern, disappointment and relief all evident on his unmasked expression towards me. "This is what you have chosen me for." I said with my voice trembling. "I chose you?" Mr. Hisomeru denied it with his tone-of-voice. "This is greater than you or I. This quest started thousands of years ago. It is more important than visiting the moon or splitting the atom. The secret, the last secret, is also the first." Mr. Hisomeru sounded like he found Eel to be mystical. "My fears and my wishes are in conflict. I want to see my child born." I realized there was certain danger, even from imaginary sea monsters. "My grandchild will be born into one of two worlds." Mr. Hisomeru spelled it out for me. "This old world or one that the father has made whole." "I see." I agreed. I intended to conquer my fears. I was an expert swimmer, a diver, a student of biology and I was a scientist; I had a job to do. The weather held up during the first four days of the expedition. We collected the buoys set out in the previous weeks by *Vimana* on the company's precursor expedition. The cages under them were all missing or mangled. "The underwater trail cameras show the eels in the light. We uploaded as many pictures to satellite as we could and then we tried to recover the cameras. As you can see by the condition of the cages: the cameras did not survive." Dr. Ryu reported what her team had found. "These images show that the cages were destroyed while the eels were inside. When the cages were badly damaged enough, the eels escaped." "What destroyed the cages?" I asked after there was a pause in the report. It was what everyone was wondering. "Exactly." Dr. Ryu pointed at me and then shrugged. "Who takes it from here?" "Thank you, Dr. Ryu and Team A. Your work will be handed over to my research laboratories at Nippon and also to Venya. We have to keep the investors informed of our progress out here. You all may go back to your cabins; Team B will be briefed independently." Mr. Hisomeru told Dr. Ryu and the rest of Team A. When only Team B remained, he looked at me and the others. "You all have your orders when you go down there. You are there to support Whitemoon, your dive leader. The difficulties of this dive rate it as extremely hazardous, dangerous even. Nobody has attempted this before and if you fail, if we have any casualties, I mean, it will probably be the last. That is why I am going to say that we only have one chance. That is why only Whitemoon will complete the dive. David is the only one among you that I trust with our future." "Sir, may I ask?" Riddin raised his hand. The whole dive team was required to speak English for my benefit and Riddin and Neveah were both Americans, like me. "You may ask, but I doubt I could answer and if I could, I probably wouldn't." Mr. Hisomeru disclaimed. "What do you expect to find down there?" Riddin seemed boyish and jocular as he smirked. "The truth." Mr. Hisomeru said honestly. We prepared for our first and possibly our only dive. I felt like we should be getting prayed over by a chaplain or something, even though I had no beliefs. We all felt nervous and made our preparations in a kind of uneasy silence. Riddin kept telling inappropriate jokes that ended with him asking us "Get it?" until Neveah said to him: "Nobody is laughing except you. Get it?" I inspected everyone's gear and then I said: "It is time." Neveah was to go first into the water, and I was to be next. After her and me the rest of the team followed. They remained in position, filming, holding lights and communicating with *Miyamoto*. I descended into the darkness. The light quickly faded. The chatter became more scrambled. I was approaching my maximum depth and I had never felt so alone and helpless in all my life. Then the silence and the cold and the darkness were absolute. I was in another world. The seafloor was below me somewhere. Down there, beyond my limits, an even darker and more terrifying landscape lay as a wasteland that had never known daylight. Down there something lurked, waited and knew the answers I was there to learn. I could not control my imagination. Fear began to take hold of me as I hovered at my maximum depth, noting that I was surrounded by living creatures, all of them eels. They swam lazily, waiting for something as I did. They knew what we were there for, and I did not. "What am I doing here?" I asked. "Unclear, repeat. Over." Neveah's voice was digitally reconstructed by the communication equipment. She sounded robotic and far away. It only added to the surreal dread I was feeling. The eels seemed to hesitate. It felt like the moment between a flash of lightning and a thunderclap. Then some massive thing I could not identify rose just past me and took them. It was there, taking them, then it was gone, swiftly descending back into the world of night everlasting. "There's something down here." I choked on the words, trying to whisper them quietly. I felt exposed, surrounded and watched. The eels were gone, would I be next? Terror was growing inside of me; I could not say when it began or how it blossomed. I felt the edge of panic and fought it down, knowing that such hysteria would certainly get me killed. Whatever was there should strike if I tried any sudden movement. Even if I escaped and swam back up as fast as I could then the nitrogen in my body could boil and I would die even more horribly. Two of my dive team moved into a closer position, thinking I wanted them to. They shone lights down on me and I gestured to them that I was alright and to hold their position. With the lights on me I somehow felt even more exposed than I did in the darkness. I still couldn't see anything. I moved forward at my depth, slowly, while they followed me from above with the underwater lights. I found another swarm of eels congregating and I watched and waited. "Is the camera getting this?" I pointed. I was trembling in dread and barely able to maintain my composure. I fantasized about being safe at home and holding my newborn. My mind rejected the peaceful anticipation and insisted I was in serious danger. "The cameras are rolling on Whitemoon. Over." Riddin's voice assured me. I checked my diver's watch and sighed. There was no more time to wait as well as the fact that my nerves were gone. I feared the part of me that was doing the job despite the obvious morbidity. I heard the voice saying, in my thoughts: *'Someone I learned to fear and respect'*. I had to begin my gradual ascent. It was when I left my position that the nightmares became reality. At that moment I was trapped, caught, unable to escape. Between two worlds, one of light and one of dark, one that I belonged to and the other my bane, I was held. I did not see what happened to Riddin. There was a camera that he had which would show what happened, if it were ever recovered. Perhaps it will someday wash up on a beach; but judging on the capacity of the thing that took him, that would be unlikely. After we listened to his screams of insane horror in our communications, all of us were pushed over the precipice of fathomless scare. I don't remember what I said, the recording failed to catch my voice. My team opted to take their chances with a rapid ascent. They wanted out of the water. I couldn't blame them. I had reached a level of panic that I could not function within. I had frozen in hesitation, unable to see or know from which direction the greater danger was coming. Should I kill myself with a rapid ascent or feed myself to whatever had gone for Riddin? Like a drunk I blacked out. My mind was gone somewhere else while my internal amphibian gave the commands from the reptile-layer in my brain. While my skull became the bedlam of an insane asylum my body gently hovered, taking calculated steps towards the surface until I was retrieved. I was aboard *Miyamoto* in the sick bay. Only our nurse Yui and Mr. Hisomeru were with me. I blinked and recalled, like the black fog of an evil dream, the sound of Riddin being taken, as his cries explained that the horror was real. "Riddin?" I sounded hoarse. I sat up and cleared my throat. "We have lost Riddin. The mission is over. We had to report his death and now we are done. They are shutting us down." Mr. Hisomeru sounded bitter. "It's down there. We found something. It was huge, taking eels." I told him. He looked up and the spark of King Arthur was in his eyes for just one instant. Then he remembered the quest was at an end. We had failed. "Leave us." Mr. Hisomeru told Yui. She obeyed and silently left us alone. "What is it?" I asked. "I cannot send the team back down there. We only have six hours until we must be underway. Captain Ishikawa insists on honoring our orders." Mr. Hisomeru explained. "That's plenty of time." I heard myself saying. I couldn't believe I was tempted to return to the realm of inescapable night. Then I could feel the crawl on my skin of the nearby lunging thing, taking whole swarms of eels in a bite, or even a diver. "I'm not losing you down there." Mr. Hisomeru objected. "We lose everything, then?" I asked. He sighed and realized I was right. "Let me speak to Captain Ishikawa. I do own this ship, should have some say in our departure schedule." Mr. Hisomeru stood to go. "Get some rest. Yui will have to approve of your condition before you dive." "She isn't a doctor." I noted. "For my own worries, son, for me." He put his hand on my right shoulder before he left me alone. When I was alone in the dark, I was back there, in the dark and all alone, the world above was far away. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine being home. It wasn't easy. Instead, my thoughts reassembled themselves in a dream, a memory, an epiphany. I knew what was down there. I realized: *Everyone does, we just choose to believe that it isn't real*. That is the eels' secret: Eel accepts it. It is their destroyer - their creator. Captain Ishikawa wanted to see me before I dived. He couldn't speak English, so Mr. Hisomeru translated. "He is telling you that he does not want you to go into the water. Losing one man is bad enough, he does not believe you will survive. He says that today he has come to believe in sea monsters." "The real monster we face is not in the water. The real monster is the monster of ignorance." I told him. Mr. Hisomeru translated my words as the captain shook his head and looked at the two of us in comparison before he left us alone. "There is a storm coming. We cannot hold back the weather." Mr. Hisomeru plotted. "Activity down there precedes the violent seas." I hypothesized. "We will find what we are looking for." Mr. Hisomeru anticipated. He agreed that the approach of the weather was fortunate for our efforts, even while it limited them. "I will dive alone, without support. I will have to take the camera and light with me." I understood, with anxiety. Even without the danger the difficulty alone presented potential hazards. "I don't know how I will do it." "I will go." Neveah was there, in the portal. "I don't think so." Mr. Hisomeru told her without looking at her. "Cameras rolling on Whitemoon, get it?" Neveah argued strangely. "Let me finish this." Mr. Hisomeru sighed as he saw the look on my face. "Very well. Be ready to dive in one hour." "I'm ready now." Neveah held herself akimbo. "Let me suit up." I got up, fatigue washing over me briefly, despite the rest I'd had. It was the fear, rooted deeply in me, that took my energy like the creature had taken the eels. "It comes from below. So, we film from below, instead of the strike zone." Neveah added her thoughts. Our eyes widened as we realized she was right. "You are right. We both complete the dive. It is how we will find the Grail." I smiled at her plan. The time it took to get back into the water was spent in morbid illumination. Then we were in the holy black seas, waters filled with living things. "I am afraid." Neveah confessed. "So too am I. Over." I told her. I felt nothing. The fear had become so familiar that it had somehow become a comfort, assuring me I had not met a most horrendous fate. We found a swarm of praying eels as they slowly circled in sacred holding patterns. Together they formed a mouthful for their god. We were filming, waiting while every second seemed eternal. At any moment the strike would happen, instantly and unavoidable. We were beneath the swarm and our light shone upward. I felt safer, outside the buffet line. We were not safe, it was only a good camera angle. The eels slowed, coming together and holding perfectly still. I sensed it in the water beneath us, I felt what they felt. Neveah said "Whitemoon." and then she was gone, or rather, I was. It had come from below and taken me in a single gulp. I was disoriented, engulfed and pressed. I was inside the Grail, as it retracted to the depths that were its home. Something slick was wriggling along the lining inside of it. I took a handful of it and felt a strange push from below. Inspired by the reaction I pushed my hand into the soft interior. Every time I did, I was drawn deeper into it and crushed more. I was able to get my dive knife in my other hand. I cut into the Grail, and I saw light as it launched towards Neveah for a second attack. In a cloud of blood: I was ejected from it, still alive. "You're alive!" Neveah called me, shining her light into the murky crimson. All around me were newborn eels. I still grasped what I had taken from inside. We made our ascent, our horrible fears manifesting as manic laughter. Perhaps something was wrong with our mixture. "Get it?" Neveah kept saying. The weather had begun to menace *Miyamoto*. In the diver's prep room I finally ungrasped my prize. They lay there wriggling on the table while Neveah, Mr. Hisomeru and I stared and smiled like lunatics. Living eels, freshly born. Mr. Hisomeru hugged me and said into my ear quietly, so the monsters could not hear: "While you were down there, I got a call from home. Just a few weeks premature, they will be fine. Twins." "I guess that is two good reasons to marry Meg." I laughed and grinned. "Well, son, it is tradition."<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Friendly Little Hamster [RESPONSE] Alright, look. I’m aware of what people are going to say: *‘If you weren’t looking for trouble, then you shouldn’t have broken into that guys house.’* Let me just address this right off the bat with a simple ‘*Fuck you.*’ You don’t know the kind of life I’ve lived and you don’t know the circumstances that led me here! I’m not gonna fucking tell you either. Firstly, I don’t have to fucking justify myself to you, some asshole reading this on the internet! And secondly, because I don’t want anyone tracking my ass down and arresting me! Yeah. Sorry. You’re not getting my life story here. I’m not even gonna tell you my real name. You can just call me Joe, and all you need to know about me is that I need more money than I’m gonna get from just my 9-5 job, and I’ll do whatever I have to do, to get that money. If sometimes, that means robbing some rich asshole's house, then so be it. Now - I’m not gonna pretend I’m the world's most experienced burglar and I’m no criminal genius either. Every now and then, me and a guy I knew (let’s call him Tim). would run a job on a house that we thought might have some good shit in it. We’d scout the place out, plan the whole operation and when the time was right, we’d make our move. We weren’t really so reckless as to pull a smash and grab. The name of the game here was stealth. I’m not gonna give away all of our secrets here, but I will say that it’s a lot easier than you might think for someone to make a copy of your housekey. *A lot easier.* Saying too much might give me away, but you could probably figure out how to do it with a quick Google search. Anyways, once we had our copy of the key, we’d wait until the homeowners were away on vacation, or if we were really desperate wait until everyone seemed to be in bed. Then we’d just walk in through the front door. I had a truck I always parked out front, and we could just grab whatever was easy to take and be gone within the hour. The lighter and easier to carry something was, the more likely we were to take it. Laptops, phones, video game consoles, shit we could sell for some money. We didn’t usually take anything that big, like televisions or shit like that. Just small shit we could easily carry. We only ever went upstairs if we knew the house was empty, but the houses where we could do that usually netted us a bigger payday. Jewelry, cash, watches. A few times, we even found some of those fireproof safes, people tend to keep their valuables in. I always thought that it wasn’t very safe if I could just pick it up and walk off with it, but what the fuck did I know? It was hit and miss as to whether there was anything actually important in those safes or not. Usually it was just crap like passports, birth certificates, and shit like that. I actually did have a few buyers interested in those things, and I never asked too many questions about what they did with them, but they didn’t net me that much money. Anyways, I’m getting off topic… I’m not here to talk about my little side hustle. I’m here to talk about the recent job. See, I’ve been doing this for a few years now. I’ve had some jobs go bad. That’s normal. People wake up. Neighbors come to investigate. The police get called. I’ve had some close calls. But I’ve never had anything like this happen before. What happened the other night… That shit *scared me*. Not in the same way a close call does. This was something else. Something truly and deeply fucked up. And it all happened because Tim found a fucking hamster. We’d been watching this house for the better part of two weeks now. We knew the owner, some middle aged lady, was going on a vacation. We knew that we’d have a three day window to hit that house. We knew she had pets and we waited until someone came to feed them. Once they’d left, we made our move. I had a key to the house, so as per usual we just walked in through the front door. Now, the moment we walked in, I got a slight scare when I heard this voice saying: *“Hello!”* although that fear quickly went away when I noticed the gray parrot, caged in the living room. It just sorta bobbed and made some noises, occasionally saying: *“Hello.”* But that was it. I also noticed a couple of bowls of cat food in the kitchen but didn’t ever actually see the cat. After taking a moment to orient ourselves with the house, me and Tim set to clearing it out. On the main floor, we found a couple of laptops, a tablet computer, and some other goodies. Tim had eventually taken off to explore the office while I’d gone upstairs to check the bedroom. I’d been in the middle of clearing out this ladys jewelry, and checking her bedside table for any goodies when Tim interrupted me. It’s best to always check any drawer you see. Bedside tables especially. They can be a little… Well. That’s where people usually store their sex toys, and it’s always a little awkward finding one of those. One lady had $500 in cash stored in the same shoebox she kept her toys in. Not sure if she thought it would deter someone like me or not, but I took the money anyways. But the bedside table drawers of the lady who owned this house were fairly empty. She had some extra masks for a CPAP machine and that was about it. Anyways… Where was I? Right… Tim. He came in, with something in his hands and big, goo goo eyes that weren’t that out of place on him. One thing I’ve got to say about Tim is that he’s a big fucking softie… This is a guy who tries to pet the dogs who bark at us when we rob a place. He fucking loves animals. So I wasn’t that surprised to find him holding one. What he was carrying in his hands was a tiny, fluffy white hamster. Like, this thing was literally just a ball of fluff with a tiny hamster face on it, and Tim was cradling this thing like it was his own goddamn child. “Joe, take a look! Found this little one in the living room!” He’d said, “Looks like she got out!” “Alright, and?” I asked, “You wanna take it with you?” “Nah, I’m gonna put it back.” He said, “You see a cage anywhere?” I just sighed and rolled my eyes at him. “Tim, I’m up-fucking stairs. You found the hamster on the main floor. What, did you think the hamster climbed down the goddamn stairs?” “She might’ve.” Tim said, sounding all indignant, “Come on… You’re not gonna tell me you don’t find her a little bit cute?” “It’s a giant mouse. No. It’s not cute. It’s probably full of disease or something.” I said. “Joe… Come on. Look at its face.” “Tim, I’m busy.” “Look at its face, Joe.” “For Christ's sake, Tim I-” “Look at its face.” I sighed and looked over. Tim had been slowly bringing the hamster closer to me, and I looked into its black, beady little eyes as it regarded me with that one dopey expression all hamsters have. “It’s very cute, Tim.” I said, “Now put it down.” “In a minute… Gotta find its home. Make sure it can’t get back out.” He said, before turning to take it back downstairs. I was done with the bedroom, so I just sighed and followed him. Tim was holding the hamster close to his chest and petting it, cooing at it all the while as he took it back downstairs. “Aww, you’re a sweetie, aren’t you? Yes you are! You’re such a friendly little hamster, yes you are!” He wandered off towards the kitchen, while I went in the other direction towards what looked to be the office. There was some docking equipment and shit that must’ve gone with one of the laptops we took, and a large wooden desk that looked like it was probably full of goodies. One wall was dominated with bookshelves, and the other one was dominated by something that sort of resembled a large glass terrarium. It rested on the floor, but stood about 4 feet high. It was mostly filled with what looked like paper bedding, and had a fuckton of little logs to hide in and other shit. There was a hamster wheel against one side of it. The top was covered in hardware cloth, although looking at it closely, it looked like something had chewed through it. The whole thing also had something of a faint stink to it… And I got the feeling that this was where the hamster had lived up until recently. “Hey Tim!” I called, “Found your hamsters house.” He came into the office, while I started poking through the desk drawers. “Damn… That’s a big house.” He’d said, then cooed to the hamster:“Why would you ever wanna leave a place like this, huh?” “Thought they just needed like, a little plastic dollhouse or something,” I said, as I picked through the drawers. “Nah. Those things are cruel. The bigger the cage, the better.” Tim said. I looked back and could see him looking at the spot where the hamster had chewed through the hardware cloth. “Jesus… This little one’s got some chompers… Didn’t think rodents could chew through that…” “Well, this one did.” I said, “You putting it back or what? I could use a hand here!” “You gonna help me?” Tim asked, “My hands are kinda full here.” I looked over to see him cradling the fucking hamster like a baby, and he kicked at the lid of the cage. He was right. It looked like he’d need both hands to open it. I put raiding the desk on hold while I lifted up the lid of the hamster cage. “Christ… This thing stinks…” I murmured, “Does this lady ever clean up after this fucking thing?” “You’re supposed to clean it every few days.” Tim said. “Yeah, well she didn’t.” I said, “Come on, just put the fucking thing back, and let’s get a move on!” “Yeah, yeah. I will.” He murmured, before holding up the hamster to his face, “I’m gonna say goodbye for now, little one. But you be good, alright? Gonna fix up your cage so you can’t get out again and get hurt! Yes I will! Do you want a little kissy? Yes you do! Yes you do!” “Could you not kiss the stranger's hamster?” I sighed. Tim ignored me and went in to give the fucking hamster a kiss on the back… And this was where everything went horribly wrong. Up until then, the hamster had just sorta sat patiently in his hands. I’d noticed it trying to climb up his arm a few times, but he’d always moved it back to his hand. But the moment he brought it close to his lips, the goddamn thing lunged at him. It didn’t go for his mouth. It went for his throat… And the next thing I knew, Tim was screaming. *“JESUS FUCK!”* I watched him stumble back a step, clawing at the hamster as it chewed at his throat. But he didn’t seem to be able to get it off of him. *“JOE, GET IT THE FUCK OFF! JOE!”* Suddenly all the love he’d had for this oversized rat was gone. He was slapping at it hard enough that he should’ve killed the damn thing, but it just kept biting him. He collapsed to the ground as I ran to try and pull it off of him. The fucking hamster just squirmed out of my grasp, and the blood now gushing from Tim’s neck made it all the harder to grab it. *“Joe… Joe… Joe!”* Tim sounded *scared*, genuinely fucking *scared*… And you wanna know something? I was fucking scared too! I watched as that hamster seemed to wiggle past the gushing blood that now flowed from his throat… I heard Tim choke and gasp as it seemed to… Christ… As it seemed to worm its way through the hole it had torn in his throat… And make its way deeper into his neck… Christ… If I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes, I never would have thought it possible… Tim kept trying to grab at it. But by that point, all I saw was a little tuft of fur sticking out of his wound and even that was gone within a few moments. His throat bulged outwards, his body jerked and convulsed as his eyes bulged out of his skull. His mouth hung open in a silent scream as he twitched. I knew there was no saving him… I took a step back from my dying friend, trying to make sense of whatever the fuck I had just seen, and as I did my eyes shifted over to the terrarium. Tim had kicked it with his dying thrashes, and he’d kicked it hard enough to cause some of the bedding to shift. I could see what looked like black, rotting fingertips sticking out of the hamster bedding. Human fingertips, in case that wasn’t fucking clear… I stared at the terrarium, unsure just what the hell to say as it occurred to me for the first time that it was probably long enough, and deep enough to keep a human body in there… Tim twitched and rasped as he struggled to breathe. His throat still bulged outwards. His eyes were fixated on me, silently begging me for help. But he was past saving. I did the only thing I could do, and I fucking ran. I left Tim, I left the contents of the office. I just took what I already had and got the hell out of that house. I didn’t dare look back. I never heard anything about the break in or Tim’s death on the news. I’m not sure if I just missed it, or if they just didn’t report it… I haven’t slept much lately. Every time I try, I dream about Tim, writhing on the fucking floor as that ‘friendly little hamster’ eats its way into his throat. And I dream about seeing that terrarium again, and seeing Tim underneath all that bedding, rotting with holes in his body, where the hamster has made its nest… Jesus… Needless to say, I’m pretty sure that I’m done with burglary. I sold the shit I took from that house as quickly as I could, just to get rid of it. Sure, maybe I could’ve learned something about what the fuck had happened if I had the patience to get somebody to crack those laptops for me, but to be completely honest, I don’t think I want to know. I’m already paranoid enough about this fucking lady somehow tracking me down and finding me… I don’t need anything else to be afraid of.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Jenny Two Pennies [RESPONSE] Previous story: Don’t play Jenny Two Pennies. Marcy and I did, and now she’s dead. And I’m being haunted by the ghost of a cheerleader named Jenny, and she’s awful. She insults me, my clothes, weight, haircut, room decor, everything. She wants me to acknowledge her. That’s her schtick. She can’t do anything unless I look at or talk to her. She’s stuck haunting me, and she’s a raging B about it. It’s been a week since Marcy died, right after homecoming. Every year we crash at each other’s house after the football game, then spend Saturday preparing for the dance. This was our thing, and this year it was Marcy’s turn to host. I preferred her place since she had a bigger TV, plus her dad was a fellow licorice fiend and always kept a tub on hand that I’d raid late at night. I know I have a problem. But lately, she’d gotten into weird stuff. Ghosts, UFOs, hocus pocus. It wasn’t my scene, but I’mwasn’t a supportive friend. Besides, Marcy kinda went off the deep end when her brother Blair disappeared from his school. He was into weird stuff, too. He kept stacks of notebooks filled with stories about how weird our town is, which is how Marcy learned of Jenny Two Pennies. According to Blair’s notebooks, Jenny was a cheerleader who loved to gossip, and one day, in science class, she got too involved in her whisper campaign and stopped paying attention to what she was doing, and melted her face off. Bunsen burners are a menace. Now she’s a goopy-faced ghost with a habit of eavesdropping. The coppery glow of the bunsen burner, forever reflected in her sunken eyes, barely visible beneath her swollen flesh — that’s the Two Pennies part. I guess that adds a little flair. I mean, Two Pennies is better than Pizza Shit Face, or Jenny the Crispy Cheerleader. You can’t hear her, but she’s screaming obscenities at the back of my head. She’s sensitive about her nickname. Anyway, if you summon Jenny, she’ll answer whatever question you ask. That’s her gimmick, and Marcy figured this was her best shot to learn what happened to her brother, so I don’t blame her. However, I might have reconsidered had I known the price for breaking the rules of Jenny’s invocation. After the football game, we went to Marcy’s house, which I assumed meant a night of merriment, so I brought my DVD of the American classic *Romy and Michelle’s High School Reunion*. Great movie. Phenomenal. I recommend. We didn’t get to watch it, and Marcy never will because she’s dead. Another of Jenny Fondue Face’s crimes against humanity. Instead, we stood in Marcy’s bathroom facing the mirror with the lights off and a lit candle. Now, I’m about to explain the rules to summon Jenny Two Pennies — for educational reasons. Like a *More You Know* type thing. An interesting fact, but you’ll never use the knowledge. **HOW TO PLAY JENNY TWO PENNIES:** Stand in the bathroom with the lights out, light a candle and say, “Jenny Two Pennies, Jenny Two Pennies — insert question here.” Then set your timer for five minutes, and stare into the eyes of your reflection. If you do it right and keep eye contact with your reflection, your face will look weird, like seriously messed up. It’s gross, but don’t look away. Don’t break eye contact, smile, frown, or even twitch your lip, or Jenny will latch onto you and haunt your ass, and you don’t want that. You must last the full five minutes. We did not. Instead, the moment our reflection changed, we screamed. We screamed so loud; I’m sure they heard us two counties over and ran out of the bathroom. I couldn’t pee until it was light outside. My bladder still hasn’t recovered. Nothing happened, and by morning, we were laughing about the whole thing. It wasn’t until the dance that we realized our situation was serious. They held the Homecoming dance in our school’s cafeteria. A circular commons area bordered by lockers and vending machines on one side and massive floor-to-ceiling windows that look out onto the courtyard. We were having fun. Marcy and I looked extra cute in our outfits, our ghostly adventure the farthest thing from my mind until the second song, when Marcy started screaming. Like song stopping, everyone turns to look at you type screaming. Hysterics. I rushed her outside to the courtyard. It was October and the night air was colder than I expected. The mini skirt was a poor choice. “I saw her. In the window’s reflection. I saw her,” Marcy said. I wasn’t following, “Who?” “Jenny. She was standing behind me.” “What?” “Standing behind me, cheerleader outfit and everything. I saw her face. It was all messed up.” “You didn’t see nothing. It’s dark, and everyone’s cramped together and jumping around. Your mind’s playing tricks on you. Hell, Marcy, that dumb game scared you this bad?” She leaned in and looked me in the eye. “I’m telling you, I saw her. Sure as shit, I saw her.” Y’know that wide-eye, tiny-pupil look some crazy people have? Like, runaway bride crazy, or drive cross-country in a diaper to surprise marry an astronaut crazy? Marcy had that look. I’m a high schooler, nowhere near capable of dealing with that. I didn’t know how to respond, so I shrugged, “Ok.” “Ok?” “Well, you saw a ghost. That’s cool, I guess.” “No, you don’t understand. We messed up, and now she’s haunting us. Now she’ll kill us if we look or talk to her. It said so in Blair’s notebook, an — oh God, I looked right into her eyes.” Marcy leaned into my shoulder and sobbed. Not going to lie; this messed me up a little. I tried to reassure her, but I’m not the best at comforting people or people-ing in general. I flat-out suck at it. “We should go home,” I said and got up, but Marcy stopped me. “I can’t be alone tonight.” “Ok, I’ll get the car.” The car ride home was quiet. Marcy mentally checked out and spent the drive looking at her feet, refusing to make eye contact with any reflective surfaces. On the drive home, I caught the vague shape of a girl in what might have been a yellow and blue cheerleading uniform on the side of the road. I wasn’t sure and was too afraid to check my rearview mirror. Marcy’s paranoia was infectious. Her parent’s car sat in the driveway, so I parked next to the curb and helped Marcy out of the car, leading her across the lawn to the front door. She fumbled with the keys and let us inside. The house was dark, and the sound of her parents, probably her dad, softly snoring echoed behind their bedroom door. “Your parents have the right idea,” I said and led Marcy, still looking at her feet, to her bedroom, sitting with her until she fell asleep, which, thank God, didn’t take long. I was starving and raided the fridge for any remaining pizza. The slice of pizza sizzled in the toaster oven, and I thought about the junk Marcy said at the dance, the cheerleader I thought I saw, and considered the possibility Jenny Two Pennies was after us. The house was quiet, and my senses heightened from spooky thoughts, so I immediately noticed the sounds of what I thought were footsteps coming from the hall. I looked down the hallway. As Marcy’s door closed, I glimpsed the back of someone dressed in a blue and yellow outfit. The door clicked shut, and Marcy screamed. I ran to her bedroom and tried the handle. The door opened, then slammed shut, throwing me backward. Her parents were awake now, joining me in the hallway and helping me to my feet. Her mom and dad tried to force their way into her room. Their voices mixed with the sounds of a struggle, things breaking, and a strange girl’s voice yelling obscenities from inside her room. The door shook as something heavy struck it. Marcy’s screams of pain rose above it all. Then it stopped. The door opened. Her mattress and bedframe slumped against the wall. The closet doors were open, with her clothes strewn across the floor. Splashes of what looked like black paint decorated her wall like a Pollock painting. Marcy lay in the middle of the room with her back bent the wrong way across the dresser and her broken legs resembling a W. Her head was upside down and propped up by an open drawer. That was a week ago. Since then, Little Miss Sludge Face has been trying to trick me into looking at her. Sucks for her. I’m the queen of ignoring people. I think she’s getting desperate, though. On my last visit to Marcy’s parent’s house, I snuck Blair’s notebooks out of Marcy’s room, and for a middle schooler, the kid kept detailed notes. Once I’m done dealing with Jenny, I’ve got a whole town’s worth of ghosts to exorcise. I’ll make sure no one else suffers like Marcy did.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] You should never enter a maze during a full moon [RESPONSE] This happened last year and I am still suffering the consequences of what happened. People in my hometown are always giving me odd looks and refuse to speak to me. Even my own parents have been treating me differently. My friends and I were the sort of teenagers who would do stupid stuff and not care if we got in trouble afterwards. We used to steal alcohol from my father's fridge and then sit outside drinking away. My father never commented on the missing alcohol so I assumed he never noticed or just didn't care. We were all sitting there drinking away when someone casually mentioned the old maze that had been abandoned by its owners years ago. I could see a weird gleam in my boyfriend's eyes as he stood up and dared us all to complete the maze. Everyone quickly agreed as it sounded like something fun to do on a Sunday night. We agreed to leave our phones as some of our parents had put tracking apps on them to keep an eye on us. We walked the short distance to the maze while laughing and joking away. We stood outside the maze and the moonlight made the entrance look like a giant maw waiting to consume us. My brain was screaming at me to turn and run away but the alcohol in my system was telling me to go inside. Unfortunately for me and my friends the alcohol won the argument. We walked inside while taking swigs of our drinks. I gazed back at the entrance as we turned the first corner and had a premonition that most of us wouldn't leave here alive. We started making twists and turns and I quickly began disoriented as we kept reaching dead ends. The atmosphere in the group had changed as we were all getting a little annoyed at how badly we were doing. The only light available was from the moon as none of us had thought to bring any torches with us. We tried to force our way between the walls of the maze but it was impossible due to how close together the branches were. I gazed back at the way we had just come and let out a scream as two yellow eyes were peering at me from around the corner. I could see very little else about whatever was standing there, but the eyes seemed to be burning into my skull. My scream alerted the others and we began to clump together out of fear. My boyfriend took a long swig of his drink and then began marching towards the eyes with a cocky swagger in his step. He had just reached the corner when the moon went behind some clouds and we were left in utter darkness. I thought about reaching for the lighter I had in my pocket but knew the moon should be back within a few seconds. Someone else's hand latched onto mine and I squeezed their hand in comfort. The moon reappeared and I breathed a sigh of relief as my boyfriend began making his way back to us with the same drunken swagger. I rushed forward and gave him a hug and began chastising him for doing something so stupid. I felt a cold liquid against my flesh and was instantly annoyed as I assumed that he had gotten sick on himself. I quickly disengaged from him and felt my blood run cold as I got a proper look at him. His eye sockets now lay empty and I could see scarring on the sides as if someone had reached in and then ripped out his eyes. His throat was slashed to pieces and blood was flowing down his clothes. He opened his mouth to say something and a spray of blood splashed across my face. His body then collapsed to the ground and lay deathly still. We all stood there frozen in shock for a couple of seconds as we tried to comprehend what we had just witnessed. We heard two popping noises coming from behind us, and I was convinced they were the sounds of whatever was in here with us, eating my boyfriend's eyes. One of the girls let out a shriek and everyone just started running in the opposite direction. We bumped into each other numerous times in our desperate attempt to escape. One of the girls was knocked to the ground and was trampled as we ran past her. I heard the unmistakable sound of a bone snapping as one of the guys unintentionally smashed their foot down on her leg. I moved along a short distance and realised I couldn't leave her behind like that. I carefully made my way back while peering around each corner to make sure I wouldn't bump into something sinister. I spotted her lying unmoving in a pile of shadows and began calling her name but she didn't answer. I could see her body moving and crept towards her while looking out for whatever killed my boyfriend. She was letting out an occasional whimper so I knew she was alive. I was less than a meter away from her, when what I had assumed were shadows began to solidify. The eyes seemed to taunt me as it reached across and tore into her face. It picked up what it had torn off and then threw it in the air and then caught it into its mouth. I began to back away and it matched me step for step. The only part of its body that I could properly see were its eyes as the rest of the body was still clouded in shadows. I almost screamed as I backed up into the wall of the maze and quickly peered to both sides. The left side led to a dead end while the right led down a long passageway. I sprinted down the right passageway as fast as I could. I reached the end and turned left and ran into the rest of my friends who were standing there. I ended up flat on the ground on top of one of them as neither of us had time to move out of the way. I didn't have time to apologise when I was hauled to my feet and dragged backwards. I swung my elbow and felt ecstatic as it connected with someone. I then managed to get out of their grasp and swung them over my shoulder. I was pleased with myself until I saw my friend Mark stagger to his feet with blood pouring from the nose that I had just broken. His face looked confused for a few seconds as shadows surrounded his head. I will always remember the sickening crunch as his skull was crushed beyond recognition. The shadows then began lashing out in all directions and I was soon surrounded by dismembered body parts. The eyes reappeared in front of me and it felt like they were willing me to run away. It picked up one of the arms and then began to swing it from side as if it was waving at me. I didn't even think twice about it and began running as fast as I could. I almost jumped for joy when I saw a sign ahead pointing towards the left saying exit. I rushed around the corner at full sprint and ran into the wall of the maze. I spun around to discover that the exit was in the opposite direction. The eyes now stood between me and freedom. The shadows around it began to thicken and I could see that it was smiling at me. I waited to see what it would do but it seemed content to wait for me to make the first move. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my lighter. Its smile got even bigger as it saw me flick the lighter on. I placed the lighter against the wall of the maze and watched the flame quickly begin to spread. Within moments the entire wall was aflame and I could see its eyes darting from side to side as it tried to decide what to do. The hairs on my arms were beginning to burn as the heat was suffocating. I tried to take some deep breaths but ended up inhaling smoke and started having a choking fit. I knew I only had one chance to escape and ran straight ahead. I caught it by surprise as it lashed out at me and managed to tear off the skin off my arm. I reached the exit and stumbled outside before collapsing unconscious on the ground. I was discovered lying like this when the fire trucks arrived. I tried to explain what had happened but no one believed me. Everyone thinks that I killed my friends and then burned the maze down to cover my tracks. Every night I see a pair of yellow eyes looking in my window and know that it hasn't forgotten about me.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Followed home on a dimly lit street by a shadow [RESPONSE] I haven’t posted here yet, i have a few stories i could tell but this one from a couple weeks ago takes the cake for most recent. I live next to a busy bar/ clubby street. Outside of that its a pretty quiet town. It almost goes from loud and fun and diners to quiet neighborhoods pretty quickly. My friend was walking me partially home after a couple drinks, he lives in all of that madness and I prefer the outskirts. There was a shortcut to walking back to my house which was about a 12 minute walk down the road from one of the bars and through a quiet street. As he was walking me down to that street, I had a weird feeling to look behind me, my instincts have usually always been sharp and I see a man with a strong limp down the ways. Mind you at this point were a ways behind a couple of the bars and its very dark the only light coming from the street lights off of the main drive. I couldnt make out what this man looked like? The lights behind him creating just a shadow silhouette. We walked further down to the back street i was going to follow home and he just said be careful text me when you’re home to which i said ok. I stopped and turned around after a second and saw my friend walk right past this man who stopped and stared him dead in the face the entire time. I thought that was odd… the man then turned back towards me and started limping my way… I decided to go an extra street down assuming this man cant possibly be walking that far, but the further from the drive i got.. the darker it got. Mind you it was 1am so these streets were quiet as could be. The street lights seemed so far apart but with how dark it was they barely lit up the street at all. I turned and began walking down one of the streets. I made it alittle ways down, a couple houses on either side of the street but none with their lights on. Quiet as a mouse. I looked back behind me and saw the limping man about to walk past the street i was on but then He makes a full stop, his silhouette still just a dark shadow with baggy jeans and a loose jacket that seems to have only one sleeve. I cant see any facial features, but i saw his head turn. He was looking at me as i stood under a streetlight. A chill ran up my spine as he began limping towards me. I turned and began walking, quickly. It was a very long ways to reach the end. After about 15 seconds i turned and looked behind me. I couldnt see him… maybe he lived at one of the houses i thought for a second. But about 3 street lights down from me if you really focused you could see him just on the outside of the light. It was so dark i could barely see the outline of his body he stopped and was looking at me. Maybe hoping i didnt see him. I turned and began walking. Surely with his limp im faster i told myself. Every now and again id turn and make sure he was far behind, but again i could only see him when he stepped in the light it was simply that dark. So sometimes i wouldnt see him. Until… I did, he was somehow closer now he was about 2 lights down from me. So i ran down some now about 3/4 down the street. I turned behind me and saw him limping but not as far as he should of been, i kept trying to focus on him and see any part of his features but I couldn’t its like he didnt have any. Not even under the streetlights… I went back to walking and as i walked id turn and make sure he was still a ways behind me… but he was gaining ground somehow… then i realized… when he wasn’t under the streetlights… this man was running. He was faking a limp for when i turned around. I froze for a second… he disappeared from under the light and as soon as he was enveloped in the dark u could hear it… the sound of his feet running. I turned and ran as fast as i could. To the right was another quiet street that lead to my house and to the left was the long way but it was the main streets. I ran to the main street down the road. I turned and saw him at the end of the street we were on… he was barely in the light of the main street i was near. We looked at eachother and he turned around and just vanished. The strangest part is my friend is a very particular person who would of remembered some strange man staring him down as he walked past but when i told him that man he passed followed me home he proceeded to ask “what man?” He didn’t have any recollection of him. Then it hit me that maybe he didn’t notice him because he didn’t see him? Just weird…<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The day my daughter decided to kill her sister [RESPONSE] My name is sara and ive been married with josh for 5 years. We have twins, mara and lily, they are only 4 years Since they were born the doctors said that one of them may experiment some mental problems, but nothing so bad that we would need to look for professional help until they were old enought to see it We never knew wich one of them was the one that was supposed to have proplems so we treat them both the same A week ago mara started to have this kind of rage attaks were she hurted us or her sister, usually screaming or punching us. We decided to take her to the doctor to see what was happening. They ran some tests on her but everything came up normal. We forgot it and continued with our lives till one day the school called and told us that mara had started a fight and a kid ended up going to the hospital because he fell on his head When josh and i got to the school they took us to the principals office and we saw our daughter sat on a chair. It wasn’t mara, it was lily. You know, when you have twins you learn to tell them apart but people usually confuse them I tell the director that it was lily the one sitting in his office and he looked at her and then said “Oh, im sorry, she havent said a word so i just assumed that she was mara for the recent problem” I didn’tlike how he just assumed who she was but i let it go. We talked to the principal and then went to the hospital to talk to the other child’s mom Whe accorded that we would pay the hospital bill if they didnt press charges and then left to go home with our two daughters When we arrived we talked to lily about what happened and she said that she didn’t mean to send that kid to the hospital, they were just playing when he did something she didn’t like and she pushed him and he fell Whe believed her but told to be more careful with others. We went to see mara but she was asleep so we went to sleep I woke to screams in lilys room “Mara what are you doing” “I cant let you say what happened today, you have to die” Hmmmm what? I woke josh and we both went to lilys room and saw that mara was sitting on lily and had a knife in hand “Mara! What are you doing” “Mom, im just playing” I took the knife from her and asked her to go wait on her room. When she left with josh i asked lily “What just happened” “I don’t know, she came here and told me that she was going to kill me” I told her that she was being ridiculous, they were sisters, why would she try to kill her? I told lily to go back to sleep and went to talk to mara “Why did you have a knife?” “I forgot to take it back to the kitchen and lily found it and told me she was going to tell you so you would punish me so i said I couldn’t let her and maybe said something about killing her but i was joking,mom, I swear” Oh god, this girls were going to kill me. I said good bye and also told her to go back to sleep. When josh and i were on our room he said “I dont know honey, there is something wrong with mara” “I know we’ll take her to the doctor tomorrow morning” “Good, now lets sleep, its 2 am” When i woke up i was going to wake up mara to take her to the doctor but when i got to her room i saw the most terrible thing i have ever seen She had a knife in her chest, i screamed and called josh and when he appeared on the door way he was pale, he hugged me and called the police. Lily was in shock, she didnt say a word while the police looked for some clues of what had happenes I spent 3 weeks in bed, i didnt eat, didn’t shower or eat enough. One day i decided i needed to be strong for my other daugher so i went to her room to talk to her I found a knife under her bed, i also found her diary and decided i wanted to take a look, just to see how was she after her sisters death There was a page with her sisters death date, it said “I cant let mara say the truth and i dont trust her anymore, i think is time to make something permanent” I was stunned, it seemed like my daughter killed her sister. I went looking for josh and when i got to him i showed him the diary and he told me we needed to talk to lily before making conclusions What happened next made me sick<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My Killer Funko Collection, No really, I Mean it. [RESPONSE] Two years back I was sitting in my apartment alone and slowly going stir crazy with boredom. Then true insanity hit as one day my eyes rested on this small piece of plastic that’s been sitting on my desk for years. . I don’t know how it happened. It’s like I blinked and suddenly that one funko figure became an entire shelf, then a small bookcase and now, somehow, I ended up with a collection that can double as wallpaper that covers every inch and possibly half the passageway outside as well. Hell I even kept track of my “investment” watching the prices of some soar while others dropped like lead, it always gave me such a rush to order the new flavor of the month or go hunting through yard sales and clearances for hidden treasures. . That’s where I found *it*. Towering over everything else and dominating the table was an eighteen inch, green haired with a yellow toothed smile, was a MEGA pop Joker. You know how you never make a beeline to the thing you really want in a yard sale, dance around it a bit before off handedly asking about the thing so as to get a better deal? Yeah…. No, I practically threw my wallet at the guy to get it. Waved away the warning of “Don’t take him out of the box unless he’s the only figure in the room! Don’t leave him there with others like him.” As I rushed home to decide where to place him and if I needed to change the décor to highlight my new treasure. . I’ll be honest, as a collector I am a bit of a snob. Just a little, I do like nice things and when I see something going up in price or given “grail” status I start liking it more. Which is why my new treasure puzzled me, I couldn’t find it on the official app or any reference to it anywhere on-line. I took some pictures to ask on reddit but somehow messed up and they ended up blurry. Not a surprise since my phone was getting on and almost every recent funko picture I took turned out a bit blurry, like those old photos of something moving too fast for the camera to catch. Yeah, yeah, I know, my phone is a potato but whatever. After some research I came to the only possible conclusion. It’s a fake, it looked real and everything but was a knockoff to dupe idiots like me. After that I thought, whatever, he’s worthless, took him out of the box and placed him in the far corner of the room. He can be my clothes hanger or something. . From that day things started to change. The figures out of the boxes were toppled over or moved around, then there were figures I didn’t remember taking out of the box just standing there as if caught in the act. Sometimes I would eye the huge Joker and think he moved just a little closer when I wasn’t looking. All imagination of course, probably guilt about my own snobbery. So, from time to time, I’d give him a little head pat and assure him that it didn’t matter, he was still impressive and I was glad to have something so unique guarding my apartment. . More and more of my collection was out of box now, seems a shame to spend so much money on something and then not enjoy it but… I don’t remember taking some of these out. I discussed this with one of my co-workers when I noticed some older funkos decorating his desk. Then our talk went more in-depth into our hobby and I discovered he targeted the rare figures, the ones that went for hundreds and sometimes thousands. I had a few on the lower tier of rare so invited him over to show off my collection. . People think that if you own a lot of something you wouldn’t miss one or two. It’s actually the other way around, someone with four hundred figures is more likely to notice one of their carefully arranged collection pieces missing than someone that has four figures collecting dust in a corner unseen for years. . The Funkos descended on the thief with pins and needles, before I could even say or do anything the final blow was dealt and the Jokers frozen smile was splattered with blood. . I finally figured out what happened to that kitchen knife that went missing a few weeks back, the same day I had a change of heart and started complementing my new Funko guardian…<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Means of sustenance [RESPONSE] I've ceased to be a human being. I'm nothing more than sustenance to this accursed piece of wood. Resistance is futile, as it keeps me in sturdy shackles of obedience through its nefarious ways. I serve myself to it about three times a day, sometimes more. You can tell it is hungry by the sound of hissing and growling that envelops the entire flat. If you fail to acknowledge it, it will see it fit that your closet doors open and all of its entrails fly off in various directions. It will somehow stuff your sink with dead, mangled rats. It will only let you outside for an hour or two a day, and do not even think about escaping. You will pass out and find yourself back home. Try to warn other people about your ordeal? They will not even acknowledge you. If you were to record the conversation and play it again, you’d find out that you were merely complaining about the weather, or economy, or fucking politics. It will not leave you alone. It won’t rest until you feed it. That fucking whore set me up good, didn’t she? Even then, the only reason I am able to send this message out is because of her advice. Doubt besets me and I do not think that this will do me any good, but I am hell bent on revealing this nightmare in its entirety. That unfortunate text message that played on my curiosity and trapped me in this limbo arrived two months ago, give or take. I could fetch my phone and transcribe it here, yet it is unnecessary, as it is already chiseled in my mind. *“Help me. Please, I don’t have anyone else to turn to. Come visit as soon as you read this. It’s gonna wake up soon.”* It was precisely that last sentence that intrigued me. For as long as I knew Delilah she was always direct and concise. This message was not at all like her, and I knew it was something serious if she was contacting me, because both of us were closed chapters to each other. The car ride to her house was silent and idyllic, the radio was on and I was humming along to the tunes. I wish I found more enjoyment in these last serene moments before I was ensnared. Before I even parked my car in front of her house, the scent of uncanniness spread around me. Trash was littered all across her front porch, the grass was knee high and a dried up black puddle was splattered all across the front steps. Stepping over it, I briskly walked to the door. The fact that the blinds on both of her windows did not elude me, but it made me none the wiser. Having announced my arrival with three strong knocks, I waited with some sort of looming uneasiness accompanying my deep, worried breaths. No response came, prompting me to knock again. The second attempt also failed to yield any results. More out of frustration than anything else, I clutched on the doorknob and pulled downward, expecting resistance. The door opened without any whatsoever. Before I even stepped into that dimly lit, yet familiar hallway, my senses were mercilessly assaulted by a strong scent of decay. Covering my airways with one hand and clutching a lit flashlight in another, I laid my disgust aside and trudged through. The source of that viscous smell came into light at the end of a hallway, in front of a bathroom door. That poor cat was Delilah’s soul, and I shuddered to think what happened to Delilah to allow her cat to lay here with blood and maggots pouring out of her sprung open jaw. I turned left and found myself in the living room. The bookshelf was smashed and was partly being propped up by a coffee table upon which it crashed, cracking its glass paneling in the process. Books themselves were strewn across the room, both intact and torn apart. I walked across the room and called out her name a few times, yet nothing but silence answered me. I wish it remained so. Crossing the hallway again, I wound up in the bedroom. The bed was unmade and there were some splinters covering it, which I determined were glass. Taking care not to look or to step on the animal remains, I cautiously walked into the kitchen. Kitchen utensils were strewn all across the floor. Upon further inspection, I realized that most knives and forks had reddish, dried up substance on it. The sink was overflowing with dishes and filthy water which dripped down the kitchen elements and onto the tiled floor in a rhythmic manner. The refrigerator was empty, save for a few cans and water bottles. I turned to the door and was just about to walk back into the hallway, when a sudden realization made me stop dead in my tracks. The utensils that were littered all across the tiled floor now formed a neat and tidy pile. I pretended not to notice the horror creeping up inside of me as I made my way out of the kitchen and shut the door behind me. By this point, I had explored all the rooms except for one. The bathroom. I crept up to the closed door and raised my hand up to knock. Before I had the chance to do so, the doors flung open, knocking me to the ground. You can imagine my absolute disgust as the realization that I have fallen on a furry, rotting corpse dawned on me. I sprung back up, my eyes wide and fists raised, expecting something to lunge at me through the open door. Just as I was about to look around for my flashlight, the lightbulb in the bathroom lit up. Cautiously, I crept up to the door and peered inside. There was a person in the bathtub. It was curled up in the fetal position, covering its face and mutilated body, entirely covered by fresh and dried up cutting wounds. The dirty, tangled rag obscured her face, yet by the tattoo of an ace and a jack on the back of it’s hand unmistakably confirmed what I already knew. This was no one else but Delilah. I called out to her and approached, putting my arm on her shoulder. “Delilah. What… I’ll call the ambulance right aw…” She unfastened her hands from her face and screeched. Blood shot out of her mouth along with that ear piercing sound. Then, she took a couple of short, raspy breaths. *“Listen. You. Listen. Take it. Just…”* She coughed, spilling some more blood in the process. *“Take it… And go away… Please…”* She concluded, pointing her bony index finger behind me. Across the room, on top of a washing machine stood a wooden statue. It was a depiction of a traditional African woman carrying a wide brimmed cup on the top of her head, firmly grasping it with both of her slim arched hands. The other two characteristics that stood out were three lines etched out just below her eyes, as well as unnaturally sharp, pointed and hostile breasts. “We don’t have time for this. You need help.” I said, pulling my phone out of my pocket. I typed in 911 and just as I was about to dial it, the phone leapt out of my hand and towards the wooden woman. It landed neatly and precisely in the cup on her head. “What the fuck!” I muttered, turning my attention back to Delilah. *“It’s… Too late. Please. If you don’t take it, I’ll… I’ll…”* She threatened, raising a shard of broken glass and pressing it against her neck. “I’ll fucking take it. I’ll take it. OK? Calm the fuck down and listen to me. You need urgent medical care, Delilah.” I snapped, walking over to that accursed statue, fishing my phone back out of the cup. The lower edge of my phone was coated in blood. I stuffed it into my pocket and picked the thing up before turning to Delilah. “Okay. I need you to stay right here. Help is on the way. Do you understand?” I implored. *“It gets drunk on us. It gets drunk on our blood.”* “God fucking…” Something soft and furry brushed against my leg and let out a gentle meow. That was the last straw. I fled the house, still holding onto that thing. I got in my car and threw it in the passenger's seat. As I was hurriedly driving away, I managed to phone the ambulance and give them her address and a brief description of her wounds. Stopping next to a body of water, I decided to throw the statue, yet despite my best efforts, I could not lift it from its place. Then again, the statue seemed frighteningly light when I made the foolish mistake of carrying it into my home. Later that day, I got a call back from the ambulance. They politely told me that they would appreciate it if I stopped wasting their time and using their extremely important and essential services to try and contact my ex-girlfriend, who was absolutely fine and in no danger whatsoever, as per their words. So that’s how I got myself into this mess. I was set up. I now realize that the only way out is to set someone else up. I refuse. I am still holding out some faith glimmers of hope that somehow this will all blow over. Then I will give Delilah a call and we will have a laugh about how absurd this was. I’m not holding my breath. That’s why I gave it a triple dose of blood than usual. To intoxicate it long enough for me to be able to type this out and publish it. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Our planet is mostly ocean [RESPONSE] The fish weren't biting, but I wasn't worried. I'd finished taking a tour group around the islands last week, and I had another scheduled for Sunday — or was it Tuesday? — that should at least keep me in Spam, propane, and bottled water for a few weeks. I wouldn't have to rely on subsistence fishing until after then. Still, if I could land a nice fat yellowfin today, I could eat that and save the money for winter. If I saved money, I wouldn't have to follow the fish. Instead of burning fuel, I could hunker down with the space heater for the few cold days and try to last until next tourist season. Maybe even sock away a few fifties in the old plastic-wrapped coffee tin I kept in the safe under the captain's seat. Still, the fish weren't biting. It was the peak of the fishing season. The sea should be absolutely solid with hungry, horny fish, even with all the talk about ocean acidity and overfishing and so on. The ocean's a big place, more than twice as much water as land on this rock. Ought to be plenty of fish in the sea, like the saying goes, but there weren't, and I was puzzled. I might not have needed the catch, but I'd expected one, and it was unsettling me more than I'd care to admit that I wasn't getting one. The weather was off, too. Hot, yes, but somehow dry and heavy at the same time. Flat, like the whole ocean was a can of cola left out too long. The clouds were a cheesecloth draped over a big yeasty globe, swollen and hostile. I pulled my lines and decided to head out further than my usual grounds. Perhaps the summer traffic close to the islands was making the fish skittish, I reasoned. Even with the engine at full, the air was as dead and stuffy as breathing into a wool sock. I'd gone out another five miles or so, out where there's nothing but nothing and the deep doesn't mess around. Any further and I'd start to get worried that my third of a tank of gas wouldn't quite get me back. With my lines cast out again, I settled in under the canopy to do some mending on my clothes and wait for one of the rods to twitch. The water was a mirror. I'd never seen it so calm. It was as though I was fishing on a shallow pond in a sheltered valley, not on top of four kilometers of water. When the light abruptly changed, I looked up and saw the clouds. Where they had been a solid and dull gray sheet, unbroken and stifling, there was now an opening, perfectly circular. Even as I watched, it widened and formed a ring, then another. It looked as though someone had tossed a stone into the center of a pool. Beyond the clouds, the sky glowed with an unhealthy shade of blue: electric, radioactive, almost purple in its intensity. It was right above me. I was just off the center of the disturbance. I'd thought the sea was calm before, but now it was utterly still. The subtle rocking and shifting of the boat ceased entirely. My movements as I set aside my mending and stood were like an earthquake. I could see the ripples of my own motion inside a twenty-foot boat moving out across the surface of the water. Oddly, a couple thousand feet away, I could see the water still moving in choppy waves, stopping and flattening at the edge of the zone I was inside as though hitting the underwater wall of a bay. Overhead, the ripples in the sky widened and the glow intensified. The light was wrong for my eyes, giving whatever I looked at a sharp-edged black outline. Everything solid seemed to be trembling slightly just under the surface. I looked at my own hands and felt them buzz like an industrial power line. The light shifted again, darkening once more, and my gaze turned back to the sky to behold a horror. I was sitting on a boat beneath a mountain. The violet-tinged light and the horrible stillness made it nearly impossible to judge the size of the thing, but if my practiced eye was right and the zone of quiet water was a mile or two in diameter, the object in the sky filled all that space and more, pushing through the cloud layer like an awl punching leather. It moved with deceptive speed, seeming so slow and ponderous from my perspective, but I noted the jets of vapor streaming from its jags and crenellations, contrails born of speed and heat. I thought it would come down and crush me. A mass of that size impacting the planet? I was at ground zero of the destruction of all life on Earth, I was certain. I tried to fire up my engine, but the starter button and key might as well have been children's toys; everything was dead, except the inexorable motion of the asteroid. Then, impossibly, it stopped. The clouds continued to ripple away from that penetrating spire, and the air grew almost molten with heat. The tip of the inverted mountain flared with white-green light and abruptly spouted a column of energy so bright it was blinding. I twisted my body away, my hands in front of my eyes. I could see my bones through the flesh, black on red, the thought of my own meat and blood somehow comforting in the unreal glow. After a few moments, the flare ceased and I blinked away the confounding aftereffects. The sea was boiling where the light had impacted. I initially thought it was from heat, but the motion didn't spread and dissipate like boiling water would. Instead, as I drifted helplessly nearer to the area of disturbance, I saw that it was seething with life. Fish and eels, sharks and octopodes, worms and stranger things that normally never saw the light, all were flopping and thrashing about on the surface, whipping the still waters into a foam. I saw teeth and tentacles, blood and mucous, a writhing, flailing clot of frantic sea animals. Then, from below, a darkness that glowed with its own light, a dim green illumination that made my eyes twitch and my teeth ache. I saw shadows inside that light, long and sinuous, a stretching and a reaching from below, a circle of grasping limbs surrounding a tooth-specked tunnel that went in and down, concentric rings like ripples in the sky, a mile across and more but rising, rising to meet the falling mountain, the rock and the sea straining to touch. The awful green-black glow drew a line around every bit of living flesh in that dead spot of sea, and rose further, fumes, clouds, tendrils and trails up and up until it was no longer up but down, and I floated in the sky, looking below onto the mountainside toward which we all were falling. The light touched the actinic white tip of that ragged pyramid, and then... Darkness. When I woke, the sea was choppy and bedraggled. It looked exhausted, somehow. My fishing lines were tangled and might as well have been deliberately knotted. When I pulled them up and saw what clung to the ends, I cut the lines loose instead and let it all sink back into the dark and the silence and the ooze. My mouth tasted metallic, like old blood and burning. The engine coughed and sputtered as though it hadn't been used in weeks, but it functioned well enough to get me to shore. For weeks, I scoured the news for tales of an alien ship or an asteroid impact, but I never found any mention. Not from reputable sources, anyway. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, nothing had happened that day. And perhaps nothing had; I had no proof, other than the cut lines and the lingering symptoms, like a bad stomach virus: nausea and vertigo, weakness and fatigue, a persistent headache. My hair thinned out, as well, but I'm not of an age where that's a surprise, either. No one had see it but me, and no one knew. Perhaps it's for the best. They came and they spoke to the sea, and neither party even noticed I was there. I don't think I want them to know. This planet is old, far older than the chattering monkeys that cling to its driest and most remote protrusions. We call ourselves masters and claim dominion, but we keep to the rocks and skim over the depths like skipping stones. I prefer the comforting lie, even knowing it to be false. Let the true masters commune and depart and dwell in whatever privacy they prefer. I do not think it will end well if we disturb them.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] House Sitting [RESPONSE] I'm a broke college student. The master's program I'm in is really demanding so trying to work at the same time is impossible. Instead of having a set schedule I house sit, pet sit, and dog walk for cash. A couple of weeks ago I was asked to house sit for what was basically a small rural farm. The couple that reached out had goats, rabbits, dogs, cats, and reptiles and wanted to know if I would be comfortable house and pet sitting for two weeks. We discussed the particulars (money, dates, etc.) and before I knew it, I was getting my tour around the property. The wife (let's call her Cristy) explained feeding instructions and each animal's preferences as we walked the property. I also had incredibly detailed, handwritten instructions in case I forgot anything. Cristy was a bit fussy, but I could tell she was just nervous. "I'm sorry I'm being so... specific with everything." Cristy said, apologetically "We havn't been able to take a vacation in a long time and I always worry about leaving the animals. The last girl we hired was horrible! We left for a week, and she only came twice! I couldn't believe it! If we didn't have cameras we never would have known!" I agreed that that was horrible, thinking maybe the person they hired was just a teenager or something. I let Cristy know that wouldn't happen, and if she checked her footage, she would see me. "Oh, I know, I feel better about you than the last one. It helps that you had a pile of positive reviews I could read, and re-read, and read again." She laughed awkwardly as she said this. After the tour I was given the keys, tons of emergency numbers, and orders to call her if I needed anything. Since where they lived had little to no cell service, she told me I would likely have to use the landline. The first couple of days went off without a hitch. Wake up, feed animals, clean up after animals, study for class. Rinse and repeat. It was when Monday rolled around that things started getting a little strange. The morning was normal, when it was time for me to leave for class, I followed the instructions I had been given. Put the dogs in their kennels with a treat, make sure the cat is locked in the bathroom, put on music for them, ect. Then I locked all doors, closed the gate behind me and headed out. I got back in around 6, not quite dark yet but the sun was on its way down. I hurried to feed the outdoor animals while there was still light then I headed into the house. I let the dogs out then moved over to the stairs, thinking I'd change into my pajamas before doing anything else, but when I turned to face the stairs, I noticed a light was on in one of the rooms. I feel something icy stab at my heart. I didn't leave any lights on. At least I don't think I did. I grab one of the dogs, the bigger of the two, a tall, lanky black dog (Kana), and I head upstairs; certain that when I rounded the corner into the bedroom someone would be standing there waiting for me. When I entered the room, it looked the same as how I had left it; except that one of the lamps in a far corner was turned on. I walk over to turn it off and realized it was a touch lamp, meaning it can only be turned off or on by a living thing touching it. I tap it until it turns off. Scared, I pulled out my phone and call my boyfriend. The call doesn't go through, it can't connect, I have no signal out here. I grab the house phone off the dresser and dial the number, my heart pounding. Do do do! "We are sorry, you are now required to dial an area code, even for local calls. Please hang up and dial the full 10-digit number." I hang up and try again, punching in all 10 digits. I get the same message. I think about calling 911, decide I'm being dramatic, and I set the phone down hard into the receiver. "Ok, nothing has really happened yet, it's just a light on. It's fine. You're fine." I say, trying to give myself a pep talk but knowing that something feels off. I decide to search the house. It didn't take me long. The downstairs is one large room that includes kitchen, dining, and living rooms with a bathroom scrunched under the stairs. The upstairs has only two rooms, a "man-cave" like room with a projector and surround sound and the room I was staying in, the master with its on-suit bathroom. I move through the house, checking everywhere I can think to look and there's nothing. Not even a sign that someone had been there other than me. I tell myself I've over-reacted and start Googling how a touch lamp could malfunction or turn itself on. A lot of the sites tell me one of the dogs must have touched it without me knowing, but they were still in their crates when I got home, and I know I checked that all the lights were off before leaving. Nothing on Google makes me feel any better. I did not want to go to sleep that night, I've seen way too many horror movies and had convinced myself there was someone hiding in a crawl space, waiting to kill me. Or that more likely someone else had a key to the house and could come in any time they wanted, like when I'm asleep and helpless. I stayed awake as long as I could but must have drifted off at some point as I was woken suddenly by the sound of something pounding on wood. The room was dark, had I turned off the lights? I sat bolt upright in bed and looked over to the double doors that separated me from the on-suit bathroom. They were moving... or tremoring would be a better word. They were pocket doors, the type you slide into the wall to open. I noticed then that there was tape holding them shut at the top. The bottom corners of the door alternated in and out at me. It sounded like someone was pounding on them, hard, and the wood was shaking violently like it might splinter. Like the doors may fly off the tracks. I froze in place, thoughts coming fast, "Oh God, I was right! Someone's in here with me." I screamed in my head. Then I heard what sounded like "Hello" I screamed and hurled my body out of bed flicking on the lights and pressing my back to the wall, when the voice rang out again, this time sounding more like "Mellow" then "Mell" then "Mew" It was the cat. It sounded like the cat. Had it always sounded like the cat??? As the mewing continued, I caught my breath. The pounding on the door stopped. The doors stood silent and still. I shouldn't have opened the door. Anything could have been behind it. It was stupid to open the door, but something compelled me to, like I had to prove to myself that it was just the cat. That all my terror had just spilled over from a dream I'd been having. It was just a cat who wanted to be let out. A cat that wanted attention. I peeled the tape securing the top of the door slowly off, took a deep breath, and slid one of the two doors open. The cat darted out, leaving only a pool of darkness behind it. I turned the bathroom light on, but just like with the lamp earlier there was nothing to see. No one there. No reason for me to be afraid. The cat must have just...forced its way in... despite the tape holding the doors shut. Despite the fact that it couldn't get itself back out. Despite the fact that I distinctly remember closing her in the downstairs bathroom for the night. The other bathroom having a normal door with a round handle that she couldn't possibly have turned. I closed the doors, put the tape back, and spent the rest of the night in the middle of the bed, sat up, hugging my knees, with every light in the room on. When morning came, I couldn't get out of that house fast enough. Again, nothing substantial had happened to me but I was beyond freaked out. Was this why the other girl had left so soon? Did something worse happen to her?? As soon as the sun was up, I fed all the animals, locked everything up and went to class. I arrived 6 hours early, but the day still managed to slip through my fingers, and before I knew it, I was sat in my car trying to think of excuses to not go back. After turning it over and over in my head I realized if I waited any longer, I wouldn't get back until after dark. Not only would that make it harder to feed everyone (they didn't have much outdoor lighting) but the light of day just felt...safer. When I get to the house I start with the outdoor animals again, then stood at the front door fidgeting with the keys, not wanting to go inside. Things seemed normal this time. Everything was how I had left it, no lights on, no animals in places they shouldn't be. I turned on every light in the house and tried to busy myself making dinner. I was standing at the stove, when out of the corner of my eye I see a shape. A person is sitting on the couch. A tall, thin, black shadow is just in the periphery of my sight. I jump back, yelp, and turn to face the thing. It turns its head slowly to meet my gaze. It's the dog. It was Kana. "You scared me, Kana!" I said aloud, clutching my heart and taking a breath. She smiled at me then. Like a dog would "smile" but it seemed to stretch too far. There were too many teeth. Her tung lulled out the front of her mouth, and she continued to grin at me. Feeling uneasy I turned away. "She's just a dog" I thought "What the hell is wrong with me." After dinner, I'm getting ready for bed when I start to hear a tapping noise. A thunk, like someone gently tossing rocks at a window, or like hail hitting a skylight. It's faint at first, and then louder as I move through the house looking for its source. I look in the master bedroom last, thinking of the previous night and not wanting to go in. I flicked on the lights and found a little brown bird on the windowsill, a sparrow maybe? It was badly injured, one wing bent at an unnatural angle, legs limp and useless, blood smeared all over the sill and the window. It was throwing itself against the glass, frantically, over and over. Like if it flailed hard enough it would escape. Like it knew it was still in danger and needed out of the room. How had it gotten in? Its winter, I hadn't opened a single window, hadn't left any doors open. I look around the room for a blood trail. Evidence that this might just be the cat again but there was nothing. It was like it had been mangled somewhere else and then plopped in front of the window. I tried to pick the bird up, tried to be gentle, as it flicked blood across my face. I didn't know what I would do with it, but I had to do something. Then all at once its body gave out, the pulsing of its chest stopped, the flailing stopped, and it lay there. Motionless. Quiet. I took the bird to the outside trash, dogs jumping and trying to get at it the whole way. Kana trying to lap the blood off my face. As I walked, I thought about the cameras. There was only one that I could see in the house, but maybe something was on it. Maybe there were more I didn't know about. Maybe they caught something that could tell me I was really being crazy. That a person hadn't come into the house just to turn on a lamp, lock a cat in a bathroom, and leave a dying bird on a windowsill. Reluctantly, I walk back into the house and call Cristy. When she answers she sounds terrified. "Is everything okay?!" are her first words. I steady my voice and explain that everything is fine, all the animals were doing well. I was just calling because the cat had managed to get out of the bathroom somehow. I was certain I had closed the door properly and wondered if I could take a peek at the camera footage to see how she had escaped. "Or if you could look at it" I back peddled, realizing that a loose cat didn't sound like a good enough justification for me to look at their security footage. 'At least if she looks at it and sees some weirdo in the house, she can tell me, and I could call the cops.' I thought. "Oh, that's so weird! she's never gotten out before." Cristy said, "You probably just didn't shut the door all the way. Did you find her chewing on anything weird?" I reiterated that I was sure I had closed the door, and that the other reason I wanted the footage looked at was to make sure she hadn't eaten anything she shouldn't have. "Really, even if you would just take a look at it..." I started to say, but she cut me off, saying it was fine and gave me all the information I would need to access the footage on their laptop. I thanked her and told her I'd call back if I found anything. I booted up the laptop on the dining room table, followed the steps I had been given and opened to several recordings of footage. I started with the day I had come home to see the lamp on. The footage came up in two separate boxes, showing me a view of the living room and another of the driveway. The footage started at midnight, and I began to fast forward. I saw myself come downstairs, start the day, get ready for class, put the animals away. As soon as I saw my car back out of the driveway, I slowed the footage down a bit and waited. Time passed, no one came up the driveway, I watched the dogs chew on their toys... Wait. The dogs. Something's wrong. I brought the footage down to normal speed and squinted at Kana's kennel, it was large but entirely made of small metal bars so I could see every move she made. Her body twisted unnaturally. A leg jutted out at an angle it shouldn't have been able to. Her head snapped back. Fully back, to lay flat against her spine. I exited out of the driveway footage and made the living-room full screen. Kana was...writhing now. Her small, lanky frame seeming to boil and expand. The inky blackness of her fur filled every inch of the kennel. Then a long, thin, black arm sprang out from the front bars. It fiddled with something on the front of the cage, then Kana, or what had been Kana, came spilling out of the container. The footage wasn't amazing, but even with the cheap camera I could tell that whatever came out of that kennel was too big. Too full. Impossible angles and blackness were all that could be seen of what was once a dog. It moved forward, a large mass of black being pulled by long spindly arms. They reached straight out the front of it, dragging a plump body behind. Furniture skidding out of the way as it pulled itself past. It moved to the stairs, and then it was gone from view. I start to fast forward the footage again when I start to notice a sound. A cracking. A snapping like a bone being broken in two. Then more snapping. Something was growing behind me, blocking out the light, casting an enormous shadow over me. Over the laptop. I heard the skid of furniture across the hardwood floor as the shape grew. I scrambled up from the chair, flinging myself away, towards the front door. Heart pounding in my ears, whole body shaking. I looked in the center of this... thing... of Kana. She was grinning at me again. This time teeth migrated horizontally across the entire length of her. The enormous, smiling mouth opened and its tongue came rolling out, long and looking impossibly red against the pitch-black background. I ripped the front door open as fast as I could and slammed it behind me. Backing away I can see the shape pressing into the window over the door, tongue dragging back and forth and teeth clanking against the glass. My keys are still in the house. I don't know what to do.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I love my wife, which is why I’m about to die [RESPONSE] Fuck me. I married Alyssa because she was the archetype of my physical and emotional attraction: small, cute, unassuming, wouldn’t hurt a fly. Literally. A fly came into the kitchen once and landed on her food, so she made a second breakfast and ate it outside. She didn’t want to deny the insect a snack. She’s great. Or was, I don’t know. This is why I don’t usually ask questions with difficult answers. We each have our own credit card accounts, then share a third. We don’t fight about money. It’s great. Or it *was* great. Fuck, I don’t know what’s going on. Okay, she likes this esoteric jeweler. The business is called Blood Milk for reasons I cannot fathom. The role of a good spouse is to support the weird shit we don’t understand with an attentive ear and an open heart. But I can never remember what pieces she already has, because each one is just categorized as “that strange thing” in my mind. So I looked up her browser and purchase history on her laptop while she was at yoga. Bad idea. Today I learned that my wife spends time online searching Lululemon, Blood Milk, Buddhism, tantric sex (yay), Mother Jones, NPR, *Nature*, “how long human decomposition lasts”, garden shears, “is cholorform real”, zip ties, hacksaws, bleach, lye, scrub brushes, shovels, “how long does it take a human to suffocate”, State Farm life insurance (which I get through my employer), and “how the killer fucked up on Serial podcast.” It was so out of character for Alyssa that I genuinely believed the computer was in error. It was more likely that it had somehow read a different person’s browser history. To put my mind at ease, I looked up her Chase account. She never told me her password, but I knew that it was “butterfly.” I can say this with certainty because I *know* my wife. It revealed that she had recently purchased groceries from Vons, gas from Chevron, jewelry from Blood Milk ($191.30, let’s stick to a budget, Alyssa), dinner at Aro with a friend, a refund of $191.30 from Blood Milk (thank you for being reasonable), and a substantial amount spent at Ole’s hardware. So I logged in to her Ole’s account. Again, “butterfly.” Again, I know my wife. She had purchased garden shears, zip ties, hacksaws, bleach, lye, scrub brushes, shovels, gloves, and a 36” axe. I leapt three inches from the chair and dropped a tiny turd nugget into my briefs when the doorbell rang at 8:00 p. m. Yes, I peeked through the little hole in the door and hesitated for five minutes before opening it. I was hanging by a thread at this point. The whole “someone is just using my wife’s accounts and computer and THEY want to kill me” narrative was now flimsy at best. But I finally opened it to reveal that a box had been delivered. Damn. The guy’s job had him dropping shit off to strangers’ houses on a Friday night, probably for dirt pay. *There’s* a scary story. I pulled in the delivery that had Alyssa’s name on it and closed the door. I told myself that it was fine to open her packages, specifically because I *didn’t* think her murder gear was inside. Her murder gear was inside. I almost cut my finger on the hacksaw. Everything was exactly as described. Except for the envelope. My instincts told me not to reach for the envelope, because I wouldn’t like what I found inside. I opened it and did not like what I found inside. A thick stack of photos awaited me, and I looked through every one. Pics of me driving to work. Pics of me at work. Pics of me driving home. Pics of me showering. Pics of me taking a shit. *Why*. The phone buzzed and I nearly had a heart attack. I gazed around at the dark house; who was here without my knowledge? I looked at the message. >Hi baby home in 15 mins. want anything from Vons? What was I supposed to say? That I wanted a stabbing weapon, a mind eraser, or a new wife? I hyperventilated into a paper bag for a few minutes before texting her back a brilliant response designed to throw her off: >no thanx babe That should buy me some time until I figure out what to do. Because my wife will be home shortly. I can’t call the police for a crime that hasn’t happened yet. Confronting her would only accelerate her plans, and not confronting her desire to kill me will result in her killing me. What do you suggest? Because I hear her car in the driveway, and if I need to grab that axe, I should probably . <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I Asked An AI Text-To-Image Site About The Future. I Regret It Tremendously. A Warning. [RESPONSE] I've been crying for the last few hours. I can still hear my wife screaming and sobbing in the other room. I have never regretting something so much in my entire life. I'm making this on an anonymous account because I don't want anyone to find out who I am. You'll see soon why. This is the only post I'll ever make with this profile. I wish I could take it back. The worst part of all of this is that I could have stopped it from happening. I could have fucking prevented this from happening. But its too late now. Maybe this will keep you all from making the same mistake. I'm reminded for some odd reason of the old saying, "Curiosity killed the cat". This is what happened. I read this article on this site: For those who don't wanna click and read through it, it's a simple clickbait article laying out the possibility that AI can predict the future with amazing accuracy. According some scientists who work with that sort of thing, they've been asking computers to predict things regarding certain events. Sometimes it’s about politics, or some result in a controlled set up. Where will the ball land in a game of Pachinko, for example. They found that the computer's AI could accurately predict the result 99% of the time, or so they allege. I'm not into computer science all that much, but the article peaked my interest. Wouldn't that be cool if it could do that? And if so, it would basically be like a psychic with scientific and mathematical proof behind it. I somehow got it into my head. I've heard a lot about the advancements being made in AI. It's so powerful now that AI can generate photos based on typed up sentences and prompts. There are websites and engines online where anyone can type something up and get an image spit back at them. They're often durpy, but they've been getting really good lately. In fact, an AI computer recently won a recent art contest in Colorado. they've gotten so good: I've seen ads online for these AI Text-Photo sites like DALE, and whatnot myself, on sites like Instagram. So, I started to ask myself: What if you didn't just ask the AI for the future, but let it show it to you? Last night, I went onto Dale. It's free and easily found online for any of you stupid enough to play around with it: Usually it's used to generate silly photos from typed up sentences like "flying pineapples with pearl earrings". Instead of typing in a sentence or a descriptive phrase about what I wanted generated, I asked the AI about my future. I did it as a joke at first. I had read that article and I figured it bring back some dumb image or something nonsensical. All I typed in was, "Me, my wife, and our 2 year old son's future". This is what I got back: I have to use imgur to upload these AI photos apologies, subreddit rules. As you can see, it was creepy as fuck. I've cropped the image to protect the identity of myself and my wife. It showed our faces and what looked to be my son, his face turned away, on the road in a pool of his own blood. But I laughed it off. The faces were similar to us, but we don't own a car like that. Besides, the Ai works by selecting from google images, so that could be any couple. I shuddered but managed to move past it. I typed in a few other prompts. I forgot about the photo for a little while. But it kept creeping back into the front of my mind. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I had to know if it was just a random fluke. I typed in "Me and my wife getting married" as a prompt. I couldn't really think of anything else, but I figured it was vague and amorphous enough to prove to me that the AI wasn't some all knowing being. It brought back this image: Again, I've cropped it to hide our identities. I'll say this much right now, I gasped when I saw it. Our wedding photo is so fucking similar, it isn't even funny. I was so shocked I started laughing. Do you ever get so freaked out you just start laughing for no reason? That was me for a solid ten minutes. Then that shock turned to confusion. How could the AI replicate our wedding photo so well!? We had had a Halloween wedding, which is why my wife was wearing an orange dress. It had the same black suit I had, everything. The posing was just off, and our faces distorted because the AI has trouble with proportions. But God, its so similar. May be I should have freaked out. But I honestly had no idea what to do. What are you supposed to do in that kind of situation? I tried to explain it rationally. I eventually figured that the AI must be using my location and then taking photos from google images of my wedding photos from Facebook. We posted so many online, and a lot of facebook photos are searchable through google. It didn't exactly calm me, but it seemed like a good explanation. I decided that was enough of the site though for my liking. I wish that it had all stopped there. I wish I had listened to my gut. I wish I had done something, or told someone. God, I wish it so much. I did nothing, and went to bed last night like usual. This afternoon, my wife was playing with our son in our front yard. Oh God. Oh God. I had just gotten back from work. I was sitting on the veranda. My wife turns to me to ask me something about dinner. My son suddenly runs off into the road. A driver in a red Honda came down the road. You can guess exactly what happened. I can't even type it. 30 miles over the speed limit. Some fucking idiot-ass teenager showing off for his stupid friends. The screaming. The wailing. My son was dead in an instant. And that fucking AI photo had captured it almost perfectly. I swear to God. It even got the color of his shirt right. My wife has been utterly inconsolable. She won't touch me. She just keeps wailing and screaming for her baby who will never come back. Oh God. I could have done something. It had warned me. But I was too stupid to listen. I had had a gut feeling all day. But I didn't even think of it. I was busy today with work and errands. It slipped my mind. Curiosity killed the cat. I don't know if knowing would have made a difference. But I know now that I am tortured by the fact that I got to see the future and did nothing to change it. It's my fault. I cannot even begin to describe the guilt and pain I feel right now. Me and my wife got back from the hospital an hour ago. I went into our bedroom, and I've been typing this up. May be if all of you read this you'll learn from me. For the love of God, don't go messing with things you don't understand. Please. This AI shit is more powerful than any of us realize. And if you do decide to be stupid and ask about your future, consider that you may be better off not knowing. I did something as soon as I got home. I went on Dale again. I stared at the screen for a while and decided to ask it about my future again. I typed in: "What is my future". It gave me this image: This is the last thing I will ever write. A final good thing for the world before I leave it. I have it in my hands now. And who am I to keep the future from coming?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Trick-or-Treating Is Fun Until You Reach The House With The Gnome Garden. [RESPONSE] “Holy crap, that’s a lot of Lawn Gnomes!” When I had told my cousin Tiana that the house at the end of the cul-de-sac had an enormous Gnome Garden, I don’t think my description had adequately prepared her for the reality of it. I had never counted them, but there must have been hundreds of them. At least, it felt like there were hundreds of them. There were enough of them that it was instantly creepy when you saw it. You just intuitively knew that no sane, rational person would ever hoard such a mammoth amount of Lawn Gnomes. “You can’t even see them from the street because of the hedge, so what’s the point?” Tiana asked, looking around from one Gnome to the next, trying desperately to spot some method to the madness. “I know. It’s like he’s hiding them. I think he’s afraid that if they were in plain view, they’d be too tempting to steal or break,” I suggested. “Trick-or-treating is pretty much the only time I ever see these things. I swear, there’s more of them every year.” “So, it’s like some kind of crazy cat lady thing, then?” Tiana asked. “That’s what my mom says; that Mr. Mahlberg has some kind of OCD hoarding disorder,” I replied. “They’re so weird looking,” Tiana said as she knelt down to examine the one closest to us. “Does he make them himself?” I honestly didn’t know, but I had considered it. They certainly didn’t look like anything there was a mass market for. They were squat and lumpy little things, their expressions dead-eyed and dull, their features ill-defined and their colours all unsaturated yet unfaded despite most of them having been left out in the sun and rain for years. None of them had any damage at all, as far as I could tell. “He maintains them, at least. They mean a lot to him for some reason, so don’t mess with them,” I cautioned her. "They don't look carved, or even moulded. They look organic, like they've been grown or something. Chitinous! That’s the word. They’re like sea shells that look like people,” Tiana claimed, mesmerized by the peculiar ornament before her. I saw her raise her hand and slowly reach forward to touch it. "Don't! I mean it! Mr. Mahlberg's nice, but there are all kinds of crazy stories about what he does to kids who steal or break his Gnomes!” I warned her. The sound of an older man theatrically clearing his throat to announce his presence caught both of us off guard. Tiana shot up and we both turned towards the front porch, where we saw Mr. Mahlberg leaning against the door frame. Mr. Mahlberg was a tall and slim white man, balding with limp, shoulder-length grey hair. He was wearing a pair of spectacles and a Mr. Rogers-like outfit of a cardigan, slacks, and shiny dress shoes. He looked serious, but not angry or upset, and certainly not crazy. “Hello April,” he said flatly and with a mirthless smile. “Hello, Mr. Mahlberg,” I stammered with an anxious swallow. “I’m sorry for what I just said. Mom says I shouldn’t repeat unsub, unsub, *un-sub-stan-ti-ate-ed* rumours about people.” “It’s alright, April. Nothing I haven’t heard before,” he said, reaching down to the Gnome by his door and feeling the top of its cap between his fingers, pausing as if he was trying to detect something. “Who’s this you’ve brought with you?” “Oh, this is my cousin Tiana. She’s taking me trick-or-treating this year,” I replied. “Tiana, this is Mr. Mahlberg. He… lives here, with the Gnomes.” “Hello,” Tiana said with an awkward wave. “And I’m trick-or-treating *with* her. I’m just in charge because I’m older.” Mr. Mahlberg nodded and reached into his house to pull out the bowl of Halloween Candy. “Let’s get on with it, then,” he said, gesturing for us to come forward. Setting aside the momentary awkwardness, Tiana and I eagerly rushed forward with our bags opened and outstretched. “Trick or Treat!” we ritualistically said in unison. “Hmm. Just a witch hat and a black dress, Tiana? That’s not a very original or challenging costume, now is it?" he asked. He cast his eyes toward me with a bit more approval. "You're a dragonfly, April?" “Yes! Thank you! Everyone else thinks I’m supposed to be a fairy,” I said. “That’s because a witch and a fairy make a lot more sense than a witch and a dragonfly,” Tiana murmured under her breath. “There’s no reason why your lack of creativity should stifle that of others, Tiana,” Mr. Mahlberg claimed. “I don’t see too many insect costumes, especially on girls. It’s nice to see someone who treats Halloween as an opportunity for self-expression.” He tossed the candy into our bags, giving noticeably more to me than Tiana as a reward for my costume. “Thank you!” I said with a huge grin. “Thank you,” Tiana said, a bit more perfunctorily than me. “So, you have a pretty extensive Gnome Garden here, Mr. Mahlberg. Can I ask where they came from?” “Tiana!” I scolded through my teeth, my eyes trained on Mr. Mahlberg for any possible sudden outburst. “It’s fine, April,” Mr. Mahlberg assured me with a weary nod. “They were gifts. All of them. An inheritance, in a way. I realize they're actually a bit of an eyesore, which is why I keep the hedges up so that I don't get any complaints from the HOA. But getting rid of them or sticking them in a storage facility somewhere would be incredibly disrespectful on my part, so the Gnomes get free run of my lawn.” “Oh, okay,” Tiana said as she mulled over his explanation. “But April said that you’ve gotten more of them over the years. So, is this like some kind of deferred inheritance of lawn ornaments or –” “Happy Halloween, girls,” Mr. Mahlberg said as he stepped back inside his house and politely, but firmly, closed the door in our faces. “That was mean, Tiana,” I said as we turned around and began to walk down the sidewalk back to the street. “What? A guy says he’s getting Lawn Gnomes as dividends and I'm not allowed any follow-up questions?" she asked. "I don't buy it. Maybe it was his wife that originally collected Gnomes, and she either died or left him and he’s never gotten over it, so he keeps getting more of them as a coping mechanism to act like she never –” We both jumped at the sound of a small piece of ceramic falling to the ground. The nose and upper lip of the Gnome nearest to us had inexplicably broken off. “What did you do?” I asked aghast, turning back towards the house to check if Mr. Mahlberg had seen what happened. “Me? I didn’t do anything! I didn’t even touch it!” she insisted. "Oh no. Oh no," I said as I started to hyperventilate, every story that I had ever heard about Mr. Mahlberg racing through my mind all at once. “Hey, it’s okay. Calm down. We’ll just go. It’s Halloween; there are lots of kids and parents coming and going. He won’t know it was us,” she suggested. "He'll know!" I said in a strained whisper. “Then we’ll go back and tell him what happened,” was her next idea. “You said yourself that he must be maintaining these things. This can’t be the first time something like this has happened. He’ll tell us that he’ll be able to just glue it back on and not to worry about it. I promise.” I shook my head fervently, too scared to confess to the crime of merely being present when the Gnome broke, but equally too scared to flee. “Fine. Then we’ll just put the piece back in place for now and it will fall out on its own again later,” she said, bending down to pick the broken piece up. “What are you doing? Don’t touch it!” I demanded. “No, it’s fine, see? It’s a clean break. I should be able to slide it right back into place without it even being all that noticeable,” she claimed. She began to put the broken piece back in place when she paused, lowered it, and took a much deeper look inside the hollow interior of the Gnome. “April, I think there’s something in there,” she whispered. Another crack appeared on the Gnome’s exterior, this one nearly splitting it straight down the middle. Tianna stumbled backwards and pulled me back with her as we watched it slough off fragments of its chitinous shell, freeing itself in a matter of seconds. What was left was a still soft and wet exoskeleton the size of at least a small dog, wriggling and pulsing as it laboured to take its first breaths. We watched in morbid disgust as the overgrown insect unfurled itself to reveal a golden pair of wings and eyes against its dark bronze carapace. It vaguely resembled a cicada, only with a much longer and thinner abdomen, like what one might find on a dragon or butterfly. "What – the hell?" Tiana cursed softly. I wanted to run, but I also didn't want to leave the protection of her arms, and she was still too transfixed by the bizarre and grotesque spectacle we had just witnessed to want to flee. The cicada rolled over so that its feet were firmly on the ground, and then started beating its wings rapidly. It couldn’t fly yet; the wings were still too wet. It was beating them to help them dry quicker. An ear-splitting, humming cicada song began to resonate through the air; and this, it seems, was the signal for the other Gnomes to start hatching. A random smattering of Gnomes began to shake and crack from the inside, and we were now standing in the middle of the lawn. It was a minefield of the strange creatures, with any one of them capable of bursting open at any moment. Tianna and I both began to whimper as we stood too petrified to move, hoping the ordeal would be over as soon as it began. “Girls!” we heard Mr. Mahlberg shout. He had presumably been drawn back out to his porch by the cicada song, and he was now desperately waving us over. “Quickly! Before they take flight!” The Gnome nearest to our feet began to crack, and that was enough to send the two of us screaming across the lawn, back up the sidewalk and into Mr. Malhberg’s house. He immediately slammed it shut and turned the lock, but kept a steady vigil on the window in case anyone else stumbled upon the bugs. “Eggs? They’re eggs?” Tiana screamed. "Pupa, actually. Those are their adult forms out there," he corrected her. "Their cocoons look like Lawn Gnomes to help them remain inconspicuous in a suburban environment. They're less inconspicuous all clustered together like this, but it's still a reasonable defence. I knew they'd be coming out of their pupas before winter, but I was really hoping it wouldn't be tonight." “Okay, what the hell is going on?” Tiana demanded. “Why the hell do you have hundreds of giant bug pupas disguised as Lawn Gnomes in your front yard?” This time, Mr. Mahlberg looked less irritated and more contrite at Tiana’s question. “I… raise them here,” he confessed. “They’re not dangerous. They’re herbivores. I hatch their eggs in a terrarium downstairs and feed them compost. They have an irregular, years-long pupation stage so once they pupate, I put them outside so that when they come out, they’ll be able to fly off. As soon as they reach their adult stage, they instinctively fly off North West. I don’t know where they go, but I assume they have some isolated pocket of wilderness somewhere they can remain hidden from the world. When it’s time for them to breed, they make their way back here, if they can, like sea turtles returning to the beach they hatched on. They lay their eggs, I take them in, and it starts all over again. “It started when one of them crashed in my backyard and laid its eggs with its dying breath. I had never seen such an enormous insect before, let alone one so beautiful. They’re like coelacanths, I think; remnants of a long-vanished primeval world. They’re survivors from the carboniferous period, having somehow adapted to the lower oxygen levels and everything else that’s been thrown at them since. And yet, the fact that they’re still unknown to science can only mean their numbers are sparse. “I knew I had to do everything in my power to make sure the eggs survived. I took them inside, kept them at a steady temperature, and fed them when they hatched. When they pupated, I was as surprised as you were that they looked like Lawn Gnomes. I think it’s some kind of epigenetic camouflage that originally adapted to mimic local rocks, but now mimics human structures, like hermit crabs using pop cans as shells. Their pupation period is so long that I thought they died, so I put them out in the backyard as mementos, until one night I heard their cicada song and came out just in time to see them emerging. They flew off, but some eventually returned to lay more eggs. More and more make it back each time, so apparently, I’m doing a fairly decent job as a cryptid conservationist. “I’m sorry they scared you, girls. I don’t keep them here to creep people out. I keep them here to ensure they survive. Please, come look out the window. They’re about to take flight. It’s beautiful. You’ll see they’re nothing to be afraid of.” Tiana and I glanced at one another nervously before warily approaching the window next to Mr. Mahlberg. There were dozens of them, sitting out upon the lawn, beating their golden wings as they shimmered in the moonlight. Then one of them, the first one who emerged, started hovering off the ground and the rest of them followed suit. All at once they rotated to face North West, pointed themselves away from our neighbourhood and towards the woods behind us, taking off on an upwards trajectory like a flock of geese. The house vibrated with the humming of their wings as they flew over the roof. Mr. Mahlberg rushed outside to get one last look at the rare, prehistoric insects he had reared from generation to generation, with Tiana and I racing out right alongside him. I was just able to make out the golden tint of their wings and the shine of their carapaces against the black backdrop of the night before they swiftly faded from view and out of my world forever. “Wow,” I gushed softly, looking around at the dozens of still intact Lawn Gnomes with a newfound appreciation and understanding for what they were. Mr. Mahlberg stepped back into his house briefly and came back out with the candy bowl once again in his hands. “Here. Take what you like. For your trouble. Just leave me enough for the rest of the Trick-or-Treaters,” he offered. I eagerly grabbed a handful of my favourite chocolate bars, but Tiana was a bit more hesitant. “Are you buying our silence?” she asked. “Tell whoever you like. One more crazy story about my Gnomes circulating amongst the local kids doesn’t matter to me,” he said with a shrug. That was almost a decade ago now. My mom’s remarried and moved in with her new husband, and while our old house is still hers on paper, she’s informally bequeathed it to me. I’ve taken in Tiana as a roommate to help with the expenses, but I chose her specifically because she’s the only one who knows the truth about Mr. Mahlberg’s Gnomes. The other day I went over to Mr. Mahlberg’s house, noting that his lawn was as filled with Gnomes as ever as I walked up to and knocked on his front door. “April, hello. Good to see you. What brings you over?” he greeted. “Hello Mr. Mahlberg,” I smiled. “My mom’s all moved out now, so the house is mine to do with as I like. I couldn’t help but notice that things are getting a bit crowded around here, so I was wondering how you would feel about rehoming some ?”<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I think my girlfriend was possessed... [RESPONSE] It wasn't in the "Exorcist of Emily Rose" type of way. But, something was off about her ever since we moved into the house that backed up to a cemetery. We had been together 9 years before moving into our first home together, although we had lived together at my folks place for a few years prior. During the pandemic, maybe even right before, she had gotten heavy into drinking. That eventually led to some issues which resulted in her going back to live with her mom and step dad. Things were great for a few months, she was even able to say sober with her mom always watching over her. Then, the pandemic hit. Her mom was one of those traditional, overprotective parents, that didn't want her daughter going out past 10pm, let alone mingling with people during the middle of a pandemic. So, we started seeing each other less and less. After a few months, we both had enough of the "long distance" relationship, and decided to start looking at places together. We started off our search by looking at rental units, mainly townhomes and a couple of houses. We soon realized that we were limiting our search, and together, we could afford a pretty nice house together. She was doing taxes for a big marketing company, and I was an over the road truck driver. We ended up finding a house in a nice, quiet neighborhood. Honestly, it was the first one we looked at. I think we were in a rush to start the next chapter of our lives, or maybe the house just felt like home, but we didn't even look at any other houses. Our house was actually pretty dope. I know it wasn't a mansion or anything, but we were both pretty proud of our first big purchase together. It has a 2 car garage that lead into a basement. The basement was a bit outdated, but it was still nice. The carpet was an ugly green color, probably from the 70's, which was complimented by light brown wood paneling on the walls. It also had a gas fireplace, and a giant TV and surround sound sytem, which was left behind by the previous owners. There was also a half bath on the way up to the main floor. The stairs led you up into the kitchen, which was all updated. Nice, newer appliances, with a nice modern tile floor. One end of the kitchen led to the front door, and the other end had a sliding glass door going out to the back. It wasn't huge, but we were both able to cook comfortably together. Who am I kidding, she did most of the cooking....anyways, enough of the kitchen. We also had a 2nd story, which had 2 bedrooms, and 1 master bedroom/bathroom. The bathroom had heated floors, and even a heated toilet seat. It also had a jacuzzi tub and shower combo, which was pretty sweet. The master bedroom also featured reading lights that were installed in the ceiling, so you can read without disturbing your spouse while they're sleeping. Overall the house was pretty awesome, however, there was one part that made my girlfriend uneasy. The backyard. See, the backyard backed up to a small, local cemetery, with tombstones dating back to the early 1700's. There were maybe, I don't know, 75 or so headstones there. Maybe more, I never really took the time to count them. The cemetery was separated by a single chain link fence, that went all the way down the row of houses, and eventually opened up on a side street about 20 houses down. There was a small gravel path you could drive on, that went through the cemetery, it was kind of like a one way in and one way out kind of deal. Basically, looking at it from our backyard, the gravel road was like a C. Anyway, *I* was kind of excited to live next to a cemetery. I thought it would be cool. If only I had known... The first night, we both felt a little creeped out. We really didn't have everything put away when we decided to go to bed. Honestly, it was a long day, and we were both tired from moving an entire U-Haul truck worth of stuff into a home. As we laid in bed discussing how we were going to set up the rest of the house in the morning, the reading lights above the bed started flickering. We instantly stopped talking. Neither of us were really religious, to be honest, but we didn't dismiss the possibility of ghosts existing. After about 15 seconds of the lights flickering, it stopped, and went back to normal. It was almost like a ghost was welcoming us to the house. Or maybe that was our warning sign to get out... On day 3, we're still trying to get everything situated, when we hear a noise coming from the upstairs bathroom. We froze in place, listening carefully, wondering what the hell it was. It almost sounded like a pipe had burst, or a radio had turned on but it was all static. I grabbed the closest thing to me that I can use as a weapon, which happened to be a 10lb dumbbell, and went to investigate. My heart was pounding as I walked up the stairs, starting to think of all the different possibilities it could be. As I reached the top of the stairs, I was able to see into the bathroom. It was empty. It took me a few seconds to realize that the jacuzzi had a self drying feature on it, which, when moisture is detected, it will dry itself with air. I guess there are a bunch of tiny holes on the bottom of it, and we hadn't even noticed it. I guess one of us did take a shower not too long ago, but it was still weird because it didn't go off yesterday. We didn't really think much of it, and after our blood pressure returned to normal, we laughed it off. The next day, I went back to work. My girlfriend was lucky enough to work from home, thanks to the pandemic. So she set up her little home office on the main floor in the living room, as I was on my way to Nebraska. Later that night, she called me as I was getting ready to shut down for the night. I asked her how her day was, and we mostly talked about work, and coming up with ideas for the house, like painting, remodeling, etc.. We got on the topic of putting a fence up in the backyard, to block the cemetery. Not that it was creepy to look at, but mostly for privacy. Our backyard had a small deck, and it was summer time. We planned on hanging out in the back quite a bit, since we liked to grill, and just enjoy the weather. While we were talking about what color fence we would get, the bathtub went off. She stopped mid sentence and just gasped. I freaked out a little too, considering I wasn't there, and she was all alone. But then I remembered, it goes off after you shower in it. The funny thing is, when I reminded her about this, this freaked us both out even more. Turns out, she hadn't showered since the day before, and neither had I. We started talking in whispers, wondering if she should call the police or go investigate it herself. While we were trying to figure it out, it just stopped suddenly. It definitely ran a lot longer yesterday, when we actually used it for a shower. Did maybe some moisture get into the tub somehow, and it just sensed it and started drying itself? I highly doubt it, but we chalked it up to her maybe splashing the tub when she washed her hands in the bathroom. Yeah...lets go with that. It was a lot better than genuinely thinking a ghost was playing tricks on us, while I was hundreds of miles away and she was all alone. I still had this creepy feeling about it though, but I didn't say anything. I didn't want her to freak out, especially since she voiced her concerns about the cemetery in the beginning. The rest of the week went on fairly normal, we would chat on the phone a couple times a day, and nothing like that happened again. I returned home on the weekend, and we finally got to enjoy the house together. We mostly just sat back and watched movies, cuddled up on the couch in the basement. Then, out of nowhere, she dropped this bombshell on me. She said she swore she felt like something touched her while she was sleeping one night. Like a hand, gliding down the bottom half of her leg, moving towards her feet. She said she jolted out of bed, but no one was there. She had a hard time getting back to sleep, but didn't tell me while I was on the road because she didn't want me to worry, and she wasn't sure if she was just tweaking out. The hairs on my arms stood up, and I started getting goosebumps all over. We talked about it a bit, and figured it might've just been the blanket, but I got her some pepper spray before returning to work, just incase. The next few weeks seemed normal, until I get a call from her one night. It was pretty late, but she would stay up way later than me, watching re-runs of *The Office* and random documentaries that piqued her interest. When I answered, she seemed like she was distressed. her breathing was heavy and slow, and it sounded like she was worried. "Babe..." she said, "When are you going to be home again?" "I'm not sure, probably Friday night, why is everything okay?" I asked, starting to worry a bit myself. "I don't feel too good, I think I'm gonna go to sleep a little bit early tonight" she replied. "Well, what's wrong? Do you need me to call the paramedics, or is it just like a stomach ache kinda thing?" "I don't know, I think I'm fine, I just don't feel good. Ill talk to you tomorrow. night babe" and with that, she hung up the phone and went to bed. I tried texting her a few times, but she never answered. The next day, I called her pretty early in the morning to see how she was doing. She seemed confused, as if she didn't remember calling me the night before. I told her about her call last night, and she swears she doesn't remember making that call. She said she fell asleep watching a movie last night, but doesn't remember when. I figured she had just called me when she was half asleep. I can relate to that...I've picked up phone calls while half asleep, and I don't remember much of the conversation. She *has* talked in her sleep before, but it was usually when she was drinking. Which made me think...shit, was she drinking again? So I asked her about it, and reluctantly she told me she had been drinking while I was on the road. This problem went on for months, and the calls got more bizarre. She seemed completely normal when we were home together, and made promises she would stop drinking. But at least once a week, I would get a call from her where she clearly wasn't herself. That eventually lead to arguments, as I felt helpless being on the road. I kept my cool, but she was the one that would lash out. The weird thing is, her voice would change sometimes. She would be telling a random story, or talk about something that bothered her at work that day, and just start getting really worked up. Worked up, to the point that she would raise her voice, but it would get lower in pitch. As in, she sounded like a *fucking demon*. Now, I've known her for over 9 years at this point, and I've seen her worked up before. I've seen her drunk *and* worked up before. Hell, we've both seen each other at some of our lowest points, more than once. And I've never heard a voice like that come out of her mouth. She was usually very quiet, and even shy. She had a pretty feminine voice, and rarely even got angry. So this was definitely out of character for her, but I just assumed she had gotten pretty bad with drinking. At this point, I was just getting frustrated with her drinking issues, but I stayed with her. In that haunted fucking house. I didn't put two and two together. Occasionally, we would get the lights flickering in our bedroom. The jacuzzi hot tub would start drying itself at random hours of the day. I swear, I've even seen things move in the corner of my eye. I thought maybe if we got a dog, it would help things. Honestly it just made it worse. We adopted this adorable pit-bull, with a beautiful brown and golden coat. He was happy as a dog could be as we drove him home from the animal shelter. Once he got in our home though, he seemed skittish. Like he didn't feel comfortable. And for some reason, he refused to go into the basement. He would just kind of stare at it, like he was watching something. Anytime we went in the basement to watch a movie, he would bark at us. We thought maybe he just wanted attention, so we moved movie nights to the main floor, where we had another TV, so he can hang out with us. Things seemed to be okay, but the next week, when I was on the road, the dog nipped at my girlfriend. She was coming up from working out in the basement and he just jumped at her. As if he didn't recognize her or something. The weird thing was, he definitely was a mommas boy. He liked her more than he liked me. And I grew up around dogs my whole life, so I knew how to train them and take care of them, but he still favored her. My girlfriend absolutely adored animals, but didn't know the first thing about owning a dog. She did good, for being unexperienced. She took him for walks, trained him to sit, and to even ring the bell to be let outside when he needed to go to the bathroom. So it was weird when he nipped at her, and even though we both figured he may not be used to being in a new home, she wasn't ready to be left alone with a 60lb dog that can easily bite her face off, so we returned him to the shelter. After that, things started getting weirder. I occasionally found myself at home alone once in a while on the weekends, while the girlfriend would go run errands, or visit family and friends. I always felt like I was being watched. There was this one time, I went to grab something from upstairs, and as I was going back down, one of the spare room lights turned on. It wasn't on when I went up, I was sure of it. The hair stood up on the back of my neck, and I swear to god it felt like some kind of energy had touched me. My body got cold instantly, and I ended up walking out of the house. I sat in the garage for a while, afraid to go back inside. She got home, and we both went in together. The light was off, and I didn't feel that energy anymore. I was slightly creeped out, but at this point we were kind of used to strange things happening around the house, and tried not to think too much of it. She claimed that she could tell there were things living in the house with us, but they were all nice, and that there was nothing evil there. We never experienced cabinets slamming shut, or pots and pans flying across the kitchen, so I believed her. Fast forward a few months. We both went out to the city with some friends for a few drinks. It was a club on the top floor of a skyrise, so we all ended up microdosing LSD, which wasn't uncommon for that friend group. What wasn't common about that night, was how my girlfriend reacted to the drinking and drugs. We ended up getting a table, and bottle service. Tequila was our go to, and we got two bottles. My girlfriend was doing better with drinking at the time, and could handle the occasional drink or two on a night out. So we all proceeded to have a few drinks, and were all just chatting about where we should go for vacation next spring, when out of nowhere, my girlfriend starts talking nonsense. I asked her to repeat what she said, and she just said "*fuck you*" in this low, demonic tone. The two friends we were with looked at me in shock, like where did that come from? She then proceeded to stand on the chair she was sitting on, and started contorting her body and limbs. She was double jointed, but this was fucking wild to see while on acid, even if I was just micro dosing. She looked like she was throwing up demonic gang signs, if that helps paint the picture. She also said something along the lines of "I can feel my ancestors inside of me. The tequila awakened my ancestors." She started knocking stuff over, so we quickly paid our tab and left. As we were leaving, she seemed to get 10x more intoxicated by the time we got to the elevator. She started talking more gibberish and was yelling at some of the workers. It took all three of us to hold her up, and she weighed no more than 130 pounds. At this point, staff decided to call 911 as we all stumbled into the elevator. We get to the lobby and wait for an ambulance to arrive, while management is trying to calm her down. Once they arrived, they put her in a stretcher and tied her down. It looked like she was going to be taken away to a mental institute, the way they restrained her. There was a restraint over her chest, holding down her two arms near the shoulder. There was one on her stomach, holding down her lower arms. And then one or two on her legs, I'm not too sure. I just remember as they were wheeling her away, she looked at me and almost jolted up, but the restraints held her in place. Her eyes were rolling to the back of her head, and after throwing her head back, out came the most sinister sounding laugh I have ever heard in my life. And she just laughed like that until they loaded her up in the back of the ambulance. Me and my friends stood there, honestly creeped the fuck out. I filled them in on everything that's been happening, and of course, that just made things worse. We started theorizing if she was possessed, and if she WAS, she was probably standing over me while I was sleeping. Not something I wanted to think about while I was tripping, but it was already too late for that. The image of her being restrained, throwing her head back and laughing the way she did, will forever be seared into my brain. They say when you trip, you can almost see peoples energy. Like their glow, or their aura. Some people call it vibes. When she was being wheeled away, I saw darkness. It was like a black cloud of smoke was looming around her. The glow she once had, was gone. I think my ex-girlfriend was possessed....<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] fear4life.com [RESPONSE] I went a few days without having any problems at my parents house. There were a couple video calls that I didn't answer, but nothing strange happened at their house. The only notifications I received from my camera were from the wind or the raccoons that must live near my house.  Yesterday, my parents went out for lunch and shopping. I took the time to sit, relax, and enjoy the silence around me. I started drifting off to sleep while sitting on the couch, but was pulled out of it by a knock coming from the patio door. Their house backs up to the woods so there shouldn't be any reason for someone to go to that door. I got up and peered around the entryway to the kitchen. The blinds were partially closed. From the light coming through, it didn't look like anyone was there. Still, I waited a minute before walking to the door. Then I opened the blinds all the way and was relieved that no one was there. I was worried I put my parents in danger by coming here, so I figured I'd better go outside and look. I slid open the door wall and stepped outside. The backyard was empty, but I thought I saw movement in the woods at the end of the yard. When I looked around to find the movement again, I couldn't find anything. After pulling out my phone, I zoomed in and took a picture of the woods..  Before I could look at the picture, my phone vibrated to notify me there was movement detected at my front door. The camera had saved a short video clip. I played it three or four times, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. I received a few more notifications, but it was the same thing. Even looking closely and zooming in, I couldn’t see anything moving. Needing a distraction, I turned on the TV and sat on the couch. My phone vibrated again, but this time it showed that motion was detected from the camera that was by my monitor. Nothing showed on the camera at first, but I could hear something moving near it. It sounded like something was being dragged across the floor. And then something showed up in front of the camera, causing me to send my phone flying across the room. It looked like the thing that had been at my door the first night when this all started. With my heartbeat rapidly increasing, I went over and picked up my phone. There was a new text message waiting for me. It was from a five digit number and it said, "go home." I responded back with, "no!" Shortly after, my phone vibrated from another text message. It was a different five digit number with an image attached. Risking a virus or malware, I downloaded the image. It was a picture of me standing on the patio of my parents house. My phone vibrated again. Another message came through and another image. This one was my parent's front porch.  My phone vibrated again and again as more pictures came through. Another one looked like it was the window to my parent's bedroom. Then the next one was outside my bedroom. All these messages and images kept coming from different numbers and showed different parts of the house. They were all taken from outside the house.  Then the original five digit number messaged me. It said, "go home." It repeated the message about ten times and then said, "...or we'll come inside to find you."  I didn't want to put my parents in danger, but I also didn't want to go home. Especially after what I saw on the camera. My concern for my parents won so I texted them and said I needed to get back home for a writing job and that I would talk to them soon. I grabbed my things and got in my car. On the way back, I made a stop at the police station. After showing all the texts, pictures, and videos and telling them about the website, they said it was probably a friend playing a prank on me.  I told them I was positive that it wasn't a prank from a friend. I don’t think they believed me that this was real, but they did at least take my information down and said they would look into the website. They also promised to send a police car to drive by my parents’ house tonight. Then they recommended I call the police if anything happens while I was home. That was a very disappointing stop. I took my time driving home and when I finally pulled into the driveway, I just sat there. I started thinking of everything that had happened so far. Nothing had harmed me, but I was definitely afraid. I began wondering if maybe they won’t hurt me and they are just trying to scare me. The website was definitely accurate about being afraid even though I still didn’t understand how it worked. I read a comment someone posted that maybe they were coming in through my computer. As much as I don’t believe that could happen, I don’t know how else they would have gotten inside. However, if that is true, then they could have easily hurt me by now so maybe I don’t need to be so afraid? Although, it is hard not to after seeing what was at my door, on my monitor, and now on the cameras. I’m going to check around the outside of my house once I can gather the courage and then go inside. It was weird how there was nothing on the video from in front of my house. Especially with how many notifications I had from it.  Edit: I watched the video again after I posted it online and something changed. I'm positive neither of those things were there when I watched it before. I think somehow the website infected my computer and then got into my phone through the synced browser or wifi or something.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I Work for a County Sheriff’s Office in Maine - I’ve Been Placed on Unofficial Leave. [RESPONSE] “God. Damn it!” I shouted in frustration as paperwork fell clean out the bottom of the folder I was carrying and fluttered to the floor scattering in all directions. I glared at the papers ruefully. It had been only a couple days since the witches attack and as it had turned out I was a little worse for wear. My left arm had been dislocated severely and there was a decent hole in my hand from where Eric removed the curse mark. As a result my left arm would be in a sling until the end of the week and my right hand was bandaged up tightly. This made even simple tasks difficult so I knew it was going to be near impossible for me to pick up the paperwork. I decided to ignore them for the time being rather than try and awkwardly scrape them back into a pile. You see, after the incident I had been placed on night duty. This meant that I would spend my nights alone in the Station with little more to do than twiddle my thumbs. If any problems arose I was to call a larger station in the next town over to come resolve it, though I still tried to spend my time productively. I focused on writing out reports and filing documents. I was about to head back to my desk when there was a soft knocking and I looked over to see Eric standing in the darkness on the other side of the glass entryway doors. I moved to unlock it for him and he entered. He looked fatigued, and his clothing was slightly dampened from the weather outside. “You’re earlier than usual.” I commented, glancing at the clock to see it was only nearing 3am. For the past two nights he had taken to patrolling the forest though he usually didn’t return to the station until 5 or 6 in the morning. “It’s quiet out there.” He answered as he sat heavily on the couch in the visitors area, “It’s never a good thing when it’s quiet like this.” He sighed running his hand through his hair and closing his eyes a moment. I realised then that he must be tired. He was out in the forest for the entirety of my shift the previous night and the Sheriff had complained earlier about him being around on his shift during the day as well. It only occurred to me then that he was probably out there day and night, “Have you slept in the last two days?” I asked raising my eyebrow. “That’s not important right now, the spirit is still looking for a host. If she senses that I’ve left the area, she’ll take someone.” He explained, “How are your injuries?” He asked now, opening his eyes again to examine me as if he had forgotten to do so before. “They’re fine.” I assured but he looked to the pile of documents on the floor pointedly. “I see, and you just felt like throwing paperwork to the ground in joy?” He mused. Dejected I ignored his question, “What happens if she can’t find a new host? I think you should try and get some sleep.” I regretted sounding like my mother. He seemed to think a moment this time before speaking again, “Spirits.. Take a risk crossing the barrier. Typically they only come when called, and presumably whoever summoned her should know she needs a host. It’s.. Odd, that they didn’t have a host for her already. No sacrifice waiting.. If she can’t find a host again before she runs out of energy she will cease to exist.” “Isn’t that a good thing?” I queried. At this Eric looked amused, as if I was missing something, “She wants to live just as much as you or I. Every creature that has the will to live has survival instincts, as she becomes more desperate she will become more dangerous and I hope you realise you are still her ideal target.” He informed me casually. I felt a fresh wave of unease roll over me, “I thought you removed the curse?” I asked nervously. “I did.” He assured, “However, you’re still the easiest choice for her, she knows you. She’s familiar with your energy. Removing the curse made it more difficult for her to find you, though you shouldn’t let your guard down. The curse was like a key of sorts, but even without a key, she can still break in.” His words hit a new found anxiety and I stepped back, reaching for a chair to sit down into as I did. I was almost certain I was going to faint, the thought that she might come for me, that I would hear her voice in my head again and feel her will imposed over my own brought back a fear I wished I had never known. “Don’t look so worried Charles, I’ll handle it.” Eric said calmly, “Can you pass me my cane?” He asked then. “I thought you said you didn’t need it for more than show?” I asked curious, I had assumed he wouldn’t feel the need to keep up appearances with me anymore since he didn’t even keep his arm bandaged now. “Today I need it. I’ve over extended myself slightly.” He admitted. “Oh, right.” I didn’t really understand but I did get him his cane, “Diane should be here any minute, I can ask for an early minute so we can go?” “You’re pretty useless here anyway, I doubt she’ll mind.” He mused and I felt a twinge of embarrassment. As he predicted Diane was only too happy to allow me to go early, though I think she might have also just wanted Eric to leave. Sheriff had driven me into work the day before since it was difficult for me to drive as I was, and Eric offered to drive me home since he would be staying with me anyway. His car was, ancient. A 1929 Mercedes, he told me, it was a shiny black thing with white wall tires. At first I doubted it was even drivable, but it quickly became apparent that it had been modified somewhat over the years, the engine certainly wasn’t from the 1930’s. “Did you steal this from a museum?” I joked, the interior was leather, but the seats were an odd shape. No head rests. “..Not from a museum…” He stated after a small hesitation. It took me a moment to fully understand, “You know I’m an officer of the law, right?” “So arrest me.” He said calmly and I closed my mouth. This was going to be one of those things I chose to ignore. When we arrived at my apartment my neighbour, Mrs Jones, was out watering her garden as the sun was beginning to rise. She watched us with displeasure as we went inside, scowling down her nose at me, I’m not sure why she disliked me so much. My apartment was the on ground level, three bedroom one bath. Nothing special. I had cleaned up a little bit, but it still didn’t look great. “Bathroom is down the hall, you can use the guest bed. I’ll make us some dinner.” I announced. “Thank you.” He answered politely though his expression gave away none of his thoughts as he moved to go shower. I set about struggling to cook up some steaks and vegetables, I couldn’t lift the heavy iron skillet well but I made do. As promised Eric wasn’t gone long. He came back out in black boxers with a towel half draped over his shoulders. He was using it to dry his hair with his left hand while his right hand was awkwardly held away from things, presumably so he didn’t cut the fabric. Now.. I know I agreed that I would ignore certain things when it came to him, but I help myself. Taking the chance to subtly look him over I noticed his skin was remarkably unblemished. I don’t know why I had assumed that fighting the kinds of things he did that he would have scars. He didn’t. Aside from where his abnormal arm joined at his shoulder of course. The silver marks on his neck just below the jawline were oddly bright, I think I can be forgiven for thinking they glowed slightly. He had his back turned to me as he started to pull on a shirt and I noticed that he was also remarkably well defined. One of those guys who’s veins show in their arms slightly when they pick things up. He seemed to struggle to get his monster arm through the shirt sleeve and I thought I heard him curse, then I remembered his left leg. I had always been curious about what injury it may have had and I had never seen him before without jeans on so it had always been covered prior. I was simultaneously disappointed and intrigued to see that from his hip down the length of his leg was a neat line of what I thought were tattoos. They seemed to be a series of circles, crescents and stars, the ones from his ankle up to his thigh were empty outlines while the ones higher near his hip appeared to be full. When he moved to put his pants back on I realised that I had been staring too long at the symbols and turned back to the food, “Hey Eric, what’s your routine?” I enquired now. “Excuse me?” He asked confused. “You’re ripped. What’s your work out routine?” I clarified as I plated up. He seemed to contemplate what I was saying for a moment and I thought I saw his cheeks heat faintly in embarrassment as he understood the compliment. “Oh.. I spar a lot.” He answered blandly, “I thought I told you not to stare at me?” “I wasn’t staring, I was just looking. I mean, n-not *‘looking’* just… I have eyes?” I struggled and I hope you all appreciate the effort I went to so that you know what Eric looks like. He didn’t answer me then as we sat down for dinner. I gave him his plate and began struggling to cut through my steak like a savage. Juice leaked out of it and I knew I had cooked it perfectly, however that’s when I noticed Eric seemed to flinch and I realised he was watching me. “I’m fine, I can cut it.” I assured assuming he was concerned. “It’s not that..” He answered. “What is it then? Are you alright?” I asked concerned now. “It’s nothing, but I would prefer cereal.” He said finally. “Oh, in the pantry.” I said easily and he got up quickly. I wondered if he had some kind of problem with meat? I felt a little dumb for not having considered that he might not eat the same things I did. I wasn’t entirely sure what monster-people liked to eat, but I had assumed meat, maybe I shouldn’t have cooked it? The morning drew on and Eric took some time to place salt across all the entry ways into the house. I didn’t ask why, I felt like I knew better at that point. However as I was about to go to bed there was an energetic crashing out the front. Immediately Eric was tense and he moved to investigate. “Wait, it’s okay, it’s just my sister.” I assured quickly, her enthusiasm was hard to mistake as she bashed on the door. “Charles, CHARLES! Are you home?” She called trying to look through the frosted glass of the front door. “Sister?” Eric echoed confused. “Yeah, her name is Clair.” I said as I moved to open the door. “Don’t-“ he started but it was too late. With the door open less than a crack my sister pushed her way in. Dragging a suitcase behind her she let it go before leaping onto me to wrap me up in a hug. I winced, “Ow ow ow, Clair…” She appeared to notice then that I was bandaged, “Oh, I’m sorry, *So* Sorry, are you alright?” She contained her energy quickly realising it was too much for the situation. “I’m okay, I was just about to go to bed.. Nightshift.” I explained. “Oh, I’ll have to be quiet then.” She said understanding, then she seemed to notice Eric for the first time. I watched as her expression changed from curious to embarrassed, “Charles.. There’s a very hot man standing in your living room and you have just let me make a fool of myself, but I just want you to know I support you 100%.” I looked back to Eric who was covering his face with his hand, I was sure he must have been hating his job at that particular moment, then I turned back to my sister and I wondered briefly how exactly my life had gotten to this point. “Clair no, that’s not right-” I tried. “I won’t ask any questions I swear.” She assured putting her hands up. To say it was a long day is putting it lightly. My sister did not in fact remain quiet and I’m sure neither Eric or I got much sleep with her in the house clattering around. She was determined to host a thanksgiving dinner at my house in the coming days and so was preparing. In addition to this the small emotions I had noticed in Eric evaporated and I wondered if I was previously able to recognise them because he was comfortable around me. As evening came about Eric and I headed to the station for my next shift, “I’m sorry, my sister is.. ahhh.. high energy.” I apologised. “You don’t need to apologise.” He stated. “I know, but she’s.. Sometimes she has no filter when she says things. She’s great really, it was just her and I growing up. We don’t really get along well with our parents so she’s kind of my entire family.” I explained, “Do you have any family?” I asked curiously. At this he hesitated, “In a round about way I suppose I do. Though I haven’t seen them for some time.” “Oh, I’m sorry..” “It’s fine.” He dismissed me. “If you want, you’re welcome to stay for thanksgiving.” I offered which seemed to catch him by surprise, “You don’t have to but, my sister and I would like it if you did.” I clarified. “I’ll think about it.” he stated noncommittally, then put his lefthand out to stop me flying forward as he slammed on the breaks of the car. He saw it before I did, a figure standing just ahead of the headlights. My heart began to race as I watched it shambled back out of the light, but Eric didn’t seem concerned as he pulled the car forward slowly until we were level with the thing. I could tell then that it was a man, dressed in a suit standing on the edge of the forest. His mannerisms were strange and he seemed to recognise Eric with a caution that kept him from coming closer. I also noticed that his eyes were entirely white without pupils. “Why are you here.” Eric demanded. No answer that I heard came but he continued as if one had, “That’s not important, answer the question.” Another pause seemingly without response, “I would hope I don’t have to remind you of what is acceptable to hunt and what is not.” His voice was colder now, “If you’re going to have a conversation, you had better include everyone.” ‘As you wish.’ A male voice came to mind, it was distant sounding and deeply disturbing, not quite the same as the witch.. But similar, ‘Hunting witches Eric? Isn’t that a touch too dangerous for you\~?’ The voice asked, ‘Nathaniel wouldn’t approve.’ “It doesn’t matter what he would approve of.” Eric muttered, oddly annoyed by the comment. ‘You should know he requests that you come see him, he says it has been too long.’ I saw Eric subtly raise his hand to the crescent marks on his neck, “ ‘Requests’? or ‘Commands’?” He clarified tensely. The man on the road smiled broadly, ‘Just a *‘request’*, for now.’ The voice exaggerated the ’s’ in ‘request’ and I saw him turn his attention to me, ‘When I see him next, I will be sure to tell him of your new… friend.’ I felt as though I had just been looked up and down. “Tell him what you like.” Eric answered finally as he put the car back in gear and we sped off. “What *was* that?” I asked anxiously, looking back to see that the thing was still standing where we had left him. “A parasite.” He explained vaguely, “He won’t hunt humans in this area so there’s no need to be concerned. He’s little more than an inconvenience.” “What did it mean when he said witches are too dangerous for you? I can’t imagine anything that’s beyond what you can handle.” Eric seemed amused, “There are plenty of things I can’t handle. This witch isn’t one of them. I don’t know what it is, but she’s not strong. I can sense it.” “You think she’s injured or something?” I asked now unsurely. “I don’t know.” He said honestly as we arrived at the station, “I won’t be far.” He told me and I knew that to mean he wasn’t coming inside. The night passed slowly and without incident. As dawn approached Eric returned to collect me from the station then we decided to go to Millies for breakfast. Though I was disappointed to note Jess wasn’t on shift I was interested to see that Eric ordered pancakes. We sat in silence for a long time before I finally spoke up, “So, you’ll eat pancakes, but not steak?” I asked waving my fork at him accusatorially. “Charles.” He warned without looking up at me and I knew I had hit a weak point. “Why is that exactly?” I continued being cheeky. “Pick another subject.” He said finally. “Alright.” I agreed, eating a spoonful of the ice cream that came with the waffles I had ordered, before enquiring, “Who’s ‘Nathaniel’?” I asked and Eric choked. “Since when did you decide you could interrogate me?” He muttered. “I’m not interrogating you, I’m just asking questions-“ I assured though stopped when I noticed Eric’s attention fixate on the door. Confused I turned in the booth to look back at the door. A father and daughter had just entered and I recognised the man, Dr. Dempsey, “Is something wrong?” I asked unsurely. “Do you know them?” Eric asked quietly. “That’s my doctor.. I went to see him when I got the curse mark.. I assume the girl is his daughter.” I explained speaking quieter when he did. They looked similar, both with red hair and light eyes so it was an easy connection to make. As I watched then Dr. Dempsey’s eyes came to rest on me and I felt a chill run down my spine. It didn’t seem as though *He* was looking at me.. Rather, that something *else* disturbingly familiar was. I didn’t have the time to say what I thought before the man attacked. Eric was gone from the booth before I could even determine what was happening and the Doctor’s fist came down hard on the empty space, breaking off the corner of the table with the force of the impact. From then, it was pure chaos. Other customers screamed and in a panic everyone tried to cram themselves out the doorway. “The girl is the witch!” Eric told me as the big man recovered from his initial missed attack and turned back to challenge him again. I’m not sure what he wanted me to do with that information. I was just a man with a fork and a half eaten plate of waffles. “Charles, don’t let her make that circle!” He clarified and I realised that the man’s daughter was drawing a pentagram on the linoleum floor of the diner with her own blood. I hurried to try and stop her, I really had no idea what to do. They don’t teach you how to interrupt a witch’s seance in the yearly retraining and so I ended up sort of bear hugging her then scooping her off the floor so she couldn’t continue drawing. In response the 16 year old screamed and bit me. She thrashed wildly and kicked off the counter top with her feet. The momentum knocked us both backwards. I landed taking the brunt of the force for both of us, hitting my head and injured shoulder, one of them made a sickening crack that I knew wasn’t good, though I’m not sure which it was. Dazed I rolled in agony as the teen sprung up. I knew she was going right back to her pentagram but as I struggled to recover it was too late. I didn’t know what would happen until it had begun. She completed the symbol and the entire coffee shop began to vibrate. Mr. Dempsey stepped away from Eric now, returning to his daughters side with a wide smile, I could recognise the spirit that had infected me in him and it made me shudder. Eric returned to my side and was urging me to get up, “You need to leave Charles, now.” He stated firmly. “What’s happening?” I asked numbly instead. “I don’t know, she’s summoned something else.. There’s only one way this ends now. The castor has to die to break all of the summons, you don’t want to see it.” He told me calmly, his expression was cold. I realised then that this was his true job, to take care of things no matter how unpleasant the resolution was. “You can’t just kill a teenaged girl.” I protested. “She’s not a teenaged girl anymore. Nothing like that is human, it’s just wearing a pretty shell.” The floor began to split apart along the lines of blood and I realised I could see something in the darkness below. There was a tense moment of quiet before the thing rose up out of the ground. It was a massive scaled creature with spines, the top of its head brushed the ceiling of the diner and it reminded me considerably of a snake. When it launched itself directly at Eric and I, he readjusted and in a split second I saw his darker eye dilate from a slit to a circle, like a cat focusing on a bird. He then slammed his hand directly down onto the ground, I saw blue sparks ignite in the air and the creature smashed into a shimmering silver wall that didn’t seem to be there until the moment it was impacted. It looked just as confused as I did that it had hit something and the barrier then began to crumble into a sparkling silver dust, dissolving in the air like snow on a warm day, “That was a one time deal wasn’t it..” I asked and Eric nodded. “Yes. Now go, if I have to protect you you’re in the way.” I couldn’t argue with his logic. I scrambled to get out of the diner as he squared up with the thing more than triple his size. I couldn’t imagine how he could fight that, but I could also see a singular determination in his eyes. I thought then that he probably didn’t know how to give up on anything and I realised that there was something I could do to help.. I still had my gun on me from work and I’m not a bad aim. As Eric fought with the creature the diner was being destroyed, broken crockery was scatted over the floor and I trained my eye on the girl. She didn’t look any different from any other teenaged girl I had ever seen, but it was her blood that connected these creatures to this world.. Truthfully I don’t remember pulling the trigger, I vaguely remember hearing the shot and seeing the surprise on Eric’s face as the serpent hissed thrashing back and forth. It seemed to burn up with protest in the same way the witches spirit did as it left Mr. Dempsey. I don’t know what happened after that. I heard sirens and the Sheriff’s voice arraign with Eric’s before I faded into unconsciousness. When I came back to I was in a hospital bed, again. Though this time Eric was in the room along with my sister who was pacing anxiously. “He’s waking, stop worrying.” Eric was telling my sister. He sat neatly with his arm bandaged, eye covered and cane by his side. meanwhile my sister looked like a mess, her hair haphazardly done and wearing the same clothes from the day before. “How do you know? He SHOT someone Eric.” she stated panicked. “I’m well aware.” He responded calmly. I’m sure that bothered her even more. “Stop.. worrying so much..” I murmured to Clair and she immediately launched herself at me. I didn’t feel a thing, pain meds I suppose. “You’re alive!” She said dramatically. “He was never going to die.” Eric said flatly, “Though, you will be mending a broken arm for a considerable time.” He informed me. “What else has happened?” I groaned and he hesitated. “..You’ve been placed on unofficial leave.. Pending investigation.” He said gently. Great. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm a freelance artist. An AI image generator keeps on predicting my death. [RESPONSE] I still remember a time when the internet had a distinct metallic sound. I miss it. If I could pull the hands of progress back to when cellphones were a luxury good I would. If I could avoid a place like this, filled with digital strangers and computers masquerading as people; if I could sit in a bar somewhere and speak to another human being about my problems — I would. But I can’t. I’m typing this out on my phone with my back pressed against the front door. I’ve locked it, I’ve put up the chain and I’ve even turned the key on the ancient metal bar. My windows are covered up by furniture and on the off chance that someone (or something) manages to get inside I have my sharpest kitchen knife ready. I just don’t know if any of this will help. I’ve called the police and they’ve hung up on me. I’ve called my brother and he insists I lost my mind. I’ve reached out to countless others who I considered friends, family even — yet they all consider me mad. All I have left is you. I am starving and drunk and terrified, and all I have left is this chorus of faceless strangers. Come morning, I doubt I’ll even have that. I’ve never been one for tech or the internet. I got my kicks from painting and hiking and getting drunk on the beach. My brother, on the other hand, was a computer junkie way back in the floppy disc era. When we got out of our parent’s place I stayed in the arts, he went over to the states to work tech. He moved halfway across the planet and we weren’t particularly inseparable to begin with. I lived my life doing odd jobs around Prague and he went on to become a project manager somewhere off West. We’d see each other every couple Christmases if he decided to visit the family, but aside from a dinner or two we never spent any time alone. We were two adults with differing interests and our lives had very little in common. There was no malice towards him from my side and I presumed there was no malice from him towards me. With everything that has come to pass, however, I do wonder. I wonder whether my brother doesn’t secretly despise me. He sent the first e-mail a couple months before the pandemic. Short and to the point. One of his associates was working on an AI-image generation program that could one day replace artists. He thought I might be interested. He included a key for a beta test. Back then I was working as a lecturer at a private university. I had my hands full with teaching, and, when I wasn’t teaching, I was busy with personal projects. I let the e-mail sit for a couple of weeks. Not out of malice, I was just busy and it didn’t seem important. When I finally did click the link and open up the artificial intelligence it seemed like a joke. I typed in “dog.” Half an hour later the computer spit out a blurry picture of a brown blob. I tried a couple more simple requests like “boat” or “cow” and all the image generator returned were vague shapes that took an eternity to manifest. I answered my brother’s e-mail with an assertion that his associate was a fool. Computers were tools, they could never replace a human hand. It took me a couple of days to write back but my brother’s reply was instantaneous. He said I was wrong. He said it would take a couple years, but that AI would surpass the skills of regular artists. He was willing to bet money on it. That’s why I think he hates me. Because he made it all a bet. Had he simply made the assertion I would have shrugged and moved on with my life. But my brother knows the sort of person I am. He knows that I never back off from a bet. We agreed on a decent chunk of change and three years. Aside from the e-mails, we never spoke a word to each other. It wasn’t until I called him in a panic today that we spoke about the AI. My brother’s second e-mail came in May of 2020. My life situation had changed considerably by then. Most of the students I taught were internationals who had moved to Prague for the university. When classes moved to the cyberspace, attendance took a sharp dive. Eventually, so did my hours. I had always avoided social media up until then, but with nowhere else to find work I started offering commissions. Not a lot of strangers took me up on the offer, but back then plenty of friends were willing to throw some cash my way for a portrait or a landscape. With my commission workload full, it took me a couple of days to get to my brother’s e-mail. When I did, I wasn’t impressed. The blobs which the AI produced still lacked any coherent connection to the prompts that I delivered. The “Dog” had eight legs, the “House” was just a big green smudge and any attempts at landscapes were just dark screens. I wanted to reply to the e-mail but the thought completely slipped my mind. Once it slipped, it disappeared. For months I didn’t think about my brother or the AI but then, around the fall of 2020 my brother sent me a third e-mail. The stream of commissions from friends and family had long dried up, so I wasn’t particularly busy when I got the message. With nothing else to do, and the world outside too stressful to watch; I clicked the link immediately. The new version of the AI was far from perfect. The rendering time ballooned up to over an hour and the images produced still looked like something drawn by a toddler — but the images had shape. Somehow, through mere text, the AI was able to unearth primal depictions of simple objects. That’s when I started to worry. I wrote back to my brother, asking him how the program worked — but he never replied. He left me alone with the AI to stew. I tried to push it out of my mind, I tried not to think about what difference a couple months of development would make. Yet, every other night, I would find myself testing out new prompts. The results weren’t impressive, but I had enough of an imagination to know where they were going. Around spring of 2021 I received a fifth e-mail. The link attached confirmed my fears. The software was making radical leaps in quality. Image generation boiled down to a crisp fifteen minutes and strange digital smudges were an exception rather than a rule. More e-mails came in throughout the year, but they were all blur. The AI my brother was sending me updates about wasn’t the only one on the market. MidJourney, Dall-E, countless others — month by month I would see more artificial art pop up on the newsfeed hellscape where I would look for work. I was still getting commissions, but they were few and far between. The price of everything was going up, but the wages for putting brush to paper stayed the same. My brother’s last e-mail came in a month ago. It simply included the link to the latest version of the beta test and a quick message: “Don’t worry about the money. Something tells me you’ll need it. ” With the bet off and my mental fortitude in the gutter, I avoided the link. I avoided the link for weeks and tried to keep my head down and get as much work done as I could. The implications of the exponentially progressing tech stole away my appetite and woke me in the middle of the night but I did my best to resist the pull towards the link. I resisted for a long time, but yesterday my efforts proved futile. I was working on a commission for a particularly picky client. He wanted a digital painting of his Dungeons and Dragons group for some sort of an anniversary party but, as indicated by his feedback, he wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted. I was getting paid for each redraw, but the payment was a pittance in comparison to the client’s demands. Last night I sent off the sixth version of the picture and, in hopes that it was the last, I opened up a bottle of wine. Almost instantly, the client replied with a list of demands that would take at least six hours to draw. Initially, I started typing up an angry e-mail telling him our business has concluded. Then, when I realized the man still owed me a good chunk of cash, I got ready for a final redraw. As I sat behind the tablet and stared at a piece I was beyond tired of, however, I got another idea. Perhaps it was the months of frustration that had piled up. Perhaps it was the three glasses of wine that led my hand. Perhaps, I was simply curious about what the new software could do. I clicked the link my brother sent me and copy pasted the client’s request into the prompt box. The AI rendered the image almost instantly. I had grown accustomed to leaps in progress, but I held some semblance of hope that the AI would still have issues rendering humanoid figures. The image on the screen dispelled all hope. It was perfect. I poured myself another glass and pondered. Passing off the AIs work as my own was immoral, but so was making a freelance artist do six different versions of the same drawing for pocket change. Once the glass was finished, I poured another one. A few healthy sips later I sent off the image to the client. When I was halfway through the second bottle of wine the client got back to me. He was more than satisfied with the new version and promised to recommend me to his friends. There was also something about a bonus in the e-mails text, but by then my vision was far too blurred to read the message in its entirety. I was far too drunk and far too occupied giving new prompts to the AI. The art popped up on the screen with startling speed and haunting beauty. Whatever prompt I suggested to the computer, simple or complex, came out with the composition and skill of a gallery exhibit. Each piece of breath-taking art that rendered before me broke my heart just a little more, but I couldn’t stop. I kept on drinking and I kept on throwing new prompts at the computer. The alcohol mixed and fused my fear and anger and fascination into a cocktail of utter madness. As my fingers turned numb and my brain emptied of prompts, I got ready to pass out. Seeing all my years of study and practice be replicated by a soulless machine was simply too much for me to handle. Before I shut down my laptop, however, I put in one last prompt: “Me.” The system froze. For a solid three minutes the AI remained unresponsive. Before I could find some amount of pride in defeating the machine, however, my computer started to huff and puff and render. The image came out much slower than the rest, but what the AI lacked in swiftness it made up for in terror. On my screen, painted with haunting beauty, I saw a terrified man staring into a laptop. The initial render was distant enough from my face to keep me calm, but the more the image sharpened the closer the likeness appeared. By the time the art had fully rendered I was staring at my own terrified face. The man was tired and drunk and scared and I wanted to believe that the AI had just taken a lucky guess. Yet, when the image was completed, the resemblance was unmistakable. The man’s jaw was open in drunken awe, and soon my lips also parted. There was a scar on the man’s chin. The same scar my brother gave me when we fought as kids. I was prepared to shut down the laptop and ignore the unexplainable image, yet just as I reached to shut the top of the screen my computer took another deep breath. It started to render another image anew. From the rough outlines of the scene, I could make out my apartment living room. Somehow, without any input from my side, the AI was able to construct a bright replica of my cramped home. I watched in terror as an algorithm crushed all semblance of privacy I thought I had. I watched, and then, just as the image sharpened — I closed my laptop shut. I was far too drunk and scared and tired to interact with the future. What I needed was sleep. In the morning I awoke with a devilish hangover. With my body completely drained of energy I crawled out of my bed and opened the window to let some fresh air. I thought I could lose consciousness once more and wake up as a human being, but my stomach disagreed. After rolling around in bed for what felt like an hour I got to my feet and went to the bathroom to cough out stomach acid. It's on my way back to the bedroom that I first saw it. The window in my living room had been broken. Among the shattered glass sat a large stone. The neighborhood I live in isn’t particularly safe. The broken window was definitely troubling, but with the pure strength of the hangover I couldn’t muster up the energy to care. I simply crawled back to bed and fell into a drained sleep. I woke up at some point in the late afternoon. The worst of the hangover had passed, but what remained was pure hunger and thirst. I made myself a coffee and started to get dressed for groceries. Before I left the house, however, I thought I’d check my e-mail and socials for new commission requests. The moment I opened my laptop I spilled my coffee. Right on the screen, hauntingly beautiful and absolutely accurate — sat a rendition of my living room. Warm afternoon light poured in through the broken window and illuminated the rough stone as if it were holy. The AI had not only rendered my living room, it also predicted the broken window. Before I could even begin to make peace with the AI’s soothsayer abilities the image disappeared. The computer was rendering a new image; a street, specifically the street right outside of my apartment. A man was lying on the floor with blood pooled around his head. A broken flower pot sat next to him with the soil turning the dry earth into crimson mud. It did not take long to identify the man. The chances of a random flower pot falling from the sky and caving my skull in were astronomically low but so was the prospect of a large stone smashing through my third floor living room. My initial instinct was to call my brother right there and then but I knew that with the time difference my chances of reaching him were slim. Instead, I fished out some crackers from the cupboard and satiated myself on the water from the tap. I thought I had it all figured out. In retrospect, my behavior makes little sense. But then again, in my defense, my circumstances made very little sense as well. I figured since the image of my death that the AI generated took place in the afternoon sun all I had to do was to wait it out. I spent the whole day sitting around my apartment, occasionally looking out of the window to the spot where I was meant to die. As the sun started to set and the sky turned a blood red, I found myself calming. The AI’s prediction wasn’t fulfilled. My skull remained unbroken and even though I was starving and terrified I remained alive. One look at the laptop dispelled all my joy. A digital rendition of me was still lying dead on the street next to a crushed flower pot, but the sun had shifted. The sky on the painting, much like in the flesh and bone world, was blood red. In the crimson light, on the computer screen, I still lay dead. I stared at the screen as the sun outside set. The darker the outside world got, the less legible the picture got. When the streetlights finally turned on, the computer went blank. Nothing new was being rendered. I held my breath for minutes, and then, when no unpleasant surprises presented themselves on the screen — I ordered a pizza. I was still far too scared to venture onto the street for food, but I figured no disasters would occur if I descended to the doors of my apartment complex. I patiently waited in my drained hunger as my Wolt app counted down to delivery. When the courier was downstairs with the pizza, my stomach ached so bad I nearly bolted out the door. Yet, just as I got ready to leave, another image popped up on the computer screen. A familiar man with a scar on his chin sat on the steps of my apartment complex. He was slumped over leaning on the railing, lit up by the streetlights like a renaissance statue wearing a hoodie. There was a bloody dagger sticking out of his back. I tried to convince myself that my fear was irrational. I tried to convince myself that there was no conceivable reason for the pizza delivery guy to murder me or for a computer to predict my death. I tried to convince myself, but I couldn’t. After a couple phone calls the courier simply placed my pizza on the steps and left. The pizza is still sitting where the man had left it, but the image on the computer has changed. It’s because of the new image that I barricaded my windows and triple locked my doors. It’s because of the new image that I am here, in this sleepless corner of the internet. On my computer screen a familiar man lies in a familiar bed. His eyes are wide open and staring at the ceiling, and the blood on the bedsheet is brown and dried. The bottom part of his face, starting from the scar on his chin, is ripped apart to the jaw bone. I cannot phantom what means of violence could mutilate a human body so, but I fear I will soon find out. Over the past couple of months, I thought my biggest worry was keeping a roof above my head. I thought my biggest fear was having to face technology that only needs a couple thousand days of progress to make us obsolete. Over the past couple of months, I thought the things I had to fear were hiding years in the future. But now I know that the things I should fear are much closer. I still remember a time when the internet had a distinct metallic sound. I miss .<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Stain [RESPONSE] I need to quit my job. But I don't think Ill make it out alive. Over the summer, I injured my knee and it completely ended my volleyball career (I say career, but I was a benchwarmer at best). To save my mental state, I decided to move on from sports. This left me with a lot of free time on the weekends, and I’ve been meaning to redo my bedroom, so I needed some extra cash. I became a housekeeper for the neighbors. They were The Rich People™ in the neighborhood. Everyone knew them as a little… eccentric. The type of people to collect spoons and garden statues. But they were a seemingly sweet little old couple and they were offering to pay well. I took the job before anyone else could. It was a big house, so they couldn’t keep up with cleaning all of it. They had a landscaper and another housekeeper who did the top floor already, and they just needed someone to clean the ground floor and basement. They often rented out the place to other rich people who wanted to have parties without worrying about their collectors items getting broken or whatever. It wasn’t the most relaxing job ever, but I just turned on a podcast (my favorite is The Magnus Archives) and worked for a couple hours every other weekend. I’ve been cleaning here since the beginning of the school year in August, so a couple months now. Nothing has been out of the ordinary up until a couple weeks ago, at the beginning of October. I have a specific schedule I like to abide by when I’m cleaning. First, I do the entryway, then the dining room, then the sitting room, then the kitchen, then the hallway, then the bathrooms. I’m not allowed to go in the office. Next I do the basement. I start the laundry, dust some of the corners, and clean the bathroom down there. Surprisingly, it’s not too big of a basement compared to the rest of the house. I followed this schedule religiously, it was the quickest and most efficient way I’ve found. I went about my life following this routine every weekend, and so far I’ve earned about $200. This felt like a pretty permanent job, I wanted to keep it until I move out and go to college. Unfortunately, the first weekend of October is when things started to feel… off. It started small, with some of my cleaning supplies not being where they should have been in the closet. The upstairs housekeeper used the cleaning supplies upstairs so it would be easier, so I’m the only one who uses the downstairs closet. The supplies were rearranged, sometimes completely off the shelves, even the ones that were never needed. We don’t get earthquakes where I live, so it can’t be that. These incidents gradually became more and more concerning. For example, I would throw away a wad of paper towels and they would appear in the closet. I would stand in the hallway and look through the kitchen and the door to the office would be blown open despite being locked and the windows all being closed, papers and documents blowing around like a tornado passed through. They were all resignation letters. I read them. I know that is wrong of me, but I was curious. They had names, but no dates. What was the most concerning though, was a strange stain that showed up three weekends ago. The stain started out small. I assumed it was water damage or something, so I sent a text to the couple and thought nothing of it. Why was it concerning? Well, it grew. And grew. And grew. It was dripping an inky black liquid by the next weekend. One week ago, I lost my patience. The couple hadn’t gotten back to me and I’ve never seen that upstairs housekeeper even when our schedules must have lined up. I did something for the first and last time while working there. I went upstairs to find the source of that stain. There was a landing upstairs that stretched all the way to the back of the house. Dusty furniture and lint covered carpets covered the place. It makes sense now that I’m thinking about it. The closet was in the back left corner, so I made my way to the room above it. It was hard to breathe in the musty air, to be honest. I was coughing a lot, and the smell was awful. What’s strange is that the room above the closet didn’t have any dust on the knob. And the air was significantly clearer as I got closer to the room. I find that incredibly strange, considering what was in it. This next part is hard. Not hard to remember, just hard to think about. They were… horrific. I hate it, but it’s true. Five people. All dead. All unrecognizable. They were grotesque husks of what should have been their former selves. But they aren’t who they used to be. They were pinned to the walls by their wrists like handcuffs. Some of them were midair, some slumped against the walls. A black, inky substance that should have been blood was leaking from the wounds, eyes, mouth, and nose of a girl that was a couple years older than me. The stuff was dried and crusted to the others. I found the source of the stain. And I walked calmly through the landing. Down the stairs. Out the door. And to my house. What’s funny is that I didn’t feel anything until I was in my room. The feeling was fear mixed with morbid curiosity. I looked up the names from those resignation forms along with my town name. I tried the surrounding towns too. I couldn’t find anything. It was like they never existed in the first place. For some reason, I’m still going back there, for some reason. I looked in the office, there wasn’t anything else in there besides the five forms from the people in the room. All I know about them is their names. I want to quit, believe me. I need to quit. But I don’t think I can. Something tells me that if I try, I’ll end up in the room. The old couple have been around a lot more, and they’ve been watching me. Me and my every move. If I so much as glance up those stairs, they appear in a doorway, staring. I texted them when the stain appeared. Now it’s gone. I’m planning on quitting on New Years. If I don’t turn in a letter, maybe they won’t get me. They can’t kill me if I stop showing up, right?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I just saw my crush murder the old couple next door [RESPONSE] Just like every cliché teen movie, I have a huge crush on my big brother's bestfriend, Rain. Caleb, my brother, met Rain in the town cemetery when my brother and Dad were visiting Mom. Rain caught Caleb's attention because he was blasting his bluetooth speaker over a blank gravestone to the tune of Nicki Minaj's Starships. As if that's not enough to catch anybody's attention in a cemetery, Rain appeared to be reading a story to the unmarked grave. Since then, they had become best buds and Caleb has invited Rain in multiple sleepovers already. That's when I started to develop this infatuation towards my brother's bestfriend. Rain has that certain mysterious boy-next-door quality in him which makes me wanna get close to him even more. He has these deep blue eyes which hide ever so lightly within his golden fringes, making the windows to his soul almost invisible. He's a man of a very few words and prefers books more than my brother's latest gaming consoles. He's the same age as Caleb, 16, which makes him 2 years older than me. Still, just like they say, in the name of teenage crush, age doesn't matter. So, earlier today, Caleb announced that he'll be having Rain over again later tonight. This made my heart do a tiny sommersault. This is the first time I'll be seeing Rain again after a week, so I smacked a little bit of gloss on my lips and let my chestnut brown hair fall over my shoulders instead of the hideous bun I had on earlier. I also changed to a pastel pink spaghetti strap crop top and black jogger pants just to have those blue eyes give me a side glance. It was 30 minutes past 7 PM when Caleb and Rain arrived from school. Dad was at work amd I was in charge of making dinner, so I did what every teenager was supposed to do---ordered pizza. The three of us binge watched Santa Clarita Diet and in the middle of each episode, I noticed quick glances from Rain towards me. I was trying my very best not to smile like a tiny creep so I hugged one of our throw pillows and hid half of my face so none of the two boys could see me smiling like a fool. I was already about to doze off after about a couple of hours watching when our doorbell rang. Weird. This is the first time in forever that somebody rang our doorbell at 10pm. It can't be dad. He just called us like an hour ago saying he's stuck in the ER and won't be home until tomorrow. Caleb looked at me lazily and I knew at that moment I had to get up and check who's at the freakin' door. I stood up and was about to get to the door when Rain blocked me and instead, locked it, and made sure the bolts are in place. "Hey, I gotta check who's at the door", I said as I smiled an awkward smile, trying to avoid eye contact with this gorgeous human in front of me. "It's not safe to open doors to strangers at this hour", was Rain's plain response before going back to the couch. I was walking back to my side of the sofa when I heard the doorbell ring again and Mrs. Jenkins' sweet voice from the other side of the door. "Hello? Mindy? Caleb? You forgot to come for Trick or Treat so Mr. Jenkins and I brought you treats instead." Rain shot a stern look at me. It's weird because it's like I can hear his voice inside my head saying "DON'T OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR." I stood frozen, in the middle of the living room, doing a staring contest with my crush, figuring the hell out if I should open the door to the old couple who might already be freezing outside or if I should listen to my hallucination of Rain's voice inside my head. The doorbell rang three more consecutive times before I heard Mr. Jenkins, or who I believe is Mr. Jenkins with a bad case of cough and colds which made his voice sound nasty. "OPEN UP YOUNG BLOODS!!!!! WE'VE GOT A SPECIAL TREAT FOR YOU!!!!!", followed by very loud, incessant banging on our front door. This time, I felt this bizarre tingling in my spine and I felt something was immediately wrong. Before Rain and I could do anything about it, my hothead of a brother opened the door begrudgingly but to both our surprise, there was NOBODY at our doorstep. Okay. This just went from weird to borderline creepy. Rain came charging towards the door with an ancient looking knife I didn't know where he got, and stood at our doorway looking for any sign of the Jenkins, but had no luck. "Quick!", he told us eagerly while boarding up our door, for reasons unknown to both my brother and I, "Grab anything you can use to defend yourselves and DO NOT look out the windows!" Caleb and I did as we were told, mainly because this is becoming a really weird sleepover and it's the longest we've heard Rain talk in one go. I picked up my Dad's favorite marble ashtray and Caleb had his hands on the fire poker. Meanwhile, Rain was able to secure everything, every window and both front door and back door are all locked, curtains drawn. Everything was quiet for what felt like a century. It felt like we were in an empty void, where not even air is present. That drowning silence was suddenly broken by a loud crashing noise coming from our basement. "SHIT!!! DID YOU HAVE THE BASEMENT WINDOW OPEN?!!!", Rain barked at Caleb. "I don't know dude! Maybe Dad was working on his wood art thingy and forgot to close the window!", Caleb answered frantically. I don't know about those two but my instinct brought me to our flight of stairs and the two followed me quickly. We went straight to my bedroom and locked the door, then pushed my cabinet in front of it to act as a barricade. "RAIN, WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?!!!", Caleb whisper-shouted as we all tried to be as quiet as possible as we heard scuttling noises on the other side of my bedroom door. "I'll explain everything later. For now, just trust me and DON'T LOOK AT ANY WINDOW because then they'll find us. Just don't forget that and we MIGHT just survive this", Rain whispered back. Did he just say we MIGHT survive??? So our survival tonight is NOT a sure thing??? And what are we supposed to survive from?!!! What the hell is happening tonight of all nights?!!! This is supposed to be my RomCom night and it's turning out to be an episode out of American Horror Story! My mind was still raising with questions and teenage frustrations when the power went out. Everything was pitch black. The scuttling noises outside grew louder, and that's when we heard Mrs. Jenkins' voice, not her usual sweet voice, but a twisted, guttural and unearthly version of hers. "'Miiiiiiiiindy...Caaaaaaaaleb...and you bastard son of a witch...come out for your treeeeeeeaaats..." It sent shivers down my spine. We had to call for help. I remembered my phone was just at my study table right beside the window. I walked towards it relying on my muscle memory, and was thankful for the feeling of my phone in my hand. I immediately unlocked the screen illuminating the area around me and the window. Fuck--- ---my bedroom window's curtain was not drawn. It was a huge mistake. I'll never forget what it looked like. I saw Mr. Jenkins...or what used to be Mr. Jenkins, with his Halloween themed knitted jacket covering what used to be his torso. It looked like his head was slumped on top of a heavily deformed body. He has his incredibly sharp and thick black finger and toenails stuck on my glass window, with his bones and limbs sticking out in all the wrong places. His face was plastered with this impossibly wide smile which extends to his earlobes, exposing flesh and muscle under the broken skin from what used to be his lips. His eyes...I will never forget those eyeballs. They were bare eyeballs almost sticking out of their sockets, never blinking, without eyelids. It's an inhumanly disturbing display on my window and if Rain did not shove me aside, I would have been pinned to the floor by Mr. Jenkins when he broke the glass to get in. I heard heavy grunts and screams from Rain, and unearthly and soul chilling shrieks from the creature known to me as Mr. Jenkins. I forgot I still had my phone in my hand, and with my hands shaking, I opened my flashlight app and tried my very best to see what's happening in my room. I flashed the light at Caleb who moved closer to me and gave me a hug...then I flashed my phone to the other corner of the room where all the noise was coming from. Rain has blood all over his face and clothes, and his beautiful golden hair is now almost crimson. I saw his right hand as it repeatedly stabbed Mr. Jenkins with the ancient looking dagger he had on earlier, not stopping until the creature was no more than a deformed mass of blood, bones and flesh on my pink carpet. When Mr. Jenkins looked no more than a lifeless, mangled corpse, we heard a ghastly shriek that made our ears ring and bleed...it sounded like Mrs. Jenkins with a hellish twist, and she came bursting through my barricaded bedroom door looking a lot like Mr. Jenkins in her deformed state, but with her balding head showing maggots on her scalp and barely clinging silver hair. Just as Mr. Jenkins' fate, Mrs. Jenkins scratched and grabbed Rain on his torso, his legs and his arm, making him wince in pain, but all the more fueling his rage and meeting Mrs. Jenkins with his ancient dagger for what seemed like an infinite stabbing. Almost the same time as both Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins were nothing but bloody, still masses on my bedroom floor, the ringing in our ears stopped and almost immediately, the lights went back on. I am writing this now in my journal because Rain said this won't be our last encounter with "The Unknown", especially because Caleb gave them an open invitation when he opened our front door to them. Also, because I don't want to think that I am crazy. Right when the lights turned back on, NO SIGN OF THE MURDERED JENKINS, or any struggle and damage on Rain, or any monster break-in can be seen in my room, AT ALL. I am still shaking, mostly because of an out-of-body fright experience, and partly because my crush just told me that I'LL BE SEEING MORE OF HIM FROM NOW ON.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The person you would take a bullet for is sometimes the one behind the gun. [RESPONSE] “the person you would take a bullet for is sometimes the one behind the gun.” That’s the thing my dad always use to say to me growing up. Of course as I was young I would never listen, looking back though I wish I had paid more attention to what he had said. It was 3 years ago and I was walking home from school. It had been a pretty crappy day. My best-friend Niko wasn’t in as well as Leo my other friend. The worst part about it was the other people I had been hanging out with had slowly began to disappear one by one. It was odd, the day a friend was missing…so was Niko. I talked to my mum about it but she just blamed my dad for making me superstitious. I listened to her and shrugged it off as a coincidence. I mean come on my best friend doing something with my other friends, that just sounds stupid. I wish I had ignored my mum and listened to my gut maybe I could have changed the outcome of this tragedy. I tried calling Niko to see why he wasn’t in but he didn’t pick up so I tried Leo but it went straight to answer phone. Leo was always on his phone so that was the moment I knew something was off. I went to bed the night completely unaware of what my friend was doing. I tried to sleep but couldn’t, I just didn’t understand why no one was picking up the phone. Was it me? Did I do something wrong? I woke up the next morning and something was telling me I shouldn’t go to school today but of course my mum was having none of it and told me to “stop being such a baby and go to school” I kissed her goodbye and went on my way. As I was walking past Niko’s street he leaped out from one of the bushes. “Hey Niko! You scared the life out of me!” He looked odd, as if he was possessed. He stood there looking me dead in the eyes and said “does this scare you more?” He was holding a pistol, digging it into my side. He told me to move and so I did, why wouldn’t I? After about 20 minutes of walking we arrived in a building that seemed to be under construction. He shoved me down onto a pile of rubble and told me to stay. My heart was pounding, this was it I was thinking this is where I die! After what felt like hours Niko returned with his father. “Lovely catch Niko!” Niko looked at him and smiled. His father then walked off and Niko told me to do as I was told and only what I was told. He sat there stroking my face with the gun. “How does it feel to be so powerless? Scary? I don’t worry, all you have to do is one thing and then you can go home.” At that moment I had some hope, surely whatever I have to do I would be able to. A little while later niko’s father returned but he wasn’t alone. he was holding a women by the arm with a pistol to her head. “If you want to go home…your going to have to kill her.” I sat there shocked, there was no way I was going to kill anyone. “And if I don’t?” I asked. “Well if you decided to wimp out you’ll end up like them” Niko said as he pointed towards a bunch of bodies piled in a corner. They weren’t any people though, They were my missing friends, he had taken and killed them all. I sat there for a moment trying to process everything, I knew one thing… I wasn’t going to kill anyone. “Go to hell!” I said. “Come on indigo, you kill people all the time on call of duty, it’s the same thing!” Niko said smiling. “This is nothing like call of duty Niko, this is real life.” He laughed waving his gun in the air. “Then I guess you have made your choice.” He pointed the gun straight at me and said “goodbye indigo” and then he shot me in the stomach. I must have been seen or heard because next thing I know I was in a hospital bed. The doctor told me that I was shot and the bullet went straight through my stomach and into my back. He said I will be fine apart from one thing… I was paralysed from the waist down. I sat there in shock, I didn’t understand how I was still alive. That 2 months later they caught Niko and his dad and they were arrested, found guilty and sentenced to life in prison. I went to visit him for the first time and he asked me one question “did you have any last words? Anything you wanted to say to me that night?” I told him one thing and one thing only… “The person you would take a bullet for is sometimes the one behind the gun”<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I can see the future. I wish I couldn't. [RESPONSE] I can’t remember when it started, I’ve had this ability for as long as I can remember. It started small. I could see a few seconds into the future, and although these flashes were random, they were occasionally useful. I could avoid dropping a plate, or someone opening a door while I was standing in front of it. A lot of the time though, the flashes weren’t really helpful, they just… were. I used to try to convince my parents that I had this ability, that stopped when I was around 5 or 6. They, of course, thought that I was just a kid with a large imagination. I realized that my ability wasn’t normal. That I, was different. I was alright with that. After all, it was pretty cool to be able to see a flash of the future, right? As I grew older, I began to be able to see further. First a minute, then two, three, five. By the time I was 14 the flashes would let me see over ten minutes into the future. The flashes were never long. They were just that: flashes. You know how sometimes you have a thought, and that thought encapsulates an entire idea? You just have an entire idea in a flash; a single quick thought? These flashes were like that. Around the time I turned 15 I could on occasion control when a flash would occur. It didn’t always work, but sometimes, sometimes it did. I started to manipulate this to cheat on tests. If I didn’t know the answer to a question, I would wait until about 5 minutes before the test ended, then I would try to look ten to fifteen minutes into the future, having already planned to google the answer to a question once that point in time arrived. I could of course not always control the flashes, but when it did work, it was quite useful. My friends always thought I was weird for googling the answers to questions after the test was over. I didn’t mind. Though I could not tell them the reason I did it, because, well, you understand. Anyway, my control over my ability kept becoming greater. I could control how far to look into the future, there was a limit on it of course, but I could look far enough. I could almost fully reliably use my ability. Random flashes started to become increasingly rare. When I turned 17, I could look weeks into the future. I didn’t really know how I would be able to make this very useful yet, but I had no doubt I would figure out a couple ways. You might think it would be easy to use this ability to your benefit, but there is a problem: No one can change the future. The actions I take, will always lead to the future I saw. I found that out when I tried to cheat on a biology test one time, and I instead saw myself in the supermarket with my friends. Then, when the test was over, I actually forgot to check the answer, and went to the supermarket with my friends. One day, while having breakfast, I had a random flash. I hadn’t had a random flash in months. In the flash, I was in my bed, late at night. There was a pain in my chest, and screaming from my parents’ room. I… didn’t want to believe what I saw. So I went back, looked into the future to that exact moment. And to my horror, it showed the same thing. A person at the foot of my bed plunging a knife into my chest, and my parents screaming. This couldn’t be real. For the first time I could remember I didn’t believe a vision of the future. No… that’s wrong. I just deluded myself into thinking that it wasn’t real. Maybe I was seeing a nightmare? Yes. That must have been it. I was seeing a flash of myself having a nightmare. But I couldn’t delude myself forever. So, a week before the date that it would happen. I looked 5 minutes before the incident, 10 minutes before, half an hour before. And it all pointed to one conclusion: It wasn’t a nightmare. It was real. Myself and my family are going to get murdered. I… had to do something. You might think that it would be easy: just get yourself and your family out of the house, right? But I knew it wouldn’t be that simple. So… I went on the internet and hired some people to come and I suppose protect my house that night. It sounds ridiculous, I know. But I wasn’t thinking very clearly, and I had to think of something convoluted, something that would elude the future. Something that could trick the passing of time to avoid my fate. But now, laying in my bed the night that it’s supposed to happen, I’m not so sure anymore. The website that I hired these people from was a little shady, though I had brushed it off at the time. But then why was there a strange noise coming from the front door? I tried, I really did try to convince myself that it was nothing. However, deep down, I knew that wasn’t true. After all: No one, can change the future.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I’m a cop, and I saw a high school kid shoot a …. Oh hell, I don’t know WHAT I saw. [RESPONSE] The Clairmont Claws were up 14-3, and six of those points had been run in by my son Brandon. It was his first high school football game. I was feeling good, up there in the bleachers as the halftime show started. I had the whole night off, my boy was kicking ass, and the first hints of Maine autumn were in the air. I reached into the pocket of my sweatshirt to warm myself up a bit more. Linda, my wife, elbowed me when she saw me pull out the flask. “Oh relax,” I said. “I’m off duty.” “No. I mean pass it over here.” I grinned, looked around to make sure nobody was keeping tabs on the Clairmont Chief of Police, and took a quick slug. Then I passed the flask to Linda, on the downlow, as Louie the Lobster took to the field. Louie was the team mascot. When I’d gone to Clairmont High, he had been this big fuzzy stuffed animal type thing, but a few years ago some kids got into the basement and tore the thing up during the off season. So they’d rebooted Louie, and ordered a new suit, and this one was more realistic looking, and more menacing. Louie had an angry lobster scowl now, and his claws looked like red mouths filled with lumpy teeth. Both versions were ridiculous in different ways, I thought – one being way too goofy and one being way too serious – but then I didn’t get bent out of shape about it like some folk did. It was a high school mascot… nothing to get worked up about. Down on the field, Louie was doing his best to do just that: get the crowd worked up. He was waving all ten arms around, and snapping his claws like crazy. In addition to the cosmetic makeovers, the new suit also featured some animatronics…. though there was still a kid in there doing the bulk of the work. Noah Fletcher, his name was. I didn’t know him before that night, but I later did some research on him. He was just a kid. An awkward kid who spent a lot of his time online, and who didn’t have many friends at school. People were surprised when he auditioned to be Louie, and even more surprised when he nailed the audition. “He was a dork,” Brandon told me after the incident. “But, like, a cool dork, you know? He didn’t look down his nose at us, and he *tried*. He *tried,* and that made him cool, you know? Didn’t just sit there and feel sorry for himself. He got in that suit and danced his ass off!” \* Halftime was wrapping up, and the crowd was egging Louie’s antics on. After another hit of whiskey, I was doing the same, up on my feet shouting: “Get ‘em Louie! Rip ‘em to shreds!” That was when Joel Clemments stood up from his seat in the third row and began climbing down the bleachers. I noticed him out of the corner of my eye. I had a run in with him the year before when I’d pulled him over for driving 15 mph in a 45 and found a half smoked joint he’d hastily tucked into the crease of his seat. Now he was probably just going to grab a snack from the concession stand, stricken with the munchies. I was off duty, so that wasn’t my concern, but something made me turn a little more in his direction and watch him. Some instinct that drained the warmth of the booze out of my body and left me feeling cold. Joel walked down to the bottom row, but instead of turning left to go to the concession stand, he turned right, making his way toward the fifty yard line, where Louie was winding down his show. I stopped clapping and reached down to my side for the gun. It wasn’t there, of course; it was down in my truck, in the parking lot. And what was I doing, anyway? Reaching for my gun because some kid was a little too high and couldn’t find his way to the boiled hotdogs? At a fucking high school football game? “Garry?” said Linda. “What is it?” “Huh?” I turned to her. She looked a little scared. “You’ve got your cop face on. What is it?” “Oh, nothing. Just saw some stoner and wanted to keep an eye on him. Make sure he didn’t get himself hurt.” I nodded back over in Joel’s direction, and saw him hopping over the little fence down to the sidelines. Then I knew that something bad was going to happen. “Hey!” I shouted, but it was no good. The crowd was applauding Louie’s performance, and I got the sudden unshakable feeling that even if Joel had heard me, he wouldn’t have stopped. He was on a mission… which meant that I had to be, too. Joel stepped onto the field and I started shoving people aside, making my way down there too. But I never had a chance to get over the fence before he pulled the gun out from the back of his pants, leveled it at Louie – at Noah Fletcher – and fired three times. As I leapt the fence, the applause in the stands turned to panicked screams. I hit the ground running. Louie was on his back, spasming, his giant claws reaching up to the sky… opening and closing. Joel brought the gun to the side of his own head and I crashed into him an instant before he pulled the trigger. The shot went up into the twilight sky. I was on top of Joel then, pinning his arms to the ground. He looked at me with swollen red eyes. A grotesque smile twisted itself into shape on his pale face. “I did it,” he said. I punched him hard across the side of the head and then he was out of it. Louie, I saw, was also out of it, maybe forever. The fierce lobster had stopped snapping his claws. Some of his limbs were still waving around, but I knew that was only due to the hidden mechanisms. \* At the station, I locked Joel Clemments in a jail cell, and sent our dispatcher/assistant Darlene, telling her to get some rest and that I’d man the phones. Then it was just me and the kid – still unconscious – in the building. I sat in my office drinking black coffee by the pot, and sent Linda a few texts letting her know that everything was under control. It wasn’t. I switched between the video feed of Joel tossing and turning in his cell, burning with some kind of fever, and the series of texts I had received from Bud Greenleaf. Bud and I had gone to school together, and he was with the EMTs who’d lifted Louie – Noah still in the costume – into the ambulance that had wailed its way to the 35 yard line a few minutes after it was called. The texts said: *Jesus Christ, Garry. The kid is dead. And he died a long time ago.* *Doesn’t make sense. He’s decomposing. What happened?* *Wtf? Can you come follow us? Meet us at the hospital?* *Come! This isn’t right.* I’d been dealing with other things – like a panicked crowd and a murderer – so I didn’t even have the resources to look at my phone as the texts were coming in. But once Joel was finally in his cell, I read them uneasily, and responded: *I’m tied up here, Bud. Will send some guys.* I radioed in to the three men I’d left at the football field – the four of us together were the entire Clairmont police department – and told them to send two to the hospital and report back. Through the monitor, I saw Joel stir in his cell. I left my coffee in the office and went to wish him a good awakening: “Why’d you do it, Joel? Why’d you shoot Louie the Lobster? Some kind of grudge? Getting too much attention you thought should be yours?” Joel sat up on his cot and put his face between his hands. He started shaking… I thought with sobs – remorse – but when he lifted his head, it was with insane laughter. “I did it! I actually fucking did it!” I shivered. I had dealt with plenty of violent drunks, and even a few domestic violence cases that escalated into murder… but I’d never seen anybody positively ecstatic about taking a life. This was the deep end of things, and I didn’t have my certificate to swim there. “Yeah,” I said, putting my trembling hands behind my back. “You sure did. You killed a classmate. I have hundreds of witnesses, and they’ll all agree with the both of us. You did it. *Why*?*”* Joel stopped laughing, and seemed suddenly terrified. “Why didn’t you let me do the rest? Why didn’t you let me off myself?” “Because it’s my job to make sure people don’t go around dying willy nilly. Now… I answered yours… you gonna answer mine?” Joel shrugged. “I can try, but if you didn’t see it, you wouldn’t understand.” “Trying is good enough,” I said, glancing at the nastry bruise I’d left on the side of his head. *Good*, I thought. *He deserves worse than that.* And if there hadn’t been a crowd of people watching… would I have given it to him? I thought I might have, in the moment. “That wasn’t Louie the Lobster,” said Joel. “No,” I agreed. “Because Louie the Lobster isn’t real. That was….” “That wasn’t Noah, either," said Joel. “Oh? Who was it then?” Joel shrugged again. “Like I said. You wouldn’t get it. You didn’t see it.” “You said you’d try. You’re in a lot of trouble either way, but if you try, it helps you out.” The kid ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “Alright. You got a smoke?” “No. Start talking.” “Alright. Alright. So last week, I was hanging out with Noah during lunch period, just sort of wandering the halls, shooting the shit.” “You two were friends?” “We were. We were best friends. So we were walking and talking and somehow we passed by the Janitor’s Closet. You ever heard anything about that?” I knew about the Janitor’s Closet. There were legends about it back when I was going to Clairmont High, and apparently those legends were still hanging around, like ghosts. “Sure,” I said. “The Janitor’s Closet. Nobody’s ever been inside… except that one kid who was never seen again… or that other kid who was also never seen again… one from every graduating class. Never seen again, and nobody could even remember their names. Spooky stuff. But those are made up stories. It’s just a supply closet that they keep locked so troublemakers don’t steal toilet paper.” “You’re dead wrong about that, officer. I mean, that’s what I thought too. That there was nothing supernatural about it. I thought it was funny that everybody was legitimately creeped out by it. So I made a proposal to Noah. We’d come back at night, when everybody was gone, and break into the closet. We’d stage some kind of scary scene, and take a bunch of pictures of the two of us there. It’d fuck with people’s head, and maybe get us some popularity for having the balls to go into the Janitor’s Closet.” Joel started shaking again, and this time he *was* sobbing. “God,” he wailed. “Why did we do it? It’s my fault. It was my stupid idea!” Any suspicion that the kid was jerking me around vanished, even as I suspect that his story was about to take a turn into the delusional; at least it would be an honest turn. “Wait here,” I said, then went back to my office for the pack of smokes I kept in a drawer. I’d quit years ago, but on some nights, when things in town got ugly, and my faith in people got stretched gossamer thin, I still sucked one down. In my office, I took a few moments to check that I had my ringer on – in case somebody was trying to reach me – and then tried to raise the unit I’d sent to the hospital on the radio. When I didn’t get a response, I felt a pit start to open up in my stomach, but I forced it closed, and headed back to the cell. The kid was talking. I had to keep him talking, before he wised up and started asking for a lawyer. I lit a smoke and handed it to Joel through the bars of the cell. He gave me a surprised look, then took it with a trembling hand. After a deep drag, he said, “Thank you.” “I won’t tell your parents if you don’t.” That was another thing. His parents. I hadn’t notified them yet, but I would have to do that soon enough. I was surprised they hadn’t heard the news already. I wanted Joel’s story before they had a chance to get between us. “So anyway, later that day, Noah made an excuse to go down to the school basement. That’s where they kept the Louie costume. He said he had to check on something, but really what he did was unlock one of the windows down there. That night, we rode our bikes over and slipped in through that window. It was so easy. And we could have done so many different things, instead of what we did. We could have written messages on the chalkboards… could have fucked with Principal Keeler’s office… anything but the Janitor’s Closet.” Joel finished his smoke and dropped it into the dingy toilet with a sizzle. Then he leaned his mouth under the faucet of the sink there, and took a quick drink of water. “We headed upstairs, and down the dark halls, using our phones to light the way, but once we got to the Closet, there was another kind of light. A green light, seeping out from the Closet, through the gaps around the door. Noah saw that and wanted to call the thing off. I told him….” He choked back a harsh sob and went on. “I told him to stop being a pussy – that the janitor had just left the light on by accident or something – and I went to work on the lock. I’d watched a YouTube video, and after a minute or two, I had it open. I was so proud of myself. Pride goeth before the fall, officer. Pride goeth before the fucking fall. “We were going to scatter plastic bones and stuff like that around and start taking pictures. That was the plan. But as soon as I opened that door, the green light spilled out. I saw that it was coming from a crack in the wall. At first it was swirling everywhere, like an aimless fog, but it started to coil together like a snake. Noah started screaming, and the snake of light took his open mouth as a sort of invitation. It wormed its way inside of him, until it was gone completely, and everything was dark again.” I cleared my throat. “I don’t want to sound insensitive, Joel… but I have to ask. Did you maybe take some pills, or smoke a little something, before this all happened?” Joel shook his head. “I’m not gonna get high before I do something like this… break into the school… you crazy? It happened. I saw it. And after that… Noah wasn’t the same. We got out of there fast, forgetting the stupid prank, and we got back on our bikes. Noah made me escort him home. He kept asking what the fuck had happened. What the fuck had slithered inside of him. I told him I didn’t know… maybe some kind of weird gas leak? I said maybe he should go to the doc for a check up, just to be safe. When he got to his house, we said goodnight, and he went inside. “He wasn’t at school the next day. I kept texting him, but he didn’t respond.” I pulled my own phone out and checked it again for missed messages. No word from anybody. *Goddammit!* “But I saw him that night. At 1 AM… in my fucking bed room! I woke up and there he was, at the foot of my bed, staring down at me. His eyes were glowing green in the darkness. Before you ask, yeah, I’d been smoking a little weed before bed, but Jesus Christ, not that much! “Man… I tried to scream, but I couldn’t even open my mouth. So I tried to tell myself, ‘It’s just sleep paralysis, dude, calm down.’ I couldn’t though… not when Noah walked over and started stroking my forehead. His touch felt so real… and cold. “He leaned down and started whispering in my ear. He said: “‘I’m growing stronger again, and soon I’ll be everywhere. I’ll be in your closet and I’ll be in your momma. I’ll be dripping from the faucet, and soon, very soon my pal, I will drip all over this world and transform it into the screaming Hell that it wants to be. Do you see?’ “And I did see. I saw my dad, coming home from work. He was covered in blood… had just stabbed his foreman sixty three times. He was screaming at my mom, demanding to know what was for dinner. She said *he* was for dinner and bashed his skull in with a meat tenderizer. I watched, frozen in terror, and heard wails outside. Human wails… people moaning in agony… and wails of sirens, cut short as ambulances crashed into each other. Through the window, I could see a green fog overlaying everything, and I could see people running down the street with missing limbs, or the flesh flayed from their faces, and other people chasing them, and other people chasing *those* people, armed with golf clubs, gardening shears, guns….” I was a rational man, and believed that at best this was all a fever dream or a bad trip, but still I shivered. “So you felt like you had to stop him,” I said gently. “Yes! I mean, Jesus Christ, I didn’t *want* to do it. Who wants to shoot their best friend? But that wasn’t Noah anymore. That was some… a demon or something. I don’t know *what* it was, just that it was evil and it had to be stopped, and nobody would believe me if I went for help. And I know you don’t believe me either. I know I’m fucked. My entire life is fucked.” I sighed, and lit two more cigarettes. One for him, one for me. “I believe that you believe what you’re saying,” I said. “I know it wasn’t easy for you to tell me that, either, and I appreciate your cooperation. I’m going to call your parents now, and tell them what you did, on the off chance that they haven’t heard by now. Do you have their number?” Joel gave me the number, then sucked on his cigarette in gloomy silence. I left him in his cell. \* Back in my office, I sat down and waited for my heartbeat to slow. Was there some part of me… some little sliver of my lizard brain… that actually *believed* that crap? If there was, I had to push it aside. And focus on the next steps. I’d call Joel’s parents, but first I had to know what was happening at the hospital. I tried the boys over the radio… no response. I tried texting Bud, the EMT… nothing. The pit in my stomach opened up again, and this time I couldn’t will it shut. I dialed up the hospital and listened to the line ring and ring. I hung up and decided that Joel’s parents could wait. I had to find out what the hell was going on, and if nobody would answer, I’d have to haul my ass over there and see the situation with my own eyes. I pushed myself out of the chair. It took an effort and my knees cracked when I stood… I was getting old and beyond tired. As I scooped up my keys, there was a great crash out in the hallway, followed by a harsh scraping sound. I put my hand on the weapon strapped to my hip and hustled to the door, sticking my head into the hallway only to see… was that a *lobster tail*? Dammit, it *was.* The door separating the public area of the police station from the holding cells had been shattered apart, and the giant tail was disappearing into the darkness left in its wake. I heard Joel scream. I took a deep breath, steadied myself, then broke into a sprint, down the hallway, toward the cells. I nearly slipped, and looked down to see that I was following a trail of green slime. The pit in my stomach turned into a gorge, and then, when I made it to the cells, it opened up into an endless abyss. Louie the Lobster stood tall, with his scaled back facing me, snapping his formidable pincers in the air. Joel was shouting in wide-eyed terror: “Shoot it! SHOOT IT!” My mind scrambled to make sense of what I was seeing. Louie the Lobster, mascot for the Clairmont Claws. I knew that. My son played for the Claws. Tonight was his first game. And, during halftime of that game, I’d watched Joel Clemments shoot three bullets into Louie the Lobster, who wasn’t really a lobster, but a boy named Noah. And that boy was dead. My EMT friend, Bud, had told me that. That was right, wasn’t it? But if it was right… then what the fuck was this thing in front of me, snapping its claws? “SHOOT IT!” wailed Joel. “PLEASE!” I drew my gun, more because I didn’t know what else to do than out of any intention of using it. “Halt!” I said. “Put your…” *claws?* “hands up!” Louie ignored my command and began reaching his pincers towards the bars of the cell. “Jesus fucking Christ, shoot it! Shoot it shoot it shoot it!” But I didn’t shoot it. There was a boy in there. He must have somehow survived the bullet wounds… maybe the lobster costume had dulled their impact. And maybe they had given him some heavy duty drugs at the hospital that jacked him up, and allowed him to break down the door to the holding area. Now he was here to get his revenge on his assailant by frightening him. As improbable as all that seemed, I had to consider that it was possible, and so I couldn’t, wouldn’t shoot him. And after all… Louie couldn’t do more than frighten Joel, right? Steel bars stood between them. “I said: *freeze* and *put your hands up!*” Louie closed each of his giant claws around four bars and snapped them in half with a metallic crunch. With his wiggling legs, he peeled them aside, creating an opening into the cell. Then he began shuffling inside, as Joel shrank back into a corner. This, certainly, was all a good argument in favor of shooting Louie. “God forgive me,” I muttered, and pulled the trigger, aiming at Louie’s segmented tail. The shot landed, and a spurt of green slime oozed out of the wound, but it did nothing to slow Louie down. And then it was too late. Louie was upon Joel, grasping the frightened boy with its legs. Joel let out one final cry as Louie opened a pincer in front of Joel’s neck. He said simply: “NO!” Then Louie snapped his claw shut, and Joel’s head toppled from his neck and down onto the dingy jail floor in a gush of blood. His body slumped down beside it. I unloaded my clip in a frenzy. Louie jerked with the impact of each shot, flailing his legs, and I was reminded, grotesquely, of his performance at halftime earlier that night. Only here there was no cheering crowd, and nothing to celebrate. Louie fell to the ground, supine, next to Joel’s body… opened his claws one more time, slowly, and then closed them forever. Meanwhile, a hideous maw opened under Louie’s twitching antennae, and I recoiled as a green fog began spewing out of it. I kept dumbly pulling the trigger of my gun at the substanceless fog, though the bullets were all spent. In terror, I remembered Joel’s story… about how the green fog had seeped into Noah’s mouth when they had broken into the Janitor’s Closet. I kept my mouth sealed tight, and backed down the hallway. But the fog wasn’t moving towards me. It drifted over to the sink, swirled around in the basin for a moment, and then shot up and into the faucet. \* I left that bewildering and gruesome scene in the jail cell and drove unsteadily to the hospital. I felt drunk, though the little whiskey I’d had at the game had worn off long ago. The hospital parking lot was nearly empty, which I took to be a bad sign. The squad car I had sent was parked on the drive, in front of the ER entrance. I pulled in behind it and got out. A man was there, sitting on the curb, clutching at his hair. When he looked up at me with bleary eyes set in a pale face, I recognized him. Bill Larkin, lead reporter for the *Clairmont Times*. “Bill… what happened in there?” Bill shook his head. I started to make my way past him, but he clutched my pant leg before I could make it inside. “Don’t,” he said. “It’s my job.” I tore free of him. The doors slid open for me and I walked inside. I should have listened to Bill. The officers that I had sent there were lying dismembered and scattered, their extremities flung far, and mingled with what must have been four to six other bodies. I saw a torso with Bud Greenleaf’s id card clipped to its chest. I saw Martha Blanchard’s severed head, staring at me in amazement. She had been the front desk receptionist. I vomited, wiped my chin, then walked back outside to sit next to Bill. “I… I was here when it happened,” he said. “I hid like a coward.” “No shame in that. You’d be dead if you hadn’t.” “It was… Christ, you’re not going to believe me. It was….” “I know what it was,” I said. “It came down to the station after it left here.” “This should be a national story – Hell, an *inter*national story – but if I pitched it, I’d be laughed out of a career.” “So then don’t pitch it. The thing’s dead now. It’s over. All that’s left to do is pick up the pieces.” \* Picking up the pieces wasn’t all that easy to do… and, as I found out soon enough, the horror was far from over. I spent the rest of the night talking with the families of the dead, doing my best to explain what had happened. Some of them had already heard, from the witnesses at the hospital who had seen Louie unleash his terror. Some believed that Noah had been acted upon by some heavy duty medical grade drugs, and though I knew that wasn’t the truth of it, I didn’t try very hard to dissuade them. Some didn’t believe my even my abbreviated account at all at first… they thought I was playing a cruel joke on them. The hardest call was to Joel’s parents. They were out of town, and weren’t even aware of the shooting at the football field. I spoke with his mother, and when she finally understood that her son was dead, the phone carried her wails of grief from one side of the country to the other, and down deep into my gut. News of what had happened spread around town, but no further. Bill didn’t even run an article on it in the *Clairmont Times*. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement to treat it as an unexplained tragedy, and nothing more or less than that. The town effectively shut down for a few days in mourning. And when it reopened, things were different. At first, I thought the mounting tensions were a result of the shooting at the football field… the massacre at the hospital… the “unexplained” nature of what happened at the police station. At Hannaford, people would fill their shopping carts without meeting each other’s eyes, or saying a word of greeting to folks they’d known and lived next to for years. It was as if they all suspected each other capable of harboring some unfathomable monster inside. That, I thought, was understandable enough, and I thought that it wouldn’t last long. But the tension began to bubble into violence. Fights broke out nightly at Willie’s Bar and Grille. They spilled into the streets and turned into brawls. Somebody threw a brick into the window of Bob’s Hardware. Car tires were slashed… garage doors graffitied. Down half of my police force, I worked around the clock trying to keep the peace. Waldo County agreed to send over two men as temporary replacements, but they were weeks out, and until then, I was working 18 hours shifts. Nor did I get much rest when I clocked out. Sleep brought nightmares. Nightmares of giant lobsters crawling through our town, beneath an endless green fog… crushing buildings and people between their monstrous claws. And idle hours awake brought bad memories… Louie’s carcass lying next to Joel’s decapitated body… that hideous maw opening and spewing forth its evil poison. The violence continued to escalate. It was impossible to keep up with. Somebody burned down the Unitarian Church. People I had grown up with snarled at me… spat at me and called me a pig. My nerves were raw, and I started to feel like I might snap too. \* “You need some time off,” Linda said last night after work. “This is eating you alive. Why don’t we go somewhere for a week?” “Can’t,” I said, pouring a whiskey. I looked at the glass for a moment, reminding myself that I had to be careful with that shit. I’d seen it get its hooks into too many people… like my old man. *Two drinks,* I promised myself. *Two drinks*. I slammed the first one down. “I know you think it’s your duty to single handedly save the world, but it’s really not, Garry. And I’m *scared*. Something crazy is happening here. It’s like there’s something in the water.” I was in the middle of fixing my second drink when she said that. I froze, and whiskey kept pouring over the edge of the glass and onto the counter, until Linda gently took my hand and lifted the bottle. “Garry…” she said. “You’re not well.” *Like there’s something in the water*. In the jail cell, when Louie had died… the fog hadn’t come after me. It had gone into the sink faucet. The thing had told Joel: *I’ll be dripping from the faucet, and soon, very soon my pal, I will drip all over this world and transform it into the screaming Hell that it wants to be.* We were a few miles out of town, and had our own water well. So did our neighbors. And, as the thoughts tore through my wrecked brain, I realized that the violence and vandalism was mostly contained to the city limits, despite the fact that just as many people within the *town* limits lived outside of the city. So it was in the fucking city water pipes? It had slipped into the faucet in the jail cell, swam against the pressure… found the mainline… spread out, splitting a part of itself off at each branch… flowing into each home? Pouring out of showerheads, out of kitchen faucets, into cooking pots… into drinking glasses. I did a desperate mental calculation, trying to remember if I’d ingested any city water since it had started. We had a commercial water jug at the police station. Did Darlene use *that* water or tap water to make the coffee? Christ, I didn’t know. Had I gone to the diner and ordered a glass of tap water? I didn’t think so. Where else? “Honey,” I said. “I want you to think carefully. Have you drank any city water recently?” “What? I was *kidding* about there being something in the water.” “I know. But I think there actually *is*. So think. Maybe at Claire’s house? Didn’t you go there the other day?” “What? Yeah, yeah. I went to Claire’s on Monday for our book club. But nobody else showed up. Claire wasn’t even there. So I left.” “Okay. Okay. Good. Think. Anywhere else you might have had some water?” “I don’t know, Garry! You’re scaring me!” I took a deep breath and looked at my wife. I didn’t think that she was infected. She was worried… but had been almost supernaturally patient with me. The infected weren’t patient. “Bran!” I called. “He’s at a friend’s,” said Linda. Then her eyes got wide. “Oh no!” She scooped her phone off the kitchen island and called our son. She held the phone to her ear for a while and finally shook her head. “He’s not answering.” “Where is he?” She told me and I was off. \* Cedar Street was mayhem. A group of teenagers was overturning a car parked on the side of the road. I slowed as I passed them, shining my flashlight out the window, looking for Brandon. He wasn’t with them. “Fuck the police!” one of them shouted. He flipped me off and I kept driving… past an old man kicking a dog… past a pile of leaves burning on the sidewalk… past a tree with figures hanging from it that were, I hoped, dummies, rather than human beings with burlap sacks over their heads. Finally, I reached number 88. As I pulled up to the curb, I saw that the large bay window jutting out from the front of the house was shattered, and there was a body lying on the ground among the broken glass in the flower bed. It looked to be a woman. I got out of the car with my hand on my weapon and slowly approached the body. Heavy metal music blasted through the broken window and I heard something smash inside. “Ma’am?” I said. She didn’t respond. I could see now that it was Tina Godfry… Brandon’s friend’s mother. I reached down and felt for her pulse. She was cold and dead. I walked around and tried the front door, terrified of what I might find inside. It was unlocked. Inside, the music was so loud that it hurt my ears, and I was hit with a horrible stench that almost made me spill back up the whiskey along with the hamburger I’d had for lunch. “Brandon!” I shouted. “You in here buddy?” The overhead lights were off, but I saw a flicker coming from a room at the end of the hall. A strobe light. That was also where the music was coming from. I crept towards it, drawing my gun and trying to steady my nerves. “Brandon!” Brandon stuck his head out the room. “Pops!” he yelled. “Come join the fun!” “Are you okay?” I asked, getting closer to him. “What happened to Mrs. Godfrey?” “That wasn’t me! That was Jason!” He laughed. “Threw his own fucking mother out the window. Can you believe that?” “And where is Jason now?” “He’s in here! Come on in!” I was close enough now that I could see my son’s face as the intermittent light hit it. It was covered in blood and he was grinning like a maniac. “You wanna try some, pops?” he asked, before bringing an arm out of the room and showing it to me. It wasn’t his arm. It was severed at the elbow, and had several bites taken out of it. I didn’t know what to do. God help me… I didn’t know what to do. “I told ya, pops! Told ya once, and I’ll tell ya once again. This world is an inch away from being a screaming Hell, and we’re gonna give it that last little nudge, aren’t we pops? Just a little nudge! That’s all it takes!” He sunk his teeth into the severed arm and pulled away a chunk of flesh. I turned away. I thought about just leaving him there. Going home and telling Linda that he was dead… that we had to get far, far away, fast. Then I thought about actually killing him, so that it wouldn’t be a lie. For a second, I thought about killing my own son… even if that wasn’t really my son anymore. “Drop the arm and put your hands up in the air,” I said. “What you gonna do, pops? *Arrest* me?” He laughed, but did as instructed. I approached slowly… pointing my gun at him with one hand, and fumbling for the cuffs with the other. I got them, and dangled them in front of him. “Put these on,” I said. “Or what, pops? You gonna shoot me? You don’t have the balls.” I bit my lip and shot him in the foot. It would be a long time before he played football again. He dropped to the ground and howled in pain and rage and I slipped the gun into my holster and slapped the cuffs on him. “Oh!” he said, smiling now. “Kinky!” I grabbed the cuffs by the chain and dragged him down the hall as he snapped his teeth and spat blood at me. We made it outside and I thunked my son down the concrete steps and scraped him along the walkway until we got to the squad car. I threw him in the back, then got in the driver’s seat and drove home sobbing as he told me about how much he was going to enjoy eating me alive. \* Back at the house, I went inside and gave Linda a partial account of what had happened, while Brandon squirmed in the back of the squad car. I argued that we should keep Brandon in the basement, tied up and possibly gagged, until we could figure out what to do. She refused to allow that. So I told her about the cannibalism. That’s where our son is now… tied to a chair in the basement. Linda agreed to the gag, too, after hearing the evil filth pouring out of his mouth for a few hours. As for me, I went to the computer and started typing up this account. I thought that maybe somebody would read it and be able to help us… maybe somebody knows what this thing is, and how to stop it. That was my hope. But just as I was coming to the end, I got a text message from Darlene, the dispatcher/assistant at the station. It said: *What did you think of the coffee yesterday? I tried something new. Made it with tap water.* My vision started to waver as another message came through: *We'll see you very soon in Hell, chief.*<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Skotádi [RESPONSE] Sometimes I like to paint or sketch just to vent. Sometimes I like to write to vent. But most of the time I just paint. But lately, I haven't felt like doing so. It's weird. I used to do it every day, filling the canvas with the brightest and most vibrant acryllic paints availabe to me. Now, anytime I pick up my paintbrush the only thing that comes onto the hairs of it are blacks, greys and brown. Before you get the wrong idea, I am not here to vent. I have a story I want to tell. A few days ago, I decided enough was enough and forced myself over to my art studio. It is small, but efficient. I picked up the brush and thought for a moment. Nothing came to my mind specifically that I wanted to make, so I just put down some colors on my pallette and dipped my brush into the grey. I swiped it against the canvas, and felt nothing. I swiped it again. Still nothing. I do not remember what happened during the time period of me swiping a stroke across the canvas, and me coming to my senses, but I know something did. Because the thing I created was absolutely mortifying. Over the course of 7 minutes I had created something so utterly terrifying I had scared myself. The background itself was black. There was a person, or some type of a person, standing in the void of blackness. It's eyes stared into mine, more realistic than anything I had painted before. It's mouth was curled into the most eyebending smile I had ever seen. It would have put the Joker to shame. It's body was frail and naked, only showing from the waist up. The most terrifying part though, was it's chest. The entirety of its chest was open. The ribs were pulled apart into wing like forms, and all of it's internal organs were seen. I have never taken any sort of anatomy class other than the basics in school. After some further research, I found out everything was in the right place and looked identical to photographs. I do not want to believe that I had painted that. It's horrifying, glossy eyes. It's petrifying smile. And the open rib-winged chest. I really don't wanna believe that I created it. But who else could've? I was the only one there. I was the only one I knew that could possibly paint it, and even that was a far stretch. The painitng itself isn't even the scariest part. It is the fact that I saw it. Actually saw it in the real world. I was walking home one night from a late night out with my friends, and was listening to my favorite song. I looked up from whistling and saw it standing just in the shadows of a lightpost. This was exactly 24 hours after I painted it. I was so terrified I couldn't move. Then it started to walk towards me. That is when I screamed and ran. I don't know what to do. It is in my dreams. It is in my head all the time. I have even named it *Skotádi.* It means darkness in Greek. I am utterly terrified and I don't know what to do. It's driving me crazy. I can't sleep. Or eat. Or drink. I think it's here right now.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Haunting of Apartment 106 [RESPONSE] Sometimes I hear it scuttling in the shadows or behind the walls. I rarely witness it but when I do it's always a blur that disappears into the shadows and it never happens when I expect it to. I know I sound off my rocker but there is a monster that lives in my apartment.  I first heard its calls five days ago, the same day my sister, her husband and their daughter came over to visit before they left for a vacation. It was the middle of the night when the sound rose from the darkness, freezing my blood. Its calls sounded like an orchestra of string instruments being played by gorillas with a propensity for causing as much pain as possible.  That was the first in a long series of nights that seemed to never end.  The next morning when I got up, I found my chair was torn and the stuffing was partially dragged out.  I was physically attacked by this monster the following night while sleeping. The monster plunged its fangs and talons into my feet, attempting to shred my flesh from its bones.  I wanted to go to a hospital to have it looked at but I am afraid of what they may tell me. What if it gave me some kind of disease when it scratched and bit me? After two days without sleep, my mind was playing tricks on me.  I think the beast enjoys chaos. Returning home I sometimes find my clothes torn and laying on the floor or the remains of a digested meal.  It even knocked over the urn of great grandma and scattered the ashes. I decided to ask around for help and thankfully found people online. Unfortunately, since I had not seen this beast and couldn't give a description, they couldn't tell me exactly what I would need, but they did recommend that I buy books of wards and rituals.  In a new age shop, I loaded up with everything from charms to Christian crosses in the silver and gold variety since one may work better than the other.  I didn't expect to buy as much as I did that day but the weight of all the charms around my neck is a small price to pay for safety. People online also recommended that I purchase incense and sage to purge the beast. After performing all the rituals I could and surrounding my bed with salt I finally felt comfortable enough to sleep. As soon as my head hit the pillow I was out of it.  I don't know how long I was out of it, but when I woke up it was dark. That isn't what woke me though. There was something laying on top of my hip, its tail was twitching back and forth, slapping my leg and I was too afraid to move. When my alarm clock went off the beast ran away. It was the first time I was thankful for having an alarm clock if I am being honest. When I went to the kitchen, I saw some more of the creature's destruction. This time it decided to tear apart a throw pillow. I am not the kind of person who likes to tell people if I need help, so I didn't tell my friends or family about this even though I knew that if I did they would offer me a spare bedroom or a couch. Each day I go without sleep its as if the shadows get darker and larger. I am not sure if I am going crazy or not.  Even as I write this I wonder: Did I just see the beast? Some people online told me about the origin of Halloween, and how people would place offerings of milk out for ghosts and goblins to calm them. They recommended that I do the same thing. I sat a small bowl of milk out and ran out to buy offerings of meat at the store. When I returned I saw that the milk had been drunk so I put out a piece of bologna. I looked away for only a moment and when I looked back the meat was gone.  These offerings are only a bandaid. I need to identify this monster if I am to have any chance of being free of it. The following night my blood ran cold when I heard the monster in the walls between my bed and my neighbors apartment. On the other side of the wall is an old woman who lives all by herself. I should've got up and run to her rescue, but at that moment I was a coward and didnt do anything except cover my head and drown out the sounds with tuneless humming.  I rearm all the traps I have set up the next morning and cry because of how useless these traps are and how helpless I feel. Its at this point where I get more glances of the creature. A tuft of hair here, a tail there. Seeing all this I wish I was never born. I cannot do this for much longer. I am not religious and I was reluctant to ask a priest for help, however at this point I have no other option. He said the church no longer does exorcisms, that demons are a way to explain the evils in the world and not to be taken literally. When I insist that I am living with some sort of entity he recommends prayer. I caused a bit of a scene when he said this and stormed off. My friends started to notice how much I have changed and how I am isolating myself so they reach out to me. I told them everything was fine because I do not want to bother them with my burden. As we speak I take my time bringing up the possibility of borrowing his gun so I could go duck hunting. Thankfully he believed me.  I do not like being dishonest but I don't see another way out of this situation. If the tables were reversed and he were to tell me about a monster I would not believe him.  That night I didn't try to sleep, I sat in my bed with the loaded weapon and waited for the monster to show itself. The moment it rears its ugly head I was going to end its life or die trying. Hours pass, I think I might have nodded off with the gun in my lap. I wake up suddenly and raise the gun to the door where I thought the beast would appear. I cocked the gun, putting a shell in the chamber while at the same time ejecting the one I forgot was already in there. As I pan the gun left and right, waiting for my eyes to adjust, I look for any movement. After a few moments I see that the wards on the floor made out of salt have been spread all over.  I really should not be surprised, the wards offered me no help yet, why should I expect things to be different now? Feeling pressure on my bladder I dread getting out of bed when it is dark. Under the bed the monster could wait for me to put my foot on the floor. I feel like a child all over again, scared of the dark, scared of monsters. In truth I am afraid of everything. After a silent prayer I jump off the bed and as soon as my foot touches the ground I sprint to the bathroom and shut the door. Unfortunately I didn't bring the gun with me. Deciding to sit on the cold toilet instead of standing up to urinate I consider sleeping here with the door shut. Before I know it I am asleep once again. I woke up to the sound of loud and rapid scratching. In that tiny gap between the door and the floor I see a white claw reaching out towards me. Needle-like claws extended and excitedly scrape the floor as if it's trying to pull the floor, and me, towards its awaiting maw. A moment later the claw turns and reaches towards the doorknob.  I am thankful I am already on the toilet because I scream like a child and because I don't remember the last time I ate, I faint. When I wake up its to the sound of my phone ringing on the other side of the door. As soon as I build enough courage I burst through the bathroom door and sprint to my bed where the phone and the gun lay. Instead of grabbing the gun I look at my phone. Four voice mails and six missed calls, all of which are from my boss.  He said that I was fired in the last voice mail. This should upset me more than it does but how could losing a job compare to living with some kind of demon?  Forcing myself to eat I open the fridge and the smell of old spoiled food breaks me. I cry harder than I ever have in my life.  Babies don’t cry this much. The anticipation of being attacked was almost worse than actually being attacked.  I shout, challenging the beast to reveal itself as my knuckles turn white around the gun. I position a chair in the corner so I can see more of my house and I wait for the monster.  Outside I hear people go about their day, I hear birds chirp, cars start and in the distance I hear a school bell ring indicating that the students are about to go home. Everyone else gets to feel normal. Again I cry. There was a moment I thought I heard a woman screaming in the hallway outside, but it ended up being one of those happy screams. I cry yet again.  The only time I move from that chair is when I go to turn on the lights just before it gets dark. After all, I need to see the monster in order to shoot it. If the monster survives the blast it would kill me. If that is the case, at least this nightmare would be over and I would be able to finally sleep. Weighing the pros and the cons of living, as well as the gun in my hand, I made a decision and put the barrel of the gun in my mouth. Slowly I apply pressure to the trigger, knowing that at any time this thing will go off and my suffering would be over. I think about the poor bastard who would have to clean this mess for a second but quickly set that thought aside. As soon as I shoot, it would not be my problem. I add more pressure to the trigger with the business end of the gun in my mouth. My lips tighten on the barrel and I cry more, my finger not easing the tension on the trigger. That was when the phone rang. I pull the barrel out of my mouth on the third ring to see who is calling me. Wiping tears from my eyes I pick up the phone and see it is my sister who just came back from her vacation. She is the one person who could talk me off of this cliff. “Hello?” I answer as calmly as I can muster. “Hey, I’m coming over, be there in five minutes,” she says.  “What? Why?” I ask, surprised. “I’m picking up my cat today. Thanks for watching it when we were gone by the way.” <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The girl who drank the rain [RESPONSE] My mom used to say that rain is God’s tears, and that’s why we shouldn’t drink it. She said a lot of things to make me behave. She told me that eating too many sweets make invisible goblins that chew on my teeth. That spiders would crawl into my mouth if I didn’t breathe through my nose. That eating snow would freeze my stomach and turn me into a snowman. A hundred little lies, all engineered to trick me into behaving. And I behaved. As the years passed, I’ve turned into a perfectly tricked human. I left all childish nonsense behind years ago. I pay my taxes and keep my head down. I don’t eat too many sweets, I breathe through my nose, and I don’t eat snow. And, of course, I don’t drink from the rain. Last August, I was at a supermarket on the outskirts of town. Just another lazy Saturday morning, with a sky full of grey clouds and a persistent wind. I’d bought some groceries and was heading for the door when I noticed it’d started raining. I hadn’t brought an umbrella, so I just pulled my leather jacket close and rushed to my car, hoping the bread wouldn’t get soggy. I threw the groceries into the passenger seat, leaned back, and noticed a woman standing in the middle of the parking lot. She was staring straight up with her jaws wide open. Her mouth filling up with rainwater, like a bird bath. Seeing her, I couldn’t help but to think about what my mom used to tell me. To never drink the rainwater; that it was an *ugly* thing to do. My mom passed on years ago, but some words can stay forever. I sat there looking at her for a while. She had this black pixie haircut and a gray hoodie long enough to reach her knees. She was completely drenched, with lines of black mascara running from her eyes. It took me a while to notice she didn’t have any shoes on. I got the feeling that she wasn’t well. This wasn’t something sane people did. Sane people don’t drink rainwater like that. God’s tears. It wasn’t unusual that strange characters came by this supermarket. There was a prison nearby, and a lot of people stopped by to buy something on their way out. Mostly friends and family visiting, but every now and then there was an odd bird. I have no idea what kind of people they keep at that prison, but the company that runs it has quite the reputation around town. Hatchet is a strange company. I decided to say something, and stepped out of the car. “Hey!” I called out. “You’re gonna get sick!” She didn’t flinch. It was as if she didn’t even register my words as a language. Instead, she just kept staring into the sky. She had this sort of mindless determination about her, like she didn’t know what else to do. She didn’t even blink. Raindrops bounced off her unblinking eyes. I was about to get back in my car, but I felt bad for her. She was barely an adult, and she was clearly having some sort of breakdown. I jogged back inside the supermarket. There was an older man standing behind the counter, listening to the radio. I’d shopped there a few times, but never actually talked to him. He didn’t even look at me when I came back inside. “Excuse me,” I said. “I think the girl outside needs help.” He leaned over a bit in his chair, squinting at the glass doors. She was still out there. “What for?” he asked. “I dunno, she’s… she’s just standing there. She has no shoes.” The old man was clearly not happy about this. Not about her standing there, in particular, but that I’d bothered him about it. “Let’s go,” he said. “People don’t talk to each other no more?” I followed him outside as we approached the girl. The rain was picking up. “Hey!” he called out to her. “You alright?” No response. He slowed his pace, giving me a concerned look. Now he saw what I saw. “You want us to call someone? You have a… a phone?” he asked. “You need help?” We all just stood there for a few seconds, until the old man sighed. He put his hand on her shoulder, rustling her gently. “I’m sorry, but you can’t stay here,” he said. “You have to move on.” He shook her harder, making some of the water in her mouth spill over. I got a bad feeling. “Come on now.” He grabbed her again, and she immediately lost her balance. She tipped over like a falling tree, her head smacking haplessly against the concrete. Water spilled out of her mouth, mixing with the blood from the fresh head wound. The old man’s eyes went wild. He fell to his knees, repeating “oh my God” over and over. I backed away with my hand on my phone. I didn’t register what was happening, and I went into a sort of paralysis. It took me a few seconds to notice she was still coughing up water. A *lot* of water. And some of it had turned *black*. I thought it might be blood, but it didn’t look like it. Too dark. I was suddenly aware of the phone in my hand. The weight and texture of it. I dialed 911 as the old man put her on her side. “Breathe through your nose!” he said. “Stay calm, and breathe through your nose!” Black water was pouring out of her like a faucet. Her eyes were still fixed on the sky. It felt like minutes, but it was just seconds. Breaths. The water stopped pouring out of her. She just laid there, unmoving. I could hear an operator talking to me in my ear, but it was as if the words just passed through me. I couldn’t hear them over my own pulse. Something about an emergency. A question. “She’s… she’s not breathing!” the old man cried. “She’s not-“ A twitch. Her mouth moved. Something passed between her lips; something dark. A finger? A claw? She rolled onto her back with a violent muscle spasm. She bent her back like an arch, balancing her entire body on the soles of her feet and the scalp of her head. She inhaled, sucking in as much rainwater as she could in a screeching gasp. Her throat rattling as the rain drops passed into her lungs. We went from trying to help to just staring in disbelief. In an impossible move, she got to her feet; invisible tethers pulling her back up. Her face still locked towards the sky, and jaws once again wide open, her body turned to me and the old man. And as we recoiled, she gurgled, and charged us. My phone slipped out of my wet hands as she burst forward. I tripped over my own feet, falling backwards, and she hurled herself over the old man. Her head was constantly looking upwards, like a gyroscope. It was as if her body was moving and twisting independently from her head. I could swear she twisted her neck an entire 360 degrees at one point. I crawled backwards, scraping the palm of my hands. She gurgled again, the water from her mouth pouring over the old man that she’d pinned. He was gasping for air. Spitting and coughing, wildly flailing his arms. Just this relentless stream of water, practically drowning him. Then he stopped. Slowly, he opened his mouth wide, and he too started to drink the rain. I stumbled to my feet and ran for my car. I could hear naked feet slapping against the concrete; she was chasing me. I got my keys out, unlocked the car, and got in the driver’s seat. I slammed the door shut right on her fingers, breaking them like carrot sticks as the door bounced back open. I crawled into the passenger seat as useless fingers brushed against my face; trying to grasp at me. She crawled in after me, gurgling with anticipation. I got out on the other side of the car, slamming the passenger side door shut. I rounded back to the driver’s side and closed that door as well, trapping her inside. She didn’t have the mental capacity to open the doors, so she just settled back into pounding on the glass with her bleeding, broken fingers. Her eyes were moving independently of one another, trying to find a way out. Trying to find the sky. I backed away, my heart pounding. I didn’t even notice my tears in the rain, just the sting of sweat in my eye. I kept hunching over, clutching at my stomach. It was burning, like my insides were trying to jump out of me. My heart was having none of this. The old man had gotten to his feet. He looked at me from across the parking lot. For a few seconds, I could see fear on his face. Pleading eyes, begging for help. Then, his face snapped upwards, and he opened his mouth wide. His body, moving seemingly on its’ own, started walking towards me. He tripped over the concrete outlines of the parking spaces, barely keeping his balance. His shoulder smacked into a sign, sending him reeling onto the ground. All the while keeping his head fixed on the sky. Then, just as the girl before him, I could see this invisible force pulling him back onto his feet. Transparent tethers, hidden in the drops of rain. He got his bearings. And suddenly, he was *fast*. This man was easily 70 years old, but he was keeping an impossible pace. I didn’t know where to go. Didn’t know what to do. He gained on me, and I just stood there like a deer frozen in headlights. Thumping feet coming closer. Then the girl trapped in my car slapped her hand against the window again. The sound kicked me off like a starting pistol. I shot into a sprint as my stomach shivered. I don’t remember running back into the store. I don’t remember knocking over a stack of shopping baskets. It was just a blur of colorful packaging as I ran through the aisles, cheerful radio tunes playing overhead. The old man tripped over a shopping basket and fell sprawling to the floor, water spilling out of him like a fountain. As he struggled to get back on his feet, I saw little things moving between his lips. Little fingertips, black like ink. A little hand reaching out. He stepped back outside and leaned his head back upwards. Slowly, he walked out of sight, towards another side of the store. I was left standing there, holding a mop. I didn’t even realize I’d grabbed it. I started to look for a phone. There had to be some sort of alarm, but I couldn’t find it. There was no big red button to press. My hands were shaking, and I kept knocking things over. A bunch of pens rattled against the ceramic tiles. I looked for the manager’s office. The guy was old, chances were there was a landline. Going into the back, I heard a surprised yell. There was someone outside the back exit. I couldn’t be bothered, I had to call for help. Help yourself before you help others. Put on the oxygen mask. The manager’s office was locked. I tried just pulling the door open, or banging at the glass slit, but nothing seemed to work. Finally, I pulled a fire extinguisher from the wall and just hammered relentlessly until the thing shattered. I put my hand through, clicked the lock, and stepped inside. The place was a mess, but it had a landline buried under piles of unsorted documents. There was a computer, but the thing was already old ten years ago. I dialed 911 as I closed and locked the door behind me. I only have a vague recollection of speaking to the operator. I told her about people turning violent, but in trying to explain it I realized I sounded completely mad. I tried calming myself down, and explain it in a way that made it seem like the owner had snapped. They asked me if I was safe, if he was armed, if someone was injured… a thousand things, it seemed like. I kept hearing little noises in the back of the store, and I completely lost my train of thought. “Sir? Sir, are you there?” I heard the voice on the phone, but it was distant. Every bone in my body was listening to what was happening outside. Someone was getting in through the back door. It was clunky, but I could hear the handle rattling. “Sir!” I slowly put the phone away. Not hanging up, just putting it away. I had to concentrate. There was an old toolbox in the corner of the room, so I grabbed a large wrench to defend myself. I needed solid metal in my hands. It brought me a kind of courage I didn’t know I had. When the old man stepped up to the manager’s office, I was ready. I slammed the door open, knocking him back. Even now his head was tilted upwards. I whacked him over the head with the wrench, sluggishly connecting with his throat. He stumbled sidewards, and I hit him again. He tripped, fell over, and snapped his neck against the wall. It was over in a second. He stopped moving as black water oozed out of him. And there, moving at the edge of his lips, were little black fingers. Reaching outwards, desperately. Looking for something to grab, to pull itself free. His jaw moved up and down, like he was chewing an invisible meal. His eyes were still fixed upward. As I raised the wrench to attack again, the little hand stopped moving. It turned into a black sludge, like coagulating darkness. I couldn’t let go of the wrench even if I wanted to. My fingers had cramped shut. I took a deep gasp, as I realized I’d been holding my breath. I backed away. I’d killed this man. Self defense or not, he was dead. No question about it. “Sir?! Sir!” I could hear coming from the landline in the other room. I didn’t know how to explain this. I didn’t know what I’d say. I just stood there, listening to myself breathe. In an instant, the world shifted upside down. I lost my balance, as something grabbed me from behind. I fell hard on my right shoulder, losing the grip on my wrench in the impact. Two arms had gripped me and was pulling me backwards. The stock boy. He’d been out back on a smoke break this whole time. That’s the startled sound I’d heard; he’d been attacked. Moments later, I felt the rain again. He’d dragged me outside. The guy was in his early 30’s and built like a redwood. He had no trouble keeping me off balance, as he pushed me to the ground. He tilted his head downward, as water started to spill. “Wait!” I screamed. “Wait, w-wait!” Then, rainwater. Luke-warm, body-tempered rainwater. It is hard to explain the sensation. At first I was drowning, trying to keep water out of my lungs. But after one or two involuntary gulps, I didn’t feel it anymore. It was as if air and water switched place. The rainwater kept me alive, and losing it would mean choking to death. My neck locked itself staring upwards, as to not lose any water. As I looked up at the clouds, I heard a voice. It felt like it was reaching into my stomach, resonating in my body like an echo. Rain falling on me, making it look like I was running through a tunnel, or being pulled upwards. “*Hello*.” A greeting. A dark presence went swimming through my thoughts. Little tendrils seeping into my memories, touching all my secrets. I could feel my body moving on its’ own, and all I could do was look up. I tried to scream for help, but all I did was gurgle. It hurt something awful, burning like razor wire being pulled out of me the more I resisted. There was something up there. Something in the clouds that needed me, the way a body needs a pair of hands. I lived in that world. I don’t know for how long. Having a conversation with something inside myself, trying to feel something. My body was numb and distant. Frozen solid, and pulled by an impossible force. And at some point, the rain stopped. I was staring up into the sky; coughing up water, as my body slowly remembered how to breathe. I was lying on my back, looking up at the clouds. They were parting. I turned to my side, feeling something wriggle in my throat. I gulped down hard, feeling an obstruction slide down. Then the water started coming out of me. Rainwater, black water, and blood. I had an idea where I was, but it took me some time to orient myself. It was a grassy field, just a bit out of town. Underbrush, some scattered trees, and a few dried-up discolored sunflowers. I was just off the freeway, about a fifteen-minute walk from the store. I’d seen this field on my way home from work, I realized. Not too far from Frog Lake. I eventually made my way back to the supermarket. Four patrol vehicles and an ambulance had arrived, sirens wailing. I saw the young woman with the black hair being lifted into an ambulance, her hand broken and bleeding. She had a tight bandage wrapped around her head. They were also moving a body out of the store, and three officers were talking to themselves and taking pictures by the entrance. Coughing up the last drops of black water, I tried my best to scream for help. All that came out was a gurgle, that slowly turned into a scream. That part was all me. They eventually recognized my voice from the emergency call. They took me in, had a medic check me out, and questioned me all about it. The officers tried to piece it all together into something comprehensible, ending up at the story of “an old man goes crazy and gets killed”. I wanted to tell them more, but I just couldn’t find the words to make it sensible. There was some surveillance footage, but it didn’t cover much of the parking lot. All they saw was me being chased into the store by a sick-looking man. Before I was sent home, and asked not to leave the state, I got the chance to ask my own questions. I asked them about the young woman in my car, and what happened to her. Apparently, she’d been picked up by her guardians almost immediately. They had all paperwork in order, as well as a pair of very expensive lawyers. “Strange people,” the officer noted. “Didn’t seem very parental.” Since then, I’ve been getting shivers whenever it rains. I get this sense that I should go outside, to see if there is anything up there. Something that still needs me. Something calling to me. But I’m fine, according to the doctors. Still, I don’t trust myself to stay inside. I lock myself in the bathroom with my headphones on, waiting for it all to pass. I’ve read about others seeing her. A young woman who comes out when it rains, to drink from the sky. I have to know more about her. I need to know what happened to me. So if you’ve seen her, please let me know when and where. And if you meet her, just walk the other way.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] National Parks, and nature in general, Can Be Scary. Part Two. [RESPONSE] First part in series: So Lora was my first real paranormal experience at the house, but I did have some questionable things happen to me before I moved in, and I think sharing those might be important. Especially if someone else out there could be going through similar experiences. As I’ve made clear throughout my first post, the woods in national parks are spooky. I’ve been to many throughout the last couple of years, and they always give off strange vibes. I always assumed that it was me just being weary of being alone in nature, but now I’m not so sure. This next story I’m going to tell takes place before I met Rick and before I moved into that house. I was new to the park, I mean brand new. I had never heard of it online or seen it on a map. But it seemed like a beautiful place so I figured I’d do some adventuring. Sorry for not giving the name, but honestly I’d rather none of you adventure it until I figure out what’s going on here. So after stopping briefly at the front office to pay my way in, I headed out. I ended up finding a trail called Flora Hollow that was 24 miles long , so my plan was to hike about halfway, set up camp for the night, and finish the rest of the hike tomorrow. After about a mile in, I started to notice something was off. There was very little light being let in through the trees. I mean, next to zero. I could maybe see 3 feet in front of me, if that, and the further I walked, the darker it got. It struck me as odd because it was 1 in the afternoon, and when I had checked the forecast less than 20 minutes ago, there was no chance of rain. So really, there was no reason for it to be dark. But, against my better judgment, I pushed forward, wanting to stick to my plan of hiking 12 miles and setting up camp. Now I know how frustrating it is to watch someone in a movie press forward when there’s obviously a problem, but believe me, when you're actually in one of those situations, the evidence isn’t always so obvious. As soon as I realized it was way darker than it should have been for that time of day, I should have turned around. Whether it was because of a sudden change of weather, or some strange supernatural phenomenon, I should have known to just get out of there. But I didn’t, and I’m sure that’s obvious since there’s so much left to the story. At 2 miles in, I stopped to put on my head lamp. My visibility was still about 3 feet in every direction, but this was the point where I started to get a little on edge. Being in the dark itself isn’t inherently creepy, but the thought of something else being in the dark with you, is. It felt like as I walked on there were millions of little eyes peering out from the darkness to watch me go. Around 3.5 miles into my hike, I stopped again to quickly slip on a hoodie. Maybe it was all in my head, but it was suddenly frigidly cold, for no reason. Nothing else had changed, not the elevation or the amount of light coming in through the trees. And it’s not like it was getting super late, it was 2:30 at best, and for an average July day, there’s no reason for it to be sweatshirt weather. Now I’m not usually the paranoid type, but at that point the feeling of being watched was so strong it was putting my stomach in knots. I continued to tell myself that it was probably just because it was dark, or maybe because I was in a new park on a trail I’d never seen in regular daylight. But something in the back of my head kept telling me something was off about the Flora Hollow trail. So you may be wondering, what was my solution to combating this paranoid feeling? I simply put up the hood on my sweatshirt and drew the strings so it was sealed just around my face and the light strapped to my forehead. And then, I pressed on. Nothing really notable for the next 8.5 miles. I got more uncomfortable the farther I went, and I thought I heard sticks crunching in the woods around me, but I chalked it up to my imagination. Finally, I reached my halfway point. I started setting up my camp. Nothing too fancy, just hanging a tarp angled from a tree to make a little half shelter. I laid out my sleeping bag and made a circle of rocks to prepare a fire. One thing about lighting fires is that you need some sort of fuel. I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t carry wood in my bag while I’m hiking. So, once I finished laying out my home for the night, I grabbed my hatchet and trekked off into the woods. I planned on staying close, heading north away from where I set up camp. Because of the darkness that surrounded me, I couldn’t really pick out things around me to use as markers, so I decided to count my steps instead, hoping to keep myself on track. One. Five. Ten. Sixteen. Twenty three. Thirty. At thirty paces from my campsite, I stopped. Looking around I saw a triangular shaped piece of bark, so I laid it on the ground with the sort of pointed end facing back the direction I came. I loaded up my arm with all of the sticks I could find in about a 6 foot radius of the bark arrow, and then turned around and headed back the way the bark was pointing. One. Seven. Thirteen. Nineteen. Twenty six. Thirty. My campsite was nowhere to be seen. My pack was gone, so was my tarp, so was my sleeping bag, not even the circle of rocks for a fire remained. I swore it was my camp, the trees looked the way they did when I left, some branches were angled down, and they had been the ones holding up my tarp. Maybe there was a chance I somehow went the wrong way, so I turned 180 degrees and began walking back to my wood collection spot. Two. Eight. Fifteen. Twenty one. Twenty eight. Thirty. Lying on the spot where my makeshift bark arrow once was, was my pack. Pardon my French, but there wasn’t a snowball's chance in hell that I had put it there. When I left my campsite, the only thing I had was my hatchet and my headlamp. I wanted all of my focus to be on collecting wood, not adjusting a bag that would just weigh me down. So I picked it up and put it on. Still no sight of the rest of my things, and now I had no idea where to go. The map of the trail that was in my pocket wouldn’t even help, since I couldn’t really figure out where I needed to go if I didn’t know where I was. I knew the thirty steps behind me wasn’t the right direction, so I set one of my sticks down pointing that direction, and set off straight ahead. Three. Eleven. Eighteen. Twenty four. Thirty. Nothing here caught my eye. This couldn’t have been the campsite, for one obvious reason being there was no tarp or rock fire pit, but also because the tree branches started much higher off the ground. I didn’t climb up a tree to string up my tarp, and these branches were far out of arm's reach. So I walked back. One. Ten. Sixteen. Twenty six. Thirty. Low and behold, lying on the ground where my pack once was, was my tarp, neatly rolled up and secured with the cord I had used to hang it back at my campsite, wherever that was. Now I was starting to get pissed. Who followed me on a 12 mile hike to just screw with me when I set up camp? And how did they have time to do all of this? Walking thirty steps, looking around, and walking back took maybe 2 minutes, and that’s being generous. And how had I not heard them? It was near dead silent, the only sound reaching my ears were my own footsteps. I should have heard someone galivanting around. At this point I was insistent on finding my campsite. Unless whoever was screwing with me had also picked up the rocks, I would have been able to identify the place by the rock circle. So I turned to my left, and marched forward. Three. Nine. Twenty. Twenty three. Thirty. A fruitless venture in my quest to find my place. The area around me was bare, no trees in the space illuminated by my headlamp. Plus, the ground beneath my feet was dried mud, hard and cracked. My campsite was grassy, a little stray rock here and there, but certainly not mud. So, I turned around and walked back, once again. I felt like a kid who had done something wrong, and was now on the way to the principal's office. I didn’t know what fate awaited me, and I knew I probably wouldn’t like it. Four. Twelve. Twenty. Twenty five. Thirty. Only one direction left to look, and that was obviously the one that this trickster wanted me to go. On the ground in front of me where my tarp once was, laid my fire pit rocks. Instead of being in a crude circle shape, they were arranged into an arrow, pointing the only direction I had yet to check, straight ahead of me. I now had all of my possessions, so it’s not like I’d find anything else when I got there, but if I didn’t find my camp, I couldn’t find the trail. I had set up camp right along the left side of the trail, and I had yet to see it. It wasn’t clearly marked, but a gravely (however overgrown with plants) path would still stand out against the terrain of an unwalked forest floor. At this point I was more livid than I was scared. I mean, why would I need to be scared of what I presumed to be a person, and all they were doing was fucking with me. It’s not like they were hurting me. And if they wanted to, they could have by now. However, this did warrant me to be absolutely furious. Who does shit like this? What’s the point? Obviously it’s not someone I know, so what would anyone get out of this? Hiking 12 miles just to get me all lost and directionally confused in the middle of nowhere, that sounds like a total waste of time to me. So once again, doing as I had done before, I stepped off, walking straight ahead. The last way to go. In a childlike fashion, I stomped my feet with a bit of force when I walked. Let ‘em know I’m coming. I’m not a violent person, but I did still have my hatchet, and I would never swing at anyone but I sure as hell would do some intimidating with it. I dropped what was left of the sticks in my arms, no point in carrying them since I wasn’t even sure what I was gonna do next. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty one. Twenty two. Twenty three. Twenty four. Twenty five. Twenty six. Twenty seven. Twenty eight. Twenty nine. Thirty. I stopped dead in my tracks, my thirty paces complete. Remember how I said my headlamp illuminated roughly 3 feet in front of me? Well that must have been a detail that my tormentor noticed because exactly 3 feet in front of me was a tree. Dead, for sure. It looked rotten. It was peeling, discolored, limbs just barely hanging on, and any cover it once had was long gone. Funny how that description matches not only the tree, but the body that was hanging from it. I was sick. What had I just stumbled upon? Obviously the poor bloke on the tree wasn’t the one messing with me, since it was so far decayed that I could just barely tell it was a man, so did that mean the killer was still out here? Waiting to make me its next victim? It would make sense, I mean maybe they get off on the confusion. Watching me wander around the woods for them could have been like a scientist watching a rat in a maze. Not for study, however, for personal satisfaction. They say curiosity killed the cat, and I guess that’s true. I heard a crunch behind me, the first sound I’d heard in a long time that wasn’t the product of my own footfall. I spun around, ready to do whatever it took to keep myself safe, and more importantly, get the hell off of the Flora Hollow trail. What I saw is not what you’d expect. Behind me was a mirror. One of those older ones that’s on a stand and it’s adjustable. A full body mirror, with a long crack down the length. In it I saw my reflection, just a scared girl with her hood up and a hatchet in her hand. Behind me in the reflection, slowly emerging from the shadows and into the dim light, was a figure. Tall, but not too tall, maybe 6’2, and very long limbs. Like drag your knuckles on the floor long. Its face was all mouth, with big sharp teeth encircling the vast hole that led to its throat. A long black tongue spilled out and over the teeth, wriggling around by the base of its neck. In all honesty, I’d rather be face to face with the man in the tree instead of seeing this thing behind me in the reflection. Even without eyes, it felt like this creature was looking right at me. Sizing me up, reading my thoughts, analyzing my every detail. The creature raised up its left arm, and coiled up in its slender fingers was my headlamp. My headlamp, which until right now as far as I knew, had been strapped to my head. It had to be mine, because the light that used to cast shadows around me from my head was now casting me into shadows from that thing's hand. It’s face, or mouth I guess, shifted, almost lifting into a smile, or whatever a smile could look like on a face that was all mouth, and a mouth that was a full circle. Spit dripped off of its tongue and teeth, running down its disgustingly pale body. Its tongue continued swirling around its neck, moving almost like a snake. And then, it screamed. The most grotesque sound I’ve ever heard, ripping at my eardrums, filling the empty silence of the woods that I so desperately wished would return. In those few minutes it screamed, the whine filling my ears, eventually deafening me, I wished I was dead. It would be so much better than whatever this was. Ringing took the place of silence in my ears after a few minutes, but in all honesty, I don’t know if it even mattered. That thing may have stopped screaming, but it still stood directly in front of me, and I had no idea what to do. I mean really, what do you do in a situation like this? As much as I wanted to, I knew that running would make things ten times worse. If I ran, I would stray even farther away from the trail that I still had hope to find. If I got lost in those woods, chances are I would have never been found. Do you recall earlier when I said I would never swing my hatchet at someone, just intimidate with it? Well, that was a lie. Out of desperation, I swung my arm up and then down sharply on to this creature's grotesque arm. It wasn’t a clean slice, but it broke a good halfway through its thin arm, and that was enough. The creature began its deafening howl again as it pulled its mangled arm away from me, my hatchet still sticking out of its skin. To my surprise, it kept moving away from me, backing up past the strung up man so it stood just barely in my line of sight. Was this really it? Was that all it took to get this thing away from me? It continued with its deafening howl until once again my ears began to ring. I could feel little trickles of blood running down my earlobe. The ghastly creature, still screaming in pain backed further and further away, eventually just turning to run off into the darkness. Without my headlamp, I was left standing in the pitch black, no hatchet to protect myself. Staying near the trail to be damned, I started running in the opposite direction of where the creature went, running towards where I thought the trail would be. I ran. And ran. Praying that the sun would come up eventually and that I wouldn’t just be stuck wandering around this terrifying forest, another life lost to its unholy destruction. For what felt like days I ran, until finally the sun broke through the treetops and I found myself back at the trailhead. Standing there, fighting for breath, I heard a voice off to my left. “Quite an early start on the trail, aye?” I whipped my head around and saw a park ranger standing a few yards away. He stared at me, no doubt taking note of my disheveled appearance. “I’m no professional, but that trail’s a tad longer than some of the others here at (redacted park name), make sure you’ve got a headlamp for when the sun goes down. The one you’ve got there looks a wee bit broken!” He chuckled a bit, then turned away to answer his phone that had begun to ring. Respectfully, what in the fuck was he talking about? The last time I had seen my headlamp was in the palm of that creature’s hand. But yet, when I reached up to my forehead, my headlamp was right there. The plastic covering the light was shattered, and the elements inside were definitely destroyed. I wanted to vomit or scream, or both. How did I have the lamp? I had run damn near 12 miles in the dark, if not more, for the simple fact that my light was stolen from me. How had I not felt it strapped to my head until now? Part of me thought that maybe this was all a bad dream, that I had somehow sleepwalked and dreamt the monster, which caused me to wake in a panic and bolt for it. But somehow, deep down I knew that wasn’t true. What had happened on that trail had to be real. I started to walk away from the trail, walking past the park ranger who seemed to be finishing up his phone call. After I passed him, I heard the clack of a flip phone being closed. “Hey, where are you going?” the ranger said to me. I spun around, pulling my mouth into the friendliest smile I could muster. “Well you had a point, I definitely need to get a better source of light. Luckily I have some spares in my car.” I flashed my smile again, trying to hide the fact that I was scared shitless and confused. He strode towards me, pulling something out of his pocket. “It happens to be your lucky day, lass.” He produced a seemingly new headlamp, holding it in the palm of his outstretched hand. “I’d hate for you to have to start your hike late, you can take mine for a spin and drop it at the front office when you’re done.” As I looked at his hand, I was transported back to the forest. Darkness fell in around me, and I looked up to see the creature standing their, its grotesque tongue writhing across its face. Its hand was holding the lamp which illuminated its “face”. I blinked hard, needing for this to just be my imagination. The weight of exhaustion in my body screamed at me, and I knew this time I wouldn’t be able to run. When I opened my eyes I was back with the ranger. Worried too much time had passed, I quickly reached out and took the lamp. I smiled again, thanked him for the lamp and promised to return it to the front office when I was finished. He then took off in the opposite direction, exclaiming something about a family picnic going awry at the beach because of a seagull problem. As soon as he was out of sight, I turned around and made for the parking lot, a short distance from the trailhead. When I reached my car I wasted no time tossing my pack in the back seat and sitting behind the wheel. I locked the doors, checking that they were locked several times before I tried to relax. I know there were a million things I should have done, like looked up the trail online, asked the front office if anything strange had happened to other hikers on the trail, or the best thing which would have been just outright leaving the park and never coming back. But all I could manage to do was recline my seat and sleep. When I came to, it was around noon, and hazy memories of the night before drifted to my thoughts. ………… Thank you all for being so patient with me and waiting for this upload. I know my promise to make it fast was not fulfilled, but this time part three will come a lot more urgently. A lot has happened since my last upload, and I look forward to telling you all about it. This park has proved itself to be more dangerous than I originally thought, and I fear that I may never leave with my life. I hope that all of you here on r/nosleep will continue to offer me wisdom, God knows I’m gonna need it.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The pastor of my church had a deadly secret [RESPONSE] When we moved to Colorado Springs for my girlfriend’s dermatology residency, we began attending The Church of the New Blood, one of the many Evangelical churches that had sprung up around the city. Let by the charismatic Hamish MacDonald, the church attracted about 5,000 worshipers every Sunday. It was not a traditional service—a rock band replaced the choir and the pastor wore jeans and a t-shirt. However, in doctrine, the church was very conservative. After a ten minute intro where Rev. MacDonald would offer some trite advice on topics like dealing with stress and being true to yourself, the reverend would turn up his Scottish accent and deliver a fire-and-brimstone sermon that would make Cotton Mather and Jonathan Edwards blush. It wasn’t my choice to attend. But since it was important to my Vanessa, my girlfriend, I agreed to go. This past August, Vanessa invited me to go hiking with a group from the church on a Tuesday morning. I loved hiking, disliked most church folk, but since she seemed excited about it, and since it was a mountain I had never summited, I agreed to go. We drove about an hour to the mountain, arriving just after 8. The parking lot was empty save for a yellow Porsche 911. Standing outside it was Hamish, looking ridiculous in a bright orange hiking jacket. “Nice car for a pastor,” I said to Vanessa. “Looks like the money from your tithing went to a good cause.” She sighed. “He’s a good man and has helped thousands of people. If he wants to have a little toy, let him.” We got out of our jeep and approached Hamish. “Just us today?” I asked. “Aye,” replied Hamish. “Looks like the rest of the club chickened out. Either that, or they had work. But more mountain for us. Let’s get going, we have a long day ahead of us. Just shy of 9 miles round trip, nearly a 14er, summit tops out at 13,996 feet.” We walked in silence. First on a flat trail that weaved through a marshy alpine meadow, before we began a gentle climb through Ponderosa pines and Douglas firs. Soon the trail became steeper, and Hamish had to take a break every ten minutes or so. “I’m not in as good shape as you, Jake,” Hamish said during one of these breaks. “You’re very fit, heard you were a football star at your university.” “I’m not sure I could be considered a star,” I said, wondering how Hamish, who I had never talked to before, knew about my past. “You sound a bit gloomy, mate. Here’s a joke to cheer you up. Why did the Scottish baby cough?” “Why?” “Because he had a wee cold.” He looked at me. “Come on lad, do you not get the joke? You can laugh.” I forced myself to laugh, and we resumed our hike in silence, like monks walking the *Camino*. As we gained in elevation, the trees kept getting smaller, looking more like shrubs, until only grasses lined the slopes. At noon, when we still had an hour to go before reaching the summit, I suggested turning around. “No need for that,” Hamish said. “Look at the beautiful sky, Not a rain cloud in sight.” “They say to be off the summit by noon,” I replied. “No, it’s off by two. We have plenty of time. Trust me, I’m from Scotland, been climbing my whole life, since I was a wee lad. We’re fine, just have a little faith.” He started walking. I looked over at my girlfriend, but she was following Hamish. We finally reached the rocky summit a little after 1, much later than I anticipated. The weather was still good, but I knew it could change abruptly in the mountains. “Let’s not stay too long here,” I said. “We really don’t want to get caught in a storm above the timberline.” Hamish ignored me. He sat down and pulled out a trail bar from his backpack. A marmot, hoping for food, emerged from the rocks and approached the pastor, who swatted at the rodent. “Annoying lilbugger,” he said, before turning to me. “Look at this beautiful view. Look at God’s creation. I don’t know how someone can see a sight like this and deny his existence.” It was indeed a beautiful view. Pristine wilderness, no sign of civilization. As I scanned the vista, I thought I saw a large mass moving, about a mile down the trial. “Look,” I said, pointing. Hamish and my girlfriend got up, but what I saw, if it was ever there, had vanished. “Maybe it was a mountain goat,” Hamish said. “Or an elk. They’re common in these mountains.” “Maybe,” I said. But it looked like it was walking upright. Perhaps just another hiker. But I doubted anyone would have started their hike so late in the day. I looked down the trail for several minutes. Saw nothing, but fog was beginning to roll in. “So,” said Hamish, breaking the awkward silence. “There is something I want to talk to you about.” I sighed. “Hamish, we do not have any more money to give you. Just because my girlfriend’s a doctor does not mean we're rich. Judging from your car, you have more than enough. You don’t need a private jet too. Against my wishes, my girlfriend gives you 10% of her income. She’s not giving you more.” “It is not money that I am after.” “Then what do you want?” He paused for a few seconds. “I need you to trust me. I trust you, so much that I will tell you something, something that I have never told any other members of the congregation. My birth name was not Hamish MacDonald, it was Ismail Qesari. I was not born in Scotland, but in the highlands of Albania. My family was part of an acting troupe; we traveled the mountains by donkey, performing in village after village. But that way of life was dying, and my parents knew they had to escape. They took out a large loan, a loan that they knew they would never, and could never, repay. We rode a bus to the capital of Tirana, where at the embassy we were able to obtain a visa, by producing forged documents which stated that we were to perform at the Fringe Festival in Edinburgh. After we landed in Scotland, we never came back. For if we, or any of our descendants, return, our lives will be in danger. For we have never payed our debt, so a blood feud, or a *gjakmarrja*, has been initiated.” “What are you telling me this for,” I asked. “You’re confessing that you’ve been lying this whole time? That you’re a fraud?” He shook his head. “No, I have never lied. When I first got to Scoland, as a lad of 8, I was bullied for my name, my accent. So I took a name as Scottish as bagpipes and haggis. I have never told anyone this before. For some members of the congregation would look with suspicion at someone who was born with a name like mine. I am telling you that because I trust you and want you to trust me. Most importantly, you need to trust God.” “So what do you have to tell me?” I asked. “I had a revelation from God last night, in the form of a dream. He has a plan, and he wants you, as well as me, to be involved in the plan.” “I’m not listening to your nonsense,” I said, getting up. I turned to Vanessa. “And if you are going to listen to his nonsense, we are through.” “Jake, my good lad,” Hamish said. “God has spoken to me in a dream. He has given me clear instructions, although I must confess, I do not understand his plan. He wants me to be with Vanessa, not you.” “What?” I was not expecting this, not even from Hamish. “I have prayerfully considered the vision I received, for one ought to be wary when they receive a vision, for Corinthians says that ‘Satan disguises himself as an angel of light.’ However, James 1:5 says ‘if any of you lack wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously,’ and so I asked God, who provided me wisdom in abundance. This is a message from God. You do not always understand God’s plan, but if he tells you to do something, you do it.” “Look, I’m sure you tricked many members of your flock, but I’m not deluded like them. I’m not going to be cucked by you.” “God has revealed things about you to me, Jake. And about your girlfriend. You two are not saving yourselves for marriage, an all too common, but still grievous, sin. However, you go beyond that, by inviting other individuals, both men and women, to join you in your bed.” I looked at Vanessa. “Have you been sharing our private life with him?” I asked. She shook her head and appeared as shocked as me. I believed her. I began walking down the path, slowly, for the fog was getting thicker, hoping she would follow me. “Look!” Hamish cried, a few seconds later. I turned around and saw him levitating a few inches off the ground. “Do you believe me now?” He stayed in the air for about five seconds. I don’t know how he did it, whether he installed some mirrors or wires on an earlier trip to the summit, but it didn’t change my mind. “A cheap magic trick won’t convince me,” I yelled. “How many men and women have you fooled? How many have you coerced into sleeping with you? You’re not a man of God, you’re a charlatan, a fraud, a—“ A gunshot rang out, a bullet ricocheting off one of the rocks a few feet from us. Four more shots rang out in quick succession, spewing up dirt. “We need to get out of here,” said Hamish, seemingly calm. “There’s a path that goes down the back of the mountain. It’ll be longer, but that shot came from the path we took up.” I didn’t want to follow Hamish, but it seemed like I had no choice. I scurried back up to the summit. I had a feeling that Hamish was in cahoots with the shooter, so he could play hero and convince us that God sent him to deliver us from danger. Either that or it was some moron shooting randomly in the fog. As we made our way down the mountain, the fog continued to thicken, visibility reduced to only a few feet. Thankfully, Hamish seemed to know the way. Twenty minutes later, the fog began to lift. We were making our way along the narrow edge of a cliff, a steep drop off several hundred feet on our right, when a shot rang out, whizzing past my face. Hamish turned around, a look of shock on his face. Four more shots followed, the first three missing but the final passing through Hamish’s jaw. He opened his mouth as if to scream, but no sound was emitted, only a torrent of blood. Half a second later, his convulsing body fell off the cliff I ran, almost losing my footing several times, taking shelter behind a large glacial boulder. I looked back and saw Vanessa close behind. “You left me behind, you goddamn bastard,” she screamed as she dove behind the boulder. “What was I supposed to do? Just shut up, so whoever’s here can’t hear us.” She said nothing, tears filling her eyes. We waited behind the boulder for several minutes, the fog slowly lifting. I peaked my head out. On the summit, not even a quarter of a mile away, was a man, dressed head to toe in camouflage, aiming a rifle towards us. I ducked back behind the boulder just in time, a bullet whizzing past less than a foot from my face. “We’re safe behind here,” I said. “We’re not safe!” Vanessa said. “There’s a deranged lunatic with a gun who knows where we are hiding.” “Just stay here. I’ve got a plan." She looked at me as if she knew that I didn’t have a plan, but she said nothing. I hoped that the fog would roll back in, so we would have some cover, but none did. About thirty minutes later, I heard footsteps coming down the edge of the cliff. I quickly told my girlfriend the plan I had just devised. I thought she would argue, but she didn’t. “Come out, come out little kitties,” the gunman cried, in, to my surprise, what sounded like an Australian accent. “Come out to papa, my darlings. I know where you are hiding.” “Now,” I whispered to me girlfriend, when the gunman’s footsteps sounded to be about twenty feet away. She ran, perpendicular to the cliff’s edge, towards another boulder. Half a second later, I left the cover of the boulder, charging the gunman, screaming like a banshee. He quickly readjusted his aim, away from my girlfriend, and fired a single shot at me, grazing my left arm. Adrenaline pumping, I tackled him as he aimed to fire a second shot, hearing a crack as his head slammed into the rocky path. I tried to wrestle the gun away from him, but, despite his injury, he held on tight. After a few seconds of tumbling on the ground, perilously close to the edge of the cliff, I managed to yank it away from him. I fired a single shot into his skull and kicked his lifeless body off the edge of the cliff. I ran back to Vanessa, hugging her. She examined my arm, rinsing it off with water from her bottle and bandaging it with a piece of my shirt. “Barely grazed you,” she pronounced. “Keep applying pressure and keep it elevated. Bleeding should stop soon. My main worry is it getting infected from all the dirt and debris that entered. I’d recommend visiting an urgent care clinic once we’re back. And getting a tetanus booster if you haven’t had one recently.” “Wow, you sounded like an actual doctor for a second,” I said. “Thought all you dermatologists did was pop pimples.” “How many rounds does that gun have left,” she said, ignoring my quip. “I’m not sure. I honestly don’t know how to check.” “You’re useless,” she said, picking the gun off the ground. “It’s empty, you fired the last round.” “Lucky me,” I said. “Bet if it weren’t I’d be joining the pastor and our Aussie friend.” She threw the gun off the cliff. “No use in lugging that around.” Once the bleeding stopped, we resumed our descent. We were still above the timberline when a lighting storm rolled in, large chunks of hail falling all around us. There was no gap between when I saw the lightning and heard the thunder; the storm was right over us. We spread out, crouching on our backpacks to avoid any catching any currents from the ground. But I knew we were going to die. Lightning was striking all around us. It was only a matter of time till a bolt found one of us. However, after twenty minutes the storm abated, and we continued our descent, soaked but alive. It was after sunset when we finally made our way back to the parking lot, soaking wet, bruised and bloody, but alive. There was no cars but ours and Hamish’s. The nearest town was over ten miles away, and I doubted that the shooter walked all that way armed with a sniper rifle. We entered our jeep, but the ignition wouldn’t start. I popped open the hood. The battery cables were sliced. “We aren’t going anywhere,” I said. I checked my phone. As I expected, there was no service. “We can either stay here, hoping that the gunman’s accomplice ran off, or try walking the mountain roads ten miles in the dark to the nearest town.” We decided to stay. The temperature dropped down into the forties, and we cuddled in the backseat for warmth. Around midnight, a black sedan entered the parking lot. I watched as, to my surprise, a woman exited the vehicle. From the trunk, she pulled out a tripod. And then, to my great relief, a large camera. She was just an astrophotographer. We were saved. The local newspaper identified the gunman as Ian O’Rourke, a former Australian infantryman who had been living in the United States for several years. It made no mention of a possible motive. Was he a hitman, hired to kill Hamish by the family of the cheated lender back in Albania? By one of the husbands who Hamish had cucked? Or was Hamish not the target? Was he after me?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I do not have a brother [RESPONSE] There are no normal people who, going along the path of life, would not drag with them a heap of bitter regrets about what they have done (or not done). It is considered that this is normal, and I'm not going to argue. If you meet a person who does not regret a single act, my advice to you is: run away from him with all your strength. My burden of regrets, as you will see, is extremely heavy. I'm going to tell you about one thing I did in my childhood. It weighs on me to this day. I probably won't achieve anything by presenting it to your court. But I hope someone will feel a little easier when he realizes how much more terrible mistakes others are capable of. You see, I don't have a brother. However, in August 1991, I still had a brother. *** Every summer, my parents floated us, the boys, to the terrible wilderness, to the village to my grandmother on my mother's side, for at least a month. They motivated this by the need for us to consume the gifts of nature and clean air. In fact, everything, of course, was more prosaic: parents wanted to get rid of us and relax themselves. These trips left a twofold impression in my memory. Of course, there were a lot of good and interesting things. The kids have something to entertain themselves in the village, you yourself know it perfectly well. But the feeling of a serene summer was greatly spoiled by our Grandmother. I'm capitalizing this word for a reason. Our Grandmother was as far as possible from the image of a kind fairy-tale grandmother who would bake crumpets and tell a fairy tale for the night. Frankly speaking - and years later I understand this even more clearly - my grandmother was a disgusting, half-crazy, evil vixen who brought her quiet and compliant husband to the grave. I hardly remember our grandfather. My brother was three years older than me and remembered him much better, always spoke warmly about him. Perhaps this was the reason that if my Grandmother was still relatively tolerant of me, then she openly hated my brother. The more difficult it is for me to understand the selfish position of our parents, who, year after year, put us in the care of this old and sick woman. Oh, they were aware of her character, especially her father. But the answer to all the protests was the same: "Well, well, don't make it up," "Listen to your grandmother, she's old, don't upset her." I was scared to death of my grandmother. That summer, my brother and I were 9 and 12 years old, respectively. Andrey, as the eldest, was charged with the duty to keep an eye on me, because we spent almost all the time together. There were few other children of our age in the village, and we were content with those games that we invented for ourselves: a tree house in the forest behind the house, pirates on a homemade raft, stealing raspberries from a neighbor's garden - a traditional boys' set. Grandma has introduced an extremely strict daily routine and God forbid you to break it. For understanding: she did not hesitate to take up a twig if we were late for the table even for a minute, did not do her errands in the garden quickly enough or went "where it was not necessary", which she became aware of from chatty neighbors. "Where not to go" was practically nowhere, a forest, a highway, a large ravine, a neighboring village, abandoned cowsheds, a village at the intersection and, of course, a river were banned. Every evening we told her stories about how innocently we spent the day: holding hands, walking in the meadow and picking strawberries. "Well, look at me, you brats," she squeaked, squinting her eye. - "I'll find out everything anyway if you're lying." Things were going on as usual when one day we were "lucky" to find a cave. I begged, but for some reason without hope. He apologized for saying I wasn't his brother anymore. We had never talked in our lives as we did that day, by the light of a dim bulb among the narrow walls. At dinner, Grandma said that since Andrei had not returned, it was necessary to call the police. The sin of cowardice is the most terrible of sins. And, as you already understood, I didn't tell anyone anything. Half of the village's population agreed to take part in the search for my brother. I lied that the last time I saw him was behind the vegetable gardens near the forest. We combed the forest, found our tree house. Andrey was not found. When I came to my brother's cave, he had already spent the last candles that I managed to find for him, and did not react to my appearance in any way. It seemed to me that something very humanly important was missing in his haggard, dirty face with bulging, half-mad eyes. I think he was licking moisture off the walls and chewing clay-I saw nail and tooth marks everywhere. I said I didn't bring him food because that way he would lose weight faster and be able to get out. Andrey agreed without any interest that it was reasonable. When I left, he didn't make a sound, just lay there and looked straight into my eyes. I crawled back by touch, holding the lantern, and continued to look at his retreating face until it disappeared around the turn of the tunnel. The next day, a gloomy father and a tearful mother arrived. I was sitting in my room -I was strictly forbidden to go outside. The policeman and my father asked me again what had happened. I was disgusted by lying, and I was disgusted by the fact that deep down I was glad that I managed to escape punishment. But I was happy anyway. The search lasted four days, some people came and went, accompanied by a heavy grandmother's gaze. Finally, in the evening, Mom came up, hugged me and said we were going home. Dad will take us to the station in the morning. I begged her to give me one last walk alone, at least for a few minutes. I crept up to the entrance to the grotto and sat there for a long time, not daring to climb inside, so as not to stain the new clothes that my mother brought. From the black hole came a barely audible singing- more precisely, a moo without words. There, deep underground, my brother was humming a song in the dark and alone. We left in the morning. *** Now I am thirty-five years old, I have a wife and a son. Mom is very old, I bring her to us for the holidays. I don't have a brother. Like my father: a second heart attack in 2010; I think he suspected something until the very last day. Grandma died in 2003, no one bought her village house. I was there a year ago: a log rotted in a ravine and fell. I went down to the place where my brother's cave began, stood there: nothing, just a grassy ground. Memory brought back to me that very strange melody, hummed without words. And, by the way, the disgusting old woman knew everything. Our dirty clothes and dirt in our hair-she was watching us. I saw her that day over the cliff. She put one plate on the table when I got home. She knew what was going on. But she never liked Andrey.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I’m a marine biologist. While exploring a 'hidden beach' off the Southern coast of Thailand, we uncovered a lifeform unlike anything else on earth... [RESPONSE] I'd heard about the secret beach from some Thai fishermen and had my heart set on studying the unique ecosystem, but the rest of my group said the idea had ‘dumb foreigners get themselves killed by acting like dumb foreigners’ written all over it. Then later on that night, at some dive bar, Johnny waited until our girlfriends nipped to the bathroom and told me he was in. He even promised he’d talk the ladies round, so long as I helped him with a special surprise. Three months of travelling together had taught me that guy could get anything he wanted with a quick flash of that movie star grin... He waited until Alex and Vicky got drunk on fishbowl cocktails before saying, “I think it sounds like fun, while Gary’s off creaming over fish the rest of us will have the place to ourselves. We can rent a little boat and set off before sunrise. I’ll leave a note telling the hotel staff to send help if we’re not back by supper.” “I’m in,” Alex said, snuggling into Johnny’s muscular arm. Vicky pursed her lips. She and Alex had been best friends since childhood and looked so alike—short with blonde hair and bright smiles—locals frequently mistook them for sisters. “Fine,” she said. First thing in the morning we set off cutting through waves, Johnny at the helm. The sun stayed hot on our backs, and sickening fumes from the boat’s engine mixed with the salty ocean air. Did you know Thailand has almost 3,000 miles of coastline? That’s a lot of ocean for hungover tourists to get themselves lost in. But, again and again, our fearless skipper insisted he knew the way. Close to noon, long after we *should* have arrived, he called, “Land ho!” then everybody’s head whipped toward a dark spec along the cerulean horizon. A giant sea stack, at least three hundred feet tall, rolled toward us. I let out a quiet groan, secretly annoyed macho man found the place through sheer dumb luck. It took fifteen minutes for him to steer us toward a tunnel along the Southern side where he killed the motor and let the boat bob up and down. “Finally,” said Alex, as she grabbed flippers and snorkels from beneath the stern. While Johnny wrestled a strap around his heel, he leaned in close to me and whispered, “Got everything ready?” I tapped the waterproof bag hanging around my neck. He shot me a thumbs up before tipping backward, overboard. Everyone else climbed down the ladder, me last, into the blissfully warm water. Beside the mouth of the tunnel, Vicky floated in place, anxious. “What’s the matter, afraid of the dark?” Johnny called back. “More like afraid of barracudas.” “There’s no barracudas around here,” I said, swimming alongside her. The ocean was so clear you could see for miles around. “Come to think of it, I don’t see *any* fish.” Johnny said, “Give it a rest Aquaman,” then flicked on his headlamp and vanished into the shadows. He pulled that ‘alpha male’ bullshit a lot. My hand laced with Vicky’s. “Don’t worry, if any barracudas try taking a bite out of you, I’ll use myself as bait.” Guided only by our headlamps, the four of us swam along, the narrow trail widening further into the bowels of the stack. "These walls are freaky," Alex said at one point. "I think there’s bugs crawling over them." After navigating a series of bends, blinding sunlight appeared before us. The tunnel opened onto a wide body of water, half the width of an Olympic swimming pool and probably fifty foot deep. A horseshoe-shaped beach encroached on three sides, outlined by a narrow forest lush with vegetation and palm trees. Everywhere you looked, there were vibrant hues of gold, turquoise, and emerald, all silhouetted against the grey-black rock walls encasing the enclosure, giving the space this secluded, intimate feel. “Was I right or was I right?” Johnny yelled as he swam past the ‘bowl’ and up onto the sand. “Paradise.” You couldn’t argue there. Hell, it's why I suggested the trip in the first place… After kicking off his flippers, he helped Vicky up onto dry land. I felt a pang of jealousy watching them smile at one another. The three of us spread out and explored while Alex floated aimlessly. The trees provided shade from the constant heat while gentle waves crashed against rocks, producing a soft melody that could lull babies to sleep. There was no wildlife—not even a marine gastropod—which seemed odd, however the uniquely shaped flora intrigued me. After awhile, I noticed Johnny waving for my attention at the far edge of the beach. Shit, I’d almost forgotten. I grabbed the phone from my neck bag, opened the camera app, and gave him a nod. He reached into his shorts pocket, spun around, and discovered a lifeless basin. “Alex?” he called out. Vicky stepped out from behind a fern. Johnny ran up to her and said, “Is Alex with you?” She looked from him to me and shook her head. I slipped my phone back into the pouch, then all three of us spread about, searching and calling for Alex. In under a minute, we completed a full lap of the forest. “Maybe she went back to the boat?” Vicky offered. “She wouldn’t go without telling us,” Johnny replied, his voice wrought with concern. Just then, a gurgle went up; the sound of a clogged toilet with fishbones lodged in its throat. Altogether, we spun toward the water, and as we did, a wave crashed over the beach, nudging our discarded flippers. There were more gurgles, real guttural, then a ripple spread out in every direction from the centre of the bowl. It looked like a 500lb canonball had plummeted from the top of the stack. The resulting wave briefly engulfed our ankles and dragged the flippers away. Johnny shouted, “Alex?” His voice echoed off the enclosure, back at us. Vicky grabbed my arm, her pulse gathering speed. That horrible cycle continued: gargle, wave, gargle, wave. This was no rhythm of nature, more like a beach gagging. “Gary, what’s going on?” Vicky asked. Even though I specialized in marine biology, the group looked to me for answers about any kind of natural phenomena, then chastised me if I didn’t know the answer. The next wave vomited strange, blue-white sausages onto the sand. I thought they might have been a trail of seaweed until I nudged one with my toe and felt something rubbery. “Oh shit,” I said, flinching away. It was a rope of intestines, threaded with veins. At the realization, a hush fell over the group. My eyes travelled toward the centre of the basin, where a red mist spread through the clear turquoise, diluting like squid ink. Blood. Vicky retreated, stammering, while Johnny looked between me and the discarded intestine for nearly twenty seconds. “What the *fuck* is going on?” The speed of those waves accelerated, cascading, one after the other, and quickly dragged the pale snake away. A study flashed through my mind: one about dolphins launching themselves onto mud banks to create bow waves which maroon fish. This spark of a suspicion spurred me to say, “Get onto the rocks, there’s something in the water.” The two of them exchanged a look, another pang of jealousy stabbing me in the ribs. “Now,” I shouted, louder than intended. The rocks were slippery with moss. While Vicky and I hopped past vines and the top halves of a palm tree in a deadly game of ‘the floor is lava’, Johnny stood with his head in his hands, internally debating while the water surged high enough to swallow his thighs. With reluctance, he eventually hopped after us. Meanwhile, those gruesome gurgles rang out, louder each time. Toward the back of the enclosure, boulders lay spread about connected with the base of the rock wall. No sooner had we reached the edge when the strongest wave yet broke against the chest-high rock we’d all halted on and launched a hissing column of foam into the air. Now only a few metres of shrinking beach remained. The ocean had come to meet us. “We have to climb,” I said, breathless. Johnny grabbed my shoulder before I could find a suitable starting point, spun me around, and pinned me against the wall. “What the fuck is going on?” he shouted. “What the fuck happened to Alex?” “Those waves are gonna sweep us off this rock,” I stammered. As if on cue, salty foam splashed over all three of us. “See? We’re being…*hunted*.” I said, feeling ridiculous for even uttering the word. None of this was clear in my mind. “Gary, what the fuck is going on?” a frantic Vicky asked from behind my assailant’s shoulder. “Something hunted Alex?” he said, like it was my fault, pinning me even tighter. “Yes…no…I don’t know.” “What do you mean *you don’t know*? You're supposed to be the fucking brainbox." “We have to climb,” I said, my hysteria mounting. "There's something in the water." His right hand curled into a fist, but before the strike landed Vicky grabbed his forearm and shook her head. She was trembling all over. Johnny released me, begrudgingly. I felt around for divots and recesses—areas easy to traverse. My fingers were still wet, which meant I slipped again and again, and for a moment I had some sense of how spiders must feel trapped inside a bathtub. Roughly eight feet up, I came across a portion of wall which had a cavity deep enough to lay flat along my stomach and reach down for Vicky. By now the beach had been devoured; only the caps of palm trees poked out, bowing under every wave. Following me up Vicky’s foot slipped once, twice. “Come on, come on,” I shouted. Ever the hero, Johnny, now gone up to his ankles, cupped his hands and boosted Vicky like a weightlifter performing a clean and jerk, raising her high enough she could be hoisted onto the shelf alongside me. He raced up the wall after her, his fingertips nudging mine, briefly. I was stretching as far as I could, honest. But then the most powerful wave yet crashed into the wall. I lost sight of Johnny in the resulting spray. He resurfaced twenty feet ahead, already paddling in our direction, and at that exact moment, the repetitive gurgle transformed into a churn like somebody yanked out a plug, then the water swirled in rich, inward spirals. Immediately the bowl became a whirlpool. My suspicions were correct: we *were* being hunted. But by what? What sort of creature manipulated the water like that? Within seconds the beach emerged, reasserting itself. On the shelf, I pulled Vicky to her feet, and then we stood there, transfixed, while Johnny careened around a central point, closer to the middle of the basin area. His arms flailed as he screamed and got sucked toward the bottom of the vortex, fifty feet deep. And that’s when I saw…*it*. Visible through the clear waves—but also a considerable distance away—what looked like a black serpent wrapped around Johnny’s ankle, worming its way up his body. I grabbed the phone from my neck pouch and zoomed in. Huddled close to me, Vicky pointed at the screen and said, “What the fuck is that?” It wasn’t a serpent. For a moment I thought it might be a giant tentacle, but then it split apart into five segments which tapered off to the thickness of a severed arm, each dark on the outside, fleshy and pink on the inside, covered with rows of suckers, moving, twitching, writhing, like hundreds of hungry, hungry mouths. Wherever they eagerly latched on skin tore off in fat clumps. Red mist spread about the water as our companion got reeled down like a fish on a line, the appendage flexing like a working oesophagus. More and more water poured in through the tunnel we’d arrived by. As our friend plunged deeper and deeper, a gaping pit the diameter of a manhole cover shivered open directly beneath the tentacle. I zoomed in on that area, a horrible realization sliding up my spine. Luminous blue lights and barbed fangs lined the inside of the hole. It was a mouth. As the tentacle-tongue reeled Johnny inside, the mouth closed with enough force to crush his ankles together, like the point at the end of a pencil. A trail of bubbles spewed from the poor bastard’s mouth, which meant he hadn’t died yet, and even had some oxygen left in those lungs. Above him, the water level evened off, perfectly calm. Vicky buried her head in my chest, sobbing. The process of digestion took several minutes, and so far as I could tell Johnny didn't die until he was disappeared up to his waist. Once he vanished, the stack quivered and shook. I felt the intense vibrations through the soles of my feet. Another gurgle went up, the beach whirled and foamed again, then bones with gristle still attached floated to the surface. Leftovers. Vicky stopped sobbing long enough to say, “What the hell was that thing?” “A mouth,” I said, emotionless. “When Johnny got too close to the centre, a tongue slid out. Like a Bobbitt worm.” On the verge of a complete breakdown, she said, “You mean there’s some sort of killer worm down there?” The walls trembled with furious convulsions, like an expanding lung. I shook my head. “It’s no worm.” “Please start making sense.” By now those circles of waves and ripples had gone up again, turning the pool beneath us into a minefield. Mercifully, there seemed to be a limit to how high the water could rise. We were safe. For now. “Look, the waters violent again, see? And the walls, they’re kind of…shivery, right?” She nodded. “I think this whole stack is resting on something big. Think about it, the water level adjusted to capture Johnny. That suggests a level of intelligence. This sea stack, I think there’s a creature beneath it. One big enough to make the entire structure shudder.” “So, what, it hunts by gulping down water?” “Possibly. It’s just a theory.” “Can you call for help?” she pointed at my phone. I tried. “No.” “So what do we do?” Dropping into the water would be like diving headfirst into a meat grinder, so that was out. I glanced up at the top of the structure. Professional climbers wouldn’t risk an ascent that treacherous: a 250ft journey to the top, with one small slip meaning a plunge straight into the drink. Best case scenario, you'd crack your skull against an awkward rock and bleed out before getting slowly, painfully digested… Just then, the realization hit me. “We could have escaped while the creature swallowed Johnny,” I said. “This thing’s mouth closes to eat, which temporarily calmed the water. We missed our chance.” “Should we wait for the hotel staff to find us?” “They won’t realize we’re missing until dark. Then you have to factor in how long it takes them to find the boat, assuming they actually find it. Plus, we’ve got no food or water.” I contemplated for a moment. You could tell from the way the bowl churned the creature understood more prey lurked close by. “I think we should get closer to the tunnel,” I said, finally. “It’s the only way in or out, we can shuffle along this shelf, look, it almost stretches the entire way.” In the twenty minutes convincing her took, I found myself wishing I had half of Johnny's charm. Most of the journey was a careful sideward shuffle along an upward slope, our backs flat against the wall, but at one point we had to spring over this little gap, and Vicky took her time working up the nerve. At the exact moment she leaped across, the stack trembled, which made her foot slip. My hand shot out around her waist and pulled her in close at the very last second. The timing couldn’t have been coincidental—this creature knew where we were and what we were doing. It thought tactically. That unsettled me. Toward the edge of the shelf, two full bodies length away from the tunnel and twenty foot above the water, I looked straight down and said, “The creature can feel us.” Vicky stared at me with sunburned eyes, confused. “The walls trembled at the exact right moment. Maybe it detects movement along the stack, like a spiderweb.” We stood until our legs ached then sat, the sun bearing down hot on our chests. I made a mental note of everything I’d surmised about the creature. Our biggest threat was the fact it displayed a level of intelligence, or at least reacted to certain stimuli. And with Johnny, that reaction had been instant. No way we could swim through the tunnel before the creature responded. If it set ‘traps’ by manipulating the reservoir and walls, then what did that make the beach? A cancerous growth? Or perhaps a lure? Once again, my thoughts drifted back to that missed window of opportunity… At dusk, the darkened waves almost glittered. A briny aroma wafted out while we sat there, Vicky to my right, her head resting on my shoulder. My arms became overcooked slabs of beef, my mouth dry from the thirst. Neither of us would last much longer. Hell, in another few hours swimming back to the boat would be harder than doggy paddling across the English Channel. “Why did Johnny want to see this stupid place anyway?” Vicky asked. “He wanted to propose.” She looked up at me, shocked. “What?” “He was gonna propose to Alex. He bought an engagement ring and asked me to take a video. He wanted it to be romantic and thought this would be the perfect spot.” “Idiot,” she muttered. I sat there, contemplating my next statement carefully. What had I to loose? “Not too much of an idiot to make out with though, huh?” “What?” “Two weeks ago,” I said, my eyes fixed on the shimmering waves. “That nightclub in Bangkok. I nipped away for a piss and when I came back, you and Johnny were…were…” My voice trailed off there. The realization slowly spread across her face. “Our lives are in danger, Gary. Is a stupid drunken mistake really so fucking important right now?” “A drunken mistake? You two were going at it like horny teens” At that moment, I felt more embarrassed than anything. I should have confronted them that night, or at least told Alex, but flights had already been booked, deposits paid. If I’d only had more balls, none of us would have wound up in this mess… “Okay Gary, it happened.” She pushed away from me and stood. I did too. “I had a lapse of judgement, and I’m sorry. Now that’s out of the way, how the fuck do we get off this stupid fucking beach that you were so obsessed with?” “A lapse of judgement? You think I haven’t noticed the stolen glances? You always said Alex could have done better, did you really mean Johnny?” The two of us stared each other down, a showdown. Twitchy. Paranoid. We both wished for the same thing—that the other would mercilessly slip off this damned rock and into the drink. A dark part of me wanted to push her myself. Then, as if on cue, the wall jerked with such force my teeth chattered together. Had the creature sensed the tension between us? Or was it simply inconvenient timing? Either way, Vicky lost her footing and slowly slid along the shelf, her thin arms windmilling around, searching for something, anything, to latch onto. She screamed as she toppled over the edge. A heroic dive forward by yours truly saved her at the very last second. I lay flat along my chest, our hands clasped, her trailing in mid-air, alternating between screaming and begging me not to let go. If I simply relaxed my grip, the creature would have rang the dinner bell. Was it really such a horrible idea? She, like Johnny and Alex, would already be minced meat if not for my quick thinking. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Despite everything, I still loved her dearly. However, before I could haul her up, the wall trembled again. The powerful vibrations did enough to force her hand and mine apart, sending her plummeting into the perilous waters below. I rose, heart racing, as she disappeared beneath the surface. By the time she re-emerged the bowl was already alive with foam and spit and cascading waves. In the dim light, the inside of the mouth lit up like a glowstick, that ‘tongue’ sliding out from the hole once again. As the water whirled toward the depths, Vicky got swept away. She slid toward the pit headfirst, trapped in the whirlpool. The tongue completely enveloped her skull. Within seconds her top half had become flayed and unrecognizable from the sucker-pads tearing away flesh in fat globs. Those skinny legs of hers did not stop kicking. A dark part of my mind pondered whether it would be better to go feet first, like my loving girlfriend, or headfirst, like her secret lover. I became so lost in thought I didn’t notice the water level had already settled. By the time I was staring at nothing more than the soles of two bare feet, I had the realization it may already be too late. Amped up on fear and adrenaline, I took a little shuffle forward, became completely weightless for a moment, and then the water came up to meet me. I put everything I had into swimming toward safety. Gaining traction was a struggle; every few strokes the current grabbed hold of me and held on tight. I swam through the darkness, relieved my hypothesis proved correct. But then, a powerful drag, like someone started slurping the ocean up through a straw. Main course over, time for dessert… I kept kicking. The walls slithered each time I touched them, a heartbeat. What did Alex say earlier: that they looked freaky? Oh fuck, I hadn’t escaped—I was still inside the creature. It didn’t inhabit the stack; it *was* the stack. Perhaps I was swimming through an intestine, or the throat. Only vaguely aware of my destination I kicked madly while, around me, walls shifted and shivered. No face, no eyes, but a simple *sentience* which made me tremble. A circle of moonlight drifted into view roughly fifty feet ahead. While I put everything I had into paddling, the water climbed higher and higher, hurling me from one wall into another. I became cut and bruised in a dozen places. Soon I could see the silhouette of the boat, but my rescue vessel drifted further and further away. No, not drifting—the creature was shrinking the tunnel, cutting off the exit. This leviathan had a biology unlike anything else on earth. As the cavern sealed itself shut, a huge wave of water careened toward me, one final obstacle. For a moment I contemplated holding my breath until I lost consciousness and drowned, rather than be served up fresh. Pushing these thoughts away, I dove beneath the wave and launched myself forward like a torpedo, and once I reached a point where I couldn’t hold my breath a second longer, I came up for air, outside the stack. Behind me, the tunnel had puckered shut. Up ahead, the boat bobbed up and down, unconcerned by the day’s events. Quickly I swam around the side, hauled myself up the ladder, and flopped over onto the deck, exhausted. Four of us set off that morning. And I hope now I’ve told you *exactly* what happened, you’ll understand that I am in no way responsible for the others deaths. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Before Sunset [RESPONSE] Greetings wonderful community! My name is Elena and I am 78 years old. Thanks to my grandson Hans through which I discovered this community, I am able to share something with you. I will only post this one story that took me decades to write, because those technology things are not for me. However, I hope that you will find it interesting. Born in a small village in Central Europe, I have lived there till the age of 19. From 1951, after the discoveries of mangled corpses, the villagers adopted a simple yet mysterious rule that they still observe till today: if you have lost your way, find it back before sunset. On top of the rule, most of the villagers would not step out of their homes without bags of chilli pepper, as a mean to escape the clutches of an evil entity suspected for the murders; an entity only known as Mirage. Like many of the young ones in the village, I always felt unconcerned about all that until what had to happen, happened. \*\*\* Summer 1962. Making our way back to the village from an exploration in the mountains, Conrad and I enjoyed our brother and sister moment teasing ourselves about our respective crushes. As two risk addicts, instead of taking the usual and safer path, we opted for a risky move. Our stupid plan: run across the 150 meters long viaduct, and then through the 85 meters long mountain tunnel that follows, before the passing of a train. After the tunnel, there was enough land to step off the railway and proceed to our village not far away. There was a train at least every 15 minutes passing across the viaduct, often emerging from the tunnel. Being on the viaduct at such instance required to stand still and so close to the edge, that one wrong move meant a 70 meters free fall to meet rocks and stones. On the other hand, getting caught in the tunnel by the train spelled death. "Coast is clear!" Conrad shouted after we waited for a train to pass to maximize our chances. Before the train was out of view, we stepped on the viaduct and the run began. I recall the heat in the air, and the adrenaline rising at each stride I took under the scorching sun. The glinting railway sent gleams of excitement right to my eyes. The sunlight dressed the surrounding mountains and the trees on them with garments of joy. I often think about that view and moment of happiness, and how it contrasted with the darkness that just awaited to befall us. We reached the tunnel after around a minute, paused to catch our breath while getting our flashlights out of our backpacks. My big brother then smiled at me, giving the signal to continue the run, before he led the way. In the tunnel, we shouted in joy while running, amused by the darkness and cold of the passage till we could see the daylight from a distance. "Last outside buy the drinks!" Conrad shouted before we both accelerated. You know, there is a certain feeling when you exit a tunnel. The mere fact to move from darkness to light can inspire and even give hope, a feeling best personified by my brother in the way he lifted his arms high and shouted in victory. However, in our case that day, Conrad and I left darkness and stepped into a nightmare, evident by the way he suddenly stopped his shouting, his run and slowly lowered his arms. Heavily breathing, we both stared at something surreal after I caught up with him. With instinct, we both looked behind us to check where we came from, but the tunnel is not straight, therefore, we could not see the other side we had left. We looked at each other then looked in front of us, beholding the viaduct and the tunnel entrance we just left behind. "What the hell is that?" Conrad quietly said, slowly stepping forward and looking around before I imitated him. Confusion led us to the middle of the viaduct, where we both stood in the middle of two tunnels, a major change in scenery while all the rest remained untouched. Any oncoming train would be the final nail on the coffin for us, so we chose to move forward and we reached the other side of the 'new' tunnel. Once again, same viaduct, same tunnel waiting for us. My brother grabbed my hand, and we ran again, as fast as we could, across the viaduct, and then through the tunnel to no avail. Awaiting on the other side were the same viaduct, and the same tunnel, mocking our efforts. It made me think of the video games that my grandson plays; those in which a moving character can endlessly disappear in the right side of the screen to emerge from the left side and vice versa. Out of breath, sweating and desperate, Conrad grew more and more agitated while tears felt my eyes, at the realization that this was what the village rule talked about. It did not feel like being lost, rather it felt like being trapped; a trap we had to break out of before sunset. \*\*\* Shivering in fear, I spent the next 40 minutes arguing with Conrad, as we proposed and discarded ideas on how to end the deadly loop. He kept on walking back and forth, growling in nervousness and pulling his hair each time he glanced at his watch. "Good, but this time we walk." Conrad said at 3:48 pm, faking a smile to ease the tension after agreeing to my last and desperate suggestion. At the mercy of the heat, we advanced, sharing one of our water bottles. With our flashlights still ON, we reached the tunnel and started walking through. We hoped to see something different, I even hoped for a train, and something different we saw, shining in the dark of the tunnel. Dressed in a white robe and looking at us, a smiling little boy of maybe 5 years old stood still in the middle of the railway. We both froze when we spotted him, then continued without saying a word, and stopped again two or three meters from the boy. "Hey cutie boy! Are you—are you lost?" I said, failing to at least smile back at him. "Boy? What the hell is—Elena you okay?" Conrad questioned, while the boy remained immobile, smiling at me. "What you mean? I'm just trying to find out." I replied. "Why you talking to that old lady like a little kid? Madam you alright?" Conrad asked. "What? That's a little boy can't you see? Sun fried your brain?" I argued. "There's an old lady smiling at me in this dark tunnel, what you—" He argued back and abruptly stopped, as we realized the potential identity of the 'person' standing before us. "Is that some kind of illusion?" I quietly asked. "Mi—Mirage?" I whispered. The smile vanished from the little boy's face when he heard that name, and his eyes became all white. He opened his mouth so wide that his cheeks were ripped open, and he let out a disturbing scream. It sounded like different men and women taking turns in screaming, but doing it with the smoothness of a radio tuning. I gasped and widened my eyes. My heart exploded and I dropped my flashlight. I felt a strong grip on my left arm as Conrad grabbed me, pulling me out of my frozen state and we turned back to run for our lives. Mirage gave chase, and we even forgot the weights of our backpacks slowing us down. We ran as fast as we could in the dark till we saw the tunnel entrance. Glancing back at my brother running behind me, I caught a glimpse of Mirage, running on four with elongated arms and legs. I first emerged from the tunnel in one piece and quickly noticed that the landscape had slightly changed. Conrad suddenly screamed behind me and I turned. Mirage had wounded him on a shoulder and he lost a portion of his T-shirt and his backpack. "Run! Run!" Conrad screamed at me, but I froze again, terrified at the idea of watching Mirage kill my brother right before my eyes. Despite his wounds, Conrad kept running and screaming at me, but Mirage screamed in pain at some point. Retreating in the shade created by the mountains, the monster fumed, rolled in pain and transformed. Conrad stopped near me and turned back to look at Mirage hiding from the sun rays in the shade. We stood on the viaduct in the sunlight and watched Mirage stand up in a new human form, and we understood why the village rule suggested to break out of the loop before sunset. \*\*\* We looked behind us, ready to check out the new difference of the scenery, and hoping to use it to our benefit. However, Mirage did not intend to make things easier for us, and we understood it when we saw what it did. Half of the viaduct was destroyed, leaving an immense gap and preventing us from accessing the other tunnel. "Bastard." Conrad quietly said before we heard the monster laugh behind us. That too sounded like different men and women smoothly taking turns in laughing, resulting in a cacophony. We looked at it before it stopped laughing and smiled. "I see a teenage girl, smiling again just like in the tunnel. You?" I asked my brother. "A medieval soldier, with the armor and all that, smiling." Conrad replied, breathing heavily. "You okay?" I enquired. "All good." He replied, lying to avoid getting me worried. My big brother spent his whole life protecting me. He did it again in the tunnel, running behind and shielding me from Mirage, and those gaping wounds on his shoulder seemed to hurt me more than it did to him. He removed his T-shirt and I used it to press against the wounds. Under the sunlight, we sat on the railway at 4:16 pm, and discussed about possible ways to escape while watching Mirage. At 4:57 pm, the sun had almost not moved at all, and the heat had accelerated our blood circulation so much that my brother's bleeding could no longer be handled. Mirage was still in the shade, immobile and smiling as if frozen in time. Conrad tried hard to conceal his suffering until I could no longer bear to see him like that. I left the T-shirt on his shoulder and went to search my backpack, hoping to find anything useful. "I'm sure you'll find nothing there." He spoke. "Stop being pessimistic! I replied." I retorted. "Realistic sister. Always be realistic." He replied. "Realistic?" I asked, chuckling. "Look at where we are. We stuck in some loop world with a monster trying to kill us." I added. "Well, you get a poin—aaargh!" He said then screamed. I rushed back to him and saw that the four claw marks turned black, as if seriously infected. "What's that? What's going on?" He asked, clenching his fists. "No—nothing." I replied. "We really need to apply something on this." I added as Conrad's pain decreased. "Well, well." Conrad said, regaining his composure. "The first aid kit is in my bag, in the shade, behind that bastard there." He added, pointing at Mirage. The monster heard us and turned back to our surprise. We wondered what it could be up to and watched it walk to Conrad's backpack, pick it up and throw it at us. The backpack fell in the sunlight while Mirage remained in the shade at a good distance, frozen again and smiling. "What is he doing?" I asked. "He heard us?" Conrad questioned too. "Got to be a trap." I spoke. "Not so sure, look, the bag is in the sunlight. He can't set a toe there." Conrad analyzed. "So what you think?" I asked. "I guess he doesn't like dead meat. Bastard wants me to survive for now." He concluded. "Wait here." He added while painfully standing up. "Hey, hey! What you doing?" I questioned, holding my brother by the arm. "I need this kit, and we need the water." He replied, and he was right. "Ok, but this time, we go together, and I pick up the bag." I suggested looking at Mirage while Conrad agreed. Step after step, my heart beat faster, and I believe Mirage could hear it. The more we progressed, the more his smile grew vicious, yet it remained still, just watching us. We reached the backpack, shining in the sunlight. Our eyes riveted on Mirage, I slowly crouched, and stretched my arm out before I blinked, and noticed that the backpack was no longer shining. The railway fully captured my attention as I realized that we stepped in the shade. I looked back and saw the sunlight a few meters behind us. Another illusion, Mirage fooled Conrad and I. Fear enveloped me and my brother's name quietly escaped from my lips. The moment I turned to look at Conrad, Mirage was already in front of us. Conrad pushed me away from the monster, which almost at the same time struck my brother on the head so hard that his neck snapped. I crawled to safety, thinking about how we should have known better; even during the summer, the sun cannot move so slowly. Mirage showed us a lie about the position of the sun. I reached the sunlight and turned to what is up to this day, the worst memory of my life. Mirage vigorously devoured Conrad, ripping him apart. I watched streams of blood gush out of my brother's torso at each bite, and I heard the horrible sounds that followed. It did not take long before I closed my eyes, and covered my ears, while crying, screaming, wailing and begging for Mirage to stop his carnage. I might have stayed like that for at least 15 minutes, before I opened my eyes and saw Mirage standing still again and smiling at me in his new human form: the physical appearance of my brother. I looked at him, then at what was left of the real Conrad. Tears escaped from my eyes, the way I wish I could just escape from that nightmare, before sunset. \*\*\* Livid for a long time, my eyes riveted on Conrad's face, I remained on my knees, defeated by Mirage, which patiently waited for the last sun ray separating us to disappear so it can rip me apart too. I could not know what time it was exactly since the watch was on Conrad's wrist. I only snapped out of my daze when Mirage moved to take my pain to a higher level. That nightmare laughed while throwing 'pieces' of my brother at me: a hand, a bone, an organ, ... It would not stop. I ran to my backpack, looking for anything I could use to defend myself: a knife, a pen, just anything. The last sun ray decreased by the minute, bringing me closer to my doom. Mirage transformed again, its arms and legs growing so long that the monster could barely crouch on the viaduct. I emptied my backpack on the rails as the last sun ray grew thinner and Mirage started drooling. I just knew that I could not go without a fight, and while searching through my items on the railway, I saw my cosmetic compact. The panic vanished and that discovery led me to the idea that saved my life. Without wasting more time, I opened the compact and after seeing the little round mirror, I dashed towards the last sun ray of hope. I placed the mirror in the sunlight and diverted the reflected ray at the monster. Mirage screamed in pain, the light quickly punctured his body and it burst in flames in seconds before it just vanished. A few seconds later, the last sun ray disappeared and I sighed in relief. The sunset brought a befitting scenery to a fight that lasted for hours, but finally reached its conclusion. I looked at Conrad's remains once more when I felt vibrations that only meant one thing: an oncoming train. I looked around and saw that everything returned to normal, including the viaduct. The train emerged from the tunnel and I started one last run for my life. I felt a sudden surge of energy as if Conrad lent me his strength from the afterlife, an ultimate act to protect me one last time while I ran. I jumped at some point and was off the railway when I felt the train speeding inches away from my back. Once again, I sighed in relief. Sorrow and tears soaked the safe route back to the village. I did not even want to think about what was left of Conrad on that railway. I believe that the shock due to the loss of my brother blurred what followed, since I vaguely remember anything after that, from the wails of my mother to the compassion that the villagers showed, at least for that night. The next morning, when the mangled body of a lady was found in her own house, panic seized the village, as people thought Mirage could now break into homes and wreak havoc. The villagers forced me out of my own place of birth after accusing me of bringing doom. Still adventurous, I traveled the world till I made a discovery that freed me from guilt. Depending on cultures, entities like Mirage have different names and representations, while their behavior remains the same. I met a man in Africa who informed me that Mirage is a spirit invoked by people involved in witchcraft. As per its rules, the spirit can only be summoned during the day and sent to a maximum of five targets. If the spirit fails to devour a prey, it returns with fury and devours the sender instead, hence what happened to that lady in my village. Mirage never appeared there after my incident, and people think that it is because I left, not knowing that it is because a witch died instead. However, just in case, the villagers now walk around with mirrors, ready for any eventuality, including my grandson Hans even though he lives in the United States like myself. Conrad remains in my heart, and even though he did not survive that terrible day, his life and death taught me that responsibility, bravery and resilience are key qualities of an inspiring human being.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Something is in my room… [RESPONSE] I can hear it when I’m falling asleep. It talks to me, tells me to turn around and look at it. Look at it right in the eyes and it’ll go away. I want to but I know better than to listen. It knows my name. It knows everything about me. It calls for me at night and leaves when morning comes. I haven’t slept in weeks, terrified that if I fall asleep, I won’t wake back up. My family thinks I’m crazy. My mom tells me that I’m hallucinating because of the lack of sleep. No one else has seen it. No one else has heard it. Im starting to feel like they’re right. Tonight was different. I didn’t hear it. It didn’t talk to me or call my name. I was still to scared to turn around but for the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel it and i didn’t care, I had finally gotten a good nights sleep. The next morning, my mom was in the kitchen cooking as usual. I cheerfully said good morning and sat down at the table. I waited for her to say something back but there was nothing. I said it again. Silence. “Are you okay, mom?” I asked. She stopped moving and just stared at the wall above the oven. I looked around the house and finally noticed how quiet it was. Where was everyone. I have six siblings so this house is never quiet. It was unsettling. I looked at my mom again and slowly got up and began walking to my sisters room. I knocked but there was no answer. I freaked open the door to see both of my sisters just standing there looking outside the window. I called for them but again, silence. My heart began to race and I quietly rushed over to my brothers room and flew open the door. Not them too. All three of them were standing there. Mouths open, just staring at me. My body ran cold and It felt hard to catch my breath. I wanted to run but my legs were frozen. That’s when I heard a loud bang. Over and over again, it sounded like someone was repeatedly hitting something. I ran to the kitchen to find my mom banging her head over and over again onto the countertop. I rushed over to her and grabbed her, trying to get her to stop. Tears were running down my cheeks and blood was splattered all over the counter. I kept calling for my siblings to come help me but no one moved. Suddenly my mom stopped. She stood up and stared at me. Right into my eyes. I froze and stared back at her. Her head was split open and there was blood running down her face. Then she started smiling. But not the sweet soft smile she had given me when I broke my arm, no, this one was different. Her lips parted revealing her blood soaked teeth. Her smiled kept getting wider and wider as she just stared at me. I heard footsteps and out of the corner of my eyes I saw all of my siblings appeared in the hallway. All smiling the same as my mom. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her though. My heart was racing and I could feel every part of my body begin to shake. That’s when I heard it. The thing that was in my room. The thing that has been taunting me at night. I heard it call my name once more. I felt it icy cold hands slowly make its way up my shoulders and across my chest. His fingers felt as sharp as a knife. It called my name again and I tightly shut my eyes and began to sing. I could feel it’s fingers making its way around my face. I could hear it telling me to look at it, but I just kept my eyes shut and kept singing. Once I had finished the song. I took a deep breath and slowly opened one eye. It was gone. In fact, everyone was gone. My mom, my siblings, they were all just… Gone… My heart was still racing as I looked around the room trying to see anything. I need to call 9-1-1. I raced to my room and was about to turn the knob when something stopped me. I felt my stomach begin to knot and something telling me not to go in there. I let go of the knob and ran out the front door. I began to run down the street when I looked back at my house. I caught a glimpse of my room and felt my heart drop. Inside was my mom and sibling standing there staring at me through the window. My mom began to smile again and waved at me. My siblings followed. I didn’t catch it at first but then I saw in all of their hands was a huge kitchen knife. I took a deep breath and ran to the nearest police station. I told them everything. About the thing that has been talking to me at night. About my family, I even told them about the knives. I saw all of their faces turn pale but quickly go back to normal. One of them grabbed me and told me that I needed to go home and stop causing trouble. I know he knew what I was talking about. His voice was shaky and he kept trying to avoid eye contact with me. I begged for him to tell me what was happening but he just ignored me and threw me out of the station. This was maybe two days ago and I’ve tried telling everyone, hoping that someone would believe me but everyone just acts as if I’m crazy. So I’m posting it here. Please, if anyone knows what happened and what I can do to fix it then please tell me. I just want my family back.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Anyone else get cold weather hauntings? [RESPONSE] The cabin looked cozy and calm as I pulled into the long driveway my map – a paper map – had led me to. To be fair, I was excited the map had led me anywhere out of the cold after the five hour drive. And this was the only driveway on the left from the main road for the last four miles, as Mrs Lawson had assured me. The keys to the place were in a fake “pink granite” rock amidst a grouping of natural rocks beside the front door. Took a couple of tries to open the door, as if the hinges had gone to sleep and resented being moved. A cloud of dust hit my face as soon as I opened the door and I sneezed so hard I hurt my ribs, dammit. The people who delivered propane kept the furnace going from October to April for safety reasons, like the plumbing, I think. But holy guacamole the dust! I couldn’t wait, I had to dust down then vacuum the place. Keeping in motion would keep me warmer while the furnace kept chugging towards a livable temperature. Plus I couldn’t eat or sleep if there was any chance of mouse poop or, worse, dead mice, anywhere in the cabin. Mrs Lawson called the cabin tiny. She must live in a mansion. The cabin had a main room, kitchen, two bathrooms, sunroom, and three bedrooms, cleaned in that order. The central hallway was the last to clean before I would declare the cabin sleep-ready. Well, the hallway itself and eight cardboard boxes stacked up at the end of it. I couldn’t avoid those boxes any longer, even though I wanted to. I planned to move them into one of the two smaller bedrooms as I worked. I meant to. But every time I looked at the boxes, something in me recoiled. Dry dusting cloth in hand, I breathed deeply and attacked the boxes. As I was wiping down the top four, my hand hit something metallic sticking out of the end wall. My first thought was, I’d found the door to the Lawson family’s private safe! The boxes were there to hide it from intruders. I made a mental note to tell Mrs Lawson how cheap and effective a security camera is, and took the boxes to the small bedroom. When all the boxes were gone, I got a good look at the wall they’d been stacked against. First I thought I imagined it. No food for several hours, burning a lot of calories, keeping warm and cleaning and moving stuff, it’s possible to imagine things that aren’t real, right? When my hand met cold metal again, I decided I was not hallucinating. This wasn’t a safe, it was a sized-down door. At the end of the hallway. A key hung from a sizable metal chain wrapped around the door knob. I felt like I’d discovered a doorway to an elven underground. Why else would Mrs Lawson hide the door from the rest of the world? Of course I unlocked and opened the door. Then I passed out on the hallway carpet. It reminded me of archaeologists getting sick as they entered long-unopened rooms. Something about the air being stale. I must have collapsed with great speed because I was pretty banged up. I didn’t even look at the room and the door was firmly closed as it had been when I first discovered it. While cleaning up my injuries, I realized I was hurt a lot worse than the time I fell downstairs. Maybe I had a concussion because it took me a while to realize I landed on the carpet. There was no furniture anywhere near where I fell. That meant I couldn’t account for the multiple gashes and slashes. They took a long time to clean up and bandage as my hands shook more and more. How damn long was it going to take for the cabin to warm up? My arms and legs hurt. What little I knew about passing out didn’t explain me being able to lock the door and drape the metal chain around the door knob while unconscious. As soon as I finished, I checked the house temperature. 70 F. What the hell. Normally I’d be fine at that but with how much I was shaking, I thought I’d have to wear extra layers inside all winter long. My head throbbed, my arms and legs hurt, and I know you’re not supposed to sleep with a concussion but I was also tired. I decided to lie down and relax before getting something to eat. That’s when I first remember seeing movement at the doorway of my bedroom. Was it a person with a blanket over their shoulders? Was it a cryptid? Was it a ghost? My imagination? No, it didn’t go away when I blinked. It was definitely there, and it was staring at me. Then it floated toward me. That’s how I knew it was a ghost, because it floated, what else could it be? Gravity affects beings in our dimension. It doesn’t affect beings from other dimensions. So it had to be a ghost. Which is why I was surprised when it came up to me and punched me. An arm appeared out of nowhere and punched my left eye! I don’t know what came first, the pain or the fear. I sure screamed, though, and flailed my arms and legs which didn’t help at all. Every open-handed hit by the ghost resulted in painful, deep gashes. All I wanted to do was get rid of the ghost and nothing I did achieved that simple goal. After a couple of minutes I stopped flailing and screamed, “Get away from me!” The ghost stopped hitting me and moved back about a foot. I got a good look at it. It had a head and face like a person only meaner. Instead of two arms, it had four. I don’t know to this day if it has legs or not. It spoke and I damn near fell off the bed, my body froze up so much at the sound. It said, and I’m pretty sure I am remembering this exactly, “You woke me. It’s your fault.” It disappeared in a cloud of red smoke. I lay there for a minute or two, afraid to move and afraid to stay in the bedroom. I decided to live out of my suitcase for the remainder of the year, to have my stuff ready to go in case I decided to leave in a hurry. Then I went to the bathroom and cleaned up the new wounds. Not sure exactly what I did for the next couple of hours but I ended up with a first aid kit on my nightstand when I went back to bed. My best guess is I got three hours of sleep before the ghost attacked again. I yelled earlier in the attack than before and, once again, it disappeared in a puff of red smoke. While bandaging the newest wounds, it became clear I wasn’t able to handle this attacker on my own. I tried calling 911 for help. Turns out, 911 wasn’t yet established for the area. Once I felt sure I could manage the walk to the kitchen, because I felt really weak, I got the number for the local center for emergency help on a fridge magnet. It was a number I never expected to use or I would have put it into my phone. The very calm dispatcher who answered my call explained that the police didn't come out to the Lawson cabin. They had responded to too many fake break-in calls so no. Also, without police escort, the ambulance would not respond either. I don’t know why. By the end of the short call, my stomach was in multiple knots and I struggled not to cry. All I could think was, I was trapped in a cabin with a violent ghost and no help on the way. My nightmares were filled with claws and clouds of red smoke yet I somehow managed to sleep until just after dawn. Mrs Lawson called close to 9 a.m. while I was having a coffee and rethinking my decision to take the job. She said the police called her. I don’t know why they called her. If I had to give a possible reason, I’d say the cops called because she’s the registered owner of the cabin. They likely wanted to confirm she’d allowed someone to be in the cabin without her. She said she had checked with her lawyer after the police called. Following his advice and for my own good, she terminated my employment for “shortage of work.” That reason would let me collect employment insurance and wouldn’t look bad when I looked for other jobs. She included a glowing letter of recommendation and paid me out for the full year even though I had to leave the cabin immediately. She insisted I call her when I was in my vehicle, leaving the driveway. She begged me to pack up my stuff and leave as quickly as possible. Packing the car was quick and I stuck the cabin door’s key into the safety rock storage at the side of the door. Once in my car, I called Mrs Lawson who stayed on the line with me until I left the property and was on the main road. I was concerned about being alone at home for a couple of days. My parents and sister were already at Aunt Connie’s to support her and her puppy Boots at her local dog show. They wouldn’t be back until the next morning. I couldn’t shake the feeling I wasn’t alone in my car. Two hours into the five hour drive home, I took an exit off the highway to a small diner. After I turned off the engine and before I could open my door, the ghost attacked me. I struggled to ward it off. Someone banged on my window and told me to leave or he would shoot me. There was no way I could start the engine and control the car. I was terrified of dying by ghost or by gunshot. My fear got the better of me and I screamed at the ghost to leave me alone. One last punch to my face and the ghost vanished in a cloud of red smoke. I opened my door and someone from the diner ran over and handed me a coffee. He said he was the owner and I had to go, I was not allowed to enter the diner. I begged him to let me in and at least clean up. He held up his handgun. Despite my hands shaking, I managed to start the engine and tear out of the parking lot. I got into my house through the back door as usual. It was a bit of a struggle to get my suitcase out of the car but it felt good to be home. Until I set everything down and heard it. The silence. The house was unnaturally quiet, a constant reminder I was alone. I hated it. So I turned on my TV and went to my bedroom to prepare my laundry loads. As soon as I entered my bedroom, the TV volume increased dramatically. It was so loud I dropped everything and turned to run into my main room to turn it down. The ghost smacked me in the face. My parents and sister came home shortly after, because they were concerned about me. They said the TV volume was fine when they got in the door. What shook them was the handprint of blood on the wall by the back door and the trail of blood down the stairs. I was at the end of the blood trail. My sister said Mom made sure I was breathing and all that while Dad called the ambulance. My family listened while I explained to the hospital admitting staff how I was injured. My sister stayed with me whenever she was allowed, from admitting to release. Staff checked for and treated everything they could but I caused a few problems, like shaking so badly it was hard to draw blood. While I was getting treated, Mom and Dad returned home. Mom called Grandma to keep her informed, then she put salt at all the window and door openings. She’s sure it will help. I think she might be humoring me but that’s okay, doing something is better than doing nothing. Mom says Dad bought another gun. He isn’t a big believer in the supernatural. I’m home now, have been since the end of April, and the house has been almost normal. The ghost hasn’t returned but Autumn is here. I’m afraid the ghost only shows up in cold weather and I’m afraid of meeting it again. That’s why I posted here. I wanted to get it off my chest and see if anyone else can relate or even offer suggestions on how to make sure the ghost doesn’t return.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My new dog won’t stop howling. [RESPONSE] All my life I’ve really loved dogs. Growing up, my family never had one, but I had plenty of cousins who did, and whenever I’d go over, I’d prefer to hang out with the pooches. Now I’m 23, and I’ve just moved into my own place. I figured living in an apartment by myself would get lonely, so I got myself a dog, a small black border collie I could tell would eventually grow up to take care of her owner. I live on the first floor of my apartment complex, so I have access to the front and back car parks as a somewhat yard to let my dog out if it gets too overwhelming inside. I’ve had her for a few weeks, and she’s normally a well behaved pup, but recently she’s been whimpering and scratching at the door late at night. I usually try to take her out for a walk before it gets dark, but ever since the weird behaviour started, she refuses to come along. Instead, when I call her name with her leash in her hand, she just sits and stares out the window facing the carpark. Since I was a big fan of dogs growing up, I guess I expected I’d know what to do in any situation, but this one stumped me. I’ve started taking her out to the back carpark for a few minutes whenever she starts whimpering, where she’ll run around and eventually usually tire herself out. That was until four nights ago. On this particular night, when she started whimpering and scratching, I went to let her out, but as soon as we reached the building’s back door she froze. She just sat in front of it, staring out into the dimly lit lot. “C’mon, Annie!” I repeated, but she didn’t move a muscle. I went to close the door, but right before I shut it completely, she started growling. It wasn’t like any other growl I’d heard from her before. It was a low, guttural, almost predatory one that sent a chill down my spine. She kept growling at the door, even after I’d pulled it completely shut. I didn’t know what to do, she’s never behaved this way before, and it was creeping me out. She wouldn’t follow me when I tried to take her back inside, and I couldn’t just drag her back into my flat, so I tried the door again. I opened it, and that’s when she started howling. Her howls sounded almost painful, and I knew it wouldn’t be too long before the ruckus would start to wake up my neighbours. I tried to calm her down but to no avail, and sure enough, I soon saw the floor manager come into sight. “Ma’am, could you please take the dog outside?” He asked through gritted teeth. I forced a smile and nodded before walking her outside. She was still howling, but at least now we were far enough from the building where my neighbours hopefully wouldn’t hate me too much. “Alright Annie, please relax.” I sighed; she wasn’t going to stop. That’s when she started to yank against her leash. I gripped it tightly but her little legs moved faster and faster. I looked up towards the direction she was trying to run in, and that’s when I caught a glimpse of it. Beneath the flickering luminescence of one of the lot’s lights, a long, black figure stood. From where I was standing, it almost looked as though it was slanted backwards, as if it were only a shadow with no one in front of it. The light above it continued to flicker, and Annie’s howls grew louder and louder. A loud smash stopped Annie’s howling, as the flickering light suddenly burst. Shards of glass scattered across the floor of the lot, and I immediately tried to ran back to the building, but Annie didn’t follow. She sat in the same spot, seemingly frozen again. Above us, more of the lot’s lights started to flicker, then burst. With every flicker, I would catch another glimpse of the figure moving closer and closer as the lights created a runway for it towards us. It only moved in the darkness, and it seemed like it was stopped by the lights, but it’s speed gradually increased as the lights continued to break. I realised my time was running out, and I had to make a choice. I let go of Annie’s leash and ran as fast as I could back to the complex, behind me the sounds of glass smashing continued. I was almost at the door when I heard the most terrifying noise imaginable. I’m not sure whether it was Annie or that creature, but whatever it was, it sounded painful. It sounded like it was being torn limb from limb, with a metallic roar accompanying it. I made it to the door of the complex and practically threw myself inside and slammed the door shut behind me. Outside, I heard nothing but silence. I bit my lip and walked back to my apartment, my entire body shaking. I leaned against my door for a few seconds before I heard a knock. From the other side of the door, I heard my neighbour asking me if everything was okay. When I opened the door, she gave me a worried look, and her hands was Annie, who looked shaken up, but seemingly happy to see me. I nodded and thanked her, and she left Annie at my feet before walking off. Annie barked and hugged my leg, but I couldn’t find it within myself to pet her. It looked like my dog, it barked like my dog, but it couldn’t have been my dog. Not my Annie. It noticed my fear and sniffed me, and I tensed up, but I didn’t make a noise. It licked my hand then went and laid in Annie’s bed. It’s been four days since this all happened, and tonight I’m wearing ear plugs to bed. I don’t want to listen to the howling again tonight, and I especially don’t want to listen to the horrifying noise that comes after it. Some nights, the screams that follow are short, but they never stop sounding painful, and now they’ve started sounding human.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Arctica 2 [RESPONSE] The thing about the South Pole is that no one's ever truly warm. I can feel the coldness seep into my bones, my body is always a shiver away from being too cold to move another muscle. It makes walking difficult, breathing too - the air is thin and ragged on my lungs, even thinking becomes a harrowing task. And I'll put this down in writing, I don't care if someone in the future will see it as an admission of guilt, but it was probably why I wasn't thinking clearly after we arrived back at camp. I never should have took the equipment, cutting Chloe off from the rest of the world. I never should have left her alone. But by this point my self preservation mode had been active since we first left for the mission, and it was all I could manage to come up with before I crawled into my sleeping bag, and passed out. It never felt so dark. That's something I never thought I'd say after spending nearly everyday in constant sunlight, this was the beginning of summer, the midnight sun wouldn't set until long after October ' I constantly had to remind myself all those days ago, those day when I wished that the sun would go down for a second, a wink, those days that turned contemptuous, where I wished the sun would sizzle out so that I may get some decent sleep. Those days when I didn't give a damn about anyone. Now, now I'm glad it's high up in the sky at all times. Glad that I can see...see if anything is coming. God, I hope so much that it's help that is coming for us. The 6 hours after our ordeal at the Ross Ice Shelf was a strained one. I woke up thirsty, and damp. Damp is danger, any moisture is dangerous but my body was too tired to care. What was a finger or even a limb if it meant that I could get back to base, get on a helicopter, on a boat, and get home? I'm a long ways away from Ontario, that much was certain. I dried myself, changed, and not once did I look down at my body, afraid of what I might see. Protocol dictated that I contact points of authority. Report to them what happened, and what we were facing, even if it meant what I had to say would cost me my future in the field. I think that was why I took all of our communication equipment and hid it in my tent. That way when I slept, Chloe wouldn't sound the alarm before I had time to think, before we could talk things over. She was only 2 years out of her understudy, her career had only begun, and I...I wasn't ready to give this up yet. I did this even though I knew I was directly disobeying rule # 2: Keep An Open Line Of Communication. Without it, people die out here. I don't remember how many times I've seen it, a simple yes or no that could have saved someone's life; while the information we were withholding was undoubtedly more important. I kept telling myself this was the right thing to do, that we needed to be clear headed before we made any decisions. Those thoughts went out the window the moment I opened my tent flap. Outside in the snow, right at the foot of where I had been sleeping - were footprints, hundreds, if not thousands of them, it looked as if an entire procession had passed through. How one person could do this all alone was beyond me. But I could see it from her point of view, it was as if I had taken away her sovereignty, treated her like a child and took away her ability to make decisions for herself when I took away her ability to connect with anyone else other than me. A dangerous feeling for someone, anyone, let alone a woman stranded in the middle of no where with a man she hardly knew. "Chloe," I called from outside her tent. "Chloe," I called again. After what felt like longer than it did, "What?" I was glad she was talking to me. "We have to start getting packed. Leave for McMurdo." She unzipped the teeth in her tent, "I'm ready to go. If you're not done in 5. I'm leaving you." I could see the bags forming under her eyes, and the corners around her cornea were bloodshot as well. "Shit. Did you even get any sleep?" She pushed past me, her pack heavy on her back. For a moment I decided to argue, point out the elephant, but I didn't want to shift the momentum in our movements. So I bit my tongue and quick enough - I got in my tent and stuffed the few things I thought I would need. The trip through the Lewis and the ice belt was about 3 days. Give or take. We would need food, shelter, and...I grabbed my drinking can. The soft plastic was easy enough to grip in the cold and to store when it was empty. Mine was almost gone. I had half a propane cannister which meant that I could melt another liter and a half at most. I groped around my bag for more water, and I found none. By now I knew she could hear me outside, scrummaging, thinking, knowing where the water had been stored. Most of it had been in the crawler, the rest of our provisions were stowed in London's tent. A tent where Chloe's footprints had been all over. Before I thought she was only looking for the equipment, but now I knew better. "I'm afraid," she said as I left my tent. Her arms crossed, "I'm not stupid." "Chloe." "Shut up." She threw her bag into the crawler. I could see it wiggling, straining against the straps as it was gorged with liquid on the inside. "I was trying..." She rounded on me, "You think I don't know what you were trying to do?" She took a step toward me, it felt as if I had been pushed. "You didn't think that we read the same handbooks? Face the same consequences? What did you think that this was a-" "I'm sorry." I held out my hands, "Look. I'm sorry. I was scared. And, and I was tired. I didn't know what to do. All I knew when we got back was that, was that I needed to rest." I didn't mean to change the subject, "Did you get any sleep?" "At least now we can tell them back at the station our radio wasn't working. And if they don't believe that, you can tell them how you stopped me from contacting headquarters." "Fine." "Fine is right." I paused, "Should we contact them now?" She looked at me, "If we contact them before the point of no return, they might want us to turn back. And I am not staying here for another second." "Agreed." I hesitated, "What do we tell them about London?" "We tell them how he died. The drill didn't clip in properly, and...and there was an accident." For a second I saw the look of the old Chloe, the kind and caring Chloe in her eyes, but it disappeared quickly enough. "What about the blood?" "Without proper evidence, they might hold us, blame it on spring madness. Extreme sun exposure affecting our brains." She looked at me, "We'll never stand a chance," she chewed on her lower lip, "I say we hand it off to the lab. Let them take a look at it. If they report anything abnormal-" "It'll be someone else's problem." "They'll stand a better chance at convincing them than us." We looked at each other silently and agreed amongst ourselves. "Let's go." I nodded and climbed into the crawler. My hand paused for a second as I held the key. "What?" I turned to her, "What if it doesn't start up?" "Don't say that." I turned the key and prayed. The engine began clicking, sputtering and gurgling as the ignition coils zapped the petrol in the cylinder, trying to light. The "kekeke" of the starter beginning to sound like a sickening laugh. After several tries, it finally gurgled, letting a plume of black smoke out of the rear as she groaned to life. The cabin shook slightly as I put her into gear. There was nothing but an endless horizon of ice and snow in every direction as we pulled out into the open. I used to joke that God had forgotten his paintbrush here. Chloe laughed, it was the first sign of the tension between us cutting since I woke up. It was a mixture of giddiness and relief. Infectious enough for me to smile through my teeth. "We're getting out of here," I said aloud. She laughed again, "Damn. You don't know how scared I was when I found all of the equipment gone." The sense of routine putting us both at ease. "You don't know how scared I was trying to leave that tent," I told her. "Fuck, this place does weird things to you, don't it?" "Yeah," I adjusted our navigation, "It'll take us about 3 days to get to base. What about those footprints," I chided. She laughed, "I almost peed a little when I saw them." I could feel the smile disappearing from my face, the tightening around my heart. I could tell Chloe noticed, because suddenly she looked scared too. "I thought they were..." "No." \* We had been driving for nearly 9 hours, several times we had to put the arm down on the crawler. The arm was a flat panel with an inflatable tube filled with sensors that extended about 8 meters in front of the bumper to test the areas ahead for crevasses. Falling through one in the crawler would mean death. Getting stuck, the same. Several hours ago I somehow managed to convince Chloe that I wouldn't murder her in her sleep, and she was finally dozing off. Her head pressed against the sidebar and her legs propped against her chest. I could see her breath fogging the glass window even though the heat pump from the engine bay, porting through the front dash was keeping the cabin fairly warm, warmer than usual at least. This had been our first expedition together, and although I didn't know much about her, outside of work, I couldn't help but feel drawn to her. She was attractive by all means, but it was more than that. An attractive woman can only hold my attention for so long, with the advent of social media, I've stared at attractive woman unabashedly, while on the comforts of my own toilet. She began to stir and I quickly looked away. "This god awful light," she murmured. Shielding her face with a hand as she was greeted by the glistening white scenery in front of us. "It's like my sister when we go to the beach." "It's beautiful," I said. "Haunting, is more like it." She reached into a bag, pulling out a container of water. I watched her drink. I could almost feel the soft liquid touching my throat. After awhile I noticed her eyes were peering at me from above the plastic ridge. "Do you want some?" She handed me the water. My free hand gripped the soft edges and squeezed it down my gullet. After I had finished, "God. Water is so underrated." She laughed, "Would you like a beer?" My eyes lit up, "You don't have some do you?" She reached into the bag and then pulled out her fist with the middle finger extended, while laughing. "Oh yeah, real mature," I groaned. "Man, a beer would have been great." She couldn't stop laughing, "You should have seen the look on your face." "Go back to sleep." Chloe capped the water and stored it back into her bag. Leaning slightly against it. "Do you think we should contact base by now? Let them know our course." It was rule number 4: Maintain a travel itinerary with Command. "I don't know-" "What if we need help? It's easier to search for us if they had a general location." "I don't plan on falling through the ice." "We didn't plan for a lot of things to happen." She nudged the navigation," "Plus. We're past the point of no return," as she reached for the console above her head. I had clipped it back some time ago. The signal cracked over the speakers. "AFAN this is Crawler 2215. Do you copy?" We waited in silence. "I think you're supposed to say the call sign?" "I did." "I thought it was K-C-4-W?" "I remember it being AFAN." I shrugged my shoulders, "Call out McMurdo station and see if anyone replies?" She choked the receiver, "McMurdo Station, this is Crawler 2215. Do you Copy? McMurdo Station, this is Crawler 2215. Do you Copy?" Chloe holstered the comm. "Nothing," I muttered. "This is KC4W, McMurdo, 10-4. Over." "Fuck!" Chloe grabbed the mic excitedly, "McMurdo. This is Crawler 2215. We're traveling through the Ross Ice Shelf, coordinates negative 84, negative 123. Following the Hulbe line back to base. Over." "Breaker, breaker. This is Expedition 7. Chloe is that you? Over." She turned to look at me, "I think it's Simon?" "Chloe, what's going on? You're about 130 kilometers away from us. Shouldn't you be back at camp?" "Simon. We're heading back to McMurdo. There's been an accident. London...London's dead." There was a long pause. "This is McMurdo. Crawler 2215. Please repeat. Are you in distress? Over." "Yes! We are heading back to the station." She pauses. "Over." Another long pause. "Chloe. This is Simon. We've departed from P-99 and nearing U.S. core site three-eighty-five. We should rendezvous at negative 78, negative 170. Over." I looked at Chloe and saw her beaming. This was great news. We were traveling. We were meeting up with other members of our team. We were heading back to base together. "Sounds great Simon. From our coordinates it looks like we're 18 or so hours out. Over." "This is McMurdo. We will prepare for your arrival. Medical team will be on standby. Over." I stretched my neck. Wiggled my toes. And found new grip on the steering. We were going to make it. \* Over the next few hours we would sporadically hear updates from Simon's crew or directly through McMurdo. Chloe got into gear and began tidying up the crawler, and was back to inputting data through her laptop. And I readily surveyed the path before me, making sure I was plotting all the correct points coming onto my screen. And we were making good time! Everything was settling back to normal, if my lips weren't wind cracked ' I would have considered whistling. Several times we passed by Blankets: top layers of snow that covered a crevasses opening, but our equipment held up despite my lack of experience. And we made it safely enough. Eventually Simon's crawler came into view. I could even see their tents from this distance, they looked like yellow pyres, signaling us. "Should we get them on the radio," Chloe asked. I shook my head, "Let's surprise them." She laughed, "God it's going to be good to get back with the others." "The more the merrier," I laughed. When we had pulled up close enough I sounded the horn. Not even bothering to take the key out of the ignition as I hopped out, the engine rumbling behind me. "Simon!" Chloe was having difficulty getting out, the crawler was quite tall and she was dragging her equipment along. The look of a scientist back on her face as she was worried about preserving our findings. Even the blood sample she had scraped off my boots ' didn't seem to bother her. It sure didn't bother me. "Simon," Chloe called. "Amy? Hey can someone help me with this." I popped around her side and grabbed the two thick satchels from her. "Thanks." "No problem," I mentioned. "Hey guys," I called out. Chloe looked at me, "Turn it off." "What?" "The crawler." "Oh right," I reached over and pulled the keys out. They fell into the ice, "Shit." I looked down the hole where they had dropped. It could be anywhere, nearly anywhere but straight down. I dug a glove into the snow, rummaging around. "Shhh," Chloe hushed. "Do you hear that?" I stopped moving, and strained my ears. Silence. The sound of nothing was deafening. Neither of us moved a muscle. I was too afraid to even move my eyes, to search the grounds, in case it made too much noise. Suddenly I could hear myself blink. And when I swallowed - the small bones in my ears clicked. I began to hear my heart beat in my chest. The way it strangled itself each time. Chloe took a step forward and I heard the snow crunch beneath her feet. "Guys," I called out. "Simon? Amy?" She paused. "Dave?" "Where is everyone," I attempted. "Hey," I took a step toward a nearby tent, my hand moving for the zipper all the same as any other day, a part of me pretending that everything was fine, made it easier to unzip. It was empty inside. "Angela," I called out. "Look," Chloe pointed to the corner of the tent. "Tracks." I followed them around the tent, it took me a second to realize what I was seeing. They were in the shape of feet, "Someone." I tried to laugh. "Someone's forgot their boots," I tried to laugh again but it came out hoarse and shaken. "They're barefoot." Chloe screamed. I turned around and suddenly I felt sick. The hours before, finally catching up with me. My knees were wobbly, but I forced them in her direction until she came into view. She was buckled before a tent, the flap laid on its side, crusted red by the cold was blood. "We have to get out of here," she said. "W-what about the others?" I reached my hand to the next tent, shaking it. Afraid that it would open, afraid to open it, afraid of what I would find. "There's only three," I swallowed. "In there. Where are the others?" She shook her head, "I don't know. But we have to get out of here." She grabbed my arm and started pulling on it. "They can't be dead. Not all of them." "Come on-" From a tent directly to our left, we heard a groan. I looked over, the blood in my veins running cold. One of the sides had collapsed and it was slightly opening, snow had already begun piling inside. Chloe took a step back and fell. I saw her hands reaching for the ground around her, for something to grasp, all she found was the ice between her gloves. I wanted desperately to pick her up, pull her from under her arms, but my legs wouldn't let me. The tent shook again. And then something fell out. It looked up at us, a glacier of blood caked onto the side of his face. "Fuck." I tried to find my bearings, "Dave. Are you okay?" He shook his head, his voice groggy. I couldn't make out what he was saying as I pulled him to his feet. His wound had frozen shut. "What happened," he asked. "I don't know man. We just got here and..." "Where are the others?" His head suddenly dancing on his neck as he swiveled back and forth. "Something came at us. It ran me right over. Oh god." His eyes set on the tent where we had found the other bodies. "Oh god. No." He reached out his hand. "Tiffany. Angela?" "Where's Simon," Chloe asked. "I think she's still breathing," Simon knelt into the tent. "Patrice. Patrice!" Dave motioned for me, "Help me with her. I think she's still alive." I wish I could have said I rushed over quickly. But I didn't. When I got to his side and peered into the tent. I could see clearly for the first time, their faces were torn. Tiffany's jaw was hanging open and her eyes were rolled back ' the thin mucus on them long frozen in place. But it was their stomachs. They had been ripped open. Gutted like fish intestine on the ground. That made me throw up. I heard it splatter on the ground as it left my mouth. Thick like stew, it began layering on the snow as it hardened. "Jesus Christ," Dave said, "Get a hold of yourself." I wiped my mouth, "Why did they. What happened." By now Chloe had helped Dave pull Patrice out of the tent. There was a gash in her stomach but it wasn't serious, at least not as the wound forming on the side of her head. It bubbled, likely filled with blood. A hematoma, some part of me remembered. "Let's get her into the crawler," Chloe said. She looked at me, "We have to call McMurdo." I nodded, "Yeah. Yeah, I'll get on that." I rushed to the Crawler and got my hands on the radio. "McMurdo. AFAN. Shit I don't know. Shit. KCWA four three two. I don't. McMurdo! We need help. This is Crawler 2215. We are in need of assistance. Over." After a second's hesitation, "This is McMurdo. Please state your emergency. Over." "We have three dead." I let it die. "Two dead. And one injured. Another, another missing. Over." "We can send an immediate air drop to your location. Please confirm. Negative 84. Negative 140. Over." "Yes! We have joined with Simon's team. Over." "Stand by 2215. Over." Chloe ripped the transmitter out of my hand, "McMurdo. We are not waiting for the arrival unit. Tell it to meet us on our course. We are heading back to McMurdo. Now!" "Negative 2215. It'll be against protocol-" "I don't give a shit about protocol!" She slammed the receiver down and turned the dial until it clicked off. "What are you doing," Dave asked. He was still several meters away, "What's going on," standing over Patrice. Chloe looked at me then back at, "Dave. Listen. There's something. I don't know. There's something, fuck. There's something in the ice." I could see Dave shaking his head, his eyes closing, his demeanor in disbelief, his mouth still half open when it hit him. Took him right off his feet. It moved so fast and blended into the snow perfectly that it was difficult to see, even more difficult to see when it started stomping the ground, the snow came up like smoke as I see parts of her stamped out in the ice. That's when I ran. I ran as fast as I could, the ground slipping before me as the world turned upside down and I hit my head hard against the ground. If it weren't for Chloe, I would have never made it into the Crawler. My head was still spinning when we took off. I could hear Chloe's panicked breathing as she kept looking behind us. I came in and out a few time, my vision distorted, it was like looking at snapshots, a strobe light in a dark room. When I was finally able to gather enough sense to fill a sentence, I looked over at Chloe who had a death grip on the wheel. Her exposed fingers beginning to blacken at the tip as she drove. "Chloe." She jumped in her seat, "Fuck. You're okay?" I shook my head, "I feel like shit." She looked back again. "Did we get away," I asked bleakly. "I think so. I mean. I don't know. But I think so." "What was that thing?" "I don't know." She looked at me and then leaned in close enough for me to hear, "But did it look to you as if it came back for Angela? To finish her off? Like. It didn't even want Dave. He was just in the way. The way that thing tossed him. But it ripped into her stomach. Pulled out her guts and crushed them. Did it, look like that? To you? Did it?" And I didn't want take solace in this, but I found some comfort, as we kept driving into the endless white snow, that if it was only killing women. Then maybe I was safe. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I see the numbers of how many people somebody has killed. My sons... Continued rising. [RESPONSE] I had always had this strange ability. I had always thought about telling somebody or using it to get a great job as maybe like a detective or a cop or something but in the end I had decided the best thing was to keep it to myself and just live my life away from people higher than a 1. A 1 can be bad but also you don't know their stories... It could've been in self defense. And so that's what I did. Nobody knows. I now have a wife with a 1. She killed her dad when she was 12 and he was beating her mom as he did often, he was a drunken and she panicked, grabbed his bottle and shattered it over his head... Cracked his skull and he died almost instantly. My child Sam is 2 years old, obviously a 0 and hopefully it'll always stay that way. Looking back now I would've been happy if he'd grown up to be a regular serial killer compared too what he very well might be now. I had gone on a vacation to Paris for work and unfortunately had to leave them behind for a week. It was only a week and nothing longer so I figured what's the worst that could happen for just that little amount of time. Well… I got home and I look at Sam... 12. I blinked, 39. 75. 90. It continued rising all while he was just sitting there. I figured it couldn't be real- there was no way THERE WAS NO FUCKING WAY but... It was.. And he just.. Stared at me. With those complete black eyes. "Hello papa." He says in this dark raspy voice, the one you would hear from some dude living in the woods in a horror movie who turns out isn't a killer and saves the main character in the end. He smiled at me... And I'll never forget the words he said. "150. 180. 200." All as the numbers hit there. After that he went limp and just fell backwards. 2 days later he woke up and his number was 0. It was just a hallucination or something is what I wish i could tell you but no. It happens every single FUCKING month. I saw on the news. 200 people every month die. His eyes are emerald green but during those times they're completely black. Look I could actually use some help here, please somebody help me. I.. My number when I look in the mirror is 0, but... As I held my hands around his neck... I watched it turn to 1... And then I felt as if I'd been shot in the head. I'm not typing this in the emergency room and... Now whenever I look at somebody... Their numbers are always 666 Help. Wait. Who… What's going on again? Why am I typing here… Either way the paramedics are coming to take me to surgery! I'll get to go home! I wonder why they have the number 1,957,384 above their head… How odd, either way I'm… I'm drowsy… Goodnight everyone..<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I own a winter cabin in the forests of North Minnesota. Things are getting... weird. [RESPONSE] 9/24/21, 11:00 PM, Recording 1. Me and my wife recently purchased a cabin deep in the forests of Northern Minnesota. As recently as Six months ago, in fact. I was never much of an outdoors person, growing up in a fairly large town in the southern part of Minnesota, I rarely saw "The Great Outdoors", as I've heard many call it. My wife, however, is a country loving woman, through and through. Having grown up miles from my home town, surrounded by woods, and farmland her whole life, I don't think there's a single City Slicker bone in her whole body. That being said, I somehow managed to convince her to buy a house with me in a small town, with the condition that, when finances allowed, we would purchase a cabin to stay in half of the year, and, well.. Unfortunately for me, she held me to that promise. My wife decided that she wanted the six months spent in that cabin to be from October, to March. Why anyone would choose to go farther north for the six coldest months of the year in what is essentially the fucking ice capital of the Central United States is beyond me, but my wife insisted. *"Please, James." She had begged, "You know my favorite seasons are fall and winter."* And, she was right, I did know that. Growing up, she loved the leaves changing color in the fall, and the first snow fall was always magical for her. After some more insistent begging, I caved. *"Fine, but don't slide closer to me when you're freezing your ass off at night." I replied, a slight smile creeping across my lips.* a Large, child like smile spread across Samantha's, (or "Sammy", as I affectionately called her) face, at my response. Her smile always seemed to brighten up the room , even since we were kids, it's always made my heart flutter. *"Better not smile like that up at the cabin. You might scare all the wild life away" I smirked* Her smile turned into a half offended, half amused open mouth smirk, as she smacked my arm. *"You asshole!"* I chuckled softly at the memory, as I drove down the winding dirt pathway through the woods. Sam turned her head, to look at me. *"What's so funny?" She asked, cocking her eyebrow up slightly.* *"Oh nothing, just laughing at myself." I said, flicking my eyes towards her.* She rolled her eyes, as a hum reverberated up her throat. I moved my eyes back to the road, and immediately slammed on the breaks, sending us both into our seatbelts. Crossing the road, was a maimed deer, limping from one side to the other. It's stomach was torn open, leaving a trail. How it managed to keep moving was astounding. Sam and I looked at each other, and back at the deer, which was almost fully back within the trees, before it collapsed. *"What the hell." I muttered, turning and looking at her.* *She shrugged her shoulders, "Probably from Black Bear, they've been known to hunt deer."* *"Do they hunt humans, too?" I asked, half joking* *"Not usually. "'m sure they'd make an exception for you though"* *"Oh, whatever.." I said, putting pressure on the gas again.* We slowly rolled by the carcass, as we continued down the road. Once we were a couple meters away, I looked in my rear view mirror, and saw a flash of black, and the deer get slowly pulled into the brush. I always hated seeing wild animals getting killed, but such is nature, I suppose. We drove for another 15 or so minutes, before we rolled up to the small, cozy cabin. It was technically about a week before October, when we decided we'd make our stay up here, but with it being our first time, we decided to come a week early, to get set up, and so I could scout around to find any possible work for our time up here. Since I was an electrician, I could work where ever I had my tools, and the supplies needed for the job, and well, I had one of those things. My wife worked from home, working in the oil and gas industry, so that wasn't a problem for her. *"Oh, its beautiful" She cooed, "It's perfect"* I must admit, even as someone who could give or take country living, it was a sight to behold. Maybe staying out here won't be so bad. *"We can gawk later, come on, lets get our stuff unloaded." I said, beginning to unhitch the small moving trailer we brought up.* She nodded, and opened the rear passenger door of the truck, pulling out our suitcases, and whatever else we had in the back. *"What's this?" She asked, showing me a small recording device.* *"Oh, Jace wanted me to bring that. Something for him to laugh at when we got back."* I took the small device, and pocketed it. Jace was a good friend of ours, back from middle school. After I told him about the cabin he laughed. He told me to bring a recording device so I can document my endeavors of "trying to survive out here", as he called it. The asshole. Instead of only documenting my misery, however. I had decided to make recordings once a month, or during important events. *"You, living in the woods? I'd be surprised to see you survive three weeks." He had said.* *Sam just smiled, "Of course he would."* We both grabbed our respective bags, and brought them up to the front porch. I fished the key out of my back pocket that the realtor had given me upon purchase, and unlocked the door, opening it for the both of us to enter the cabin. We set our bags on the inside door, to prop it open, and made our way back into the trailer, to finish unloading, and to get our living situation in order. Once we had gotten the trailer and truck empty, moving the boxes into their respective rooms based on contents, we decided to call it a night. We have almost a full week to get everything situated. Samantha went to bed, after we exchanged kisses, and I decided to record this first entry. 10/15/21, 10:45 PM Recording 2. Well, it's been a couple weeks since my first recording. The Cabin is set up, exactly how Sam wants it, lord knows she's picky. Bordering OCD, honestly. She's gone to bed by now, I think that these recording sessions are going to have to be a nightly thing. Luckily she calls it a night a couple hours before I do. She generally wakes up a couple hours or so before me though, so I suppose it balances out. We haven't really done much since we came up here. I found work near me, which I will be starting on in the near future. Just a small job, maintaining a warehouses electrical systems, fixing anything that needs fixing, so that's nice. Sam is busy as ever with her job, so we both stay pretty busy during working hours. Last weekend, she decided she wanted to take advantage of the open country, and do some shooting, grabbing her old .22 she's had since she could first hold a gun and shoot properly, as well as the 30-06 her grandfather gave to her after he had passed. She's always been a pretty remarkable shot. I don't think there's a single target she can't hit in one round. I gave it my own shot, as well. I'm not quite to her level, but I can hit most targets within the first two rounds. Every once in a while, I might need to take a few more shots. My old man used to take me to the range once or twice a month. We like to make friendly competitions, to see who can hit the target the most before going through 15 rounds. Of course, she wins every time. *"Dammit." I had whispered under my breath, after my final round hit the ground to the side of the target.* *"You're getting better." I could feel her smirk, "You only missed five out of the shots you took."* *"Yeah, yeah. Give me that 12 guage and I'll hit every shot" I retorted, nodding in the direction of the bag it sat in.* *"Well, yeah. It's hard to miss with one of those." She laughed.* *"Exactly" I smiled, turning back to her.* *I flipped the gun to safety. "Are we finished?"* She nodded her head, grabbing the small 22, and we walked back inside. That's more or less all that's gone on since we've arrived. I must admit. I am liking it up here a bit more than I had anticipated. Of course I'd still prefer it back at our other home, but, I could adjust to this. It's getting pretty late, and I should probably hit it for the night. I have to get to work in the morning. My next recording will probably be on my birthday. I'm sure Sam will have something planned, she always does. 11/23/21, 11:50 PM, Recording 3 Sam threw me a very small surprise birthday party. My parents drove up here, and they're staying until the morning. I had to come out here to my truck to record this, as my parents are in our room, Sam and I are sleeping on a blow up mattress in the living room. Her parents decided to make the drive back home, so they left some hours ago. It was nice to see them again, I haven't since- Wait.. What the fuck is that? 11/24/21, 12:04 AM, Recording 4 Holy fuck, that freaked me out. Some deer was sitting on the edge of the forest, just barely in view from the light given off of the house porch lights. It looked like just the skull, at first, I thought it was just sitting on a post, left as some sort of freaky house warming gift, but it turned its head, and disappeared. Must've just been a trick of the light, or I'm just tired. I'm going to call it a night and go inside. It's getting pretty cold now, since its getting later in the year, getting close to winter. 11/29/21, 10:30, Recording 5 Well, Jace. You wanted me to record me trying to survive out here, so I'm going to make you listen to every damn minute that I have something to say. There's been a pretty foul smell, since the night that I saw that deer. I've smelled decaying animal before, and that's more or less what this is. I asked Sam about it, and she didn't have much to say. *"Animals die all the time. It could be that one recently did round the edge of the forest. It should go away after a couple days."* I hope so. It's been driving me nuts. On a brighter note, my new job has been going fairly well. I've seen some pretty dumb shit working there, having to replace some wiring, conduits and what not, but for the most part, it's been easy, and smooth, which is good. Easy money is the best money, as I'm sure you know. Sam's job has been the same as always. She's on that damn laptop almost all day. Internet out here is much more shotty than back at the other home, so I often hear her cursing at the computer, which I find amusing. I've been seeing a large amount of wildlife charging through the yard, deer, I've even seen a couple moose. Big fuckers, I didn't even know we had them here. I don't know where there's been so many. Maybe they move when seasons change? I don't know. I don't know anything about animals. Like I said, I'm a city boy. They all looked like they were running from something, or trying to run all of them seemed jacked up running janky, like their bones were all messed up, or that their skin just, didn't fit quite right. But they were too far away to tell exactly. Maybe a bear got to them all? Must've been some big ass bear to make a moose run, or fuck it up that bad. I didn't take moose as the type to run away from anything though. But, I don't know. Tomorrow I'm going to try to get Sam out of the cabin, so we can do something, maybe we'll go for a short hike through the forest. She might enjoy that. 12/25/21, 11:45 PM, Recording 6 Merry Christmas, to all those listening to this. We came back down for the weekend. We're staying home until January first. It's quite nice being back. Nothing too interesting has happened since the last recording, so I won't have anything else to say until we get back. 1/1/22, 4:30 PM, Recording 7 *"There is shit everywhere up here. We just pulled in front of the cabin, and it looks like someone came through and broke into the cabin. The door is off its hinges and just laying on the porch. There's garbage everywhere. Looks like whoever it was wrecked the enclosed trailer as well, It's all dented and smashed to hell, the boxes we used to move are torn to shreds all over the yard."* *"Really, James? You have to record this now?" Sam asked* *"Well, Yeah, Sammy. I'm sure Jace, and whoever else is listening is going to want to hear about this."* *"Fucks sake.." She sighed. "Just help me clean up"* 1/1/22, 10:40 PM, Recording 8 Well, I don't think Sam liked me recording our reaction. She got pretty upset about it. Guess I'm sleeping on the couch tonight. 1/2/22, 1:27 AM, Recording 9 I just woke up to weird noises... it sounds like, a person.. calling? I'm.. it sounds like Sam, coming from outside. I'm walking to the door now.. Fffuck me its cold.. holy shit, I think I see her.. why is she standing out here *"Sam? Sammy!?"* ***"J-aamesss"*** *"Sammy, what the fuck are you doing?"* ***"J-aammeess"*** *"It's cold as hell, hun. Come on back inside"* *"James. What the hell are you doing" Sam said, "Wait, who the hell is that?* 1/2/22, 1:35 AM, Recording 10 They're gone now. Sam came out from the bedroom, and was freaked the hell out, which honestly, I don't blame her for. I had her go get the 12 gauge to try to scare them off, but it wasn't until I shot the ground in front of them. After that they ran off, but not before screaming this almost, inhuman scream.. It was definitely human, but it was just, so animalistic. The flash revealed them for half a second, and, they looked so.. wrong. Definitely some druggie high off their ass. I'm just glad they're gone now. Listening back, It seems so obvious it wasn't my Sam. I mean, the pitch is there, but its so.. off. I'm just chalking that up to being tired. Sam seemingly forgave me for what happened earlier, because she's letting me get into bed after I'm done recording this, or maybe she's just scared, either way, I'm not complaining. That couch sucks. I don't know how well I'll be able to sleep tonight, with that freak out there, but we'll see.. 1/5/22, 10:45 PM, Recording 11 I know that I said I'd only be doing these about once a month, but.. things keep getting weirder, almost, paranormal. I'm not opposed to the idea of ghosts, or spirits and all that. My wife and I are Christian. Well, that's the easiest thing to call it, We don't exactly follow an organized religion, but you could call us Christian. We've been hearing weird noises at night. Both of our names being called, other.. strange noises. I don't quite know how to explain it. The smell of decay is back, too. Last night I saw that deer thing, I think its a deer. I'm not so sure anymore, it might be someone in a deer mask, but it looked so.. decayed from were I was, and looking at it the smell of death was overwhelming. I'm honestly scared. I haven't told Sam yet, in fear of sounding insane to her, but, I'm ready to just go home. I'll see about bringing it up to her in the morning. There's a massive blizzard going on right now, and it's getting cold. I'm going to cozy up in bed with Sam, and get some sleep. 1/6/22, 8:45 AM, Recording 12 She's gone. Fuck fuck fuck FUCK. Sam's just fucking gone. I woke up and, and she just wasn't here. The truck is still outside, its covered in a blanket of snow, the door was wide open, its freezing in here. I'm getting my boots on as I'm recording this. 1/6/22, 9:30 AM, Recording 13 That fucker. I know they have something to do with this, The truck is inoperable, tires slashed, fucking engine wont even turn over, there's gas everywhere, like they punctured the gas tank. I don't know where Sam is either. I ran around out there calling her name, trying to find her. I kept hearing my name, the same fucking voice from the other night. I swear, when I get my hands on these freaks. 1/9/22, 6:30 PM, Recording 14 Sam still hasn't come back, and I've been searching for the last three days. I called the nearest police station, they sent out search parties, but nothing.. I listened back to the recording, and the voice isn't the same. It, it actually sounds like her, but, its.. its wrong, its so, so wrong. I don't know what else I can do.. It smelled like death in that damn forest, everywhere... Please.. I hope that wasn't Sam.. And I keep hearing that fucking voice, I can hear it now, outside.. I'm going out there with the 12 gauge, and I'm fucking whoever is doing this up. Consequences be- Holy fuck, holy fuck. What the fuck. That's not.. what the fuck is that!? 1/12/22, 5:45 PM, Recording 16 Sam's dead, she has to be.. and I'm in here, sitting like a fucking coward. The doors are boarded up, the windows too. I, yesterday I saw a big deer thing, but, it was not a fucking deer. It was massive, seven, eight feet tall? Gangly, and the smell, holy shit the smell.. it was awful. I've spent the last day reading, and, I came across something called the Wendigo? Some, old native legend.. said to have insatiable hunger. But It couldn't have been a wendigo that night.. It was a person I saw, I know it.. It had to be.. they came back last night, I heard it calling my name, trying to imitate my wife.. my poor wife. We should've stayed home. Wendigos can't look like people, they can sound like them, sure, but not look.. What the fuck was that? I've also come across skin walkers. From what I know, they can't copy whatever they're trying to imitate perfectly, which could explain the weird movements, and the messed up face.. but that has to be fake right? But, the Wendigo shouldn't exist either.. Plus, skin walkers surely would imitate more than one thing.. right? Not just one- The animals... The animals I kept seeing running through the yard, they were all messed up too.. Oh, shit..<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The house on the corner. [RESPONSE] This house on the corner, as far as anybody knew, was never inhabited. As far back as Esme could remember this house gave everyone she knew the most eerie and unpleasant feeling something was inside waiting in the depths for its prey. There was rumors and legends about the house and its previous owners but even Esme's grandparents could never recall anyone ever living there. There was different contradicting accounts on the houses' occupants from criminals to witches, cults and escaped mental patients; all insane dramatic tales of murder, evil, terror and mystery. The house itself was extremely dilapidated with peeling paint, ivy growing wild all over, smashed top storey windows and boarded up doors. It had a dark and gloomy air that made people shudder involuntarily when they walked past. Even the mention of the house on the corner made people uncomfortable and change the subject as quick as they could. Esme was fascinated by the house. She tried to research it's history and ask locals different questions but didn't find any satisfactory answers to explain why it stood empty for years. Why wasn't it sold or demolished? The council didn't even want to discuss this house and dismissed Esme outright from making any queries on its origins and why it was taking up a decent sized section on a prime piece of land. Esme knew on Halloween night she was going to explore this house. It didn't perturb her the same way as it had everyone else. It was just an abandoned house with an unknown history and that was all. She asked her reluctant friends to come with her so at least she wasn't completely alone. Only one of them agreed and Esme used trick or treating as an excuse to go out after dark. Her mother's usual refrain was *"Don't go near that damned house Esme"* but Esme had already packed a torch and crowbar in her lolly bag. Esme was dressed as a basic vampire tonight to match with Renee who was coming with her into the house. She assured her parents she was most certainly not going near that house especially on Halloween! Renee was going to video the whole thing for Esme and put on it on their blog. None of the kids believed they were going into the house so this was the proof they needed. The street was full of trick or treaters so different witches, werewolves, Frankenstein, Draculas and skeletons were crossing the street and knocking on different doors all shrieking and laughing. Esme and Renee were standing in the gloom at the rear of the house prising off an old slat of wood on the back window. The nails were old and rusty so they came off easily so Esme and Renee didn't need to use much force with the crowbar. Esme heaved herself through the window shining the torch into the interior of what liked a bedroom. There was an old bed collapsed in the corner, the bedding black with mold and an old rotting chest of drawers in the other corner. The smell was overwhelming with mildew and mustiness. "Eugh!", Esme gagged in disgust leading the way out into a hallway with an old rotting staircase leading to the level above. She crossed to the room to the right and came across the lounge room with an assorted of old dusty furniture and a disused piano with broken keys. Renee went to explore the kitchen beyond yelling out a horrified scream of "Rats!" and came running back out to Esme. "We have enough footage now Es should we go? This place is making me feel icky." Esme rolled her eyes in exasperation "What about the rest of the house?" Esme dragged Renee to the foot of the stairs and both tentatively climbed each step hoping it will hold their weight. "When in doubt keep filming", Esme whispered to Renee as they made it to the second floor. The temperature felt like it dropped several degrees up there. Esme shivered and pulled her jersey tighter around her. "We will just get a few videos and be done" Esme decided, turning to confer with Renee. Only she wasn't there. "Renee?" Esme called out peering into the rooms. The first two were completely empty, the third was a bathroom with a broken toilet and bath its curtain black with grime and a shattered sink with a smashed mirror. "Haha Renee!" Esme shouted into the gloom "very funny!" She stepped into the last room which was another bedroom. It looked to be a children's room judging by the old dollhouse and a collection of old and decaying teddies on the bed. Esme shone her torch into every crook of the room and stopped as she got to the last corner by the window. Crouched low with her back to her was Renee. "Renee!", Esme called out in relief "what are you doing?!" Renee slowly turned and Esme came to the sudden horrified realization that it wasn't Renee at all. The creature's face was completely decomposed with eyes as black as pits, its mouth hanging limp and open. Its teeth were like jagged fangs, its rancid breath permeating the room. She was skeletal and hunched in stature just staring at Esme with a hungry curiosity. Esme was paralyzed with terror and could barely breathe. Her heart was pounding painfully in her ears, she felt the blood coursing through her veins and the feeling of utter dread like a stone in the pit of her stomach. The hunched figure was breathing obscenely from the corner waiting to make a move, waiting to pounce. Esme slowly backed out of the room barely daring to make a sound. The figure remained crouched in the corner but began making this appalling sound like a fox being slaughtered. *It was laughing.* Esme screamed and ran as fast as she could down the stairs feeling, rather than seeing, the figure pursuing her. Esme tripped as she got to the second to last step and fell with a loud thump on the bottom. She could see the figure on all fours right behind her making that terrible sound of excitement as it came upon its victim. Esme could feel the pain from the fall from her very soul but she made herself stumble up and make the final dash back through the window to safety. She felt the creature grab her leg as she climbed out but she kicked as hard as she could and got herself free. Esme managed to escape with her life. A later investigation revealed Renee's body hidden in the bathtub in the bathroom Esme had gone into. Renee's body was behind that rotting curtain completely mutilated. Horrifyingly Esme was only inches from Renee's body. Renee's phone was recovered with the footage containing the couched figure hiding in the bath. Confirming Esme's unbelievable story.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Mom Told me About a "Looking Man". He's Nothing like I Expected. [RESPONSE] *Do not be afraid if you see a man looking at you through your bedroom window. It's just the "Looking Man".* My mother used to tell stories of her experiences with the Looking Man to prevent me from fearing him when He came to visit me. Her experiences were deemed acceptable by my grandparents, as they claim the Looking Man also visited them multiple times. To them, it's a tradition for the family's women to be greeted by this "man". I hadn't met the Looking Man until my 18th birthday, which was earlier this month. After celebrating my birthday with my family, friends, and my amazing boyfriend, I settled down and got ready for bed. This was the first time my parents allowed my boyfriend to spend the night with me, so I was pretty excited. We binged horror movies, because who doesn't watch horror movies in October? Now that I think about it, that might've been a bad idea, as I'm a total scaredy-cat. We stayed up until maybe 1 am before falling asleep together, and it was the safest I've ever felt in a long time. I awoke at around 3:30 to the sound of scratching on my window. I assumed it was the dogs, as they've been known to jump around at night. My brain was still asleep, so I ignored it and cuddled up to my boyfriend. He was still sleeping, and I felt like having a little more snuggling time with him before my parents could kick him out in the morning. Everything felt right at that moment, until I felt a pair of eyes staring me down. Glancing at my boyfriend, I could see that his eyes were still closed. At that point, I was wide awake. Sitting up, I scanned the entire room. Everything seemed normal, until my eyes drifted toward the window. There, I could just barely make out the figure of a man. The only thing I could make out of his face were His with eyes, which looked to be the size of golf balls. The hairs on the back of my neck stood tall, and I went to shake my boyfriend. The man outside the window brought His boney finger up to His mouth as if telling me to be quiet. I kept my eyes on the man while slowly reaching my hand to my boyfriend. I quietly shook him, to which he grumbled and turned the other way. I turned to look at my boyfriend and harshly shook him, causing him to jolt up. *Wake up, there's a man outside the window and I'm scared,* I whispered to my half-awake boyfriend. He told me that he'd take care of it and told me to go back to sleep. I remained sitting upright while my boyfriend got up, grabbed the nearest sharp object, and stepped to the window. He moved the curtain aside and held up his weapon. After scanning the area, he got back in bed. *Nobody's there. I think you're just scared from all those movies. Let's go back to sleep.* My boyfriend laid down and started playing with my hair before going back to sleep. I stayed awake the rest of the night, scared He would try something while we were both asleep. My eyes were glued to the window until daylight struck. My boyfriend woke up, and my parents decided that he should join us for breakfast. At the table, I was as quiet as a mouse. I didn't eat much of what was on my plate, and soon, everyone noticed. My mother asked me if I didn't like the food, to which I straight up told them about what I'd seen. The family looked around at each other before my mother glanced at me with a smile on her face. *It seems the Looking Man has paid you His first visit.* It's been a few weeks since that conversation, and now every night, I'm greeted by the Looking Man. However, each time He appears, He gets stranger and stranger. One night, the Looking Man had both of His hands on the window, and then the next night, He'd continuously tap on the window to make sure I didn't get sleep. Last night, the Looking Man stuck His long tongue out, licking the outside of my window for the entire time He was there. It's 4 a.m. as I'm typing this, and the Looking Man is not outside. I can see His big eyes staring at me from an opening in my closet. He hasn't moved, He's just... looking at me. I'm starting to freak out, but I don't want to make any sudden movements in case it angers Him. If anyone has any advice on what to do about this, please don't hesitate to comment.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Briar Elm Witch [RESPONSE] My village holds a legend of a witch. An urban legend to for misbehaved children. It tells of a witch that resides inside of a large elm tree. It is said that she lures small children into the woods around her elm and they are never seen again. It’s a pretty basic urban legend and as the growth of technology and social media began taking over, most found the legend to be be nothing more than just that. It was only a handful of years ago that I had heard of it myself and it quickly piqued my interest. I was 8 at the time and ghost stories my father use to share with me fascinated me. I wasted no time speaking to elders in our village, pleading for any scrap of information to do with The Briar Slit Witch. I finally snagged my first lead when someone shared a story of a teenage couple venturing out into the woods in the 1960’s. They entered the woods before dusk and showed up in the village hours later, shaken up, the girl pale and freezing. Not long after this, the girls family left the village, but the boy resided until his death. I couldn’t do much to track down the girl who would have probably been in her late 60’s at this point. However, I did find an article about a woman in her late teens that took her own life not long after. She had moved from a small, remote village to the city and in a note she left, explained she couldn’t live with a choice she made. Nevertheless, I was back at square one. In my research, I was surprised to find such a large number of disappearances not only of children, but adults as well. As recent as 2005 a couple and their 5 year old son went missing as well. Most locals attributed it to the couples struggling financial debt. Assuming they had just moved away without giving any notice. I continued pushing people in the village until I found the spot the teens were last spotted before disappearing. I gathered some supplies and prepared to be out the rest of the day. After a few hours of searching, it finally dawned on me that this could all just be a spooky story. Something I was dumb enough to waste all this time and effort on. The thought alone drove me further into my search. If this really was just a story, it had to have some form of truth to it. Eventually the sun began setting and I realized I would have to start my search again in the morning. The night quickly approaching made finding my way back, that much more difficult. I had to be quick or else I might be stuck here for the night. Suddenly, I hit a dip in the landscape and my ankle buckled. As I landed, I could hear twigs and branches breaking in the distance. I paused for a moment to listen. It was at this point, I realized how quiet the forest had gotten. It was ominous and unsettling. As I attempted to pick myself up, I could hear the branches continue to break. It wasn’t long before I realized that they weren’t heading away from me, nor towards me. It was as though the noises were circling themselves. I looked up to find the foliage so thick, it blocked out the night sky. The movement continued, only stopping with me as the forest became blanketed with an unnerving silence. It felt as though it was mocking or taunting me. I almost expected a cackling to follow, but I was met with silence, followed by more footsteps. I picked myself up and regained my footing before fumbling through my supplies for a flashlight. No good, I must have forgotten to pack it. I began feeling my way around while hoping my eyes would adjust to the darkness. As I pushed forward, I realized the sounds of snapping twigs and leaves never waned. They were always the same distance away, no matter how much further down the path I went. Eventually my eyes adjusted slightly and I could make out the silhouettes of trees directly in front of me. The footsteps grew in number and volume. As though many feet were marching just behind me, mocking any attempt I made to escape. Trembling with fear and terror, I began picking up my pace as I made it to a small clearing in the forest. Dim lit stars gave me reprieve from the sounds behind me. My heart sunk as my eyes began to focus on figure floating several meters above me. My eyes continued adjusting as I noticed another. Their silhouettes, gaunt and elongated Just above me, 2 bodies hung lifelessly in the trees on either side of me. Beyond them, lie a massive elm, twisted and tortured. A massive hole in the center opened into complete darkness. Attempting to get a better look, I began to approach it. Noticing the footsteps now circling the clearing around me, I hesitated to move forward but I wasn’t in control anymore. I began panicking, knowing I couldn’t stop myself as I approached hole. I attempted to close my eyes, but whispers in my ears begged me not to. My eyes began adjusting to the darkness as I began to distinguish eye lids and a nose, eventually lips as my face twisted in horror. Less than a meter from my face, hung the dried out skin of a child. Perfectly cut from the body and hanging on display in front of me. I began to hyperventilate as the hole expanded from within. The mouth of the hole decorated in children’s flesh like trophy’s. I felt my stomach churning. Between the grotesque collection, was a dark figure. A torso protruding from the elm as though she and it were one. It’s disgustedly mangled figure hanging lifelessly between its victims. I paused as a soft voice in my ear told me a story. It was only when it was done, that I gasped, causing the witch to stir back to life. I stumbled back, finally in control of my body again and ran. I never found my way home that night, but the next morning, a few men from the village found me instead. It’s been a while since I’ve been back, but I don’t think I can ever return. I just keep thinking about something that little voice whispered. “They offer us up, she just collects”<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My Friend Might be a Serial Killer [RESPONSE] Hello, my name is Robert. Well, that's not my real name, more of a name I just came up with. The reason why I came up with this fake name is pretty much explainable. No, this isn't clickbate either, or using this as a little clout for attention. I should probably stop stalling and get onto the story, huh? How did I even reach to this conclusion to begin with? First off, let me talk a little bit more about that friend. I'm honestly scared to reveal his true identity so, we gonna call him Henry for the rest of this story. Henry is a definition of a "Social Butterfly" in my eyes. He always gets along with me, charm all of them just by his beautiful green eyes and his mascular body. His deep, yet calming voice will always manage to give you butterflies and forget the worst day you had at work. I envy him at first, and even had a massive crush on him. I should probably also tell you right now that I am gay and indeed, a male. Back to Henry. One day, he begins to date this girl. For this purpose, I will call her Carly. Carly is a angel in my eyes. She's very polite, soft spoken, but yet knows when to stand her ground. So of course, I try not to piss off the woman. She is also dating my best friend, so she has massive respect for me. One day, Henry invited me over for a date the two were having. Why he wanted me to become their third wheel is something I still confuse with to this day, but I agree to come over. The restaurant was very fancy, it was like Olive Garden honestly. We also did have a very fun time, eating, drinking, until Carly got very sick and begins puking uncontrolly. Henry, noticing this and standing right beside her, helped her get up and walk to the car. "Sorry bud, but I have to cut this day short!" He told me before driving off. That was the last time I heard of Carly. For the next couple of days, I haven't heard from both Henry and Carly. I thought nothing of it at first, maybe they were having their little couple moment. One particular day, I decided to watch the news since I was very bored and had nothing to do. I just finish my Psychology work for the day, and I have nothing else to work on. Once I turn on the news, the first thing I notice was a picture of Carly. Strange, why would she be in the news? "Carly Hamison, a 26 year old female, has been missing for a week now. The last place that she was seen was at a hotel, seemingly running away from a stranger". Stranger? The last time I saw her, she was sick and wasn't feeling well. And I know Henry was dropping her off to his house. Not only that, but the footage the news showing me happens three days later, after I last talk to them. Of course, at first, I doubt Henry would do something like that. But, it slowly begins adding up. He hasn't been here for a couple of days also, and he was the last person to stay with Carly until her disappearance. I decided to pick up the phone and call Henry first. If he is here, then maybe I could ask him when he last saw her. But, there was no answer. I begin to feel uneasy and worry for both my best friend and Carly. Maybe they both got kidnap and someone murder both her and Henry? I don't know what came over me, but I walk to my car and begin driving to Henry house. I honestly should've called the police first, but I was worry about my best friend too much that I couldn't think straight. It took me an hour to reach his house. That uneasy feeling came back, rushing all over my body. I got out of my car and begin to walk to the house, staring at his brown door. "Henry isn't a killer, he wouldn't dare do something like this". I constantly tell my mind that. After slowly believing in that lie for a bit, I knock on the door. No answer. I would knock a couple more times, hoping that someone would answer. Still, no answer. I would grab the doorknob and turn it. The door was unlock, which is weird. Henry would always lock his door, especially at night. That's when my mind cross over to that conclusion. That maybe, Henry and Carly got robbed and was kidnap. I walk inside his house, closing the door behind me. It was eerie quiet and dark. My heart begins speeding up as I glance around the house, looking for at least a clue. The place looks like it hasn't been touch at all, which makes this even more eerie. I would reach over to the living room lights before turning it on. His living room was all neat and clean, wasn't touch at all. I would do the same to the kitchen, and it was also fairly normal. "Maybe I'm just overthinking it?" I told myself. But, why is Carly missing then? And why hasn't Herny been answering my calls? I walk over to the basement. That basement always gives me the creeps, and Henry would always tell me to avoid going to that basement. "Sorry bud" I whisper before opening up the basement. The basement was eerily dark, you can barely see the stairs. Reaching for the light switch, I turn on the basement light and begin walking down. While walking down, I could smell something so rotten, like someone left their rotten food downstairs for a very long time. It made me feel a bit lightheaded. Taking my last step, I begin to glance around the small basement. "This basement stinks" I whisper to myself. Then, I notice a toolshed. Strange, Henry never told me about him building. I took a couple of steps forward to examine the tools. Hammers, chains, Nails, any tools that you could think of, Henry has it. Not only that, but there seems to be crimson blood in all of them. The fear and theory begins to race in my mind again, that my friend might actually be a killer. Then, I notice a door right beside the shed. I try to open up that door, but it was lock. "I should probably get out of here" My mind would tell me. But my body just stare at that smelly door. I wanted to officially know if my friend was actually a killer or not. The tools might be prove alone, but I wanted to be one+hundred percent sure. "Mmhp! MMHP!" Suddenly, I heard a sound of someone screaming. It sounded familiar. "MMHP! MMMMMHP!". Is that, Carly?! "Carly, is that you?!" I shouted at the door. The voice seems to scream a bit louder, reacting to my voice. It is Carly! "Carly! Oh fuck! I'll get you out of here, I swear!" I shouted at the door before charging back upstairs. I gotta find his basement key and- Then, I notice his car was parked outside. Shit! If Henry sees me, I'm dead. I quickly ran to the bathroom and hid myself there. Covering my mouth, I would try to control my heavy breathing and thumping heartbeat. Thump....thump....thump... The sound of his footsteps would echo throughout this quiet house. "Seems like someone was in my basement". His voice, it wasn't the same cheerful happy voice that I know for years. It was eerie, cold, emotionless, like he was a robot. I could hear him walking down the basement, then slowly, unlocking the door. Shit, Carly! I want to save her, but how? I can't just face my best friend and try to fight him. He's twice my size, and have more experience of fighting than me. So, I did the most cowardly thing. I quickly unlock my door and begin to run out of the house. The last thing I heard before running outside, was a scream of a victim that my best friend just murder. So, why am I typing this right now to reddit? Because, I want to help Carly. Even though she's dead, I want to try to save her soul. She was a sweet innocent person, and me, a fucking coward, let her die. I also found out before typing that, this isn't the first time Henry done this. There was a total of thirteen females, all of them missing at the same year and at the exact same time. It's just upsetting to believe that he was the one who did it. Or maybe, it wasn't him? I remember that his voice wasn't usually this deep and cold. It was very high pitch and full of energy. I refuse to believe that this is my friend. It can't be. I will give you guys more updates if I can. At least, I hope I can. I'm honestly risking my life here just confessing what I saw, and I'm too afraid to go to the police. Would they even believe me? I have no evidence to pinpoint Henry as the murderer. And I not even sure if that deep voice IS Henry. But, in the end, my friend might actually be a serial killer. And someday, I probably just gotta accept that fact.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My girlfriend is watching weird Tik Toks. [RESPONSE] I need advice. I’m terrified and I need advice. I’ve always been a long sleeper. I go to bed early and wake up late. My girlfriend, Lucy, on the other hand, is a night owl. This combination has developed in me, a habit of falling asleep to the quiet ambient noise of electronic speakers. Whether it be a conversation between George and Jerry or some LA vlogger going on about the latest Starbucks drink. Most recently it’s been the ever changing sounds of the doom scroll on Tik Tok. Monday started out as any other, except for my allergies making it impossible to concentrate at work. I expected it, with the changing seasons. But this was worse than ever before and I had scheduled a doctors appointment that day. The evening was uneventful. Lucy and I fell into our nighttime routine. As the sunset slipped away, we lay back to back, but close together. My eyes were already closed, but I opened them briefly to check my morning alarm. The room was mostly black. The wall, illuminated slightly by Lucy’s phone light. I could hear quietly, some popular hip hop song, a boy talking, an ad for face lotion. I closed my eyes again and was soon asleep. I awoke with the urge to pee. The night had progressed. The room was blacker. The wall was still illuminated. As I opened my eyes and oriented myself, I heard screaming. Children screaming. “Luc …”, no response. Ever so slightly louder, “are you still awake?” “Yea.” A click. The room turned totally black. “What were you watching? I heard screaming?” “Oh, just this stupid Tik Tok. This lady who works at a daycare put on a scream mask and scared the kids. So stupid. She’s going to get calls from the parents”. “That’s so messed up”. I went to the bathroom and returned. I could tell Lucy had closed her eyes. Tuesday passed by quickly. I felt more myself at work. Lucy texted me, mentioning an all day conference on Thursday. She’d be back by the evening, but it would be a long day for her. Early start, late end. Tonight there was no Tik Tok. Lucy found a new show on Netflix. I was reliant on her for cultural awarness. The main character received a cancer diagnosis. The rest, Lucy would have to fill me in as I fell asleep before her again. This time, I simply awoke. It felt like I hadn’t slept much. Again, light on the wall. The quiet sound of Lucy’s phone. But this time, men screaming? No, yelling. I heard a frantic ‘Shit no! Shit no! No way this is happening!’. “Luc, what are you watching?” I said it at full volume. “Huh?!” Lucy was startled. “Oh sorry, I guess it’s time to put it away”. “What were you watching though?” “Oh, it was some dudes who lost a motocross race or something. My algorithm is so weird.” We fell asleep. As Wednesday went on, my mind went back to the night before. That video, the yelling. That aside, I was a little concerned at how late Lucy was staying up. She struggled with insomnia before. Those Tik Tok’s probably weren’t helping. My plan was to discuss it on the weekend. She had that conference tomorrow. That would be on her mind. As we lay in bed, Lucy perked up for a moment. She warned me. An alarm would go off in a few minutes. It would be a trigger to put her phone down. I was pleased. Lucy recognized her bad habit on her own. Maybe there was nothing to discuss this weekend. I stared at the wall. Eyes open for a minute, then closed for another. An elderly couple talking. Their voices shaky and broken. ‘Oh my god! Oh my god! No, no, no.’ I sat up quickly. “What is up with that app Lucy?” “What?” “That app! There’s always someone screaming, or yelling, or upset about something!” I only now noticed the anger in my voice. I quickly settled down. “Okay, jeez. I’m sorry.” The phone clicked closed. “Uh. I’m sorry. I’m just really tired.” “Don’t worry, I should sleep anyway.” That’s when it happened. The room went black. I was under the covers. Tight. In the middle of the bed. Her feet hidden by the bed, Lucy was there. In front of the TV. Floating. Mouth wide open, eyes white, shining. She rose slowly. I felt absolute terror. Her feet slowly became visible and she started to approach. I tried to move. I tried to scream. My head sank into the pillow, slightly sideway. So deep, half my mouth was covered. Then, a jolt, and I was upright. The room filled with light. She was gone. I was alone. My first thought was to call in sick to work. What was that? My mind danced between different pieces of information. The video’s she was watching. I only heard them, never saw them. What was she watching? As I paced the room I thought of some option. Simply confront her? Call a doctor? A priest? After about 30 minutes of uncontrolled contemplation, I went to the bathroom and splashed my face with cold water. Suddenly, I realized my mania. It could have been a bad dream. Lucy probably didn’t want to wake me and left before I woke. It all started to click. I decided to try and get some rest. Sleep wouldn’t find me, but I could rest. The evening came and early sunset brought a violent red into the sky. Slightly seeping into the living room where I sat. Despite my rationalizations, my heart jumped when Lucy pulled up. There she was! A small knife in hand. Her phone held up beside her head. Camera turned front. A smile on her face. It felt like she was running towards me, yet it’s clear her pace was walking. I stepped back as she opened the door. “Luc! What are you doing?” No response. She approached. “Luc!!” Still nothing. I ran upstairs. The only way out. Opening the window to the roof. The damn bug screen. I virtually destroyed it. Turning back I saw her there again. The only option was to jump. I write this from the nearby forest. Ankle twisted. I need advice. I’m terrified and I need advice.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] A Survivor's Accounts of the Depraved Funhouse: The Greatest trick (Part Two) FINALE [RESPONSE] [[1]]( We were trapped. Nowhere to run or hide. "It's the little piggy, trying to make off with one of his " said another high-pitched voice, this one clearly female. Slowly, out of reflex more than anything, I began backing the two of us back toward the black box. It was the only thing I could think to do to try and get away from the oncoming threats in front of us. Suddenly, we were stopped when we felt something big behind us. "Well..." said the voice from behind us, deep and dementedly jovial. "If it isn't the little piggy himself. Welcome back." My blood froze solid when I turned around to see it was Happy Bob standing right behind the two of us. "You miss us?" he asked, giggling. Despite his smile, I could see the bloodlust in his eyes, seeing the way his nose was all bent out of shape from when I'd hit him. Before I could react, he grabbed both me and Ray by our arms and said "Maybe you'd like to apologize." "What are you talking about?" cried Ray, already struggling while I remained frozen with fear. "Why don't you ask the little piggy yourself." chided Happy Frannie from up ahead. "What? Linus, what're they talking about?" "I-I don't know!" I stammered, looking back and forth between him and Happy Bob. It *was* true, at least at the moment. I really wasn't sure what they were talking about. "Don't know?" exclaimed the other voice from ahead, the hyperactive one I knew to be none other than Jack-O. "He says he doesn't know." "What do you want?!" I cried. By that point, I finally started joining Ray in fruitlessly trying to wrench free of Happy Bob's grasp. Out from the darkness ahead, stepped Happy Jack-O and Happy Frannie. It was here, though, that I noticed something. Particularly with Happy Jack-O. He looked older. I know that sounds weird, but it's true. I'm honestly not sure how to really describe it other than to say that I noticed his skin seemed to look a lot more wrinkled than what I figured it should be. Not only that, I also began to notice gray spots in his hair, including his goatee. See, last time, he looked like he was maybe only in his mid-20's to early 30's. Now, though, he looked closer to 40 or even 45. I looked back to Happy Bob, noticing the same was true for him as well. *What the hell happened?* "What we want..." boomed another voice that shook through the entire room. I felt it reverberate throughout my body. This caused my knees to finally buckle and I was frozen once again. *(.)* "...Is our youth, child." With this, out from the darkness stepped the Amazing Beliar himself, with Liza at his side. Like the other two, The Amazing Beliar also looked a lot older -- even more so than the others, in fact. His once pitch black hair was now almost completely gray and his face was even bonier, sicklier than it was before. Liza stood, quivering, looking scared with red makeup smeared across her eyes and mouth, dressed in a clown outfit if her own. "Who the fuck are you people?!" cried Ray. Happy Bob twisted his arm, causing him to cry out in pain. "Uh, uh, uh..." he said, giggling. "You need to watch your little mouth, there, bucko!" He and the other clowns then broke into a giggling fit while the Amazing Beliar just stared directly at me with a vulpine grin. I looked to Liza. "What have you done to her?!" I screamed. He looked to her and back to me, still grinning. "She's our new playmate!" Happy Frannie squealed excitedly. Liza looked at me again. I could tell she was crying. Her face was covered in bruises, even noticeable under the makeup. "She will be our newest disciple." the Amazing Beliar declared. He then nodded to Happy Bob, who then tossed Ray to the ground like he was a sack of garbage. "Disciple?!" I exclaimed. "You're fucking insane! You killed Derek and his family!" "Such harsh words." Happy Frannie remarked, giggling. "We just had a little fun. You should've seen her, piggy. Little Happy Lizzy there was a *natural!* weren't ya, Liz?" Liza turned away and began crying. *Happy Lizzy?!* *"Now WE'RE gonna have some fun with her..."* My eyes widened. "What did you freaks do to her?!" They giggled as Liza sobbed. "They... They... They made me..." She let out an small groan of anguish and said "They made me hurt my mom!" I was confused at first, not understanding what she meant until it hit me. The photo. Liza standing with the bat. Mrs. Cromwell's mangled body... *"... But eventually the old bag broke!"* "No... Liza..." She just continued bawling. The Amazing Beliar Smiled at me. "You..." I spat. "You made her do this! You're fucking *evil!"* He stepped forward. "Evil, you say?" "Yeah! You're the Devil, aren't you?! *YOU'RE THE FUCKING DEVIL!*" I screamed. To this, the room fell silent and the Amazing Beliar stepped towards me. He then knelt down, his face only a bare inch away from mine. "No, boy." he said in a voice that was somehow even deeper than it had ever been before -- something I didn't figure was even possible. "I'm not the Devil." He smiled again and added, giggling dementedly, "No, *I* make the Devil smile!" *("Always smiling, even in Hell, Linus!")* He then turned to Liza and handed her the knife. "Now, it is time, my disciple." He put the knife in her hand. He turned then to Ray, still facedown on the floor and said, "Pledge yourself to eternal youth and happiness, child. Spill his blood for Moloch, and adorn yourself with his blood." The others then began to gasp excitedly, like they were excited to see her murder him. Liza stood there, holding the knife pointed downwards, shaking. "Liza, don't!" I exclaimed. She looked to me. Her eyes were big, glistening. She was afraid, and I could see it. I knew she didn't want to do this, sacrifice Ray. She didn't want any of this. "Liza, don't do this!" "I... I can't..." she whimpered. "I have to. I have to... They said they'll leave everyone else alone of I do." "Liza, you don't have to do this, okay? You don't have to kill Ray for them!" "But they'll hurt everyone else if I don't, even you." I won't lie, my heart sank at this. Even now, after all of this, everything *I* caused with not telling the truth -- *with trying to run away* \-- Liza was still wanting to protect me. "Liza, don't do this, not to Ray. He's your friend. He was one of Derek's. You think he would want you to do this?" Her eyes managed to grow in shock with this. I had her now. "Liza, I'm sorry, okay? I'm a horrible friend, okay, to both you and Derek." She stood, shaking. I let out a sharp cry of pain as I felt Happy Bob pin my arms back behind me. "I think you better put a sock in it, piggy!" he said, with a giggle. "Yeah, piggy, put a sock in it, or else we'll just have to cut your little tongue out!" Happy Frannie chimed in as she pulled out a switchblade from the pocket of her overalls and skipped over to where I was. I felt her fingers reach inside my mouth and begin prying my mouth open and sticking the blade in. Because of the way Happy Bob had my arms, I was unable to reel away from her or the blade. "Stop!" cried Liza. "You said you wouldn't hurt him!" "Enough, sister," the Amazing Beliar bellowed. The boy is no threat to us, so long as he sees this. Sees what happens when the ceremony of youth is interrupted. Now, my child, let us commence." He turned again to face Liza. Liza looked back at him, almost in a pleading manner, before looking down at Ray. Ray tried to scramble to his feet to run before his arms and legs were seized by Happy Jack-O and Happy Frannie. "Come on, Happy Liz!" Happy Jack-O exclaimed excitedly. "Yeah, come on, sis, you can do it!" Happy Frannie cheered. I tried to wrestle free as Liza came closer, pointing the knife once again downward at Ray. Ray's face was chiseled in perpetual terror. "W-Wait, what're you doing?!" I heard him cry out, fruitlessly writhing against the clowns' holds. Liza slowly came closer and closer. She stopped when she stood right over him. "Say it, child!" the Amazing Beliar urged. In a small, shaking voice, Liza began. "U-Un-Unto thee in the burning lake beneath..." "Liza, NO!" I screamed. I kicked and flailed as much as I was capable at that moment. It did me no good, however. "Can it, piggy!" screeched Happy Jack-O. "Come on, Liz, make us all proud!" Happy Frannie cheered. Liza raised up the blade, hands shaking. "I-I, y-y-your servant, offer unto thee this offering. I-I o-o-o-only a-ask in r-return for the eternal youth a-and happiness o-of myself and m-my disciples." She then knelt down to Ray, still shakily poising the blade high in the air. Ray was quivering, no longer able to even try wrestling free anymore. "Please don't. I don't wanna die! I wanna go home!" he blubbered, staring into Liza's equally frightened eyes. Liza began breathing heavily. "Good, now do it, child!" commanded the Amazing Beliar. She held the knife high. I saw her hesitating to bring the blade down. "Liza, don't do it!" I pleaded. The Amazing Beliar exchanged a glare back and forth between me and her. She looked up him again. It was almost like I could actually hear her begging for him to not make her do this, despite only looking into her fearful, innocent blue eyes. "Do it!" he barked, his voice echoing all around us. She looked back down to Ray, eyes flooding with tears. "I'm sorry..." I heard her murmur as she closed her eyes. I watched her bring the knife down before turning away myself. I could hear the squelch of flesh being penetrated, but was instantly shocked when I realized I couldn't hear Ray screaming in pain. I was in for an even bigger shock when I then turned back around to see that it wasn't Ray at all who'd been stabbed. Instead, it was Happy Jack-O. She'd managed to embed the blade all the way to the hilt in his neck. Happy Jack-O began to seize up, violently convulsing and gasping desperately for breath. "What are you doing?!" exclaimed the Amazing Beliar. He made a move to seize her but she, in one fluid motion, drew the blade back out of Happy Jack-O, causing him to collapse, writhing in agony on the floor, and drove it then into his leg. The Amazing Beliar clutched his leg, roaring in both anger and pain. I felt Happy Bob release his hold on my arms before then moving in on Liza himself. "Liza, watch out!" I cried. She tried to swing the blade at him, but he caught her hand and twisted it, forcing her to drop the blade before hurling her to the floor like he did Ray. He began to stomp towards her. Seeing the blade land not far away from me, I attempted to run and grab it, only to be cut off when a deliriously enraged Happy Frannie ambushed me from my left, tackling me and pinning me to the floor. "Oh, and where do you think *YOU'RE* going, piggy?!" she shrieked. I felt her fingers wrap like ball pythons around my throat, trying to crush it. No matter how desperately I clawed at her face, I couldn't make her let go. It wasn't long, either, before her face started to blur in my vision. Fortunately, though, she wasn't so concerned with whether or not I was restrained completely because I managed to muster up enough strength to bring my feet up and under her stomach and shove her off of me. Surprising still was the fact that I'd managed to actually hurl her into the wall just half a foot behind her. I quickly recovered to my feet and made a break for Happy Bob. When I caught up to the two of them, I found that he had Liza cornered. "You've been a naughty little one, ain't ya, Lizzy?" he said, giggling insanely. I crept up from behind him, pulling out the blade. He stepped forward to grab Liza. Liza tried to back up further, but was stopped by the wall behind her. "Sorry, Liz, looks like there's no place else to run along to, is the--" Before he could finish, before he could grab and try to crush Liza with his bare hands, I bounded up and drove the blade right into Happy Bob's jugular. Like with Happy Jack-O, Happy Bob also began to wheeze desperately while rolling on the floor in agony. "Liza, quick! Run, get Ray and get out of here!" She nodded before scurrying away. Looking down, I saw that, despite the major blood loss, Happy Bob was actually still trying to get back on his feet. *Holy shit! How is this even possible!* Not willing to take any risks, I raised the blade high in the air again and proceeded to repeatedly stab Happy Bob, creating a bigger and bigger mess of blood splatter that was starting to spray all across the front of me. Finally, his attempts slowly became weaker and weaker until eventually the only movements of his body were the twitching of his arms and legs. Then he stopped moving altogether. I then made a break for the direction Liza and Ray ran toward when I was once again caught and thrown to the ground by Happy Frannie. Looking back into her eyes, They were wide, bloodshot, and wild. They were the eyes you'd see in a feral animal. She twitched violently as she stomped toward me. I quickly rolled away as her foot attempted to come down right where my face was. I started to book it again, running into the mirror maze. I'd hoped I could lose her there, possibly catching up with Liza and Ray along the way. Like before, I couldn't tell just how deep I was going into the maze. It didn't really matter -- not then, anyways. The only thing that really mattered to me in that moment was making it out of there with my life. As before, it was difficult for me to see anything or anywhere I was going. The lights decorating the mirror walls were dim, and with as clear, yet oblong shaped as the borders were -- not to mention just the sheer intensity of the situation itself flaring up at me, distorting my concentration -- and it wouldn't be hard to see why I say that I was in trouble here. Then the lights suddenly shut off completely. I froze. about two seconds later, I heard the sounds of a backup generator kicking in and the room went red. "So you wanna play hide-n'-go-seek, piggy?" I heard Happy Frannie's voice echo from seemingly every direction around me. I couldn't move. *Where is she? Where's she coming from?* "That's cool, I like this game, Hehehe!" Her echoed giggling made my heart jump worse than if I'd heard a cannon blast. I started looking around. *Where's the exit?!* As panic quickly began building up from the pit of my stomach, I heard the sound of a resounding *crash*, followed by the scattering of glass shards. "Little pig, little pig, come on out..." I heard coming from my right. That kicked me into high gear and I broke into a sprint to my left. That was until I heard another *crash* sounding from a little way up ahead of me. *What the fuck?! How did she... She was just behind me, how the hell did she break one from over there?!* *Crash* This one came from directly beside me at the left of where I was currently standing. Somehow, she was everywhere at once, like she was a ghost. I was trapped. There was nowhere I could run. Nowhere I could hide. "All around the HappyWorld," I heard her begin to sing. This was followed by the smashing of a mirror at my left. I swung my head to look, but I couldn't see her. "Frannie chased the piggy..." *Crash* This one came from behind me. I spun around to look. Nothing. *Oh God, where the fuck is she?!* "Piggy ran through the maze..." *Crash* This one was in front of me. She wasn't there. *Crash* This one came from the corner between the area to the front and to my right. I did the only thing I figured I could do and raised the knife I still had as defensively as I could manage. *Crash* This one was from the left of me again. *Fuck, I can't see her! Where is she?!* I couldn't help my knees from starting to buckle. This was only made worse when I heard her giggling echo throughout the room again. *Crash, crash, crash* I was spinning in circles. My heart was racing madly, on the verge of giving out. I couldn't see her, I couldn't see anything around me. *Oh God, what am I gonna do?! I'm gonna die! She's gonna get to me and I'm gonna die!* \*\*\* *"Smile with us Linus..."* *"Smile for Satan, Linus..."* *Go away! Get away from me!* *"Smile forever, Linus!"* *"We're always happy down here, Linus!"* *("Now you can be, too!")* *NOOOO!* *\*\*\** I was jolted from my trance when I felt a hand on my shoulder, shaking me. *Fuck, she's got me!* Out of sheer animal reflex, I thrusted the blade in the direction of where the hands came from. I didn't even see where the knife was going, having closed my eyes as I did this. I only opened them again when I felt the knife penetrate flesh, only to be faced with an even bigger horror. It was no clown I'd stabbed. It was... It was... *"A little piggy and his playmate..."* It was... *"I'm this dork-lord's sister..."* *(Oh Jesus, I'm sorry...)* It was Liza! She looked at me, her face frozen in confusion and horror as she desperately gasped for breath. I could only stare back, jaw hanging limp. Blood began running freely from the middle of her chest and every joint in my body just locked up. *Oh God... Oh fuck, oh God, no, no, no, no, no...* "L-L-L-Liza?!" I stammered. She could only reply with gasps and wheezes. Despite this, her eyes spoke for her. I could almost her it, her small voice, begging *"Why, Linus?"* "Liza! Oh God, Liza, no! No, no, no, stay with me!" I pulled the blade out and began trying to cover the wound to stop the bleeding. It was obviously no use, though. Blood ran right through the cracks between my fingers in rivers. She began convulsing violently, her eyes bulging more and more as she gasped harder and harder for air *(Just like her brother).* *"LIZA!"* I began to crumble into a meltdown as her body eventually relaxed again. She finally went limp and I watched her eyes glaze over. It was all over now. "Oh my God, dude, what happened?!" I heard from up ahead. I looked up to see Ray, standing in front of me, an expression of utter shock on his face. From ahead, I could hear multiple footsteps stomping towards us, followed by multiple voices shouting "Go around the back!" A few seconds later, I saw multiple police officers emerge from the space ahead. And like Ray, they, too were met with the sight of me huddling and sobbing over the lifeless body of Liza Cromwell, her blood on my hands. *(Just. Like. Derek's.)* I was escorted out of HappyWorld soon after that. As I was led to the police cruiser, all I could do was cry. It was over. Everything was over for me now. My life would be over, even if I wasn't dead yet. I remember wondering what would happen to me. I wondered if I'd be put in juvie or if they'd just skip that and send me straight to prison. I mean, I figured they'd not go *that* far, given that I was only twelve. But at the same time... I'd *killed* someone! *No... No, it-it was an accident! The clown, you were trying to protect yourself from the clown! It was the clowns...* *It was the clowns...* For at least the past thirty or so years, those words have repeated like a broken record in my head. It was what I told the police when I was questioned immediately following the incident. It was what I'd tell the courts three months later when I'd stand trial. It's what I've always told the doctors and the shrinks here at the institution after I was deemed mentally insane and was sentenced originally to 10 months in psychiatric care, which then became 12 months. Then 24. then 36. Eventually, it became clear that I wouldn't be leaving any time before I was already a grown man. Not as long as I still thought of them. As long as I still held to the belief that the clowns were the ones responsible. No one's ever believed me about them. Thing was, when they found me that morning in HappyWorld, having been called by my mother who'd reported my disappearance, they *only* found me. No one found where the clowns had gone. Let me rephrase, I said that no one believed me about the clowns -- which is mostly true -- except for Ray, of course. I know he believed my story. Except that you wouldn't have known that if you'd seen him at the trial. That's right, he hung me out to dry, claiming I'd been the one who'd set the whole thing up -- even so far as to say that I'd had an "unknown accomplice" to take pictures of Liza and kidnap the two of them. Why he said this, I honestly couldn't tell you, except maybe to keep himself from being thrown in the nuthouse along with me. As much as what he did costed me, I don't hate him. It's not like I was *really* any better, was I? I'd watched my friend get murdered, and then, just because I was afraid of not being believed, I kept my mouth shut about it. In turn, denying the Cromwells any real closure as well as making them targets. Because of me, an entire family is now gone. *("It was the clowns...")* This is it. This is where my story ends. I don't think it'll give me any "Catharsis" or whatever, but it's done. That was the last time I'd ever see "The home of Everlasting Smiles". It would also, just a year or two later, can't really remember when, be the last time I'd see my mother or father. They stopped coming to visit. Like with Ray, I guess I can't necessarily blame them, either. They deserve to forget about me, about their psycho-killer son. *("It was the clowns...")* Me, well... I don't think I'll be able to get over this. At least, not as long as I can still remember what happened. But, just like I did back then, I want to forget. I don't want to remember HappyWorld anymore. I want to be done with it. *To finally run away from it.* I'm going to be meeting with my psychiatrist again soon and when I do, it'll be to discuss the possibility of using electro-shock treatment. It may be possible for me yet to be rid of this. I'm going to leave this as a way of saying that it was my fault, but I wasn't a monster. Those clowns, The Amazing Beliar and his satanic jesters, they're real. They're still out there, too. They may not operate in HappyWorld anymore, as the site itself was bulldozed last year (I think they even converted it into a vacant parking lot), but they're still out there, somewhere. I'm hoping, though not expecting, that someone will believe me here. That way, at least The Amazing Beliar, the Devil ringmaster himself, won't have fully pulled off his greatest trick: convincing the world that he doesn't exist.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Stolen Bodies Keep Smiling at me. [RESPONSE] The day is January 28th,. It’s been three weeks since this started. Three weeks was all it took to completely derail my entire life. It was a normal evening when I was just getting home from work. I’m a game designer for a horror indie studio, so as you could imagine, I was quite experienced with coming up with paranormal events and monsters to scare people. But I had no idea of the true limit of human fear yet. I was just about to get into bed when I thought I heard something groaning from the closet. But then I soon realized to myself that it was just my mind playing tricks on me after a long day in the studio. I woke up the next day to go eat breakfast with my coworker, and roommate, Tom sitting at the kitchen table. Tom and I were best friends since elementary school, and he seemed unusually happy that day. He greeted me in the morning while grinning like a Cheshire Cat “What’s with the smile, did something happen?” I asked Tom curiously “Oh nothing, John, just feeling great today. I read a book saying that smiling a lot helps your mood, and it seems to work.” Tom said, losing part of it but still grinning. “I see, Sorry for the randomness it just surprised me to see you up this early let alone with such a large ” Tom isn't the kind of guy to wake up early, he is usually in bed until noon at least and it's only nine in the morning right now. However, at the time I had brushed it all off as a fun new thing he was doing this week and that he would probably drop it like all the other random activities he's tried over the years. At the time I had forgotten about the groaning I’d heard last night and now that I'm writing this I wish that I hadn’t ignored it. Maybe it could’ve been stopped. It was a weekend that day and I was glad to have work off, I spent most of the day just hanging out with Tom and playing board games. It was a pleasant day away from electronics when I noticed something strange. A foul odor was emanating from upstairs. I had ignored it at first but It became almost overwhelming after a few hours. I had a splitting headache when I finally asked “Tom, do you smell that? The air is practically noxious here.” “I don't smell a thing, might need to get your nose checked” Tom replied jokingly to my question“Whatever you say, but I'm going to go crack a window,” I said lightheartedly as I stepped out of the room for a second. Towards the door and the source of the odor, I noticed that it seemed to loom from the hall leading into Tom’s room. I opened the window and before I walked back I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. Like something was very very wrong. As if there was something of great evil lurking behind the door causing this smell. It seemed silly at the time to think that but now. Looking back on the events I'm glad I checked because I shudder to think of what would’ve happened if I had ignored it. Not wanting to be caught snooping around I slowly cracked the door open to reveal a pitch-black bedroom. It was surprisingly messy, even for Tom’s standards. there was blood on the walls and shattered glass on the floor as if it was a warzone in here. The smell seemed to be the strongest in the area near the closet. I had a bad feeling about it, but curiosity got the better of me. I opened the door to reveal Tom’s body. He was dead and something had killed him. It didn’t take long for me to realize that the thing in our living room was not Tom. Something had done this to him and then replaced him. I rushed out the door to find a mutual friend of ours, Sydney. I grabbed the key to my car and drove like a bat out of hell down the road and to her house. I didn’t feel safe in my own house. At the time half my mind said to go back and confront it, but I knew better than that. This wasn’t a normal missing person situation, something supernatural was happening here. As I got to Sydney's place, I pounded on the door frantically. A few seconds later she swung it open “Hey, what are you doing?! You're going to break the door down if you keep that up!” She shouted “I’m sorry I'll explain in a minute but please let me in and lock the door, something happened to Tom” “Fine.” she let out as she closed the door behind me. She gestured toward the couch in her living room and I took a seat “So?” she questioned “Tom is gone, and something is taking his place,” I said as I let out a deep breath, I hadn’t had time to process since the incident and this was all a huge surprise to me at the time She sat up immediately, “Excuse me? What do you mean ‘Something’?” “As in, I found his body in the closet. But I saw him at the same time,” I said more frantically, “He was acting really strange when I saw him, almost as if it was a clone or a doppelganger.” “Are you ok?” she said questioningly as if she didn’t believe me, “Have you been sleeping well? Your mind is probably playing tricks on you,” she spoke with more empathy and calmness in her voice this time. “I’m not insane, you should’ve smelled the stench of it, it was vile,” I said tiredly. “If you don't believe me then please come look at it with me, though don’t say I didn’t warn you.” “Fine, if it’s so important to you then I will,” she said almost dryly. Some time passed as I walked up the stairs leading into the house slowly, and quietly. “What are you doing? Tom isn’t going to bite you, John,” She said walking up to the door, and knocking before opening the unlocked door, “Hey Tom, are you home? You left the door unlocked.” she projected with her voice raised. We didn’t get a reply. I was skeptical about this and more timidly walked inside after her. Though I must admit I felt a strange satisfaction when she admitted to the vile stench in the air. “What in the world is that?” she questioned, “It reeks like a corpse in here.” realizing the gravity of what she had while only half thinking “John you might be right about something, it smells horrid in here,” she said trying to lighten the mood. I walked down the hallway more quietly this time and I assumed she had started to believe me as she began taking more care to be near silent as well. I motioned for the door as I heard it. A loud groan came from inside as well as odd whispers that I couldn’t understand from outside. I was near losing my nerve as I whispered to Sydney “Grab something heavy.” She understood and picked up a metal toad that was sitting on a window sill as decoration. I slowly creaked the door open as she placed herself against the wall beside me. Even to this day, I’m not sure how to describe what I saw. It was a horrible creature, White as snow with long spike tipped arms and legs the length of grown men. Though its height was immense, it was a slender thing, with ribs peeking out from its exposed chest cavity. It wasn’t looking at us at the time and with a long neck, it turned its lumbering head completely around at us without moving its body. It was the worst thing I've ever seen. Its skin was stretched out on its face like pulled rubber with a wretched smile carved into its face where a mouth would be. Dozens of teeth protruded out from its gaping chasm-like mouth. Its eyes were almost vertical and stretched out. Just the image of this thing's face was enough to shock me. “Smile for me, John” it wretched those words from its grotesque maw as it moved its body over a fetid pile of strange skin-like material on the floor, it crawled towards us on all fours because it was too big to fit in the room. “RUN!” I shouted to Sydney. She and I booked it out of there as its awful warped face attempted to squeeze through the doorway. Its head popped out fairly easily but its long shoulders and arms had to force the wood to bend around it, and the awful squeaking as the oak bent around this thing’s sheer power. I got in the car and turned it on immediately. I waited for Sydney to get in before I slammed the gas as hard as I could. I tried to put as much distance between myself and that thing as possible. But as it got to the door of the house all I saw was tom waving at me with a dreadful smile. “What the hell was that?!” Sydney inquired, still horrified by the sight. “I have no idea” I responded “We should call the police, or animal control” Sydney posited to me. “No use, they might not be able to do anything and even if they could, why would they believe us, up until today monsters haven’t existed and we’d sooner be mocked than be given help,” I said almost frustrated “Look, It was just an idea, I have no idea how to stop it and figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask someone else” She quipped slightly offended “You’re right I’m sorry for snapping” I apologized. I asked her if it would be a good idea to head back to her house since it was getting dark out and I don't want to be caught by that thing if we can’t see it. Here in our hometown it gets very dark at night and foggy because of the humid air by the lake and the mountains in the distance. So being caught in a fog at night and with this thing blending it would be worse than any nightmare. So we raced to her place and made plans to try and sleep. She gave me some sheets and pillows and I slept on the couch by the glass door going to the backyard. I didn’t realize at the time that it was such a terrible idea, but I woke up somewhere around 3AM to see a stretched-out face held against the door by an impossibly long, crooked neck. Startled, I got up immediately and shut the curtains, and ran upstairs to wake Sydney. She was somehow already awake and understood the idea without any words being spoken, we both took one floor and shut all the windows, and locked all the possible entrances. With the house almost completely dark we both sat upstairs and tried to peer outside. It was so foggy we couldn’t even see the streetlights. We figured it would be safe to sleep a bit longer. But somehow, or for some reason, It didn’t go inside. Call it luck or call it fate, but It didn't break inside. I felt powerless in the face of it and I couldn’t help but feel like it was playing with me. As if it enjoyed watching me being tormented by it. Like I was a wild rabbit hiding in its burrow while a hunter stalked outside with a ready rifle. I went to Sydney to ask “Did you see it?” “Thankfully no, but I heard you shriek like a kid downstairs, which is what woke me actually,” She said half joking. It was lighthearted for sure but the small smirk on her face scared me. At this point, any emotion besides raw horror scared me, and fear became normal. It did explain why she was awake fairly well, though It still seemed off to me. “Don’t joke please” I spoke quietly “Oh come on,” she toyed, “ I was just trying to lighten the mood, you look like you’ve seen a ghost, John” she chuckled a bit after seeing the mix of emotions on my face. I didn’t yet realize what was to come. Though I knew she was acting strange, I chalked it up to both of us being in shock from what just happened as well as being woken up in the middle of the night. It took until nearly 2PM for the fog to clear. Which felt like days at the time. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary outside. Which is nice. However, it didn’t take long after inspecting the house to notice stretch marks on the window outside of Sydney's window. As if something was climbing in there when I shut the curtains. I didn’t think much of it, until the smell. It was back and coming from outside. I wandered out of the house and tried not to make a scene. I got near the garden when I smelled it. The same stench coming from the bushes. To save myself the shock I didn’t look as though I knew what it was. I couldn’t trust Sydney. I couldn’t trust anyone. I had gotten my car from the driveway and started the ignition and got out of there as fast as I could. I still remember that awful feeling of being watched from beyond my sight. I hated it and I drove and drove until I was out of town. I had stopped at a motel about a week ago after days of driving and I’ve been here ever since. As of right now, you're all caught up on the events of what happened. That you would be whoever is reading this. I’ve been planning on moving out of state. It’s a big country and I doubt anything would have followed me for this long so I think I’m safe for now. I write this story just in case anyone else is in my position. You’re not alone, and this has happened before. But recently, I feel like I’ve been being watched any time I go outside. There have been people grinning at me with soules blank eyes. But truth be told I’m tired of running, I'm going to confront this beast, and whatever you do, just don't trust the smiley. Hey, update, the date is January 29th. It’s been a day since I last wrote and I want to clarify something. My mind was simply playing tricks on me. There are no monsters and I was just tired. Tom came this morning to find me actually, and he was really worried. We drove back to town and we don’t plan on any more monster hunting for a long while. People smiling is a perfectly normal thing and not something to be worried about. You guys don't need to worry about me, I’ll be ok :)<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Stain [RESPONSE] I need to quit my job, but I don’t think I’m allowed to. Over the summer, I injured my knee and it completely ended my volleyball career (I say career, but I was a benchwarmer at best). To save my mental state, I decided to move on from sports. This left me with a lot of free time on the weekends, and I’ve been meaning to redo my bedroom, so I needed some extra cash. I became a housekeeper for the neighbors. They were The Rich People™ in the neighborhood. Everyone knew them as a little… eccentric. The type of people to collect spoons and garden statues. But they were a seemingly sweet little old couple and they were offering to pay well. I took the job before anyone else could. It was a big house, so they couldn’t keep up with cleaning all of it. They had a landscaper and another housekeeper who did the top floor already, and they just needed someone to clean the ground floor and basement. They often rented out the place to other rich people who wanted to have parties without worrying about their collectors items getting broken or whatever. It wasn’t the most relaxing job ever, but I just turned on a podcast (my favorite is The Magnus Archives) and worked for a couple hours every other weekend. I’ve been cleaning here since the beginning of the school year in August, so a couple months now. Nothing has been out of the ordinary up until a couple weeks ago, at the beginning of October. I have a specific schedule I like to abide by when I’m cleaning. First, I do the entryway, then the dining room, then the sitting room, then the kitchen, then the hallway, then the bathrooms. I’m not allowed to go in the office. Next I do the basement. I start the laundry, dust some of the corners, and clean the bathroom down there. Surprisingly, it’s not too big of a basement compared to the rest of the house. I followed this schedule religiously, it was the quickest and most efficient way I’ve found. I went about my life following this routine every weekend, and so far I’ve earned about $200. This felt like a pretty permanent job, I wanted to keep it until I move out and go to college. Unfortunately, the first weekend of October is when things started to feel… off. It started small, with some of my cleaning supplies not being where they should have been in the closet. The upstairs housekeeper used the cleaning supplies upstairs so it would be easier, so I’m the only one who uses the downstairs closet. The supplies were rearranged, sometimes completely off the shelves, even the ones that were never needed. We don’t get earthquakes where I live, so it can’t be that. These incidents gradually became more and more concerning. For example, I would throw away a wad of paper towels and they would appear in the closet. I would stand in the hallway and look through the kitchen and the door to the office would be blown open despite being locked and the windows all being closed, papers and documents blowing around like a tornado passed through. They were all resignation letters. I read them. I know that is wrong of me, but I was curious. They had names, but no dates. What was the most concerning though, was a strange stain that showed up three weekends ago. The stain started out small. I assumed it was water damage or something, so I sent a text to the couple and thought nothing of it. Why was it concerning? Well, it grew. And grew. And grew. It was dripping an inky black liquid by the next weekend. One week ago, I lost my patience. The couple hadn’t gotten back to me and I’ve never seen that upstairs housekeeper even when our schedules must have lined up. I did something for the first and last time while working there. I went upstairs to find the source of that stain. There was a landing upstairs that stretched all the way to the back of the house. Dusty furniture and lint covered carpets covered the place. It makes sense now that I’m thinking about it. The closet was in the back left corner, so I made my way to the room above it. It was hard to breathe in the musty air, to be honest. I was coughing a lot, and the smell was awful. What’s strange is that the room above the closet didn’t have any dust on the knob. And the air was significantly clearer as I got closer to the room. I find that incredibly strange, considering what was in it. This next part is hard. Not hard to remember, just hard to think about. They were… horrific. I hate it, but it’s true. Five people. All dead. All unrecognizable. They were grotesque husks of what should have been their former selves. But they aren’t who they used to be. They were pinned to the walls by their wrists like handcuffs. Some of them were midair, some slumped against the walls. A black, inky substance that should have been blood was leaking from the wounds, eyes, mouth, and nose of a girl that was a couple years older than me. The stuff was dried and crusted to the others. I found the source of the stain. And I walked calmly through the landing. Down the stairs. Out the door. And to my house. What’s funny is that I didn’t feel anything until I was in my room. The feeling was fear mixed with morbid curiosity. I looked up the names from those resignation forms along with my town name. I tried the surrounding towns too. I couldn’t find anything. It was like they never existed in the first place. For some reason, I’m still going back there, for some reason. I looked in the office, there wasn’t anything else in there besides the five forms from the people in the room. All I know about them is their names. I want to quit, believe me. I need to quit. But I don’t think I can. Something tells me that if I try, I’ll end up in the room. The old couple have been around a lot more, and they’ve been watching me. Me and my every move. If I so much as glance up those stairs, they appear in a doorway, staring. I texted them when the stain appeared. Now it’s gone. I’m planning on quitting on New Years. If I don’t turn in a letter, maybe they won’t get me. They can’t kill me if I stop showing up, right?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] How To Sell Your Haunted Mattress [RESPONSE] It isn’t easy to sell a used mattress. Who wants to risk bringing an infestation of bedbugs into their home? Who wants to lay atop a stranger’s sweat, skin cells, and bodily fluids? *Who wants to sleep in the place where another person might have died…maybe even died horribly?* It isn’t easy to sell a used mattress, but it’s *especially* hard to sell a *haunted* mattress– Wait. I’m getting ahead of myself. It all started with my ex, Amanda. It’s normal to have a shouting match during a breakup, maybe it’s even normal to break things in the process– But using a knife to carve up everything your partner owned, from their artwork to their couch? I call that *crazy.* I suppose I was lucky that I wasn't at home when Amanda shredded my stuff and left. If I had been, I might have gotten myself as neatly sliced up as my mattress was. Walking through my bedroom door was like walking into an explosion at a stuffing factory. After that first agonizing night of sleeping on the floor, I nearly nodded off while driving my forklift at work. I couldn’t afford to wait any longer. I bought the cheapest used mattress I could find online (before she left, my ex had done a hack job on my bank account as well). The seller, a guy with a smoky southern accent about twice my age, even offered to drive it to my place. He looked about how I expected when he showed up that evening: white tank-top, grizzly gray stubble, tired eyes. The mattress seemed in good condition, not at all stained or yellowed–and for that I was grateful. The old codger barely said a word; he just helped me unload the mattress, counted the forty-nine dollars I’d handed him, and drove off, lost in his own thoughts. Sure, his behavior was odd, but I was just happy to have something soft to sleep on. Discount pillows, a second-hand mattress, and thrift-store sheets. It wasn’t perfect–and slashed-up reminders of Amanda were still stacked around my apartment–but having a place to sleep made me feel like I was finally getting my life back together. Or at least it *did*, until I lay down on my *‘new’* mattress and closed my eyes. The mattress was neither too soft nor too hard; there were no lumps or pits. It was clean and comfortable, but it felt *old*–like I could smell the dust of decades on it. I wondered, chuckling, if I might have just bought my first featherbed. It was the last time I laughed for a long time. As I was nodding off, I had the strangest feeling that the mattress was *moving* beneath me. Undulating, like gentle waves. Something crawling or snapping would have woken me in a heartbeat, but this was different; it was actually relaxing. Soon, however, the feeling became anything but comfortable. It was like I was drowning in those fabric *‘waves.’* My eyes snapped open, and I realized with horror that the cloth of the mattress had nearly covered my hands, ankles, and neck. It was like it was trying to eat me alive! I tore myself free and pressed my back against the wall, panting…but the moonlight pouring through my bedroom window shone down on a perfectly ordinary mattress. *Or did it*? I’d swear that beneath the wrinkled sheets I saw a ripple of movement. All I could hear was my thundering heartbeat. I took a long drink of cold water, and while I did, I kept one eye on the mattress. I couldn’t say why, but I felt like at any moment some awful thing would rise up from beneath those sheets. On one hand, I told myself that there was no way I could go back to sleep after what had just happened. On the other hand, I had to work in the morning. With a sigh, I lay back down–*carefully.* Nothing writhed beneath the fabric. I wasn’t suddenly sucked into a feathery black hole. Not even the box spring squeaked. Everything was fine until the moment I fell asleep. They were hands. I hadn’t wanted to believe it at first, but I couldn’t deny it any longer: hands made of impossibly solid cloth were pulling me into the mattress, suffocating me. The light of my bedroom got smaller and smaller as the fabric closed around my face. It was like being buried alive. With an effort that made all my underused muscles cry out in torment, I bit into the mattress with my teeth and twisted my torso out onto the floor. I was drenched with sweat…but the mattress looked no different than it had the moment I bought it. It sat there, still and silent, like it was mocking me with its normalcy. I groaned and dragged myself out to the main room of my apartment, where I stuffed a pillow beneath my head and tried to sleep on the rough, scratchy carpet. It was impossible. Every time I closed my eyes, I could imagine how it would happen. My bedroom door would creak open. Some white, vaguely human thing–like a mortuary corpse draped in cloth–would hover silently out of my bedroom. Maybe I’d even be able to see its rotting feet dangling beneath its shroud. It would drift toward me without waking me–not until it had me where it wanted me: with its dead hands around my throat. Crushing my neck into the carpet with otherworldly hate until it put me to sleep for good– *What the hell was happening to me?* I decided to try my ex’s technique and make a cut–*just a tiny one*–in the top of the mattress. I told myself that I could always repair it later, and anyway…I *had* to know. I felt myself trembling as I approached the mattress. The moonlight streaming through by blinds made the room ghost-pale, but clear enough to see. Would the mattress scream when I cut into it? Would it bleed? Would hundreds of fabric hands burst out to grab me? The silver blade slid easily into the cloth. Peering inside, I could see that it was stuffed with feathers, just as I’d thought. Not a single corpse. I went to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. My shift was starting in a couple hours, and based on my reflection in the mirror, *I* was the closest thing to the living dead in *this* apartment. Sleep deprivation is no joke. I lost count of the number of times throughout the day I almost caused a major accident–loading a pallet of DVD crates at a bad angle, not noticing a foreman behind me while I was backing up–but what could I do? Call in sick with a bad case of the creeps? At best I’d be laughed at, at worst I’d be fired…and I could *not* afford to lose this job. I decided I’d give the mattress one more try. Maybe the dreams had been caused by lingering stress from what happened with my ex Amanda. Maybe they’d been caused by indigestion. What was it that Scrooge had said that Charles Dickens story we’d had to read in high school? *‘There’s more of gravy than of grave about you?!’* Whatever it was, I couldn’t throw away a good deal without being sure. I was so exhausted that no amount of lingering fear could keep me awake. The moment I got home, I fell down on top of the mattress face-first and drifted into a dreamless sleep. *The inability to breathe*. That’s what woke me. And the feeling of fabric fingers pulling my neck downward into the pillow, smothering me. I screamed, grabbed at them to pull them off–and was amazed by how *human* those lifeless cloth hands felt. Once again, I slithered out of my mattress’ grip…and once again, it seemed normal the moment I’d left it. I couldn’t take anymore of this. I stripped off the sheets and single-handedly dragged the mattress down the three-A.M. hallway, ignoring the angry protests of my neighbors as its heavy bulk bounced along their walls. There was no way I was letting that damned thing spend another minute in my apartment. I heaved it out onto the curb, wiped my hands on my pajama pants, and trudged back up the stairs–where I tried once again to sleep on the floor. The moment I nodded off, however, they were back: hands rising out of the carpet. Grappling, crushing, strangling– I pushed myself up from the floor. Nowhere in the apartment felt safe. Whatever had been haunting that mattress…now it was haunting *me.* And until I freed myself from it, falling asleep would be deadly. I decided to start my investigation at the source: the old geezer who’d sold me the damned mattress in the first place. Luckily, I still had his contact information from the delivery. He didn’t answer my first two calls, but the third time I got lucky. *“Yeah?”* a husky voice rasped into the receiver. “This is the guy you sold that mattress to. We need to talk.” “Whadya want? *Do you have any idea what time it is?!* Fuckin’ punk…” “Did you sleep on it or not? I need to know. Before you sold that mattress to me, did you sleep on it?” “I…” the old man stammered like a kid who’d been caught in a lie. “I…well, no…I found it. In the apartment of a tenant. Ex-tenant, I guess I should say. Fucker disappeared. Left everything behind,” the old man spat, “just vanished. That’s the problem with you young people. You got no reliability, no roots–” The geezer kept rambling, but I wasn’t listening. I thought I had a good idea of how his ex-tenant had \*‘just vanished’–\*and if I wasn’t careful, the same thing might happen to me. “Any idea where he got it?” I grunted, fighting back a yawn. “What’s with you and that mattress? Does it have bedbugs or somethin’? I swear, if I have to fumigate that fucker’s apartment–” the old man groaned. “Look, I didn’t even know the guy. He probably bought the damn thing from some stranger online. Just like you.” *Click.* *A dead end*, I thought, and laughed morbidly. I was swooning from tiredness, but I didn’t dare to sit down; if I did, I might fall asleep. I peered out the blinds. The mattress was still out there, propped against the dumpster. An idea occurred to me. I rushed out to inspect it, searching for a tag, a sticker, anything that might suggest where it had come from. Sure enough, there was a hard rectangle of canvas stitched onto its side. The original printing was illegible, but a name and address had been scribbled over it in faded blue ink: *Lucy Delacroix* *1142 Birch Dog Avenue* *\[City and State Redacted\]* Had I stumbled upon the address of the original owner? I chugged cup after cup of gas-station coffee on the drive to Cleburne. I kept the radio turned up loud and the windows down, hoping that chilly predawn air and crackling static would keep me awake until I reached my destination. By the time I drove into town, a bright sunrise had made the grim sky a little less gray–but not by much. Cleburne looked as rusty and forgotten as the overgrown railroad that ran through it. 1142 Birch Dog Avenue was a house that had been old and eloquent once. Now it was as derelict as everything else in town. Wind chimes jingled ominously and a screen door slammed every time the breeze blew, but otherwise there wasn’t a single sign of life in the place. I checked my reflection in the mirror. With my unhealthy pallor, baggy red eyes, and greasy windblown hair, I looked like a junkie out for a fix. I sighed, rang the doorbell–and hoped that Lucy Delacroix was an early riser. “Oh…can I help you?” the young woman who answered the door asked politely. I instantly felt guilty, a feeling that only worsened when I heard the baby crying and a hound dog howling in the background. I’d woken up the whole household…and apparently this young woman was going to have to take care of all of them. “Lucy Delacroix?” I ventured. “Umm,” the young woman muttered, “I’m *Donna* Delacroix. Lucy Delacroix was my great-aunt. I think. But we’re not supposed to talk about her. Umm,” she glanced over her shoulder toward where the baby was wailing. “Do you wanna come in? This’ll just take a minute.” While Donna rushed off to take care of the baby and the dog, I settled into a saggy couch beside the window. I should have known that was a mistake. Donna took more than a minute, and I felt myself start to doze. It was a nightmarish feeling, watching it happen yet being unable to stop it. *One breath.* My eyes blinked shut. When I opened them again, a horrific figure was floating past the cardboard boxes in Donna Delacroix’s hallway. Long yellow toenails and moldering feet dangled beneath the bedsheet that draped it. *Two breaths.* My eyes stayed closed a little longer. The thing drifted closer. The ugly pea-green couch cushions rearranged themselves, sucking me in. The thing beneath the sheet lifted up its arms like a cultist offering a sacrifice to some hateful forgotten god–and hands of cloth reached up from the couch to hold me in place. *Three breaths.* A cord of upholstery slithered around my neck, cutting off my air. I was awake now, but it was too late. The thing beneath the sheet was close enough that I could smell its decay, even make out the shape of its rotting eyeless face beneath the fabric. The chord squeezed tighter– “Umm, mister?” Donna called out. “You alright?” My eyes snapped open. With disgust, I flung away the frayed golden cord that had been strangling me. “You look like you seen a ghost.” “H-ha, yeah.” I choke-laughed. Donna Delacroix had brought out two steaming mugs of coffee, and a mopey-looking hound dog hid behind her heels. “Fuck…” I coughed “...I mean, I must look like a nutcase. You must have a lot of faith in people to let me in here.” “Not really,” Donna shrugged, and I caught the glint of a .38 revolver in her apron pocket. “But I figure anyone who comes ‘round here with questions about Lucy Delacroix is somebody I wanna have a nice long chat with.” “W-w-why’s that?” I coughed. The coffee was terrible and scaldingly hot, and had the effect of making me choke even more. “Earlier you said you weren’t supposed to talk about her.” “Well, she was sorta the black sheep of the family.” Lucy got a distant look in her eyes as she watched the sky lighten over the desolate red-brick town outside her window. “Lucy was my granddad’s wild younger sister. I only know bits and pieces of the story myself, but apparently she was a…” Lucy looked around like she expected to see the necks of nosy neighbors craning around the doorway “...a *prostitute.* Ran off with some flashy guy from the big city who turned out to have mob connections, and when she tried to leave…he…umm…*he strangled her in her sleep.*” “That’s awful!” I exclaimed. Donna nodded. “Course, word had got around town by the time they shipped her body back to Cleburne. You from the city, mister?” I nodded. Donna went on. “Thought so. Might be hard to wrap your head around it, but in a small town like this one, reputation is everything. How can you trust a man who can’t manage his own family to manage a business? Or pay back a loan? Or be your child’s father-in-law? See where I’m goin’ with this? My granddad saw Lucy’s memory as this big dark cloud hangin’ over the family, and he wanted it gone. Didn’t even give her a Christian burial. Just dumped her in an unmarked hole in the family plot behind the church.” Donna Delacroix sipped her coffee sadly. Her eyes narrowed. “Who’d you say you were, again?” “I, uh, I think I might have something that used to be hers. That’s why I’m here.” “I’d love to see anything of Lucy’s!” Donna exclaimed. “It’s like I never really got to know her, you know? She’s like this missing puzzle piece of the past that I’ve never been able to fill in, and–” “It’s just a mattress.” I cut her off quickly. “Oh.” Donna frowned. “So why–” “Look.” I leaned forward, “If *you* were Lucy, how would *you* feel about what happened?” “Well I dunno about you,” Donna stared into the dregs of her coffee thoughtfully, “But if *I* was her, I’d be furious\*.\* I figure I’d be mad at the whole world.” “That’s what I think, too.” I nodded. “Do you think you could meet me around the spot where Lucy is buried in about four hours or so? I’d like to do your family a little favor.” “I gotta take the baby for a walk anyway, so yeah.” Donna hesitated. “But mister–are you sure this is about a mattress?” I didn’t answer. I was already out the door. I had eleven missed calls from work, but I could deal with that later. What was important now was slapping my face with my right hand while I drove with my left. What was important was finding someplace I could buy a simple pre-made grave marker and get a small brass plaque engraved. I knew it would be expensive, but cleaning out what was left of my bank account was a small price to pay to avoid being slowly suffocated for all eternity in some gloomy underworld. Donna Delacroix met me around four P.M. in a church graveyard that was, unsurprisingly, only about four blocks away from her house. I saw the gravestones of the Delacroix family going back generations–and one patch of dead grass without a marker. The truck of the stonemason I’d found a few towns over rumbled outside the cemetery gate. “This where you want the rush job?” The stonemason asked. I nodded. “You sure are payin’ a pretty penny for someone who’s been dead for, what? Sixty years?” “She deserves to be remembered.” Donna said defensively, bouncing her daughter on her hip. I agreed. The stonemason shrugged, blew a bubble with his gum, and got to work. When it was all over, I parked in the shade of an old sycamore tree beside the cemetery, reclined the driver’s seat as far back as possible, and slept the sleep of the dead– If it's true that the dead sleep well. I couldn’t say for sure, but no grasping hands or strangling cords came for me while I dozed, and no nightmarish visions of sheet-draped ghouls haunted my dreams. I hope that’s because the spirit of Lucy Delacroix is finally at peace– But that’s nothing more than a hope…because when I finally got back to my apartment, I could see that Lucy’s mattress was gone. The dumpsters were still full, which could only mean one thing: someone had picked it up off of the curb. Maybe they’re sleeping peacefully on it right now, unaware of its twisted history. Maybe. Or maybe they’ve already disappeared, dragged to the underworld by an angry spirit whose anger at the world hasn’t yet been quenched. I honestly don’t know. But if I were you, I wouldn’t sleep in any bed that wasn’t mine. *Not unless I knew where it had been.* <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Always check the trunk of your rental car [RESPONSE] When my uncle passed away and his son reached out to me for help - I didn’t hesitate a moment. Because you do for the family. After a short flight and all the airport shenanigans - I was driving to his house in a rather comfy Hyundai hatchback. An hour later, as I parked the car in the house garage - we were sitting in the living room with Dan, discussing the work yet to be done. My uncle Ron, unfortunately, was quite a compulsive hoarder, so piles and piles of various junk were scattered all around the place. After finishing our coffee we grabbed the garbage bags and started our Operation Declutter. According to Dan - he had no plans for this house. “Appreciate you coming, Jack. I wouldn’t be able to clear this mess on my own. I’ll start from the master bedroom and you can take the closet. Pick anything that revives your memories of him or days spent here” - he said. The plan was to clean the place and toss the whole thing to a realtor, picking out the valuable things in the process. Easier said than done - the house was a complete waste dump. Loads and loads of spare parts to some machinery, stacks of outdated newspapers, gift wrappings, and empty plastic cups filled with screws and bolts. And that was just me opening the door. The junk spilled out and covered the floor beneath my feet. And you think we could roll up our sleeves and finish it within an hour or two, but no. For example - one of the cups, full of rusted nails contained uncle Ron’s engagement ring. And I found his birth certificate among the pages of an ancient TV magazine. So yeah it took time. By lunch, we barely scratched the surface and decided to take a break. Luckily there was an Indian restaurant down the road, so we ate up and why the hell not - grabbed ourselves some beer. Then the work continued. Junk, junk, dried leftover food stashed in an old washing machine, cobwebs, and mummified roaches. Trust me, you wouldn’t want to be there. I could almost see the back wall of the room, as I realized that I’d been doing this for 6 hours straight. My stomach confirmed that by producing some growling sounds. Time to eat! “Hey, Dan! I’ll get us some burgers, or something. Any wishes?” - I shouted across the floor. “Nah. I’ll have the same as you. Thanks!” - he replied, struggling with something heavy in the bedroom. And so I went down to the garage, turned out the light, and noticed that the trunk was open. That was strange, but I didn’t give it a second thought. Maybe Dan was checking out the capacities, calculating how many trash bags can we put in or something. I didn’t close the car, because why would I? Also, I noticed that the insides of the trunk were scratched a bit as if the previous guy was transporting a roll of barbed wire here. And I guess they didn’t check it when he returned the car. I made a note to myself to make sure I won’t be charged for this and went out. 45 minutes later I returned and grabbed the brown bag with the food from the car. “Hey, Daaaan. Dinner’s ready!” - I shouted. But there was no response. Just a sound of shuffling as if he was trying to move a wardrobe. So I put the food on the kitchen table and went up to check on him and repeat my announcement. “Dan! I say - the meal is ready. You need a hand, buddy?” - I said opening the door to the bedroom. The dread feeling of terror kicked me in the guts, as I saw what was behind it. There, on scattered clothes and papers - Dan was lying, shaking in convulsions. The walls around, the floor, even the ceiling - was covered with numerous splatters of blood. The urge to rush forward emerged but died as quickly when I saw the full picture. Atop my cousin, a skinny figure was sitting. Its arms and legs were so thin, I didn’t notice it first in the dimmed lights of the bedroom. Its head was pushed towards Dan’s face, while its arms tore his chest digging down his flesh. And the sound, oh my god, that sound. The sound of that monster sucking out my cousin’s blood was accompanied by his muffled moans. Dan’s hands twitched, trying to grab something helplessly. I didn’t think twice. Just grabbed the first thing that was next to me, which luckily happened to be a piece of steel pipe, left by my compulsive uncle. The next couple of moments became an eternity. All I remember is just the pipe moving up and down, up and down again. Until the creature lost all features it could be recognized by. Just mince meat by the side of my dying cousin. I made sure that the horrible being doesn’t show any signs of life and rushed to Dan. “Man, look at me, look at me” - I said holding him. “It’s all gonna be alright, you hear me?”. I chaotically tried to find the phone in my pockets with the other hand. “Shit, don’t you dare die on me”. His vision cleared for a moment. He looked me in the eyes as if he was trying to say something. “Hold up, Dan. Hold up!” - I said - “You’re gonna make it”. Though I realized that it’s not an option with wounds like these. And Dan… He still tried to say something. So I pushed my ear towards his lips to hear his last words. What he said turned my blood into ice. With a shaking voice, gurgling on spitting each word out he said: “There.. Are.. More.. Of.. Em…”. And at the very same moment, I heard rustling sounds around. As if something was hiding in the piles of junk in the neighboring rooms, watching me, waiting for me to turn my back on them. I didn’t think straight - maybe if I rushed out of the house I would have a chance. Maybe not - I don’t know what those freaks are capable of. So I smashed the door to the bedroom and barricaded it with furniture and heavier trash. I’m trapped: there are grates on the window, my phone is probably in the car or on the kitchen table and those abominations keep scratching on the door and walls. I found my uncle’s old laptop. It’s so old it won’t open most of the web pages. I sent an email to the local police station, ambulance, and firefighters. I hope they will see it before it’s too late. Luckily Reddit is loading too, so if you are reading this - I’m in Oakhurst, Williams Str. 33. Call the authorities. Please help me. I don’t have much time.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I Found An Old Cassette Tape In An Abandoned Mental Institution. I Never Should Have Listened To It. [RESPONSE] Me and my friends Jordan, Ashley and Sam are urban explorers in our free time. You're probably familiar with the type of stuff we do, but in case you're not, we go around exploring abandoned locations, record it on our phones and upload the videos on YouTube. Old abandoned warehouses, amusement parks, industrial complexes, you name it, we've done it. It's a fun hobby, but it can be scary -- not to mention dangerous. Some of the places we've explored are condemned structures so dilapidated they look like a strong wind would knock them down. You have to be careful navigating those places and constantly stop to inspect your surroundings. You never know when a rotted stairway might give way under your feet or a rusted catwalk might collapse and send you plunging fifty feet to a hard concrete floor. Not to mention there's always the possibility of running into some strung-out drug addict or crazy homeless person squatting there. Plus, what we do isn't exactly legal. We've had some close calls. Once a security guard chased us out of a deserted factory and another time someone actually called the cops on us. Luckily the guy wasn't too much of a hardass and he let us go with a warning. You probably think we're stupid or crazy to do what we do, and maybe you're right, but that's just the way we are. We enjoy the thrill of it. Two weeks ago Sam got a tip on a new place that seemed like primo material for our next video; especially with Halloween approaching. An old, crumbling mental hospital in the next county. It had been built in the late 1800s and had been abandoned for thirty years or so, the early 90's I believe, and had a pretty sordid past. Supposedly it was shut down after some kind of scandal involving an investigative reporter who went undercover as a patient and uncovered all kinds of abuse and neglect on the part of the staff. There were even rumors that the doctors were conducting all kinds of fucked up secret experiments on the patients. None of that is substantiated, of course, it's just the type of typical bullshit urban legends that spring up around a place like that. The official story is the hospital was closed due to the government cutting their funding for "budget reasons." According to Sam, the place was scheduled to be demolished soon in order to put up an apartment complex so this was probably our only chance to check it out. So last weekend the four of us hopped into Jordan's old Mazda and made the two-hour drive out there. The institution was located in a relatively rural area on the outskirts of a city. As soon as it came into view we knew we wouldn't be disappointed. A forbidding gray stone building, four stories tall, with narrow barred windows, stood in the middle of a sprawling, heavily overgrown lawn behind a high, rusted chain-link fence with razor wire coiled over the top. The main gate was adorned with a faded NO TRESSPASSING sign marked with a couple .22 bullet holes, and secured with a thick chain and heavy padlock, but after a few minutes of poking around, Ashley found a place in the fence where some intrepid explorer before us had snipped a decent-sized hole through the chain-link, probably with a bolt-cutter. We slipped through it easily, then made our way up the long, overgrown driveway towards the main building. The closer we got, the more creeped out I started to feel. The immense stone building seemed to loom over us, its imposing facade almost resembling a scowling face with many narrow, barred eyes that stared coldly down at the four intruders approaching it. The main entrance doors had been nailed shut at one point, but someone, presumably the same person who had cut a hole in the fence, had pried off the sheet of plywood that had once covered them, and they stood wide open...like the gaping mouth of a beast getting ready to swallow its prey whole. We paused for a couple minutes, still about twenty yards away, so that Sam could film Jordan standing in front of the institution as he did a brief intro. Then we closed the remaining distance, all of us with our phone cameras on and recording, and entered the decrepit building. We were in the main lobby/reception area. The floor was littered with all kinds of debris and trash; dead leaves that had blown in through the open doors, empty beer cans, fast food wrappers, cigarette butts, you name it. Presumably stuff that had been left over by kids using the building as a hang-out spot and homeless people looking for a place to get drunk and crash for the night. The walls were marked with graffiti. A bedpan, one of those old-school steel ones, stood on the reception desk. None of us dared approach it for a closer inspection. We looked around for a while, and eventually found the main stairway, standing next to the long-dead elevators (no electricity). We went upstairs to explore the second story. It was the hospital's administrative wing. Offices, mostly. Honestly, there wasn't much interesting in most of them. The place had been pretty thoroughly cleared out when the institution was shut down and all that remained were some empty filing cabinets and discarded pieces of ancient office equipment. In the Hospital Director's office, a cardboard shoebox stood open on the otherwise bare desk. I peered inside and saw it contained a number of old audio cassette tapes, still in their cases. I flipped through them out of curiosity. There were a couple dozen of them. They had various names and dates carefully printed on the labels. I didn't know what they were, but Sam suggested that maybe they were recordings of therapy sessions with former patients. I grabbed one at random and threw it in my pocket to take back with me, just as a souvenir. Then we continued our investigation, filming anything we found that looked even remotely interesting. Truthfully, the whole trip was kind of a letdown. There wasn't much to see or film. The top two floors were patient rooms, but they were almost all vacant except for a couple rusted bed frames, more litter and an occasional graffiti artist's tag. The place didn't even have a particularly sinister or creepy ambience once you were inside; there were no operating tables spattered with dried blood or rusted surgical implements, not even a spooky abandoned wheelchair standing in one of the corridors. The institution had been minimum-security when it had been in operation, so it wasn't like there had been any especially violent or dangerous patients kept locked up there. In other words, there was no dungeon ward in the basement where the likes of Hannibal Lecter had been imprisoned safely away from the general population. It could have been an abandoned office building for all the atmosphere it generated. After about an hour we decided to call it quits. Jordan filmed the outro, apologizing to the audience for the video being such a disappointment, then we left, got back into our car, and drove home without incident. I went on with my normal routine and had pretty much forgotten all about our exploration of the mental hospital until Wednesday morning when I was getting ready to leave for work. I couldn't find my car keys, which I typically carried in my pants, and was desperately hunting my apartment for them in a rush to not be late. I searched for them in my jacket pocket, not finding them but instead the cassette tape I had swiped from the institution. I had completely forgotten all about it. I had other priorities at the moment so I just tossed it on my desk for the time being and went on with my search. I eventually located my keys -- they had slipped out of my pants and found their way under the cushions of my couch -- and got to work only a couple minutes late. That evening, when I got home, I spotted the cassette on my desk, and after dinner, decided to give it a closer inspection. It was one of those ninety-minute jobs that fit into a full-sized portable tape recorder. Carefully printed on the label by hand in faded black ink were the words "Bennet, Michael." And a date. "8/17/91." Intrigued, I went into the garage and dug around until I found my dad's old recorder. I popped in some new batteries then inserted the cassette. I wasn't sure if either the recorder or the tape would still function after all this time but figured it was worth a try. I plugged a pair of earbuds into the recorder, put them on, then pressed the Play button. For a few seconds there was only a hissing sound. Then a dry, clinical man's voice spoke in a professional monotone. The audio quality was still surprisingly clear and only slightly degraded even after thirty years. "Patient 67531, Bennet, S. Michael. Session number seven. Session being conducted by Doctor Eugine Winters at two P.M. on August 17th, 1991." There were a few seconds of hissing silence, then the audio resumed. At first the only sound was a man's heavy, slightly uneven breathing. Then the professional, clinical voice from before, the doctor, spoke. "How are you feeling today, Michael?" The ragged breathing continued. There was no answer. "Michael?" A second voice spoke. It sounded like it belonged to a younger man. The voice was agitated and tight with suppressed emotion; the voice of a man in turmoil struggling to maintain his composure. "What the fuck do you care how I feel? What does it matter, anyway? There's nothing you can do. All you do is ask me the same goddamn questions over and over again, every single time." The emotion behind those words could have been rage...or something else. "It's an integral part of your therapy, Michael. We have to get to the root of whatever is the source for your mental distress in order to give you the necessary treatment you require so that you can function normally again and return to society--" "BULLSHIT!" the younger man interrupted with a shout. "You're just playing with my fucking head, like all the other shrinks did! To you I'm just another freak you can play your little mind games on, some nut you can exploit to get published in all the bigshot medical journals!" The doctor spoke softly. "I'm only trying to help you, Michael." A contemptuous snort. "There's nothing you can do to help me, Doc. There's nothing anyone can do." There was anger in the voice, but something else, too. Fear. "Please, Michael, you have to work with me if you want to get out of here. You refused to tell the other doctors what you're so afraid of. What causes you to wake up in the night screaming. Why don't you tell me, Michael? Tell me what you've been so scared of all these years." Several moments of silence. Then the man spoke. All the rage was gone from his voice...but the fear remained. He spoke with defeated resignation. "Fine. I'll tell you. Just so I can tell someone and finally get it out. You'll think I'm crazy, but everyone already does. That's why I'm in this loony bin. Why the fuck not?" He chuckled humorlessly. He took a few seconds to gather himself before he began. "Do you know what it's like to live your whole life knowing the worst thing you could ever know, Doctor? The worst thing anyone could *ever* know? Do you know what it's like to live every... single... moment in pure terror?" "Terror of *what*, Michael?" "What if you could see things that other people couldn't? Things that people weren't *meant* to see, know things humans weren't meant to know? *I* can see these things, Doctor. It started when I was eight or nine. That's when I first began seeing *them*." "Them?" the doctor asked. "The Forgotten Ones. That's what I call them. They call themselves the Ancient Ones, or the Originals." "What are they, Michael, these...Forgotten Ones?" "People talk about hauntings, about seeing ghosts. You hear about it all the time. Some people even claim to be able to communicate with them, channel them, for a living. Spiritualists, psychics, whatever you want to call them. Most of them are full of bullshit. Frauds. But *maybe* a few are the real thing. But psychics deal with dead *people*. Human ghosts." The man paused to let out a shaky sigh. "If it was the ghosts of people, I might be able to cope with that. Maybe I could have gotten used to it and come to accept it with time...but the Forgotten Ones are *not* human. And they never were." "Go on, Michael, I'm listening," the doctor urged him. "They're old. Very, *very* old. They died long before mankind ever existed on the Earth. But before they died, they lived here for a long, long time. The planet is billions of years old, Doc. And human beings have only been around for a couple million. Do you honestly think ours was the first civilization to ever exist? That no one was here before us? They were the original rulers of Earth. They've been dead for hundreds of millions of years, long before even the dinosaurs came along. But their spirits are still here. They always have been. Invisible to us. Watching us. There is no afterlife, you see. No heaven, no hell. When you die, your spirit is just stuck here, forever. The Forgotten Ones saw the human race evolve. They saw our civilization rise. And they hate us. They've always hated us. They see us as intruders. Invaders. Thieves who took the world that was once theirs for ourselves." "I see," the doctor interjected patronizingly. "Yeah, sure you do," the man muttered cynically. "What do these Forgotten Ones look like, Michael?" "You don't want to know," the man replied in a strained, trembling voice. "They're monstrous. Beyond description. And so full of rage. And envy. And vengeance. I know all this because they tell me." "They communicate to you?" the doctor asked. "Oh yes. All the time. They know I can see them. I can't understand what they're saying when I'm awake. They speak in their own language. But when I'm asleep, they come to me in my dreams. And *then* I can understand. The Forgotten Ones hate us, but they can't harm us. They can't touch us, because they're ghosts and we're alive. We're safe from them....as long as we're alive. But when we die...When our spirits separate from our mortal bodies and we cross over into their realm...then it's payback time." There was a long pause. The doctor said nothing to break the silence. The man resumed. "Whoever came up with the notion of hell, of demons, of tortured souls in eternal damnation, maybe they caught a glimpse of what the Forgotten Ones do to the spirits of the dead." That was where the recording ended. The audio cut off and the hissing silence resumed. I listened for a couple more minutes but there was nothing else. Then I turned off the recorder, ejected the cassette tape and just sat staring at it for a long time, disturbed by what I had just listened to. Out of curiosity I entered 'Michael S. Bennet' and the name of the mental hospital into Google and did a search. I found an obituary in a local newspaper for a Michael Samuel Bennet. He had died on November 11, 1994 at the age of 31, but the obit didn't say how. I did a bit more digging and found a newspaper article about his death. He had died alone in his apartment of liver failure after a long struggle with alcohol addiction. There was a picture of a man with a gaunt face and dark, haunted eyes. I couldn't find anything to suggest that he had had a history of mental health issues or had ever been a patient of the institution. Maybe his family had wanted to keep that out of the paper. Or maybe the hospital records had been kept confidential. Maybe it wasn't even the same guy. The things that guy said on the tape still creep me out. He sounded so convinced, so sincere about the things he claimed to be able to see... I tell myself I'm making a big deal out of nothing, that what I had heard had been nothing but the rambling, paranoid delusions of an extremely disturbed mental patient, and that's all it is, right? That's all it *can* be... Right?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm a ghost. I've been trying to outwit a ghost hunter for three months. All ideas welcome. [RESPONSE] I’m using my ghost-hunter friend’s computer while he’s sleeping, so hopefully he can’t figure out what I’m doing. If you are reading this, though **(Dennis’ Note: I am)**, make sure your cat doesn’t mess with the salt lines around your computer. You’re slipping **(Dennis’ Note: Just because you put tuna near the salt lines so he’d walk through it doesn’t mean I’m slipping).** I’ll introduce myself first, then explain why I’m here. My name is Chase Knight. I was born in no-where, Kentucky, and have frequented this subreddit for a few years, though I haven’t posted anything before now. I was never the creative one in my friend group. Growing up my dad was a baseball fanatic, so the first thing I learned once I could walk was how to swing a small foam bat. My mom has never let him forget that, though I think she feels they’re even after all of the bruises I gave my dad when I learned how to hit real balls. I never approached writing projects in school with disdain, but I never felt the spark that my creative friends did; that irresistible urge to start drawing, writing, *doing*, your thoughts transforming into the mind of someone else or into strings of shapes and colors begging to be woven together (**Dennis’ Note: One of your creative friends write them big fancy words for you?)**. Given the circumstances though, I think anyone would want to get their thoughts down. I don’t have any time to waste. Writing is one of the only ways I can reassure myself that I exist now, and I want my last words to be read by more than this codger. I would like to think that someone smarter than me would have seen the signs about our tenth grade field trip to Washington D.C. and refused to go. However, I didn’t realize anything was wrong until our bus sputtered to a halt in the middle of nowhere. My head rapped against the already uncomfortable window, and I groaned as I woke. The world was still pitch black outside, though my eyes had adjusted to the darkness since I’d slept. Phones glowed like tiny stars from some of the other seats, illuminating the faces of my classmates so they looked like holograms. Next to me Travis, my friend since I’d given him a pushing start on the swings in first grade, glanced over at me stirring. He had never been able to sleep in the car, and had huge bags under his brown eyes. I’m not sure if he was too sleep deprived to speak clearly or if I was still in a haze from waking, but I found myself mutely returning his dull stare as he tried to explain what was going on until I winced at the sting of cold air against my cheek. Looking around, I saw my classmates standing at their seats and reluctantly being ushered into the chilly air and was compelled to do the same. I found myself pleasantly surprised to see a girl with a brunette pixie-cut standing at the seat diagonal from mine. “Oh, hey Gabbie.” The brunette glanced over her shoulder before turning with a smile. “Hey, Chase. I knew it was you snoring behind me, even if I couldn’t see you.” She chuckled. “You still sound like that ancient tuba from Mrs. Farris’ band class.” I rolled my eyes good-humoredly. “You only remember that because it was the only year you were in the band. I bet you still have that rented saxophone.” “Like my parents would want that thing anyway near me!” Gabbie squealed, only to be shushed by one of the chaperones. I lowered my voice. “So what happened? Rest stop?” Gabbie shook her head as she stepped into the bus aisle. “No. I think we got a flat tire.” “I could drive better than this idiot,” Travis grumbled as he followed her, a throw-blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders. I made a noncommittal grunt of agreement, then followed my friends outside. The cold air was no less oppressive out in the open, a sharp breeze rustling the corn stalks surrounding us on either side of the road. Mist settled around my feet, and large tendrils rose to the sky from patches in the field where corn had already died, looking like a dozen smoldering fires. “I wish those were all real fires,” I muttered as I joined Travis at the edge of the group of students, shuffling from foot to foot to stay warm. “I’m freezing.” “No shit,” Travis replied with feeling. “You think they got a spare tire?” I shrugged my shoulders doubtfully, searching for one of the chaperones to ask, when I heard a low snarling from the cornfield beside me. In an instant, the roadside erupted in chaos. Five dogs three times the size of any canine I’d ever seen pounded out of the field near the front of the bus. As one they turned towards the group of students and advanced, none of them losing stride as their slathering jowls drew back. They fell onto the bus driver first, and out of the corner of my eyes I saw Travis’ face twist in regret at his previous words. “Come on-'' he rapsed in horror, grabbing my wrist and yanking me around the back of the bus. The motion was enough for my mind to register the faces of my classmates who were still stricken with fear. “Alex! Derrick! Move your asses!” I bellowed, and was relieved to see the two join the crowd of students stampeding for the bus door. The pack made quick work of the bus driver. I could hear a frenzy of wild barking as they fought over the pieces, then their paws scrabbling intently against the asphalt. My classmates were still slowly funneling onto the bus in a manic whirlwind of pushing and shoving, so I turned and started beating against the nearest window with a baseball I had forgotten to take out of my hoodie. My ears rang as I watched the beasts make their way along the windows on the other side of the bus, then disappear. The flow of my classmates abruptly stopped, and I didn’t have to look to know that one of the students had closed the bus door and was refusing to let anyone else inside to save themselves. The remaining students scattered into the cornfields as the dogs fell on us. Travis had let go of me as we wrestled through the crowd, and I prayed he’d made it on the bus. I saw a glimpse of Gabbie as she trampled through the cornstalks and bolted after her, tuning out the screams of my dying classmates. I don’t remember what happened after that. Since then I’ve been wandering as a spirit, at first trying to find my classmates, then desperately searching for anyone who could sense my presence. Unfortunately for me, that person is unquestionably the oldest, most spiteful asshole I’ve ever met **(Dennis’ Note: Hilarious. I’m a peach)**. The first time my voice came across Dennis Thompson’s three dollar ghost listening device, he turned it off. When I flicked the switch back to the on position and tried again, he pressed a wrinkled finger into the switch to keep it in the off position. My laughter nearly burst the speakers after I blew air at his nose and managed to get the listening device back on as he sneezed. By the fifth round of our battle of wills, he went to start digging through a drawer filled with tools. I impulsively grabbed the device and did my best impression of Darth Vader while bobbing the flimsy plastic up and down. “This is your father speaking. Do as I say and-” I was cut off as the old man sprayed me with a squirt bottle. The spray was the first sensation I’d felt since I’d died, and I was too shocked to retaliate. I remained stupefied as my figure began to glow a soft blue color, and I distinguished the faded band shirt I’d had on when I died, though enormous gashes were torn across both it and my jeans “What was that?” I sputtered, my voice still warbling out of the listening device’s speaker. “Why can I see myself now? And how can this dumb thing hear me?” The old man frowned. “I made that device myself, you ungrateful rootworm. You’re lucky I’ve been wantin’ to find spirits around here. Now, who the hell are you?” I quickly told the man my name, and he ungraciously introduced himself as Dennis. Looking at him again, he didn’t seem as frail as I’d thought earlier; he had the broad shoulders of someone who’d been professionally trained, though he wheezed somewhat when he inhaled. A naive flicker of hope pushed me to speak again. “Dennis, I need your help. There’s a pack of dogs- or not dogs but hellhounds, not far from here. They… they killed me and my friends, and they’re going to hurt others. You hunt monsters, right?” The old man hadn’t seemed to be listening, but at that question he choked out a laugh. “No boy I don’t. I’ve seen a great deal of spirits but haven’t found a one that’ll stay long enough to even share hellos. I a’int able to stop no hellhounds.” He turned and gestured for me to follow him through a dingy yellow kitchen, then into what I at first thought was a coat closet but was actually a basement. Down the stairs were wooden shelves filled with gadgets that looked the same as the communicator: toys originally meant for children that he had somehow transformed into ghost hunting equipment. “I think maybe you and I can come to an arrangement, kid.” Dennis said in between explanations of what each contraption did. “Since no spirit ever stayed long enough to test out my equipment, I don’t know if half of it works. You try them out for me and find a way to get around it, I’ll help ya with your dog problem. I’m a retired sheriff’s deputy for this county, and I reckon I get the entire police force here within an hour if I ask.” I was dumbfounded by this change in attitude, though I realized I shouldn’t have been. He still wasn’t the rugged monster hunter I’d envisioned, but he didn’t seem the type to turn down a fight. “You’re on, old man. How hard can it be to get around this garbage?” Very hard. So far I’ve been warded off by ancient glyphs made from crushed up dandelion flowers kept inside a tin can, trapped possessing a toaster for three days after I fed Dennis’ freshly caught fish dinner to his cat, and stopped from smashing any of his creations with a viscous mixture I’m fairly certain he concocted with mouthwash. He’s even made himself glasses so he could always see me with chicken wire and glass yogurt jars. I haven’t been taking any of it seriously until last week. I was pouring vegetable oil on a tarp I’d found in Dennis’ barn to send him sliding into his old outhouse when the bottle fell through my hand. Annoyed, I tried to pick it back up, only for my hand to phase right through the bottle. Panic began worming its way through my brain. Despite being invisible as a spirit, I’d always been able to pick things up and move them around. I immediately thrust my hand towards the bottle again, then tried once more before frantically waving my hand around inside the container to no avail. I wasn’t able to touch anything for three days. Dennis wasn’t able to hear or see me either, though he only berated me for screwing with him once my voice hissed across his speaker. I was too scared to explain. I had felt untouchable since I’d died, the answer to life’s biggest mystery solved. But the longer and more frequently I disappeared, the more certain I became that something was reaching for me, determined to pull me into the unknown abyss for a second time. That’s why I need your help. If I don’t act soon, I won’t be able to get justice for my friends. So I need all of your best ideas on how to outwit Dennis. The more I can humiliate him in the process, the better. Thanks in advance. **(Dennis’ Note: I never knew the boy wasn’t just disappearing to make himself a nuisance. I wanna help‘im, but I don’t think he’d even want my pity if I gave in without a fight. I won’t be looking at the comments. I hope y’all are as sharp as he says, for his sake.)**<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I Threw A Halloween Party and a Psychopath Showed Up [RESPONSE] I was in my teens and living in my small hometown. My parents left town for the weekend, conveniently on Halloween weekend.  I was a nerdy, awkward, anxious kid, and hosting a party was the perfect way for me to get some social momentum. I had a big house, outside of town, so there were no neighbors to call the police.  Word spread around school. I knew my plan was successful when Casey, the girl who I had been failing to talk to for years now, stopped me in the hallway at school and confirmed she would be invited to the party? I celebrated silently as I confirmed that of course she was.  Halloween came quickly and I readied the house. My friend Riley was the first person to show up. He alerted me of the first thing that was off that night.  “I tried calling you like five times and the phone was always busy,” Riley explained. I stopped what I was doing. I hadn’t been at the house all day. I had actually just walked in from being at the grocery store.  I checked the phone. It was on the hook. Keep in-mind this was the late-90s. I didn’t have a cell phone and neither did almost anyone I knew. We just had the landline.  *Who had been on the phone?*  I remembered if you dialed \*65 your phone and got the last number which had been called from the phone.  *It was 911.*  I shook it off. My drifty older sister, Marin, may have come from college for the weekend and had been home while I was out and dialed 911?  I didn’t have time to dwell on it. Casey showed up - dressed as Carrie - prom dress, tiara, covered in blood. She looked fantastic.  Things started smoothly. I caught a very comfortable buzz. As did Casey. A good chunk of people showed up. They seemed excited to see me when usually they would just walk right past me without acknowledging me. My generic vampire costume seemed to do well enough.  The only thing that was possibly off was two people - one tall, one short, dressed in generic skeleton costumes. The two never seemed to talk to anyone and any time I walked by them they seemed to stare at me. I didn’t pay them too much mind though. I was more focused on Casey.  People started to leave around 2. Casey stayed though, even though her friends who she came with left. This was a great sign.  However, it was interrupted by flashing lights beaming outside on the road. Oh shit.  I rushed to the window. Horrified of getting busted by the cops and thinking about the 911 call someone placed from the house earlier.  I let out some breath when I saw the lights go past my house and heard one of the more intense party bros next to me click his tongue.  “Fucking asshole. It was one of those fake cop cars,” the party bro lamented. Still, the cop scare seemed to chase another big group of people out. Leaving just a handful.  \- I posted up on the couch, conveniently leaving the seat next to me open. I shot some eye contact with Casey across the room.  She came down and sat next to me. We launched into an embarrassing, too drunk, 17-year-old conversation which led to us making out on the couch.  *Which led to us eventually slipping off to my bedroom.*  Casey and I had drunken sex and fell asleep together in my bed. I had no idea what time or how long we had sex. It was one of those magical drunken exchanges where time drifts out the window.  I woke up alone in bed. I could see a light coming from the bottom of the bathroom door though. I assumed Casey was in there.  I had to pee. I threw some clothes on and ventured out into the living room.  I was surprised to see no one sleeping out there. There were at least 10 people who seemed like they were going to crash in the house and it still seemed to be the middle of the night.  Whatever…I went to pee in the living room bathroom and encountered my first oddity.  I felt something outside the little window in the bathroom as I was relieving myself. I shot my eyes over there and saw a shadow move outside of the pebbled glass as soon as I did.  I never saw who or what it was. Just that they were there.  Then I heard the music in the living room start blasting - definitely as high of a volume as the family stereo could muster.  I walked into the living room and turned off the stereo. Still didn’t see anyone in the room.  The next red flag was in the pool. I checked the backyard when I walked through the living room and back to my bedroom and couldn’t help but notice a red tint in the water.  The sight drew me out into the backyard where I quickly saw the redness in the pool appeared to be blood. My body went cold and not just because of the Fall night air outside and me only wearing my underwear and a t-shirt.  That eerie sight was quickly overwhelmed by the sight of Casey, squatting in the back corner of the yard, still in her bloody Carrie costume, shivering, scared and looking at something right behind me.  I was about to say something to her but she got words out first - whispering… *“He’s right behind you.”* I whipped around and saw someone in one of those generic skeleton costumes run away from behind me and go back into my house.  I rushed up to Casey and discovered something horrible. The blood on her was no longer just from her Carrie costume - she was bleeding out of her arms and somewhere in her torso.  “What happened?” I blurted out. “He’s lost his mind,” she whispered back.  “Who?” “My ex.” “In the skeleton costume?” I asked.  Casey didn’t answer. We were answered by the sound of an engine firing on the other side of the house. My mind told me her ex in the skeleton costume had run off and was driving away.  “He stabbed me,” Casey explained in pain.  I had to call 911 immediately. I wasn’t encouraged about the skeleton guy running into the house but I was also pretty sure that was his car driving off. I walked into the living room and was quickly greeted by the phone ringing. The sound froze me in the middle of the room.  I answered the phone and put it to my ear. There was no answer on the line. Just breathing.  Then the other line hung up.  Going back to the time period, I used a trick. I dialed \*69 to figure out which number had just called me.  A phone rang in the adjacent dining room.  I looked to the dining room and saw the person in the skeleton costume standing there, knife in hand, moving into the living room - they must have called from a cell phone on them.  I looked to Casey behind me. We were fucked. If skeleton took a run at us, there was no way we were going to get out the back.  Yet, I started to back up. Figured it was our only shot. Get out that door. I watched skeleton tense up and then charge at us.  Just as he did…a voice shot across the room… “What the fuck!?!?” My sister Marin’s angry voice shot across the room. I saw her in the doorway, her mouth open as she looked at skeleton, halfway across the room, with his knife, racing at us.  Marin screamed and reached into her purse. Her move was enough to reroute Skeleton. He now ran for the door.  He got out before anyone could take a breath.  \- We called the cops and Marin told them about her ex boyfriend. His name was Shawn and he lived a few towns away. That’s all I got. Her wounds weren’t serious. She didn’t even need to go to the hospital. Just bandages.  Casey and I started dating even though it never felt right. *I mean, how are you supposed to work with that night as your foundation?* Shawn had an alibi for the night. He worked at a gas station or something and he was on camera while this was supposed to be happening. I didn’t push on it. I didn’t want my parents to find out I had a party.  Casey and I didn’t last long and she moved away. I had mostly forgotten about her within a few years.  Every once in a while I would think about her and how there were some peculiar things about that night, including how light her injuries were, and her reluctance at first to call the police. *Was there more to what went on?*  Years later, once Facebook took off, I kept searching for her but could never find her and she had a super unique last name, so I should have been able to.  I eventually got an idea. I remembered Shawn’s last name. I searched for her with that name.  *I found her.*  She appeared to be married to Shawn. She appeared to live in the town where he lived at the time.  I made a mistake while stalking her - accidentally liking a photo.  I thought nothing of it until the next Halloween.  It was well past midnight and I was getting ready for bed. I still lived in my hometown where all of this happened.  My doorbell rang. I opened the door and was greeted by two people in generic skeleton costumes.  Both were too tall to be kids and it was far too late for kids to be trick or treating. They had no bags or baskets to hold candy.  They just looked at me as I stood there in the open door.  I quickly closed the door on them and locked it.  I could see them through the window still standing there for a little while before they walked off.  I moved away shortly after and I leave town every Halloween. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] THE DARK HUNT Part4 [RESPONSE] Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 This is not going to be easy to write. The horrifying truth that I had discovered had kept me awake for these past few days. Where to begin. Probably from right after I left the creature that had taken the guise of a one detective Daren, currently most definitely dead in that forest. I saw a dozen policemen converging onto my location. All with red glowing eyes. I even saw the two men I bear maced in front of my cabin to get away from, their eyes glowing red under the shadow that was casting upon their faces. It was then too clear to even doubt it. The creatures have become more precise and accurate in their mimicking of their victims. They can talk and act like humans and even maintain their disguise over a long period of time. Is it just this particular pack of creatures or is it a natural state of maturing for them that I haven’t seen? Honestly, I don’t know, and I don’t care. One thing I do know is that I must kill them. Kill them all to find that one Alpha that was responsible for what happened to my Sarah. The alpha with the bluish green silver eyes. My target zero. I ran for hours through those woods, hiding and erasing my trail and scent as I went along. I could feel that they were still looking for me. Their stench filled the air and I could sense them scouring the woods. But by now they would have figured out that the dark woods are no longer a hiding place for them anymore. I got to get away from here, even further than before. And I had just the right place in mind. An old, abandoned mining ghost town not too far from the town I am currently operating from. I’ll be isolated but so will they. I’ll lure them there and wipe them out. I headed back to town before the local ‘police’ starts flashing around my facial sketch to alert the town folk. Don’t need to get any of them involved. I got around to Jacob’s gun shop for my last order. Jacob looked concerned. I mean if I saw myself in that state, blood stains and tattered clothes. Not to mention the overall state I was in after running through miles of forest prior to getting there. “Are you ah…. Alright there Jack?” Jacob tried to look and talk casually as he put in obvious effort to make a straight face. But still the worry and concern seeped out through his efforts. I also replied casually. “Yeah, tough hunt. I need some supplies Jacob. I need a lot.” “What happened? Did you meet a bear or something?” “Yeah, something.” Jacob’s look of concern thickened at that reply. He took my request and went behind the store without a word. It took him sometime. When he came back, he had a huge bag in his hands. “I don’t know what you’re into Jack, but you be careful. I don’t have to tell you that some of these supplies are more than dangerous. You have enough fire power here to go to war.” “Thanks Jacob.” I paid Jacob with the cash I had. He insisted I take a few supplies on the house. I thought I was not making any progress with the town folk, but I guess I was wrong. About Jacob at least. I thanked him and was about to exit the shop when Jacob threw a few words at me. “If anybody comes asking about you. I’ll tell them what I know. Maybe it’ll buy you some time.” “Thank you. Farewell Jacob.” Sly old man. I guess I let on a little too much. I can see his slight grin reflecting on the door glass as I exit. If they come looking for me here they’ll be directed to my now abandoned base of operations in the woods. It’ll give me time to set things up over at the ghost town. It took me half day's walk to get to the ghost town. Nice and secluded. I started to get to work, no time to rest. Jacob packed me some extra supplies. Sly old man. I figured setting up traps was the only obvious plan to achieve what I wanted. Punji stick traps seemed to be effective as they gallop on all fours. I have enough ammo to fight against a whole company. I’ve made enough Molotov Cocktails to slow them down. All I needed to do was wait. 2 nights went by and nothing showed up. I hadn’t slept a wink until then. I was on high alert. But on the 3rd night, the stress and tired body got the best of me and I dozed off. Stupid mistake. I woke up in the dark to noises outside. Bristling of trees and a weird sensation that crept up my spine. Something was amiss. It wasn’t right and there was an eerie silence enveloping the whole area. There was no moon out tonight and the whole ghost town was flooded with a thick paint of darkness. I did’t like it. There was a full moon that tonight… at least that was the prediction. But I didn’t anticipate the cloudy night sky that had covered the area, even blocking what little light the moon and stars could offer. Everything was perfect for them. This was there chance I guess, the perfect environment to make the move. I was holding up on the second floor of an abandoned house that was located further in from the main road that led into the Ghost town. I waited in silence, with as little movement as possible. Maybe 30minutes had gone by and I was getting uncomfortable of the stalemate situation. But then I heard it. A boom and a screech. Bright lights poured in from outside and I peered out through the window. Down along the main road that came towards the town center, was a great burst of fire, burning bright red. Inside it was a few creatures screaming and wailing in pain as I see others scamper into nearby shadows and buildings. “Gotcha.” They triggered my Molotov cocktail combined trap. I picked up my rifle and aimed out the window. There was a slight breeze that made the burning fire flicker. One deep breath into the chest. Slowly letting the air out. I stop as I catch a creature slowly making its way out a shadow. Holding my breath I aim and fired. This time I had a suppressor to dim the noise. The first shot hits the creature in the head and kills it. I look around while breathing slowly and lightly. Its not like them to hide like this and scope the area. They are more intelligent and careful than any of the other creatures I’ve fought. I was sure now that these are the creatures that were posing as law enforcement. No sign of their alpha. My target zero. Just had to lure it out. Just then I saw a few more creatures approaching the the house I was in. Guess they made me. I fired a few rounds at the creatures and managed to get a couple. But more creatures joined the charge. I started firing without time to aim with precision. My hail of bullets managed to take a couple more down, but it seemed meaningless then. I put down the rifle and picked up the shotgun. I exit the room I was in and leaned against the wall next to the staircase that led down and straight up to the front door. I peered out the side and down the stairs. I can hear them approach the front of the house. Then, with a loud noise I hear window glasses being broken. They’ve broken through the front windows. But just as soon as I hear then break through it is followed by a loud boom and screams of the creatures being burned to a crisp by my booby traps. Then I saw the creatures approach the front door. Lured more like. They actually opened the door by turning the doorknob and entered the house with clear signs of caution. Something new every time. I waited while listening to the creatures rummage around the first floor. Then I hear heavy steps coming up the stairs. The fire from downstairs had emitted enough light to cast a shadow on the wall following the staircase up. I was counting on it. As the shadow of the creature reached the top of the stairs I dash forward and shot my shot gun down the staircase. The Pellets disbursed and tore through the creature in front of me and hits the creatures following it up behind. Hitting them on the chest is not as effective due to their hard rib cage casing the upper torso. The most effective hot spot is the head. Multiple creatures crumble down along the staircase as their heads are shredded by the shotgun pellets. More creatures appear at the bottom of the stairs and I had already reloaded my double barrel shotgun. They have already learned from assessing the situation and are waiting for me to come down to them. I hear scratching noises coming from outside the second floor window. I’m surrounded. The only way out is down the stairs and out the front door. Its funny but it feels like they’re luring me out towards the front door. Bastards. I blast my shotgun down the stairs, hitting the one creature waiting at the bottom. It didn’t kill it. I hear it scream in pain as I turn around and quickly make it towards the window of an adjacent room. I look out and see a couple of creatures clawing their way up. Reloading my shotgun. I kick out the old rusty windows and jump out and land on the first floor roof top. I hear the roof creak in stress as the old worn-down building struggles to support my weight. I dash across to the creatures that had just made it halfway up the roof top and blast my shotgun in their faces. I dash towards the ledge of the first floor roof as I reload the shotgun one last time. I reach the edge of the roof and jump off to a stack of old mattresses I had gathered earlier. As I do so I see a more creatures galloping towards me from another direction. I wait until they are in effective range of my shotgun and I waist no time to drop them both. The creatures seem more aggressive now and feels more like all the other ones I fought and killed before. They’ve lost their cool I guess and now just rushing at me like a pack of wild dogs. Good for me. Them mimicking human intelligence was a nuisance. I sling my shotgun across my back and pull out my primary weapons. My axe and blade. I see them start to mass just outside the, now burning, house I was just in. The flames blazed the air and scorched the ground near it as I slowly sidewalk to a nearby church building. The creatures’ eyes flow my move. Those red glowing eyes now more intense than I’ve ever seen them before. I can feel their anger, their rage. Just what I was looking to do. Get rid of their reasoning and return them to the savage mindless animals they are. I stood at the steps of the church building and looked towards the massed creatures now all glaring at me. The burning house creating a curtain of flames behind them. Their glowing eyes full of primal rage that seemed to intensify by the minute. There we were. Maybe a hundred meters distance between us. My grip on my axe and blade tightened as I got ready for the charge. Then as the second floor of the burning building came crashing down to the ground the massed creatures started to charge towards me. Galloping on all fours, they came at me like the wind. I stood still but ready to swing my weapons in full action. But I waited. As the swarm of creatures came galloping towards me the ones at the head of the charge suddenly fell to the ground screaming as their feet plunged deep into a field of punji stick traps. The creatures that followed behind galloped right over the ones maimed by the traps and landed into the second batch of punji stick traps as I lunged myself at the maimed beasts crying out in agony. Swinging my axe and blade I started to cut through the mass of creatures. Dismembering limbs and heads. Cutting into the heart with my blade. I just let myself go as if there was no turning back. I hacked away letting the primal instinct kick in and for that moment until I came to my senses again, I was like one of them. Screaming and tearing through pale flesh. Until I heard that faint cry. “P…please… stop…” As I came to my senses it felt as if my consciousness turned off and came back on again, like some kind of a damn reboot. I looked around and came face to face with a bloodied person. Naked and frightened he looked up at me and pleaded me to stop. His left arm and both legs were gone and he was bleeding out. If it wasn’t for the many dead pale skinned creatures already on the floor I would have fell for it. I knelt in. “You want me to stop?” “Y… yes … stop… please…” “Tell me where your alpha is. The Silver eyed one. The one with the bluish and green silver eyes. Tell me where he is and I’ll give you a clean death.” The creature in disguise as a man closed its eyes. It was thinking. Now there was a sight I thought I’d never seen. A creature that was weighing its options. Like a damn human. It was maybe a few seconds and he… I mean it… opened its eyes. “H.. He… is at the station….” “It! Will die by my hands.” I insisted, putting extra weight on the word ‘it’. With that I raised my axe to put it out of its misery. Just then I saw it shut its eyes as if preparing for its own death like a damn human being. My moment of hesitation was short lived and I hacked its head clean off its neck as it started to turn pale and rot. These ones, they’re dangerous. They’ll get to you mentally as you slowly start to think if they were actually human and that you were delusional. But there were too many evidence and too much to point out that they were what they were. Some damn creatures from the pits of hell. I pulled all the dead creatures to one side and set the pile on fire. I reminded myself to dig out some of those silver bone fragments from some of them. These will come in handy later. I went into another house at the end of the main road that led into this ghost town and found my remaining supplies. Reloading my shotgun, I start mapping out my way to the police station. Time to end it. That night I ventured back to town. After seeing the mass of creatures that had come for me, something told me that it wouldn’t be easy getting to the police station. I needed more supplies. I arrived at Jacob’s gun shop just as the sun started to come up. But, when I got there I could see that something was wrong. It was a small quiet town but it was too quiet. I saw the door of the shop wide open, and glasses shattered. I hurriedly approached the shop, but was vigilant about the surrounding. When I entered the shop I could see that it was trashed. Clear signs of bullet holes on the walls and blood on the floor. Looking around I saw a blood trail leading to the storage room behind the counter. I approach the door, my axe in hand, and slowly turn the handle. Locked. With a deep breath I kicked open the door and charged in. I saw Jacob on the floor leaned against the wall with a shotgun in his hands. He was bleeding bad but still breathing. “Jacob…” “J… Jack… is that you?” “What happened Jacob?” “T…the police… they came asking.. about you.” Shit, I knew it. Why did they attack Jacob? How did they know that he was the one to go after? What did Jacob know about me that had them so determined to show their true colours? “T… they weren’t human Jack! T… they were..” “Stop talking Jacob. I’ve got to take care of the wound.” “Ja…Jack… be careful … Jack… be…” “Jacob?” Damn… why did they attack Jacob and why did they not finish him? It wasn’t has if he barricaded himself behind steel doors. What prompted them to leave… I don’t’ know. I should gave Jacob a burial and stocked up. I got out and came here to my base of operation. Wifi connection came through so I'm leaving this post as a record of what had transpired here. Finally, I've recovered enough to make my move. Looks like tonight’s going to be one hell of a night. I'm going to head over to that police station and get me some answers. Find that damn alpha and rip its head off... So, I’ll post an update … if I survive<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Cotton Candy Scalp [RESPONSE] Fifteen years ago, a boy by the name of Preston suffocated in the ball pit at our local indoor playground center for kids. I know this because a sign remains on the outside of the entrance part of the netting. *Do not sit on others in the ball pit.* *All faces must stay visible at all times.* Preston had cancer during the time of his death, and the school bullies were notorious for calling him, “Cotton Candy Scalp.” With his hair loss, the worst of the bullies made fun of him by referring to him as that sugary treat. They would often yank his hair out. Whether his death was intentional or accidental is a mystery, but Preston was found buried deep in the ball pit as others around him played. Preston’s death was a big story in our town, but when I was a child myself, I didn’t quite grasp the significance of it. I just wanted to have fun myself. Just a kid being a kid. But when Mom dropped me off at the ball pit while she went out for a smoke, I had a collision course with Dean, the one kid my age who hated me, picked on me whenever the coast was clear. Since I was scrawny and flimsy looking, Dean insulted me by saying, “Cooper, this ball is bigger than your head. All of them are.” Now, this playground was the kind of place that did not have parent supervision. All the parents chatted outside with their cigarettes and sodas, so unfortunately, it was just Dean and me all alone for the ten minutes of chaos. I remember the ball pit rumbling, coming to life. “Cut it out, Cooper,” Dean shouted. “I’m not doing anything,” I responded, as I noticed a hand emerge from behind Dean. I fell back in shock and watched the hand reach for Dean. Dean felt something touch his back and turned, “What the—” Another hand surfaced, followed by what looked like the top of a young kid’s head, the face still hidden. Before Dean could cry out for help, the two hands latched on to Dean’s face and tugged him down. Imagine whisking your morning eggs but doing that to someone’s scalp. The two hands dug into Dean’s scalp and twisted and turned and pulled flesh, discarding it like it was cotton candy. Blood poured down Dean’s head like a freshly colored snow cone. Dean’s body flailed and sunk into the depths of the ball pit. I went to retrieve his body and pull him out, but only two, sad eyes looked up at me. Preston’s eyes. And atop Preston’s head, a compressed mishmash of Dean’s blood and guts. Preston smirked at me and then vanished, while I wet myself and shook frantically. I just sat there, teary-eyed, trying to wrap my mind around the display of horror. When I got the courage to move again, I rushed outside and grabbed Mom’s hand, pleading with her to come look inside for Dean. But they never found Dean’s body. The ball pit was empty. No blood. Nothing. I told the parents what I saw happen to Dean, but they did what adults often do: didn’t believe in me. Instead, a missing person’s case was filed for Dean. Posters littered the town, but to this day, Dean remains missing.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] When I was a kid, I found a treehouse that created another version of me [RESPONSE] My best friend, Louis, and I were out biking our usual paths through the woods like we did every Saturday of the summer. But this time, there was a new path that forked off from the other. It went into thick woods that we’d never explored because of the density of trees. But then, all of a sudden, there was a new bike trail. Louis and I decided to double back and check it out. The path was clear and wide for the first several hundred meters. But it started narrowing and more and more roots were taking over the trail. Just as we were about to turn back, we saw a clearing ahead. And something large hovering a dozen feet up. As we got closer, it became clear we were looking at a treehouse. A very well put together one at that. It had a wooden, spiral staircase that led up to a wide, octagon shaped structure with cut-out windows. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Louis and I approached it cautiously, figuring there was someone or *someone’s* inside. Louis, who was the braver and more adventurous, called out loudly with a simple, “Hello?” There was no response. No voices or shifts in movement or floorboards creaking. It was empty. Louis was off his bike first and moved closer to the treehouse. I joined him inspecting the impressive structure. But that wasn’t close enough for Louis. And before I knew it, he was halfway up the spiral stairs. And I was following. Inside, there was a wide open space. The walls were covered with shelves filled with books and photographs. There were clothes hanging from hooks and folded in dressers. There were no people though. It was just Louis and I. Louis noticed it first. I saw his eyes go wide as he looked around. The books, photographs and clothes became familiar. I approached one of the walls. I was in all of the photos. The books were the same ones that lined the shelves in my room. As were the clothes hanging from hooks and folded in dressers. On the other side of the treehouse, Louis was staring at his photos, books and clothes. We backed up into each other in the middle of the room. I was the first one to say it was time to leave, but Louis was already making his way to the trap-door down that led to the staircase. Only the trap-door was no longer there. It was on the opposite side of the room. We climbed down the staircase to where we left our bikes. But they were gone. They weren’t on the other side of the tree or tipped over nearby. They’d simply disappeared. Or been taken. This posed a serious problem because of how deep we were in the woods. Not only were we on an unknown path, but the afternoon sun had vanished. We did another look around, unbelieving that someone, somehow, had stolen our bikes while we were in the treehouse for all of two minutes. But that’s what it looked like happened. Still… we couldn’t explain the contents of the treehouse. And at the moment, we weren’t trying to. We started our way back down the trail on foot but it was winding and curving more than on the way in. It took us an hour to get back to the main path. It took us another half hour to get out of the park and back to the entrance. From there, we had to split up as we lived in different directions. We were both already late for dinner and knew our parents were going to be pissed, so we said our goodbyes and took off. It took me another forty five minutes to walk home. And when I finally got there… I saw something that shook me to my core. My bike was chained up in its normal place along the side of our house. I walked up to it and inspected it. The chain was looped through the front wheel and spokes the same way I always did it. I started doubting whether or not I even brought it on the ride. If somehow I’d imagined everything. But as I walked past the dining room window on my way to the front door… I saw something more disturbing than the bike. I saw *me*. I was sitting at the table with my family. Only… it wasn’t me. The version of me at the table looked like I’d been flipped. My hair was split and combed over on the right side as opposed to the left. And I was using my left hand to eat with my fork instead of my right. I watched the mirror version of me eating and interacting with my family. Smiling, laughing, talking. He fit in perfectly. Almost. Then he locked eyes with me. And the smile disappeared. Only for a moment. But in that moment I saw hatred and anger. Then it was gone and he rejoined the conversation. I watched my mirror version stealthily slide his dinner knife into his sleeve as he laughed at one of my dad’s jokes. I had a feeling the knife was for me. I had to get away from there. I rushed over to my bike and unlocked the combo. I was at full speed heading down the street within seconds. Behind me, I heard the front door of my house open and shut. I didn’t turn back. I pedalled faster and ten minutes later, I was pulling up to Louis’. There, just like mine, was Louis’ bike, locked up along the side of his house in the same manner as always. I had a plan to go in and get Louis. He’d know what to do. Louis’ dad answered the door and invited me in. I noticed it immediately. Louis was sitting at the table with his family. Only he was different. The cleft lip he had scarred downward on the right. The Louis sitting at the table had a scar that went left. It was a mirror version of Louis. And no one in his family could tell. Between him and I, you can tell how little attention was paid to us. But we had big families. When Other Louis looked up and saw me, he knew I knew. I saw the same brief flash of hatred and anger take over his face. But it was shoved aside and replaced by a fake smile. I joined them at the table, and Louis’ mom brought me a plate. Outside, I saw movement in the window. It was me. Other Me. He was here. I felt trapped. I had nowhere to go. Then I got an idea. Over the next few minutes, I gradually keeled over more and more and started rubbing my stomach. I asked if Louis’ dad could drive me home. He agreed. Outside as he walked me to the car, I turned and saw Other Me hiding along the siding of the house. Watching. The drive there became increasingly tense as I started to wonder if my family was okay. Who knew what those mirror versions of us would do? But I got home and my family was okay. I kept up with the *pretending to be sick charade* and went upstairs to lay down. From my bedroom window, I watched Other Me outside pacing in the shadows. Soon after, he was joined by Other Louis. I was trying to figure out a plan to make it through the night when something small crashed through my window. It wasn’t very loud and no one came to check on me so I guessed everyone downstairs didn’t hear. I picked up the projectile, which turned out to be a rock, and found it wrapped in paper. There was a message written on the inside of it. *Come out by midnight. Or we come in and kill everyone.* It was 9 o’clock at that point. So I had three hours to figure it out. I went over the arsenal in the house. Which was none. My dad didn’t have a gun. Most of his tools were in the garage that was not attached to the house. I only had close combat weapons. Except… there *was* one thing. Just one. It popped in my mind and stuck. I knew it would work as a weapon or at least a distraction. I formed a plan. I’d come to the realization that Louis was dead, killed by this Other Louis. And my twin was trying to kill me to replace me for whatever purpose. Two things were clear. The first was they wanted me dead. The second was the only way to stop that, was to kill them first. With the idea I had, I waited until quarter to midnight before getting my supplies. With my secret weapon hidden inside one of my larger coats, I grabbed two knives from the kitchen. I planned to use them, but hoped I wouldn’t have to. If I even had it in me to do so. I went to the window and watched the two outside. They’d spent most of the night on opposing sides of the house, but would occasionally join each other on one end and talk. They were in the backyard. So I went to the front door, and took off down the street. I knew it wouldn’t be long before they saw me and started to chase me. But I just needed to get four blocks to the kids park nearby. Which would be the most empty place in the neighbourhood at this time of night. My secret weapon rubbed against my chest, but I kept going. As I passed the halfway point, I turned back to check. They’d seen me. And they were in a full sprint to catch me. I had them beat though. I had just enough of a head start to turn into the park and find my way to the back courtyard. I ran towards the bathroom shelter and went into the boys room. I rushed to the far wall and pressed my back against it. I had the two knives in my jacket pocket, but it wasn’t time for them yet. My left hand moved inside my jacket, holding the handle of the secret weapon. The bathroom door kicked open and the twins burst in. They slowed when they saw me looking like a cornered mouse with nowhere to go. Other Me led the way, pulling the dinner knife from his sleeve. Closely over his shoulder, Other Louis did the same. They moved in on me without a word spoken. My left hand tightened on the handle of my secret weapon, and I lifted my right arm, straightening it and pointing my hand at eye level to the attackers. Taped to the inside of my jacket, was our house’s fire extinguisher. My left handle held the clasp handle, and the hose looped through my sleeve, with the nozzle just exiting out from my cuff. Before the twins could stop, I squeezed the handle and held it down. The stream hit both of them directly in the face, mouth and eyes. I shifted to the side, continuing the spray, but wanting to keep my location moving. They both went down, clutching at their faces and screaming. But the screams didn’t sound like they came from human vocal cords. They were croaky and shrill at the same time. I wanted to move in on them with the knives I’d brought, but the fire extinguisher had done more than temporarily impair them. The fire extinguisher sputtered out, empty. The smoke that filled the bathroom began to settle. The twins were twitching, spasming out. Green foam was pouring from their mouths. It just kept coming. Their limbs started to stiffen. Then they started changing. Their skin was peeling away and the inside looked like bark. Strange roots and brambles sprouted up from underneath. The human form they once had disappeared as they transformed into something unrecognizable. A frightening and warped series of noughts and rotten bark covering lengths of branch. That was what they were underneath it all. I left them as they were. Whoever found that mass of impossible growths in that park bathroom wouldn’t be able to tell what they were or used to be. Hopefully they ended up in a green bin. I never heard more about it. Of course, Louis went “missing.” And I knew he’d never be found. That was heartbreaking to deal with, watching his family search for him. I never even knew what happened to his body. Eventually I grew up. But I never forgot. Which is why I bring this all up now… My son and his best friends go on long bike trips through the woods. And when my son returned home this evening, the crooked central incisor on the left side of his upper jaw… was now on the right.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm a Marine Stationed at Camp Pendleton. I Met a Skinwalker in the Dirt Fields... [RESPONSE] Being assigned to Camp Pendleton was a dream come true. Located in Oceanside in Northern San Diego, it’s one of the biggest Marine Corps bases in the US. There’s a ton of stuff to do nearby, whether it’s going to the beach to surf, swim, or go for drinks at the pier. The people around here are mellow, and there’s a surfer sort of vibe to the neighborhood I moved into. Everything was going great for me the first few weeks while I was here. But I noticed that despite the laidback attitude of the surrounding area where I lived, my work-life was rigid and inflexible, my commanding officer gruff and no-nonsense. I began to realize this place was not going to be a cakewalk. Then, one cool night, I woke up disoriented and far from my bed. Looking around, I saw there was nothing nearby. Not another person for miles. Just flat, dirt ground with hills in the distance, and the black sky full of stars and a full moon above. I must have been sleepwalking, I thought to myself, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I had been marching in my dreams while remembering my days of basic training. And I had somehow ended up in the middle of the dirt field. I looked around in every direction and finally saw lights in the distance behind me. At least I had an idea which way to go now. Turning around, I started to walk back towards the base, my legs wobbly from the long walk while asleep. It felt surreal to be out there in the middle of the night, and I didn’t understand how it could have happened. I had been caught sleepwalking once or twice before, but I'd never gone anywhere near to this far. Part of me wondered with a paranoid fear, just how often this happened without me realizing it. I walked for a few minutes alone, feeling an increasingly strange sensation like a tingling on the back of my neck. After a while, I began to suspect it was that outdated lizard-brain notion that someone was following me. A remnant from some bygone era when humans actually had to worry about being stalked in the night… Just as I had that thought, someone cleared their throat in the darkness behind me. A chill ran up my spine and my flesh broke out in goose pimples as he spoke, his voice deep, gruff, and commanding. “What are you doing all the way out here so late at night?” he asked. He stepped closer and in the moonlight I could see him more clearly. My voice caught in my throat as I looked at his eyes and saw they were yellow, like a cat or a wolf or a snake maybe. “Haven’t you been told to stay in your bunk at this hour?” His tone was predatory and overwhelmingly creepy, but his demeanor was otherwise friendly. The part of my brain telling me to run was suddenly being hushed into submission by an unfamiliar voice which told me this was fine, and not to worry about a thing. Look at his uniform, the voice said. And sure enough I looked down to see he was wearing a Marine Corps uniform, with the insignia indicating he was an officer. You wouldn’t want to disrespect a superior officer, would you? The voice asked. “Sorry, sir. I must have been sleepwalking. I’m just heading back towards the base. I can make it home from there.” He showed his teeth in a grin and told me he’d walk with me for a stretch. “We must be distant relatives from somewhere down the line,” he said as we walked. “Both of us out here walking in the middle of the night. I wish I could chalk my trip up to somnambulism - but I’m just a run of the mill insomniac. I can never get back to sleep once I’m up. I usually just go out for a long hike - it reminds me of the old days when I was deployed, I guess. Going for long marches that started before sunrise and didn't end until long past noon.” The more time that went by, the more guilty I felt for having almost run from the man. He was just an ordinary guy. And the conversation became easier as we built up a rapport and I told him about my life and my background, and where I was from. When I looked back at his face, I was shocked by what I saw. Maybe there really was a family connection between the two of us. In the increasing light from the base as we drew closer to it, I saw there was a striking resemblance between us. He didn’t look like that when you first saw him, that suspicious voice in my mind said uneasily. His eyes were yellow, remember? And now look at them, they’re brown. But it was quickly drowned out by that other, louder voice which spoke up and said all of this was okay too. It was just dark out in the dirt field, and I hadn’t gotten a clear look at his face until now. “Tell me more about your parents,” he said. “I want to know all about them. What are they like?” I started speaking again, feeling hypnotized as I looked into the older man’s swirling brown eyes. He was walking slower and slower, and I was matching his pace. The base was close now. I could see the lights of it were very bright up ahead. Less than a couple hundred yards away. But they were getting dimmer suddenly. The light was fading. But how? Were we walking backwards now? Was I even walking at all? Or was something dragging me now? It took me a few moments to shake the strange, sleepwalker's haze from my vision, and I realized I had been in a trance of sorts. When I looked at the man’s face again through my half-closed eyes I was astonished at what I saw. He didn’t just bear a passing resemblance to me - he could have been my long lost twin brother. His eyes were the same shade of brown, his hair close-cropped and chestnut. His jaw was defined and his nose was sharp and angular. But his smile, and his teeth - those were not like mine at all. They were pointed and long, designed for tearing flesh from bone and ripping it to shreds. He was pulling me, dragging me across the dirt, deeper into the darkness again. “Who are you?” I heard myself asking, and in that second he changed completely. It wasn’t like in a horror movie, when you see a man turn into a werewolf over a matter of a few minutes. The metamorphosis was NOT slow and drawn out. Instead, it happened in a split second. I blinked and the man who looked like me was no longer there. In his place was an indescribable monster - tall with long limbs, pale grey skin, and pitch black eyes. Its jaw unhinged as it revealed teeth longer and sharper than those belonging to a wolf or a bear. It reminded me of that strange, ethereal white-masked creature from Spirited Away, full of hate and hunger and wanting to consume everything. It didn’t appear solid. This thing looked like it was made of shadows. A shot was fired suddenly, bringing me out of my hypnotized stupor. I realized that I was being dragged away from the base. The creature had my shoulder between its jaws and it was biting down so hard I could feel it grating against the bone. Another shot rang out and I heard a few people yelling. There were footsteps and I heard something approaching from behind me. The thing tried to pick me up in its jaws, and it was so massive and so strong that it actually succeeded momentarily. I thrashed and punched it in the face, kicking it in the eyes. My shoulder was on fire and my entire arm felt like it was dangling by a thread, as if it would pop off at any second, unhinging at the joint like a Thanksgiving turkey drumstick. And then for a second I thought it would. It popped out of the socket and dislocated. The flesh began to rip and tear and bleed. The creature nearly tore my arm clean off as another shot rang out. I gave it one more good, hard kick to the face and the already-wounded monster dropped me to the ground, letting out a low moan of pain. It fell, its form turning into a large black puddle of darkness like an oil spill, before skittering off into the night like an infinitely long centipede. It blended in perfectly with the shadows, and was gone a second later, just as a few other marines arrived. “Are you okay?” one of them asked, helping me to my feet. “Man, I never thought I’d live to see someone get attacked by a mountain lion! You’re lucky to be alive!” It took me a few seconds to comprehend what he was saying, it was so bizarre. The thing which had just attacked me looked nothing like a mountain lion. It was long and tall and humanoid, with a black, wispy shroud surrounding it like a living cloak. “Man, are you blind?” the other Marine asked. “That wasn’t a mountain lion!” I breathed a sigh of relief. I wasn’t crazy. Someone else had seen the thing as well. “It was a wolf! A big, gray wolf! Man, I’ve never seen one so big! You sure are lucky to be alive, though. That’s for sure. Do you want us to call for an ambulance?” I shook my head. “No, I’ll be fine. I can walk.” I took a nervous look at them both, as if judging for myself again whether they were human or not. But I decided these two were the real McCoy. If not for them, I would have been that thing’s dinner. The two of them walked me back towards the base and I tried to decide whether I should tell them the truth of what I had really seen. But with each step we took, the memories started seeming more and more surreal and dreamlike, to the point where I even started to convince myself I had exaggerated what happened. Maybe it was a mountain lion. Or a gray wolf, far from its pack, desperate for food. But no. The memories could have been wiped away, but the teeth marks were not. They were strange, and totally unlike anything a wolf or a mountain lion might leave. When I went to the infirmary to get the bites looked at, they told me they’d never seen anything like them before. After several sets of blood cultures and antibiotics, they never did figure out what was wrong with me. Or how to get rid of my symptoms. Sleepwalking being primary among them. I would get up from my hospital bed in the night and it would take a whole team of security guards to get me back into my room. So desperate I was to escape. Back to the fields, I told the men. I needed to get back to the dirt fields. To march. All they could do was watch, as my symptoms got worse, and as black, vein-like formations began to spread from the bite wounds. Like a dark plague, spreading throughout my body. Everything is so cold now. And I feel like I’m losing control. I don’t want to feel like this, but I can’t help it. Whatever bit me, it infected me. Its contagion is spreading throughout my system and I can no longer fight it. I get these windows of time when I’m with it enough to speak and live my life, and then I get a period of darkness where I remember nothing. They discharged me recently, leaving me alone to deal with the symptoms myself. I think they're worried about having me so close to the base. They don't know what I'm capable of anymore. Most nights, I wake up far from home and don’t know how I got there, just like that night in the dirt field. Like I’m sleepwalking all over again. Except that’s not what this is. This is something much worse. The dark veins are spreading up my neck towards my face, making me stand out and look strange. People think they're bizarre facial tattoos, inching their way towards my skull. They keep asking me if I’m alright, as sweat pours down my reddened face and my eyes dart around with nervous paranoia. The blackouts are getting longer and closer together. I don’t know how much longer I have left to be ME. And I’m terrified of what’s going to happen when those veins get to my heart. And my mind. Who knows how long I have left before I’m out roaming the dirt fields… Looking for a <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Man in the Tent on Halloween Night [RESPONSE] When I was young, I always had trouble deciding on my favorite holiday. I was eternally stuck between the two commercial titans in American culture: Halloween and Christmas. You see, while many kids (especially those raised religious) would say Christmas is their favorite holiday hands down (between the free gifts, fanfare, and family gatherings), my mind was in a different place. I always valued the atmosphere of each holiday the most. And while the Christmas spirit was definitely pleasant, I also was charmed by the eerie, Autumn melancholy of the Halloween season. Not to mention, my birthday always came the very day after Halloween night. The point is, I really liked Halloween as a kid. However, one may notice I use the past tense here. This is because a particular Halloween night in my teenage years left me with a shift in feelings. A shift that made me fear Halloween more than anything else. \--- It all started with the good old tradition of Trick or Treating. My childhood neighborhood was an older one, mostly built in the 1970s and 80s. The houses were primarily aged ranches, creating the perfect atmosphere for the Halloween motif. There was one section of the neighborhood however, that was built very soon after I moved in, somewhere around 2002 or so. The houses were large and expensive, meant to attract a wealthier group of people to our rural farm town. Being people of higher monetary status, many of them would go all out for the Halloween season, creating elaborate dioramas in their yards. On top of this, the candy they gave out was always top notch; even the houses with the lamest decorations would give you nice, big candy bars. Needless to say, this quickly became the most popular section of our old neighborhood on Halloween night. Well, one particular man who lived in that newer section of neighborhood took the enthusiasm of his peers to a whole different level. In retrospect, I now believe this was not done out of kindness or love for the holiday, but out of sadistic malice. His house was bizarre, as it was the only one with a basement connected to the outside; a cellar if you will. It had typical cellar doors which were rusted and aged, despite belonging to a house that was only 8 or so years old by the time I was a teen. On Halloween night, the man would always set up an immense, white tent in his side yard, which also happened to encompass where the cellar doors were. He would also have unsettling music and sound effects on blast all night long, along with alarming, flashing lights that set the tent aglow like some scene out of a horror movie. Visiting this house was the pinnacle of the Halloween experience for all older Trick or Treaters in the neighborhood, and entering that tent was a test of courage for many. Sadly, by the time my friends and I were approaching high school, we knew our Trick or Treating days were coming to an end. This ignited a new resolve within me to truly enjoy my last years of Halloween as a kid. As such, 2 years before High School on Halloween night, I invited some friends over from out of the neighborhood. Our goal was to make the most of our last couple of Trick or Treating opportunities. And I decided I was finally going to enter that tent. Up until that point, I had avoided it like the plague, only watching from afar. Ironically, despite loving the Halloween spirit, I absolutely despised horror as a kid. Well, the plan was simple, my 2 buddies and I were going to waltz on over to that section of the neighborhood when it got dark, and get ourselves some candy from the infamous tent man. Fast forward to when the time came, and we wasted no time thinking about it. My friends and I approached the house and briskly moved the flap of the tent to enter. The inside was a sensory overload of lights, sounds, and even smells. I cannot recall exactly what the smells were, but I can say I remember being put off. In the dead center of the tent, blocking our view of the cellar entrance, was the man himself. He sat silently, in a terrifying, pure white, hockey mask. He was burly and imposing, a person who I could not identify at the time as someone I knew. Next to him was a bowl of candy. As we approached, he said nothing. Even as we reached for some candy bars, he sat still silently. As we left the tent, feeling like the whole thing was overhyped, I did notice one thing. The cellar doors behind the man seemed to be ever so slightly ajar. I brushed this off and followed my friends to the next house. We agreed to visit tent man one more time the next year, before we quit Trick or Treating for good. So let’s fast forward one more time. The next year came around and this was it. Halloween was on a weekend, and we were prepared to make our last full blown Trick or Treating excursion a memorable one. I was dressed like a marine and frankly, felt like a badass. We let it get real late before we visited the tent man. All night long as we trekked from house to house, we heard the faint rumblings of music and sound effects no doubt coming from his tent. As we finally approached his house, we noticed that this year, the glow of the tent was pure red. No flashing, no light show. Just a droning, dark red glow. As for sound, at this point, all we could make out was a low, basal groaning. It droned throughout the air, the kind of sound that vibrates your chest. Well, this atmospheric shift didn’t seem to bother us too much, as we entered the tent just like the previous year. As we closed the tent flap behind us, all sounds of Halloween bustle outside seemed to drown underneath the low bass, which at this distance was overpowering. I remember my ears vibrating as I basked in the demonic, red glow. The man’s chair and candy bowl still sat in the center of the tent. But the man himself was gone; only his mask sat upon the empty chair. My one friend noticed that the rusted cellar doors were propped open, revealing a dark stairwell. I was hit with that weird smell from the previous year, seemingly wafting from the looming darkness of the cellar. At that point, my instincts told me to turn around and leave. Forget the candy, and ignore the cellar. Of course though, in typical teenage boy fashion, my buddy who noticed the open doors, convinced us all to take a peek within. Why I said yes is still beyond me. Sure enough though, a peek turned into all three of us fully opening the cellar and plodding down the stairs. As my second buddy followed me down, he accidentally slipped his hand off the cellar doors and they slammed shut. The red glow was quenched in an instant and we were left in absolute darkness. The only stimuli left were the unsettling smell and the basal tones. At that point, I was pretty much pissing my pants in panic, alarmed by the slam and not knowing why the low groaning was still happening. Not to mention, I was deathly afraid of the dark well into my teenage years, so I really wanted out. Unfortunately, my blundering friend was unable to reopen the cellar doors, so we decided to keep going into the dark. The stairs weren’t too deep, quickly opening up to a pitch black room. I couldn’t tell how large it was, but I did notice a familiar musty scent underneath the ever-present strange odor. I knew that musty scent from my dad’s stone cellar. It seemed to me at the time that the cellar was far older than the house it sat under. I decided to just stand right at the base of the stairs; I was done being brave. My two friends however, split up and traveled into the dark. I’m not sure why, but I decided to quietly plod back up the stairs and attempt to jostle the doors open. As I did this, I silently counted the seconds in my head. ‘1, 2, 3,...’ After about 15 seconds (maybe) I was able to actually pry the doors open a crack once again. Honestly, I thank my lucky stars to this day I did that. After about maybe 40 more seconds (I really don’t remember the exact numbers here), I heard a loud bang and an almost inhuman shouting overpower the bass still assaulting my ears. “HEY! GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE YOU LITTLE RATS!” Those were the exact words to a T. I will never forget them. Right after this, my one friend shrieked and both of them returned to me within seconds. They were truly hauling ass, and we all blasted the cellar doors fully open, tore across the tent, and dove through the flap. We landed in a heap on top of one another, jumped up, and ran out of that section of the neighborhood. My friends went on to describe to me what exactly happened in the mere minutes I spent opening the cellar doors. Though they split up, they somehow ended back together farther into the cellar. They found a dimly lit room near one end, with that same red glow as outside. They told me they thought this was where both the smell and bass was coming from. Well, like fools, the both of them apparently entered that room. They saw what they told me at the time was “a fake cadaver or something on a table, with fake blood everywhere”. The smell was apparently overwhelming and they wanted to turn around and come back to me. Before they got the chance, that’s when another door at the opposite end of the red room blasted open, revealing the tent man. He was wearing a different hockey mask, covered in fake blood. This is when he screamed at my friends, lunging towards them. Let’s just say they were very happy I managed to get the cellar open. I wish the story just ended there, but there is one more critical piece to the puzzle. The day after Halloween (my birthday), I drove past the tent man’s house on my way to lunch with my family. I noticed a police cruiser parked outside the man’s yard and yellow caution tape completely surrounding the tent. The entrance flap was coned off and had some sort of warning plastered on it. A couple men in trench coats stood there near the entrance, talking and writing something down on a pad. As we continued past the house, I remember a morbid thought popping into my head. What if that body my friends saw wasn't a prop? What if that “fake” blood was in fact, the real thing? To this day, I don’t know the answers to these questions. Now, I could look it all up in the town police archives, but I think I’d rather not. I’m already scared enough by Halloween to this day. Be careful who you trust, and try to avoid dark cellars that don’t belong to you.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] All My Life, I Just Wanted My Mom to Be Normal [RESPONSE] “Oh, you’re Elizabeth’s boy.” When you grow up in a small town, that’s how people relate to you. You’re always someone else’s something. Richie’s cousin. Dana’s sister. Mike’s brother. Everyone just expects that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. “Of course Billy is good at football, his beefy dad is the town sheriff after all. He’ll probably join the force as soon as he’s old enough.” That was the way the people in my small town understood the world. Unfortunately for me, I was Elizabeth’s boy. Everyone in town knew my mother. Not because she was a politician, or on the PTA, or anything like that. No, my mother was known for her eccentricities. Most people grew out of their goth stage sometime in high school. Not mom. Her clothes looked like museum pieces. She favored Victorian dresses, the more lace and frills the better. Her favorite color was black, so of course her clothes had to be black. Even her jewelry was black. Black pendants, black beads, black bracelets. To go along with her strange aesthetic, she wore sunglasses with thick lenses. They looked like something a cosplayer would wear for their steampunk outfit, not something an actual person would wear out in public. When she did go out, I guess to complete the look, she carried a parasol with her, black of course and with more than enough lace to match her dress. People were shocked when I turned out to be normal. I think sometimes that creeped them out a little bit more than if I would have been a straight-up weirdo. “Elizabeth’s boy? Oh yeah, I saw him back behind the Pizza Hut kicking a puppy.” For some reason, that sounded a lot more reassuring than David, the nerdy boy who plays saxophone and wants to be head of the debate team. When I was younger, I resented living in my mother’s shadow. I hated the people of our town for the way they judged us. As I grew older, I started to understand it, and that resentment started to shift. I could never understand why my mom wanted to stick out. I just wanted to fit in, to be normal, to somehow survive high school, which isn’t easy when your mom is the town weirdo. I was picked on, a lot. “Mom, can’t you just… Wear a t-shirt or something?” I asked one day, as we were getting ready to go out. She was putting on her makeup, thick red lipstick and white powder. She always managed to put it on without looking in a mirror, even eyeliner. It was never smudged either. “What would be the fun in that?” she asked. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t it just be nice to be normal?” She looked at me with a grin. “Normal? Do you know what another word for normal is? Ordinary. I don’t want to be ordinary. I want to be extraordinary. Wouldn’t you rather be extraordinary too?” If it meant that I was the town pariah, no. No I wouldn’t. I’d much, much rather be boring, common, or just plain ordinary. I never said it out loud, though. Instead I’d just smile. “Sure, mom.” She’d smile back and run her fingers through my hair. “You’re a good boy, David.” I didn’t understand why she couldn’t be more like dad. My dad was, based on what little information my mom would give me, a pretty normal guy. He died when I was just a baby. A drunk driver crashed into us head on. Somehow mom and I escaped unscathed. Dad died before the paramedics even got there. Mom didn’t like to talk about him, she said it hurt too much. When she did talk about him, she’d call him “my big goofball.” The pictures she kept all around the house seemed to reflect this. He’d been a history teacher, a nice, normal career, downright boring even! That earned him points in my book. He’d also loved photography, which I guess accounted for all the photos. In every picture, he was doing some dumb pose, flashing a peace sign, sticking his tongue out, or pretending to lean on something that wasn’t there. “A big goofball” just like mom said. I always thought we would’ve gotten along. Dad’s pictures were in stark contrast to the other decor mom chose for our house. Our furniture could best be described as pieces that looked like they’d come from a medieval garage sale. Thick, black curtains blotted out any sunlight from our windows. Where dad’s pictures weren’t covering the walls, tapestries hung like invitations to some great lord’s dining room. I figured dad’s love of history must have been what convinced him to go along with mom interior decorating. To me, it was incredibly embarrassing. At least, it would have been embarrassing if I had friends and if those hypothetical friends’ parents had ever let them come over to play with “Elizabeth’s boy.” My mom’s past was even more of a mystery than my dad’s. She spoke with a strange, English-sounding accent. When I was younger, I thought for sure she was putting it on. “Mom, where are you from?” I asked one day, working on a school project. “Oh, England. I’m from England.” “Where in England?” “The countryside. North of London.” “Could we go visit someday?” “Maybe.” “What about my grandma and grandpa? Do they live in England?” “They did. They died a long time ago.” I doubted whether or not what she told me was true. Yet another mystery was mom’s job. Growing up, I never knew exactly what she did for work. Other kids’ parents went to the office, factory, or store after they dropped them off at school, but not mom. From time to time she’d leave around dusk, dressed up in some elaborate outfit, makeup done flawlessly. She’d kiss me on the head and tell me she’d see me tomorrow, to be a good boy and make sure I caught the school bus on time. Looking back, I can see how naive I was. In high school, I started staying up later. She’d come home around one or two in the morning with some guy, usually drunk. They’d try to be quiet, but it’s hard to be quiet when you’re drunk. They’d bump into things in the hallway or whisper just a little too loudly. I wondered how I’d managed to sleep through it all when I was a little. Maybe I hadn’t. Maybe I’d woken up before, but my innocent mind had explained it away somehow. Or, I’d buried it. Buried it deep in my memories, never to be revisited, never wanting to think of my mother that way. Eventually, it became undeniable, and I started to understand that there were other reasons the people around town stared at us. Sometimes I would hear groans or loud bangs coming from down the hall as mom absconded to her room with whoever she’d brought home that night. Whoever she brought home, they were always gone by morning. I appreciated that I never had to find some sleazy guy from a dive bar eating cereal in our kitchen in the morning. At first it bothered me. But over time, it just became routine. That’s how mom paid the bills. It’s how she kept us comfortable. Everything else about her was already odd enough, what was one more oddity? It’s funny though, how one night can re-contextualize everything. I was up late studying for a chemistry test. Science was never my forte, and I was worried. The small town I’d grown up in had come to dislike me about as much as I disliked it. I couldn’t wait to go off somewhere to college. I wanted, no I needed, a scholarship. I’d take one at any school, any chance to get out. Mom came home around 3AM with some guy. “Nice place you got here,” he said in a gravelly voice said, not even trying to whisper. He sounded older. I’d been able to smell the alcohol and cigarettes the moment he stepped in the front door. “Right this way,” mom said, her voice hushed and soft. Dammit, why tonight? I put my headphones on and cranked the volume up to max. I didn’t want to hear whatever was about to happen. I was looking over the definition of covalent bonds when I heard the shout. I was like a deer in headlights, I took my headphones off and froze. “You bitch!” There was a scuffle. They were fighting. Heavy footsteps fell down the hallway. I raced to the door and tore it open. Mom stood in the hallway panting and covered in blood. “What the fuck?” I couldn’t stop myself. I was too shocked. My mom’s head snapped toward me, like someone waking up after a bad dream. “David! Go back to your room. I’ll- I’ll take care of this.” “Take care of it? What’s going on mom?” I was scared now, ready to go in my room and call the cops. “No, no. It’s okay. This- It’s not my blood. It’s his. We just- We had a disagreement. But I’m going to go find him, and everything is going to be okay!” With that, mom darted out the door and into the night. Sleep would have been a relief, but it didn’t come. How could I sleep after what I’d seen. I still thought about calling the police. But she said it wasn’t her blood. What had she been trying to do? If I called the police, would they lock mom up? Did mom need to be locked up. Needless to say, the next morning, chemistry was the last thing on my mind. I did terrible on the test. When I got home, mom was waiting for me on the couch in the living room. She didn’t look like she was hurt, or even particularly bothered by what had happened. Something felt off. It felt wrong to be back in my own home. A tiny little voice in the back of my head, maybe that reptilian part that senses danger, was telling me to get out. “Mom, what happened last night?” “I can explain, David. I can explain everything. Sit down, I want to tell you a story.” I was definitely not in the mood for stories. But, coming from my mom, that had some weight to it. So, I took a seat next to her on the couch. “A long time ago, in England, there lived a girl. This girl had a big heart and a free spirit. She longed to experience the world and all it had to offer. She just knew she would travel and see exotic places. But, above all, she knew that she would fall in love. “One night, at a party in London, she thought she’d fallen in love. She met a stranger. He was courteous and proper, but just under the surface, there was something mysterious waiting to be discovered. This stranger avoided questions about his past. Because he was so handsome, and so clever, the young girl was enamored with him. She wanted to know more. Eventually, they found themselves alone in a garden. Suddenly, before the girl even realized what was happening, she was sharing a kiss with the handsome stranger. “But, that’s not all they shared that evening. The young girl swooned, and didn’t notice when the man made a move for her neck. She realized all too late that the stranger’s past wasn’t just mysterious, but malevolent. The girl wasn’t content to just be his prey, though. No, she fought back. She kicked, and clawed, and in the end, she even bit. She bit him back, bit him so hard that she broke skin. And then, the world went black. “She woke up back in her father’s manor. Her father was a noble, a viscount. Even though she was dying, he brought her back home. Authorities were still searching for the mysterious stranger. When she awoke, the young girl was so hungry. The old doctor who’d been summoned by her father was looking down at her so stupidly, completely unable to stop what was happening to her, the poison that had entered her body, and the changes that were taking place. It was so easy to crack him open like an egg. Her father’s servants found her lapping his blood off the floor. “The viscount wasn’t a superstitious man. Instead, he sought ways to treat his daughters ‘illness’ and helped her stave off the cravings. He tried blood from cows, sheep, and pigs. While they might work to fight off the hunger for a bit, nothing did the trick quite like the blood of men. From time to time, the viscount had condemned prisoners brought in. They managed to placate the girl’s appetite. “In the end, the viscount wasn’t able to save his daughter, and neither was she able to save him. He died of disease a few years later. On his death bed, the young girl begged him to just take a drop of her blood, but he refused. Noble until the end. “And so, the girl was left alone. She still had dreams to travel, and so she did. She hitched rides in ships. She not only survived. She thrived. She saw the world, and she fed. Even though sh was lonely, she wasn’t hungry anymore. “She had learned from the handsome stranger. Men could be arrogant, that was their mortal weakness. It was also in their nature to look at a young girl as defenseless. As prey. Yet, it was them being preyed upon. The young girl would charm men, bring them back to her room. Then, when the time was right, she would feed. So it was, so it was for nearly a hundred years. Until, one day, the girl met someone, a tourist. A history teacher with a love of photography. He was from some small, no-name town in America. But, he was funny. He loved history, and she had seen so much of it. She was happy to finally have someone to share her stories with. “Then, one day, he took a picture of her. To his shock, the picture turned up empty. The young girl, so tired of being alone, shared everything with him. She told him the whole story. To her surprise, he wasn’t afraid, but intrigued. He had so many questions for her. He took her ‘condition’ in stride. He thought it was hilarious to take pictures of the two of them together, knowing she’d never show up once they were developed. Their bond grew deeper. The not so young anymore girl fell in love, for real this time. The American invited her to come home with him, to marry him, and come live with him in the tiny town where he taught history. She agreed. “A few years later, the girl discovered something she thought was impossible. She was pregnant. Worry consumed her. What would happen to this baby? Would it be like her? Or would it be human? Gray hairs were beginning to sprout on her husband’s head. One day, just like the viscount, he would die, and she would be alone again. But maybe, just maybe, this child would be like her. “The baby was born. A healthy baby boy. A human baby boy. When the girl held that baby in her arms, she knew she had to protect him. The world was a cruel place, she’d seen it. She suggested to her husband that they leave. They embrace their lives as creatures of the night. She could do it, she could turn them. All it would take was a drop of blood. But, her husband refused. He told her that he wanted his son to have a choice. He wanted him to have the chance at a normal life. “Normal. Your father was normal to a fault. So terminally human that even as he was laying there, bleeding out, he refused to take her blood. He refused to accept her gift. I loved him. I could have forced him, but I loved him. The last thing I wanted was for him to hate me. So, when he begged me, with his dying breath, to let you have a choice, I agreed. He begged me to wait until you were old enough. I’ve always hated him for that, but I loved him more. I loved him, and I promised. But after last night, you deserve to know. That’s my story. And now, the choice is yours.” I sat on the couch for a long time. I honestly didn’t know what to say. “My mom is a prostitute” is a hell of a lot easier to cope with than “my mom is a vampire.” And my dad, whoever I’d built him up to be, he had been okay with all of it. But even then, he hadn’t wanted to join her. He hadn’t wanted me to join her. “I can’t-” I finally said, “I’m sorry mom, but I can’t.” “David, just think about-” “Honestly, I can barely do that. Vampire? You’re a vampire? I thought some guy was trying to murder you last night. I had to take a chemistry test this morning with absolutely no sleep. Now, you expect me to just, what? Become a vampire?” “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” I thought of her standing in the hallway, covered in blood. I thought of all the men she’d brought home over the years. All those dead men. The little voice in the back of my mind had grown to a shout, and it was shouting at me, “Leave! Leave now!” But, she was still my mom. “It’s exactly as bad as it sounds. From what I saw last night, it definitely is. Did you kill him? That guy last night?” She got quiet at this. We sat for awhile, the only sound between us the ticking of an old grandfather clock. “I did-” “Mom! You killed him!?” “David, that man was a monster. So many men are monsters. I have never killed someone who didn’t deserve to die. They always come willingly, more than happy to take advantage of a helpless girl, or a lonely woman, or a single mother! They’re all monsters, every single one. I did what I had to do to survive.” “You’re the monster,” I said quietly. “David, how could you-” “You’re the monster!” I shouted. I stormed into my room, grabbing all the money I had saved and a few changes of clothes. I shoved them into a backpack and marched toward the front door. “David, David please,” Mom continued to plead. She begged, but she never tried to stop me. She’d still promised my dad. It was still my choice. I stomped out the front door, down the stairs from the porch, and I didn’t look back. The only motel in town was a little dive just off the highway. It was run by an old lady named Myrna. When I walked in, she was smoking and watching Matlock. Her bloodshot eyes gave me a look that said, “Of course, Elizabeth’s boy.” “How long will you be stayin’, hon?” “I- I don’t know. I just need a room.” “You in any trouble?” She said, knowingly. “No. No, I just need a quiet place to study.” “Alright then,” She slid a key across the counter. A few minutes later I was laying in a dingy room that smelled like weed and body odor. I could only imagine the things that had taken place in this room. But at least, as far as I knew, multiple people hadn’t died there. I laid in bed the rest of the day, crying. I half expected the door to burst open, my mother standing there, come to take me home. I imagined her covered in blood. It’s hard for me, even now, to imagine her any other way. Finally, I fell asleep. When I woke up the next morning, a note had been slid under my door. “David, you may think I’m a monster, but I believe one day you’ll understand. Everything I did, I did to survive. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to survive. I can’t lose you. Someday, I know you’ll make the right decision. Until that day comes, I’ll be waiting. I’ve told Myrna that I’ll pay for your room. You can stay at the motel as long as you want. Please sweetie, please make the right choice. I love you, Mom.” I finished high school in that motel. At graduation, mom was there. She didn’t say anything to me, and I didn’t invite her, but I saw her in the bleachers when I got my diploma. She was easy to spot. I got my scholarship and went to college to study Literature. I’ve moved on and am getting my master’s now. Sometimes, I still get letters. They just give me little updates. She tells me she’s still waiting. All my life, I just wanted to be normal. I will never choose to become a monster. I wonder how long she’ll wait. What if she decides I’m making the wrong choice?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Don’t be in a rush to leave the nest [RESPONSE] I jumped up out of my sleep drenched in sweat and gasping for air. I’d just been awaken for the 5th night in a row from a nightmare of me being choked. Except when I would look it was just pitch black nothing there but the hands felt so real. I decided to get up for a quick restroom trip and to splash some cool water on my face. I open the door to my room walking towards my bathroom. I hear my dad pacing back and forth in the kitchen whispering something but I couldn’t hear the words. I watched him for a few seconds pacing back and forth in the dark continuing to whisper inaudibly. “Dad why are you in the dark are you okay? I just had one of those nightmares again” I called out to him. I couldn’t hear his response as I rushed into the bathroom cause nature was screaming at that point. I do my business flush wash my hands and splashed the cold water on my face. I glance up at the mirror and smile at card my dad had given me when I moved out. He’s always so supportive. I glanced at my reflection and immediately froze. I noticed two large handprint shaped bruises on my neck and a long fresh scratch right under each shoulder blades as if someone with hands too large to be human had been choking me. As I observed the bruise I froze as a terrifying reminder popped in my head…I moved into my new apartment last weekend. I live alone. So who or even worse what had I seen pacing the kitchen. All the lights went out at that moment I felt it’s presence before it spoke in a bone chilling voice, “You’re not like the last one, you’re nice with a beautiful soul I can smell it, so I’ll give you 15 minutes to leave and never return because next time” the lights flashed back on revealing a horrifying creature so tall it was hunched over peering down at me with a razor sharp toothy grin. It licked its lips excitedly before continuing, “ I won’t be able to stop myself from eating you limb by limb and sucking that delicious soul out of you”. I was out the front door before he even finished the sentence. I left everything and never looked back and tried to forget it and I almost did. I was scrolling on my phone in my parents living room while they watched the news: “A gruesome discovery indeed, 22 year old tenant was found dead. Her arms and legs were ripped off. Investigation is still ongoing cause of death is undetermined. Landlord said she’d just moved into unit 156 the weekend prior…. I couldn’t hear anything else instantly filled with dread. That had been my unit. Could it really be- My thoughts cut off at the reporters next words “it seems the killer left a message that nobody can seem to make sense of” The camera turned to a wall with words written in blood I heard my mom and dad both gasp in horror. The message read: See what happens when you don’t take the 15 minute head start. It’s been 5 years. I’m still living with my parents and finally saved up enough money and courage to try moving on my own again. “Sweetie you have a package”! My mom yelled. I jogged down excited I’d been waiting a shipment of marvel comics so I quickly ripped the box open and immediately heard blood curdling screams…I realized they are my own as I looked at the hundreds of pictures of me sleeping showering etc but the note is what made me pass out…15 minutes are up I’m comingggggg! It read.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] A Letter From Nicolas Devereaux Regarding The Pirate Carlos Zaragoza [RESPONSE] **April 19, 1753** I doubt that history shall recall my name nor will it care about my ultimate fate. Perhaps it would be best if I was never spoken of again. Should time forget me, it shall almost certainly mean that my bones were never found and that this island has been either forgotten or destroyed. That can only be a good thing. For what I suspect will be the last time, I shall offer up my name. I am… Or I was Nicolas Devereaux. Once I was a respectable man. I was a sailor in the honorable service of King Louis XV. More than a sailor, I was a Captain in command of his own ship. Mine was a beautiful vessel known as *La Dryade* and for eight wonderful years I served King and my country to keep the colonies of the new world safe. I end my service without regrets. Soon, I will be dead through some means or another. I do not believe any means of rescue will come for me, and I am not sure I want it to. This island must be forgotten and no living soul must ever step foot on it again. To you who have found my final letter, please know that you are in mortal peril. I have given my life to stop the evil of this place from finding its way out into the world. I only ask that you honor my sacrifice and leave this island and myself to be forgotten and lost to the sea of eternity. When I was informed of the attack on the French port of Saint Martin, I did not then know the effect this attack would have on myself nor that it had sealed my fate. Those who survived shared tales of a ship making port. From that ship came a force like no other. Dead eyed men moving ever forwards like automatons. No blade nor bullet could cease their advance. Any who resisted were killed and those who could not resist were taken and hauled back to their ship without a word spoken. They took women, children, dead and wounded while they left only blood. My commander sent *La Dryade* was to investigate the attack and so I set sail for Saint Martin with my men, not knowing what awaited us. We could see the smoke that rose into the sky long before we saw the island itself. I do not recall the last time I saw such total desolation. Buildings were burned, pools of blood had tainted the dirt but there was not a corpse to be seen. The men who had emerged from that ship had taken every body, living or dead that they could before they had at last set sail. The people there could rebuild. The colony would recover in time however the sight of the wound so fresh sent a chill through my bones. What survivors we spoke to offered us little in the way of aid. Those who had been fortunate enough to be passed over had been wise enough to hide and thus had seen little of the attack itself. Yet I knew that many of them had heard the terror of battle outside their homes and many more had lost friends and loved ones. One young woman I spoke to will almost surely haunt me for the rest of my days. She was wide eyed and shaken, as if she still had not quite come to accept what she had seen. When spoken to, she could only barely respond. Her voice faltered before she trailed off. She was of little help to us, and yet her horror spoke volumes and fueled my own unease. This young woman had lain eyes upon the ship as it had sailed into port. What she’d described sounded as if it had been dredged up from the depths. The ship was malformed, made of twisted and gnarled wood. So hideous was its visage that it sent primal fear through her with a mere glance. Its tattered sails were black as night but it flew no colors. Despite its grotesque appearance, it was allowed to port yet as soon as it did so, men had flooded from the ship and begun their attack. They overran the local soldiers with minimal effort, slaughtering them ruthlessly before they’d moved on to the town. They had washed over Saint Martin like a plague before they’d retreated into their deformed ship with the dead and vanished just as dawn broke. The woman I’d spoken to had told us that the ship had both come from the North, and departed towards the North. So, we had our heading. Within a few days we sailed north from Saint Martin in search of the ship described to us by the survivors. I had given my men the order to keep watch for a malformed ship that matched the description we had received. We did stop to gam with a merchant we’d passed who told us of a nearby attack they had witnessed. They had only seen the aftermath and rescued three sailors, all of whom they allowed us to speak to. Two of the sailors were rendered mute by the sights they’d seen. The third, only a boy had told us of a dark ship that had emerged from the night and opened fire on them with neither warning nor provocation. The boy, in his cowardice, had escaped in a lifeboat along with the other three men. His actions would have been shameful had they not saved his life and the lives of two others. The attack had happened to the west of us and so we changed course, hoping we might find traces of the attack or perhaps even encounter the ship responsible. Even then, when I gave the order, I questioned my own pursuit. The desolation left in the wake of this nameless ship was enough to leave me with a sense of unease yet my duty was to the King and by his command I stayed my course. It was three days before we crossed paths with the nameless ship. I awoke in my cabin that night to the sound of canon fire and felt the violent rocking of *La Dryade.* When I emerged from my cabin, my men scrambled around like ants caught in a frenzy of confusion. I took the helm, ordering them to fight back and return fire. Our enemy kept their distance, staying in the darkness as they circled around us. There was no light but for the flash of their guns. I would have expected to see lanterns aboard the other ship but no… The mad fools were cloaked in total darkness. It was if the night itself were attacking us! I cannot say how many men I lost in the initial attack… The darkness made it impossible to keep track of the casualties. I remember that the other ship had gotten close. I could see the gnarled, twisted wood in the light of our own lanterns and I could see the blank faces of those who boarded us. They had the empty eyes of dead men and they showed my own soldiers no mercy. I myself drew my sword to do battle with them but they did not fight as ones who wished to remain alive. The one I encountered left himself open to be stabbed and as I ran my sword through his gullet, he stared at me with milk white eyes and made no sound. He did not fall. He simply seized me by the throat as two of his compatriots took my arms and pulled me to the ground. The night went silent around us. Our battle was lost almost as soon as it had begun. Two men boarded my ship, one of them tall and dressed in an embroidered coat. He wore a hat with a wide brim and a feather. I spotted a rapier at his side and I anticipated it would soon send me to be judged by God. The man at his side was a smaller, more wretched thing with a rictus grin that crept behind its master like a shadow. As the pair approached me, it was the smaller, hideous man who spoke. His French was poor. Evidently he was once a Spaniard but he spoke well enough for me to understand him. *“Welcome Captain Devereaux. You have the privilege of standing in the presence of the great Captain Carlos Zaragoza!”* I looked upon the taller man. This was no doubt, Captain Zaragoza. The name was not familiar to me. Zaragoza had a narrow, clean shaven face and dark, intense sunken eyes. His skin was pale and gaunt. His gaze cut through me like a blade of ice. *“I must say, your reputation does proceed you Captain Devereaux.”* The man at his side continued, *“I had expected more of a fight, but alas it was arrogant of me to assume a mere soldier could compete with the gifts given by my Holy benefactor… I must apologize for not speaking to you directly. Many years ago, I was deprived of my tongue and so I myself can no longer speak… This man here, Mr. Grigori Costa’s words are my own.”* Looking at the speaking man, ‘Mr. Costa’ it took me a moment to comprehend what he was saying. He seemed to be Zaragoza’s mouth. A simple being with no mind of its own, just a translator for that wretched Captain in front of me. *“I can see you’re quite embittered by your recent defeat… Surely this is not your first,”* Costa said. *“Even if it is, understand that this is a joyous occasion! Very soon you shall be serving a purpose greater than yourself or any King! Your soul and the souls of your survivors shall have the privilege of being part of a collective far greater than any you could imagine.”* *“Collective?”* I asked. *“You mean to conscript us?”* *“Conscript?”* Costa replied. *“In a sense, good Captain… Although our methodology may be quite different than what you may have in mind.”* Looking upon the vacant faces of Zaragoza’s crew, I thought it would be better not to know the blasphemous measures he had utilized in his ‘conscription’ of those men. They seemed only barely human and I could smell death and rot emanating from their bodies. Pale eyes looked back at me, cutting through my soul just as Zaragoza’s gaze had. *“Witch.”* I said. *“Blasphemer! You would have us serve you in death, would you not?”* *“Not quite death, good Captain.”* Costa said. *“Yet not even your God would know the difference… Would you like to see an example of our work?”* I had no say in the matter. Zaragoza’s dead men hauled me to their ship along with most of my surviving crew. The few brave soldiers in his Majesty’s navy who dared to try and fight met gristly fates and were brought aboard as corpses. Even now I struggle to commit to paper what I saw upon that ship. The abominations constructed by Carlos Zaragoza had no place among God's creation. Yet in defiance of the universe itself, Zaragoza had still conducted his unholy work upon that ship… The stink of death lingered so heavy in the air that some men were unable to prevent themselves from vomiting. I myself felt lightheaded as I inhaled the sickly miasma of decay. The dead among us were thrown down into the cargo hold along with the rest of the blackened, rotting carcasses of the dead. Looking down into the hold I saw naught but a tangle of limbs and rotting bodies. Zaragoza gestured for myself and three of my men to be taken below deck and we were dragged there by men who only seemed marginally more alive than the corpses kept as cargo. In a room isolated from the rest of his ship, I watched as that foul man uncorked a darkened bottle of black liquid that smelled sickeningly sweet. Costa stood near the rear of the room, only observing as his Captain went about his work. He poured that dark liquid into a stone mortar and imbued it with a fine white powder. He mixed it together with a pestle before looking up at his dead soldiers and gesturing to them. *“Look and see, the start of the new cycle of life and death.”* Costa said and I watched as Zaragoza's men pulled one of my own forwards. He was a good sailor by the name of Gabriel Celice. One of my finer men. I could do nothing but watch in horror as Zaragoza forced his vile mixture down Celice’s throat. I watched the man struggle and try and spit out the mixture but the liquid was tilted down his throat before he was released. He coughed and swayed drunkenly. *“You’ve killed him!”* I cried and Zaragoza simply smiled knowingly back at me. *“Not killed, dear Captain. But granted a new life, in service of a grander cause.”* Costa said, *“In time good Captain, you shall experience it yourself. Death is only the first step…”* Celice collapsed down to his knees, clawing at his throat and struggling to breathe. He looked at me, silently begging for reprieve although I knew I could offer him nothing. It took him far longer to die than it should have any his death was utterly devoid of dignity. As he writhed on the ground, choking and trying to scream I could smell the soiled stench of death already coming from him. When at last his movements fell still, I had thought it mercy… yet I found myself wrong. Some time after Celice had fallen still, I watched as he began to breathe again. His eyes opened, as dead as the eyes of Zaragoza's crew and several of those corpse-like men helped him to his feet. *“Set him to work.”* Costa said as Zaragoza watched me intently, *“We have an unending need for bodies.”* The chill I felt in my soul was impossible to describe. I have lived a long and bloody life and never before had I feared death. Yet in that moment, in that room with Carlos Zaragoza, I felt the mortal terror that grips all mens hearts and even now, I cannot say with any certainty which I feared more. The growing reality of my death, or Zaragoza himself. *“So this will be the fate of all my men?”* I asked, *“What monster takes such a sick joy in propagating the suffering of others? I beg you, cut my throat and cast me into the sea! Let me die a man, not a thrall!”* *“You shall die at my pleasure.”* Costa said, *“Your men may not be worth wasting my gifts upon. But you shall serve us in our glorious purpose, good Captain.”* I take no pride in confessing that I begged Zaragoza like a dog. The mute only watched over my groveling, seemingly enjoying it as I tried to plead and bargain with him. *“What would you take?”* I asked, “*In place of me and my crew, what else would you take? I beg you to spare us and we shall hunt you no further!”* *“Take?”* Costa asked, *“Good Captain, what would you give us so freely? Already we have such a bounty of souls. What more could you offer us?”* There was but one thing I could give. *“Two souls for each of my men you leave alive.”* I said, *“Surely even you cannot decline this offer, Noble Zaragoza.”* I could see an eyebrow raise. I had gotten the vile Captain's interest. He looked over at his lapdog, then back at me. Slowly he drew his sword and placed the blade at my throat. For a moment, I was sure my offer was rejected. *“Two souls?”* Costa asked, “*You are desperate… Yet I shall give you the opportunity to deliver on your offer. Know that if you are but a soul short, all of yours shall be conscripted into our purpose and you shall live out your days in my service…”* *“So you accept?”* I asked. *“I accept… Collect the souls we require and then I shall contact you and tell you where we shall lie in wait. Remember, Good Captain Devereaux, not one soul short.”* There was a sadistic glee in Costa's voice that sent shivers down my spine. All I could do was nod and pray it was enough. My men and I were cast overboard soon afterward. Only a few of us were lost at sea. What was left used the moonlight to swim to a nearby shore. I had set sail in a 74 gun ship with a crew of over 500. What was left numbered less than 20. The loss sat heavily on me, yet I promised myself that that handful of men would survive at any cost. Any cost at all. It was several days before we attracted the attention of a passing mercantile vessel and bartered passage to Havana. I had my time to contemplate the best way to proceed with my bargain with Zaragoza. I had no doubt that should I fail to uphold my end of our agreement, what remained of my men would be damned as would I. While I loathed that vile man with a deeper hatred than I had ever felt before, I understood his power. Failing him was not an option. The unthinkable needed to be done… and perhaps it might just offer me the opportunity to retaliate. I had no illusions that I might escape Zaragoza, however, to betray or even kill him? Perhaps. Mayhap I could even catch him off guard as I gave him the damned souls he required. When at last my men and I made port in Havana, I chose to waste no time in fulfilling our bargain. I had not chosen Havana at random. It had been some time since last I had set foot in that place, and yet I recalled an old friend who might just provide me the assistance I needed. Time had been kind to Cassandara, far kinder than most. It had been years since I had laid eyes upon her and yet she had not aged a day. Her hut sat in the very same place it had been when last I had passed her way, far away from the walls of any city, upon a forgotten beach. Even in the distance, I could see the glow from the embers of her fire, and at the mere sight of them I felt like a young man, nervously treading behind his Captain into the unknown. *“Speak not of God in this place, Nicolas.”* He’d said to me all those years ago, *“For this woman answers to his Masters. Not to him.”* The stragglers I had behind me in that moment no doubt felt the same apprehension I did as we walked along the beach to the hut of the ancient witch. It was a feeling that I understood well. I asked them to wait outside as I alone approached the door of the hut. I would spare them the unease of laying eyes upon the Witch herself. She was hardly hideous or unsightly… And yet even in her modest beauty, there remained something unearthly about her. A strange intensity in her eyes that made me pause as soon as I stepped into her presence. Her race was impossible to determine, and at a glance she looked neither male nor female. Had it not been for her name, I would have never been able to describe her as either sex. She stared at me, her gaze intense and judging. I knew in my heart that she could see my very soul and see what defined me as a man. I knew she was deciding whether or not I was worthy... *“Devereaux.”* She said quietly, *“It’s been some time.”* Her French was perfect as if she had spoken it all her life. *“You remember me?”* I asked quietly. *“I remember everything.”* She replied, *“Sit. You’ve come to ask questions and perhaps I may offer you answers.”* At her word, I moved to sit down. I watched as she poured tea for both of us and waited for her to speak again. *“I can see the unease in your soul. A dread that I recognize all too well… What have you seen, Devereaux? What is it that weighs upon your heart?”* *“Carlos Zaragoza.”* I replied, *“I trust you know of him.”* She scoffed. A sound of utter disgust. *“I recognize the name… A fool of a man, putting himself in the debt of that which one must never be indebted to…”* *“Fool or not, he decimated my crew. My very survival is now dependent on a bargain struck with him.”* *“That would make you a fool as well.”* She said dismissively, *“What was it? The terms of your bargain?”* *“40 souls. Two for each of my crew who still lives. I beg of you… I need your help.”* *“So you do.”* She said, *“So you do… Strange of him to mention souls. Zaragoza has little use for them. That which he serves might, although as little more than currency. They’re naught much more than a pleasant afterthought. No. What he seeks is not spirit, but flesh and bone. That is what his master seeks.”* *“Bone?”* I asked, *“To what end?”* *“The wills of the Low Gods are often a mystery. Many have their own strange obsessions. Perhaps… Should you grant Zaragoza what he wishes, you may see it for yourself. I’ve little expectation that he will honor his end of the bargain. 40 new bodies to offer to his master would be favorable, but 60 would be better, no?”* *“So it would.”* I said, *“What then, do you suggest?”* *“You intend to honor your bargain, I see… This is wise. Collect your bodies. Wait. He will watch. He will know… And when the hour comes, strike. Not at Zaragoza… He is but a puppet. Kill him and given time the Master will simply find another to continue his vile work. But strike at the master itself. You cannot kill it… But you can wound it. Wound it enough to drive it back.”* I nodded silently at her guidance and offered the little money I had left in exchange for her services. She refused it. *“Keep your worldly wealth. You’ve a greater need of it than I.”* She said. I left her home, knowing what I must do… And yet seemingly more unsure than before. My men and I were able to commandeer a ship from Havana… No… That is a lie… My men and I murdered several innocent merchants and took their ship in Havana. We stored their corpses in the cargo hold. There were 4 of them. The ship had been moored at the time. Much of the crew was ashore, save for the unfortunate ones we killed… We spent several days at sea after that, working like dogs to keep the mechant ship afloat. Supplies were scarce. They had likely been in Havana for a resupply. But we managed as best we could. When eventually we did come across another ship, I recognized it as another of the Kings navy. It was not a big ship, sixth rate if that. No doubt crewed by little over a hundred men. But it would suffice and with a heavy heart, I recognized the opportunity we had… We played the part of wounded merchants, limping along after a pirate attack. The ship was kind enough to stop to gam with us, and offered to escort us back to Havana. We graciously accepted the offer, and I left several of my men aboard to enjoy a hot meal. They did not suspect a thing about us… Or if they did, we never quite gave them the time to act on it. I ordered that the attack commence that evening. We were outnumbered heavily. But we had the element of surprise. My men had smuggled their weapons aboard. While much of the ship slept, we attacked, taking out the night shift, and capturing several of the officers. For the sake of caution, we executed most of them, tossing their bodies in with the dead merchants, and steeling my heart for what needed to be done, I ordered the slaughter of any man we could not keep within the brig. When all was done, little over half the crew remained. Still well over 40 men. My own men took control of the ship. I left my first mate in command of the merchant ship, and we waited… It was not long until he spoke to us. Two days after we took the ship, I was awoken by the shadow of a man in my quarters. When I lit my lantern to see who had come to me, I was disturbed to find the visage of the captain of the ship we’d taken, standing at the foot of my bed and he spoke to me, despite the fact that I had watched my men slit his throat some nights ago. Although his voice sounded less like the man I had ordered killed and more like the voice of Grigori Costa. *“You’ve done well, good Captain. Far better than I had hoped.”* He had said, *“What a generous bounty you now seem to bring to me…”* *“And where shall I bring it?”* I asked. The dead man took a knife from his belt and turned away from me, shuffling towards a nearby map. I watched as he studied it for a moment, before driving the knife into the paper. *“Where Gods slumber… And the midnight grows dark… The way will be open for you. Do not keep us waiting, good Captain.”* The corpse said. I watched if offer me a rictus smile, before death took it once more. The next morning, I directed my weary crew towards the heading that Zaragoza had given us. It was a lengthy voyage. To keep supplies, we had little choice but to attack two merchant ships that we passed on the way. When we took the first ship, there was some debate amongst the men about whether or not to kill the merchants or not. I argued against it, as we already had more than what we needed… But the crew was not so easily convinced, arguing that the more souls we had, the better. As we had no more room in the brig, the merchants were killed and their bodies placed with the rest. When we took the second ship, there was far less debate on the matter. The merchants were killed and I was given little say on the subject, outside of my own quiet prayers for the souls of the men we’d slain. It was some weeks before we came within sight of Zaragoza’s heading. The island he had directed us to did not appear on any maps that we had, and yet we saw it with our own eyes and as we sailed closer, I swore that the sky above us grew darker and darker. I gave the orders to my men to prepare for battle. We had armed ourselves heavily with what we scavenged from the armory of the ship we’d taken. Most of my men carried explosives on their person, myself included. We had found a fair number of them in the cargo hold of the naval ship we’d taken… I had thought it only appropriate to put them to good use. We saw Zaragoza's ship moored just offshore, and as we came within range and they dispatched a ship to gam with us. I was not surprised to find Grigori Costa aboard. *“Bring your ship into the cove. We shall offload the new offerings.”* Costa had said, and we did as he commanded, allowing him to lead us around the island, to a small inland cove that our ship only barely fit inside. I imagine that this cove must have been where Zaragoza had sailed in from. The walls were bone white and the presence of the place left a pit in my stomach. Once we were close enough to land, we were boarded by more of those dead eyed men, who offloaded the corpses and the prisoners we’d brought. The stench of the dead, after weeks at sea was unbearable… But it would not be the worst part. *“Come, come and see the fruits of your labor. We would greatly like to show you.”* Costa had said, as he’d urged us to follow his living corpses into a cavern just off the cove. I’d had little desire to follow him, but little choice to refuse. My men and I allowed ourselves to be led deeper into the island. Costa spoke the whole while, although I recall little of what he said, instead looking onwards to what awaited us. I suppose in my heart, I had known it to be something vile… But I do not believe I was ever truly prepared for it. In a large chamber, beneath an open black sky, dark as night, I saw what Zaragoza had been building and how do I even begin to describe it? It was a being… Of that much, I am sure. It was only vaguely humanoid and it seemed almost impossible to determine just what it was actually meant to be, or what it could have been. Just how close to completion it was, I cannot truly say… But it was hideous. The being, the colossus was a twisted amalgamation of bone held together by sinew with some flesh. It was constructed, crudely out of countless disassembled skeletons, and it was impossible to guess with any certainty just how many bodies had gone into this abominations construction, or how many more were needed. As it was, the thing must have measured somewhere around 50 feet tall… The chamber we were inside stank of burning flesh, and looking down near the base of the chamber we were in, I could see great iron pots lit with bonfires. The living dead, under Zaragoza’s thrall, were piling the fresh bodies we’d killed into those pots, boiling the flesh off the dead so that their bones could join the others… And from a place of honor near the top of the chamber, I could see Carlos Zaragoza himself, watching over this macabre scene like the Devil himself. The mere sight of him turned my stomach with a mixture of dread, and disgust. *“Is it not beautiful?”* Costa had asked, *“Our work, to give our Master new life?”* Beautiful… Not a word I would have ever used. But out of obligation, I agreed with him. *“Your feats are certainly… Impressive.”* I had said. *“You think so?”* Costa had asked, *“I do too. Perhaps then, you may wish to have a closer look?”* *“I’m quite fine where I am.”* I said, *“I’ve gone above and beyond the terms of our deal. Now honor your end.”* *“Honor… So many people seem to hold that word so very dear to their hearts.”* Costa said, *“May I ask you a question, good Captain? Do you believe in God? Do you believe that His law is absolute?”* *“I do.”* I replied. *“Well, I do not.”* He said, *“And I believe in no law… No code. No honor. Only that which I can see and I can touch. That which I can reach out and feel… Like our master here… This, I know to be real. This I know to have meaning. But your delusions of God, of honor… These mean nothing to me.”* I had closed my eyes, knowing this answer was coming. *“In time, you will be glad.”* Costa told me, *“To have your bones, join with the Master is one of the greatest gifts I can bestow. And when he awakens, when your soul joins with his… You shall thank me.”* As he spoke, I could see the dead approaching myself and my men… Hundreds of them. More than we could ever dare fight. I had suspected it would come to this… Costa just smiled at me, and from his perch high above us, I sa that same smile upon Zaragoza’s face. *“Then permit me to spite you,”* I said, *“And deny you that gift, yourself.”* Without a further word, I had drawn my pistol and fired it into Grigori Costa’s head. He collapsed to the ground, eyes wide and mouth agape, as dead as the men I’d slain at him and his masters request. Above me, I saw Zaragoza turn and storm off in a rage, drawing his sword as he went. The dead reached my men, who met them with swords at the ready. For the honor of God, they fought. In the name of the King, they fought… And I fought with them. I’ve survived many a battle, but never before had my blood rushed in my ears the way it did during this one. More than once, I felt the white hot sting of a blade as it bit into me. But I did not die. I refused. I fought like a man possessed, carving my way through the corpses, with my men at my back as we made our push towards the vile skeleton Zaragoza had sought to construct. I know not how many of my own men I lost… Too many. The explosions of the grenades we had scavenged from the ship shook the entire cavern. Desperate, dying men detonated them, and with each new explosion, I half prayed the entire cavern might yet collapse on us. Yet it did not. In a haze of battle, I reached the base of the cavern with a few men still left. They held the dead, as I dispatched those who struggled to construct the vile colossus of bone they worked on. With them dead, I was free to scatter the iron grenades wherever I could. As I worked, I saw him entering the cavern from a side tunnel, his blade drawn and ready. Carlos Zaragoza charged me like a bull, a look of utter disdain upon his face as he came for me. The mere sight of his approach filled me with a primal terror, as if I were watching a tiger race towards me. Our blades met, and I kicked him away. I had little interest in fighting this man as an equal, and so I drew one of my pistols and put a bullet in him, as I had with Costa. An ordinary man would have died… But though I shot Carlos Zaragoza in the chest, he did not fall. He stepped back one step, and smiled at me before coming for me once more. His every swing was like a hammer, striking me and he moved with almost blinding speed. It took everything I had to evade him, and even then, I felt the sting of his blade more times than I could count. Looking at the battle of his undead against my few remaining men, I could see that it was a losing battle. Most of those I had come with were dead, and those that remained would not last much longer. As Zaragoza forced me back, away from his colossus, I meekly raised my sword to parry his blows. His own blade crashed against it, over, and over, and over again before snapping it like a twig. He kicked me to the ground, grinning a wicked, twisted grin as he savored the moment of my coming death… Thinking fast, I kicked with all of my might at his knee before he could drive his sword through my chest. I felt his leg snap, and heard him let out a hiss of rage as he collapsed. I kicked the sword from his hand and he grabbed at me, seizing me by the leg and trying to grapple with me. I kicked and thrashed at him before driving my broken sword into his neck. That seemed to stun him just long enough for me to force him off of me, and allow me to stand and try to run. Looking back, I could already see Zaragoza’s leg snapping back into place as he grabbed for his sword. I had little time, and strove to make the most of it. On unsteady legs, I ran towards the iron grenades I had planted before and carelessly spilled the rest around the skeleton. I saved only one, which I lit and tossed into the colossus. I saw Zaragoza stare at it, eyes narrowing in rage. I stumbled towards the cavern that Zaragoza had initially emerged from, looking back at him and dreading the thought that he would keep coming, chasing me like prey. And then came the explosion. The entire cavern shook. I could see dust falling from the ceiling as it came down. The last I saw of Carlos Zaragoza, he was glaring at me. Eyes burning like those of Satan. I ran. On my weakened legs I ran… The earth quaked beneath me, the cavern seemed to threaten to collapse. But I did not care. If I died, it would not have mattered, so long as I died away from Zaragoza. My body did not stop until I saw the sky again and when I did, I finally collapsed. I stared up into the dark sky above me… And drifted into darkness. When I awoke, the darkness was gone. The sun had risen… And the island was empty. I have investigated it thoroughly, and all I have found are corpses rotting in the sun. Some look to have one been Zaragoza’s. Perhaps their return to the cold slumber of death means that he himself is dead… And yet I’m not entirely sure I believe that. My men are dead. My ship remains trapped within that cove. I have managed to return to it, but I cannot leave this place alone… And perhaps it is better than I don’t. I leave this letter as a warning to those who may find it… To those who may find this island, my stolen ship, and my final resting place. There is nothing here to be unearthed. There is nothing here that should be studied by history or researched by science. This is not a place where man is meant to live. Leave the earth here to settle. Leave it to swallow up the evil here, so that it may never stalk this world again. Leave Carlos Zaragoza to his prison, under the stone… For I dread to imagine what horrible fate awaits this world, should he still <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] That God Damned Knock [RESPONSE] At first I thought the knock at my door was normal. Every day, sometime around 4-5 pm my mom gets home from work. She lets me know she’s home every single day by that knock. One day, I got a knock at my door at 4:30, “Hi honey!” I answered, “Hey! I’ll be out in a moment.” A few minutes later, I stepped out of my room into the hallway connecting the bedrooms and the living room. Then I saw my mom, sitting on the couch reading her phone. “How was your day?” I asked “Busy! But good, what about you?” “Mine was okay! I’ve just been chillin today.” “Oh good.” Then I went back into my room for a bit, and 15 minutes later I started hearing what I thought was another knock at my door. “Ya?” I asked. I stepped out of my room, and I heard the banging coming from the bathroom. The door was open… What I saw next was horrific. She was banging her head against the mirror as fast and as hard as she could. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Her blood splattered against her reflection… Then she turned toward my direction after a moment, looking directly at me. She paused for a moment, smiled, and said, “Wanna join? It’s fun! I promise!” I screamed, “What the fuck mom?!? What are you doing??” I ran towards her, grabbing her by the shoulders, making sure she couldn’t hit herself anymore. She opened her eyes as wide as she could, and rolled them back into her head. She said calmly, “You’ll see how fun it is.” I ran to the front door, got in my car, and said “NOPE THE FUCK TO THAT.” I called my step dad and told him to get to the house as fast as possible so we could either take her to a psych ward or a church. Then she stepped out of the front door. Her eyes were now pitch black, and she was cackling… I started to cry. What the fuck happened??? She was normal just a few fucking minutes ago! Then she appeared in the passenger seat in my car in an instant. She asked, “Where are you going sweetie?” With the worst, guttural, fake, garbage impersonation of my mom I’ve ever heard. Then I blacked out. I woke up in my bed and the time read 9:00 AM. What kind of dream was that? Jesus. I stepped out of bed, and I opened my bedroom door. That’s when I saw it. On my living room couch were my two parents. Their mouths were more open than humanly possible with their eyes missing, watching static on the TV. I panicked, I got back in my room and locked the door. I’m writing this now. They don’t seem to have moved since, because I haven’t heard any footsteps. I have spent hours trying to call for help. But the only thing that happens when anyone answers is they say, “You don’t have much time left.” I don’t know what to do. I think I’m just gonna kill myself. It would probably be much less painful and scary. I’m so scared. I’m so fucking scared.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Too good to be true [RESPONSE] I’m walking down the concrete sidewalk that I usually take to get to and from my workplace. The cold air is blowing softly, yet it still stings my skin just a bit. It’s just about winter time, the trees in the park I’m walking past are barren, but the trunk of the tree is lively. I go out just before everyone starts filling the streets of my hometown. It’s a peaceful little town, small and comfortable, and everyone knows each other. They go out together and meet other friends often. Nothing bad really happens in this town. The dew from the early morning is gathering on my shoes. As the rhythmic sound of my soles tapping the concrete is calming and Repetitive. I take a deep breath, but quickly stop. As the odd sound of Paper scraping between the sole of my shoe and the hard concrete below breaks the peace. I look down from my trance, Lying there is a 100 dollar bill, A slightly faded hue of green covers the bill, and one of the presidents looks up at me. How odd that someone lost this amount of money. I picked it up as my mind landed on the decision; That I was going to return this money. Again, this is a small town, So I’ll find whoever dropped this bill and hopefully return it to them. They might have needed it to pay for rent this week or buy food. I resumed walking, a refresher of air fills my lungs, The Air is so nice in the early mornings. Tap, tap, tap, My soles resume the same rhythm with slight variations of sound each time. I usually try to make out little songs that my soles make while I walk, as it is quite fun to do. The only time the rhythm is broken is when I have to stop to look both ways down the street to cross it, Or when I have to turn the corner of a building to continue down the sidewalk. Tap, tap, scuff, tap, Crrrrrk. Again, the sound of paper crinkled under my sole breaks my rhythm, Another 100 bill. Did someone have a hole in their pocket? Perhaps they were just having a bad day? I pushed back the thousands of questions encircling in my mind. I picked up the second 100 dollar bill and put it snuggly with the first, as to not lose them. But something feels odd about this, The people in this town would’ve informed another person if they dropped their money. I guess someone was up early today too then? That could explain how no one noticed the money. I mean, that's probably the case. I continued walking again, wiping the fact that I had just found two 100 dollar bills from my conscience. I closed my eyes as I hum my favorite tune, a song that had gotten stuck in my head since yesterday. Now I should be getting pretty close to my home by now. Just a few more blocks and I’ll- Crrrrk. Another 100 dollar bill lies there, On the cold concrete. I quickly picked it up this time as I am not as surprised as the first two, I just place it where the other two are and resume. I’ll call up who I know later and ask if they’re missing a few 100 dollar bills. Then I’ll return them, simple, It’s the least I can do. I turn the last corner and see the golden numbers on the building that shelters me, this is my home. A brick apartment building, Its many windows are dewy and wet. I look back down to see the small concrete steps that are showing a bit of peeling lead up to a black iron door, A black metal railing complements it. As I stand across the street from the building, I think how it isn’t the best; But it is home. I put my foot out onto the street to cross, then the other. I quicken my pace just a bit to cross to the other side. The peacefulness of the morning suddenly stops as a black car tries to screech to a halt, but it’s going too fast. It happens in just under a few seconds, But time feels like it's slowed down. I brace myself for the worst, and shut my eyes, but it never comes. I open my eyes to maybe expect myself to be lying on the ground. But the car is nowhere to be seen. Did I imagine that? No, That was too real. I feel over my body to see if anything is wrong. Nothing, No bones broken, no bruises, not even a single, small, scratch. I haven't even been moved. I was bewildered by what had happened. This isn’t normal, or am I losing it? As I’m reflecting on the scene and trying to make sense of it. I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, I looked over and saw Someone familiar. A good friend that I’ve known for years is now walking down the sidewalk as I stand in the street. A brown jacket covers his upper torso, as a slit of a gray shirt shows through where the jacket isn’t zipped up. A small bit of facial hair covers his face, Newly trimmed and His jacket hood is up, Brown hair is showing through the darkness of it. His blue jeans look like they have seen better days. They’re a bit lighter than usual, Maybe from all the use and washing. He waves weakly at me as I approach him. Seeming a bit uncomfortable “You saw that right? That car hit me, but it didn’t, and-” Jackson doesn’t respond, He doesn’t even look at me. After a pause though. He raises his head and looks at me. Something seems off about his face. His skin is a bit paler than usual, and he has bags under his eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, but I couldn't catch what he says. “What? Could you repeat that agai-'' I froze mid sentence as I see more movement from the corner of my eye. Curious, I look in the direction of the movement, And Jackson Rounds the corner then comes to a stop next to me, My heart sank. “Who is that?” Jackson says, pointing to the other Jackson facing me. “Isn’t that? You… Jackson?” I reply shakily. The Jackson In front of me opened his mouth again but again, nothing came out. Instead, Crunch, snap, Snap. His jaw made sickly pops as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. The Jaw widened to what a normal person's mouth couldn’t. As his body contorted and lengthened, Pulling his skin tighter, the skin tearing and bloodied as it tried its best to fit over the new skeleton. His Skin lost all pigmentation, What used to be a Slightly darker tan caucasian skin tone, was now a dark gray. The bones in his fingers popped out of his skin as his skin stretched, the Bones at the end of each finger were unusually sharp and long, as his eyes sunk even deeper into his skull. His arms and legs are now three times what is considered normal. A sick creature stands Unnaturally tall in front of me. It looks like it shouldn’t even exist in the first place. It made a low sound as I look up at its face. It smiles, The gums in its mouth are pointed forward, and its teeth are identical to what they looked like prior to its change. Its smile is unnaturally eerie. All I can do is stare at it, I think I'm in shock. The real Jackson Yells next to me. His indiscernible words break my trance; Snapping me back to reality as The realization sets in. I tried to run, but it reached out and grabbed me with its inescapable length of its arms. I’m dangling from one of my legs in the air now. As I kick and I kick to try to loosen its grip, but to no avail. I kept up the pointless kicking, thinking that I was still doing something. Its other arm set into motion, slowly raising up to my other leg. And it got a good hold on my other leg. Now I’m upside down looking at this thing's face while it has both of my legs in hold. It starts laughing, then I feel gradual pressure picking up in my leg joints, as it starts to pull apart at my legs. The pain increases steadily. I can tell it’s making this slow. And it’s enjoying it. Now the pain is unbearable only after a few steady seconds. I start crying out for someone to help. Tears blur my vision and my ears start to ring. I can feel my skin stretching to the best of its ability. The muscles are burning trying to keep my legs together. I try looking down at Jackson, but he’s gone. I have no hope, as I look back up at the Monster its laugh now taunting me. The pain is so terrible that I would rather die right now. Through blurred vision I stare at the creature, weeping. My legs finally gave way, as my right leg was ripped from the socket, carrying with it a part of my intestines. My own blood squirted onto my face, into my mouth, Dripping down into my nose and eyes. It was horrible, Unimaginable, I saw my own leg held up in my face by the creature, Skin hanging off of the bone, The red of the blood that covered my eyes made it hard to see anything else. But I saw the shape of my leg disappear from my sight, then the sound of crushing and chewing. It was eating my leg, it was eating my leg. My head is spinning, blood keeps spewing from the hole in the side of my body down onto myself. I only know because I can feel its warmth, but I feel so cold. The sounds stop from the creature. And It drops me to the ground, Even more pain now comes out from my skull, I can’t even tell at this point how bad it is. The feeling from my fingers tells me that my head is now flat and mushy on one side. And I have to hold my right hand over my skull just to keep its contents from spilling out. I don’t know why I kept hanging on, I’d be better off dead. I hear guttural laughing coming from the thing now. It won’t stop, Please make it stop. I felt something enter my body through the new hole the monster made. It makes sure to pierce through my body just enough that it can lift me without me falling off. But also making sure it missed all my organs and arteries, quietly pushing them out of the way. All these feelings of pain are mingling into something even worse than the pain of thousands. I feel its hot breath as It lifts me up, sticking another one of its fingers into my body. It wiggles it around until it finds my stomach. And plucks it out, lifting the organ up and throwing it into its mouth. My vision fades to black, Yet I'm still alive, Just barely conscious. One last time I hear its laugh, Taunting me, Making fun of me, and you can hear the joy of what it's doing. Then I lost all my feelings as I went limp. I awoke a few hours later in a unfamiliar place, I tried to move but couldn't. I looked to my left to see medical equipment. I'm in a hospital. Which means that I am alive. I looked to my right to see a man wearing a medical mask, with a clipboard in hand. "You are lucky to be alive right now sir." he said, "What is today?" I asked him. "May 25th, 2022" I had been in this hospital for 6, What happened was 6 damn months ago? "Can you give me my phone doctor?" "Sure, we'll get that for you. But I want to talk to you after I go get it. Okay?" "Alright doc." As the doctor turned and left the room. How in the hell did I survive that? I'm not even sure myself. Thoughts raced through my head, But left just as quickly as the doctor came back. "Here you are." He said, handing me my phone. He then sat down next to my bed. "This is going to be hard to take in but..." He sighs as he has to recall what happened. "you lost your stomach, Your right leg, and your lower intestine. You have brain damage due to major blunt force trauma to your skull. Your brain was even exposed sir. And almost every bone in your body was broken except for your Humerus, Ulna, and your radius." "I myself don't even know how your were alive that day, You lost almost all of your blood, And you were just covered head to toe in your own blood." The doctor paused and muffled back a sob. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be telling you all this right now, Just get some rest." "I'll check on you in a few hours ok?" "Ok doctor." After a few months I'm almost fully recovered, And I'm getting a prosthetic leg soon. It's august 25th right now, And I may update you guys soon when I'm out. This is my first story I've even posted here so I hope I can Spread this to people who know me and know where I am. I'm not telling anyone where I live. you'll know if you know. I don't know what that creature was, But it's still out there. Please stay safe guys, I don't want you to end up like I did. And I still don't know what happened with the car shit, I may have had prior mental health problems or something. Just be sure to always absolutely be sure that the person you're next to is human.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Rotting Candy Corn Cathedral [RESPONSE] “Life is hard down in the candy corn mines.” Blinking, I looked over at Haley. I’d been one of her advocates for over a year, working to get her transitioned back into independent living after a slow slide into schizophrenia at twenty-five had turned into a steep drop into an institution for six months. Now she was just a few weeks away from review at her group home placement, which depending on how that went, could lead to her being released back fully on her own. If she didn’t run into any setbacks, that was. “Haley, what time did you take your meds today?” I tried to keep any tension or judgment out of my voice, and I’d carefully phrased my question as though I assumed she *had* taken them, though I was worried that might not be true. She grinned at me. “Eleven o’clock. Same as always.” We were driving to a nighttime Halloween parade—one of my last times to evaluate her out in the world before I gave my report for the review—and in the passing flickers of street light I tried to read her expression. Was she joking about the candy corn? Lying about her meds? I couldn’t tell. Smiling tentatively, I gave her a nod. “Cool. So what is this about candy corn mines?” Looking back out at the road, she gave a small shrug. “It doesn’t matter. You won’t believe me.” I forced a laugh I didn’t feel. “Hey, no fair. I’m curious now. What is it?” She let out small sigh. “It’s just…none of this is real. Not for me.” “Look, I think I know what you mean. Like you’re nervous about getting back out on your own, right? That’s totally n…” Snorting, she shook her head. “No, I’m worried about the shrimp priests and the things that live under the cathedral.” Heart starting to pound quicker, I slowed down until I spotted a good place to pull over and park. When she shot me a questioning glance, I nodded. “It’s okay. We’re still going to be in time for the parade, but I just wanted to be able to understand what you’re talking about, and it’s harder for me to give you my full attention when I’m driving.” Putting the car in park, I glanced around outside. I wasn’t that familiar with this part of the city, and while it did look old and run down, it didn’t look particularly unsafe. Just a few people driving by or on the sidewalks, and there were no unsavory characters lurking in the two alleyways I could see. Turning back to her, I tried to look excited. “So tell me all about this...did you say shrimp priests?” Haley nodded. “I mean, yeah, that’s what I call them. Not because they’re short. They’re taller than me or you. But they have so many little legs and hands and their backs…you can see their backs in spots through the robes they wear because the robes are like old and kind of rotten I guess? And their backs are all hard and segmented like a lobster or a shrimp.” I felt a chill pass over my back and I tried to ignore it. “Okay. So is this something you saw on t.v. or made up or…” “No. I can dream them sometimes. No, that’s not right. I can see them sometimes when I dream.” “Okay. Now you just distinguished between dreaming them and seeing them when you dream. What does that distinction mean to you?” She looked at me for a moment, her expression almost sad. “You really do try to help me. I know that. A lot of them…they don’t really see you. You’re just a problem to them, whether they’re trying to solve you or just get past you so they can go home. But you really do listen, don’t you?” I nodded. “I try, Haley. And I do care. I’m just…I’m confused by what you’re talking about, and not understanding…well, it has me a little worried. So I just want to get what you’re saying better. Does that make sense?” Instead of answering directly, she turned and looked out the window as she began to speak. “I make that distinction because I’m not dreaming them up. It’s just sometimes when I dream I remember the truth, and when I do, I can see that place. The real place I am.” “Okay. Um, tell me about that place please Haley.” When she turned back to me, there were tears in her eyes. “Okay. If you want me to.” **** The sky is always angry there. During the day it churns green or orange, like an endless bank of clouds reading for a storm that is always there and yet never comes. At night, everything is still and clear and black, with every star standing out with a yellow glow so sharp it will cut you if you stare too long. It wasn’t until my second time remembering it that I noticed the constellations were different than here. Not until my third time that I realized I recognized them just like I do the ones “here”. One of the things that works us in the mines taught them to me when we were carrying our full wagons up the hill to the cathedral. The road up to the cathedral is packed black dirt, and most things on either side of that path are either green clay or strange trees that twist up from it and then sag back down as though they’re exhausted from trying to escape that place. Not all of the land is like that. In the distance I can see a city of black stone, and beyond that, a shadowed sea. The road we take is very dangerous. There are these things there…They look like giant snakes when they’re closed up and moving, but they like to get in the trees and stay very still until you pass close by. They look like branches mostly until they move, and when they do, they *open* themselves somehow. They glide down, and far away it looks like a huge bat coming for you, but when they get closer, you see that the bottom of them, the open, gliding part, is all just wet meat and teeth…rows and rows of hooked teeth, and when they land on someone, they wrap around them in a second. They hit them so hard I’ve seen a big man get knocked off his feet, and by the time he tried to scream, his face was already covered in their teeth and they were tightening around him as they started to roll away across the sick green earth. They keep holes burrowed in all over, so you’d never catch them even if you were dumb enough to try. Light scares them…at least a little. Whenever we carry a load to the cathedral, We have two people sitting on the front and back of each wagon with a big jack-o-lantern in their lap. They get an hour off the day before to carve their pumpkin, and the candle inside is rendered by the mine’s reclaimers—hair and fat from the dead, you know. So much of what they do is strange to me, but they don’t let anything go to waste. The jack-o-lanterns keep some of the snake things back, and it works on the Lantern Eyes too. Oh yeah, the Eyes are…well, they look like cats except for their necks are all long and crooked, and their eyes are way too big. So big and glowing, it’s all you see when they wake up and look at you from off the road somewhere. Crushed salt is always scattered on the road because the Lantern Eyes don’t like it. I think it burns them some. So between that and the light, they tend to stay back, just watching with their terrible eyes, waiting to see if someone gets too close to the edge of the road or their pumpkin goes out. I’ve never seen it happen, but sometimes the Eyes take someone even if they’re on the road. We always know it was them because when they’re done eating the parts they like, they impale what’s left on one of the trees near the road. Maybe to tell us that our travels aren’t as safe as we’d like to think. I’ve been talking about the road and the trips to the cathedral, and I do need to tell you about the cathedral itself, but I guess I should mention the mines, since that’s where we are most of the time. Vast mines that go miles underground—grey and green patches of earth and rock that can make you sick or crazy if you touch them for too long, all shot through with clusters of…well, candy corn. I know that sounds silly, but there are giant pieces of candy corn buried in the walls and floor of that place, and every day its our job to carefully dig them out so they can go up to the shrimp priests and the cathedral. I think at one time I thought they were doing all this to rebuild the church—it’s made of candy corn you know, though you can’t tell it except up close. The cathedral is rotting, always rotting, and all of the millions and millions of candy corn that make up its walls and doors and statutes and symbols, they’re all specked white and grey as little red worms crawl in and out. It makes sense they’d want to replace some of that, right? It’s so gross and it smells so bad. But no. I figured out that they always carry the fresh candy down beneath the church. To what lives down there. The things they all worship and serve. And even though it’s all rotting, it never goes away. I’ve heard that the things under the church think that place alive. And for us that are stuck there, they dream us back here when they’re asleep. To a life in this world for a little while. Part of us is always there, but their dreaming gives us times where our minds and souls can rest a little, if only for a time. **** I waited until she fell silent to speak. “Haley, that’s a very interesting story. But you do know that’s just a story, don’t you?” Her gaze narrowed. “No it’s not. I’m telling the truth.” I puffed out a long breath. “Okay. So you think that everyone in this world is actually trapped in some hell and that this is just a temporary dream something gives us to keep us sane?” She shook her head slightly, that melancholy look passing back over her face. “No, not everybody. Not most people. But some of us? Yeah.” “Do you know how…Look, think about what you’re describing. Mining candy corn. Things that look like bats and cats. Jack-o-lanterns. It’s like some kind of macabre Halloween art project. How does it make sense? Do they celebrate Halloween there?” Haley looked out the window again, this time at the alley on her side of the car. “I don’t know. I don’t think they celebrate it. I think they *are* it, or at least an aspect of it. Or Halloween is in part a reflection of what they do in that place. It just get jumbled up and wrong and softened here, like things so often do in dreams.” “Because this reality is just a dream.” Another longer sigh. “You’re not listening. The world is the world. At least I think it is. But they insert us into the world…maybe we’re from here originally and they took us a long time ago, I don’t know…but they dream a part of us back into the world from time to time. We get to live our lives and worry about dumb shit and get locked up for threatening a security guard at the mall (or maybe that part *is* just me) and then eventually we start dreaming about that other place again. That happens when whichever one was dreaming us here starts waking up. Time is different there and it takes awhile, but eventually, this place starts to fade away for us, because we were never really here. For the rest of the world? Maybe we go missing, or they forget we ever existed until we pop in again down the line. I don’t have all the answers. I just know what’s real and…oh no.” Her body had gone rigid as she gripped the door handle on her side hard enough to make it creak. “What is it?” My chest was tight with fear, and while much of it was concern for her and what I should do next, I wasn’t sure that was the only thing I heard in my voice now. “What are you looking at?” “It’s here! Oh God, I see its eyes in the alley. Green and glowing, they’ve sent it for me I…no…I’m just seeing it there…and everything here is fading away…” “What do you see?” My words were shrill and loud and desperate as I reached out to grab her arm and found I couldn’t. I could still see her and hear her, but somehow she was beyond my grasp. “Oh no! I see it all. The cathedral up the hill! It hurts my eyes but I can’t look away! Everything is rotting and burning and it never, ever ends!” I could see the alley beyond the car now because I could see *through* Haley, if only a little. And it may have been my imagination, but was there a green glow coming from that outer dark? I screamed her name and tried to grab her again, but it was no good. Head throbbing, I called out the question burning in my chest now that my doubts had been eaten by my fear and anger. Anger that by telling me all this she had somehow infected me with it or caused it to notice me. “Why? Why did you tell me about this terrible place?” She faded away the next instant, but her words lingered in the air a moment longer. Long enough for me to hear her reply and start crying harder as I put the car into drive and drove on into the night. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My sister dug herself out of her grave [RESPONSE] Present day: I could hear my Mom screaming hysterically down the phone saying "No! Melody's gone!" repeatedly as if saying it over and over made it disappear. I could hear anguished sobs and mutters of disbelief even from upstairs. My dad was screaming different questions each more desperate than the last. I could hear my Mom saying "Noone knows Karl! They keep saying it looks like she *climbed* out but she can't! She can't! She's dead! She died! She died!" I tried to stifle the shouts, the protestations, the denial, and the *She's died!* out of my head but I couldn't. How could I? Noone has ever been faced with something like this. It's even worse than Melody's death itself and that nearly destroyed us all. Then: Two years ago Melody was found dead on the side of the road ironically next to the same cemetery she would be buried in. She'd been hit by a car coming back from her nightshift at the grocery store. Her last ever message was to my Mom saying she was on her way home at 12.13 am, thirteen minutes after she finished work. Moments later she was dead. The woman who lived across the road and the only witness heard the screeching of tyres, a loud bang and a thud at 12.15am. She ran out onto the street to see it completely empty and my sister a crumpled heap on the sodden grass. Her eyes were lifeless and staring, blood tickling from her ears, her phone laying a few meters away showing Mom's reply *Be safe, love you* still on the screen and a notification to say that it had been read. The last thing Melody ever saw on this earth until the car mounted on the kerb, onto the pavement and caused a fatal head injury that took her life at the age of nineteen. Melody was literally only around the corner from home. Had she been a couple of minutes earlier or later she would've missed that fated car and been home safe. This nightmare wouldn't be happening. We saw Melody in the funeral home after the investigation. She looked peaceful as if she was sleeping. The driver was never found and the only closure we had was knowing Melody didn't suffer. But it wasn't justice. And it didn't bring Melody back. The guilt for my parents was overwhelming. The constant "what if" became so unbearable my Mom ended up going into a psychiatric hospital for a few months leaving me and my Dad to stumble in a haze of grief and uncertainty. Present day: The police officers told us that the ground-keeper found Melody's grave disturbed when he went to work in the morning. He could see where the soil had sunken in the middle of the plot and the coffins lid had been opened. He could see finger marks on the decaying wood and could see hand and foot prints all over the soil around the grave. Someone had dug their way out. The coffin was still intact but rotting after two years underground, the interior damp and green with mildew. The ground- keeper couldn't rationalize what he was seeing. He called the police who were just as confused and horrified as he was. The one question noone wanted to ask was blatant in all of our appalled faces. Where was Melody? Then: Melody had just finished her shift and couldn't wait to get home. It was only her and Rhea on nights and they barely got any customers except a few drunk people getting a snack or someome doing a late dash to get milk or something urgent that couldn't wait. Rhea knew Melody liked to walk rather than drive but offered her a ride anyway after work but as usual Melody politely declined. Melody finished cashing up, did a brief clean up and locked up by 12.05am ready to begin the ten minute walk home. She texted her Mom to say she was on her way home as she passed the local cemetery. She knew her parents worried even though she was an adult and this was a safe area! Then Melody heard the loud screech of engine and tyres. Melody had time to turn and see a car speeding out of control down the road before it suddenly mounted the pavement and ploughed into her. Melody didnt even have time to react: she was killed instantly. Now: The police had found a damaged car in a barn of someone called Harvey which was registered to him, he was an ex of Rhea one of Melody' best friends and had worked with her at the grocery store. The car was tested for DNA and a scant bit of blood found below the headlamp matched to Melody. Harvey killed Melody. He had handed himself in and gave up the car's location. Harvey was arrested for first degree murder and tampering with evidence. Only he has to be fit to stand trial. Because Harvey is convinced he saw the corpse of my sister outside his house which led to his confession. He told the police officers she was pointing a decomposed finger at the barn the car was hidden in. Turns out he was right. It *was* my dead sister's body. Rhea had dug my sister up and used her as a tactic to get Harvey to confess to the murder. She had horrifyingly propped Melody up and made her look animated as if she was alive. She had staged the whole thing. She wanted the guilt of what they had done to be finally over. The nightmares to stop. She wanted Harvey to take the fall. Rhea finally cracked and admitted she was apart of the murder too when she was found trying to put Melody's body back in her grave. Turns out Melody was sleeping with Harvey behind Rhea's back and threatened to tell her the truth. Harvey finally told Rhea and both concocted a plan to get rid of her. Only the guilt drove Rhea to madness and she took Harvey down with her. Both are too mentally unfit to stand trial. They think Melody is going to dig herself out of her grave and come after them. They are in the same mental hospital my own mother was in. Later: I heard the same screams again. The shouting and crying. My Mom moaning in despair on the floor. Dad was looking at me with defeat. "Melody's gone again."<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] You all deserve closure about the woman found atop the Maynard Building. Sorry it's been such a long time coming. (Part 1) [RESPONSE] I have a confession to make. Back in 2009, as I’m sure a lot of you will remember, the badly mangled body of a younger blonde woman was found on top of a building downtown. She was kitted out in skydiving gear, but instead of a parachute there was a tarp, a rainbow tarp, and it was obviously not enough to do much. She tumbled down to her demise. But where it got interesting was during attempted identification. I’m sure this is where you will all recall the web theories dancing across the forums at that time. Everything from her dental records to tattoos on her wrist and inner upper arm to DNA itself linked her to a woman living 45 miles north, in the suburbs. She requested anonymity and was granted it. The woman was adopted at birth, and it was ultimately deemed that she must’ve had an identical twin that no one knew about. Still, what are the odds that they’d get identical tattoos and have the same dental history? Who knows. Everyone and their brother gets tattoos these days, and I guess dental health is largely genetic. Weird, but vaguely plausible. The existence of a twin basically made this case unsolvable. Attempts were made to find the birth mother but unfortunately those lead to a grave. The agency was long shuttered, records scattered and shockingly poor. I think The Times did an expose on that. A call for info was fruitless. The case went cold. Of course the paranormal forums went nuts. And that’s why I’m posting here. As a bunch of paranormal sleuths, you all deserve the truth. I also know why, but not how, the story has totally vanished from the web. Even WebArchive comes up empty. I don’t think even the best PR company could do that. I know who that woman was. I never dared say anything because I feared for my life. Why talk now? Well, I recently found out it’s back again. Acute myeloid leukemia. I’ve already had two bone marrow transplants (one of which was just a few weeks ago) and just do not feel up for a third that is very unlikely to work anyway. I have lung problems from my last transplant as well, and have decided to go on General Inpatient Hospice here. She can’t get me, and I will die here, with a drip and surrounded by people I wanna be around. So may as well spill the beans. The woman found atop the Maynard Building downtown’s name was Jennifer Amanda Roberts. She really was adopted, yes, but she was not a twin. And although the woman found looked human, tested like a human DNA wise, and presumably fooled a few folks in white coats, that woman was most definitely something else entirely. I know you are all sleuths, and to really get this story, I think I gotta start in the beginning, which would’ve been August of ’09. I was working as a mental health aid in the pediatric wing of a psychiatric hospital. I loved the patients but I was utterly beyond burned out. One day was particularly rough (a caller who identified as a patient’s godmother on the phone ripped into me), and that night, I had a dream. Funnily enough, I was skydiving, but something was wrong with the parachute. No matter what I did, it just wouldn’t behave like a parachute. I was big into dream interpretations then, and interpreted this to mean that I was flailing through life due to work stress and needed a change before I crashed. So, I whipped out my iPhone 3G and went on Indeed, and began looking. One job just kept standing out to me; I think it was a paid advert in retrospect because it was atop every page. It was for the Lyndon Home, a group home for kids and adolescents who had nowhere to go and/or needed a little bit of basic mental health support. Just a sort of rest home, they said, which I thought was odd wording, but it sounded great. I wondered how much easier my own adolescence would’ve been if such a retreat had existed then. Plus, hey, they offered nearly twice the pay, which was a plus. I sent in my application to there, and a few dozen other places. Several got back to me, and offered interviews, including Lyndon. Well, I guess the phrasing was a little different for some. The one from Lyndon never said interview. Just said “We’d love to meet you!” I did a few interviews, then it was time for Lyndon. I got there 15 minutes early, and when I stepped in, I was greeted by a perky receptionist who immediately went, “Hey!!!! You must be Stephanie!” I greeted her back-she introduced herself as Anna-and asked if I needed to sign in somewhere. “No silly!” said she, passing me-to my shock-an ID badge with my name and picture on it, and a lanyard. The picture was from my LinkedIn. Super odd, but I guess the place was super secure. The strangeness of that soon faded anyway, as she led me into a conference room with cake and balloons. A beaming blonde woman who appeared to be in her mid-sixties glided over to me, stuck out her arm, and introduced herself as Candice, the director. “We are so happy to have you aboard! In honor of your onboarding, we are throwing you a getting to know me party!” I was very confused. Wasn’t this an interview? Was she telling me I was hired? I’d heard of being hired on the spot but this was another level. Poppy, the head of HR, soon made that clear as she passed me my insurance/benefits info. Shortly thereafter, Anna gave me a copy of my schedule. I somehow knew better than to question any of this. The most comfortable person to be around who I found at the party was Jennifer. Nothing is creepier than normalcy where there shouldn’t be, and she was the only one who wasn’t acting like all of this was normal. She nursed her soda gingerly, and I began chatting to her. Everyone else seemed to be chatting amongst themselves, so this didn’t stand out as far as I could tell. We made some small talk, then she invited me over for some dinner after this whole event. We exchanged numbers, and then we heard Candice ding a fork against her glass. She announced me as our newest “guardian counselor” on the day shift. 7am-7pm, 3 times per week. I’d start work the following day. My eyes widened at this, but still continued on. Again, I knew somehow I had to go along with this rather aggressive recruitment. I did go to Jennifer’s home that night. She had some spaghetti cooked for us and a glass of red wine. We ate in the living room in front of the TV, watching some series on DVD. She then began telling me about the place. “Yeah, what they did to you there is what they did to me. There’s something off you know. I don’t think it’s all…above board. The kids have no families. At all. It’s not a trafficking ring either-we did check into that. But when I looked into the kids I-“ Suddenly her eyes widened and she stared, absolutely transfixed on the bay window by her door. I glanced behind me and saw a face, wide eyed with rage, screwed into a frown, with hair unkempt with brambles and needles from nearby foliage embedded into the short dirty blonde locks. Her lips appeared thin, and downward turned, completing her frown that hinted at barely-restrained rage. It honestly took me a second to realize who she was. It was Candice. Jennifer was shaking and crying at that point. I was super creeped out. Jennifer finally stammered out, “I’m screwed, I’m so screwed. Don’t quit okay, just don’t, just do what she says okay.” I planned to quit but entertained her. “You have an opportunity right now. Be nice to Candice. You have an opportunity I don’t.” “I mean I know we are at-will, but what is she gonna tell HR? ‘Yeah I was spying outside her house and heard her talk smack?’ Will she really fire you?” Jennifer gave me a wan smile, the sort you give a little kid who has no idea what they’re babbling about. Jennifer called out sick the next day. I actually did exactly as I was told by her, which surprised even myself. Candice didn’t mention that night, or anything about it really. I began to wonder if I’d dreamt the whole thing. I texted Jennifer a bit; she texted me back so much that I really thought that she must be okay. I figured the stress of having her enraged boss in her bay window must’ve made her ill. But when I mentioned it to her, she acted like it hadn’t happened. And if that was gaslighting, it worked. I was questioning my perceptions. Jennifer was back after 5 days, and I swear something was off about her. So, I mean when I heard about that case of the woman, I knew. I also knew not to say anything. Candice killed her somehow and replaced her. She also got a little tired of us all talking about it, but I know it must live on in your memories even though its’ gone from the web, right? Can any longtime true crime/mystery/paranormal buffs confirm or deny this for me? Honestly, that whole place indeed is off, including the kids. And every time I thought to look into it, I’d have another dream about failing parachutes and tumbling down, down, down towards an unforgiving concrete jungle. But I did it, and Candice can’t do a darn thing about it.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My grandmother's story: the lost man in the woods [RESPONSE] Greetings, All. My granddaughter led me here; told me it’s a place where people who enjoy the spooky and the supernatural come to get their fix. She is helping me share my own story; thought you folks might be tickled by it. These events came back to me at a recent family reunion. For fun, the last of us awake that night went in a circle and swapped our “scariest moments” stories. It was a good time, and as family members shared UFOs and creaky attics and near-death experiences, a trick floorboard in my mind popped up, exposing something my subconscious had long kept hidden, perhaps for my own good. So when their eyes all turned to Grammy K, likely expecting tales of past-era poverty or teenagers with tattoos or the trials of childbirth, I leaned in and recounted to them the time I found a lost man in the woods. It caused quite a stir with the family and, at the insistence of my darling granddaughter, I share it with you now. This is something that happened when I was in my 20s. I won’t embarrass myself by telling you how long ago that was but, suffice to say, I am quite a bit grayer above the ears these days. My first husband, Ronald, was a ranger, and for five years we lived together on BLM land. Our regular backcountry excursions instilled in me a passion for the out-of-doors that was uncommon for a lady back then. Women might be found on a long walk or at a national park with their husband and children in tow, sure. But I was partial to taking a knapsack and charging into pure, isolating wilderness, often spending two or three days at a time following trails or inventing my own. Those excursions were often my greatest peace, especially after Ronald passed in our sixth year together. It was about a year after Ronald’s passing and I was setting out for a two-day trek in the Pacific Northwest. Washington or Oregon I think, though that detail still remains beneath the floorboards. The trail looked attractive on the map, as it followed a river through a vast mountain valley that separated two small towns. I believe it had once served as a supply route between the towns before the road system came, after which it was merely a recreation trail, though not one to be taken lightly. The locals would warn all but the most avid outdoorsmen to avoid the route, as there was a point in the valley that required a difficult river fording. This ford occasionally took the lives of the cocky or the unprepared, sending their bodies bobbing downstream to be recovered by the town at the other end. But I reckoned I was avid enough. A friend dropped me off at the trailhead, as I had left my car parked in the town at the other end of the valley. I was immediately put to task by a steep hike up to a mountain saddle and a precarious descent down the other side. It was past midday before I was rewarded with even terrain in the valley below. I managed the infamous river crossing cautiously and without incident, then resumed the trek on the opposite bank. The trail followed the river a few more miles before it leaned away, sending me from high grass and wildflowers into a forest of evergreens. The sun was beginning to angle towards the western range as the trees closed in behind me, shrouding my world in a gentle emerald dim. I made my way over the soft earth beneath the trees, grateful for the shade after a day exposed beneath the summer sun. The air was muted by a mossy quiet and the limbs of the evergreens sliced the light into haphazard bars of gold. It was a dense, verdant, old-growth forest. The kind that feels like a cathedral. Proud and reverent and secretive. I have always loved and sought such places. The trail took me downhill and the shade grew darker still. There came a point where the pine needles underfoot fully obscured the path and I paused, carefully peeking around evergreens to spot where it might pick up again, trying not to lose my place. I had my compass and map, but only food enough for a day and a half, and didn’t want to be lost in the boondocks if I could help it. This was all before the age of the satellite phone, mind you. After a few moments of unsuccessful scanning, I decided to backtrack to see if there was perhaps a “Y” in the trail I had missed. I turned 180 degrees to find myself looking into the eyes of a man, some ten or twelve feet behind me. I had no clue how long he had been there. My brain, in the panic of the moment, skipped right past surprise and landed directly on bewilderment. “Oh, goodness, hello!,” I spit out, mostly on impulse. I am sure he could see the shock in my face, but he gave no sign of it. “Sure easy to get lost out here, isn’t it?” he replied in simple, even tones. His appearance was the perfect outdoorsman, practically out of a sportsman’s magazine of the day. Work boots and canvas pants, held up with suspenders that ran over a navy, double-breasted shirt. The plaid cuffs of his sleeves were rolled up above the elbow, and the sleeping bag strapped atop his rucksack poked up from behind his head. Yet, despite his textbook appearance, he didn’t *feel* like a woodsman to me. His bearded face was middle-aged, but the skin was deeply creased and drooping at the neck and jowls, as if much older. Beneath wild black eyebrows were grayish eyes that seemed unable to focus on any spot in particular. Splotches of sweat darkened the pits and neckline of his shirt, and he gave off a rank odor that disgusts me even in memory. He offered me a strained, toothy smile, as if he had heard descriptions of smiles but was trying it out for the first time. “It certainly could be,” I replied with exaggerated politeness, re-centering myself internally. “Sorry for my surprise- I didn’t hear you come up behind me.” The man ignored the comment. “Are you lost out here, too?” he asked. His expression remained ‘polite earnest’ but behind the foggy, gray eyes I detected something else, something I couldn’t put a word to. Instinctively, I began to take mental inventory of what weapons I had at my disposal. The best I could come up with was my Swiss Army Knife, which was unfortunately tucked into the bottom of my knapsack. I could hear Ronald’s deep, stern voice echo in the back of my head somewhere, saying “you should be packing a gun, Kristy. You never know what you’ll run into.” I shooed Ronald’s ghost and its “I-told-you-so”s away and turned my focus back to the man. “Certainly not lost, no,” I responded carefully, not wishing to make myself any more vulnerable than I already was. “But you said ‘too.’ Are you lost out here?” The man rocked on his feet, his eyes scanning vacantly in my direction. “Yes, lost. People wander out here; get lost,” he replied. His voice was gravelly, delivered in flat, dead tones. “But sometimes I find them. Find them wandering through the forest, stepping and breaking. Trying to find their way. So I help them. Take them back to the river, so they can follow it out. I can help you, too; help you find the river.” At that he set his empty eyes upon me, truly locking his with mine. His expression transformed into something equal parts pained and furious, as if I had betrayed him in some horrible, intimate way. A primordial part of me awoke and a wave of adrenalin screamed to sprint into the maze of evergreens surrounding us. But a firm, clear voice of instinct told me to stand still. So, like a mouse being fixed upon by a house cat, still I stood. “Well, I’m not lost, though I am sure this trail can be a bit of trouble for some. I certainly appreciate the offer, though,” I said, in the most friendly tones I could muster. Few sunbeams were making it through the trees overhead, and knew I needed to move things along. “But I think I better get moving while I still have some light. I have some friends hiking in from the other end expecting to meet me at camp tonight, so I can’t afford to get too off of schedule.” This was a lie, of course. But I wanted him to think others would be coming along soon; that I was expected. But inside I wished more then than ever that Ronald was with me again. The man practiced his disconcerting smile once more and his eyes blissfully unfocused. “Yes, still have some light,” he echoed in his staccato. “The walkers get lost, making little circles in the forest. If you lose the way, I’ll lead you to the river.” In the tension of the moment, I didn’t process his words. But it was clear that something insidious glared out from behind them at me. “Oh of course, thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. Happy trails!” I practically shouted, eager to detach, and commenced a rigorous power-walk in the direction I had left off at, unsure if I was continuing on the true trail or not. After a few dozen paces, I began blessedly to see indications of the path and took back to it. A few minutes of concerted near-jogging later, my heart thumping in my ears and my pack thumping against my back, I slowed to a walk and watched over my shoulder to see if the strange man was following me. I had put in some considerable distance and in the greenish-dark murk of the forest, I saw nothing but ferns and evergreens. Then, coming around far back on the trail, there he was. Not necessarily following, I suppose, but walking in my same direction, staggering down the path about sixty yards behind me. He moved awkwardly, almost drunken, like someone learning to walk on a prosthetic. In the moment my eye caught him, his head snapped up, and even from that distance I could feel cold gray eyes lock to mine. And I knew then it wasn’t coincidence. I was being followed. I whipped my face forward and picked my pace. The last miles of that day were hiked briskly and stressed. No matter how much speed I put into my pace, the man would always somehow catch up behind me down the trail, despite his disjointed walk. I would lose him for five or ten minutes, then catch some sight or sound of him, persisting ever forward. And so I had no peace; never breaking, often run-jogging, but never able to get more than a few minutes of isolation before I would hear his feet cracking branches along the path or see his dark silhouette come around a bend in the trail far behind me. The last tangerine rays of sun had faded from the forest floor when I realized I would have to stop. I was losing the last of my visibility, and although I was tempted, I knew that hiking in the pitch was foolish. Using my torch to find my way around would make me a beacon to the man in the night. But on the other hand, hiking blindly would mean almost certainly losing the trail, getting me no closer to escape, and could mean injury or death if I was unlucky. And I was not feeling lucky. Instead I resolved to make my way as far off-trail as I dared, quietly set up camp, and wait for the first light of daybreak to serve as a starter pistol for a mad dash to the end of the valley. I didn’t love the plan, but no better ideas came to me. So I crept past the tree line, quiet as a fox, and gingerly set up my one-man pup tent behind a couple interlocked evergreens that stood vanguard between my camp and the direction of the trail. The spot was encircled by ferns and brambles, the best cover I could find. From amber dusk to pale moonlight, I had just enough light to see what I was doing as I moved quietly on sore legs and blistered feet. I didn’t bother with dinner or coffee or any of my rituals typical of a trip to the backcountry. I scarcely remember drinking water. What I *do* remember is laying atop my sleeping bag, unwilling to constrict myself within it, fully dressed, with my Swiss Army knife clutched in my fist, the blade out and ready. I spent my time breathing evenly, staying silent, and listening. After a couple hours I began to calm. The man had never been more than about fifteen minutes behind me down the trail, so if he was a tracker he would have long since traced me to camp. If not a tracker, I suspected he had already overshot my camp, making a successful backtrack to my location near impossible. I was just beginning to form an estimate as to how long before daybreak when I heard movement in the woods. It was the snapping, cracking of something moving ponderously over the forest floor, probably twenty to forty yards away. I prayed, for the first and only time, that it was a bear. The only other thing in those woods heavy enough to make that much noise would be a ungulate, which tend not to move so sporadically or loudly. My every muscle froze as the intermittent creaking and snapping moved towards my camp. I held my knife to my chest like a cross, watching the moonlit side of my tent wall for a shape to take form. Then, after a light snap some ten yards to my left, the woods went silent. I laid there, tense as a plank of wood, terrified to so much as breath. I stared at the shadows of the ferns and tree boughs that the moon cast against my tent wall, waiting for one of them to transform into the shape of the man and lunge. But no phantom assailant came. The shadows slowly lengthened and dissipated as the moon moved through the heavens up above, but I remained fixated on the blueish wall of my pup tent, counted breaths, and waited. It must have been hours before I dared to turn my head away from the direction of the snapping in the forest. The moon by that time had angled in the sky towards the other side of camp, and as I righted myself I saw, on the opposite wall of my tent, the shadow of the man. He loomed above the canopy, perfectly still, perhaps just an arm’s reach away. I was taken with panic, and in the wan late-evening light, the silhouette’s head turned ever so slightly, so as to look directly down at me. “Little walker. I knew you’d get lost. Let me help you find the river.” The man’s voice had changed. It was no longer the masculine voice I had heard delivered in gravelly staccato on the trail earlier. It was vaguely feminine; sweet and melodic; every word dripping with acid. It was the voice that would come from a spider, if a spider could speak. And when I heard it, I knew I was going to die. “I’m not lost,” I thought. Or perhaps I whispered it. Either way, I remember it took all I had to make the words come. “I know where I’m going.” At that, the man reached out and pressed his palm against the upper wall of the tent, imprinting a black handprint against the fabric. “If you are here, then you are lost,” replied the voice from inside the man. “*And the lost belong to me*.” The handprint against my tent spasmed and I watched as the head of the silhouette convulsed and rolled back. Black shapes emerged from where the man’s mouth was; slender tendrils that twisted and unfurled upward from the man’s throat, coiling and writhing in the air around his head, making a grotesque shadow puppet show out of the moonlit wall of my tent. In the terror of the moment, my impulse was to scream. But somehow, in the hot foam of fury and indignation that I should die at the will of this incomprehensible *thing*, the scream choked out in the form of words: “I AM NOT *LOST!*” I surged up and in a miraculously clean cut, sliced the tent’s fabric from the canopy to the floor in the direction of the man’s shadow. The hand pulled away and I sprang outward, blindly prepared to sink the Swiss Army knife into anything it might find purchase. But before I could clear my exit, I heard a man’s “HEYYO” from the trees not far off camp. It was a deep, soulful bellow that rattled me and carried like wind around the evergreens and brambles. I knew the sound in my heart. It was Ronald’s voice, the call he would make when we would hike together in the wilderness to ward off bears. Only now it came with such force that I felt it in and around me; a wave of feeling and a foghorn of sound. In that same moment, I heard the garbled, vicious words of the thing speak, I know not what, and by the time I was righted to my feet outside the tent, ready to attack, there was only silence. I scanned the shifty darkness of the woods, watching the trees and shadows around me like a hare watches the skies. My heart was pounding, my body still ready for the fight. But I was alone. No man. No silhouette. No creature. No Ronald. Just a woman alone in nature, panting through the adrenaline and fear. After some time I shook off my dread, stuffed my ruined tent back into my knapsack, retrieved my torch, and carefully picked my way back to the trail in the dark. From there I began the route again, holding my torch out like a nightwatchman, eyeing the tree line while being careful not to lose the beaten path. Occasionally I thought I heard movement far back behind me on the trail, but the light of my torch never caught anything in the shadows of the forest. A few miles later, daylight began to trickle through the canopy of the evergreens. An hour or so after that I noticed the trees becoming smaller; farther apart, and the rush of the river in the distance became the soundtrack to my walk. By the time the trail rejoined the river, the woods were well behind me, and I soldiered on through open valley in a stupor. At some point I reached the meager town where I had left my car parked; by the time I realized I was walking on pavement, I was practically at town center. I am sure I drew disconcerted looks from the locals at the tap house when I staggered in, a mess of matted hair and sunken eyes, with my knapsack bulging and half-zipped. But I took no notice. It had always been my and Ronald’s tradition after coming back out of the backcountry to celebrate with a bourbon and a beer. I ordered two of each, as I knew he had joined me for a final hike, but that it was on me to drink on his behalf. The barmaid took my order with the pouty indifference of someone who had served stranger orders to stranger patrons, and went to task. I had finished both bourbons and most of the second beer when a commotion broke me from the solitude of my thoughts. The excitement was directed at a tiny television mounted in a corner behind the bar, and the pouty barmaid turned up the volume at a request. It was the county news station, where a pallid man in a sports jacket was breaking a press release from the sheriff’s office. The news ticker read “Sheriff recovers body of drowned hiker.” The camera cut to the sheriff explaining that the man was a hiker from Canada who likely drowned while attempting to ford the river in the valley pass. He had been dead for three days before washing into town on the high river later that morning. Several bar patrons issued tuts and low whistles, the dirge of the cynical and unsympathetic. While the sheriff issued a tired warning that the river fording was dangerous and not be attempted by those without proper training and experience, my thoughts went to the man. To the confident pilgrim of nature he must have been. Perhaps too confident, even. Until a few days ago, when he got himself lost in some very old woods, where he weaved and wandered through the evergreens, hunting for a trail. Until something found him. Something that took him to the river, where it takes all its lost travelers. But I was never lost.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] vampires in venie [RESPONSE] Today I woke up with a terrible feeling of dread, as well as this inescapable urge to search up "Vampires In Venice" on google to see if, well, there were vampires in Venice. The only results I found were some Doctor Who episodes, which didn't help clear my doubts. I shall try and explain my dream as clearly as I can, with as much as I can remember. I typically don't remember my dreams, but this one, I can't help but feel, that I've dreamt of before. I recall being in Venice, perhaps for a vacation of sorts, which is odd because I've never traveled there before, or anywhere near Italy. I've only traveled to 1-2 places within Asia. As the sky darkened, our tour guide suddenly began rowing towards the motel we \[my family and I\] were staying in. My parents began protesting, because the tour package they paid for had night activities as well, and they wanted to get their moneys worth. The tour guide looked grim. He was a tan man, weathered, and he had been nothing but lovely and kind throughout the tour. He looked at my parents straight in the eye, and said to them with a tone that made me feel like a child again. "If you want to live past the night, go back, shut up and sleep." At this point we reached the pavement \[??\], and he walked ahead of us, towards the little motel we were staying in temporarily. I dislike conflict, and I could tell my parents were ready to argue, or go off on their own, but something told me to listen to the tour guide. I like to think of myself as a rather intuitive person, which has saved me a couple of times. I managed convince my parents to go back, citing some stupid excuses such as the city was dangerous at night because my parents may fall into the canals or whatever. I wasn't sure how, but I managed to convince them to go back. In the motel, I remember the owner locking the doors, and binding them with these huge iron chains. The tour guide had gone off to his room, and the last thing I remembered before falling asleep \[in my own dream which felt really weird btw\], was this odd sense that someone was watching us. I was awoken in the middle of the night \[in the dream\] by my cousin's movements. As I turned towards her to tell her to shut up and stop moving, I saw her hugging herself, trembling ever so slightly, trying to make sure her neck was covered. There was something on her, human shaped, but off. I can't quite describe it, but I suppose it looked like Gollum, from Lord Of The Rings, except smaller, with black beady eyes, and horrible, horrible fangs. Instinctively, I pretended to be asleep once more, raising my shoulders and making a double chin in hopes to protect my neck. I can't tell you why I did that, because I do not know why myself. Perhaps it was the teeth, which could explain why I kept thinking about the phrase "Vampires In Venice". But it knew. It knew I had woken up, and it knew I had seen it. You know how when you close your eyes, you can visualise the room, and all the items in it? You know where it is, even if it is not physically seen. That's how i "saw" the creature. My eyes were open, but I could not see. My body was frozen. Perhaps it was sleep paralysis. I could not move, not even when I tried. But I knew I had to, for the creature was now hunting me. I tried praying, wiggling my fingers, telling myself that I was dreaming within a dream. I knew it wasn't real, it couldn't be, but the fear felt so real, and I knew the creature was there, waiting. It's odd to not be able to control your body. There's a sickening sense of helplessness that comes with the territory. The moment I managed to wiggle my fingers, the creature pounced, and I woke up, still in the motel room, screaming. I was alone in the dark room, awake and safe. My cousin was gone, but of course she wasn't here. She never followed us on the trip to Venice. It must have been a nightmare, a bad dream. As I left the the bed, to go wash my face, something lunged at me, this time real and tangible. It, no, she was small, gollum-like, but dead. Her body was rotting, bony and scarred, and the creature was barely clothed in what looked like remains of a pink dress. Her hair was sparse, and she was so small. Like a child. I don't know how, but I managed to hold her back till morning, pushing and kicking as she snarled at me, vicious. When morning came, the sunlight filtering in the blinds, the creature vanished. It was as though last night had not happened at all, but I knew it had, because I had scratches on my arm that were never there before. When i went downstairs for breakfast, I saw my family chattering and eating. I felt relieved, but also confused. Some of them weren't here before, and the room seemed to be moving, like a carriage on a train. I causally took a plate of food, and asked my family, "Did you all see something 'dirty' last night?" The whole room quietened down, and my uncle stared at me before laughing. He pointed to the plate of food I was holding, and ushered me to take some fish, nuggets and chicken. "Just go to the kitchen, and find the old lady, and tell her that her granddaughter helped you last night. Make sure to compliment her granddaughter lots, and offer the plate of food to the granddaughter as a thanks." I'm not sure why, but I did as he said. I went to the kitchen, and couldn't help but feel that I was now on a train based on the surroundings, a rather old and fancy one. The old lady looked like my grandmother, but somehow, I knew she wasn't. She seemed kind though. I did as my uncle said. I complimented her granddaughter lots, telling her how her grandchild helped me last night when I was feeling afraid, and told her I wanted to offer her a plat of food as thanks. The old lady beamed, and she called her grandchild in. A young child, no more than 6, came running in, wearing a pink dress and holding a brown teddy bear. She was adorable, but instinctively, I knew she was the creature from last night. I steeled my nerves, and offered the best smile I could, offering her the plate full of meat I was holding as a thanks. She stared at me, and it seemed like eternity before she gave a satisfied nod, took the food, and ran out. I knew then, that I was safe. At least for now. The old lady turned to me, and told me I should bring some food to the carriages upstairs. She said it would appease them. Somehow, I think she knew. As I listened to her advice, and walked to the other carriages, I stopped at the stairs. I didn't know old trains and carriages had an upstairs. But I felt this ominous sense of foreboding. I felt as though if I went upstairs, I would never come back down. Before I could do anything. I woke up, this time in real life, in my bedroom. It was raining today, and the sun was out, and I felt relieved that it was all just a dream, albeit a familiar one. But to my horror, I awoke with odd scratches on my arm, caused by the creature in pink. It wasn't there before. As I sat in bed, the urge to search the phrase "Vampires In Venice" came, and simply wouldn't go away. I did try searching it up, but nothing seems like it would fit the incredibly vivid dream I had. So I decided to post here in hopes that someone will give advice, any advice. I think this is the second time I've dreamt it, because there's no other reason why it feels as though it's happened before. If anyone knows of these creatures, of why the dream felt so vivid despite me knowing nothing about Venice, of why such scratches appeared, please, help me.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My new strange town has a set of rules in order to survive - Mr. Andrew forgot to give me the rulebook and I may or may not have broken a rule. [RESPONSE] The creature was still whimpering outside as I was trying my best to process what had just happened. The lady came and lifted us both up, leading us to the warm living room. Her house is covered with thick gray curtains all over the windows. Esther was still shaky from what had just happened and was clinging to me. The man named Andrew is still trying to put the locks back in their place. She brought us a blanket and a tray of delicious cookies. "Have a bite, my dear," she said soothingly, but I couldn't raise my hand to take one. "Thank you, but... we're full." I replied. "Oh, that's absolutely alright... are you two okay?" She finally let it out, looking at my sister shaking under the same blanket as me. Comforting Esther, I looked back at the worrying lady: "No... but at least we're still alive." "I'm sorry for putting you through that ordeal..." She let out a sigh, and introduced herself, "My name is Rose, and the grumpy man over there is Andrew... You could call him Troy, it suits him better." I nodded as Mr. Andrew... or Mr. Troy, finally came in and sat with us, throwing a cookie into his mouth. "You two were lucky we were still awake," he complained, "Otherwise we would have two new weird residents in this town." "It hasn't had a good meal in a while." "Wait, Mr. Troy, what exactly do you mean?" I frowned as I looked at him. He then turns to Mrs. Rose and says, "Should we tell them? I don't want to scare them," He inquired, slipping another cookie into his mouth. "I'll do the speaking," she said. "For nearly a decade, something has been haunting this town, and it's more than just some terrifying urban legends." Mrs. Rose fixed her gaze on the door. "That creature is only a minor component of that thing." "So that thing has been existing for decades?" Esther asked. She appeared to be more concerned than ever. I tried to calm her down, despite the fact that I was terrified as well. Mrs. Rose placed her hand on Esther's back and patted it gently. "We never knew, dear," she sighed. "Until my mother was killed by it." "I was only a small child when I heard the same voice from my grandmother. I went outside and opened it, only to discover the same thing on my doorstep. I can still remember its disgusting, inhumane grin. That same smile it had when it was devouring my mother's head." "I'll never forget that." She slowly wiped away her tears. Mr. Troy approached and took her hand in his. "We never knew, dearie... we never knew exactly what it was..." Sobbing, she said, wiping away her tears. I didn't know what to say, and Esther was also silent. "I couldn't save her." Her voice was still a little raspy. "But at least we managed to save you two." "I... Thank you," I replied, looking at her. "It was our job to do," she reassured. She finally continued, after a short moment of silence: "My dad and I worked it all out together. We went around the town to find more information, and we found its habitat. One time, we even tried to hunt for it, though it didn't end very well." She chuckles. "But then the town committee chimed in. They forced us to stop going out at the usual time that we would go around the neighborhood to warn everyone. And that was when we knew they had connections with that thing. It never had a name, but they worshipped it like it was some kind of god." "That is when I realized how it had been going around, looking at us through the windows. The town committee allowed it to use their body. That is how it has been hunting, disguising itself under the appearance of the committee." She frowned, "I never quite understood how that Martha dipstick even got a hold of that creature in the first place..." "Her husband," Mr. Troy said, throwing the final cookie into his mouth, "She did some weird ritual only to encounter that little shit." "Can you please tell me what that ritual is?" Esther finally asked after a long break of silence. I almost thought she was sleeping the whole time. Mr. Troy replied: "Sorry to disappoint ya, but this old man has no idea, only heard it from Daniel." "Daniel, that local hunter?" Mrs. Rose asked, taking a sip from her tea cup. Troy nodded, "It promised her something about her husband. That is why she has been so crazy about keeping the committee together." "This town is her final salvation." Esther's voice was even shakier than before, "So she would sacrifice this whole town for someone that doesn't even exist anymore?" She cried out. Rose held her in her arms to comfort her while her tears were falling out again. I couldn't do anything, I was shocked too. Learning that your life is hanging by a thread could be quite devastating. While patting Esther, I turned back to Troy and asked the question I've been wondering about this whole time: "How have you two been living in this monstrous town?" "We follow a set of rules," replied Mrs. Rose, "Made by my dad and I. Isn't that great?" "Rules? What kind of rules?" I asked, appearing to have little faith in the so-called "rules". Rose smiled as she put down the sleeping Esther onto the couch. "I'd love to introduce it to you, but dearie, shouldn't you be sleeping by now?" "But-" "Now now, it's 4 in the morning and you haven't slept for almost 2 hours. Just to be sure, tomorrow, Troy and I will renovate your house. You wouldn't want someone looking at you through those windows, right?" "Don't worry pal, we have a notebook that we've written all of them in. And we'll give it to you when we're done renovating your house." I didn't want to argue because my eyes were half closed. All the things that have happened really took a toll on me. I just nodded before settling down on the couch to get some rest. This is enough for the day. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ It was about another 3 hours when Esther woke me up. Mr. Troy had a tool box with him, while Mrs. Rose was holding a thick pile of cloth. They escorted us back to our house and started to renovate it. Troy installed three additional sets of locks on our doors and windows, while Rose strung all of the window treatments. We gave each other our phone numbers so that we could stay in touch and waved them off as they went back to their house. I finally let out a sigh of relief as we were finally back at our house. But Esther was still a bit shaky. I can't blame her. After everything that happened last night, we were concerned about living in this town. I was planning to call my mom until there was a sudden knock on the door. Esther and I looked at each other in horror. Could it be that creature again? I stood up and looked through the peephole. It was a mailman, smiling while holding a box. It doesn't seem like that cashier from yesterday. I decided to open the door anyway. Nothing could go wrong, right? "A delivery for Ms. Nguy?n." "Oh, thanks." I took the box from his hand. Still with that smile, he nodded and went back to his truck. I brought the package inside and locked the door immediately. Esther was suspicious about the box that I was holding. "Could it be mom's?" I asked, examining the package. She shook her head, "I don't know, it doesn't seem like... huh, is it your phone ringing?" I took out my phone only to get scolded in the face: "WHY DID YOU TAKE THE BOX FROM THE MAILMAN? ARE YOU INSANE?" It was Mrs. Rose. She was so angry that I couldn't imagine a sweet lady like her being that furious. "But, it's our mom's package. What's the matter?" "You haven't read the rulebook yet?" "What rulebook?" "Oh no... Troy forgot to give you the book, hasn't he?" "Yes..." "Okay, Rachel. I need you to listen carefully. You don't have to worry about the box, just don't go out by any chance. I repeat, **DO. NOT. GO. OUT.**" "But, why?" "**He's still standing at your door, and he is coming to your house tonight**." She said, her shaky voice even scaring me more. "Wait, wait, wait! Mrs. Rose, what are you saying? How could he come into our house when we've locked the door?" I interjected. "You just invited him into your house by receiving the package, and nothing could stop you from coming into your house at midnight." *Oh fucking no.* "So, we're going to die?" I gushed, worryingly looking at Esther. She seemed both concerned and confused. The sound of paper flipping echoed from the other side of the line, and then Rose finally replied: "Not if you hide in your modified closet." "You mean the closet with locks on it?" "I believe that's the one. Remember to hide inside the-" A long beep followed. Our line has been cut off. "*Fuck*." I silently cursed under my breath, Esther came and put her hand on my back. The knob on the main door starts turning rapidly. I don't think we can handle this much longer. **My new strange town has a set of rules in order to survive - Mr. Andrew forgot to give me the rulebook and I may or may not have broken a rule.**<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My door keeps on opening during the night [RESPONSE] I moved into my new apartment a few months ago, right towards the end of summer. This apartment is very typical, 1 bedroom, 1 bathroom, a kitchen which leads into a living room as well. This would be the first time living on my own, but I was confident. I knew when my rent was due, my budget for food and all that stuff. I was sitting on my bed looking for jobs when I first heard it. I heard my door creak open, and then close abruptly. As you could imagine I was very confused, but a couple of searches throughout my apartment let me calm down. A few minutes later it happened again, a slow creak and then a sudden slam as the door was shut. This time I was more annoyed than scared. I went through my apartment one more time and found nothing. After a little thought this was the explanation I came up with The door to my bedroom has this broken latch, which is stuck, as if someone was constantly holding it open, which means that my doorknob is useless, and I can push and pull my door open. As I tend to shut my door often, this means that my bedroom can get pretty hot and the air becomes pretty stale. This means that I have my window open almost 24/7. This means that my door opening and closing is a result of the draft that comes through the window. The wind will push the door then get cut off, letting the weight of the door push it close. This began to happen so often that I didn’t even bat an eye to it. A little while after I started my courses, I was up late studying for some of my first exams. It was particularly cold that night so I went and closed my window. From my position on the bed I didn’t have an immediate sight line on the door, and I would have to lean forward to get a good view on it. As I was reviewing the material that my professor had posted, I heard that all too familiar slow open and abrupt close. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and immediately I felt the sensation that I was being watched. I took a weary step towards the door and opened it, staring into the dark void that was my bathroom. I went through my entire apartment, and no window was open. In other words there was no way, no reason for that door to open like it normally did. There was no logical explanation. Unless… No, stuff like that isn’t real. I went back to my bed and tried to get back on track with my work, but I couldn’t think straight. All I could think of was somebody hiding somewhere in my apartment just watching me. I thought to myself that there was no way I was sleeping in my apartment tonight, so I called up a bunch of people from school, or anybody in the area, to see if anybody had any room for me to sleep. But alas, they had no room for me, as most of them already had 3 college students in a 2 bedroom apartment. Totally pissed off, I looked towards the direction of my room, and shuddered. I ended up sleeping on the couch. Nothing happened for a few weeks, and I had almost forgotten about it, if it weren’t for the door almost constantly drifting open and then slamming over and over. One night at about 2am I shot awake suddenly. I had no nightmares, no bad dreams, nothing. I didn’t even feel tired. I was dead awake. I had closed the window before I went to sleep, because my apartment is right next to a train station, and the noise was unbearable. I had sat there just listening in dead silence, the only noise was the blood pumping through my ears. When I finally lay down. I heard the door creak open. It didn’t close. I leaned forwards to get a better view of the door, and I screamed. Looking back we’re two eyes, equally bloodshot, as if this thing was just crying. Its pupils were as black as the darkness that had surrounded it. I sat there, paralyzed. I saw a hand, which looked like it was manifested from the darkness, resting on the door. The skin was wrinkled, and hung loose from the bone. Its fingers were long and thin, and its nails were like daggers attached to the end of its fingers. It rhythmically tapped its fingers on the wood, still staring. It’s eyes were upturned as if it were smiling at me, yet I did not see any mouth. I was beyond horrified. All I could do was watch as it waded into the room, moving awkwardly as if it had just grown these limbs and was just testing them out. He came to a stop at the foot of my bed. It looked as if this figure had been built from wire, elongated beyond proportion. I could see his ribs poking through his skin, begging to be freed from his rib cage. He was almost as tall as my room, easily being over 10ft tall. He raised his impossibly thin arm and pointed at me. I heard one thing. *Leave* I didn’t have to be told twice. I bolted out of bed and ran past him towards my front door. It felt as though I ran for 100 meters, it felt like an eternity. That it was impossible to escape and I wasn’t moving. But i reached the front door. I swiftly grabbed my keys and sprinted out. Before I left I took one look back. And the figure seemed to be smiling, staring at me run away. I quickly moved out after that, only returning during the day to pack my shit and leave. I found another apartment that was a bit more expensive but I was happy to pay whatever to get out of that place. A few months after whilst I was working on an English essay, the news station that was on in the background caught my attention. “Recently, a landlord at the [redacted] apartment buildings has been arrested for the murder of 6 tenants over the course of 3 years. His most recent victim, Sadie Redfield, was reported missing 2 months ago, and when Sadie’s neighbours reported a foul stench coming from her apartment, room 163, two police officers showed up on the scene, and found the landlord cuddling with Sadie’s decapitated body.” The news showed an image of the landlord and his name, and my blood ran cold as I recognized the man as my own landlord. Just then there was a knock on my door, I walked up to it and on the doormat was a box, I looked left and right down the corridor and saw no one. That’s weird, first of all I didn’t order anything, second there wasn’t a delivery guy outside, and third of all, how did someone get away so fast without causing any noise? I picked up the box and attached to it was a small post-it-note. *‘See you soon’* I opened the box and screamed. Inside the box were a bunch of photos of me sleeping and laying on my bed. All taken from that creaking door.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Do not play the mod titled memories-Part 2 [RESPONSE] Hey again guys, It's been a while since i've been here....I'm currently in my closet...Hiding from Her.....I'm trying to tell you all this before it's too late... If you're confused: A while back I downloaded a Mod for Elden ring, It ended up leading to a lot of crazy things going down. Now I'm being hunted down by some supernatural entity who wants to claim my soul...It sounds crazy I know but I promise you, that's what happened. If you want to read the story for yourself...here's the link: Whilst I was gone I received a message on my phone from someone named keith....I was going to ignore it, but then another message popped up, then another, and another. I couldn't ignore it so I decided to read what this stranger was saying. The following text is what was said word for word over text messages. K-Keith A-Me\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ K: Hello, my name is keith. I need to talk to you...please answer. K: Please don't ignore me...this is important. K: Please Anna....answer me. A: Who are you? How do you know my name? K: My name is keith....and I'm here to help you....you need to know more about the circumstance you're in right? Y'know the one with the HAUNTED mod and what not? A: How do YOU know?? K: You saw my video didn't you? The one with the man trying to warn people like you to not download a haunted mod? A: You're that man? How do you know I saw the video? How do you know anything about me? K: Listen, I am, or WAS in the same situation as you...Now i'm trapped in the game as one of the characters in Elden ring. A: WHAT??? How did you get trapped in the game? K: Cassandra. A: Who is that? K: Cassandra is the ghost of a girl who haunts the mod. She lures players foolish enough to download the mod, kills off their favorite characters by using memories and past trauma, and then killing the player and combining their soul with the programming of their favorite character. That bounds the player's soul to the game, more specifically, to the mod. I'm not the only one either, she's done this to numerous people, I'm the first one who bought it to light and was able to warn others in time. A: Wait...she uses memories and past trauma? Then it makes sense now why the Npcs were saying the things they said. K: What did the Npcs say? A; they were talking about the year 1999...now I know why... K: What do you mean? A: My older sister died in 1999, she accidentally...hung herself at a playground. Now I understand why Morgott died that way in the game...Cassandra must've found the memory buried deep in my mind and she used that as ammunition. K: I see...and she used Morgott because...your favorite character is Morgott correct? A: Yes, he's the entire reason why I bought the game in the first place...I thought he was such a cool character. Seeing him die in front of me in such a way.....I felt bad for him...I wanted to help him...I wanted to SAVE HIM. K: I see... A: What about you? What happened to you? K: I played the mod because I thought I was going to see some cool changes to the game...I heard the Npcs whisper as well...they bought up the year 2010. I found myself meeting starscourge radahn too early....yet, for some reason, I couldn't bring myself to stop playing... Then I saw him stab himself in the face with his own sword.....I did the same thing you did....I tried to stop him. I don't know what snapped in me to cause me to do something so odd...to care for a character that didn't even exist. It appeared that Cassandra had found the memory of when my Father got killed after being impaled in the face by a piece of plywood...She possessed Radahn's body to kill him the same way my father was killed. Then she possessed Radahn's dead body and came out of my TV screen, she started to chase me, but I outran her....I ran to my attic and hid. Then I filmed that youtube video....after I made the video, she found me in the attic, and dragged me through the TV, and bound my soul to Radahn's programming. I've been trapped here ever since. When you downloaded the mod, when all that crazy mess went down getting you into quite the predicament, I was able to see everything that happened to you. I've spent days trying to find a way to contact you..it's rather hard when you're trapped in a Video game. A: So you're saying if ghost, Cassandra, manages to find me...she'll drag me into the TV, and bind my soul to Margit's programming...trapping me in the game as Margit and keeping my soul bound to the game forever? K: Correct, I know this sounds crazy...However....it appears she hasn't found you yet.... A: I was lucky then huh? K: No...If I can find you she sure can too. There's nothing you can do to stop her...your fate is inevitable...***~~SO STOP HIDING FROM ME~~*** A: What? Keith are you okay? K: She's found us! You need to hide! NOW!! A: Okay! Okay! Should I bring the phone too? K: NO! Drop the phone, she can go through that to-------***~~WHY ARE YOU RUNNING AWAY FROM ME????..STAY WITH ME, STAY WITH US!!! STOP RESISTING!!!!~~*** \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ That conversation was 2 hours ago...I'm still here inside my closet. I hope keith is alright. All I can hear is Margit's (or should I say cassandra's) loud footsteps and slight cooing every once in a while...I know she's out there, trying to pull me inside... I don't have much time left...she's right outside the closet...She hears me breathing....I Know I'm not going to make it....Please, whoever read this...this is my final message to the world...please do not download the mod in Elden Ring titled "memories"... This is the end of the road for me...but you dear reader can help me warn the world. Warn others not to install this mod. Even if that means making a youtube video that no one will watch... \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Hello young one...Would you like to join my family? You WOULD? Just install a mod, it takes no time at all...it's called 'memories'. Just install it and we can be one big happy family, me and my friends would LOVE to meet you! I just added two new friends, a third one wouldn't hurt. So come on ***~~...install the mod. DO IT NOW. DO IT NOW. DO IT NOW. DO IT NOW. DO IT NOW. DO IT NOW. DO IT NOW. DO IT NOW. DO IT NOW. DO IT NOW. DO IT NOW. DO IT NOW. DO IT NOW. DO IT NOW. DO IT NOW. DO IT NOW. DO IT NOW.~~*** <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] A Survivor's Accounts of the Depraved Funhouse: The Greatest trick (Part One) [RESPONSE] [[2]]( \*\*\* *Go away! Leave me alone! What do you want with me?! Why are you doing this to me?!* "Yeah, smile for us, Linus! Smile forever like us. We're always happy here. Always smiling in Hell!" "Home of everlasting smiles..." *Leave me alone, PLEASE!* "Stop, stop, boo-hoo-hoo!" *STOP IT!* "Do you care for her, too, boy?" *No! No, leave her alone! Don't hurt her!* "You know what I think'll make him happy?" *NO!* \*\*\* *(Oh God... I... I don't know if I can do this anymore... Fuck...)* I remember feeling jolted from the bed, almost like I'd taken 100 watts straight in my rear end. There was a surge of energy flowing through me again, similar to what I'd felt in the hospital. I wanted to go, save Liza, *something!* I couldn't take just sitting there anymore. Slowly, I got out of the bed, taking care to not wake either Ma or Dad up. Then, I slowly made my way over to the door. Before leaving, I took one last look over my shoulder to see my parents still fast asleep. *I love you, Ma, Dad. I'm gonna miss you and I'm sorry. But I have to do this.* *(I didn't... I could've stayed away... I could've forgotten...)* I then quietly slipped out the door. Afterwards, I managed to sneak my way past the front desk and out of the hotel altogether. Then I was out, feeling the bite of the chilly nighttime breeze slap across my face. I looked out across the road in front of me for a moment before heading off to the right. As you could imagine, no, I had absolutely no *real* clue as to where the hell I was going. What do you expect from a 12 year old who'd had all of maybe two minutes to actually come up with and hatch this little stunt while their parents were asleep. I knew they'd lose their shit immediately the next morning when they awoke. They'd probably call the police immediately, and then I'd be out of time to find Liza. *That means I'm going to have to find them before morning.* I reasoned as I walked down the quiet road. Like I said, I had very little sense of direction as to where I was going, however, I figured, if there was anywhere they'd be taking her, it'd be the "" itself, HappyWorld. *Please, God, let me be going in the right direction. Please let Liza be okay.* *What if she isn't? What am I supposed to do then? Hell, what am I gonna do if she is?* I did my best to shove these questions down and kept walking. *Gotta stay focused. Just got to make it there first. Everything else will fall into place from there, won't it?* *Won't it?* I walked for, at least what *felt like,* forever. It was around the 10th or 11th mile (approximate guess, mind you) that the direction I was going seemed to be familiar to me. I started to remember making this exact same walk with Derek and Liza from the Blockbuster that day. *"HappyWorld, here we come!"* My eyes started to burn. I had to stop and sit down for a moment, both to rest my feet -- which you can bet were sore as all hell -- as well as simply because I just needed a moment mentally. I couldn't go on like I was. I knew I wouldn't do Liza or *anybody* any favors if I went in there an emotional train wreck. I needed to be sharp for this, at the top of my game. Once my head was back on straight, I stood up and continued forward. From that point on, I had one thing and one thing only on my mind -- find Liza and book it the hell back out of there. Finally, after I'd say about two and a half or so hours (counting the two extra rest stops I had to make), I would meet face to face with destiny again, staring into the lifeless, soulless marbled eyes of HappyWorld. You're probably expecting me to tell you here that I pissed myself or something. That it looked "That much more menacing at nighttime" or something like that. But the truth is, it really didn't look as creepy under the complete cover of darkness. Honestly, without the sun's light pronouncing it's bizarre color scheme or the shadows pronouncing it's features and the fact that it wasn't lit up like last time, it appeared to me as just another abandoned amusement park attraction, like the ones you'd see at the fair or Carowinds or something where there'd be boards covering it or a sign that says **"DO NOT ENTER"**. Funny, I guess, isn't it? *(Trust me, Irony would be the ONLY thing that's fuckin' funny about this place...)* That's not to say that I wasn't still filling to the brim with an overpowering sense of dread. Just because it wasn't scary on the *outside* anymore didn't mean I wasn't in for something ghoulish on the *inside*. I stepped forward. Admittedly, I wasn't entirely sure what to expect to happen. Part of me thought it'd, you know, open up for me when I got close enough to the mouth of the structure like it did last time. Granted, of course, there was Happy Bob there then to open the gate for the three of us. I doubted it'd be the same this time. He wouldn't open the door for me like that again, would he? Well, at least in this instance, lightning actually struck twice because as soon as I came maybe a foot or two away from it, the familiar sound of screeching metal echoed in the otherwise abandoned space of land around me and I watched the jaws of the funhouse distend, ready to take me in and digest me for the second time. I paused. Looking up, I could still see the clown's bulging black eyes beating down at me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. *Come on, focus! Just go in there, grab Liza, and run out.* *Very* slowly, I took a single step forward onto the tongue that'd ejected out for me. I then heard the sound of grinding gears once again as the tongue was slowly pulled back in, taking me with it. Then, like last time, I was in the dark. This time, I was all alone. I stumbled forward for a moment, trying to feel my way around. Eventually, though, I managed to find the first corridor from before with the four doors marked with the clown faces under the dim orange lamps. I stopped in the middle and looked around. *Which one am I supposed to go in first? Which one's most likely to be where they're keeping Liza?* Briefly, I thought back to when Derek and Liza argued about which door to go through. *"What're you doing, we gotta do this one first."* That made me look to the "Happy Frannie" door first. Looking at the clown face marking it, I realized it looked very similar to the bicycle clown. Then I thought of the news report. *Francine Withers... Happy Frannie...* My heart started pounding then as I approached to open the door. I was afraid. I'd never been through this area. I'd only seen what was behind the "Happy Jack-O" door, as well as the so-called "Secret room". What was gonna be in this one, though? I couldn't stop myself from imagining every worst possibility from crossing my mind in vivid detail. *God, what'll they do with Liza?!* \*\*\* *"Linus, Mama, Daddy, HELP! They're hurting me!"* "Hang on, I'm coming, Liza!" *"Aw look, ain't that precious. Little piggy's come to play with us!"* "Liza! *LIZA!"* *"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha , ha..."* "NO!" \*\*\* I snapped back to reality, realizing I'd actually been shouting out loud. Refocused, I grabbed and threw open the door. Inside, I was met with a hall of mirrors, all lit up with LEDs. "L-Liza..." I called out, trying to keep my voice as quiet as possible. Even if they didn't greet me at the entrance, and even on the off-chance they *didn't* notice I was there, I knew my best chance of pulling this off was by keeping it quiet. I slowly began making my way in and through the maze. The silence, I think, was what began to terrify me in that moment. The fact that I was all alone in a place as sickening as HappyWorld -- and then add the fact that it was an *unfamiliar* part of HappyWorld -- and, to top it all off, I didn't actually *know* whether or not I was being watched or followed. I was throwing my head violently in every direction possible, hoping I'd spot Liza somewhere along the way. Further and further into the mirror maze, I walked. And if you guessed that it was hard to maneuver through, well, you're wrong. It was damn near *impossible!* Seriously. See, when you imagine most mirror mazes, you'd probably think of it being just a regular maze, right? The standard kind you'd see at carnivals with large rectangular mirrors acting as the borders, right? *Heh*, Well, not here. No, these mirrors were *curved.* Some of them had a sort of U-shape while others had this weird wavy sort of shape to it. I know I had to have spent the better part of an hour and a half stumbling around blindly in that damn maze. What made things all the more difficult was the fact that I couldn't really tell that the mirrors were actually where they were. In other words, I when I ran into the mirror, regardless of the oblong shape, it was hard for me to discern where the mirror border was and where there was an actual path to continue down, if that makes any sense. Managing to actually progress a little ways further in, I began to see these weird little crates placed in random spots throughout the maze. At first, I was confused. Then, I took a closer look to see each one labeled with the red clown face. That's when memory would come into play once again, reminding me of what Derek told me back then about how the goal of the rooms was to find the clown in the box. I realized then it was a needle in a haystack type of game here. *Of course, what if I DO fond the right one? What will I do if I do find the clown girl? How the hell am I supposed to do this?!* I shook this off. I couldn't think about that. Instead, I knelt down and started trying to pry open the box. Though it *did* take a bit of effort, even managing to make my fingertips sore, it wasn't *too hard* for me to pop the lid from the crate. Inside was nothing except for a scrap of paper. I picked it up to see that it was another photo. Unlike the ones from before, however, these looked *much,* much older. Probably from like the 50's to the 70's. It was of two little boys standing in front of a man in a black uniform inside of a fence. The look on the kids' faces was unmistakable, too. They were afraid. I slowly turned it over in my hands, shaking like I did with all the others. Sure enough, on the back of this one was a message scrawled in red. This time though, I couldn't understand a single bit of it. It read, **"Zwei Kinder. jüdische Schweine. Opfergaben an Moloch."** Regardless of the inability to read the actual message, shivers still ran down my spine. Understand it or not, I knew German when I saw it, which then made me turn the photo right back over, realizing in terror exactly what it was. *It was... Oh God, they were HOLOCAUST prisoners!* It was everything I could do in that moment not to just puke my guts up where I stood. Even more haunting was the fact that, though I couldn't put my finger on it right then, I knew the face of the man in the uniform was familiar. He was smiling at the camera, exposing every tooth as he seemed to relish in the fear and suffering of the poor little boys beside him. *(The smile of the Devil, breaking the innocents with promises of hope...)* Thinking quickly, I dropped the photo and ran from the crate. From there, it was back to stumbling around in the mirror maze, now with a heightened agitation. Like how my eyes were zipping everywhere just to find my way around this hellhole, my mind was zipping around frantically, unable to even concentrate on what the fuck it was I was even trying to do in the first place. "Liza!" I began calling out again. Now, I was to the point where I wasn't even bothering with stealth anymore. I wanted to get out of there. I wanted to go home. *I just want to go home!* *(I want to run away!)* *I want Ma and Dad!* *(I want to hide!)* *I don't want to be here anymore!* *(I don't want to remember anything anymore!)* Still stumbling aimlessly through the maze, I felt my eyes begin to burn. Whatever "Courage" or "Bravado", whatever you call it, that I *might've* had earlier was all but gone. Now I was just a kid again. A scared, crying little shit, scared of his own goddamn shadow. The maze felt like there was no end, and no exit. Because I was so caught up in my stupor, I ended up tripping over another crate. This one was open. I almost didn't even want to look inside. Unfortunately, I was still stupid enough to go against this better judgement. *(Like I said, should've listened about the cat).* Indeed, it was another photograph. This time, it was the smiling man from the last one, this time kneeling next to a frightened little girl. The back of this one read, **"Süßes kleines Mädchen. Ein kleines Schwein .Molochs Spielkamerad."** Inside this crate were two more photos that really did make me vomit. One was of the little girl being crucified upside down, screaming while a crowd of other men in black robes gathered around and watched. And in the center, was the man himself, presenting her to the crowd. The second one was of the man filling up a cup with the blood that seemed to be flowing from the girl's stomach. The back of this one read **"Das Blut des Schweinekindes soll Moloch Glück bringen und mir ewige Jugend."** Looking closer this time at the man's face, I felt another wave of crippling nausea wash through me as I realized *exactly* who it was. The inverted cross, the gaunt chin, The robes and the long, black lion's mane hair and that haunting grin, it was all there. It was him, *"The Amazing Beliar"!* It was then that I looked up and was met with the sight that caused my heart to stop dead in my chest. On the wall, having seen that I *had* actually somehow made it past the mirrors, were the words **"Heil den Bestien! Heil Moloch!"** written in red. And below this was a large black box with a pentagram on it. Along the wall as well, were a variety of other symbols and words written in a language I can neither recognize or remember the spelling of. Suffice to say, though, whatever they were, it had to do with whatever black magic shit that these freaks were apparently dabbling in. *"Unto thee in the burning lake beneath..."* *"Please, let me go!"* *(Oh God, not again...)* Cautiously, I stepped toward the black box. Every step, I imagined hearing Derek's voice. Seeing Derek's face as he was tortured all over again. \*\*\* *"In nomine Leviathan, serpentum, beastia ex abysso!"* *(I still hear him screaming...)* *"I can smile forever now, Linus..."* *(I want to stop, I hear it right now...)* *"In nomine Asmodeus, Prince ab inferis..."* *"And now..."* *(God, PLEASE, MAKE IT STOP!)* *"In nomie satanas, et cecidit, en Draco, et pater infernalis..."* *"You can, too!"* *(STOP IT! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE! I'M SORRY, OKAY?! I'M FUCKING SORRY!)* \*\*\* I made it all the way to the box. On the lid, was a clown face, the same one that was marking the door leading into this room. The "Happy Frannie" icon. This was it. I'd found the box. *But what now?* I reached down, but then stopped. What would be in *this* one? More pictures? What if Happy Frannie or one of the other clowns were in there? *Hell, what if there is an actual BODY in here?* I wondered as I finally willed myself to open the box. I slowly lifted the lid. This one wasn't fastened like the lids of the crates, but it *was* heavy. When the box opened fully, I couldn't believe my eyes. *(Why did I have to be right?)* In the box, curled up in a ball, was no clown at all. It was... It was *DEREK!* At least, it was Derek's face. Sort of. I could see small stitches as well as multiple areas that were glaringly missing. Apparently, they'd somehow gathered the remains of his face, preserved them, while stitching together this fucked up mask with them. And to top it off, their little signature red smile was done around the eyes and mouth of it. If I wasn't sickened before, I was then. No, I was *beyond* sickened. I was *repulsed!* I was *petrified!* I was feeling every form of disgust and sheer horror that was even possible for a fucking human being to feel, all at once in that moment. The body began to stir, having apparently been unconscious. I screamed, seeing this, having expected them to be dead. *(I wonder if they thought they'd be dead as well. They'd have probably been happier...)* The kid in the box then began to squirm around in the box wildly, attempting to scream, despite being evidently muffled by something. For a moment, I froze up. I didn't know what I was supposed to do. I wasn't expecting this. Sure, I didn't actually know *what* it was I *was* expecting, but it sure as hell wasn't this. Any of this. I could see the kid's eyes looking at me through the Derek mask. Their eyes were wide, fearful. The kid struggled even harder when I finally broke from my trance and reached down to them. "H-Hey, it's okay." I said, shuddering. "I'm... I'm not gonna hurt you." I carefully pulled the mask off, revealing another surprise. The kid in the box was Ray! My eyes grew. He had a cloth tied around his mouth and he, too, was covered in bruises. Hastily, I untied the cloth around his mouth, causing him to wheeze for air. "Ray?! Dude, what--" "L-Liza..." he gasped in between coughing fits. "What?" I asked. My heart rate skyrocketed. "What about Liza? Is she okay?" "They're... They're gonna make her sacrifice me." he said. "What?! What're you talking about?" "They grabbed me this afternoon, while I was riding down the neighborhood on my bike. They told Liza that if she wanted to be let go that she was gonna have to sacrifice me or something. They called her their 'Playmate'." "Where is she?" "I don't know, dude." He coughed heavily and added, "She said she wouldn't do it, so they took her." I helped him back to his feet. He appeared to be beat up pretty badly, having to hold himself up against me as I tried carrying us out through the mirror maze. "Did you see where they went?" I asked him. He shook his head. "No, dude, like I said, those clowns took her when she refused to kill me for them. After that, I had that mask forced on and I was shoved in the box." We got a few steps further into the maze before something happened that caused both mine and Ray's hearts to stop dead in our chests. From seemingly all around us, we could hear a high-pitched giggling echo throughout the room. It became louder as it seemed to get closer and closer. *Oh, Jesus Christ, no...* "Lookie who it is..." I heard the all too familiar hyperactive voice boom loudly, a voice that terrifies me to this day, thirty years later. The two of us froze where we stood, unable to move out of sheer panic. The sound got closer and closer. I swung my head around, trying to see where he was coming from, as well as spot a way out. Nothing.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] People keep flashing their high beams at me [RESPONSE] It first happened around Wilhelmina Drive. When the sedan passed me, it flashed its high beams. A cop was ahead, or even more likely—deer. I hit the brakes, scanning the forest on either side. But nothing popped up. No cop hidden on the side of the road, ready to pounce on speeders. No herd of deer staring at me with glowing eyes in the darkness. When I’d gotten about a mile away, I figured it was safe. I pushed my foot on the accelerator and resumed my usual speed. *Must’ve been a herd of deer that crossed already.* I turned up the radio, a staticky *Carry on My Wayward Son* coming through. Damn, the reception in the valley really sucked. But my phone’s battery was low, and I wasn’t about to use up all the juice playing *Every Rose Has Its Thorn* for the 100th time. I turned the dial, but the rest of the stations seemed even more staticky. *At least I’ll be home soon.* I was halfway through making a mental checklist of everything I had to get done tomorrow, when another pair of headlights blinked through the trees. When it got about twenty feet from me— It flashed its high beams, too. *More deer?* But as I drove through the darkness… I didn’t see anything. No cop cars, either, unless they were really well hidden. As the seconds ticked by and there was nothing else—no construction zone, tree in the road, or other hazard—my heart began to pound. *What was he trying to warn me about?* I glanced down at my phone, the screen black in the passenger seat. *Is it already dead?* Maybe they were warning me about something wrong with my car. Both headlights seemed to be working, but maybe there was smoke coming out of my tailpipe, or something. I didn’t like the idea of being stuck on the side of the road at 11 PM. I sucked in a deep breath. *It’s probably just deer. There are lots of them around here, remember?* The green sign for EDGAR AVE. popped up in my headlights, and my heart slowed. *Less than ten minutes from home.* I thought of the fluffy, furry blanket I’d just gotten a week ago. Curling up in it, eating some chocolate before bed as Leela snuggled up next to me. The thought made my heart slow even further. My cat, my room, my blanket… Another pair of headlights swung around the bend. As it approached me, it slowed. And then it flashed its high beams at me. My blood went cold. For some reason, two flashes seemed to fit within the realm of coincidence. But three… *It’s not deer or a cop. It’s something about* ***me.*** Something wrong with the car, or— A horrible thought shot through my mind. That urban legend. Where a girl’s driving home late, and a truck keeps following her and flashing his high beams. But the trucker is a nice dude, and he’s flashing the headlights because there’s a guy in the backseat with a knife and he keeps rising up to stab her— *Oh God oh God—* I turned on the lights and whipped around. The backseat was empty. At least, as far as I could tell. Swinging my gaze back to the road, I reached my hand around the back of my seat. My heart pounded in my chest as I slowly, *slowly* swept my fingers through the darkness behind me. *What if there’s someone there?* I imagined my fingers meeting rough cloth. Warm skin. Sticky hot breath. The cold steel point of a knife. But they only met air. I breathed a sigh of relief. Swished my hand through the air a few more times, high and low. There was a dead spot that I couldn’t reach, but it would be far too small for an adult man to hide in. Unless he was some kind of gold medal contortionist. *So maybe it’s something wrong with the car then. Maybe they see smoke, or a door’s ajar, or a light’s out…* I glanced at the side of the road. There was a margin of dirt between the edge of the road and the beginning of the forest; I could safely pull over and check what was wrong. Then again, this road was really lonely. Especially so late. There were only a few houses on this road, and none that I could see right now. Just thick woods, brambles and twisted bark that would muffle any screams… *I’ll take my chances driving home.* I gripped the steering wheel. *Only about five more miles.* I again thought of my warm little house, and Leela, with her fluffy black fur and permanent smirk… A pickup truck swung around the bend. I held my breath. *They’re not flashing at me. Good. Good. Almost home—* But then, there it was. *Flash.* The afterimage of the searing white light danced in my vision. Cold sweat broke out on my neck. “Dammit,” I whispered. “What the *hell* is going on?!” Their headlights disappeared behind me—and the darkness immediately pooled around me again, like fluid filling a void. Scraggly, crooked branches clawed at my car, silhouetted by the full moon. The radio played straight static. I reached for my phone— And then I heard it. *Tap, tap, tap* Coming from straight above me. Something was tapping on my moonroof. My entire body shook. The dark road in front of me became a blur. *No. This can’t be happening. How could someone even be…* I jammed my foot on the accelerator. The speedometer shot to 30, 35, 40… *Tap, tap, tap.* Without looking up, I reached a shaking hand up to the moonroof. I pressed my hand against the glass. It felt *warm*. Even though it was only 40 degrees outside. *Fuck oh what the fuck—* I couldn’t look up. It was just this visceral instinct. Like the feeling you get when you know someone is watching you, and your brain is screaming *hide.* I bit my lip, staring at the road, waiting for my street to come up. *Tap, tap, tap.* *Don’t look up. Don’t look up. Don’t look up.* MAPLE WOODS appeared before me. I swung onto the street, then pulled into the driveway. Without even thinking it through, I swung the door open and ran as fast as I possibly could. Surprisingly, I got inside safe and sound. I spent half the night watching old movies, Leela curled on my lap. I checked the front and back doors, and all the windows, about a million times each. I didn’t dare look outside at my car. I closed my eyes, even, when checking the front door. I thought I was safe. But I wasn’t. Because now, I hear it again. *Tap-tap-tap.* It’s more frequent now, more frantic. Coming from right above me. Right above my bed. Coming from inside my attic.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My Wife is Very, Very Sick [RESPONSE] I’ve been thinking about running away lately. Now, at this moment, the situation that I am in is neither good nor bad, simply inconvenient. Inconvenient in the same way that stubbing your toe is, or trying to flick off some stubborn cigar ash, and accidentally burning a hole in your brand new white blazer. The life I am living is nothing more than an inconvenience. The only thing stopping me from leaving right this moment is my own cowardice - and my sick wife, Marilyn. It wasn’t cancer. It wasn’t hepatitis. It wasn’t pneumonia, tuberculosis, appendicitis, the flu, tetanus, AIDS; it wasn’t anything that they could identify. She had been in and out of hospitals on a near constant basis for the past 18 months. X-rays, blood tests, urine tests, you name it, she’s done it. I’ve driven her to every hospital this side of the Mississippi, still with no answers. Marilyn was never the most physically stable person. In the 13 years that she had been a part of my life, the amount of times she had gotten sick or injured far exceeds most of the people I know, but she stayed ravishingly beautiful, through sickness and health. “Marilyn, if there’s anything I could do to make the world treat you right, i promise I’d do it in an instant.” I said that over 7 years ago at our wedding, and I had never once broken that promise. Not when she started passing out at work, or when she stared vomiting in her sleep, or when she lost 35 pounds off her already slender frame, or when her skin started to more closely resemble sand paper than flesh. After all of that, I kept my promise. I drove Marilyn to the doctor nearly weekly, some drives taking more than eight hours. She would lay in the back, with a bucket wedged in between the seats, next to her face incase she vomited. I gave her her medications, and ointments, and held her when she cried, even if she began to reek of rot. I was never upset, or hurt, or lost. She just began to feel more like a chore than my wife. Simply an inconvenience. I never got a break, or a pause, or a moment to relax. Eventually I quit my job. That same night, the blood vessels in Marilyn’s eyes burst, leaving her scleras bright red. Lucky for us, the damage was mostly cosmetic, much like how most of her hair had fallen out. It became quite hard to keep calling her by her name. Her once beautifully red lips had turned dry and purple. Her teeth began rotting and her tongue was so swollen it made it hard to breathe, so she spent most of her time slack-jawed and panting, like a dog. At this point, speaking became too hard for her. It didn’t matter what I said to her, she couldn’t respond or do anything. But her numerous brain scans had showed that her brain had not degraded at all. She remained the same mentally as her body began dissolving in front her eyes. I began to see the Marilyn that I married and the Marilyn that I knew now as two separate people. Subtly, resentment grew. I loved Marilyn, but was disgusted by what she had become. She wasn’t Marilyn anymore, simply a thing. As her health degraded, we no longer could take her to the doctor. We all knew she was going to die soon. I moved us both to a house in the woods, secluded from the world. I had isolated myself from my friends, my job, my family, and the world at large. I knew what I was going to do. Marilyn was going to die soon, and so was I. She was my only responsibility left, and soon, when she croaked, I was going to go into the woods behind the house, and shoot myself. There was no point in living without the Marilyn I use to love. One day, I had woken up, and went straight to the cot Marilyn slept on next to the bed. She was completely hairless, and her sandpaper skin was stark white. She was sleeping face down in a pool of vomit, her arms crossed under her chest. I smiled to myself, absolutely sure she was dead. I put my hands on her skeletal back, trying to feel for a heartbeat, and there was none. I rolled her over, she stunk like death, shit, and vomit, but that wasn’t anything new. My eyes drifted to her face. She peered directly at me, eyes moving wildly. She was still alive. I scanned down her face. Something was very wrong. Where her mouth was, the perfect red lips that i had kissed so many times - or rather the thin, purple, crusty lips that had never touched mine; there was nothing more than one small, eraser sized hole, leaking vomit. There was no semblance of lips, it looked like her skin had grown over the opening of her mouth. I looked further down, seeing her arms fused to her chest, her hands looked more like bony mittens than fingers, the separation between them no longer existing. Her feet were the same way, each individual bone was visually but her toes were melded together. For the first time, I had broken my vows. I ran out of the house and into the woods<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] NFSW: My friend's grandma has chosen me as a host for her next body [RESPONSE] NSFW/TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE I’ve been keeping this as a diary log on my laptop and am now going to upload it onto Reddit so you guys can tell me if I’m going crazy or not. My friend’s grandma has chosen me as a host for her next body, and I have no clue how to prevent it from happening. Please help. The date of this upload is 04/07/22 - the 4th of July 2022.  3rd February 2022 A few weeks ago, Sienna’s grandma “Bibi” passed away. She’s asked me and some of her guy friends to help clear out Bibi’s house - as it was being sold due to financial issues her family had been going through. We agreed, naturally, because her grandma had just passed away - we couldn’t just say no, could we? I’m going to bring some food and my speakers to make the task more bearable because no offence to Big Mama Bibi, but her house is not only dusty but is soo creepy. Like, weird statues that stare at you as you go round the house creepy. I’ve visited it only once before and honestly had nightmares for a week after. I’ve only agreed because it would be terrible to say no to your grieving best friend, right?  7th February 2022 Today was so weird. I literally feel like I’m being watched as I write this. I should’ve never agreed to help Sienna, grieving or not, I knew I’d regret it. So we went to clean out her grandma’s creepy house, right? At first it was actually really fun. We’d all brought snacks and had turned the cleaning into a massive competition, with points for who could clean out their designated room the fastest. I was in second place, with one of the guys she’d invited in first, when he came across a door in Bibi’s room. He’d called Sienna into the room to ask if she had a key to open it so he could clear out whatever was behind the door. Obviously, in a typical horror movie way, she didn’t. I walked into the room next, boasting about the fact that I knew how to pick locks and, pulling out a few hairpin from my hair, I tried to show off and unlock the door. It didn’t unlock, embarrassingly, and I was trying to laugh off my boldness, when the guy in the room with us decided to knock on the locked door. I had jumped and pushed him, swearing and asking wtf he thought he was doing. He’d laughed at me then Sienna joined in, calling me a “p\*ssy”.  They’d left the room together to join the other one of her friends, leaving me there in that creepy, musty room. I’d rushed out of the room, then left the house in a mood. After checking Uber prices, I decided to walk home when I heard a whisper behind me. I turned around, and no one was there. It scared the sh\*t out of me so I decided to waste my money on an Uber to ensure that I got home safe, and am sitting here now writing all this, and feeling watched.  8th February 2022 I’m honestly so tired of Sienna, I do everything for her and she treats me like sh\*t constantly. She knew I was scared of her grandma’s house and instead of making sure I was okay, she decided to mock me with her little boyfriend instead. I don’t care if this is me being sensitive, I want to cut her off, I don’t need people like her in my life. 10th February 2022  Sienna’s little boyfriend messaged me today, the one who’d knocked on the door. I finally got his name, it’s Gio, probably short for Giovanni. I think he’s Italian or something. He’s not actually her boyfriend!! He messaged me and said that he was sorry for laughing at me about the door incident and that he’d been feeling a little scared after he’d gotten home. I told him that he shouldn’t be stupid, that it was only a door and I’d been dumb for acting all spooked.  I actually do still feel a bit scared, he can’t know that though ?. He’d then asked me if I wanted to go out with some time and I agreed because why not? We arranged a little date for the 15th (after Valentines obviously) and I’ll see how it goes from there.  14th February 2022 Today I woke up around 4pm which is really out of the norm for me. I’m usually awake by 8am, or 10am if I’ve slept late. I slept around 1am, so I’m not sure how I managed to sleep for 15 hours.  15th February 2022 I’m really not feeling myself this morning. I’ve been having really weird and random memories of things I’ve never experienced - but they were definitely memories, not my imagination acting up. I also keep mentally replaying Gio knocking on that door and feeling surges of anger. I’m going out with him later so I hope that goes well.  17th June 2022 I completely forgot about this diary I was keeping. Me and Gio made it official around 3 months ago and are planning something cute for our 3 month anniversary! I haven’t slept in or felt off since that morning of the 15th Feb so everything has honestly been great for me. Sienna and I aren’t really close anymore but I’m happy with that. Her grandma’s house was sold to a middle aged couple with no kids so I’ll never have to step foot in there again, thank gosh.  25th June 2022 On the 19th June 2022, Gio passed away. We’d decided to have our anniversary celebration in California, and ended up on top of a tourist attraction called Big Sur Cliffs. Whilst we were on top of the cliff, Gio decided to jump from it and was pronounced dead at the scene. I’ve been distraught this past week. I don’t know how to live without him. I’m feeling survivors guilt and I feel like a part of it was my fault. Why did he jump on our three month anniversary? Was it something I said, something I did? Was it me? I feel responsible. I don’t know how to carry on.  26th June 2022 I managed to sleep today, which is good, but I had a really disturbing dream. In my dream, I was watching as an outsider whilst Bibi (Sienna’s grandma) and Gio were arguing on the cliff. She was shouting about how disrespectful he had been to knock on her mothers door. He was sobbing, saying that he didn’t realise the door had belonged to her mother, and apologising. He kept saying “Spare her. Spare her, please”. Then in my dream Bibi and I had merged into one somehow, though I had no control over my body, she did. She’d laughed and told him that if he jumped, she “would”. He walked to the cliff’s edge, and jumped with no hesitation.  I’m awake now and I feel so on edge. What kind of sick dream was that?  30th June 2022 I’m starting to think the “her” of Gio’s pleadings is me. I feel crazy but I can’t remember the day he passed away too clearly. I remember being on the cliff and I remember him jumping off, but I don’t remember what led up to that event. I’m starting to feel like I’m not fully in control of my body.  This is my diary log till date. I’ve decided to upload it onto Reddit to see if anyone has gone through something like this before. I don’t know if this is part of survivor’s guilt or is part of something deeper.  Update: 7th July 2022 I’m planning to visit Bibi’s house tomorrow. I want to see what was behind that door. I don’t know how I’ll get passed the couple who own the house now, but I will. Something behind that door drove Gio to his suicide. I know it.  Update: 8th July 2022  I’m running and typing this so sorry for any mistakes in test you might see. Bibi’s family has been planning to sue my body as a host for her body. Bibi’s family being her parents, who are the hosts of the middle aged couple who bought the house. They decided the first time I walked into the house, all those years ago. Gio didn’t even play a part in it, Bibi just felt disrespected and used my body to convince him to commit. Behind the door are their corpses, in some sort of advanced fridge. They’ve been perfectly preserved. I’m so scared right now. I don’t want to die. I don’t know where my soul will go if she takes my body. I’m only 19. I’m running as fast as I can but I’m feeling weaker by the second. I don’t know who’s body was cremated but it wasn’t Bibi’s. Her body is behind that door with her parents. I don’t know if Siennas had anything to do with. This. I don’t know if sienna is even sienna or some random host. I feel like everything has been a lie. Shskdodjdj 20th October 2022  Hello everyone! I have just found this story on this platform Reddit! My mother always said I had the wildest imagination. I can not believe I wrote it myself! I hope you all enjoy this piece of fiction I wrote. Good day to you all. God bless.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Coins in the morgue [RESPONSE] The ashes fell. Dotting my forehead with smudges of black. It hurt in my chest, a pain that speared further in my body and deep into my soul. What I knew about this life was totally wrong. Things are out there that are unexplainable. I have seen them with my very eyes, and I know what they are capable of. My father ran a morgue till the day he died. Late into his eighties, I pray that I last as long hat he has. His father owned the morgue before him and his father before him. It has been in the family for centuries and in our small town, the men are not expected to leave as someone would still have to run the morgue. One of the oldest bodies we had here dated back to the mid-1800s. Safe to say that we’ve had literally thousands of bodies come through our doors over the years. I remember as a child running up and down the ramp shoot that they used to lower the bodies into the cremation chambers. Before I knew the purpose of the ramps, I thought they were fun to play on. As an adult the ramps always gave me the heebie-jeebies. While dad passed last year from pancreatic cancer, it only felt right to have him cremated him in our place. Mom had handed me the papers, he signed over the business to yours truly. I had some successful years owning the morgue. People always die so business will always be booming. Dad told me one thing over the years that had always stuck out to me. Something towards the end of his life that he reminded me for when I took over the place someday. What dad explained to me is that I should “never remove the coins from the body’s eyes”. Sure, simple enough to remember I figured. I have vivid memories of seeing bodies wheeled into the cremation chambers with bronze coins over their eyes. Momma told me it helped them sleep and when I got older, I just didn’t press the issue too much. So I followed dads’ rule and kept putting these bronze coins over their eyes. It just became habit at that point. Most of the time we just reused the same old ones, but dad kept a safe in his office with literal hundreds of these coins. Don’t know where he got them, but he had a ton of them. They had no value; they were no type of currency that I could identify. About the size of a half dollar, smooth with a dirtied bronze look. Why am I telling you all this now you might be wondering. Dad’s warning had been harder to follow than I thought. I had some successful years, but no one is perfect. And I slipped up. I was wheeling a body down to a chamber for burning. The man I was wheeling had his bronze coins over his eyes just like dad instructed. Just a routine burning. He was the last of the night, about 11pm or so. The hallway was dim and cold, must hung in the air as it did. The man was bloated and stunk of formaldehyde. Pale and lifeless, I tried not to dwell on him too much. I was taking him to a chamber where the burners are newer so I could speed up the process a bit when the wheel on the gurney had broken off. The front of the gurney tipped as I stopped short, the mans dead weight slid to the side and he crashed onto the floor with a wet slop. The coins rolled in different directions. I cursed at myself and at dad for leaving behind such an old gurney. I should have been smart enough to replace it. Now I had to pick up this wet, bloated dead guy and drag him a few feet to the chamber. He left a wet trail behind him. As I hoisted him into the chamber, I noticed his pale, washed over eyes. Eyes that I don’t typically see on the bodies; his coins had fallen out. Not thinking too much of it, I gathered the coins and tossed them into the chamber with the man and cranked it on. By then it was too late. I headed back upstairs ready to head home, passing by the freezer lockers when I heard the first banging. I stopped dead in my tracks once I heard it. A banging, loud and angry came from inside one of the lockers. In the lockers were frozen bodies that were waiting for burning. I turned back towards the room, feeling the hairs stand up on my neck as the banging continued. The lock on one of the lockers was rattling from the banging like someone was trying to kick it open from the inside. Did an animal get stuck inside I wondered to myself as I fumbled for the keys. The banging echoed against the steel lockers, feeling like it was shaking the entire building. I held the lock hesitantly and the banging had stopped. I pulled out the bed and it was just another man, but he looked familiar. It was him. The same man that I just sent into the cremation chamber before. It was impossible I thought. I pulled the rest of him out, checking the tag on his toes. It was him, one hundred percent. But then who did I just burn? And why does he not have his coins on his eyes. I slammed his locker closed and rushed back towards the chambers where I could smell burning flesh. A body was in there. As I raced down the stairs, a panic washed over me. I saw him standing there. The flames shot out from the chamber behind him, the shadows dancing against the wall. The walls were scorched with flames. I needed to turn off the gas. Flesh and fat dripped like grease from his body. His eyes glowed a fiery yellow. With his head cocked sideways, his arm stretched out with a closed fist. The charred flesh burned my nostrils. Frozen with fear, I yelled out to him. The burned man took a step forward. His foot sloshing with each movement, steam rising from his wet, bloated feet. Fear rose inside me, fight or flight. I ran. Running away as the light of the fire faded behind me. The sloshing of his feet grew louder. But there were more of them. Standing at the top of the stairs were more bodies. Naked men and women, pale and dripping with their yellow eyes crowding the top of the stairs. They were smiling at me. The fire continued to burn. Smoke burned my eyes as I fell to the floor coughing. The people tossed hard things at me. Pelting me as I lie writhing on the ground. One hit me square on the forehead landing next to me. It was a bronze coin. Heat burned inside me as the fire continued to spread. Feeling like my organs were being cooked. The figures atop the stairs remained frozen, blocking my path. But the man sauntered down the hallway. Cremation chambers doors burst open with flames as he walked past. Soon the entire building would be consumed. I struggled to see through the smoke. Their yellow eyes piercing the thick smoke behind me as I crawled down the hall further to the ramp. The ramp led outside, I just had to make it there alive. Smoke filled my lungs, unable to breathe as I slowly crawled. Feeling the heat of the man burning at my toes. He dropped coins next to me as he watched me crawl. Oils and fat from his body dripped on my back, burning holes through my clothes, and scorching my skin. I cried out for help, begging them. But he just kept walking. Coins dropped onto my bare back, burning into my skin. Filling my nose with burning flesh. With each coin dropped, I felt it fuse into my skin sinking deeper. The burning man wheezed and exhaled loudly as I crawled up the ramp, feeling the fresh air already. I turned towards him, watching the fires rise around and consume him. All while he stood there smiling and throwing coins towards me. I crawled towards the outside, the fires creeping towards me. All while his yellow eyes watched me leave, he wasn’t stopping me. I pushed open the ramp door, sucking in fresh air. Watching the morgue go up in smoke. Generations of men in my family kept this business alive, and here I was watching the fires burn it to the ground. Smoke funneled out of the tunnel in thick black streaks. Searing my throat with the stench of burning flesh. My back ached as coins loosened themselves from me. Covered in blood and blistering flesh. As the fire fighters fought vigilantly throughout the night. By morning the morgue was just a pile of ruins and ashes. Centuries of work erased in a matter of hours. A couple of fire fighters hoisted a safe out of the rubble. Charred and burned but I knew it was fathers. They placed it in front of me where I dialed it open and out poured blackened coins. I picked one up, hot to the touch and saw the face of the burned man in my mind. Whatever they are, I now know why dad warned me about the coins for all these years.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] What do you do when someone died inside your home without knowing they were even there the first place? [RESPONSE] I'm 23, and I live on my own at my late grandparents house. My ex gf just moved out and she took the dog bc she was better at taking care of him. I'm completely alone but have really friendly neighbors who always look out for me. I work at a local grocery store from 9-5 on weekdays, and just stay in my room for the rest of my free time. Sometimes my neighbors who used to be friends with my grandparents would visit me, give me free food, or bake with me in the kitchen. I was pretty satisfied with how I live. Our town is also elevated and away from water bodies so whenever it rains, it doesn't flood easily. But my house got this big pipe in the basement that prevents rainwater from reaching or flooding the basement. The pipe is really big and could fit 2 people inside. Tho it rarely rains here, when it does, it fills the pipe with rainwater which takes some time to drain. One day while I was still at work, my neighbor Eleina texted me that she left a tray of eggs to my "wife" for us to have during the storm. Our region is in LPA and it just started raining really hard that day. It took me aback as to I have no idea what she was talking about bc me and my gf separated 2 months before this incident. I called her and asked what she meant by the last message and said that my back door was open and she saw a young lady eating a bowl of cereal and wearing my shirt. Eleina has Alzheimer's and lives a few blocks away so I always had to remind her about how I live alone, and keep the backdoor locked because she comes by often and tidies my place up. I called the police and reported a burglary then I came home as soon as I could. They weren't able to find anything but they did mention that the window in the guess room slightly bent forward and doesn't close the way it used to, as if someone forcibly opened it some time ago window, which I didn't pay attention to because I thought that since it's and old issue, it must've my aunt who broke it when she used to live here with my grandparents. After the cops left, I decided to sleep over my neighbors' who was concerned and invited me in, just until after the storm. It wasn't a big storm, it just rained really heavily and flooded a little bit downtown. When I got home after the storm after 2 days or so, there was a lingering stench of something rotting. Like a dish that I have left out for a year, it was unexplainable and I asked for someone to check it out. They were able to point out where it was coming from, but had to leave to get some mask or something bc the smell was just unbearable. It was coming from the basement btw, and from one of the pipes, specifically. First thing that came to mind was "This is probably a dead animal, could be a rat". But basing from the smell, it could be something bigger, like a cat or maybe a dog. But no. The guy I askked help for started asking me questions like: have you been in a fight with someone? Do I live with someone, or used to? Was there someone in my house that I was aware of? My skin crawled as I started to get the picture. There was a fucking dead human inside the pipe. A person was living in there and I haven't even noticed nor made suspicions. All those nights of hearing sounds coming from the guest room, kitchen, ir basement, thinking it was the animals. All those convincing myself my house is haunted for all the missing jars and empty boxes of junk foods and cereal. my clothes that would disappear and reappear after a week or so. I was ignorant and it all just makes sense. So once again, there were police. I was questioned, then as I got home, I just stared at my ceiling, I couldn't even sleep. The police made an investigation out if this, and questioned people who live near the area. Apparently they have been seeing a pale woman who was in her late 20's with brunette short hair who was always in the kitchen when I'm not home. People assumed it was my new gf since she was always around. Kids saw her too and apparently, she must've been living here for more or less 4 months. 4 months and I haven't even suspect anything was wrong. Moved out of that house, but never sold it. I live with my brother now, currently unemployed. This was a traumatic experience for me, please always stay safe.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Am i eating my parents? [RESPONSE] "Finally! I got my first salary yesterday. I haven't revealed it to my parents yet, but I will reveal it tomorrow on my mother's birthday!" This was the thought I had when I slept on the night of 29th of March 2021. But the next morning was.... Different! My parents were not in the house, and they left a weird note for me.  "Your uncle is not well. We are going to pay him a visit. Food is in the fridge. Take care, son ~Mom" I got a bit sad as we wouldn't be able to celebrate my mother's birthday together, but I understood the situation and called my friend, Jack, over to have MY DAY! It was my first salary, of course.  I decided to prepare some food until my friend arrived and pulled on the door of the fridge. It was locked.. Locked? Why? Where is the key?  I picked up the note left by my parents and realised something weird. The note was written...in my handwriting? How is this possible? Below in small letters was written a word, "attic". Attic? Suddenly, I heard the bell ring. My friend had arrived. I welcomed him into the house. He gave me a huge hug and gifted me a bottle of foreign wine. Time went by as we played computer games, talked about stuff, discussed future plans etc.,  It was evening... We both felt rats hurdling in our stomachs and we decided to prepare food. As I was approaching the fridge, I remembered the note. Attic? Is the key to the fridge in the attic? I went in to check inside the attic and… Found! The key. I hurried back to the fridge, and found Jack standing beside it. I inserted the key! Opened the fridge! What?  I saw a dense red liquid pouring down from a covered plate.  Next day, I woke up with the news of Jack being missing. What happened last evening? Why no memories? What was inside that fridge?  I called another friend of mine who was crying badly on the phone to talk about the unfortunate circumstances. I washed my face and tried to remember everything! Anything! Something!...Nothing! I went to check the fridge. Locked!  Just a note written in my handwriting. "I love you jack! You are the best one yet." What? The bell rang. The other friend, John had arrived. He was crying as he entered the house. I hugged him and made him calm down.  He slept on the couch after crying for too long, and I decided not to disturb him.  Then, I remembered the previous note. "Attic". I went into the attic once again and guess what? Found the key! I ran back to the fridge, horrified. This time I set my phone to record everything. I opened the fridge, and saw some sponge-like dark red material. Then, I woke up the next day with no memories of the previous day whatsoever. I picked up my phone to check the recording. Nothing! The recording… Was deleted.  P. S. - I have not felt hungry since that day. Though, I have no memories of eating anything at all. What is going on? Somebody help.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Desmond Cove [RESPONSE] You’ve probably never heard of Desmond Cove, Newfoundland before and to be fair, I’m not rightly sure that it’s really even considered a town anymore. Last I read, the current population numbers somewhere around 6 or 7, although that number could have dropped since last they bothered to take a census. The town wasn’t always so small although word is, it was never exactly big either. From what I’ve heard, at its maximum, only 500 people ever lived in Desmond. Enough to run the mine, and a few local shops. The Haul Away Joe mine was originally the main thing that kept Desmond alive, which I suppose was ironic, because the mine was also the thing that eventually killed it. Now, nobody seems to know exactly what happened. The common belief is that some sort of fire got started inside the deepest part of the mine, similar to what happened in Centralia, Pennsylvania. I don’t think that argument is entirely without its merit. The effects are certainly similar. But some of the old miners swore up and down that there was no fire, or if indeed there was, it was only set after the town was evacuated in 1985. As for why they’d set the fire afterward? God only knows. I’ve read a few different accounts. Some claim that it was vandals, or disgruntled former miners looking to get some ill conceived form of revenge. Others are adamant that it was a cover up for something else. Who can really say? Me? I’m not entirely sure as to what I believe. I only know what I know, and what I know is that Desmonds Cove is abandoned and that there probably really is a fire burning in the mines underneath the town. Who started it? Now that I don’t know! But I do know that it’s not the only reason why you ought to stay the hell out of Desmond… Now, let me quickly take things back a spell… My name is Maxine, and I’m a girl with what you might call a certain interest in Desmond Cove and the Haul Away Joe mine. I’ve had a fascination with the place ever since I first stepped foot inside a couple of years ago (I’ll get to that shortly) and what I’d like more than anything, is to figure out just what the hell actually happened there. Most folks generally don’t seem to care. But they haven’t seen what I’ve seen. I’m not that old so it feels a little strange to be saying: ‘Back when I was in high school’ because high school was only about two years ago for me, but this is the truth. Back when I was in high school, some of the other students liked to play a little game. See, the town I live in is only about a twenty minute drive from Desmond Cove. When the town got evacuated, most of its former residents relocated there. I suppose it’s on account of them that my town even knows or cares about Desmond, but I digress. The students at my school liked to play a little game, as teenagers often do. Every now and then a bunch of them got it into their head that they could go and explore the ruins of Desmond. Of course, they never got very far, and it usually turned into something of a game, where they’d dare each other to go a little further into the creepy abandoned town, although to my knowledge, none of them ever actually got very far. My friends and I would hear rumors of this sort of thing all the time back when I was in high school, and I suppose it was inevitable that we’d end up talking about trying to do it ourselves. Personally I never thought anyone would have the guts for it, but I guess I was wrong., My friend Julia and her boyfriend Ronnie were the ones who really wanted to go. They’d been talking about it for a few months up until that point and I’d thought they were really just all talk. But no. Come one Friday evening in late October, I’d gotten together with them and some other friends after school, and Desmond Cove was just about all they could talk about. Julia had said something to the effect of: “What could be a more authentic halloween experience than exploring an abandoned town?” And Ronnie had just nodded along with her. One of our mutual friends, Susie was immediately out. But Susie was sort of a good girl who never did anything remotely out of sorts, so that didn’t surprise me. A couple of our other friends, Earl and Teddy were all for it though. Me? I figured it might be neat to actually see the town with my own eyes. You could admittedly see the steeple of the church in the center of town from some of the taller hills nearby. But I’d always kinda wanted to see the town proper, if for no other reason than to sate my own curiosity. There was only one road into or out of Desmond Cove, and nobody had much of a reason to drive down it. It’d barely even been maintained and had become overgrown with weeds. The only people who ever went towards Desmond were teenage sightseers and the odd person checking up on the residents or dropping something off to them. Even then, you saw less and less of the latter every year. So yeah, when Julia and Ronnie wanted to visit Desmond Cove, I was all for it. I didn’t expect much to come of the trip. I figured we might inch a little ways into the town, take some pictures and come back with a fun little story to share with our classmates. I suppose in the end, I wasn’t wrong… I just didn’t realize how much of a story I’d had to tell. We set out for Desmond Cove on a Saturday afternoon. Teddy and Earl had tagged along with the three of us and loudly debated what music to play with Ronnie while I just sat and watched the ocean pass us by while we drove. Newfoundland has a certain beauty to it. There’s this tranquility to the landscape here. Sparse buildings, separated by lush greenery against the slate blue of the ocean. And that ocean, is dominated by rocky bits of coastline. Sure, it’s not always beautifully scenic, but it’s home and I’ve come to love it. The desolated road curved against the ocean, and I could see the spire of Desmond Coves church above the treetops. There was a faint mist in the air… Or perhaps it was smoke. Hard to say with much certainty. As we got closer to the town, you could see the trees withering with each passing kilometer, as if the smoke in the air was slowly strangling them to death. Some of them even seemed to be little more than just lifeless corpses, only still standing out of obligation, as opposed to anything else. Looking over at Earl and Teddy, I could see them eying the trees with a mixture of awe and concern. In fact, just looking at Earl, I already knew he regretted coming. We hadn’t even made it to Desmond Cove yet and here he was already chickening out. After a while, Ronnie finally slowed the car to a stop. We were close to the town now. I could literally just see it up ahead. Not just the church, other buildings. A few empty houses that looked run down, some partially collapsed telephone poles, and what looked to have once been a general store. A few large signs sat along the side of the road. The first read: **Welcome to Desmond Cove** The others were less inviting. In front of the Desmond Cove sign, was a big white sign that read: **DANGER!** **Underground Mine Fire** **Walking or driving in this area could lead to DEATH or serious injury.** **Dangerous gasses are present. Fires can appear at ANY TIME.** **Ground is prone to collapse.** **Don’t take your life in your hands.** **Turn back.** Just seeing that sign made Julia let out an actual squeal of excitement. “C’mon Ronnie! Let’s go!” She’d said. But Ronnie didn’t budge. He just killed the engine of the car as he stared at those warning signs. “Road’s already pretty rough.” He said, “It’ll be worse in town.” “So? Come on, you big baby! You can handle it!” Julia said. Ronnie still didn’t budge. He just opened his car door to step out. “It’s safer if we walk.” He said, “I ain’t damaging this car. Especially if we need it.” Julia put on a big childish pout but didn’t argue. Ronnie made a conscious choice not to be a complete dumbass that day, and I still respect him for it. I got out of the back seat along with Teddy and Earl. Earl took a little longer to get out than the rest of us, and started coughing just about immediately. “Smokes really bad out here.” He said. He wasn’t wrong. There was a thick, rotten egg smell in the air and the smoke was worse than I’d thought it would be. Julia hadn’t lost her bravado though, and was practically shaking, wanting us to go. “It’s fine.” Julia insisted, “Come on. Mines on the west side of town. Think we can make it?” “You’re going into the mine?” Earl asked, “That sounds awful dangerous.” “Not into the mine, numbnuts. Just to it.” Julia said, “Or at least to the Church!” “The church sounds safer.” Ronnie said, “No offense, hun. But that mine’s probably gonna stink the worst. Plus all the smoke, and the fact that there wouldn’t be much to see… Now the church…” He looked at it again, “That’d be something to brag about. Nobody’s ever actually gone that far in, in years.” “I mean, except for the guys who still live here, right?” Teddy asked, “Or the guys who drop stuff off?” “Nah. The last residents live outside of the town.” Ronnie said, “We would’ve passed them by now, or they’d live on the other side. There’s a side road you can take that goes around. My Uncle used to drop stuff off for a friend who lived out here. I rode along with him a couple of times.” “You’ve been here before?” I asked. “Not into the town proper. Just outside of it.” Ronnie clarified. “Hey, are we going or what?” Julia asked, folding her arms, “Come on… It’s right there, let’s *goooooo*.” She was already inching closer to the town, and Ronnie just cracked a small smile before indulging her. “Yeah, we’re going right now!” He said, “Earl, you coming?” Earl stared into Desmond, before putting up his hands. “I’m good just looking.” He said. “Chickenshit!” Julia called. She was promptly ignored. “Suit yourself.” Ronnie said, “Guess you’re guarding the car.” He offered him the car keys, and with that we were off, with Julia in the front leading the pack. Together, we entered Desmond Cove. Passing by the signs welcoming us to the town, I could see another one in front of a faded blue shed with a white trim. **WARNING** **Deadly gasses may be present. Ground may be unstable.** **Death may be IMMEDIATE.** **TURN BACK.** That sign was promptly ignored. Julia and Ronnie walked hand in hand ahead of us, while Teddy drifted a bit behind. I took in the sights independent of them, passing by the old general store to look in the cracked and dusty windows at the abandoned building. The shelves were empty and coated in a thick layer of dust. I almost wanted to go inside and take some pictures but thought better of it. The road turned slightly, curving towards the ocean and granting us a surprisingly lovely view. Looking out over the ocean, I could see a lone ship in the distance and paused to admire it for a bit, before letting my attention drift to what had once been a local restaurant of some sort. A bakery perhaps? The sign was taken down so it was hard to be sure. A number of seagulls perched atop some of the empty buildings, watching and wailing at us, as we passed. I thought I might have even seen a puffin or two among them, but couldn’t be sure. “Christ, why the hell would anyone stay here?” Teddy asked, looking ahead of us towards a massive crack in the asphalt. Julia trotted up to it to get a closer look, while Ronnie made sure she didn’t get too close. “Home is home, I guess.” I said, “Besides, Ronnie said they were outside the town, right?” “I don’t know about you, but home ain’t worth this.” Teddy said. Down a short hill I could see a marina with a couple of rusted old boats that didn’t look seaworthy moored within. “This place is a shithole…” “Well it’s been abandoned for over thirty years. That’s to be expected.” I said. “Guys, c’mon!” Julia called to us. She’d moved ahead with Ronnie while Teddy and I had been talking. “How far to the Haul Away Joe mine anyways?” She’d asked Ronnie. “That’s on the other side of town. Not sure how long a walk that’ll be.” He’d replied. We’d veered to the other side of the road as we noticed another crack in the pavement, this one with smoke rising from it. The stink of it made me cover my mouth and nose. Everyone else had the good sense to do the same, although just like the last crack she saw Julia tried to get close to it. “Hun, that’s toxic.” Ronnie had to explain to her, for what I suspect was the second or third time. Looking past the crack, I could see what used to be a tree nearby it, although I got the feeling that the tree was long dead and whatever left was just hollowed out charcoal. Through some holes in the bark, I could see the orange glow of fire flickering inside. There was what used to be a house on our side of the street, now covered in some sparse graffiti, as a memento from those who’d been either brave or stupid enough to make it this far. I stopped to look for a few moments but didn’t dwell for long. Glancing over at Teddy, I saw that he didn’t look too impressed by any of this. He might as well have been looking at his watch, waiting for an excuse to go. “And people are scared of this place?” He asked, “It’s just smoke and empty buildings. Nothing interesting.” “You’re not enjoying the ominous atmosphere?” I teased. “Ominous my arse. This is just empty and boring.” He said, “How far to the church?” “Not far.” I assured him, pointing to the chapel that towered over everything, “Seems like this road eventually turns towards it.” “Good… Could be doing something more productive with my after-” Before he could finish, he was cut off by the sound of Julia screaming. We both looked up, and I broke into a sprint, racing towards her and Ronnie. My first thought was that Julia’s dumb curiosity had gotten her hurt… But what I saw was something else entirely. Julia and Ronnie were looking at something on the side of the road, and at a glance, I didn’t have any idea what it was. Only that it was alive. It walked on all fours, with a drunken gait that swayed back and forth. Its body seemed lumpy and misshapen, like a sack full of potatoes, although the head looked jagged and sharp like a cactus. It took me a few moments to realize that what I was looking at was supposed to be a deer… Although it didn’t look like any deer I’d ever seen before. It looked sick. It stumbled out from the smoke, limping as it dragged its bloated body along. It barely even seemed to be able to see past the twisted, jagged antlers on its head, and it kept jerking its neck back and forth as if it was trying to shake those antlers off. “What the hell is that thing?” Julia asked, her hands pressed against her mouth. “Just a deer…” I assured her, although she did not look assured. “*That’s* a deer?” She asked. “It’s sick…” Ronnie said, “Too much exposure to the smoke, maybe?” “The smoke can do *that* to a deer?” Teddy asked. Ronnie didn’t have an answer to that. Looking at the deer a little closer, I could see growths like tumors along its skin. It wobbled a little and paused before bending down and starting to retch. “Oh God…” I heard Julia say. The deer seemed to cough. Its entire body heaved and its knees seemed to buckle as it spit up more blood than any animal should ever be spitting up. The deer wobbled unsteadily on its feet, before looking up again. Its body heaved once more, and I could hear the sound of its skin splitting… It seemed to shake… And then I realized just what was happening to it. The deer's belly seemed to rip open from the strain that just existing had placed on its body. I watched as its entrails spilled out, and as they did, the deer remained standing as if it wasn’t even aware of what was happening. I just saw it dumbly raise its head toward us, as if it suddenly realized that we were there for the first time. It stared in our direction, before collapsing on its side. Julia screamed and Ronnie pulled her into a tight grasp. “Oh God… Is it… Oh God…!” Neither Ronnie nor Teddy spoke. We all just looked at the dead deer in awe. I watched as Teddy took a step back, shaking his head. “I’m out…” He said, “I’m going back to the fucking car…” Julia didn’t try and stop him. Ronnie and I just watched him turn and jog back the way we came. “Do you want to go too?” Ronnie asked Julia. She was still silent. “Come on…” He said softly, “Let’s go…” “N-no…” She stammered, “It’s alright… I… I’m alright…” She tried to force a smile but I could see in her eyes that she was clearly shaken. “Hun, you don’t have to,” Ronnie said. “I want to!” Julia insisted, “Come on… It’s just a sick deer… It’s fucked up but… It’s just a sick deer.” Somehow that felt like an understatement. Ronnie looked at me as if silently begging me to turn back with him, and I seriously considered it. But we’d come this far… And as disturbing as the dead deer had been, it was just that, a dead deer. “The church is just up ahead.” I said, “We’ll go there and then we’ll turn back.” “Yeah!” Julia said, looking at Ronnie, “Just to the church and back!” That seemed to satisfy her for the time being. We gave the dead deer a wide berth and slowly made our way towards the church again, all three of us listening closely for anything that sounded like another sick deer. The road made its way up a slight hill, towards the church which loomed over us. I looked in through some of the windows of the shops we passed, trying to calm myself down by imagining what they’d used to be. Can’t say it did me many favors. As we passed by what looked as if had once been an old bar, I swear I saw the antlers of another dead deer inside… Although I kept it to myself. No need to spook Julia and Ronnie even further. We trudged uphill toward the church, and as we reached it, I saw Julia reach out a hand to place it on the rotted wooden exterior. Her smile returned, a little fainter than before. “See? Made it.” She said. Ronnie planted a kiss on her forehead. “Made it.” He said, “Wanna get some pictures?” “You know it!” I let them have their cute little couples moment and take some selfies, while I took pictures of my own. I walked past Julia and Ronnie towards the door of the church, which looked to have been knocked down ages ago. Standing in the threshold, I looked in to see the empty pews, with dead leaves and debris settling on them. The altar looked to have partially collapsed and the stained glass above it was shattered. I took a few tentative steps inside the church, hearing the floorboards creak beneath me as I did and that was when I noticed it. It was hard to see from the door, at a glance, it just looked like some broken wood near the front of the church but the closer I got to the altar, the more I realized that someone seemed to have dug through it… Someone had dug a goddamn tunnel through the floor of the altar and into the ground. I paused, before inching closer to it and looking inside. I was greeted by darkness and a faint outline of some makeshift support beams. What the hell was this? “Julia, Ronnie, come take a look!” I called, and saw them appear in the doorway. “What is it?” Julia asked cautiously. “Some sort of tunnel.” I said, “C’mon… It’s weird.” “A tunnel?” Ronnie asked, “Into the mine?” “Maybe?” I said as he drew closer. He stared into the darkness along with me, eyes narrowing as he tried to make sense of what he saw. “Why would someone dig this?” I asked, “Thought this place was abandoned.” “It is.” He said, “Doesn’t make sense… I didn’t think the mine ran under the church… Natural caves, maybe? But who the hell dug this?” He took out his phone and turned on his flashlight, stepping up to the edge of the tunnel. Julia crept up behind him, peering over his shoulder, and I wasn’t far behind. “Think someones down there?” Julia asked. “No way.” He said, “Not with the town in this state.” He reached down and picked up a piece of debris, before tossing it into the hole. It thudded against the ground… And as it did, we heard movement from inside. Julia shrank back a step, eyes wide with terror, and I have to admit I was feeling a little spooked too. “Something’s down there!” Julia whimpered. Ronnie just squinted into the darkness. “Should we be calling the police?” I asked. “Dunno…” He replied. A moment later, we saw movement. Something was absolutely down there… I heard Ronnie suck in a breath as he stared down into the darkness, and I felt my heart start to race in my ears as I saw it… Although just like the deer, what exactly it *was*, wasn’t immediately clear to me. It was almost like a fleshy blob, something that didn’t seem real at first. I saw no visible face, and it was hard to tell what limbs it was crawling on. It seemed to wiggle its way through the hole, wheezing gently as it did. Ronnie took a step back, brow furrowing in concern. I did the same. Whatever that thing was, I saw its head move slightly. It didn’t seem to have any eyes… But I got the feeling that it was looking at us and finally it opened its mouth. The sound it made… That’s a sound that’s going to haunt my nightmares… It was like a cross between a hiss and a roar. Raspy and ragged, but deep enough to shake my bones. It seemed to move with new intent, dragging itself towards us, and the closer it got, the more I realized exactly what it was, that I was looking at. It wasn’t an animal. It was a person. Just like the deer, their body was bloated and malformed. They had no eyes, but their mouth seemed impossibly big and their teeth, impossibly long. Ronnie and I both took a moment to process just what the hell we were seeing before it hit us. The malformed human was nearly at the end of the tunnel… And it was coming for us. We turned, and we ran. With Julia beside us, we sprinted for the entrance to the church, bursting out into the cloudy sunlight. I heard that raspy scream again as we bolted down the hill, running as fast as we could back the way we came. I looked back only briefly, to see the massive thing that once used to be a man stumbling through the door of the church, squeezing itself through it like some sort of blob. It stumbled out into the sunlight and the smoke, sniffing around and looking in our direction. I don’t know if it followed us or not. I didn’t dare look back again. When we finally made it back to the car at a full sprint, we didn’t waste a single second in getting back on the road. Ronnie snatched his keys away from Earl and we took off at top speed. I vaguely remember Earl trying to ask us why the hell we were taking off like that, but Ronnie didn’t even listen to a word he’d said. Not until we’d put Desmond Cove far behind us, and even then, the only thing that gave him pause was the question that Earl asked. *“Where the hell is Teddy?!”* We called the police once we were a few kilometers out of town. Ronnie and Julia told them just about everything. How we’d gone in, how we’d seen something in the church, and how Teddy had supposedly gone back to the car, although according to Earl he’d never actually arrived. The police took our statements, then went into Desmond Cove, looking for Teddy. They never found him, and they never found that thing that’d crawled out from underneath the church either. They did find the tunnel, but they described it as *‘the church floor having collapsed.’* Bullshit. The next few weeks passed by in a blur… I don’t recall a lot of the details, only that we spent a lot of time with the police. There was initially some suspicion that we’d murdered Teddy, but the lack of evidence and the fact that we’d been in Desmond quickly made the police dismiss that as a possibility. Ronnie, Julia, and I swore up and down that we’d seen something coming out of the church, but the police never took that story seriously, and neither did the locals of our own little town. Jury’s still out on whether we made the whole thing up, or it’s some trauma induced false memory. Earl himself is in the latter camp… But I know what I saw that day. I know what I saw without question. Officially, the story is that the five of us went into Desmond Cove and Teddy got separated. He likely ended up stepping on some bad ground and falling into some part of the mine. He was declared dead and after they failed to find his body, the search was called off. What happened to us quickly turned into a cautionary tale as to why you shouldn’t go to Desmond Cove… And everywhere we went, we’d hear people whispering about us. Some called us crazy. Some called us killers. Some talked about us with pity… Julia and Ronnie couldn’t handle it. Soon as they were done with high school, they up and left. Last I heard, they’re living on the other side of the country now, and not doing too bad… Julia’s still a scatterbrained idiot. But I suppose Ronnie’s got enough sense for both of them. Earl is still in town. Folks don’t tend to associate him with what happened that much. He got off easy. And as for me? After I finished high school, I left town for college… But I’ll be back. Not a day goes by where I haven’t thought about Desmond Cove, or the thing we saw crawling out of the church. Not a day goes by where I don’t recall the sound it made. Just the memory of it makes my skin crawl… And yet… It fascinates me. Whatever we saw that day, it wasn’t something natural. Something happened to it… Something happened to Desmond Cove. The dying deer we saw is even further proof of that. I think back to the old stories, about how the fire in the mine was a cover up for something else, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s true… But if so, what were they trying to hide? One of these days, I’m going to go back to Desmond Cove and I’m going to find <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I just got a toe in my monthly subscription box. I guess they ran out of fingers. [RESPONSE] *Trigger Warning: Domestic Violence* Okay so I wasn't sent the physical toes themselves (thank goodness for that, because what would I do with a pair of human toes?), but instead a high quality 4x6 picture of them freshly severed, laying on cement flooring near a grungy drain. The cuts were far from clean or surgical. The blood that had pooled around the drain was adding to an existing stain that I had grown very familiar with over the past few months. The picture was at the bottom of the box, underneath a shampoo sample, and some face cream that had a disconcerting color and consistency. This is my sixth box, so I guess it makes sense that they ran out of fingers by now and had to move on to toes. I’ve tried contacting the company to ‘unsubscribe’ a few times, but something tells me that I’m not the one that decides when this particular subscription ends. Let me give you some background, here. I had just moved to a new apartment across town and was feeling like I could finally breathe for the first time in months. That is, until I found the note taped to my front door. All it said was ‘found you’, with a sloppily drawn smiley face under it. I knew who had written the note and I immediately broke down. I called in sick to work, moved a bookcase in front of my door, and sat in the dark with the blinds closed. I didn’t know how he found me. Again. I didn’t use social media, I had asked my employer to keep me out of their online directory, and I avoided stores in our old neighborhood. Yet, he still found me. I decided to take the note to the police since him being at my apartment at all was a violation of the protective order. Unfortunately, they couldn't do much since I didn’t have actionable evidence that he had been the one to place it there. That evening I occupied myself by searching records to see when he had gotten out of jail – just weeks prior it turned out. I obsessively searched on how to avoid an abuser/stalker (how did he find me?), safety tips, etc. I didn’t really find much that made me feel better, unfortunately. I even looked at new apartments, but this time much further away. I didn’t sleep well that night. Flashbacks intermingled with nightmares – at one point I thought I felt hands around my throat again, that I was quietly dying in the dark, and no one would find me, just like he had said. But no, it was just a nightmare this time. Did you know that it actually takes a while to strangle someone and the victim usually just passes out first? I hadn't known that before I met him. The next morning, I received an email that I almost deleted as spam at first. It was from a company I had never heard of before, and the subject line was ‘Re: Inquiry’ The email body said: *‘Thank you for your inquiry. The AirTag is in under your spare tire.* *Have a great day!* *Tiffany G.* *Customer Support Specialist’* I was confused, I hadn’t emailed anyone – it threw me off enough that it took me a second read-through to process the line about the AirTag. I instinctively looked over my shoulder after I read it, as if the sender was lurking in the shadows of my apartment at that exact moment. My first fear filled thought was that he was behind this, but I realized that made no sense. Why would he tell me how he had found me? I went to my car and opened the trunk hesitantly, almost like I expected something to jump out and bite me. Sure enough, it was there, exactly where the email said it would be. Not long before that, someone had broken into my car while I was grocery shopping. At the time I was more worried about the damage and relieved that nothing was stolen that I only briefly wondered about the motive. Now I knew. I was thankful, but also weirded out and debating if/how I wanted to reply back to the email. Their motives seemed good, but I wasn't sure. My friend, Kimmie, invited me to stay at her house for a while. She had literally just moved in days before, meaning it was one of the few places I could go that he didn’t know the location of. I threw the AirTag in the bushes near where my car had been parked at my apartment, and then packed the essentials quickly and left. I asked work for a few days off, since he would’ve likely known where my office was, too. About a week later, I got a call from the police. He had been pulled over near my apartment, initially for driving recklessly, but when they searched his car, they found what pretty much amounted to a small armory, including an assortment of knives. He always had a thing for knives... I can’t say for sure what he had been planning but I have a good guess. He was arrested, but they said that he later just...disappeared... from holding. I had another sleepless night. I couldn’t help but ruminate on something he had told me once: “Do you know what happened to Tiffany, when she left me?” he had paused, waited for me to shake my head no. And then he flashed me a smile, “Yeah, neither does anyone else.” He had shown me her grandmother’s locket that he kept in the safe in his closet, something I doubted she would’ve parted with willingly. Along with her teeth, and what was left of her fingertips. The next morning I received another email: Subject: ‘Your order is on its way!’ *‘Thank you for your 24-month subscription to \_\_\_\_\_ Beauty Box! Your order number is 05121.* *Have a great day!* *Tiffany G.* *Customer Support Specialist’* I hadn't bought anything, so I was worried that on top of everything else, my credit card number or identity had been stolen, again. When I first left him, he posted my social security number, birthdate, and credit card information everywhere he could online. I’m still recovering from that. I checked with my bank, there were no pending charges. I was hoping there wasn’t another, different credit card that had been opened using my information (again). So, I replied to the email saying I didn’t order anything and I was worried someone was using my information. I asked if they could tell me the last four numbers of the card used to pay. It bounced back immediately as an invalid email address. It was about a week later when the first box arrived. It arrived at Kimmie’s place, which was the first sign something strange was going on – I had never given anyone her address. Well, that, and the fact that the box had a picture of a severed forefinger and thumb under the beauty products. One of the fingers had a tattoo that matched my own – or at least the one I used to have. We had got them when we had been dating for a while, but before I moved in, before he became violent. This had been back when he was still laying the sociopathic charm on thick -- I was young, I fell for it. I say ‘used to have’ because I used to have ten fingers before I moved in with him. The fingers in the picture – his fingers – looked to have been roughly severed, as if they had been sawed at slowly, with something dull and serrated – the thumb looked to have been removed in a vertical cut down to the wrist. Some of the skin hung in thin strips around the exposed bone and muscle. The bones themselves looked roughly splintered in places, as if someone had grown impatient with the removal process towards the end and just ripped away at what was still attached. The sinew that trailed unevenly from the muscle seemed to confirm that theory as well. I was shocked and nauseated by the sight so I gasped and dropped the picture on the floor; Kimmie looked at me questioningly, so I showed her. The picture had a handwritten date on the back in thin looping cursive; it was dated recently, after he had disappeared from the jail. I debated going to the police, but she was worried I might be the first (and only) suspect. I googled the company name from the email and I couldn’t find anything, no phone number, email, or mailing address. I did eventually open one of the products. It smelled terrible, and was made up of thick congealed liquid. It had no ingredients listed, a hand written label simply said ‘all natural’. There was a thick bar of a yellow soap with it, and it too had no brand or ingredients and an oddly greasy texture. I got a picture of two more fingers the next month. The date on the photo was recent and the fingers looked… fresh, not like they had come out of a freezer. When I showed Kimmie, her response was, “Good. Fuck ‘em.” She knew all the details and reminded me that even if he never found me, even if I managed to avoid him while living the rest of my life in fear, he’d likely just find someone else. I wasn't the first; I wouldn't be the last. The police officers I had worked with had told me it is hard to keep that type of offender behind bars until they killed someone (and it could be proven). She and I took the opportunity of him being out of the picture (for however long), to move me out of my apartment and to yet another new place. The manager of my old place was kind enough to not penalize me too much for breaking my lease. I don’t miss living in constant fear of him finding me, but I never asked to receive pictures of him being slowly dismembered or strange smelling products sometimes marred with flecks of what I think may have been dried blood. By the time I got the picture on the third month, I couldn’t even open the box. Kimmie volunteered to, and described it to me. I wasn’t even surprised. Am I bad person for not calling the police? Maybe. I had ignored several boxes worth, leaving them stacked by the door because I’m not sure what to do with them. I opened this one, even though I was afraid of what I’d see, but I couldn’t help it. I'm slowly learning to live my life without the constant fear of him, but I do get anxious when it comes time to get the next box. I still have 18 months left on my ‘subscription’. I wonder what they’ll send me when they run out of toes.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I Think My Roommate is a Vampire [RESPONSE] That sounds idiotic, right? Everyone knows vampires aren't real, but hear me out. It started about a year ago when my old roommate decided to move in with his girlfriend without any warning. His name was on the lease too, and I could have just forfeited my half of the deposit and found a cheaper place, but that's really hard to do on short notice, especially in the middle of a semester. So, I put out ads everywhere I could think of online and around campus for a new roommate, not really expecting much. To my initial delight I got a nibble within a week. She was a quiet grad student who'd had some sort of falling out with her own roommate and needed a place to land. Perfect! Or so I thought. She moved in and covered her half of the expenses when bills came due at the start of the next month. It looked like I managed to dodge a bullet, and maybe in my relief at not being evicted I ignored a few signs I should have picked up on. You see, I almost never saw my roommate. She stayed locked up in her room most days when I was home. Though I occasionally bumped into her watching something on our shared TV late at night. Her explanations were reasonable. Night shift work as a medical intern, sleep schedules, all that seemed legit. She was really weird about mirrors though. She doesn't have a single one in her room, which is odd, for a girl. Nor does she ever keep *any* food in the fridge. She doesn't have any cookware. She never has friends over. All of these things I could write off somehow, if it weren't for the dreams. You see, I keep having this recurring dream, about once or twice a month. I wake up with her perched on the corner of my bed. In these dreams the room is utterly black - I sleep with blackout curtains drawn because of an obnoxiously bright street lamp outside my window - but somehow I know she's there. I never say anything to her, she just slithers under the covers with me, and her body is cold! Then she talks to me in a low voice, speaking words I can never seem to remember in the morning, and she kisses my neck, and that cold feeling explodes through my whole body! Then I wake up. That's it. I know, it's freaky! I'm always a little groggy and lethargic after I have one of those dreams. Thirsty too, like, working-in-the-hot-sun-sweating-like-a-pig-all-day, thirsty. And the chronic fatigue has only gotten worse. After I fainted at work one night my boss insisted that I make a doctor's appointment. Guess what they found: Anemia. My family has *no* history of anemia, none. The doctors can't explain it, they just put me on a regimen of iron supplements and called it good. I've tried to ask her to move out, but whenever I talk to her I always seem to forget the purpose of the conversation and get sidetracked on something she wants to talk about instead, and then I go to bed having forgot about the whole thing, until the next time I have one of the dreams. I think I might be loosing my mind, either that, or my roommate really is what I think she is. I want to move out. I've even packed my stuff up a couple times, only to wake up the next morning with everything back in its place wondering if I only dreamed about packing. One night I just got in my car and drove as far as I could before sleep got the better of me and I had to pull off the highway. The next morning I woke up parked at the curb outside my apartment. I'd write that one off as a weird dream too, if it weren't for the credit card statement that has me getting gas in a town about three hours drive from where I live on the night in question. That could just be credit card fraud, except I know that it isn't. I've tried telling people about what's going on, but no one ever believes me. Family, friends, they all think it's some kind of joke, or an hallucination on my part. Especially after they meet my roommate. Everyone likes her, even though she's weird. *I* even like her, though I'm scared to death of her. I find myself waking up in the middle of the night lately with the insane urge to go out and talk to her. I know where she'll be, I can hear the TV turned to low volume in the other room. Some nights I succeed in resisting, but most I end up getting up and sitting with her until near dawn when she heads to bed. It's gotten to where I can't force myself to tell people about my fears anymore. Even writing this all out on an anonymous forum is hard to do. When I think about including any personally identifying details though, I can't make myself do it. My fingers simply refuse to type that information out. I don't think I'd be able to write as much as I have, except that I think my feeble attempts to get away amuse her somehow. I can't escape her anymore. I need help, but I know no one is going to help me. I feel like, like I should just accept my fate. One of these nights *I'll* be the one perched on *her* bed and then it will all be over. I know it somehow. I won't *want* to escape then. I'll be completely hers until I'm dead, or maybe worse. I've written my story out three times now. And each time I found some reason to delete it rather than posting. I'm not going to hit discard this time, though. I will not do it! If you're reading this, please, try to find some way of helping me! I don't know how you'd do it. I can't know. If I actually believed that someone could, I don't think I would be able write this much. I want to delete it, but I'm going to hit post before I talk myself out of it again.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] There’s Something Evil At Work Behind A Door That Doesn’t Open. [RESPONSE] I started at a local restaurant a few months back and just took up cleaning after close for a little extra money. A few days into my new duties I noticed a door behind one of the refrigerators, I did not really think anything of it at the time as this was an old house (built around the late 1800’s) that was remodeled to be home to a mom-and-pop restaurant. Now when I first started a few of the other employees told me a few stories; how chairs would slide out by themselves, or the faucets would turn on out of the blue. Nothing out of the ordinary ever happened until about a month in after taking the closing duty over. My phone was low on battery before work one day, so I left it at home. I took it to listen to music while I swept, mopped, and cleaned up. As I moved from room to room sweeping, I kept hearing the slight sound of a chair sliding an inch or so across the floor. However every time I stopped to listen it stopped, too. I was just hearing things I thought. I shrugged it off and continued my routine. That is until I came to Smoking 2 which was the room that connected to where the tucked away door was located. When I entered the room, I noticed that one of the chairs was slightly pulled out. I thought it was odd, but I really didn’t think anything of it at that time. I continued my nightly routine on the opposite side of the room where the chair was, I would have to pull it out anyway so why I push it back in I thought. On this side of the room there was an old set of wooden framed glass doors. I had my head down at the minding my work when suddenly I felt like I was being watched from the other side of doors. My eyes darted upward and trained on them, there was nothing there. I chuckled and turned around walking towards the other side of Smoking 2 when the chair that had been pulled from the table tipped over startling me a bit. “What the fuck was that…” I whispered as I took a medium step backwards. I stood there for a moment and scanned the room trying to think of a logical reason for the chair to just fall over. I shrugged it off after a minute of being dumbfounded and picked it up scooting it slightly in. I walked past it into the waitress station, where the “hidden” door was, to grab the dustpan. See, the door isn’t too visible unless you’re looking directly at it. I mean there is a refrigerator in front of it and I am ever hardly over there except to put dishes away, so it doesn’t exactly stick out like a sore thumb. When I passed the fridge, I heard what sounded like a doorknob jiggling. I stopped and froze for a moment looking to the direction it came from which wasn’t the front or back door; it was directly to my left. A cold chill ran down my spine as I gulped as this door literally led to nowhere. There is just a wall on the other side of it. I craned my head in its direction and pointed my eyes to the doorknob. Nothing. I was imagining shit I thought just the mind playing tricks on me was all. I chuckled and began to take a step into Smoking 2 when the doorknob rattled again. My head turned as fast as it could, and I saw it. The old doorknob was moving by itself! The color left my skin, and I dropped the broom and dustpan as it turned completely the door slowly opening inward. This wasn’t possible I thought, the door couldn’t have moved more than an inch that direction with the wall pressed against it; but there it was! Opening in its entirety, revealing a blanket of darkness within its depths. Then the bellowing voice came… I will never forget initially hearing that voice. Ever… I have to stop writing now because I feel it’s getting closer to me. I have to keep moving or else… Hopefully I will be able to continue to tell you my tale in the near future…<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I Keep Getting Stuck in Public Bathrooms. [RESPONSE] When I was a little girl, I used to get stuck in public bathroom stalls. The locks would jam themselves, and I'd have to use the open space at the bottom of the stall to free myself. It'd gotten so bad that I started leaving the stall doors unlocked to avoid getting stuck. However, leaving the doors unlocked became a problem, as the other kids would barge in on me doing my business, or peek under the stall and scare the living daylight out of me. I resorted to locking the stall doors again to prevent peeping toms in the making. Since then, I haven't had any memorable issues with public bathrooms, until recently. I was on my way home after dropping my boyfriend off at his house, which is a few hours away from where I live. We'd spent the whole day out by a lake and having a wonderful time. The scenery was absolutely beautiful, and our love for each other was at its fullest. It was about 11 pm-ish when I felt nature calling. However, I was driving in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but the road and a few trees in my line of sight. Any rest stops or buildings with public toilet access must've been a few miles away. I sucked it up and kept driving. It felt like hours had gone by, and not a single building was to be seen. I grew impatient. Right when I was about to pull over and do my business behind a nearby tree, I saw it. A building. It was lit up as if the lord himself was lighting the way. I got close enough to see a car in the parking lot with its driverside door wide open. *Someone must've really needed to go* I snickered to myself and pulled into the parking lot. There were a few vibrant signs spread around the building's windows that read: **CONVENIENCE STORE! OPEN 24H, SNACKS, DRINKS, & PUBLIC BATHROOM ACCESS!** I entered the building and gazed around, looking for the bathrooms. My eyes landed on two doors, one with a symbol of a man, and the other of a woman. Almost sprinting, I made my way to the women's bathroom, only to be stopped by another sign, reading **out of order due to maintenance** in small print. I mentally cursed and looked at the men's bathroom. Knocking, I asked if anyone was using the bathroom and explained my situation. I got no answer. Slowly, pulling the door open, I peeked through the small opening. For the most part, it seemed empty. I could see that someone's shoes were visible from the bottom of one of the stalls. I closed the door and gave the man his privacy. Flickering my eyes back over to the women's bathroom, I could hear noises coming from inside. At first, I assumed it was an employee cleaning up until the sound of extremely heavy breathing filled my ears. I leaned my ear against the door and listened for anything else. It was silent for a few moments. That's when I heard the most gut-wrenching scream I've ever heard come from a woman's mouth. It sounded so horrid, so anguished as if the woman in there was experiencing the most excruciating pain. There were a few audible sobs in between the heavy breathing afterward. Soon after, the sobs grew louder and louder, followed by the sounds of fast footsteps heading toward the door. I backed away, right when the woman on the other side pounded on the door. It seemed like she was throwing all of her weight on the door in an attempt to open it. Terrified, I panicked and ran into the men's bathroom, locking the door shut. My thoughts were racing as I slowly got away from the door and entered the only other stall, which was next to the one the man was in. I began relieving myself, still shaken up from the previous encounter. I didn't want to be there at that moment, but there was nothing I could do. Just then, I heard a door open from afar. I immediately realized it was the women's bathroom door. it shut, and there was a rattling noise coming from the men's bathroom door as well. Whoever was in the women's bathroom was trying to get inside. The door was unlocked and swung open by an incredible force. I stopped relieving myself and put my feet on the toilet, to give the impression that nobody was in the stall. Surprisingly, the man in the next stall didn't budge an inch. From the bottom of my stall, I could see someone's bare legs and feet, blood dripping down both legs and onto the gray-tiled floor. My eyes widened as the person took a step inside the room, followed by another and another until they were facing my stall door. I was frozen, absolutely terrified. A woman's voice quietly huffed before trying to open my stall door. I was now crying but tried concealing it to the best of my abilities. The woman on the other side of the door gurgled up the words *are you stuck?* Her voice sounded sweet, yet maniacal. The woman chuckled before getting down on her knees. At that point, I stood on the toilet, desperately looking everywhere for a way out. I looked directly above myself and saw a vent. Reaching into my hair, I pulled out a bobby pin and tried picking at the vent, hoping it would open. The woman chuckled again, but even louder this time. Drawing my eyes away from the vent, I could see the woman's mangled face peeking from under the stall door. A wicked smile was plastered on her face, and she didn't look human at all. Her dark brown hair was partially covering her doll-like eyes. She had fair skin, covered in bruises, open cuts, and small bugs. I will always remember her face, as I witnessed a maggot slither around her cheeks. To say she looked disgusting was truly an understatement. She looked like she'd been dead for a few days. I panicked once again and ended up dropping my bobby pin on the floor. Quickly bending down to pick it up, I noticed that the woman hadn't moved. It looked like she was entertained by watching me struggle. I managed to loosen the vent and ultimately got it open. That's when I heard the sound of bones cracking under the stall. I turned to see the woman contorting her body to fit under the gap under the stall. I let out a petrified scream and tried climbing my way into the vent. The woman grabbed my ankle, cackling even louder. The adrenaline in my body was pumping, and I swiftly kicked her rotting face, sending her flying into the stall door. I climbed into the vent and crawled my way to what looked to be the back side of the store. I threw myself out of the vent and ran towards my car. The woman was nowhere to be seen, so I got in my car and drove off. When I was a safe distance away, I called everyone, my parents, my best friends, and my boyfriend. Everyone except my boyfriend brushed me off. Instead of freaking out, he began to tell me of a time he went to the same convenience store and experienced similar things. I was too stunned for words. I asked him why he didn't tell me about what happened to him, to which he replied *The legend says that if you tell people, they'll share the same fate, or even worse. You didn't tell anyone else, right?* I smashed the brakes of my car and sobbed loudly. My boyfriend explained that in his town, this convenience store had a very demonic history, and everyone who goes in, doesn't come out the same... that is, if they survive. Its bright lights are meant to attract people into going in, where their nightmares become reality. The woman that I saw in the bathroom was one of the victims of this store, and the man in the stall had received an unfortunate fate because of her. I stayed on the call with my boyfriend until he went to sleep, and I went home. Here I am, two years later, writing this in my car after attending one of my best friend's funeral. I have so many regrets. What started as the most romantic day of my life, ended in such horror and pain. I caused my friend's death, and soon, everyone else I told will face the same ending. I've cried so much since the incident, and I forced my boyfriend to move in with me, so I wouldn't have to drive past the store again. I've hated myself more than imaginable, and I'm not the same person I used to be. I've been going to therapy since then, and I'm doing a little bit better, although I still get nightmares of the woman's face. My boyfriend has stuck with me this entire time, but I know he could possibly have the same fate. I just hope you all here won't judge me after writing all this, I just needed to get this off my chest.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I downloaded a "Survival Horror" game, and it's way too realistic [RESPONSE] So, yeah, I was bored and since there was nothing better to do - I started to browse games on Steam, looking for something that would help me kill a couple of hours. Boring, boring, expensive, boring, way too crappy graphics, oh wait… It was titled “Where I Sleep” and labeled with tags I expected to see: horror, survival horror, psychological horror, etc. Besides - it was free to play, double win. The screenshots were not explanatory, so I clicked the Install button to check it out for myself. While it was downloading I read some reviews, most of them “Positive”, actually, despite it being an Early Access game, meaning it was still under development. With a mug of coffee and some interest, I finally launched it. And at first, it came out exactly as expected - raw and unpolished. The UI was horrible. Well, not horrible, but it was bad. Same with the studio logo - as if a 5-year-old drew them without putting any effort at all. But somehow it even added to the ambiance. I’m a huge fan of pseudo-PS1 horror games, so that didn’t make me want Alt+F4 the thing instantly. I clicked “New game” and was ready for some action. My character was standing in a dark room and there was a single door in the distance, illuminated by a dim light bulb atop it. WASD for walking, ok. Shift to run - usual. I was prepared for any jump scares the dev was about to throw at me on this short path. They always do that, but to my surprise - not here, no. I walked to the door and opened it to reveal a dimly lit inside of an apartment. “Now, he’s gonna do it. Come on, where’s the boo?” - I said aloud grinning. Yet nothing happened: no scary music and the light bulb didn’t explode behind me. For a second I felt stupid. What am I expecting of a game that is not finished? Maybe the devs didn’t place any surprises yet and I’m just walking among the assets that are yet to get some puzzles, notes, and all that stuff? I reached for the light switch inside and hit “E” to turn it on. The hall illuminated and I instantly got surprised, while not realizing why. Seconds later I got it: the room looked quite similar to the one I live in. The bed, the tv, and most of the other furniture were arranged in the same manner, so it gave an uncanny resemblance. “Wow! The guy who did this must be my long-lost brother. He-he. He imagines the living space the same way as I do” - I laughed to myself. So I spent a couple of more minutes checking out the room to discover some more surprising coincidences and went to explore the kitchen. Not really amused by the amount of “horror”, but quite interested in the design decisions made in-game. As I expected the kitchen was also quite like mine, though positioning was swapped with a bathroom in the game, compared to the real one I live in. The table had two chairs by it - just like mine, the sink was by the window and the fridge was quite similar too. Except mine was a bit bigger and black, and the game one was green. Then something caught my attention and the thought formed at the root of my brain: “Wait… What?”. There was a cereal box on the table, a plate with a piece of bread, and a half-finished glass of milk. That was too much of a coincidence. I blinked a couple of times and even bothered to stand up from the screen and double-check my own kitchen. You guessed it, the very same items were aligned on my real-world breakfast spot. This was getting a bit weird and a bit unnerving, to be honest. You see, I prefer eating cereal straight from the box and leaving one slice of PBJ sandwich with half a glass of milk for a couple of hours later. That’s my breakfast routine, and even though I’m obviously not the only one who does that - the coincidence became suspicious. It became even more suspicious when I navigated the character to the bathroom as other similarities popped up. There was a single T-shirt in the washing machine, and the bathrobe was lying on the floor (same as mine, I have had to fix that damn hanger for a week already) and there was no toilet paper (I used the last one this morning with plans to buy more today). What the hell is this game? Is it, like, watching me or something? Or do all the lonely guys have such similar thinking that it’s easy to build a typical man cave? And just for the record - I don’t have a webcam or anything that could capture the insides of my flat. That’s so fucking creepy. Am I being watched? Are the spy cams hidden - but why and who would install them? To create a shitty indie game? No way. Since there was not much else to see in the game I shut it down and checked my apartment for any traces of the intrusion. I’m not James Bond, but I did my best to look around for hidden devices with none found. As I came back from the supermarket - my computer showed that a new update to “Where I Sleep” was downloaded. I checked the devlog and it said: “Patch 0.3.1.0 - minor graphics improvement”. I launched it out of curiosity - same dark room, same door with the light bulb, same… HOLY FUCK! The patch added more details to the surroundings. Now it looked exactly like my place - even the bowl I used for keeping keys at the door looked identical and had the same dent. I could read the book titles on the shelves - the same as mine. And the fridge in the kitchen was now bigger and colored black. There was no explanation. What kind of trick is this? I went to the game discussion forums. There were a couple of messages from players stating the devs are lazy with updates and how the whole thing sucked. I dropped my own: “Devs, what the \*\*\*\* is going on?” and described my experience with the game. Several hours later I checked the responses - other users were posting that my topic is “a stupid PR move” and asking me to get a life. But in the evening I discovered that my query was deleted from the message board with no explanation. And to top it out - a new patch rolled out. The message from the devs contained a poll, so I couldn’t but read the whole thing. “Hi, guys! We are getting there and would like our community to take part in deciding on in-game protagonist/s. Vote now - enjoy later. 1. Eldritch horror - 21% 2. Demonic horror - 18% 3. Monstrous horror - 4% 4. Let the devs decide - 57% Patch. 0.4.0.0 - graphics improvement, action triggers added, environmental events added.“ I had to see, so I launched the game and with trembling excitement navigated the character through the door. Not much has changed since the last time - the same things on their common spots. I walked around the room a bit and went to see the kitchen. As my character was inspecting the insides of a cupboard - the real me almost shit my pants. I’ve been so focused on the game, that when somebody knocked on my door - it almost made me scream. But back to reality, I checked the hall through the peephole - nobody was there. Probably some kids having fun, eh? I went back to the game and continued my investigation. I was unprepared for this. The next second the knock on the door sounded again. I swallowed, knees starting to shake as I realized the sound was coming from my apartment. Something knocked on my bathroom door. From the inside. I’m not proud of what happened next. Yes, I could play the Alpha male, get the cops, get a gun, and get things done. But I chose to run. Luckily this was a rented apartment and I don’t own that many things, so even after losing the deposit - by the evening I was sitting with boxes unpacked in a different district of the city. Safe and sound. Call me a wuss, I don’t care. The flat didn’t resemble the old one in any way. Different planning, a bit larger, far more expensive, but that’s ok. I unpacked my PC first thing, as I still have to work on the weekdays, you know. Everything else could wait. Intending to put some music on Spotify while I unbox my clothes and washing stuff - I turned it on. Steam launched, being one of the apps I put to Autostart. It instantly started to download something, as the icon on the panel indicated. It was another update for “Where I Sleep”. But it didn’t get me much. I was safe and far away from trouble. So I clicked on the update log with a grin, just to see what was happening there: “Ladies and gentlemen, the voting is over. As most of you asked - we worked hard and present to you… The Follower. Stay away from him, he’s not that friendly. Enjoy and leave a review. Thanks Patch 0.5.1.0 - added AI, added The Follower, added new assets, fixed several bugs“ There was also a sketch of some character, but it was so poorly drawn - I couldn’t tell for sure if that was the shape of his head or a hat, and how many fingers did he have. A silhouette standing in clouds of smoke, darkness… Or fire? I don’t know what they tried to represent there. If you would ask me why I launched the game - I wouldn’t answer you. Stupidity? Curiosity? Obsession? I don’t know. Maybe I just wanted to see how that Follower looks in-game. Or if the game would freak me out now, as I’m not in that apartment. But the next moment, as the game window showed on my screen and I pressed “New Game” - my body went numb. My breathing quickened and I guess a couple of blood vessels popped in my eyes as the overwhelming wave of fear covered me whole. I was standing in the same dark room, the same door with the light bulb atop it, except… there was a second door next to it. Same pastel blue color as in my new apartment. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to think. I’ve been sitting here all night afraid to move or make any actions. And the constant knocking on the bathroom door keeps me awake. Somebody, help, please!<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Drowned Woman [RESPONSE] It began innocently enough. The trip was unusual but not my first of the kind: an expedition with several archaeologists to explore and document a recently-unearthed site. In this case, the site had been known for many years, but the locals had violently refused any attempts to explore within – until one week earlier when a representative from the locals had contacted the university at which I work and invited our team to come to explore the ruins. The team was kept small – a concession to avoid potential tensions with the locals. It was, therefore, a four-person team: Myself, my immediate superior, Doctor Muller, a doctoral student by the name of Adam Lochner, and the representative of the local villagers, a woman named Yui, who greeted us as our plane deposited us at the makeshift landing strip that had been created near the ruins. “I’m glad you were able to come, especially after how many times my people have rejected you in the past,” she said. She was younger than I’d expected, probably no older than Adam. She wore the traditional purple robes of the village leader, which stood starkly against her extremely pale skin. Her eyes were large and dark, which, when compared with her skin, gave an uncomfortable feeling that she was looking at us not through her eyes but through a pair of deep holes that had been carved through a mask. “Please understand, the ruins of the ancient temple are core to our people’s beliefs. Letting outsiders in is inviting disaster in the minds of many of our older villagers.” The village had been built around the ruins. The ancient temple had long ago collapsed into a massive sinkhole, and the village encircled the hole’s rim. Around the village were miles upon miles of forest, allowing the villagers to remain almost isolated from society even in the modern day – though, I noted, not as isolated or primitive as most would expect, considering the number of villagers I saw playing games on their smartphones. “Just so we’re on the same page, would you mind recapping those beliefs?” Muller asked, glancing at Adam. I suspected he was worried the student hadn’t paid attention. Yui nodded. “Thousands of years ago, we were ruled over by a tyrannical sorceress known as the Drowned Woman. She took great pleasure in cruelty, demanding frequent sacrifices and killing our people for her amusement. She waged war against all other peoples, slaughtering them down to the last child, drinking the blood of their most innocent. The legends say the soil of our land was stained red for generations, and we could do nothing to resist. The Drowned Woman ruled for centuries, extending her life with dark magic until a single hero managed to infiltrate her chambers and strike her down. But the legends-” “Why do they call her that?” Adam interrupted, drawing a glare from the rest of us. Yui’s mouth twitched in annoyance, but she quickly concealed it. “Water connects us to the land of the dead. Souls are taken by the water and carried to the next life. The name ‘The Drowned Woman’ is because she was a necromancer – someone who does not respect the water’s flow. And as I was saying,” she continued loudly before Adam could interrupt again, “our legends also warn that she can never truly die. They say that when the time is ripe, she will return and begin a reign of blood and terror far greater than any the world has ever seen. Our village was built here by our ancestors to guard her temple and ensure that she could not return.” “So the reason you keep outsiders away….” I ventured. She nodded. “Is so that nobody could attempt to resurrect her.” “So what changed?” Muller asked. Yui smiled wryly. “We decided to enter the 21st century. You might not have noticed, but our village isn’t exactly modern. As our new leader, I’m determined to bring us in step with the rest of the world, and getting this old temple properly studied is the first step.” “How did you become leader?” Adam asked. “The spirits of my ancestors proclaimed it into everyone’s dreams,” Yui said testily. I got the impression she didn’t like Adam or his questions. “My mom was the prior chief. She died. I inherited it. It’s not complicated.” Yui led us to her home, a one-room stone structure. “Pardon the primitiveness," she said. “I’d like to one day have a hotel here for guests. And a house with central heating for me. But this is what we have for now.” She gestured for us to sit around a small stone table and poured us each a mug of black liquid. “What is this?” Adam asked. “Water,” Yui answered. “All our water is that color. It’s safe, though. Just minerals.” I examined my drink. The water wasn’t merely dark – it was solid black, not reflecting a single speck of light. I shook my glass, and it seemed like the water didn’t even move, though I knew that was an illusion caused by the darkness. “You can boil it or run it through a filter if you like,” Yui said, sipping hers. “But I promise it’s pure. We’ve got our own underground aquifer we draw it from.” Telling myself that I’d had stranger drinks on other expeditions, I took a sip. The water was shockingly cold, almost enough to give me brain freeze from a single drink, but it tasted pure and clean, and yet something about it, more than the color, still made me uncomfortable. I felt a strange nervousness as I swallowed and decided not to finish my cup. “Thank you,” Muller said, draining his cup. “But I’m quite eager to see the ruins. If it’s not too much of an imposition?” “Not at all,” Yui said. “Follow me.” She led us out of her home and through the village to the lip of the sinkhole. A makeshift wooden stairway led down the sides to a large opening at the top of the ruins. Here, as we began our descent, I had my first proper view of the ancient structure: a massive palace of purple stone, similar in shape and size to a Mayan pyramid, but with numerous windows and arched doorways throughout the exterior. Crumbled archways of that same purple stone surrounded the exterior of the ruin, slowly being reclaimed by the swamp below. Oddly for such an ancient structure, the ruins were devoid of plant life – not so much as a blade of grass stirred in the sinkhole. The depths of the pit were filled with the same black water as had been served to us in Yui’s home. “Careful,” Yui said. “If you fall and are lucky enough not to hit one of the stones on the way down, you’ll get sucked into the Blackmire.” “What’s that?” Adam asked. “The swamp at the bottom of the pit,” Yui answered. “It’s a lot deeper than it looks, and it sucks you right down if you land in it.” "Why do you call it that?" Adam asked. Yui sighed. "Because it's a mire, and it's black." As we neared the temple, I noticed that the surface was not simply rough from millennia of exposure – nearly every flat surface was carved with intricate designs – letters, in an unfamiliar language. Those slabs not covered in ancient writing displayed the visage of a faceless woman in flowing robes gazing down from a massive throne. “The Drowned Woman.” Yui nodded at the images. “There’s a ton of sculptures of her inside, too, but all the faces have been smashed. I guess the people who did it were determined to erase every trace of the Drowned Woman. They must have been terrified she’d come back.” “So you believe this lady really existed?” Adam asked. I saw Yui’s eye twitch and shot a glance at Muller, who looked like he shared my exasperation. Adam had been selected for his academic performance, and we hadn’t expected him to be quite so bad at dealing with the locals. “Yes, I do,” Yui answered, her eye continuing to twitch. “I am the religious leader of my people, and our entire faith for the last three millennia has revolved around her. Don’t you Americans believe your Jesus existed, even if you don’t necessarily believe all the stories?” Adam mumbled something about evidence, and for a moment, I was worried Yui was about to push him off the stairway. “Yui,” Muller interrupted, clearly hoping to change the subject, “can you tell us about the sorts of rituals you perform concerning this temple?” Yui’s face seemed to brighten at that. “Of course.” The path was beginning to level out, the stairway turning into more of a bridge. “Our faith isn’t really prayer-oriented. The idea of it is ‘prevent the evil witch-queen from reviving,’ not ‘ask the evil witch-queen for a favor,’ after all. So our rituals are more…how do I put it? It’s a…well, it’s sort of a ritualized patrol route. We circle the outside of the sinkhole eight times a day. On the sixth day of each month, we put up some warding totems and take down the old totems. Each household makes its own totem in its own style. The old totems are then thrown into the Blackmire so that any evil influence they absorbed can be returned to the Drowned Woman rather than kept in our village. We also perform astronomy, keeping an eye on the stars for the ‘Day of Return,’ when the Drowned Woman will reincarnate and resume her reign of darkness.” “What does your faith say to do if the stars are right for that day, then?” I asked. Yui shrugged. “Nothing. I think the idea at that point is we’re all already doomed.” Adam snorted. All three of us glared at him, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Well, here we are,” Yui said. I had been so preoccupied looking at the carvings on the temple's exterior that I hadn’t realized we’d arrived at the entrance. “Watch your step. We only come here to clear out rubble twice a year, so it’s not exactly OSHA compliant.” “Few archaeology sites are,” Muller chuckled. Following Yui, we stepped inside into a massive hallway. The hall was lined with grand sculptures of the Drowned Woman, though, as Yui had said, all the faces were smashed. Behind each statue was an arched doorway leading into blackness. I estimated there must be nearly fifty such doorways within the hallway. “Where do those doors lead?” Muller asked. Yui shrugged. “We aren’t exactly keen on exploring. Though…” She paused. “Well, there’s one doorway that I have explored through. It’s on the way to the grand ritual chamber; let’s have a quick detour.” So saying, Yui guided us to the door behind a statue on the left-hand side, almost exactly halfway down the hall. “Here. This leads to a special chamber we use for the New Year’s ritual.” Muller went in first, followed by Adam. Yui nodded for me to go in next, then followed behind me. The door led to a dark hallway with an odd smell of iron. “What do you do during your New Year’s ritual?” I asked. Or rather, tried to ask, only to discover that some strange property of the hallway’s design muffled sounds almost completely. That was my last thought before the stone struck my skull, and the world vanished in a flash of pain. *** I awoke to the sound of voices and the smell of salt and iron. My eyes fluttered open slowly, hazy images slowly coalescing into a nightmare. I was tied to a stone table. A pair of faceless statues loomed over me. I could vaguely make out two arched doorways, one in front of me, one behind. Another table lay to my left, and atop it was a pile of flesh and meat that had once been Adam. “He’s awake.” It was Mueller’s voice. My senior stood beside my table. Next to him, dressed in elaborate purple robes and wearing a faceless purple mask, was Yui. In her hand was a bloody knife. I tried to speak, but terror had closed my throat. My heart pounded in my ears, and my stomach seemed to drop. “Please, do understand,” Muller said, as though discussing the weather. “Learning about the ancient past is lovely, but that’s not what we’re here for.” He grinned. “I’ve studied many ancient religions, but I never thought I’d have a chance to visit the necromancer’s temple myself.” A mad light danced in his eyes. “Most scholars scoff at such things, but I happen to be quite knowledgeable about the supernatural, not simply the physical. And the Drowned Woman was – is – very real.” “And the time of her resurrection is nigh,” Yui added. “I’m afraid I wasn’t being truthful either. Our faith is indeed about protecting the temple, but not to stop her from reviving. It’s to ensure no interlopers could prevent the return of our mistress.” She shrugged. “I never thought the stars would align in my lifetime, though. Imagine how excited I was to get that news a few months ago?” She shook her head. “Of course, my mother was the chief at the time, so she would be the one to lead the ritual and receive the Drowned Woman’s blessing. I couldn’t have that, so….” She made a slashing gesture with the knife. “The Blackmire is very convenient. It disposes of anything.” “I knew of the Drowned Woman’s return as well, from my own studies,” Muller said. “I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to meet her – to gain her blessing. I contacted Yui here last month and offered to provide her with the necessary sacrifices for the ritual in return for being part of it.” That mad light flashed again in his eyes. “A few sacrifices are worth it for immortality, don’t you think? Don’t say you wouldn’t do the same. Anyone would.” “It came as a relief, really,” Yui added. “The Drowned Woman needs a blood sacrifice, and I’d have hated to have to go out and kidnap someone myself.” She made a sound of disgust. “At first, I wasn’t sure which of you would be the first offering, but I made up my mind as soon as that brat started talking. Disrespectful fool.” “A-are you going to kill me?” I managed to ask, my voice trembling as much as the rest of me. “Not yet,” Yui answered. “The ritual only says we need one blood sacrifice for the revival, but I imagine the Drowned Woman will want another when she’s revived. I’ll save you until then.” She chuckled darkly. “You should be honored. You’ll be one of the first to see her face.” The sound of a bell echoed loudly through the chamber. “That’s the signal,” Yui said. “Come on, Doctor Muller. We wouldn’t want to miss the ceremony.” With that, she and Muller vanished into the doorway in front of me, leaving me alone with the pile of meat that only hours ago had been my student. As the sound of their footsteps faded away, I began to struggle wildly against my bonds. I felt them begin to slip – like the rest of the ruins, these restraints were clearly ancient and unmaintained. After only a minute, I felt them release. Panicked, my nostrils filled with the horrible smell of death, terrified that Yui or another cultist would soon return, I turned and fled through the other archway. I stumbled blindly through the dark tunnel, running as fast as my trembling legs allowed. Many times I stumbled or dashed myself against an outcropping on a wall, but I didn’t dare stop. Whenever the tunnel branched, I simply ran through the closer opening. I didn’t slow until I began to hear voices. Terrified, I crept forward and beheld an entirely different kind of nightmare. I was on a small balcony concealed behind one of the many faceless statues that filled the ruin. The balcony overlooked a massive chamber filled with hundreds of people, all wearing the same purple robes. The entire village was here. I saw Muller there as well, near the front. Yui stepped onto a platform almost directly below my balcony and removed her mask. “Kah’trackha!” She yelled. She began pacing back and forth, proclaiming loudly in a language I didn’t understand. But while I couldn’t decipher the words, the tone was obvious. This was a celebration. The sort of speech a general gives the troops on the eve of great conquest. It was a speech about the return of their queen, their evil goddess. The Drowned Woman. As she spoke, two villages brought forth a giant basin filled with black water and placed it beside Yui. A cheer went up from the crowd as Yui extended her arm over the basin, drew her blade, and slashed herself across the arm, splashing her blood into the basin. The room seemed to darken, and the crowd went silent. Then, suddenly, a great bolt of lightning flashed inside the darkened room, filling it with orange and purple light. As that strangely-colored light flickered throughout the room, the basin began to bubble. A cold hand gripped my heart. Ice ran down my spine. I was breathing so fast that I was starting to see spots. And then, slowly, almost leisurely, she rose from the basin. She was tall and thin, with raven hair that extended below her feet. She wore a series of golden bands around her fingers and arms, and her legs were wrapped in cloth bandages. As she stepped from the basin, dripping black water from her chalk-white skin, to accept the robes Yui reverently held out for her, I beheld her face. Her eyes were gone, but it was not empty sockets that I saw. Instead, from the holes where eyes should be, I saw nothing but endless darkness, a bottomless abyss. It was not that her eyes were black – the skin around her eyes had cracked and crumbled away like porcelain, and thin cracks continued from where her eyes had been down the rest of her face. On the other side of those holes, where flesh or muscle or bone should have been, was nothing but deep blackness, like the void of space. As she dressed, I realized the water dripping from her was not leftover from the basin. From every pore in her body, pitch-black water dripped in an endless flow. “Water connects us to the afterlife,” Yui had said. A horrible vision filled my mind of an endless, infinitely deep ocean of black water. The afterlife. And it was from this Stygian sea that the woman below me had crawled. From the endless ocean of death, she had dredged herself back to the surface, back to our world. The room was completely silent as the Drowned Woman slowly surveyed her followers. And as she did, I saw my chance. She was standing directly below my balcony, directly below her own statue. I knew it was dangerous, but I also knew it was my only hope. It was only a matter of time before Yui’s cultists found me and dragged me before the Drowned Woman as a sacrifice. And beyond that…How can I describe the feeling? The sensation of pure, complete Evil? It filled the air and seeped into my eyes, my ears, my mouth, my pores. It poured out from the Drowned Woman, an aura of such utter *wrongness* that I could barely comprehend. I couldn’t allow this monster to walk upon the earth once more. With all my strength, I pushed at the statue, my pulse racing, fear filling me with adrenaline. If the statue moved too slowly – if the cultists saw me or heard it move…my mind raced with terrified visions of my horrible death, of my soul being dragged down into that black ocean. With a sudden crumbling noise, the statue came loose. The world seemed to be in slow motion. I was exposed, in full view of the crowd. Some cultists stared at me, others at the falling statue. I heard someone scream – or thought I did. Then, with a terrific crash, the massive statue smashed down onto the ground below me. Shattering harmlessly several feet too far to the left. My heart dropped into my stomach as the Drowned Woman looked up. A faint smile crossed her black lips. She’d known I was there the entire time. “Well, well.” Her voice was deep and echoing, like the roar of a stormy ocean, yet her tone was calm and conversational. In the depths of my mind, drowned out by fear, I wondered how she knew English. “It seems your guards aren’t very good at their jobs,” the Drowned Woman said, a flicker of amusement in her voice. Yui opened her mouth – to apologize, or maybe to order her guards to seize me. Which it was, I will never know, because the next moment, her eyes widened in horror, and she began to gag on the black water suddenly flowing forth from her mouth. Horrible choking sounds echoed throughout the room as the same black water, appearing seemingly from nowhere, began to suffocate the entire cult. At the front of the room, Muller took a staggering step forward, his arm extended towards me, before collapsing, black water oozing from his nose. In moments, everyone in the room was dead, save for the Drowned Woman, standing calmly amid the slaughter. I ran. I knew it was futile. I knew it was hopeless. But my fear was stronger than my mind. It drove me forward, back through the tunnels, down other side passages, through ancient paths nobody had trod in millennia. Black water dripped from the ceilings as the humidity of the ruins began increasing, water pooling in the corners of the rooms and sliding down the walls. Flashes of orange and purple light burst randomly through the air as I ran. In my ears, I heard the voice of the ocean, laughing. Light suddenly shone before me. My heart leaped. It was the exit. Hope gave my legs another burst. I ran as fast as possible for the opening, for the fresh air. And then the water wrapped itself around my legs, hurling me to the soaked floor. Cold black water dripped down onto my back. The light outside dimmed. Orange and purple spots danced in my vision. I struggled to breathe. Then she appeared, emerging from outside the temple, and stopping in front of me. She gazed down at me through those black chasms, a cruel grin on her face. I heard her chuckle darkly at my terror. And then…she left. She turned and exited the temple, vanishing into the sudden darkness as a storm began outside, black rain hiding her from my sight. I stood slowly, panting, trembling. My body ached, but fear kept the pain at bay. I took one stumbling step, then another, then another, until I was out of the temple, out of the sinkhole, out of the village. The storm clouds seemed to part as my plane took off, just long enough to create an opening, then closed again. Below me, I saw the black clouds beginning to spread. I will never be able to say with certainty why I was spared. Maybe she simply found it amusing, or maybe she found me so beneath her as to not be worth bothering with. But I think I know. She wanted someone alive, as a messenger. To tell the world that she has returned. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm a security guard for hire. My last job nearly killed me. (part2) [RESPONSE] Any amount of courage or denial left in me evaporated. I stood there, halfway down the steps, pain in my side, staring at a porcelain doll and fearing for my life. I climbed the stairs and sat on the top one, across from the clown. There was no way I was going to touch it, but there was no way I was going to let it out of my sight either. The next few hours were a blur, as the store became a carnival funhouse. I heard footsteps, music, crashing, and even sounds I couldn’t identify. But I refused to take my eyes off the clown. My bladder screamed at me, telling me I hadn’t taken my mid-shift bathroom break, but I refused to take my eyes off the clown. When the owner unlocked the door, she found me in the same spot, sitting at the top of the stairs, staring at the clown. “Are you alright?” she said coming over to me. It took me a moment to realize she was real. “Yes, I’m fine,” I said, staring at the clown. “I just wanted to buy this thing.” She looked back and forth from me to the clown. “I have a friend who collects these,” I said to her unasked question. “Umm… sure,” she said. “You want to bring it over… “ “Actually, I was wondering if you could take it and gift wrap it for me,” I said my eyes glued to the clown. “Of… course,” she said hesitantly, picking up the clown and carrying it over to the counter. I struggled to my feet nearly falling down the stairs again as my numb legs struggled to function. I shook out the pins and needles and waited for my balance to return before walking over to the counter and paying for the doll. “Thank you very much,” the owner said with her cashier’s smile that didn’t quite make it to her eyes. “Are you going to be ok?” I looked at the brown wrapping paper that enveloped the clown and smiled. “I’ll be fine, thanks.” I stepped out into the cold air and walked to my car. The keys slipped out of my hands as I tried to unlock the door. The second time around I unlocked it and got inside, putting my parcel on the passenger seat. I turned the key in the ignition to start the car and nothing happened. I sat back and sighed. Then I slapped the brown paper wrapper and tried again. The car roared to life and for the first time in a while, I felt in control. I drove away from work, ending up on a dirt road I used to visit when I was a dumb teenager. I knew the road ended at a quarry, and I wasn’t going very fast, but when I pressed the brake, nothing happened. I kept going straight toward the edge of the cliff. I tried the brakes again but still wasn’t stopping. I was slowing down because my foot wasn’t on the gas pedal, but that wasn’t going to stop me before hurtling over the edge. There were trees lining both sides of the road so I knew if need be, I would hit a tree before careening over a cliff to my death, but I wanted to save my car if possible. The moment of truth was approaching. I was almost to the edge. I grabbed the emergency brake and yanked up with all my strength. Dirt flew as the car slid sideways and came to a stop. I took a deep breath, put the car in park, and turned off the engine. I stepped out and looked down at the edge of the cliff three feet in front of me. I sighed and reached back inside the car to grab my brown package. I unwrapped it and looked into the eyes of the clown. “Sayonara, sucker!” I said, then threw it over the cliff and watched as it fell in slow motion hundreds of feet and shattered against the rocks. I looked at the tiny pieces scattered among the rocks with disappointment. ‘At least I could’ve seen some evil vapors floating up or the thing burst into flame when it shattered,’ I thought. ‘I guess I’ve watched too many horror movies.’ I got back in my car, and it started on the first try. I smiled as I drove home and slept like the dead until my alarm went off and it was time to get ready to go to work. I sang in the shower, I sang along with the radio, and I was still humming a happy tune when I got to work. It was the happiest I’d been in days. I did my first round with a skip in my step. Even coming to the display where the clown used to be couldn’t put a damper on my spirits. The empty space on the shelf where it used to sit made me smile. I came to the bookshelf and was happy to pick a book for the evening now that I would be able to enjoy reading again. I did my best to ignore the supernatural ramifications of the previous week as I chose a book. I reached for the Dave Barry book again, but it wouldn’t budge. I tried another book, but it wouldn’t budge either. I reached for a horror book, and it came out in my shaking hand. I slowly panned around, looking for anything. In the back of my mind, I half expected the clown to jump out, wielding a knife, and start chasing me. When that didn’t happen, I floundered, not knowing where to look next. I went to my counter and sat the phone down on record. “Where are you?” I said looking around. “What are you?” I waited for a minute then stopped recording and listened. After I was done talking, I waited for the answer. “Why?” said the raspy voice. “So you can do to me what you did to the clown?” I stared at the phone with dismay as if it was whatever was saying this. I started another recording. “How do you know what I did to the clown?” The voice answered with a harsh chuckle, then said a single word, “Prepare.” I started another video and said, “Prepare for what?” But the voice was silent. “Prepare for what?” I said on another video, leaving more time. No response. ‘I guess it sucks to be me,’ I thought ruefully. I plopped down on my chair and thought about what could be worse than the last few days of living in fear. My happy mood was gone. Now all I felt was hopelessness. The night dragged on for what felt like an eternity. There wasn’t a sound, not a hint of anything out of the ordinary. The silence drove me to the brink of insanity. I waited all night for something to happen, but nothing did. When morning came the owner was brimming with excitement. “Happy Halloween!” she said as though Halloween spirit was overflowing out of her. “That’s today?” I said. “Of course.” “I think I might need to take tonight off.” “On Halloween?” she said looking distressed. “When all the tricksters are out looking to do no good? Tonight’s when I need you the most.” I looked into her pleading eyes and sighed. “Of course, I’ll be in tonight,” I said. Her face immediately lit up and she became brilliantly happy. “Oh good, I’m so glad.” I went home and tried everything I could to get some sleep. I even took a sleeping pill. But nothing could get my mind to shut down. I couldn’t stop thinking about what could possibly happen. All this trouble I’d been having, and then add on top of that, the fact that it was Halloween night was too much. I couldn’t fathom what was about to occur. In the end, I got maybe an hour of sleep. When I got up to get ready for work, I was completely frazzled. I put my taser and flashlight on my belt, then looked in the drawer and saw my snub nose .38 sitting in its ankle holster. I picked it up and stared at it for a long time. The ramifications of taking it with me were huge. Was I prepared to face the consequences of what would happen if I used it? After a few minutes, I made my decision. \*\*\* That night on my way to work I passed dozens of kids in colorful costumes running cheerfully from house to house having the time of their lives. I wondered if any of them would ever have to face a moment like I was about to. When I turned the key in the door to lock myself in my prison of antiques for the night, the click had a note of finality. My mind had been running through a list of potential disasters that could happen that night, and ‘nothing’ had not made the list. I started my first round upstairs and it was totally uneventful. You’d think that the silence would be comforting, but it was quite the opposite. My eyes darted back and forth searching for where the attack would come from. Once I got downstairs, I was jolted into full panic mode. There was new merchandise that must’ve come in today. It was three life-sized mannequins that were dressed in Halloween costumes. The hairs stood on the back of my neck and my anxiety level jumped to eleven. I stayed as far away from these things as possible. I wanted absolutely nothing to do with them. I was tempted to call the owner right then and say I quit. I desperately wanted to take a book off the shelf and read to take my mind off of the stress, but I knew that all it would let me take was horror. I sat at my counter after my first round was done. My leg bounced nervously and my hands sat on the counter, shaking. I didn’t know if I was heading for a heart attack or not. I sat there, dreading my second round, waiting to hear anything unusual happened like had been for the last week but there was nothing but silence. Dreadful silence. It was like the silence of a volcano that was quietly building pressure until the eruption, and no one ever sees it coming. That’s what I was waiting for, the eruption. Second round came and my walk through the upstairs was disturbingly quiet. When I got downstairs, I noticed two of the three mannequins were still where they were supposed to be, the third was missing. ‘Please can’t I just have one peaceful night?’ I thought. As the thought rattled through my brain, I heard a rustling. I looked over to the side and the third mannequin was stepping toward me. I froze in shock. The impossibility of what was happening seemed to ricochet off my brain. It refused to penetrate. The mannequin took a step toward me, then another. Finally, my mind got out of denial mode and into full red alert mode. I pulled out my taser, put the red dot in the middle of the mannequin’s chest, and pulled the trigger. The surge of electricity didn’t phase it. It kept stepping toward me. I didn’t know what to do. As a last resort I reached down to my ankle and pulled out the .38. The mannequin started waving wildly and making strange noises. It terrified me beyond anything I’d ever felt before. It was a mere half dozen steps away from me when I fired. I hit it square in the middle of the chest. There was a small hole in the front, and something flew out the back. The mannequin stopped as if I had just hit the pause button. It slowly toppled forward, and when it hit the floor, pieces flew off. I noticed there was clothing underneath. I also noticed the large red hole in the back of the plastic. My curiosity overwhelmed my fear, and I stepped forward to discover what had happened. I looked down and oozing out of the red hole was blood. I hesitantly reached for the mannequin and rolled it over to find the face place had broken off and I was staring down into the eyes of the owner of the store. “No!” I screamed. She tried to say something, but blood gurgled out of her mouth, making it barely audible. I leaned closer and she spoke again. “Just wanted to give you a little scare,” she said weakly. “Happy Halloween.” I knelt there for a long moment before I came to my senses. I reached for her neck to feel for a pulse, but there was none. Most of her body was still covered in the mannequin plastic, but there was nothing I could do. There was no resuscitation that would work. I had shot her in the heart and there was nothing to resuscitate. I stared at her dead body for a long time. And then I got up and went to my counter, sat, and put my head in my hands. After a few minutes, I pulled out my phone, turned on the video recorder, and said, “Are you happy now? Is this what you wanted, for me to destroy my life out of fear?” I let it record for another minute, then turned it off and hit play. I heard the sound of my own voice desperately asking the question, then silence. I recorded another video. “Answer me!” I screamed. “This is what you wanted! Say something! Gloat! Do something! Anything!” I played it back, but there was still silence, maddening silence. I looked around in desperation, trying to see what was different when my eyes landed on an empty spot on a shelf. The ventriloquist’s dummy was gone. Someone must’ve bought it during the day. I stared at the empty spot in unbelief. Was that it? Was that what was causing all this grief, all this madness? To test the theory, I went back to the bookshelves and pulled out a Dave Barry book. It slid off the shelf into my hand. I looked down at it and realized whatever had been terrorizing me was gone. I should’ve been relieved. I should’ve been happy. Then I looked over and saw the arm of the dead woman with a hint of the puddle of blood beneath her. I knew it had destroyed my life. It didn’t matter that it was no longer here. For a fleeting moment I thought about cleaning up the mess and burying the body on the outskirts of town somewhere she would never be found. But she didn’t deserve that. I couldn’t do that evil thing to her after all she had done for me. I sat down and typed this out on my phone so that others would know the story. So that this woman wouldn’t have her death be a mystery. I also wanted to warn others of the dangers of unknown things. Don’t play with these things. Don’t challenge them. Get away from them before they ruin your life as I’ve ruined mine. After typing in this story, I realized there was still one thing left to do. I went upstairs and broke into the office. I dug through the receipts for the day and found the one for the ventriloquist’s dummy. Fortunately, the woman who had bought it paid with a check, and the owner hadn’t had time to take it to the bank yet. I pulled out my phone and took a picture of the check which had her home address on it. I got in my car and drove straight there. All the colorful munchkins had abandoned the streets to go home and work on their stomachaches. It was after midnight when I quietly broke into the woman’s home. I pulled out my flashlight and searched the entrance hallway, then not finding it, moved to the parlor. There were quite a few antiques in the room. I looked around slowly trying not to miss what I came for. Finally, I saw it sitting on a small table near the far end of the room. I went to it and picked it up. It was much heavier than I expected. I struggled to balance it so it wouldn’t fall to the floor and wake the house owner. I turned to leave and nearly ran into an old woman standing in front of me. “Who are you and why are you holding that?” she said in a tone that conveyed more curiosity than alarm. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I have to take this,” I said struggling to keep it in my arms. “There are many other items in this room of greater value,” she said gesturing around. “Why that particular one?” “I don’t really want to say, ma’am.” “And I don’t want to be standing on the cold floor in my robe watching a stranger take my property, yet here we are.” “Would you believe the warranty ran out and I need to take it back to the shop?” She glared at me like a teacher I had just told the dog ate my homework. “Ok, the truth is this thing is evil,” I said. “Evil?” she said. “Whatever would give you that idea?” I sighed then quickly went through the recent events, hitting the highlights. “And you still have these recordings?” she said. “Yes, they’re here on my phone,” I said setting the dummy down and pulling out my phone. “Would you mind if I listened to them?” I shrugged and played the videos one by one as she listened with such curiosity that she barely moved. When they were done, she stepped back with a pensive look. “Interesting,” she said. “Now do you see why I have to destroy it?” “And you were the only person in the store when these recordings were taken?” “Yes.” “So it was speaking directly to you?’ “I believe so, why?” “There are two erroneous assumptions you made about this object and myself,” she said. “What are those?” “First is that this object is evil,” she said in a mannerly tone with just a hint of teacher in it. “Inanimate objects are neither intrinsically good nor evil.” “But this thing… “ I said pointing at the dummy. “Yes, it did things that made you react a certain way, but that still doesn’t define it as evil.” I looked dubiously from her to the dummy and back. “The second assumption you made was that I was some poor innocent victim, That I had no idea what this thing was, or what it’s capable of,” she said with a gleam in her eye. “That I haven’t been searching for this object my entire life.” My eyes went wide with realization. “And now that you have it, what will you do?” I said in a voice that sounded detached and distant. “Prepare,” she said in a low raspy voice that sounded so much like the voice on the recordings it gave me chills. I reached down to tie my shoe, then sprung up, pistol in hand, and shot her in the forehead. Her head snapped back then slowly drifted forward. She gave me a look of surprise that turned into sheer rage. “You think you can… ?” she said before collapsing to the floor. I watched as she bled out onto the ancient carpet. ‘That’s gonna leave a stain,’ I thought. I looked down at the ventriloquist’s dummy, then looked around the room at the many other objects. Each of them looked old, just like the dummy. I felt a closeness in the air, like a pressure building. From the front hall, I heard a crash. I felt the dummy drawing my attention. Suddenly I felt surrounded and helpless. I ran to my car, feeling better as soon as I hit the cold outside air. I stood there gasping, sucking in lungfuls of fresh air, then I turned and looked back at the house. The thought of all those things being sold at auction to unsuspecting victims was more than I could bear. ‘In for a penny, in for a pound,’ I thought digging through my glove box and finding a lighter. I stepped back into the house, feeling stifled as soon as I did, and found as many papers as I could. There was a stack of old newspapers in the foyer. I crumpled some up and threw the rest of them in the middle of the parlor floor. I lit a handful of crumpled newspapers and threw them in the corner. Then I lit another as a large glass cabinet suddenly tipped over, nearly crushing me. I dodged then lit some more newspaper and dropped it beside the cabinet. Objects started flying. Small ceramic figurines darted through the air toward me. Some missed and hit the wall behind me, others hit with surprising force, cutting me, but only increased my resolve. I continued to light bunches of paper and throw them around the room while flames climbed high licking the ceiling as they devoured the curtains. The entire room was ablaze and in chaos. Inanimate objects became deadly missiles as the flames consumed the room. I backed out of the disintegrating room, staring at the ventriloquist’s dummy engulfed in flame, then ran to my car and watched as the house collapsed in on itself. I breathed a sigh of relief as I sat in my car and posted the rest of this story for everyone to know before I go away. I hope I’ve saved at least a few innocent victims.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Several years ago, a force from beyond this world paid a visit to my house. My life since has never really been the same. [RESPONSE] “Goodnight”, my Dad says to me as he opens up my bedroom door, light spilling lazily across the carpet. “I’ll see you tomorrow”. “Yeah, night Dad”, I grumble, scrunching my covers up a little tighter around my chin. “I’m sorry about the party, Nate. We’re just doing what we think is best… I promise”. I mutter to myself, watching my father’s silhouette shift in the light from beyond, then I roll over in bed and make a point of turning away from him. I hear my Dad sigh and step out into the hallway, and he quietly closes the door behind him as he leaves. The hallway’s light is lost to the room’s cool darkness. … We had an argument today. My parents and I. I accused them both of being cruel, and needlessly unfair. I made it a pretty big deal, to be honest. Maybe I shouldn’t have. It’s just- I’m thirteen. Most of my friends are at a party tonight in the next town over. An outdoors one, with tents and everything. My Mom said I was too young to go and my Dad agreed, so, naturally I’ve been in a foul mood all evening. I chew my tongue and fume for a while in silence, tossing and turning as the gentle murmur of my parents in the living room gradually fades away. I hear them ascend the stairs. The sliver of light beneath my door grows dimmer, and then after a while goes out entirely. I hear my parents close the door to their own room. Bed time for them too, I guess. I stare across my room at one of my posters, stuck up on the wall. It’s tough to see in the dark, but I know which one it is. It’s the one from the movie *Alien.* Good film. …My Dad introduced me to it. I sigh and shut my eyes up real tight, willing myself into a slow and uneasy sleep. The dreams do come eventually, and they revolve around my friends, all still awake, and having the time of their lives together. The dream version of myself cannot decide if I am actually there with them or not. My friends react only fleetingly to my presence, and the dream delivers a sense of cold disconnection and unsettling isolation. …Of loneliness. I want to understand more, but, I don’t know how. I don’t know how to fix it. \* I am unsure exactly what it is that awakens me. But whatever it is, I return to the real world with my heart beating fast, and my mind instantly alert. I clutch the sheets as I feel myself begin to sweat. My body has become aware of something that my conscious self has yet to pick up on. A beam of light passes down the window, filtered and distorted through my curtains. If my window didn’t look out onto my back garden, I’d think it were a passing car. *An airplane, maybe?* It is followed by another, however, and then another. Horizontal bars of grim light in faded yellow. I stare at these lights, wide-eyed. The house creaks softly in the dark. A gentle rustle of wind is heard beyond the walls. I think I can just about hear the faintest hiss from the boiler, a few doors down. And then, the noises *stop*. … All of them, all at once. Every last hint of sound or movement of any kind is sucked from air; the experience, despite lasting only a few seconds, is disorienting to the extreme. Like all the life in the world was just drawn away, and this empty vacuum was left in its place. Never before have my ears been given such true, deathly, *haunting* silence. My breath catches fast in my throat. A final beam of light passes down behind the curtains, and with it returns the sound. A quick, sudden tremor is sent rumbling across my room. The bed shakes and I cling myself to the mattress as best I can, beset with terror. A pen is sent rolling and clattering off the edge of my desk. The alien poster peels away from the wall a little and droops in one corner. *What the hell is happening?* I think to myself, trying to will together the urge to get out of bed. To pull back the curtains and to look outside. A subtle *thrumming* begins to reverberate through my bones. I can feel it sending shivers through the furniture, and it takes every ounce of control not to fall into a mad panic. *There’s always an explanation. There’s always an explanation*, I think to myself, over and over and over. … …Yeah. There’s always an explanation, until one day, there *isn’t.* *It’ll be construction-works. Late night construction works, that’s all.* I prepare to roll over. To try my very best to return to sleep. To ignore the shifting atmosphere and to get back to my dreams. But a tap on the window sends my blood racing, and gritting my teeth, steeling myself and unable to take it a second later, I throw off my sheets in an altogether rather uncharacteristic burst of courage, and I stride to the window. I haul back the curtains, braced to see something staring back at me from beyond the glass… …But, no. There’s nothing there. Nothing looking back at me. No source of lights… Just a night-time view of my back garden, and the neighbors’ gardens, all bathed in darkness. My breathing settles, just a little. Just for a moment. A brief, false-hope laden moment, before I shoot a reactionary glance up to the sky. An involuntary response to some movement there. My pupils narrow. What I see in the sky is difficult to describe. I am drawn to what I see, and yet, it frightens me like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I cannot look away. Sections of the sky… vast, sprawling sections, are moving against each other in the darkness. Partly hidden behind the clouds they form curious, hard-edged shapes… they inter-lock with one another and fade in and out of view, their colors not quite matching those of the air around them. They do not look natural in any sense of the word, and as I watch, it becomes clear that they are all parts of a greater whole. A section of an enormous ring, or an arc, slowly rotating around. It is difficult to tell where the sky ends and the shifting, grinding shapes begin. They rumble softly, almost imperceptibly, crackling like distant thunder. I am awe-struck. Terrified, and frozen in place. What I am seeing defies the laws of reason. Of *sense*. Another bar of light shivers its way down the glass and washes over the garden, but its immediate source is not obvious. I cannot see what is actually *casting* the light, and besides, my gaze remains fixed on the colossal, softly swirling mechanisms in the sky. The spell is finally broken the same way it was cast. By a movement. Though, this time from below, instead of above. My eyes flicker down to the garden. To my backyard. It is small and one of many; fence-posts mark the boundaries between mine, and those of my neighbors. My yard has a few trees, and a lone shed of tools. There is a soccer ball too, kicked idly into its current position a few days ago. And between them creeps a figure far taller and far skinnier than any person I have ever seen. A sharp intake of cold breath forces its way down into my lungs. The figure is shadowed. It is too dark to make out any particular features. They do not appear to be wearing any clothes. The joints in their elbows and knees do not bend in the way they are supposed to. It is hard to see in the darkness, but the figure does not appear to be disturbing the grass in any way as they move. They move too *quickly.* And in seconds, the figure is gone. Lost to the deeper shadows of the neighboring fence, and of the wall to the house. Blood rushes through my ears. Light-headed, I turn at once and open my bedroom door to the long, dark hallway of my house. It feels like the walls spin around me as I walk to my parents’ room, one hasty foot in front of the other. “Mom!” I call out. “D-Dad!” Their door is open. I step into the room, hands clenched with hope. Hope that they will explain. That they will make everything alright. But they are not there. The sheets have been thrown off the bed, and are carelessly folded back on themselves, drooping towards the floor. The window is open. Cool night air filters in, and one of the curtains flutters lazily, ever so slightly shifting in the breeze. “MOM!” I call out, louder now. Looking around wildly. I swivel and head back into the hall, calling down into the inky, void-like depths of the landing below. “DAD! WHERE ARE YOU?” But there comes no response. Just the creak of the house. That subtle, soft humming. …And the rapid pattering of feet against the hardwood floor below. I throw myself backwards against the wall, staring down into the gloom below through the bannisters of the stairs, but it is too dark. I cannot make anything out. I could turn on the light if I wished, but the switch is attached to the wall, over at the very top of the stairs. I cannot bear the thought of making myself so vulnerable, of the potential threat of some unknown nightmare scrambling up from the darkness towards me, so I instead retreat rapidly to my room, slamming the door shut perhaps a little too loudly behind me. *…It's in the house.* *Whatever I saw outside, is in the house.* *And my parents are gone.* A sob wracks my throat and I struggle to swallow it back down, sweating and rubbing my hands across my eyes. I shoot a feverish glance back out through the window, peeking from behind the curtain. The shapes in the sky appear closer now. Ever-shifting, locking and unlocking with each other, slow, purposeful movements that give the impression of colossal weight, or density. “Please, just leave me alone”, I whisper. “Just go away, please”. I hear the sound of something scrambling up the stairs. My body reacts before my brain. I throw myself up against the door as irregular footsteps creep across the hall towards my room. It knows where I am. It knows that I am here. “NO!” I scream out loud, “I DON’T WANT TO GO! I DON’T WANT TO GO!” The door thuds. I shoot a look down to my right as the handle jumps, then turns. “NO!” I am pushed along the floor as the door starts to open, but with a shout of terror-stricken defiance I dig my heels into the carpet and shove back with all my might. The door re-closes. “DON’T TAKE ME!” I shout, my words thick with desperate emotion. “PLEASE JUST DON’T TAKE ME! I DON’T WANT TO GO! I DON’T WANT TO GO!” The door stops moving. My heart pounds as I wait, chest rising and falling as the tension builds, tighter and tighter… ...And then, it simply fades away. The thing behind the door decides to leave. I hear its footsteps go back across the hall, and back they go down the stairs. When I am certain it has left the floor I dart back to the window and stare out into my backyard. The view below me is illuminated, now. The grass and the shed and the trees and the fence, they’re all lit up in a sickly, watery yellow. It is not clear where the light is actually coming from. There is no obvious, visible source. It simply sticks to the objects below like paint. Localized. It does not overflow into any of the neighbors’ gardens. And in the centre of this light and looking up towards the sky, are two silhouetted figures. Two figures I recognize. *…My parents.* They are facing the opposite way, with their backs towards me, but there is no question as to who they are. I’d recognize them anywhere, even from just the backs of their heads. I stare in bewilderment, in disbelief, and I bang my hand on the glass, but they do not turn around. “MOM! DAD!” I cry out loud in distress, fumbling with the window and trying to get it open, but still they don’t respond. The light in the garden intensifies, and my parents raise their arms to the sky. With a click and a thud I finally get the window open, throwing it wide and screaming out into the night. There’s no way they don’t hear me. There’s no way. …But my parents do not react to my voice. The shapes in the sky draw together beyond the clouds. The thunder increases and spark-like lightning crackles between them. How in the hell no-one else is awake to see this, I do not know. I could not say. But the speed of the anomaly’s spinning up above grows faster. Tears stream warm down my cheeks in sharp contrast to the cold night air, and for a long, terrible second that silence returns. The complete absence of any kind of noise or sound or rustle or hum. Just total empty, space-like silence. That same shudder of energy is sent rumbling through the house and the lights flash bright, and then that’s it. … …That’s it. The soft subtle, everyday sounds of the night return, but where once there was a behemoth in the sky, there is nothing. Where once there was a subtle vibration through the floor, a humming in the back of my head, there is nothing. The house creaks. I wipe my eyes and stare for a moment out into the night, then I slam my window and race to my parents’ room, forgetting for a moment the terrible threat of the intruder that crept its way through the house. Not that it mattered. The intruder is gone. …As, it seems, are my parents. \* It’s been five years since that night. My life in this time was quite *difficult* for the most part, to put it lightly, though things have been looking up a little more recently. I never forgot that experience, though. How could I? I do not know what happened to my parents. I do not know who took them. And I do not know if it was partly my fault. I still carry a tremendous burden of guilt. It was too much. Far too much for a child, especially. But there are always answers to be found. There is still hope. I will uncover what happened to my parents, and if they are alive, I will bring them home. *I promise.*<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Mass is Coming [RESPONSE] I was washing the dishes, staring out onto my front yard through the window above the sink—though I can’t remember what had caught my attention—when I heard a knock at the front door. Setting aside the plate I’d been absentmindedly scrubbing, I stepped out of the kitchen and into the foyer, but for some reason hesitated; my hand hovering just before the doorknob. A feeling of vague yet potent trepidation came over me, as abrupt as the knock on the door had been; and I found myself wondering who could be calling at such an hour, as if I'd been pre-occupied with some important task. Finally, a flicker of annoyance arose—annoyance at the audacity of the yet-to-be-identified visitor—and I grasped the knob and opened the door, intending to dismiss them. Seeing as how I had never had any casual guests before, I wasn’t expecting to see a familiar face; as only the ever-austere, somewhat curt officials and dignitaries of my town had ever visited me, and only then in the early days of my residence. (I was born elsewhere, and had only come to reside in the quaint, self-isolated town by certain circumstance which aren’t relevant to this tale.) But standing on my porch, his figure slightly shrouded by a mist I couldn’t remember seeing through the window, was a formidably tall man. He was dressed conservatively and appropriately, and by that, I mean he wore a long coat of some grey and thickly padded material: conservative compared to the somewhat peculiar uniforms I’d seen among the townsfolk, appropriate for the decidedly fall weather. The coat covered his legs, leaving only a pair polished black boots visible. His face was grim, dour as one who had never once held a smile—if such an expression were even possible for him. Clean-shaven and white as ivory, the man’s face reminded me of some grave-warding statue; a marmoreal sentinel to an unearthly and forbidden necropolis. Along his bare scalp ran tracks of scars, which intersected wildly; as if he’d been assaulted by some rabies-addled animal. The somewhat discernible aura about him—distinct from the spontaneously accumulated though plainly natural fog—unnerved for me, for it seemed to carry within it a suggestion of bodily harm. I felt that it was a noxious or otherwise inimical emanation of some kind, and that if I were to let the man in, he would fill my house with this malignant vapor. Carefully, so as to not come off as confrontational, I asked him what he wanted; and without a word, he unbuttoned his coat.  When the flaps parted, I recoiled back into my house, though in my shock I hadn’t grasped the door. I was thus shown the full, horrific extent of ghastliness that had somehow been silently, perfectly enclosed within that thin barrier of fabric.  From the base of his chest to his navel, there spanned an image, a *scene* of unprecedented depravity, of morphological chaos and abominable anatomy. From out of his abdomen poured a veritable vista of contorted, bent, and broken limbs; seas and mountain ranges of unwholesomely undulant appendages; forms and figures, totally naked and wretched beyond description, grafted onto one another, joined in insane amalgams of agonized flesh. All were pitifully, unsettlingly human. “Join the blessed Mass, Add yourself to the congregation.” Exhorted the man, with lips that were, somehow, paler than the flesh around them.  Bewitched, enthralled, and of course appalled by the depth and scale of the macabre unreality of that scene, I found myself stepping toward the man, hands outstretched to grab ahold of those outwardly flailing digits amidst his stomach. I knew at that moment that I had been waiting for him, had been watching for his arrival from my kitchen window, washing the same plate—the only one I thought I owned—for hours, days, decades; immeasurable, tireless eternities of patient vigilance.  My hands met those of that outré, abysmal world, and I was quickly though smoothly pulled inward, into that anemic emissary’s abdomen. And though I’d been given a glimpse of the madness, the sheer enormity of it was not fully revealed to me until I plunged headlong into that ultra-dimensional space.  It was beyond a region or world, it was a system, an extraterrestrial lacuna, wherein throbbed, pulsed, and flexed planetary forms of...of flesh. Spheres of impossibly amalgamated bodies hummed and murmured in communal agony, orbiting one another mindlessly, as if in some twisted choral exultation of their shared torture. I stood atop the surface of one such despairing planet, and all around me, amassed about the area were great, multi-form titans; billions and billions of naked beings fused to one another, grafted together by what had to have been sorcerous surgery. The very ground was flesh, bodies piled atop bodies, backs and bellies and faces doomed to be trod underfoot for unthinkable eternities.  There were no stars, and yet there was an omnipresent light, a widespread illumination which showed, dimly but thoroughly, the dreadful suffering of incalculable souls. A rank, miasmal fetor pervaded the space, clung to every molecule. The air—if there was any atmosphere to speak of—was teeming with this funeral funk, as if the graves of a thousand lost civilizations had opened and vomited forth their moldering dead. I remember it as a noxious, choking stench, but in that moment of grand, unraveling morbidity, I regarded it almost absentmindedly; for there were far worse things to take conscious notice of.  There seemed to be an infinite number of tortured beings, inextricably bound to one another in states of sub-sentience; aware only of their incomprehensibly excruciating existence. A droning ambience of dread persisted throughout, darkly accompanied and sometimes overwhelmed by the occasional crescendos of those shrieking Mass-worlds. There was not one entity separate from the wholescale wholeness, not a single unbound soul amidst the collective, paroxysmal nudity.  It was all simply too much. To behold such monstrous, existentially insupportable things, to witness firsthand the stark cosmic pandemonium of this multi-global congregation, my mind just snapped. I sensed, dimly and peripherally, my hands begin to claw madly at the space about me; swiping through the death-choked air as if I were enmeshed in an invisible substance. Like a trapped animal I fought to free myself, having been ensnared in a trap—but one unlike any that had ever existed on Earth.  There was no sign of the darkly clad emissary—who I’d completely forgotten in my nigh psychotic awe of the abysmal realm—but when my efforts to free myself peaked to a senseless frenzy, something pulled me backwards. And, just as seamless as my trip there had been, I was plucked from that intolerably bleak world and deposited into the mundane one.  I returned to a semblance of sanity sitting on my porch, staring up at that man—who had, mercifully, re-buttoned his otherworldly coat. He stared down at me as passively as if I’d just returned from a brief stroll, and I knew at once that he was, in some capacity, familiar with what I had experienced.  Affirming my thoughts, he then said, “Soon, you—and your planet—will join the ranks of The Mass, and one day, when time has grown tired of its aimless and futile march forward, we will all revel in immutable, timeless togetherness.”  Having delivered his apocalypse-promising omen, that Augur of the Mass turned and strode into the mist. And I, like a dreamer waking from a horrible yet cryptically premonitory nightmare, went back into my home and shut the door.  That was two days ago—and now, seated at my dinner table on what has been an unusually misty day, I can feel the advent of...*something.* A terrible ordeal will soon beset my town—something from which we won’t be able to flee or hide. Of that, I am certain. I have recorded this experience both to act as evidence of my sanity when it begins to deteriorate, and as a record—though small—of my existence, and the town’s.... should neither survive the impending terror.... <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] A Strange Ambulance [RESPONSE] It was Halloween night and my friends and I were driving to a local graveyard at the edge of town. We were too old to trick-or-treat and too shy to attend any parties, so we found ourselves piling into my car and heading to a cemetery in the dead of night. It was my crazy idea to spend the eeriest night of the year amongst the dead and, after much convincing, my friends Buck and Daisy eventually agreed. I wanted to be there as it turned midnight: the witching hour. It's said that the veil between our world and the spiritual world is thinnest on Halloween. The night was cold and empty. The stars stood bright and alone in the expansive black sky that seemed to stretch on forever. The old cemetery was worn and overgrown with tall thick grass sprouting out from amongst the neglected tombstones. Some of the graves were as old as the 1800's and Civil War soldiers were even buried there. We parked the car at the foot of the hill and climbed out of the vehicle, armed only with a flashlight. Buck and Daisy had gotten used to me dragging them along on my adventures. This wasn't the first time they'd been forced to pal along with me on one of my strange graveyard trips. They felt especially obligated to go this time however, being Halloween and all. As I repeatedly told them, it only happens once per year. The graveyard consisted of dirt pathways climbing an old grass covered hill which was quite steep in some sections, hardly the best place to bury the dead. We traversed the rough incline, carefully stepping through the tall grass and avoiding the grave plots masked under a thick layer of foliage. I shined the way with my flashlight as Buck and Daisy followed behind. "Why do you get the only flashlight?" asked Daisy. "I told you guys to bring your own lights!" I replied. "We didn't think we'd actually be going through with this!" "Well whose fault is that?" We made it to the first dirt path and stopped. The headstones gleamed as I shined the flashlight around. We listened carefully and the night was completely quiet. We felt entirely isolated. No one else seemed to be around for miles. I shut off my flashlight, plunging us into total darkness. With no artificial light anywhere, you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. It was the same as closing your eyes. I clicked back on my flashlight. Moving my flashlight around once more, I caught two shining yellow lights. "What the heck is that?" asked Buck startled. I took a step closer. From among the grass, hopped out a small rabbit with yellow eyeshine illuminated in the light. We breathed a sigh of relief and felt a little silly for being concerned. The rabbit took off further up the hill of the old graveyard with a tall blade of grass hanging from its mouth. We were just about to hike up to the next dirt path when we heard it, the sound of a distant siren approaching. My first thought was that it was the police and that we were about to be told to leave or something but as we all turned around, we saw the strangest of sights, the red glowing lights of an ambulance approaching. With our solitude broken, we stood staring in the direction of the graveyard's entrance. We saw the red lights shine through the scraggly branches of the nearby autumn trees and watched as the ambulance made its way down Cemetery Drive towards us with its loud siren blaring. Something seemed off about the siren though, it didn't sound the same as a typical emergency vehicle. It was an old siren, slowly whining out a low and lonesome cry. The ambulance pulled up and came to a stop at the bottom of the hill just behind my car. The siren stopped abruptly. The red lights went out. I looked down at my watch: midnight on the dot. Buck, Daisy and I looked at each other, unsure what to do and what to think about this sudden visitor. Why would an ambulance stop at a cemetery? I thought. If this was some town officials trying to get us to leave, it was an odd method of doing so. Each of us waited for the other to say something. "Uh, Hello?!" Daisy finally cried out to the bottom of the hill. No response. We could see the vague silhouette of the driver but nothing else. They just sat there completely stationary. We thought about walking down the hill to see what they wanted but something within us told us not to. We stood silently once more. I shined my flashlight down but the beam couldn't reach the window of the vehicle. "Who goes there?!" shouted Buck. Still no response. Then suddenly, the driver began beeping the horn loudly. Loud sharp beeps rang out through the night. First two short quick beeps then a loud honk followed by complete silence. "What is this, Morse code?" asked Daisy. As if in reply, the vehicle began honking again in rapid succession. I could see the silhouette of the driver moving and thrashing around frantically while honking the horn. They also appeared to be pounding their head with their fists and even smashing their face into the steering wheel. The siren and lights turned on then off and then on again in a strange almost musical rhythm. Then silence. "What do you want?!" Buck yelled in a louder and more forceful tone than before. The vehicle's door began to open. We instinctively backed up. The door swung open and out stepped the driver illuminated by the dull glow of the vehicle's interior cabin light. It was a pale old woman with long stringy hair, a scrawny and bony figure wearing only what appeared to be a white gown. There was something almost ghostly about the woman. It was as if she was comprised entirely of paper mache, a haunting figure like that of a corpse. Her eyes seemed bloodshot, bruised and tired. They emitted a hollow sadness indescribable. She looked at us as if looking through us. She extended out one of her long thin arms and curled in the old bent fingers on her wrinkled hand. She beckoned for us to come down the hill. We stood unmoved. The thought occurred to me that perhaps this was a spirit who had crossed over for Halloween night. Perhaps this was my exact reason for traveling to the graveyard. I glanced down at my watch, it read "12:06". The timing was so eerie, as if it was the midnight hour that had called her there. These fanciful notions quickly faded though as I looked at the horrified faces of my friends. I gazed back at the crone-like figure at the foot of the hill. She beckoned once more and then seemed to grow impatient. She let out a loud blood curdling scream that could shatter windows. I covered my hands over my ears and waited for her to stop. In a frantic motion she quickly turned, jumped back into the cab of the ambulance and shut the door with a loud thud. The siren roared to life in a bright display of flashing red and the bizarre ambulance backed up. The vehicle then turned around in the road and sped away along Cemetery Drive. "Let's get the heck out of here!" exclaimed Daisy. Terrified, we hurried down the hill to my car with hearts racing. "That does it!" announced Buck. "We are never going on one of your trips again." At this point, I honestly couldn't blame them. I drove home, as nervous as can be, with my hands shaking all the while. We saw no sign of the ambulance or the lady for the rest of the night. None of us slept a wink or turned off any lights once we got to my house. It wasn't until the next day, November 1st, that we read the news. A woman from a nearby mental hospital had stolen an ambulance and was reportedly seen by locals driving strangely around the town, rhythmically honking the horn and playing the siren in strange patterns.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Move Fast, Hold your Breath, Stay Low, and Don't Make a Sound. [RESPONSE] This happened about a month ago. I was with my friend John on a business trip on the opposite side of the U.S. from where we lived. It was about 6:00 PM when we walked into the hotel. I walked to the front desk, and the receptionist greeted me with a friendly "Hello!" After a brief and awkward interaction, we got the keys for John's room, room 35 and mine, room 7. We had dinner in the hotel restaurant, the door to which was in the lobby. I don't remember when I went to bed. All I know is that it was pretty early, as I had just been in the car driving all day. I remember hearing alarms blaring in the middle of the night, waking me from my sleep. I checked the time on my phone. 1:36 AM. I also saw a text from John from about 2 minutes prior that read "Did you hear that?" I was sort of in that "barely asleep" phase that you get when you first wake up. "Attention all residents," a voice came over the loudspeakers. "An emergency has occurred in the hotel, and we must lock down the building. All residents should stay in a safe location such as a room. If you must travel through a hallway or large open space, we advise that you should hold your breath and move as quickly and quietly as possible, while staying low to the ground. If you hear loud, banging footsteps, or any loud or sudden noise is made, immediately vacate the immediate area of the source. Stay away from areas with flickering lights or a mysterious red glow. Good luck." The announcement ended. I began to get a little bit nervous as I texted Josh, asking him what the hell he thought was happening, and what we should do. He told me to call him, and I did. "Hello?" He said to me. "Josh!" I said back. We talked for a while about what we should do, then we both heard a roar. It seemed louder on his end, and then he hung up. After a minute of processing that, I decided to try calling him back, but he called me instead. I asked him what that sound was, and why he had hung up. I was not prepared for the answer. He said that after hearing the roar, he opened the door and peeked his head out. Right then, the lights started flickering, and he ducked down in the corner of his room, holding his breath and quietly wondering what he should do. Just then, a red glow started coming from outside the door. In his daze, he had forgotten to close it. He heard banging footsteps approaching, and as he considered getting up to close the door, he claimed he saw some sort of humanoid creature run past the door at speeds likely impossible for a person to pull off. He couldn't make out any detail, as it was running too fast. The only things he could tell me were that it was too tall and too fast to be a person, and that is was roaring loudly. Then I guess it was my turn. I heard people screaming, and what sounded like people being mutilated. The lights started to flicker, and I ducked inside a closet, holding my breath and covering my mouth with my hand. As I was hanging up the phone and turning the ringer off, my worst fear came true, as I heard the door to my room creak open. I couldn't see the door from my angle, only the red glow that emanated from whatever was on the other side. But soon enough, that thing walked into view, the red glow filling the room. It wasn't running like when John saw it, so I could make out more detail. It was tall, about twice the height of an average human, with long arms extending down to it's knees. It appeared to be made of some kind of material resembling human muscles. I don't know where the light was coming from, it appeared to simply be illuminated by it, despite being the source. It lacked a nose, hair or ears, only having eyes and a mouth. Its mouth was open, and I could clearly make out al least 10 layers of small, fang-like teeth on all sides of its mouth. Its eyes were the worst part. Pure black eyes with not a single bit of light reflecting off of them. Both it's hands and teeth were coated with blood. There appeared to be some pure black liquid dripping from the eyes and down its face, and at certain points it mixed with the blood on its hands and mouth, causing it to fizz up. It lingered for about 30 seconds, and I knew that even one breath or movement could kill me. It finally left the room, and once the lights stopped flickering, I let out a quiet breath. It was about 5 minutes before I gathered the courage to turn my phone on and call John. I finally did after some time, and whispered to him that the creature was in my room, and that it is not a human. We decided we had to try and get out of the hotel somehow. We agreed to meet in the elevator. I exited my room carefully, holding my breath and moving as quick as possible while remaining silent. As I was in the hall I found a piece of paper with a bloody handprint on it. What is read was simple: It can barely see But it can hear. When the lights start to flash. That means that it's near. If it seems to be near, Don't be slow in the hall. Either move very quickly, Or don't move at all. I saw John by the elevator, and we got in quickly. We headed to the first floor. I showed him the note, and he asked if I think this might be talking about the creature we saw. We arrived on the 1st floor, we headed to the lobby and tried to get out, only to find we couldn't open the door. "Shit, the announcement did say the building was locked down, didn't it?" John remembered. I sighed, as the lights started to flicker. I ducked behind a chair, and John under a table. I saw the creature enter the room. I quickly ran to the elevator while staying as low to the ground as possible, and got in. John started to crawl towards me, but unfortunately I guess he couldn't hold his breath. He let out a big exhale, and the creature turned its head impossibly hard to look at him. (I'm pretty sure I heard the cracking of whatever the hell kind of bones that thing has.) The elevator door closed as he screamed, and blood shot out in all directions. As I sat there, realizing that my friend was probably dead, I noticed something strange. The elevator starting moving downwards, which was strange since I pressed the "3" button. It stopped with a "ding," and I landed in what looked like a large concrete hallway. I heard elevator doors being forced open above me, and a loud thud at the top of the elevator.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The V-Trade [RESPONSE] I’ve waited three years to get the courage to tell this story. I finally think I’m ready to be honest and tell it like it happened. I was only nineteen when they got me. My girlfriends and I all took our gap year in Europe, backpacking started in Spain, onwards to France and Marseille, and up into Paris and eventually made our way east, into Prague. When you’re pretty, there are doors that open for you. Some doors you don’t want opened for you. Heather and I were both too easily down for whatever. I hate to say it now in retrospect, but we were toxic together. Always pushing each other further and further, drinking more than we should, taking more than we should, getting into cars with boys with harsh accents to hostels we never bothered to look up to see if they existed. We met Milo in a respectable bar just off the Charles Bridge, locally known as the Hemingway bar, though who knows if Hemingway ever actually attended said bar. But the drinks were stiff and the bartenders were hot. Milo stirred our martinis with a silver spoon a hundred times around, fifty each way as he flirted with us. He was thin, a little sallow in the face but in a sexy sort of way. He looked dirty even though he wore a tuxedo. And as the night continued on, the drinks kept coming. My sister would say, ‘just because its in front of you, doesn’t mean you have to drink it,’ but my sister wasn’t there and so Heather and I drank each little Hemingway martini placed within arms length. The night became blurry after a while, and I only remember vignettes of specific moments, like a baggie of cocaine plopped into my hand, the girls bathroom and Milo’s hands all over me, I remember singing, Heather and I singing as we crossed the Charles Bridge and feeling the cold stone rough against my fingers. When we woke up, it was dark. Blackout curtains is an understatement here, we were someplace where the windows must have been boarded shut tight with nails. I simply couldn’t see a thing. At first, I didn’t mind the darkness, my head throbbed and my body ached. It felt like I had bruises on my arms and on my neck. It felt as if I had slept funny, maybe sitting up with my head hung low straining all night. *What did we get into this time*? That’s when I thought of Heather. I called for her, there was no answer, only an echo. I couldn’t see anything. I called again, and the echo reverberated into the distance and I knew I was in a large space, cold, cavernous. I didn’t have my phone, did I leave it at the bar? The only silver lining I could think in that moment was that my clothes were still on and it didn’t feel like I had sex. Maybe it was because I could smell the vomit down my blouse. Damn Milo was a pusher. At least he wasn’t a rapist. Heather? I called again. That’s when I heard the strike of a match and saw the room brighten in a fleeting orange glow if only for a moment. I didn’t really register what I just had seen. It almost looked like a dormitory, beds stacked on either side in two long rows that seemed to go on forever, the darkness swallowed them before I could understand how far they went. “Did you have fun last night,” he said. He lit the cigarette and the orange ember only revealed part of his face. Milo stepped toward me and causally put his hand on the small of my back, familiar like my high school boyfriend used to do. “I don’t really remember last night to be honest,” and I remember laughing. I don’t know if it was because I was nervous to be in the dark with the near stranger, or the fact that he either didn’t notice the rancid smell of vomit on me or didn’t care. Because he pulled me close into him and put the cigarette in my lips. I inhaled and the smoke burned and he cooly put his lips to my ear and said, “I want to show you something,” and it was nearly a whisper. He took back his cigarette and my hand and led me further into to the black void. I had no choice but to follow. *Where the hell was I*? *Where was Heather*? I asked him. “I want to show you,” he said and it sounded as if he was smiling. As we walked, I began to notice how cold it was. Cold and damp. I could hear the clicking of his shoes and the wet smack of my bare feet against the stone. *Where the hell are my shoes*? “How can you see anything?” I asked him but he didn’t reply. I started to remember now, how the night before he seemed to choose what to answer and what not to answer. Like a married man with his ring tucked into his pocket, saying one thing but his eyes betraying something more, a secret, and the more you played along the more you became a part of the secret. I felt like I was going to get sick again. Something smelled. It was different than what was blasted down my chest. No, this smell was rotten. Acrid, even. It reminded me when a cat crawled underneath our house and died and the smell lingered. This smell lingered all around us and it seemed to only be getting stronger. I was happy to see a flickering light in the distance, a fire? Voices too. They were hushed and excited and as we drew near the voices grew louder but then quickly subsided to nothing at all. Whoever was just beyond the crack in the door was awaiting our arrival. When he pushed open the door, I took in the room before me. It almost looked like a movie set, there were high vaulted ceilings with statues that seemed to be forever praying, looking down at us instead of up toward the heavens. There was firelight by torches which hung from the walls and the slight crackle and whip from the flames fluttered from an ominous crosswind which smelled sickly sweet and almost burned at my nostrils. There were probably about two dozen of them, men and women standing. They all held cups of wine and stared at me as Milo continued to march me forward down the center aisle. They all seemed to have a crooked smile as we passed. They looked hungry. I turned to see where we had come from but the door was being shut by two of them, and the door clunked with a thud which I imagined to be some sort of old locking mechanism. Between the pillars and deeper into the darkness where the light dared not to go I could see more of them. They were not still like the others but swarmed around something. It almost looked orgiastic they way they moved as best my eyes could make out, but I simply could not see well enough. ‘Milo, I’m scared,” I whispered to him. He did not answer, only lightly squeezed my hand to let me know he heard me, but he did not turn around. He was taking me to the room just beyond. When we entered the room, there were four men lounging at ease by candle light. Just beyond them I could see three others, naked standing at attention in front of them. They were shivering. One was a young man, bearded, transient from the look of his ragged beard and mopped hair. His penis was shriveled tight against his body and his hands quivered by his side. The other two were young women. The one looked Indian from her complexion and long dark hair, the other, well, the other was Heather. She stood nude and I could see bruises on her body. In fact the others had them too. Up and down her arms and up her neck. Even by candle light I could see blotches of dried blood which speckled her fair skin. Heather’s eyes locked with mine. She discreetly shook her head and it felt like a warning. I looked down at my arms, and only then did I really notice the sharp pain at my wrist. A bruise swirled around puncture points which streaked against the veins leading up toward my elbow. “Undress,” he said. I looked a Milo, he had a wickedness in his eyes I did not see before. “No,” and I heard my voice quiver and break. I needed to breathe. He turned and looked back toward the other men lounging. One of them, a sinewy bearded man who yawned nodded his head and, FWACK!… Milo’s hand ripped across my face. “NO!” I screamed and the shrill echoed and reverberated against the walls and it felt like my head was going to explode. He grabbed me and threw me to the floor and in an instant they were on me, all of them, tearing at my clothes, ripping them clean off my body as if they were paper. He grabbed me by the hair and lifted me up and placed me to Heather’s right and just as quickly the five of them surrounded us. The bearded one, who I took to be their ring leader eyed us up and down. “You belong to me now, okay?” and it wasn’t a question. “You will be happy here, I think,” and he reached for my chin, an lifted my face. His eyes were coal black and he smelled like the air. I then noticed he was not looking at my face. He was not looking at my body. He was looking at my neck. Beyond him the others started filing in, one after the other in a line, polite and watching with hungry eyes. The men took the four of us to each corner of the room. Milo held my hand with just as careless a grip as before and led me to the corner with an engraving, SOUTH. Heather was taken to the EAST, the others to their respective corners. Below the engraving was what looked like a throne. Draped across it was a white silk robe which Milo took up and urged me with inviting arms to cover up. It was loose and hung low against my shoulders, and the sleeves and hem were easily maneuvered. He sat me down into the chair which had straps which spread my hands and feet out like Da Vinci’s Vitruvian man. “Please,” I said to him, and I knew I was going to die. He said, as if almost responding to my thoughts, “You aren’t going to die. You are going to enjoy this.” He buckled the last strap to my ankle and moved into the nape of my neck. He whispered, “you’re sweet,” and he smiled, “we like to keep the sweet ones,” and I felt him bite into my neck. He wasn’t wrong. When the blood pulls from you and you feel it leaving you, when you feel the suckling and the sustenance and life you are giving you feel bonded. There’s a euphoria I can only relate to heroin the one time Heather and I tried it in the back of Danny’s truck on the Fourth of July junior year. You get high. And when I could feel them all over me, their mouths on my ankles and up my thighs, down the length of both my arms and on either side of my neck, the room feels brighter. You might think its heaven calling you, and perhaps for some it is. But for me, when I felt warm all over, when I felt no pain and felt that I was floating and it somehow made sense as to why they strapped me down, I relaxed and gently nodded off to sleep. If you have ever felt withdrawl, you only know a glimpse into what it is like after the feast. It was like no pain I thought I could imagine, the sweating and shaking and shivering and the headaches. I found myself in a bed with an IV in my arm. There were others just like me down the line, some awake, blank and staring, others twisting in fits and spasms and other simply asleep or dead, I couldn’t be sure. Above my head was a suspended clock, which was counting down. It said four-days, three hours, twenty-seven minutes and the seconds counted down. “That’s when you’re cooked,” he said. I turned to find a boy, he couldn’t be more than ten years old. He was pale and ghostly and the bite marks could be mistaken for chicken pox they were so plentiful across his body. “They need you to replenish before they feast again.” “How long have you been here?” I asked him. He told me that he was traded here just a few weeks ago. Before he had belonged to a Elder, “a snack boy” he had told me. He’d accompany his Elder like a teacup Chihuahua, only to satisfy the hunger whenever it pleased him. I began to cry, and I told him I didn’t know where my friend was. I told him she went to the east when I went to the south. “Sweetblood,” he said, “you’re lucky and unlucky. They love the sweet blood and pay top dollar for to feast in the south.” He seemed to retreat for a moment, then looked at me and said “You’re friend is the other way, unlucky and lucky. They go through the sours the quickest. Unlucky to be drained like that, but I suppose she lucky to be gone from here.” I wanted to ask if he meant that they let her go, but I knew better. I cannot tell you how many feasts I endured. Too many to count and soon I was asking for to shorten my time to get back to the chair. They listened but they shouldn’t have. I wasn’t regenerating the way you should, I was beginning to lose my taste. They traded me out after what I assumed was a year to a private club for high profile clients and the newly anointed to snack like bottle service. Given out night after night to whomever was looking to score. The thing is, it didn’t dawn on me to escape, to find help, to get back my life. It had become all I knew and I was brainwashed to believe it was all I was. That was until he came back. Milo saw me on display and purchased a round in the back room. I didn’t notice him at first until I heard his whispers, his voice in my ear rang like a bell and something inside of me awoke. I let him sample my wrist and he spit it out, he said it made sense why I was here, why I had become so cheap. It didn’t matter though, he had paid and I was his for the next half an hour. I made for the bathroom to freshen up, to offer him my right side, the side I remember him liking best. When I went into the bathroom I saw just how much I had disappeared. I was no longer myself. I hated what I saw. It wasn’t my fault, they took me, they took my life from me and left this rotting corpse with barely a heartbeat left pumping. I bashed my reflection in the mirror and saw the blood running down its splintered web. When I came back, Milo was seated behind the curtain, legs crossed and waiting. He asked me if I wanted to go away from here. Leave this life once and for all. He could do that for me. He could make me feel god one last time and go out in oblivion. I told him I was ready. I was done. He moved so fast I didn’t see him before he was on me, his teeth deep into my neck and I could see the stars behind my eyes and the blood began to drain. Then I felt him jerk violently, and shake. He stopped sucking and pulled back to look at me, the blood running from his lips. His eyes were wild with rage and confusion. He coughed and the blood bubbled out of his mouth and all over me. I drove the glass dagger deeper into his neck and started to rip it back and forth, back and forth, tearing the skin and sponge-like muscle with every saw back and forth. When he fell to the couch I got on top of him and drove the glass down harder as I felt it slip between the cervical discs and with a wet crunch pass through and into the other side of his neck. I could feel the makeshift blade slicing at my palms but I had known my own spilt blood and didn’t stop until his head was severed clean off. I put that asshole’s head in the toilet and propped his body atop and shut the door. I slipped through the back door and no one noticed. Those in the V-Trade rarely have the ability or will to escape and so the doors are left open. I eventually found help and got clean and made my way back to the states. Everyone thought that I had died. In so many ways I did. But I’m alive now and finally ready to tell this story. Why? I’m ready to seek revenge on all the rest of those vampire pieces of shit. Who’s with me?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] A Survivor's Accounts of the Depraved Funhouse: The Playmate (Part Three) [RESPONSE] [[1]]( | [[2]]( I awoke the next morning on the couch, the remaining platter of the remaining cookies resting on the space between where me and Ma's bodies were. "Ma?" I called out, rubbing my eyes and yawning. As my eyes continued to adjust, I began looking around the living room for Ma when I heard indistinct voices coming from the dining room. When I walked in, I was greeted to my folks sitting at the table, still in their bed clothes, talking with officer Hagan and two of the others that I didn't recognize. Anxiety wasted no time building up inside me in that moment when I saw Ma's horrified face cuddled into Dad's embrace. "Wh-What's going on?" I asked, my knees beginning to shake like there was a category 5 earthquake was rumbling through me. "Everything's okay, son. Why don't you go paly your PlayStation for a while? We'll talk afterwards when it's just us three, okay?" "Actually sir," officer Hagan piped up, turning to me, "I'd like to ask your son a few questions in private." "What, why?" Ma squeaked out, "He isn't under any suspicion, is he?" "I don't think so." he replied, still facing me with a concentrated stare. "No, we're just trying to figure out what the apparent link is between your son here and the attack on this young lady." *Attack?! Young lady?!* I shuddered as my thoughts were sent reeling back to the previous night. Dad looked to Ma before nodding to officer Hagan. "Wait, what're you talking about?!" I exclaimed, anxiety shooting through me from all angles. "If you'll follow me, we'll explain." officer Hagan replied, gathering the photos. I followed him upstairs and into my room while the other two officers remained in the kitchen with Ma and Dad. I sat on my bed, facing the wall, as officer Hagan sat in front of me and began laying out the photos on my bed. "Now, uh... Linus, is it? I want you to take a good look at these." He nudged two of the photos closer to me on the bed. Picking up one of them, I could feel my stomach begin to grind and churn. It was a photo of Liza. She was tied to a chair, beaten and badly bruised everywhere from what I could see in the photo and gagged with a rainbow colored cloth and she even had the red tear drop design painted around her eyes and mouth. I began to shiver, my body starting to feel extremely cold like someone had turned the thermostat all the way down. *"... Now WE'RE gonna have some playtime with her..."* "Sickening, isn't it?" officer Hagan asked. I responded with an almost on-cue dry retch. the back of this particular photo read, ***"See how much fun our little playmate is having?"*** beside it was a cartoon smiley face drawn in red. Out of, I guess, morbid instinct, I actually found myself picking up *another* one. *(So many photos. One photo = one more vivid nightmare for years to come...)* This one was of Mr. Cromwell, propped up in a chair lifelessly next to Liza. His face was painted the same as hers. On the back of this one read, ***"How sweet, Daddy-Daughter bonding time!"*** I then saw that the next one was a close-up of Mr. Cromwell's face, now having had the demented grin I see every time I would ever close my eyes carved into his face. This one read, ***"Family resemblance?"*** This one also had a red smiley face drawn next to it. The most sickening one, however -- the one that forced me to finally fully succumb to nausea -- was a photo showing Liza, clearly crying though her cloth gag, holding a blood splattered *Louisville slugger* in her hands while standing next to her mother. Mrs. Cromwell appeared to have been forcefully stripped down to her underwear and bound by her wrists to the ceiling fan above her. I could see cuts and bruises covering just about every square inch of her body. As well as this, her ribs appeared to be stoved almost completely inwards and her shoulders were dislocated and forced back at an angle I'd never even seen or known of before. The worst part of it, though, was her face. Well, let me clarify and say, what was *identifiable* of it. She, too, had the red clown face painted over her eyes and mouth, which was hanging open numbly and appeared to hang to one side, obviously broken. And to top it all off, there was a gruesome bloody gash visible on the left side of her head. The back of this one read, ***"What's a party without a piñata? Took her a few extra whacks, but eventually, the old bag broke! HA, HA, HA!"*** My breath became heavy. "Oh God, Liza..." I muttered before burying my face into my hands. "I need you to be straight with me, bud, because people have gotten *hurt* now. Possibly even worse. So I need you to tell me, right now, *anything* you might know as to who's doing this and why." "I... I..." I began stammering. My thoughts were scrambled so much that I couldn't even begin to form a coherent thought, much less try explaining everything about the clowns to him. "Who do you think would want to hurt you?" he pressed, to which I basically responded by tightly closing my eyes and shaking my head. I was desperately trying to filter out the horrific moment in the " Room" of HappyWorld and the shit from the photos. "Wh-When did this happen?" I asked meekly. "Shortly after we brought you home, when we were waiting on your folks." My stomach continued to turn over on itself. I couldn't stop myself from remembering the sirens and the urgent radio calls. "I-Is... Is she alright?" I sputtered, heart sinking lower and lower into my stomach. Officer Hagan was quiet for a moment, making me fear all the more what he'd tell me, before answering, "She's alive, but she's hurt pretty bad." "Can I go see her?!" I blurted out. Again, he paused with this, furrowing his brow at me. "That would be up to your folks. Right now, though, I need to know who these people are and why they targeted this young lady specifically." I felt my Adam's apple twitch in my throat. "It... It's... It's my fault!" "What do you mean?" "It's *me* they want." "Who and why?" I put my palms over my eyes and drew in a deep breath, shuddering. *Just tell the truth, damn it!* *("What if he doesn't believe me?")* *Just do it!* *(God... Why didn't I listen?)* Pulling out the defaced memorial photo of Derek from my pocket, I was about to begin recounting the horrors of HappyWorld when I noticed a series of rapidly blinking flashes coming from an opening in my closet door. I began to feel an even bigger tidal wave of dread flood ferociously throughout my body. *What the fuck?* "What is it?" he asked, evidently noticing the fright molded into my fade in that moment. I just looked over to the closet and pointed. He looked over and squinted his eyes before getting up from my bed. I shielded my eyes as he opened the closet door. The flashing intensified. For a moment, I felt like I was back in HappyWorld again. The strobe light blinding me while the air was being ripped straight from my lungs. The pounding of the sledgehammer just inches behind me... *"Gonna rip... your... guts out!"* "It's alright, you can come out now." Being jolted back to reality, I found that, during my little episode, I'd unwittingly buried myself under my covers. I slowly uncovered my head to find him standing in front of the open closet, inspecting what looked to be a small camera. "This thing was set on a repeating timer." He then began to open the back of the camera. "Out of film, too. Any idea how this got here?" Still in a state of pure shock, I shook my head at him. "No, look, can I *please* go now?" I urged, unsure my mind or body could take anymore of the immediate turmoil. That's when I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. One of the other officers then opened up and asked to speak to officer Hagan in the hallway. He nodded and followed him out, closing the door and leaving me with the photos. Ten minutes later, they came back in and gathered the photos, telling me I could come downstairs with my parents. I obliged and when I reached the dining room, I saw that Ma was huddled into Dad's arms with the most horrified expression on her face that I'd ever seen -- from her, as well as anybody else. "M-Mom, what's going on?" I stammered. Already, my anxiety was once again spiking through the roof. She didn't respond, continuing to gaze in terror at the photo laying in front of her on the table. My heart nearly stopped dead in my chest when I saw that it was a snapshot of my mother in the kitchen. It, despite it being taken from outside the kitchen window, was somehow still close enough to fully capture her face -- which had been defaced like the others had with the red clown face. My hands started to shake again as I turned this one over. "Wh-Where did this come from?" On the back, it read, ***"Will mommy dearest let the little piggy come out to play? No... Well, guess we'll just have to make do with her!"*** My whole body went completely numb right then as I imagined Ma being the one strung up to the ceiling, repeatedly being battered like a... Like a... *"... Eventually the old bag broke..."* I all but launched myself like a rocket into Ma, wrapping my arms around her so tightly that, looking back, I'm almost surprised I didn't break her in half in that moment. "Are there any relatives nearby you could possibly stay with for a while?" officer Hagan asked. Dad shook his head, wrapping his own arms around me and Ma. "No, they're all in another state." "Then I'd recommend you folks check yourselves into a hotel somewhere for a few days while we scout the neighborhood. We'll give you a holler when we see that it's safe." "Understood." Dad replied. With that, the officers left. After they did, the three of us spent the next fifteen minutes or so semi-scrambling to pack a few necessary things for the time we'd be away. WE, of course, just settled on throwing together light baggage, figuring you know, we'd actually be back home after just a few days and things would maybe go back to what they were *before* this whole shitstorm. Once we'd all piled in the car, we drove for about half an hour to look for a hotel we could possibly afford to stay in for a few days. As we drove along, I began to notice something flashing. "What the--" Dad said, trying to shield his eyes while keeping control of the car. "Who is this guy flashing at?" I, too, was confused. It was still only early afternoon -- the sun was on full display. I turned around in the back seat, squinting my eyes, and I saw that it was a bicycle tailing behind us. I was two seconds from becoming hysterical. *Oh God, No... No, please...* Dad slowed down, probably thinking the person was trying to pass. I almost lost my shit then. I was already undoing my seat belt and was about to throw myself forward into the driver's seat when I actually saw the flashing bike pass right by us. When I looked ahead, still expecting to see the clown chick from before, I was surprised to see that it wasn't a clown at all. It was just some regular guy on his bike. For whatever reason, I saw that the bike was fitted with some kind of reflective tape that made it flash in the sunlight. "Damn kid," Dad quipped, annoyed, "Could've caused an accident with that shit." Despite this, it was still a full minute or more before my heartrate could somewhat steady itself out. By this point, you can only imagine the nausea I felt the rest of the way to the hotel. In fact, the first thing I actually did when we arrived was run like hell to the bathroom to empty out my stomach, even though I hadn't even eaten anything all morning. "Honey, are you okay?" Ma asked when she saw me come out of the lobby restroom. I didn't respond. I didn't have the energy or mental stability at the time to answer. I was tired. I just wanted to lay down. To be done with the day and the whole disaster in general. *(Wanting to run away...)* Dad got us checked into a room on the ground floor and we moved in. Clearly, I wasn't the only one drained by the stress to the point where, not even bothering with unpacking the luggage, they were passed out on the bed as soon as they entered the room. Me and Dad, both, were out like busted lightbulbs. Ma, I guess, though, was too spooked to sleep. Not that I could blame her. Really, I'm a bit surprised I wasn't wide awake with her. They were after her. They were coming for her, the same way they went after Liza. *All because of me...* *Why? Why do they want ME?!* This is honestly a question that carried on with me for the next few days. It was something I'd even wondered about before as well. I guess, in a way, it was part of the reason I couldn't ever answer anybody as to just *who* the hell these freaks were. I truly just *didn't know*. In any event, though, I remember how I wasn't asleep long. I woke up, I'd say about 20 minutes later, to see Ma watching TV. Her face was still as worried, as frightened, as it was when we'd gotten here. The TV was on some Cooking show. That'd always been sort of a weird little comfort for her. Anytime she'd be stressed, she'd cut on the TV and instantly turn to a cooking show. They'd usually somehow lull her to sleep after a while. Of course, this time, it didn't have that effect with her. What's almost funny is that, especially since I began writing this out, I've found myself doing much the same thing. *(And just like here, it hasn't done a damn thing for me. In either case, apple ain't falling too far from the tree, I guess...)* I snuggled next to her. She didn't make any move at first, almost like she didn't notice I was even there. Her eyes stayed deadlocked on the TV. Silent and motionless. "M-Mom?" I asked softly. She didn't acknowledge me. I asked again, a little louder this time. "Mom?" Nothing. I wasn't sure what to do from there. I wanted to ask her if she'd take me to the hospital. I wanted -- no, I *needed* \-- to see Liza. I needed to know if she was okay. At the same time, though, I guess I couldn't exactly blame my mother for not wanting to leave the hotel. At least there, you know, *she* was relatively safe. *They're after her...* This thought made me curl up again against her side, hugging her arm. *They're out there and they're after her. How will I see them coming? They've been able to evade the police even after all this time, how the hell are we supposed to stay safe from them?* *How the hell was I supposed to stay safe from them?* I let the silence hang for about another three or four minutes before I tried asking again. "Ma, c-can we go to the hospital?" This time, she actually broke from the TV to look at me. She no longer looked so much worried as she did more so confused. "The hospital? Why do you wanna go there, honey, what's wrong?" "It's not for me, Mom. I wanna make sure Liza's okay." Her face then fell back into one of worry. "Please Mom, I have to see if she's okay." "That's sweet of you, Linus, it really is, but we need to stay here where it's safe as much as we can." "But Mom, she's hurt because of me." I protested, knowing good and damn well that I wasn't gonna win this arguement. She *did* have a point, and I knew it -- even back then. "Sweetheart, I'm not going to argue with you, okay? I know you wanna see if your friend's okay, but right now, it's too dangerous to go outside." I could hear agitation building in her voice as she said this to me. I could tell it was everything she could do to not just go hysterical at me. "But mom--" "Enough, Linus!" she snapped. I shrank down, knowing I'd pushed too much. "I'm sorry, but the answer is no! I know you wanna do what you think is right and yes, I *am* worried about that little girl. Hell, I hope she *is* okay, given everything she's lost now. But goddamn it, *you're* my son, *MY CHILD,* and I'm *not* gonna put you in danger just over her, okay?! *YOU* still have your mother to protect you, and she doesn't! Do you *want* to be without that?!" My eyes went wide. "W-W-Without?" I stammered, quivering. Ma's own face then dissolved into one of realization. Obviously, she'd slipped up without meaning to. She must've meant to keep Mr. and Mrs. Cromwell's deaths to herself. From there, Ma melted into tears again, burying her face in her palms. Seeing this made me want to break down and cry with her. I didn't want to be without her. That's why I was scared. But at the same time, I knew I couldn't just up and forget about Liza. It's my fault she was now both in the hospital *and an orphan! (Not even when I fucking wanted to...)* "I'm sorry, Mom." I whimpered. "I don't wanna anything to happen to you. I need you. I just want Liza to be okay, too." She looked up at me. I could tell she wanted to see my point of view, even if I could also see hers. In other words, we both had a point, but neither of us could agree on what the right decision was; whether to stay put or try to make sure Liza was okay. Dad woke up soon after and asked what was going on. I quickly filled him in. He exchanged looks between me and Ma. Sighing, he said "Your mother has a point, son. We don't know who these people are, and you won't tell us." I lowered my head, defeated. "However," he said, looking to Ma, "I *can* understand that he's only wanting to do the right thing, aren't you, sport?" I looked up, nodding. "Yeah, I just wanna know that she's okay." "Here's what we'll do then. Linus, get dressed. I'm going to take you for a *short* visit." I could see Ma about to speak out in protest, but dad held up his hand, stopping her. "Just long enough to make sure she's gonna be okay. Then I'll bring you back and we'll stay here until officer Hagan says the house is safe to come back. Sound fair?" I looked to Ma. I could tell she wasn't on board with the idea at all. "I promise, dear, I'll be with him the entire time." Dad said. To this, she finally lowered her head, relenting. I did as I was told and got dressed. Afterwards, we headed out. On the way out of the room, I heard Ma call out, "I love you, *please* be safe!" Dad replied that we would and to lock the door. It was about a 10-20 minute drive from the hotel to the hospital and I spent pretty much the entire time in a complete daze. I couldn't stop wondering what state she'd be in when I saw her. Hell, would I even be able to see her? What if she'd passed by the time we got there? I wondered, too, if she *was* still alive, would she be able to even talk to me? More than that, though, would she even *want* to. *"You KNEW!"* Those words echoed in my head. *(They still do...) "I HATE YOU!"* *Liza, I'm so sorry! Please be okay!* When we pulled into the hospital parking lot, it was everything I could do to not just throw open the door and make a mad dash inside. Dad got out and the two of us walked together to the front desk and asked for Liza's room. "Name?" the receptionist asked. "James Davies." Dad replied. "And this is my son, Linus." I watched the receptionist type our names on the keyboard. "And are you kin to the patient?" she asked. "No ma'am," I said, "Liza's a friend of mine from the neighborhood and I heard she was here. I would like to see if she's okay." The receptionist gave me the plastic smile that already told me what she was going to say. "I'm sure she'd appreciate the thought, however, I'm afraid we can't let you in to see her without parental or legal consent." I looked to Dad. Truthfully, I don't know why, looking back. What the hell was *he* gonna be able to do? He confirmed this when he gave me his own look that said "Sorry, kiddo, no can do". I hung my head down. Dad patted my shoulder and said, "Come on, son, I'm sure she'll be okay. You'll be able to see her again when she's out of the hospital." I turned and was about to head out with Dad when I stopped and turned back toward the receptionist and asked, "Is she?" For a moment, the receptionist looked at me, puzzled. "Okay, I mean. Is she... you know..." The receptionist smiled again. "That's very sweet, young man. Yes, she is. That's all I'm at liberty to share." "Okay, thank you." She nodded at me before returning to her computer. Me and Dad left after that. As we were heading out to the car, however, I saw something that instantly killed any sort of relief I *might've* built up. It was a bicycle. A bright, sunny yellow bicycle and the side of it was painted that all too familiar smile. My eyes widened and I stopped. *Oh God, No...* At first, I tried to convince myself maybe I was just seeing things. You know how when your mind is so fixated on something, especially if it's traumatizing, you'll start thinking you're seeing or hearing things related to it? "P.T.S.D.", right? Well, that's what I *hoped* it was. But when I actually went and took a closer look, nope, not an illusion. It was real. It was *them, their bike!* They were in the hospital! *Oh no, LIZA!* "Linus, what's wrong?" I heard my Dad ask. I didn't answer. Instead, I instantly broke into a sprint back into the hospital. My mind was a complete blur. I halfway wasn't even aware I was running or where the hell I was even going. I sure as hell didn't know what I was even planning to do if I *did* actually run into one of the clowns. I didn't care, though. I was a dog chasing a car. I had one goal and one goal only on my mind. I *had* to get to Liza before they did, no matter what. In the hallway, I saw a petite young woman with red hair talking to the receptionist. She had almost milky white skin and her hair was almost the color of a crayon. Even before she actually turned and winked at me, I knew exactly who it was. It was the bicycle clown. She didn't have any makeup on, but damn it, I knew it was her and I knew where she was headed. I had ton stop her before she did. To my credit, I actually managed to make it all the way in and through the lobby before two of the security guards had me by my arms and were dragging me back to the front door. "Wait!" I cried. "You have to let me go! She's in danger!" It did me no good to struggle or plead, though. They weren't gonna let me go and their grips on my shoulders might as we have been that of a bear trap's. Dad was in the lobby, having tried to chase after me. "Son, what the hell were you doing?!" he exclaimed. "Dad, it's them! They're here and their trying to get Liza!" "Who, Linus? *WHO'S* after her?" I squinted my eyes. My head felt on the verge of exploding. *"The clowns!"* I cried. Dad just stood there, dumbfounded. "The what?" he asked. "The clowns, Dad. They're after me and her. One of them was on a bicycle, chasing after me yesterday. Now she's here!" He just blinked at me. "Look, please, Dad, you *have* to believe me!" "Son, calm down, okay." He stepped forward, outstretching his hand to me. "No, Dad!" I exclaimed, reeling away from him. "I *have* to get to her before they do!" "Son it's time to go. We need to--" "Damn it, why won't you listen to me!" I cried. His eyes grew in shock. I, myself, winced. I'd never talked back to either of my folks like this -- *FAR* less actually *cursed* at them. I stood frozen. I didn't want to move. *Not until I knew Liza was safe.* Unfortunately, I'd get absolutely no sort of say in the matter because Dad immediately, and firmly, jerked me by my arm and more or less dragged me out of the hospital. "Let me go!" I screamed, pitifully struggling against Dad's gorilla grip. Finally, he stopped and positioned me to face him. His face was one of what I can only accurately describe as sheer anxiety. "Linus, that's enough, okay?" "But Dad, we can't just--" "*I SAID THAT'S ENOUGH!"* he shrieked. My body went limp. All the desire to resist was gone. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Look, son," he said, "We're gonna go back to the hotel room now, and we're not going to be leaving it again unless *absolutely necessary* until officer Hagan says we can come home. That's all there is to it, okay? I don't wanna hear any more about Liza, or these "clowns" of yours, got it?" "But..." I started. I wanted so badly to plead my case, to tell him that I was telling the truth and that Liza was in very real danger. His almost frightening look of agitation quickly shot that thought in the back of its head and my head dropped. "Y-Y-Yes... Yes sir." I said, my voice breaking. *I only wanted to help.* *(Like how I "helped" Derek...)* *"Linus... Run!"* The whole car ride back to the hotel room was tense, to say the least. Actually, being more accurate, I'd describe it as "surreal". Like with everything else that went on, none of this shit felt like it could possibly be real. I was honestly halfway waiting for the point where I'd wake up from this... *Whatever* this was. *(The point where I'd be able to forget...)* For the 45 minutes or so I spent in the backseat on the way back to the hotel, I was locked in a state of entropy. Emptiness. It was like a lightswitch to my brain had been flipped and now, there was absolutely nothing. Nothing, except for the voices from that day in HappyWorld. \*\*\* *"Do you care for this boy's life?"* *"Please... Just let us go..."* *"Uh, oh, somebody's not happy..."* *"...I think the little piggy needs a balloon! Would you like that, piggy?"* *(God no, please... Not this!)* ***"Would you like a balloon!"*** \*\*\* I was brought back to reality when I heard Dad calling my name, for what must've been the third or fourth time, given the slight aggravation in his voice (he never *was* one to like repeating himself, and that was *without* incidents like at the hospital). "Huh?" I said. "Come on, we're back." He then got out and made his way back in the hotel. I followed very slowly behind him. When we got back to the room, we found Ma sitting in front of the TV. Now, however, it wasn't on a cooking show. In its place now was a breaking news broadcast. "Hey, hon, what's--" Dad was cut off when Ma held up her hand, silencing him. On the screen read the headline **"Abduction in local Tennessee hospital."** Instantly, my attention was fixed on the screen. A man was on screen saying "Just a half hour ago, authorities were alerted to a disturbance in the downtown hospital." My heart began hammering. "Authorities are currently in the process of securing the patients and medical staff. Sources have claimed that at least two doctors, two security personell, and a receptionist have all been killed, with possibly more having been critically wounded, and that one of the patients has been confirmed to have been kidnapped. The missing patient was confirmed to be 10 year old Liza Cromwell, who was in the ICU at the time of her abduction." The footage showed the struggle in the lobby area. I watched as a woman with bright, crayon red hair -- *THE* girl with red hair -- went ballistic, pulling out a knife from her pocket and viciously stabbing the receptionist in the throat before doing the same to the two security guards who'd stopped me before. I couldn't believe it. I.. I just *couldn't!* *The hospital... But... But we were JUST THERE!* I was right, and now Liza was gone. Taken to do only God knew what with. I wanted to save her. *(It was all my fault!)* "At this time," the reporter continued, now displaying the faces of Liza and the bicycle clown girl, "Authorities are actively searching for Liza Cromwell. Reports have deduced her kidnapper to be that of Francine Withers, who's priors include Aggravated assult, Assault with a deadly weapon, and felony drug possession. Authorities have advised that, if spotted, do not attempt to engage the suspect. They've advised instead to call the number on the screen immediately to alert authorities with the location as well as the license plate numbers of the vehicle. I repeat, if you spot or have any knowledge on the whereabouts of either Francine or her captive, please dial the number on your screen immediately. We'll be updating on the situation as it develops." "Oh my God." Ma said. "What're we gonna do?" "We can't. There's nothing we can do except to stay here until we get the call saying it's okay to return to the house." Ma turned then from Dad to me. "Linus, honey, are you okay?" she asked. I didn't reply. Truth be told, looking back, I honestly can't even remember really hearing her. I was just *that* tuned out from everything around me. My mind was blank. Empty. I was only pulled out of this trance when I felt Ma shaking me, calling out my name. "Linus! Speak to me, are you okay?!" "I... I... I was trying to... They.... They got her..." That was all I had the capacity to say before I just up and blacked out. That was it. My brain had hit its breaking point and it just couldn't take anymore, so it just cut out. Obviously, I can't really say just how long I was actually out. I do remember, however, that when I *did* wake up again, it was pitch dark outside. Ma and Dad were fast asleep on either side of me. I just laid there. I couldn't move. I still felt really loopy, the way you might feel coming off of a roller coaster. My body felt extremely stiff as well, like bricks of lead had been stuffed inside each of my limbs. I stared at the ceiling. *What am I going to do?* I began to wonder. *What CAN I do? I can't just sit here, can I? I have to save Liza. But how?* Despite my body's refusal to move, my head was swimming, agitated. I wanted to do something. I *needed* to do something. But what? The longer I looked up at the ceiling, the more I could faintly hear the kids from my nightmares again. \*\*\* "Smile for us!" *No, go away!* "Smile, for us! Smile for Satan!" *Stop it!* *"Now we'll both smile forever, Linus!"* Derek's voice blended in with the cacophony around. All of the disembodied voices all just surrounded me, with Derek's taking center stage. Then, from amid the chaos, I began to hear Liza screaming. *"Help me! Linus! Save me!"* This, and everything else soon dissolved away behind a chorus of crazed laughter. I shook my head furiously, but it was no good. I couldn't get any of it out of my head.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Beware the dust [RESPONSE] When you live in places like West Idaho or East Oregon for long enough, near small towns like Vale or Parma or Weiser, you start to learn the unspoken rules of the land. You learn the summer sun hits harder than an angry mule. You learn that some winters can be so cold that snow refuses to fall. And you learn that there's at least one day of every year, sometime in the middle of September, that God likes to turn on the fans of heaven at full blast over the state. Idaho's one of the furthest places north of the Continental 48 that you can actually find tornadoes. There's just something about the land here and along the valley into Malheur County in Oregon that just shapes the wind into a constant funnel, pushing it along at dangerously high speeds during some parts of the year. And during that time in the beginning of what most folks call Fall is when it gets to be particularly nasty. The only thing nastier than the wind is probably the dust. I think it has something to do with the sun. The way it beats down on the earth. You notice it way more often in the summer at any rate. On fields that haven't been set for harvest, covered in weeds but untouched by the notorious cheat grass that tends to grow worse than black mold in an old apartment. The dust lies there, exposed, finer than flour with next to no grit. When you walk in it, it seeps through into your shoes, getting past your socks and into your feet. And it stings like a mother. Almost like it's eating you alive. \* I was five or six years old when I saw my first dust storm. We were living a ways away from an old town called Vale, about a half an hour's drive from the Idaho border into Oregon. It had been in the early morning, in my grandparents' house on a ranch that my familiy bought but could have been there since before dirt even had a name. You never realize that you take the sky for granted until it turns brown. The wind roared across the flats and over the hills like a stampeding herd. Weeds and shrubs were pulled up and thrown aside like they were made of paper, and even the trees threatened to come down as all greenery was stripped from them and their smaller branches tore off into the gale. Though I was still young I held that memory vividly. No passage in the Bible could compare to that horrible throng of wind and fury that was imprinted into my childlike mind. As I walked up to the giant window that made up my grandfolks' living room wall, pressing my nose against the glass, I thought I could see something. It was like an imprint into the brown, the dust pulling free form the Earth through the force of the gale. The shape was no taller than I was, but it was vaguely human. Almost like somebody was standing there, buffeted against the dust and the wind. Just looking back at me. "Get away from the window, boy!" Before I knew it I was pulled back away from the glass and plopped on an armchair as my grandfather hurriedly closed the blinds, shutting us away from that everpresent turmoil of brown fury outside. I was confused and about to ask who it was standing outside, but even at six I seemed to recognize that sharp, worried look upon my grandfather's form for what it was. The way his breath caught in his chest, his eyes darted between the window and the blinds. "You listen to me, boy," he told me, sharp and stern like a drill instructor - that tone he would make whenever I did something wrong or had to pay attention like when he was working with dangerous farm equipment that could get me hurt if I strayed to close - "Stay away from them windows in a storm. You see brown out, you go to your room or the back wall, and keep the windows closed. Got it?" "Yes, sir," I said in a small voice. Mom and dad always told me to listen to grandpa and grandma, especially when they got stern. The farm always had some kind of dangers for a small boy like myself. My grandfather softened a bit when he saw I got the message and took me to the kitchen to fix up a bowl of cereal for breakfast. I knew better than to ask more than I should, but I couldn't shake the feeling or the memory of what I saw. The figure in the dust, my age and my height, staring through the window. Straight at me. \* It wouldn't be for another ten years before I saw the figures in the dust again. Mom and dad had a falling out with my grandpa and we moved into the city for a while. Though the wind can be just as bad at that time in September, in places like Boise there was never dust. Not like back in Vale. Something about the river being nearby I guess. My grandparents would eventually sell the ranch and move on down state, and I treated the old memory like a childhood dream. I was about 15 when my dad decided to take us on a trip to see cousins up north in some of the old towns near Hell's Canyon. We passed a number of small towns with small names like Midvale, Council, Indian Valley. We kept driving off the back roads until we reached a tiny yellow house on a plot of land beside a dirt road, out in the middle of nowhere. It was a far cry from the city like Boise or Meridian, but something in my blood woke back up then - drawn by the familiar sites of rangeland, barbed wire fencing, and cattle pens alongside barns with the whinnies of horses and the bleating of sheep. We were visiting an uncle who I barely remember meeting and cousins I hadn't seen since I was a toddler. A three day weekend of farm life, good food, and no traffic. A veritable frontier paradise. It was on the second day out there with my cousins. Ben was about my age and Joey was a little younger. They had been plying me with all sorts of questions about what life was like in the big city the day before, and today they decided to take me out hiking over to the backwoods near the farm. It was a great day of boys just being boys, playing with sticks, finding weird-looking rocks, occasionally sighting tracks of elk along the trail. It wasn't unitl we were on our way back that I noticed the quiet. The birds had suddenly stopped calling and even the leaves seemed to hush. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I looked around at my cousins apprehensively. They felt it too. Ben was the first to say that we should head back. Joey wanted to look at the track that we had just found a little longer but I was quick to agree. Everything just felt off, and I could hear a distant rumbling not quite unlike that of thunder. We decided to avoid the trail altogether and go the quick way home by cutting through an old field that had been left out of seed that year. We cut past the treeline and headed for the house, ducking under some old barbed wire as we hurried. I felt a bit of the sharp metal tug a hole into my shirt and winced at a scratch. I didn't even think about the potential for tetanus or at my mom being angry at a ruined shirt, as my focus was more on what was approaching fast from the west. It was like a massive, transparent wall was speeding across the landscape. Scattered branches, weeds, and other debris was picked up and thrown aside as it came. As it passed over the range it brought up with it clouds of dust that seemed to swallow all else in its path. And it was headed our way. I barely had time to register the stinging bite in my feet as the three of us ran in a panic. The dust beneath us seemed to be biting through my shoes almost hungrily, easily passing through the foam and rubber and going up through the denim of my jeans. My tongue felt like a dry rag in my mouth as I panted. Ben and I had just managed to cross the barbed wire fence and over the creek by the time the wall of wind hit us. The closest I could compare it was to a car accident when my mom had picked me up from school. The sudden thud, followed by a wave of shock that made your bones shudder and grit your teeth, knocked me off my feet. If I hadn't already been partway in the ditch, I swear it would have sent me airborne. I got up and tried to get my bearings as I suddenly felt like the very world was tipping me off balance from the sheer strength of the wind. "Joey! Joey, get out of there!" It was then that I turned to realize that Joey hadn't made it past the fence with us when the storm hit. He had stumbled and lost his footing in the dust by the time we had crossed the barbed wire fence. In our panic I hadn't even realized that he had lagged behind. The whole sky became a shade brown, like the ugly paint of an old office building's wallpaper. The wind seemed to howl and shriek like a wailing banshee, threatening to pull us off the ground and into the sky like plastic bags. And with it carried the dust. The whole field that we had just been running across seemed to come alive, rising with the wind like a terrible fog. It quickly enveloped Joey within its suffocating embrace. One minute he had been getting to his feet and was turning to run towards us, and the next he was gone. And then we heard the screaming. Ben called out to his younger brother, trying to raise his voice above the roaring wind. I couldn't make a sound. I watched with horror as the shapes within the dust moved with a life of their own. Shapes like clawed hands and cackling, child-like faces tearing into the screaming form of Joey as they tore him to pieces. It was like something out of a horror movie, played out before us in slow motion as bits of skin, muscle, and clothing tore free into the wind. Occasionally the dark shape of a rib cage or a skull with hair peered through the dust as Joey's screams echoed through the roaring gale. \* I don't know how long Ben and I were out there in the storm for, but it was starting to get dark by the time I remember being back in the safety of the house. We were both caked in dirt from head to toe, and it took ages for us to get it all off. My shoes were a mess and had looked like they had been eaten through by rats. My feet were bleeding. They never did find Joey's body. Search parties went through the entire landscape for two whole weeks before the search was called off. They didn't even find any bones, even despite us telling them where to look. I heard his dad had that whole plot of land dug for years after without ever finding a trace. Ben was never the same after that. Hardly ever spoke, said he blamed himself last time I ever heard him talk about Joey again. He went into the construction industry when he got out of school and spent most of his nights in bars and strip clubs, drinking his misery away. They later found his body in the Boise River. He was only 27. Mom and dad quietly decided that we were done with country life. We made our ends meet in a small apartment in Meridian until I graduated and moved out. I have a family of my own now. My wife talks about how she wants a quiet life on a farm away from the hustle and bustle of the city. I quietly try to talk her out of it, but that doesn't stop us from occasionally going out to Hell's Canyon for quick vacation trips in the summer. But every September, when the leaves start to turn color and God decides it's time to turn the fans over Idaho, I keep indoors with the blinds tightly shut. Even out here in the city, away from the farms and fields left to the weeds and the sagebrush, there's occasionally enough dust picked up to turn the sky a little brown. And every now and again I see them, through the glass, standing across on the road or in a construction lot in town. The shapes of people, standing invisibly, silhouetted by the dust. Staring at me. Waiting for me to join them.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I saw the end of the world... but it truly began when I survived. (Part 1) [RESPONSE] Were these demons or were they angels? Or were they something else entirely and to this day, I still ask myself, if I will see them again, and if I will ever find the answer. You ever have those dreams where you try to fly, but whenever you try to prove it to someone, you can't even get off the ground? You have those dreams, that as soon as you enter the dream world, you don't know exactly where you are or how it began. You're just there. Sometimes its plot after plot, no true connection to one another, no true rhyme or reason. And when you wake up, details begin to fade, and it slowly becomes an ebbing memory? That's how I used to dream. But this one shook the very foundations of what I thought to be my normal. This was years ago, and I still remember every detail as vivid as it was the first night I saw it. And I had no idea it would continue.... My name is Dante. And maybe this was my own journey through Hell. My ex girlfriend, Laura, and her current girlfriend, Amber, were friends with me at this time. I was still close to Laura and supportive of her hobbies, safe to say. One of them being, Laura and Amber were witches. Not the kind to brew potions in cauldrons and dance in the woods in the pale moonlight in only their birthday suits, but they had a coven, and I had a dream.... and it's stuck with me ever since. We had taken a trip up the east coast for this event. As far as I knew, it was essentially Woodstock for wiccans. On the outskirts was a small town, the '*bathtub*', as one could call it. The town was on the edge of a small mountain range, situated within a valley by the sea. The town was full of Venetian buildings surrounding a square, gift shops, tiki huts, and about a dozen places families could stock up on emergency sunscreen rations and fresh oysters. It was colorful and almost too touristy for my tastes, however, the one place that stuck out like a sore thumb was the abandoned pub in the far back. It had seen better days. It's dark, rotting wood contrasting the whites and pastels painting the small town. People often called the pub, "*the portal"*. The "*portal*" earning it's name, because it operated as a '*door*' to a secret path leading up to the cliffside. Few and in between knew about it, and when we had arrived at the '*bathtub*', it was evening. Laura and Amber adorned black robes, and I couldn't help but hide a subtle giggle. They were really serious about this wiccan thing. See, I had collected crystals and stones on occasion, looked into self help books for spirituality, laid back, watched the stars, looked for UFOs, and occasionally would talk to nature just on my own time. I wasn't huge into the wiccan lifestyle, nor would I even consider myself one. I thought for a moment, maybe they did take this thing too seriously. Black robes? What next, wands? I was about to crack a joke when I saw more people in black robes appear, and they were all walking towards the pub. It was then that I began to feel a little unnerved. Was this a cult? Was I a human sacrifice? Why the living hell was a squib like me invited? I paused to regain some illusion of common sense when something started scratching at the back of my mind. Itching and crawling. Like something was watching me. I brushed it off and rejoined Laura and Amber. We crossed the small town and upon arriving at the '*door*', there were three figures donned in the black robes, posing as gate keepers. I started searching in my satchel for a few bucks - of course there was a cover pay for this kind of event- wasn't there? I heard a chuckle and glanced up. There was one who was lanky and thin, his skin mottled and grey, his eyes sunken into his skeletal appearance. Another looked near identical, his eyes empty and void of emotion and life. The third, was tall and broad, and heavy set. He was bald, and his face was painted like a harlequin. He had red lips, stretched into a grin, blue eyeshadow reaching up to his brows. What bothered me about them wasn't their appearance. I had seen plenty of people of the sort after having spent the better half of a decade volunteering at the Rocky Horror Picture Show. But what sent chills down my spine, were there eyes, locked on me at all times. If I didn't know any better, I would have said they were '*Harpies*'. They didn't speak. They allowed me to enter and follow Laura and Amber into the '*portal*.' We arrived on the other side - rather, through a door in the back of the pub, leading off onto the beaten path towards the cliffside. It was when I was taking in the view, that I finally had started to feel the tension in my shoulders ease and the gnawing sensation at the back of my brain begin to fade. As I glanced around the premises, I holstered a chuckle. I was right about the Woodstock for Wiccans thing. Several hundred people in identical robes gathered on the cliffside, the '*portal*' having led us to a stunning overlook of the Atlantic and far away islands. Despite being so close to the small tourist town, the sky was blanketed in stars, the thick foliage filtering any light pollution that was heinous enough to try and obstruct the view. Entranced in the stars, I sat down on a patch of grass as Laura and Amber rushed off to mingle with the others and I lit a cigarette. I would let them do what they needed to, soak up a few moon rays and enjoy the view. I had no idea I had front row seats to the end of everything as I had known. Minutes turned into an hour, and I continued to watch the stars, smoking cigarettes, locked in my own mind and sense of peace. As I was becoming lost in the constellation of Orion, I started to see something... off, appear in the sky. Like someone had stuck a pin in the blanket of night, a new star had appeared. Right as I was about to grab my phone and google as to which star it was, or possible planet, I noticed it getting brighter. And *larger*. I stood. I was certain I had seen UFOs in the past, but this was different. This was like any other old dream I had had before, watching the night sky turn into a rain of fire as the universe came crumbling down. I waited for the earth to tremble and the first of many meteors to strike. But they didn't come. And it was quiet. Far too quiet. As I became transfixed on this growing star, I saw many others appear behind it, dozens, hundreds, then thousands. I fought to find my voice, "H-Hey! Look!" I don't know who I was talking to, but I pointed and yelled again, "Hey! Everyone, look!" And everyone did. And there we stood, hundreds of people in silly black robes, and one singular man in ratty jeans and a tee shirt, staring at the sky, transfixed on the stars that had turned into a figure. I don't know where Laura or Amber had gone. I no longer cared. The figure was monstrous and beautiful. A crown of stars adorned a massive head, a winged creature perched on the figure's shoulder. For the life of me, I cannot remember a face. Nor the words the figure in the stars had spoken as they tremble upon us like thunder and lightning. The ones in black had all knelt, praying, becoming a chorus of praise for this figure. *Was this why we had come?* *Or was this... something else?* As the figure continued, and the witches prayed, I saw the something else. It was red. Glowing hot and bright, appearing over the left side of the crown of stars. And I suddenly had the instinct to run. But I couldn't move. All I could do was watch as the red star was consumed into shadow. Hundreds of shadows that were moving, flapping, and swarming our way. The figure screamed, and one word did register. "Judgment." The first of the black winged creatures tore into the first robed person it could get its claws into. Tearing its inky teeth into their throat, consuming them and their soul in one crushing bite. The crowd erupted into chaos. Hundreds of winged humanoid creatures descended upon the cliffside, tearing black from black, turning the dark into a flood of red. I tried to find Amber and Laura. The stars had disappeared. The figure had gone. All that was left was bloodshed. Black figures, left and right. Some human, some not. But through the chaos, I saw them again. The three. The one with red lips, smiling. All three, taking a stroll through the end of the world. Towards *me*. I dashed away. I had to find Laura and Amber. I had to get them - or at least, Laura, to safety. I rushed past bodies and figures, and demonic faces with no eyes, only inky black teeth. I finally found them, rushing back down the hill towards the portal. Laura was quicker. She had almost made it back to the pub, but I caught sight of Amber lagging behind, struggling to keep up. And that was when a creature, claws poised, ready to tear into her flesh, leapt upon her back. I froze. I was never proud of this thought. It was a fraction of a second, and locked in the moment, I realized it was what I had always wished. Any way to get Amber out of the picture, to regain the life I once had with Laura. Without Amber, I wouldn't have spent so many nights questioning my own self worth. Without Amber, I would still be happy. Without Amber, I would have still been Laura's number one. I could easily watch and let the creature devour her. Later, comfort Laura in her loss, and become hers once more. But as my legs propelled me instinctively down the hill, I had suddenly come to the realization that Amber's life was worth more than mine. I sprang onto the back of the creature, fighting against its flapping, skeletal wings. Driven by absolute primal instinct, I tore the demon away from Amber. It screamed. It's hideous maw was inches from my face, and eyeless, black head staring into me and into my soul. For a brief moment, man and demon remained interlocked. And then, like some ungodly force had pushed me, I sank my teeth into its throat. It writhed, it's bat like wings slapping me, until the weight of the creature had becoming void. I fell away, and watched it dissolve before my very eyes, into dust. Amber was long gone, as was Laura. Both had safely reached the portal. I breathed a sigh of relief, reaching up to wipe the sweat from my brow and the black ooze from my mouth. My skin was stained with the blood of the creature. My fingers black as if I had dipped them in ink. And the ink was *growing*. Spreading. Spider webbing up my arms to my shoulders. And I buckled to the ground as giant blades stabbed through my back, forcing their way out of me. Like something wished to be birthed- I felt no pain. Only fear. And I reached back to find what had emerged. I felt blood. And scale. Too consumed with fear as to what I was becoming, I turned away from the direction of the portal - my newly found wings flapped, propelling me off the ground- and I flew, desperate to find shelter within the trees. Or was this something worse? A vision? I don't know how I fell asleep or when, or if I ever dreamed. *Was this a dream?* I woke up at dawn under a fallen oak tree. I stared upon my black flesh, overcome with a shudder. *Guess not.* I gathered myself and decided to make my way to the portal again. The cliffside was empty. The sky was blue, the grass was... red. The blood and the black being vast and vivid reminders of the previous night. I was alone. I returned to the portal, and coming out the other side of the dilapidated pub, I found that it was abandoned. Masked in grey and red. What was once lively and colorful had been stripped of life. I knew calling for my folks would be moot. Part of me had known since it had began, that this was it. The end of all things. But I wasn't sad. I couldn't tell you why. I hardly felt anything. With no direction, no clue as to where I could go, I returned to the pub, hoping that perhaps, it would have answers. Spoiled beer and broken beams were not the answers I was looking for. I read the graffiti in the bathroom, searching for the smallest clues. And then, I saw a mirror. And saw myself. My natural black hair was white. My eyes, void and black, my skin, as dark as the night. I no longer recognized myself. But what disturbed me, wasn't my appearance. Instead, it was how... happy I was. How entranced I was in my own reflection. And then it moved. My reflection smiled back. Tears leaked from his eyes. His lips parted. He wanted to speak. And then light cut through the darkness of the pub. There, in the threshold of the light, were the Harpies. "Who are you?" I had asked. "What's happening here?" The one with the red smile offered a hand, "Come with us." And I went.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Sometimes getting home is not an easy walk in the park. [RESPONSE] The transit system in my city sucks. Any buses take at least forty-five minutes to get to the university to my cheap apartment but if I walked through the park, it would only take fifteen minutes. After a full day of classes, and working I hated walking home. But I also wanted to get into bed as fast as possible. Dragging my tired feet along, I made the long trek through the park almost every night. I did come across some homeless men asking for change. Being a broke student, I couldn't give them much. Though I could give them sandwiches from my job that were just going to be thrown out at the end of the night. Most of them appreciated the gesture. One man named Eddie always thanked me and walked along with me for a few minutes making sure I got through the darker part of the park safely. Because of his overall manner, I fretted over his motives until I realized he was a pretty decent guy under his appearance. I started to get worried when a few days went by and I didn’t see any of the regulars in the park. That wasn’t unusual. Sometimes the cops ran them out thinking they were doing drugs or creating a mess. The homeless men only quietly drank and collected bottles or cans along the path. Honestly, those men were the ones taking care of the park better than the paid city workers. My room mates were thankful for the leftovers to grabbed from work that should have gone to the regulars, but I still wondered about the men I’d slowly become friendly with. As I walked along the dark path one night, I thought I saw a figure following behind me. I wasn’t alarmed because I thought it was one of the men. From the smell drifting on the wind, and how the figure stumbled behind I felt positive there wasn’t any danger. I just kept my music playing as I walked a little bit faster. I did think those homeless men were harmless, but sometimes they got awkward to be around if they were wasted or in a bad mood. After my long day of work, I didn’t want to deal with a tense interaction. I nearly reached a light post when I thought I heard a noise over my music. I turned it off and looked over my shoulder just in time to see a pale figure running down the path. Something that looked pale and human and not any of the men I’ve come across before. The figure let out a heart stopping scream and I bolted. My legs and chest burned right away. I might be able to stand serving food for eight hours but that didn’t mean I could run for any length of time. The thing close on my heels as I started to feel dizzy from the effort of running. I tripped over my own feet when I reached the light. My elbows and knees hitting the paved ground hard. I saw stars from the impact for a few moments. Panting, I looked around trying to see what made me run in the first place. My eyes darted around in the dark, my head swimming. I expected to see that figure again, but nothing moved on the path. I forced my breathing to slow at least until I saw what I may have missed if I’d been walking down the path. Being on the ground made it so I could see under some bushes. A smell hit my nose the same time I saw a dark color staining the grass and leaves. A face stared back from under the bush, eyes lifeless and mouth open in a silent scream. I knew the face as one of the regulars in the park. I choked on air and my hand flew to my pocket trying to find my phone. To my horror, my pockets was empty. My phone had flown out when I crashed to the ground. I started to sit up to look for it and another scream came causing my body to freeze. A blur of white came leaping out from the bush. I raised my arms in a useless defence. Another body came down on top of mine, forcing us both to the ground. I screamed for help, praying that anyone could hear. Those screams replaced by cries of pain as the creature thrashed trying to bite my face sank their teeth into my palm. I hooked one arm under the neck, using all my strength to keep the face up and from it ripping out my throat. I tried to use a thumb to dig into the eye socket but the pale thing bit me first. I kicked trying to get it off, shocked at how heavy the creature felt even though it looked impossibly thin. We struggled with each other in a desperate messy attempt towards our own goals. The pale monster wanted to eat me and I wanted to get the hell away. Without any weapons or any knowledge of how to deal with a situation like this, I would be bound to fail. Tears clouded my vision as the thing tore into my hand even deeper, causing blood to spray and for me to scream to loudly it hurt my throat. My heart almost stopping from fear. Just as I thought I would be torn apart by those sharp teeth and claws; a sound rang out as the thing collapsed. Someone had walked over and smashed a bent steel pipe against my attacker's skull. I scrambled away, crying and holding my torn-up hand as another person dragged the monster off and in the middle of the light. I flinched hearing the steel pipe coming down again and again. I couldn’t even look up to see my rescuer fully from the stress and fear. Body trembling uncontrollably, I listened as the creature's head got smashed in until there was nothing left. Finally, I looked up, and movement caught my eyes. Another one of those lankly pale things came screaming from outside the light towards the one who saved me. It was nearly naked, skin a pale grey with blue veins showing. The hair falling out in clumps leaving a messy greasy mess behind. The mouth opened so wide it might be able literally bite off someone’s entire head. Hands out stretched, it leapt into the light. The steel pipe came down, knocking the pale monster out of midair and it landed front of my legs. I let out a yelp of fear as the pipe made short work of the second monster. Blood spraying from the wound from each swing. Grey brain matter spilling out causing the creature to twitch for a few seconds. As grateful as I felt over not getting eaten, my body reacted from such a gory sight. I turned, throwing up my small dinner to the side. When I emptied out my stomach, I looked up at the man holding the pipe. His appearance strange, but I didn’t see just how strange until I stopped shaking long enough to get a good look. Aside from the pipe, he didn’t have any weapons. It was as if he picked up the first thing he found on the ground to use to kill these monsters. He wore white gloves now stained with blood and rust from the pipe. His sharp dress shoes also stained with blood. He wore a suite, but that wasn't what made my brain almost shut down. His face hidden by a large bunny mascot face. One ear up, and one ear down. The bunny’s eyes massive and looked too freaky to be cute. Like, the person designing the mask wanted it to be cute, but went overboard causing it to look menacing with the large eyes. The blood now splattered on the white fur didn’t help. As I stared, I noticed something off, I couldn’t see any eye holes. How the hell did this guy see out of the mask, especially in the dark? In the distance, I heard sirens. My shoulders dropped all the tension I felt for a second when I thought I was going to be saved. Cops would show up, and I could go to the hospital for my hand. I opened my mouth to question the man, and to thank him when he dropped the pipe. With one swift movement, he’d closed the distance and kicked his foot against my chest to I fell back to the ground. I didn’t have a chance to move as he knees pined both my arms down. I opened my mouth to scream again as one gloved hand covered it, muffling the noise. I fought for my life, and didn’t move the mask wearing weirdo an inch. He lifted his hand from my mouth to pull a small case form his suit pocket. I screamed, hoping the cops would hear. The noise died in my throat as he pulled out a syringe from the case. My head feeling faint from the blood loss, but the sight of the needle nearly made me pass out. I've never been so scared in my life. Getting attacked by that monster was less frightening than seeing a syringe filled with a mystery liquid. I fought even harder, doing nothing to avoid the masked man grabbing my face with one hand. With one other steady gloved hand he started to bring the needle closer. My mouth became dry as he grabbed my eyelids with two fingers, forcing my left eye open. I would rather be eaten by that monster than what he had in mind. The needle came ever closer. I heard people starting down the path, shouting orders and asking if everything was alright. My body froze when the tip of the needle went into my eye, and I passed out into a very long darkness. When I woke up, I found myself in a hospital bed and shortly went into hysterics. Some police arrived to take statements, and asked for some drug tests to be taken after hearing my story. I don’t blame them for that. I heard a body of a homeless man was found nearby where I fainted along with a lot of blood. They weren’t able to figure out who killed the man, or who the blood came from. They mystery blood assumed to be at least a few hours old even though they found me on the path only a few minutes after I passed out. All the tests came back clean and I was released after a few days. The police also told me that Eddie heard screaming in the park and called them. I would need to thank him later when we came across each other again. I made a habit of looking at my left eye in the mirror before bed, trying to see any damage. My hand healing up fine, but I fear the wound is going to leave a nasty scar. I thought I would be too stressed out to eat after such an ordeal, but the opposite happened. I couldn’t stop eating. A dull hunger lingered in the pit of my stomach now, always there no matter how much I ate in a day. And I don’t seem to be gaining any weight. I think I’ve lost some, but I’m too scared to weigh myself. My skin has started to go paler and I've gotten some comments on my sickly appearance. I've taken time off work unsure of when, or if I'll be back. I’m keeping an eye out for any other weird signs, or changes. I can’t sleep from over thinking about a very simple fact. One that I don’t want to face but deep down know it true. It might have been better if that creature killed me that night. That the man who tried to save me failed. Whatever he injected into my eye simply didn’t work, or only delayed what was coming. I would rather die than turn into anything remotely close to the monster that attacked me. With how things are looking, I'm not sure how long I'll remain myself for and that scares me to death. I've started to make a habit of walking in the park praying to find some answers or a sign of the man wearing the bunny mask. At least I was able to thank Eddie for calling for help that night. If I die because of a random monster attack while trying to get home, I won't bring that regret with me.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Skin Deep [RESPONSE] Cute. Pretty. Hot. Sexy. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Flawless. Goddess. All used to describe me. I was everywhere. Cosmopolitan. Esquire. Vogue. Glamour. You’ve made eye contact with me on a billboard. You’ve seen me in commercials. I’m also terribly impatient. Winning the genetic lottery bestows certain privileges, many of which can turn you straight into the bitchiest diva if they are overindulged. I deserved them for all the kale smoothies I gagged on. I had scheduled a shoot with my favorite photographer, Nico. He was one of the few that respected you enough to not bend you over a table. To any prospective models, ladies, if you find him, keep him. It was supposed to be a straightforward session, a promotional shoot for a national retailer. They are in every mall and they sell shirts on Amazon. No crazy boots or green lipstick this time. Only store signs. My high heels clacked on the wood paneling. My entourage flanked to my sides. People who wanted to matter, but didn’t. You know the feeling. The copious amount of camera wires and tarps proved hazardous as I balanced precariously over them. The air conditioning left the room feeling chilly and distressing. “Oh! There she is! How are you my love?!” Nico’s exotic accent complemented the bourbon on his breath. Not the smell of a drunk, the smell of quality. Refinement. I liked that in a man. “Where’s my chai tea?! Where is it?!” My irritation was paramount. They should know this already. “It’s coming dear. Melissa!” Nico shouted, looking up above me. “Get her her tea, please. And promptly.” I heard a disgruntled groan behind me as Nico kissed the back of my hand, his finely groomed beard tickled. “Shall I turn you over to our stylist?” He asked. His sunglasses reflected my face in the lenses. “Where’s my fucking tea?!” I repeated. “You’re right!” Nico stormed off. I heard screaming, shouting, angry crashes, clothing racks thrown, and then Nico, returning, tea in hand. Melissa or whoever she was followed close behind, red-faced and puffy-eyed. I threw off my massive fur coat as I nestled the tea in my hand. The flavor was bland, but not enough to throw a tantrum over. I had to get to work. The day would be long and unrewarding as is. But, as Duran Duran once said: “Wider, baby, smile and you’ve just made a million.” I sat in the cosmetics chair. An overly nervous stylist, a woman, started applying foundation, eyeliner, mascara, and lipgloss as another started tinkering with my hair. After an hour or so, I was ready. Nico walked over, arms outstretched. “Oh, what a beauty! Truly a marvel!” He cooed. I smiled, knowing his assessment was watered down. I strolled over to a clothing rack. Simple shirts, jeans, jackets, and shoes. Melissa stood in a corner, staring daggers into me. Fuck her. Men always looked in lust. Women always looked in jealously. I examined the clothing selection more intently. Fucking really? I was so much better than this shit. I begrudgingly threw on an outfit, consisting of a shirt, belted jeans, and sneakers. I stepped in front of Nico’s camera and started posing. Simple. The flashes of light with each snap erased my negativity about the outfit and gave me an immense feeling of joy. “Yes girl! Work it!” After several minutes and constant camera flashes, Nico got me into another outfit, this one a basic black pantsuit paired with high heeled leather boots. The more photos that were taken just fueled my insatiable ego. Finally, I was motioned to strip down to the nude. Why? This wasn’t that type of shoot. “Umm, are you sure?” I questioned. “Just do a couple for me, baby!” Nico asked, his face begging in anticipation. Oh, of course. The jacket. “Sure.” I relented as I peeled off my clothes. Why not? It was the end of the day. Nico handed me the black jacket and asked me to put it on. The jacket, as always, was shiny and felt heavy in my arms. A cloth hood was attached to the collar. I slipped my arms through the sleeves and flipped the jacket up and over my shoulders. This was Nico’s favorite jacket to have me wear. It was a personal pleasure for him. Worry suddenly shot through my brain as I settled my frame into it. The lining felt… Strange. I shrugged the feeling off. A mistake. “Great! Flip your hood up!” Nico began snapping photos. I posed, blew kisses, and really tried to sell the bad girl look. “Ok, now flip it down off your shoulders and arch your back!” Nico asked. I rolled my shoulders back to remove the jacket. Nothing but leather creasing. What the hell? I tried slipping the hood off my head. The unmistakable pain of hair being pulled stabbed into my scalp. I squatted down and winced, rubbing my head. “What’s wrong?” Nico asked, his face popping out from behind the camera lense. “I can’t get this jacket off!” I gritted my teeth in frustration. I started flailing my arms wildly, the metal zippers clinking. Panic began to work its way into my chest and throat. “Hold on, let me help you!” Nico walked over and placed his hand over the hood. He pulled. “Ahhh! Fuck! Stop, you’re hurting me!” I screamed. Tears sprang to my eyes, my hair follicles on fire. My chest felt weighed down, as if an elephant found it a comfortable resting spot. I couldn’t breathe. I felt the cool, smooth leather under my finger tips. It crinkled and squeaked with my movements. I collapsed in a heap on the floor, now in a full fledged panic attack. Nico hushed my entourage and all other personnel out of the room as someone called 9/11. What was this? Some kind of sick prank? I felt the jacket start to form around my body like a second skin. I ugly cried, my tears blocked my vision. Suddenly, I heard a scuffle. Nico shouting. A door lock clicking. “Melissa! What the fuck are you doing?!” A surprised shout. I looked up, seeing Melissa, the assistant, standing over me. Her face was reddened, her fists balled tightly. I shook my head in confusion. Nico pounded on the door. “You spoiled cunt. Here's your chai tea.” She said quietly, and without emotion. Then suddenly, she snatched the hood in a death grip. The pain was so intense I howled. I felt the hairs in my head begin to pop out of my scalp. Warm wet crimson began running down my face in jagged lines. I saw Nico on the other side of the door, hands over mouth, helpless. I kicked and screamed, but Melissa was stronger. “This is for all the years of abuse!” The saliva molecules splattered in my ear canal as she pulled harder. I felt my face begin to tear like wrapping paper. I felt a warm ridge form in my forehead as the hood was peeled off with my skin and scalp. The pain was so unbearable I couldn’t make a sound. My hands flew up to where my hair had been. Sheer horror. They came back slimy and bloody. Degloved. I stumbled around, my vision red and murky. I caught a brief, blurry glimpse of Nico, hands on knees, projectile vomiting. My knees gave out as I face planted onto the floor. I chipped a tooth on impact as I heard footsteps approach me from behind. I felt a shoe slam down viciously in the back of my neck. “Bitch.” Melissa spat. I gasped as the pulling resumed. I realized, to my absolute horror, that the jacket was still stuck to my back. My skin began to tear at the shoulder blades, each cellular layer was ripped and shredded as the jacket took my skin like the pelt of an animal. I screamed louder than I’ve ever screamed. The sound rang off the walls. I reached behind me helplessly as the sleeves were jerked backwards. The knuckles on my hands were now exposed, the joints coated in blood. I wanted to die. Melissa did. The police shot her between the eyes when she wouldn’t get off of my lifeless corpse. According to the subsequent police report, Melissa, the disgruntled fashion assistant, had booby trapped the lining of my jacket with epoxy adhesive, the world's strongest glue. My skin had no chance. She knew I’d wear the jacket, I always did for Nico. As soon as my skin made contact, my modeling career was over. Melissa knew that was the real pain. The physical agony was just icing on the cake. I don’t know when I lost consciousness. I know it was before the police arrived. I had to be resuscitated in the ambulance. I was given over five emergency blood transfusions. My body didn’t have enough skin left for a graft, so I was given an allograft from a medical cadaver. My body rejected it. I layed in a recovery bed for over six months. Since I was injured during a shoot, the client paid for my substantial medical expenses, which ended up bankrupting them. After what felt like a lifetime, the bandages were removed. I shrieked. Horrid, ridged, cavernous, abominable scars embedded themselves deep into my deformed face. My scalp, now bald from the complete removal of the hair follicles, was a wavy mess of uneven lines, raised pock marks, and jagged scarring. I hid myself in my hands. I couldn’t bear the sight. I cried myself to sleep. I couldn’t work, not only as a model, but anywhere. I would be seen as a freak. Heads would turn, gossip would flourish, and assumptions would be made. Vanity is only skin deep. Weird. Gross. Ugly. Nasty. Hideous. Disgusting. Horrid. Abhorrent.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Monster Is Real [RESPONSE] Of all the kids who lay awake at night in fear of the monster lurking beneath their bed, I might be the only one to have ever found theirs to be real. It began twenty years ago when I heard something go bump in the night. Now, granted, a lot of things can go bump in the night and only about half of them are actually scary, but this particular bump came from under my bed. I was just a boy then, only ten, and when I heard that bump but a mere hour after having watched *Nightmare on Elm Street*, I knew it could be none other than Freddy Krueger himself. “Hello?” My prepubescent voice quivered, high-pitched and shaky like a songbird on ice. There was, of course, no response. My bedroom door was open, as always (I was far too fearful to seal myself away in the dark), and I briefly considered making a run for it. But, Krueger has those bladed fingers, you know? I was no athlete. My long jump was short and my short jump was inevitable, so the likelihood of him hacking into my Achilles upon landing seemed a strong one. So, what did that leave? I could holler for my parents, and while at least one of them would certainly have come to check on me if I were to have chosen that course, it posed the risk that they too would be murdered by Freddy Krueger. Or, they’d find nothing and think me just a silly little boy, and there was no denying that I was in fact a very silly little boy. But this was no laughing matter. The other option, and it ultimately ended up being the one I chose, was to cower beneath the covers atop my bed, praying that Freddy would treat my Ninja Turtles comforter as some sort of impenetrable fortress. So, I ducked inside and hid, intending to ride it out until sunrise, when all of a sudden, I heard another bump. And not just heard it but felt it as well. The vibration of something sizable bumping beneath my bed. This was confirmation of a monster, as my only pet was a hamster, my sister was a baby, and my parents weren’t nearly mischievous enough to pull such a prank. In response to the bump, I squealed. A short squeal quickly suppressed, like a chirp of air released from a balloon. I covered my mouth with my hand and held my breath, and while I didn’t break into tears just then, there was no denying I was in fear for my life, which my rapidly pounding heart made abundantly clear. I peeked from my covers and stole another glance at my open doorway, reconsidering the first option. But, that thought quickly dissipated as the door suddenly and without any visible assistance, slammed shut. Option B went into effect. “HELP!” I screamed, over and over, until my door flung open and my parents came rushing in, flicking on my lights in the process. “Jacob, what’s wrong?” My mom, first to my bedside, asked. I searched for words, stumbled over the ones I found, and stuttered as they left my mouth. “Monster,” I said. “Under my bed.” Mom and Dad exchanged glances with one another as if to say, “This nonsense again?” But, this time my complaint came with what looked to be shellshock, and although my parents did not believe in monsters, and certainly not the kind who hid under beds, they weren’t going to leave my room without first putting my mind at ease. So, Dad knelt and looked beneath my bed, and to my surprise, stood back up fully intact. “No monsters down there,” he said. “But Freddy Krueger can blend in and kill me in my dreams.” Mom looked at Dad, and said, “I told you not to let him watch that movie.” “But it’s almost Halloween,” Dad argued. “He’s only ten.” “I watched horror movies when I was his age. I never got scared.” Mom sighed. “That’s because you’re a sociopath, Jim.” “Am not.” Mom ignored him and dabbed my tears away with the edge of my comforter. “Sorry, sweetie. Your dad shouldn’t have let you watch that movie. But, it’s just a movie. It’s not real.” “But, what if it is?” I said. “It’s not. I promise.” “But what about the thing that was bumping against my bed, or my door closing?” “Our minds can play all sorts of tricks on us when we’re scared. Your bed probably pops and shifts all the time without you noticing. The springs do that sometimes. And you don’t know how many times I’ve had to open your door in the morning because it shut while you were sleeping. Dad needs to fix that.” Dad smiled and patted my leg. “Yeah, bud. It’s something wrong with the door, that’s all. How about we prop it open with something tonight?” Dad turned around and grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and placed it against the door. “How’s that?” “Good, I guess,” I said. “Yeah,” Mom said, then fluffed my pillow and tucked me in. “Now, get some sleep. And don’t you worry about monsters. They aren’t real.” “Promise?” “Promise.” She kissed me on the forehead and as she walked out the doorway, she flicked off the light. I was once again alone in the eerie darkness of my room, but with a newfound armor of parental reassurance. My parents said monsters weren’t real and back in those days my parents might as well have been omniscient. But, I soon learned that not to be the case, when as I lay in my bed, confident and comfortable, I heard a new noise. The sound of wooden chair legs sliding across a wooden floor. Not being pushed into the hallway by a heavy door, would mean the sound was moving away from me. But this was coming toward me. I opened my eyes, and sure enough, the chair was sliding into my room and away from the door. Then, about three feet from me, it stopped, and the door remained open. “Hello?” I said. Then, the door shut, the room became even darker, and before I could scream, a heavy kick against the bottom of my bed launched me into the air and sent me crashing onto the floor. I’d landed hard on my side, but kids are pretty durable, and I was no exception. I was startled, and a bit sore, but mostly unscathed. And I had landed in such a way that I was facing beneath my bed, peering straight into the monster’s lair. And that’s when I saw it. It goes without saying that despite my fears that night, Freddy Krueger is in fact nothing more than a fictional character. But I did not see Freddie Krueger. What I saw as I lay there on my floor, peering into the dark void beneath my bed, were two large red eyes peering right back at me. And beneath those eyes was a large, white, toothy grin. The monster did not move. It just sat there, smiling. And breathing. Soon, those breaths began to pulsate and gradually became a low, hissing snicker. The monster was laughing. And I started screaming. “HELP!” I scurried across the floor and yanked the door open, and bounded down the hallway to my parents. Never again did I sleep in that room, much to my parent's dismay. I spent far too many nights nestled in bed with Mom and Dad, and when I was finally brave enough to leave their room, I moved in with my baby sister in her room, desperately pleading with my parents not to then move her into my old room. “The monster is real,” I told them. Years went by, and I would not budge. They even got rid of the bed and bought one that was flush with the floor, but it wasn’t enough to get me to move back in. Eventually, my parents did the only thing they felt they could. They sold the house. Although they didn’t believe in the monster, they couldn’t convince me to think the same. And even today, my parents will talk about the time they had to sell their house because of my unrelenting insistence that there was a monster under my bed. They can laugh at it now, maybe over a couple of drinks while in the company of friends, but that’s because the idea of a monster under a bed is silly to them. Most would agree. But, now, at thirty years old, if anyone mentions my childhood fear of the thing that lurked beneath my bed, I still do not hesitate to tell them the truth… The monster is <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Night Shift at the Data Center: A Giant Shadow Chased Me [RESPONSE] I’m back bitches, I survived the fucking Shadow realm. Last time I posted, we learned a little about . About a month ago, I went into my next shift like normal, and unfortunately, nothing happened. Tom didn’t return, no entities in sight, and no issues with the devices. I avoided the elevator, since I really didn’t want to deal with that alone. Then Thursday came along, that’s where everything went to hell. Jonah and Louis were sitting in the office, waiting for me, and Jonah told me that he was going to stay overnight with me and Louis, since he was worried about Tom. According to Louis, no one that he knows has been in the Shadows as long as Tom has. He even brought some journals from various family members that served before him. We waited a couple of hours, hoping something would come around or one of the sigils would be used. Around 8pm, we heard laughing. We all turned to the window and saw the big mouthed entity standing there, laughing. When he got our attention, he stopped and pointed at me. Louis looked over and said sternly, “You need to go, I think it needs you.” “There is no way I am going out there alone.” I responded as I started stepping away from my desk. Jonah spoke up, “John, you might not know this yet, but Louis tends to have a good sense of direction when it comes to these things, maybe it can help us with Tom.” I was not going to stand there and argue all night when maybe this could save Tom, so I hesitantly started walking to the door. As I left the office, the entity started walking to the elevator, and without pressing any buttons, the elevator doors opened. It pointed to it, gesturing for me to go inside. I looked back to Jonah and Louis, hoping for some sort of comfort, but neither of them could give me a reassuring look. I marched on, hoping that I am making the right choice. As soon as I stepped inside the elevator, I felt my temperature drop. Almost like going from a hot kitchen into the walk-in freezer. Next thing I know, the elevator lights start flickering and the doors close. The lights shut off, then quickly came back on. I was face to face with the thing that grabbed Tom. I was angry and scared, I wanted to punch this thing, but I was frozen. It was a pale woman with long, pitch black, hair. She wore black robes and had tattoos on her hands. She smiled, and grabbed me by my shoulders. I woke up gasping for air, trying to readjust my body from an almost arctic to normal state. I was in a forest. This forest looked like someone took a photo of a forest but put it in the grayscale, except the grass. The grass was brown and lifeless. I noticed on a nearby tree was a carving of one of the protection sigils that Louis put up. I decided to start walking in that direction. I only walked for what felt like five minutes when I found Tom. He looked fine enough, a little rough, but alive. “Holy shit, what the fuck are you doing here, John?” Tom said, shocked. “Well, that one fucking entity that likes laughing sent me, but I think I’m here to help?” I replied with a shrug. Tom looked at me with a confused, but grateful, smile. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He started off in a direction, occasionally looking down at a compass. “So is that kind of like a magical compass or some shit?” I asked, curiously. “No, I just figured that heading North usually leads me to the exit.” He responded quickly. Before I was about to respond, the ground started shaking. I thought it was an earthquake, but when I turned behind me, there was a being in the distance. Behind us was the behemoth of a monster. There weren't any markings or any sort of distinguishable features on its skin, just darkness. It had an almost humanoid silhouette, except it was bent over on all fours with a crooked back and multiple tentacles spawning from its back. The size of it could only be compared to that of a mountain. I thought it was just one of those visual illusions, but when it started moving toward us, I realized that this wasn’t just a normal being. It opened its mouth and shrieked, sending both me and Tom to the ground. I couldn’t move, I just laid there, clutching my ears in hope of drowning out the painful screams. The screaming felt like it lasted for hours, when it finally stopped, I was still frozen. It was right above us. The giant eyes, as dark as the world around us, peering down on us. It picked up Tom and crushed his body. His corpse was thrown not too far away, and hit a nearby tree with a squish. I was only snapped out of my paralysis when I saw a nearby sigil, glowing red. I forced my body to get up and run as fast as humanly possible. I reached the sigil, and a bright flash surrounded me. I was teleported to a cave with the sigil marked on a wall. It was now crossed out. I fell down. My body was practically filled to the brim with adrenaline, and now that I was relatively safe, I needed to rest. I woke up eventually, and I wasn’t thirsty or hungry. I’m not sure if it was the sigil that made me feel this way, or if it was just a normal feeling when in this place. This cave was deep, I woke up in a dead end, and the only direction to go was up. I used my phone as a flashlight, hoping that the 80% that is left won’t die anytime soon. After roughly twenty minutes of climbing and walking, I was in this open space. It was a mass grave. There was a giant hole in the middle of the space, with skeletons and rotting bodies laying there. In the middle was some sort of totem. The smell from that room almost knocked me out. The thought of whoever did this terrified me, the giant from the other realm couldn’t possibly fit in this cave, it could be the cultists that Louis’ family is fighting, or maybe it is another entity. I was not able to think for long, when I started hearing movement. I heard what sounded like footsteps, comin down from what I assumed was the exit. It was another one of those shadow entities, except it was like that giant. A humanoid figure that was hunched back and on all fours. It stopped in its tracks and looked straight at me. It didn’t make a sound or anything, it just started sprinting towards me. I did not react fast enough, and it bit down on my arm. I started hitting it in the head sporadically, hoping it would let go. I even tried going for what I assumed were eyes, but nothing. I started to become light headed, but I felt around the floor and found a rock. I wrapped my fingers around it, and bashed the entity’s head in. That made it let go of my arm, it made a low pitched scream and ran down to the direction I came from. I was not going to stay there for any longer, and ran for the exit, clutching my bleeding arm. It took a while with a damaged arm, but I was able to leave the cave. I was no longer in the same forest. This one felt normal. I started walking down when I saw a hiking path. I started walking down the path when I saw the pale woman again. “Congratulations on surviving, young one,” she said with a smile. “Where the hell am I?” “You are back in the normal realm, your workplace isn’t too far away.” “Great, tell me which direction and I will gladly let you get back to your activities.” “Not yet, you show some competence, and the ability to handle the shadows. I want you to join us. Take some time to think about it, you will know how to reach me.” She vanished in a puff of black smoke. “Well at least tell me where the fuck to go.” I said as the smoke drifted off into the sky. I ended up having to walk for another twenty minutes and found myself a sign. It had the direction for other trails, and the park entrance. Unfortunately, when I reached the park entrance, I realized that I was on the opposite side of the forest. In other words, there’s a good 60 mile gap between me and my work. The nice park ranger was able to get a taxi to come out and drive me back to my work. I am glad my wallet survived the shifting of realms. When I walked into the office, I saw Jonah and Louis standing in the lobby. Jonah noticed me and asked “Holy shit, it’s been like a month, are you okay?” I broke down. Jonah drove me home, and said we can talk about what happened when I am ready. It took me a couple of days to write this out, but I don’t know what to do. That thing looked at us like we were just fucking bugs. How in the hell are we supposed to fight something like that? I am going to take a break. I’ll eventually come back and update you guys when I am ready. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I've been keeping a journal. The lullaby is coming from inside my closet now. [RESPONSE] I'm a single dad and I don't know what to do. I'm scared for my son's safety. It's been a long time since I've been out in the suburbs. I moved out to the city after my divorce, and I never looked back. But now, here I am, moving back to the suburbs with my son. It was the only place I could afford after my ex-wife got the house in the divorce. I hated it out here. It was so quiet and boring. But, I had to do what was best for my son. I'm on a budget so all I could rent was a small, two-bedroom, single-story house. The front door is a heavy, metal door with a small window. The windows are large and have metal bars on them. The walls are thin and the ceilings are low. The floors are hardwood. There are no carpets. The inside of the house is sparsely furnished. There is a small living room with a couch and a TV. The walls are bare and there are no pictures or decorations. My wife was into interior design, I'm not against it but I don't have the bandwith right now. There is a small kitchen with a fridge, a stove, and a sink. The bathroom is small and has a shower, a toilet, nothing fancy. There are two bedrooms, each with a bed, a dresser and a closet. I took the small bedroom and left the large one for Simon, my son. His bedroom is a typical kid's room, but there is something different about it. Since we moved in last year I've percieved it has a dark, eerie feeling to it. The walls are a dark color, the hardwood floor is old and worn. The room is dim, even during daytime. The door is slightly ajar, but the windows close perfectly and have double glass, isolating the room from any sounds from the outside. The closet is full of my son's clothes, but I think there's something else in there. Something that shouldn't be. This is when I decided to keep a journal of what's going on. I'll copy what I have so far so you have context of what's been going on. \- Entry 1: I hired a new babysitter to watch my son while I'm at work. The first few months were tough. I was working long hours at the office and then coming home late to see my son. He's a big boy and is most of the day at school, but I was exhausted, no energy for quality time with him. But with a babysitter in the house we made it work. We found a routine and things started to settle down. Her name is Chloe and she seems like a really nice girl. She's always smiling and my son took to her right away. I think I have finally found someone I could trust to leave my son with. Chloe was something else. She's young and fresh-faced, with long blonde hair that cascaded down her back. She's attending the local community college so she babysits in her spare time. She wants to move out of her parents home next year. \- Entry 2: I sometimes find my son standing in the middle of his room, staring at the closet door. He won't speak to me, and he won't come out of his room. I don't know what he's doing in there, but it scares me. I sometimes hear strange noises coming from his room at night. Creaking floors, rustling clothes, and soft footsteps. \- Entry 3: Lately I've been feeling there's something off about Chole. Maybe it was the way she always seems to be watching my son, never blinking, her gaze never wavering. Or maybe it's the way she always is standing in the shadows, never quite in the light. Maybe I'm reading too much into it. \- Entry 4: I started finding Chloe in Simon's room when I came home from work. She would always be in the closet or under the bed, watching my son and singing a strange lullaby I've never heard before. It freaked me out a bit, both the lullaby and her being in random places, but always hidden? Simon is way past the age for lullabies, so I found this odd. I asked her about it and she just smiled that almost perfect smile and told me with her quiet voice that they were just playing. On paper it looks like everything is ok, but I'm not sure. \- Entry 5: I began to watch her more closely. I noticed that she would always be in my son's room when I leave, and by the look of everything else in the house, it looks like she never comes out until I get home. I can't prove it, but I know something isn't right. \- Entry 6: I woke up tonight around 3:30 am. I think I heard that freaking lullaby song Chole was singing a couple of weeks ago. I thought that maybe Simon woke up and is singing it to himself or something, but I just checked in on him and he's sound asleep. I'm going back to bed. \- Entry 7: I'm getting more and more convinced that Chloe is up to something. I've been finding evidence that she's been in my son's room, or at least inside my house, when neither of us are home. His closet door is always slightly open, and I know I close it when I leave. There's a glass in the sink, like someone used it to drink water and just left it there. I just finished setting up a camera and I'm gonna watch the recording when I get home. \- Entry 8: I got home later than usual today. I payed Chloe, she left and that was it. I made dinner for Simon and I, he went to his bedroom and I opened my laptop to watch the footage. At first I didn't see anything, but then I noticed the closet door was open. I zoomed in and I just saw darkness, but in the last 30 seconds I could hear that cursed lullaby. Then I realized it's not the recording, I'm watching live footage. So of course I barged into Simon's room, carried him outside and called the police. What else could I do? If Chole was still here at 2am there was something definitely wrong with her. A patrol was here in 5 minutes. They just left. The closet was empty. I'm. Freaking. Out. \- Entry 9: Maybe I'm losing my mind. Or I don't know what the hell is going on. I just woke up. It's 3 am and I'm sending this from my phone. Now I'm hearing the lullaby coming from inside my closet. If I don't update, please call the police.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Weird packages show up at my door every day [RESPONSE] For a bit of background, I recently turned 19, so I thought it’d be time to move out. I looked everywhere for a good apartment and finally found one. While good might be giving it too much credit, It’s okay at best. I sent the landlord, which we’ll call T an email asking for more info but only got answers to half the questions, which is fine since I guess she's just busy. I decided to accept since there was no way I’d find another apartment for this cheap. A week after I sent her the email, I received the key. I packed my bags and went to my new home. I haven’t been here for long, but as soon as I got to my apartment, things started to feel off. The key I received is rusty and greasy. The door is creaky and old. As soon as I walked into the apartment I noticed a foul smell. The air was thicker than usual. I looked around, shocked by the old look of the apartment. I went over to the fridge to put away the care package my parents had given to me. When I approached the fridge I noticed a small, yellow sticky note on the fridge door. I picked it up and started reading. “Hello Ch4rliezard, it’s T. We talked earlier through email. I left something to drink and eat in the fridge. I hope you like it, you can call me anytime.” In the fridge, I found a jug of orange juice and a piece of meat. The meat smelt and looked strange, It was unedible. I instantly threw it away in disgust. After that I went to look around the apartment a bit, the living room is connected to the kitchen, and both look a bit old and honestly disgusting. Since the apartment was so cheap I guess it’s fine for now. The bathroom is a little tiny but honestly looks better than the rest of the house. Now, for the final part of the house. My room. My room looks surprisingly good. I decided to get some rest and deal with the rest tomorrow. The next day I woke up to the sound of my doorbell ringing. I walked over to the door, still exhausted from moving into my first apartment. When I opened the door there was nobody. I looked down and spotted a package. I picked up the package and walked back inside. I slowly opened the package, honestly, I was kind of nervous. I finally got it fully opened and looked inside, inside there was.. nothing. It was empty. Yet, when I opened it I got this weird feeling. Every day since then I’ve been getting these strange packages, I have no idea who they’re from, or where they came from. These packages include things like pictures of me taken without my knowledge and personal belongings. Can someone help me? Should I be worried? Who do I contact to put a stop to this?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Something is turning on my Halloween decorations. [RESPONSE] So, this all started last year, I figured I should retell it as a warning to others to be careful. I live in a relatively nice neighborhood, a lot of families around and being someone with no kids I have the ability to have fun with my Halloween decorations. I didn't buy my house, my parents did and since they moved down to Florida after retirement, they gave it to me, and I haven't sold it yet. On October 1st I started putting up my decorations. A big skeleton, an inflatable cat, another cat with I guess a metal skeleton. A few inflatable pumpkins and so on and so forth. It's fun seeing everyone stop by to grab pictures with the blowups. After about a week, I woke up one day to find the blowups plugged in, odd but I assumed I had just forgotten to turn them off before bed like I always do. I go about my day and at the end of the day, I go outside and make sure that my blow ups are unplugged, I stand there, looking at it so the picture of them unplugged is burned into my head. I go back inside and head off to bed, next morning I get up and they are plugged back in. Alright, this is getting odd, however maybe people want pictures and I turn them off before they can get there, that's creepy and would prefer them to not do that, or at least turn it back off after they are done. The next two nights nothing happens, and the lights stay off. I assumed I was right, and it was just a misunderstanding. On October 11th, I shut the lights off and headed to bed as usual. I wake up around 4:30 in the morning and decide to get up for a drink of water. I get my water and look out the front window to see the blowups and lights are on and fully inflated, now I'm getting a bit angry, but I keep my calm. I walk outside, walk to the end of the driveway and look around, no cars, no people, nothing. I turn to go back inside and about halfway down a chill goes up my spine. I get a worried feeling but shake it off as the chilly Northeastern weather. I walk back inside, shutting the lights off and locking the door behind me. I woke up the next morning to see the blowups had stayed off. My sister was coming over that day with my nephew who always loved my decorations. I turned them on early today and made 2 cups of coffee, a cup of tea and a hot chocolate for the youngster. My sister pulled into the driveway with her husband and son. I open the front door and wave to them as they admire the decorations. My sister and nephew go around the yard looking as I invite Tom inside for coffee, plus since we are alone, I will get the chance to ask about what’s been going on. We sat at the table, and I went through the whole story and how odd it was, he agreed that it couldn't have been people taking pictures due to the frequency of it. "Maybe it's a ga ga ga ghost." He says sounding Shaggy from scooby doo like waving his fingers up and down trying to look spooky. "Oh great, if that’s the case I get to call the local priest so he can tell the ghost to fuck off." I replied. "If it works it works man." Tom said. I agreed but blaming it on a ghost seemed too easy, something else was up. "What if it’s just some kids messing around?" I ask "That’s possible and does actually make sense." Tom says, "Did you contact the police about it?" "No, I haven’t bothered, it’s been mostly harmless, so I didn’t see a point." Just then the door opened, I was about to jump but I heard my nephew yell from down the hallway. "Dad, Uncle let’s play football!!" Me and Tom shrug, probably a good idea to get my mind off this. We were outside for a few hours slinging the pigskin. However, the entire time something didn’t feel right. I would say if it felt like something was watching us but..it felt more sinister than that. I notice Tom looking at me with concern, I nod as if to tell him I feel it too. Tom decides to end the trip early before we eat dinner, lying saying he didn’t feel good to his wife and son. My sister apologized but I understood, I wouldn’t want my family here either if something really was off about the situation, especially if it was dangerous. They leave after goodbyes and I am left alone again, I still have that feeling as I make my way back inside… Three days after their visit, the lights were turned back on, each night, I was at my limit at that point. I was going to find out who is doing this and put a stop to it. I decided a stake out was in order. At around 11 PM that night I had everything I needed, a few cups of coffee, snacks and a baseball bat. I also had my police scanner just in case I heard them mention anything suspicious in my area. I waited around, pacing back and forth and my mind wandered to the events of this month. I was now furious, it has happened day after day, not only is it wasting electricity and money but it’s just pissing me off now. As I was thinking about how angry it made me, around 1:30 AM that night, I saw the lights turn on through the front windows. Bingo! I raced out the side door where the plug for the lights is. I ran through the kitchen and opened the side door leading to the garage. I opened the door to the outside, stepped our panting and yelled "who keeps doing this! I'm sick and fucking tired of this you piece of shit!" I pause waiting to hear a response or anything. Nothing, I was about to scream again, then I heard it, something, the crunching of a leaf and the inflatable skeleton moving slightly. There is! "Come out you con of a bitch" I yell shining the flashlight I brought onto the rear of one of the blows up. I wait, silence overcomes my yard, I realize for a short moment that I hope I don’t wake up my neighbors, this would be hard to explain. That thought leaves my mind the second the Blow up starts moving slightly, finally. I see something black and long move around the blow up. Suddenly, I get a strange feeling, something familiar...it’s what I felt the other day outside with my sister’s family. I see what I assume to be a foot, I stand confidently, I know I should show no fear to this jerk. More of their body moves into the light of my flash light...wha..what? What I saw made me want to vomit, I felt dizzy and disgusted. What walked out I can best describe as a..tall...skeleton..? similar to the one pictured on the blowup, it seemed unnaturally long and was much taller then inflatable blow up, which was about 6 feet. It took...a step towards me while moving away from the blowup and looked at me with the skeletons eyeless holes where its eyes would be. I took a defensive step back and stared in horror. "wha...what the fuck..." I mumble. It takes another step forward as I take another step back in response. My flashlight had the...thing fully in view. it was...a perfect copy of the skeleton on the blowup. Then...then it started to shake, or....no..its body, if you can call it that, started to crawl..like millions of small bugs surrounded its body. After a minute of what I best describe as morphing or..changing, what I saw was almost worse than a skeleton...it was the black cat decoration that stood on the front steps of my house, but standing up right like a person. It fucking transformed...what the fuck is this thing. I stare in shock, what do I do now? I doubt this thing will listen to me politely asking it to stop turning my lights on. It takes another step towards me, Ithink for a second, I'm 10 feet from the door, can I turn around and run fast enough to beat it to the door? It started to change again, this time into another skeleton, similar to the first one but with a little red bow tie, the thing pauses for longer this time, it's now boney mouth starts opening, is it trying to speak? No..it's...it's..trying to..smile? Oh God, it starts to lift its skeleton arm up, that's it I turn and bolt for the door. I ran into the garage slamming the side door behind me and ran up the short stairs to the door leading into the house. I looked behind me as I opened the door, I...I saw the doors bronze colored knob begin to slowly turn, and then... the door opened slightly with a creek.. I stood in shock and terror, frozen I..I couldn't move... I saw what looked like a talon, or claw, slowly reaching towards the light switch beside the door. It had changed again. It reaches towards the light switch... \*flick\* I am met with pitch black in front of me, the only light coming from the night light in the kitchen. Maybe a second or two goes by, run! my brain tells me, but I can’t move, I’m frozen in place. RUN!! I turn and run into the house making a half assed attempt to shut the door behind me. I hear the door leading into the garage slam open with a thud as it hits the garage wall and scuttling as that thing runs up the stairs leading into the house. I make my way into the kitchen and juke right as if I was a wide receiver in an NFL game. I put my hand on the knob that holds onto the railing to the stairway up to my room. I hit the first step as I heard the thing slam into the kitchen table and chairs, vital seconds I needed. I get to the top of the stairs and thank god I had shoes on, or I would have slipped on the floors. I made a dead sprint maybe 20 feet to my room as I heard the clacking of the talon claw things following me up the stairs. I get into my room, slamming the door shut behind me and quickly double lock the door. I wait a second and hear a thud on the door and feel the door shutter as the thing makes contact...then...silence.. I sat in silence, fear and adrenaline coursing through my body. I think about what it would have done to me if it hadn't tripped or I didn't make it inside in time. I wait, maybe a minute in silence, too afraid to move. Suddenly, I hear something. "U..uncle...c..can we go out..out and play...." I don't know if I went pale, I couldn’t see myself in the dark. but the cold sweats all over my body, the goosebumps, the chill down my spine..dear God..it was impersonating my nephew. I knew I didn't want to see what that thing looked like, I had to get out of there quickly, before it figured out how to get in. Think..THINK..then it hits me. I keep my keys in a drawer in my room, along with my wallet and other essentials. I just need to figure out how to get out of the room. As I silently make my way towards my bed and drawer, I hear its claws, slowly scratching against the door. I grab the keys and start looking around where to make my escape, thanks to the carpet of the floor, I am silent on my feet. I looked towards the front facing window, I realized I could sneak out my bedroom window. I quickly and quietly make my way and look out; I see the slated roof that ends about 10 feet before the ground. Being 6 foot 1, if I can quickly hang myself by my hands that’s about a 4-foot drop, looking out I can see my car sitting there in the driveway. I can do this. I unlock the window, keys in hand, and slowly lift I, the sound of the air entering after breaking the seal makes me pause, fuck I forgot about that. I hear the bedroom door knob start to jingle quickly. I rush over and get an office chair my Dad used to read in his room in peace, his words not mine. Pushing it up to the door, I make sure to make a slight noise, just in case it doesn’t think I am in here any more. Maybe not the wisest idea as the door handle starts jiggling even more..fuck. Rushing towards the window, the is jiggling and gets louder, as if it is trying to rip the knob off the door. I open the window fully thankfully more silently than before, the sound muffled by the creature. I slid myself through the window feet first (maybe being tall and skinny paid off) As I scooted down the slatted roof, looking at the pavement below. I carefully look down, I turn facing the window, grabbing the gutters as quickly as possible. It then hits me that this won't hold my weight. Well too late now it'll have to do. My waist makes it past the gutter, I have maybe 7 feet before I hit the ground, I feel the gutter start to bend a bit towards me, I try as quickly as possible to let myself down. Now about chest high to the gutter, I say fuck it. I let go, making an attempt to launch myself back so as not to hit my face. It works, sort of, as I hit the ground with a clap of my shoes. I lose my balance and land on my ass, I feel pain shoot up, I stand up realizing it wasn’t so bad and glad I didn't break anything, yet at least. I reach for the door and pause. it'll hear me, I waited a moment. I need a distraction or something. Suddenly, I hear it, \*BANG\* the thing I assume, slams its body full force against the bedroom door. I’m sure I heard the door splinter. I rip open the car door and put the key in and turn, no cliche here, she starts with a purr. I slam the car door as I hear the thing slam through the bedroom door, the door flying across the room. I shift into reverse and floor it down the driveway, I make it to the end of the driveway and spin the wheel to turn the car to face the street. I didn’t even want to lookback, but I did, I saw the thing trying to get out the bedroom window that I had just slipped out of. I shift into drive once again and floor it down my street. I aim for the highway since I can floor it for as long as the car will take me. I look into the rearview mirror as I am about to turn on the main road, I see it in the middle of the road, facing me, turning, I manage to turn without rolling over and haul ass. I made it all the way to the largest city in my state, about a 45-minute drive turned into 25 due to my foot never leaving the peddle. The lights made me feel a little bit better. I ended up getting a hotel room and stayed the night. I called the cops as soon as I got up and explained that I think someone broke into my house. I tried to explain that I panicked and just ran instead of immediately calling the police. I don’t think the dispatcher believed me but She asked me to meet the officers at my house. I obliged, I didn’t want to go back but I did. I revisited the house the next morning, against my wishes, thankfully I had 4 police officers accompanying me. They were horrified to see the damage to my house, thankfully they believed me when I said I didn’t, couldn’t have done this.. I think they put it down as an animal that broke in or something. After that day, I sold the house and moved. Luckily, I have family in Ireland, so I figured I could move in with them until I can get citizenship or something. Having been a year since it happened, I’ve slowly stopped second glancing at everything and staying up all night scouting the house and looking out windows. My family was confused at first but assumed it had something to do with the trauma of an animal attack, I decided sticking with what the police said was better than the truth. They recommend a therapist, but I'll be cold and dead before I see a shrink. All though, the thing that still haunts me every night. With what I believe to be its true form, though I'm still not sure. In the window, originally, I thought it was pale like a person, but it was more red, dark, dark red, as if it didn’t have skin covering its body, or what I assume was its muscles. It was skinny like it hadn’t eaten in years, and its face, sunken eyes that were half pitch black and half white, its massive teeth, long spindly needles like the anglerfish seen in finding nemo. Its teeth went as high as where its nose should have been and as far down as the end of its chin. It had long talons like a sickle or bush cutters you'd see at lawn care stores. It was entirely unnatural. I thought about researching what it might be, but I just want to forget it existed. I still see that monster in my dreams, but thankfully I haven’t seen it person since that day, and let me tell you, I don't ever want to see that fucking thing again.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] They're here [RESPONSE] “They’re here” There was desperation and panic in the manager's voice as she blurted this out with a heavy breath. This matched the cashier’s face, which changed from neutral and tired to dreadful and painfully awake. Another employee who was waiting behind the counter quickly got up and walked to somewhere in the back of the store. For context, It was a little past 9:30 at night. It had been a busy day for me. I had a test and multiple quizzes in my various classes, and I had just gotten done with a hard gym session before returning to my apartment to find that I was fresh out of milk. I decided to run down to the convenience store located right under my apartment building. I knew they closed at 10, so I had plenty of time to pick up milk and browse their snacks. After finding nothing else of interest, I took the jug of milk to the counter to check out, me being the only customer in the store at this point, the only other people being three employees. Who were “they”? Maybe some sort of cleaning or maintenance crew for the store? But it wasn’t closed yet. I picked up the milk jug and walked to the door. The manager stepped right in front of me. “We can’t let you leave right now. It’s not safe. You’re just going to have to wait, with us, for them to pass through”. “Who are ‘they’?!” I replied, frustrated but even more confused. Why the hell was she blocking me from leaving? I would have imagined the store employees would want me to get out of the store now that closing time was coming up. The manager thought about my question for a moment before shaking her head and sighing, like she was too stressed to give me an explanation at the moment. She turned around to pull down the metal blinds along the storefront, ignoring my question. As I said, they weren’t supposed to close quite yet. It wasn’t time. I decided I wasn’t sticking around for whatever game they were playing. I walked to the door but stopped myself before going outside. On the other side of the door was a man dressed in an old yet expensive and fancy-looking suit with a big top hat. It looked as if a stock trader from the 1920s was ripped through space and time and placed on the other side of the glass. Only seconds passed before I heard a disembodied scream come from behind me. I looked back to see the cashier with her hands over her mouth, looking at me with tears rolling down her face. The manager returned to the front of the store. When she saw me standing in front of the door, and the man on the other side, she directed a loud and firm command at me. “Get away from the door. Now”. I did as she said, walking back to her but before I could ask or say anything, she squawked another command. “Go hide behind an aisle. Wait for me to tell you to come out. If you don’t do as I tell you, you’re going to die tonight. Now go”. I had a mix of emotions and thoughts, but something told me that listening to her was my best bet. Still, I hadn’t thought of a reason right then as to why my, or anyone else’s lives would be in danger. Maybe this man was a frequent problem for the store and harassed employees, or what have you. Anyway, I did as I was told. I set the milk on the checkout counter and went to hide between some aisles in the corner of the store. I just stood there for a moment, feeling awkward and a little afraid of whatever was going on. I took out my phone, but it wouldn’t turn on. I could have sworn it wasn’t dead when I left my apartment. Unfortunate. I guess I just had to sit it out for now. I heard the manager talking to the cashier, who seemed quite afraid of the man or whatever was going on. About two minutes later I heard the automatic doors open and someone walked in. The echoing footsteps broke the silence as they approached the counter. They stopped and silence filled the store once again, but only for a few seconds. A man with a friendly tone broke the silence. “Good evening”. “H-h-hello”. I heard the timid cashier squeeze out, barely able to form coherent words. “Would you be so kind as to point me in the direction of your store’s meats?” I tiptoed to the edge of the aisle and looked toward the counter. The man I saw outside was now standing in front of the cashier. He stood with perfect posture. He was much taller than I expected. He must have been around 6’5 or 6’6 and his stature towered even higher over the short cashier with his tall top hat. The cashier replied to him, very timidly “We...we have some…packages of lunchmeat…turkey, ham they’re…they’re in that section, right over there you see- “. The man in the suit interrupted. “Oh, I am sorry dear. I do not believe we are talking about the same thing. I was told there would be a fair stock of freshly harvested meats, available for purchase”. “I…I don’t know what you mean sir”. “Oh, I think you do”. The man didn’t move. He stayed standing in front of the counter, staring the silent cashier down. She looked down in despair, I could hear her breathing and whimpers as the man remained. It was as if he were programmed, like a non-player character in a game, waiting for input before he could deliver another line of dialogue or make any move. I saw the manager walk up from behind. She must have been waiting in the back of the store. Standing behind the man, albeit a good distance away, she addressed him herself. “How can we help you, sir?” She said, rather calm. The man slowly turned around. He was, to put it bluntly, extraordinarily handsome and well-kept. Clean shaven, with no bags under his eyes, no blemishes or imperfections in his skin, and pearly white teeth that glared from across the room as his eyes met the manager. “Good evening. I was told there would be a fair stock of freshly harvested meat, available for purchase”. He repeated to the manager while still sporting his gentle smile. The manager took a deep breath before she looked back up, making eye contact and saying. “Sir, unfortunately, we have run out of fresh meat. If you come back again, we will have a fresh shipment available for purchase, but we do not have any at the moment. Thank you for shopping with us”. The man’s smile faded as he stared down at the manager for what must have been a good half minute. The complete absence of even the slightest movement made him look more like a statue than a person. He seemingly broke whatever trance he was in, and his smile returned. “I understand. I will return. I wish you, ladies, a wonderful night”. And with that, he calmly walked out of the automatic doors, leaving the store. The cashier behind the counter broke down in tears. The manager walked behind the counter, put an arm around her, and escorted her to the back of the store. I followed. The manager got to the opposite back corner of the store I had been hiding and opened some sort of janitor closet. Inside was the third employee whom I saw retreat to the back of the store earlier. He was on a phone, not a cellphone, some sort of wireless home phone that I assumed to be the phone for the store. “Were you able to get in touch with them?” The manager asked after gently helping the hysterical cashier to the floor of the closet. “They’re still trying to figure out how to get here. It might take them a while. Can you hold it down by yourself out there?” The manager nodded her head as she let out another sigh, closing the door and turning around to me. “We might be here for a while. I need one of my employees on the phone so we can get help and the other seems to be incapable of helping so I need you to do as I say so we can all survive this. You don’t have a choice, if you try to leave, if you mess up, if you don’t do exactly as I say, we all die. Understand?” “I…Yeah, I understand”. I assured, complimented by a nod of the head. Though, I was far from assured in my ability, and even more so, that any of this was real. I still had no clue what was going on and who “they” were, either regarding the odd man in the suit or whomever the employee in the closet was on the phone with. The manager walked behind the counter, next to the first register. I thought about running, about booking it out that door and getting back to my apartment where I wouldn’t have to deal with this circus of a prank they were running. I didn’t have time to formulate a plan to run. The automatic doors opened again, and I heard quieter, yet frantic footsteps enter. I looked at the manager and she waved her hand and silently mouthed what I assumed to be “hide” before ducking under the counter herself. I shuffled back to my original spot, behind the aisles. The sickly sound of heavy breathing, like that of an old, asthmatic man joined the quick steps. They ran from the entrance to the counter. They stopped for a moment, but the breathing was incessant. It began running again. It seemed to get close, then far, then closer, then far, and closer again. I quickly put the pieces together, realizing it was moving up and down the aisles, sweeping all of them in order and it would eventually run down mine. I panicked for a few seconds, trying to piece together an idea of how not to be spotted. I hoped that whoever it was, wasn’t perceptive enough to notice me move over an aisle. When it got to the aisle before mine, I waited for it to walk a distance down, away from me. I turned around the edge of my aisle and took a peek around the corner. I finally saw. It wasn’t a person. It stood about four or five feet above the ground. It was completely naked and had pale, white skin, too white to be any living human. Its back was massively hunched, its spine protruding so far it looked as if it would tear through the flesh any moment. The legs were thin and small, they didn’t look like they could support the weight of the creature they carried. The feet and toes were like that of a lizard. When it turned the corner, I could see its short arms with human-like hands that were far too large for proportionality with dirty, long, black nails. Its chest was defined by tight skin over a large ribcage, and the rest of its torso looked tightly wrapped to its skeleton as if it was starving to death. The face was the worst. Its jaw was much, much longer than that of any person and came to a point on the bottom, looking almost cartoonish. Its mouth was left open, leaving the teeth and gums exposed. The teeth looked pristine like they were made perfectly and couldn’t possibly have any blemishes, but they were long, very long. Impossibly long. The gums were black, they seemed to be rotting away. The nose and eyes were like that of a man, but the whites were some sort of shade of green like an illness had been contracted and turned them that color. It had only a few stands of wiry, white hair. I moved as quietly as I could to the next aisle. When the creature had finally finished searching the whole of the store, it made its way out of the aisles and through the automatic doors of the store, incessantly breathing all the way, like it was about to drop dead any minute. Only seconds later, the doors opened again. The manager yelled for me to come to the front. I hesitantly got out from behind my aisle and walked up, cautiously, eyeing up the door to see who was about to come through but it just seemed to stay open. “Get behind the counter. Do not say anything. Smile when they do”. “Smile when who- “. “Shhh”. A child ran through the door. A child? Out in this city? At this hour? Why? Where were its parents? Six more followed. They all seemed very young, around 5 or 6 would be my guess. They started running all over the store, between the aisles, and around the front. I think they were playing some game like tag or hide and seek for a while, laughing and acting as you would expect kids this age to act. “Just let them be and do as I said. When they smile, smile back”. The manager reminded me. They kept on playing for five minutes or so before they collectively stopped running around and came to the front. They quickly formed a single-file line in front of the counter before each one grabbed a bar of chocolate from the shelves next to the counter, the type that stores use to display small items like snacks and magazines that people are inclined to buy on impulse. The first kid walked up to the manager at the register and pulled out a dollar and some change. It happened to be the exact price of the bar. Though, in this situation, I don’t think anyone would have protested if it weren’t. After the first kid placed his change on the counter, he turned and looked at me. He just maintained eye contact while not displaying any particular emotion, very much like how normal children stare at strangers in public for no particular reason. But, I found out soon enough that these weren’t normal children. The kid smiled at me and I, doing as I was instructed, smiled back. Unfortunately, I couldn’t bare to maintain my smile when the kid’s smile grew, revealing that his mouth opened from one end of his head to another, practically touching ear to ear. He revealed his long row of jagged teeth. He must have noticed a change in mood from my facial expression and luckily for me, so did the manager. She turned her head slightly in my direction. “Smile. Back”. She said quietly, yet very firm. I forced myself to smile, staring at this monster, not a child, that had locked its gaze with mine. It giggled, breaking focus from me before grabbing the candy bar and running out of the store. I endured the same treatment for the next five. All of them did the exact same thing. It felt as though I were an assembly line worker whose function was simply to be exposed to the unnatural image of those monsters while I tried my hardest to hold a smile. Luckily, it wasn’t long and I was relieved for it to be over. I turned and started to walk away from the counter before the manager grasped my arm and yanked me back. “There’s still one here. We don’t move until it leaves”. I nodded my head and said nothing. I could hear it running around in the back aisles of the store. I guess this one was the troublemaker of the group. “I’m gonna find youuu”. It said in its squeaky voice as it ran. A few minutes passed before it stopped, right in front of the janitor's closet. It looked up at it like it knew something before gripping the handle and pulling it down. The cashier was holding the door and tried to resist it from opening but she was nowhere near strong enough. The child monster let out a scream before yanking the door with incredible force, breaking it off its hinges and sending the cashier across the floor. It looked back and forth from the cashier to the other employee on the phone before, in a playful voice, telling them “I’m gonna tell on youuu!” Before proceeding to run out of the store giggling the entire time, not bothering to buy a candy bar like the others. The cashier seemed to be knocked unconscious. The other employee peeked out of the closet, with the door now gone. He looked at the manager “What do we do now? We have no idea which one the fucking kid is going to wake up, it could be one of the thousands. Our friends haven’t found their way here yet either. I think we need to make a run for it”. “No. No! You and I both know that won’t play out well for us. We need to stay here until it passes or until the team gets here. Take the phone and go hide behind the aisles. We need to keep in touch. If we don’t…Shit! Hide. Hide!” The manager quickly ducked under the counter. Me and the employee with the phone ran to the back corner of the store. As the automatic doors opened once again, I looked back to see we had forgotten something. The cashier was still on the floor, knocked out, and unresponsive. I tried to get to her but I was caught by the employee next to me. With the phone still in one hand, shaking his head, he whispered to me “Don’t, it’s too late”. My heart sank in my chest but I believed him to be right. I sat down with weak legs. Again, the store was quiet, quiet enough for us to hear the hooves clanking against the hard floor as they entered. Sadistic laughter joined them. This one sounded like an adult voice, and likely a man. The steps were loud enough that it was obvious whatever was walking had some weight to it. It was walking next to the aisles opposite of us, where the cashier was still laying. We moved to the edge of our aisle but stayed long enough to see it. Coming into view from behind the aisle opposite of us were the legs of a deer supporting the upper body of a man, or at least it looked to be the case, I couldn’t be sure because it was clothed in a red and blue clown outfit. The jester-style hat matched the colors. It stood around 6’ or so but the body underneath stretched the arms and shoulders of the outfit from its massive build. The hands were black and each finger had a jagged, long, and sharp nail. The face was pale but shiny as if it had been painted. The lips and around the eyes were painted as well, though they were black. The nose was a round red ball. It stopped walking and laughing when it got to that aisle, right in front of the broken door and the unconscious cashier that lay in front of it. The clown bent down and effortlessly picked up the cashier by her neck, and held her up in front of him. It stared at her, tilting its head in curiosity as if it had found some type of rare specimen as if it weren’t one itself. The employee next to me was whispering a rushed description through the phone. I could hear a voice on the other end though it was much too quiet to make out any words. The cashier opened her eyes, finally waking up before her eyes grew even wider as she realized what she was looking at. She screamed at the clown holding her up by the neck. It seemed to be repulsed by the scream and pulled her in, clenching its jaw around her neck and taking a bite. Her mouth hung open as she was instantly silenced. The clown took another bite before reaching its other hand up to grab her head as well. In a swift motion, it ripped the head from the body and tossed it in our direction. Spreading blood around the back aisle like a sprinkler, the head landed only feet from where we were standing. I didn’t dare to take another peak but it didn’t matter anyways. Another round of hysterical laughter broke out from the clown. “I know you’re over there. Want me to come to show you a trick?” Came a surprising and offsetting high-pitched voice. The employee next to me dropped the phone and tried to make a run for it. He made it to the open space in front of the counter before the clown ran in front of him. The employee’s full-speed sprint was easily broken and he tumbled back. The clown wasn’t phased by being run into one bit. It picked the employee up by the wrists and lifted him to its level. It violently pulled on both arms and ripped them from their sockets. The employee, still left alive, let out his own blood-curdling screams as he bled out helplessly on the floor. The clown laughed for a moment before lunging out with a kick from its hoof, crushing his skull. I looked down at the phone, hearing some sort of feedback from whoever was on the other end. I picked it up and held it to my ear. “Hello?” I whispered in a raspy and frightened voice. “Listen, you need to blind it. Check our phone. I know it wouldn’t work before but it will now. You need to turn the flashlight on and point it in its eyes. Are you hearing me?” I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. It was on, and more than that, it was somehow fully charged. I hadn’t charged it. This made no sense. The clown spoke from the middle of the store. “Don’t you go thinking I forgot about you now. I’ve got a different trick for you. I know you’ll like it” I dropped the store phone and, like the employee, I tried to run. I dashed down the last aisle before realizing I had no clue where the hell I planned on going. I panicked, reaching for my cell phone again. It fell from my pocket, onto the floor. I quickly recovered it, trying to turn the flashlight on as running hooves approached from behind me. As I was grabbed and forcefully turned over, but I had the luck of turning on the phone's flashlight just in time. The clown screamed in pain and anger as it ran past me and into the other aisles. It ripped and threw everything off the shelves it possibly could, trashing the store and tearing it apart. I recovered and kept pointing my phone’s flashlight in its direction. It tripped over a shelf it had torn in half and fell flat on its face. Jumping back to its feet, the clown turned around and swatted at me but covered its eyes and resumed its wretched screams when the light met its eyes once again. It ran, tripping and screaming, through the doors of the store and left. It was silent once again. The manager, who had been taking cover behind the counter this whole time, stood up and got a look at the carnage herself. I could tell by her face that something inside her had died when she saw the dismembered bodies of her coworkers but she said nothing about it. Instead, she turned to me and asked “Where is the phone?” I turned off my cell phone flashlight and put it back into my pocket before walking over the mess of merchandise and blood to the back of the store. I picked up the store phone and walked it to the front, handing it to the manager who hadn’t moved, still staring in horrid disbelief at the bodies in front of her. She took it and began conversing with someone on the other end. I stayed where I was, not having the guts to look behind me and see it again. After about thirty seconds of a conversation from which I could understand nothing and one I wasn’t paying much attention to in the first place, the manager let out another sigh, this one of relief, and muttered “Oh, thank god. How long?” More talking from the other end. “Ok…Ok, I can do that. There is still one other alive. I’ll have him watch out for your arrival”. With that, the manager set down the phone and looked at me with drained and tired eyes. “I need you to stand by the door and watch for black SUVs to pull up. Let me know when they get here. Yell to me and I’ll tell you if they’re the team we are expecting. If they’re not, hide. I need to do something in the back” She picked back up the phone and headed to the back of the store. I didn’t feel like asking any more questions. I figured that whoever this team was, they must be our way out of this nightmare. I walked over and stood in front of the automatic doors, looking outside. I couldn’t see anything but the typical street I knew, but with no one on it. All the time I waited, I could hear the manager tinkering with something in the back. It was here that I began to process everything I had just been through. It was too much. My thoughts and emotions ran wild in my head, but above all, I wanted to know what this was. For the next few minutes, I weighed the possibilities in my head and contemplated the merit of each of them, of any of them. None of them gave a clear explanation. I still don’t have one. Eventually, the black SUVs pulled up and a mix of men in tactical gear with rifles and others in formal suits poured out. There were four or five cars and around six people emptied from each. I turned to the back of the store and yelled “Hey! Is this them? They’re here” I received no response. “Hey!” I yelled again as I walked to the back of the store. At the end of the backmost aisle, The phone lay on the ground. I walked up to it in confusion and kneeled to pick it up but I was close enough to make out the yells on the other end before I did. “We’re here. Do you copy? Hello? Our team is entering now. Are you still with us? Hello?” Before I could pick up the phone, I stood back up and walked around the corner, into the last aisle. The manager was on the ground, laying face up and in her own pool of blood. Her body was cut open at the belly and on top of her crouched a man. It was the man from earlier, the first one who walked in. The tall man with a fancy old suit and hat but this time he was without the hat and coat for his suit. He held a large knife which he was carving into the manager’s body. Organs surrounded the two, he must have ripped them out. He looked up from what he was doing and smiled at me before looking back down and continuing. In a matter-of-fact voice, he spoke to me. “I did say I would be back for the meat. I don’t have any problem harvesting it myself”. With that, he pulled her heart out and held it up like it was a piece of art he was proud of before putting it in a suitcase on the floor next to him and closing it. He stood up, looking at me and then at his knife. “I’m sure you’ll give me fine cuts too” Returning his glare to me and smiling again. He let out an angry grunt before charging at me. I turned back around the corner and ran for the door. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the men approaching from outside. “Well, aren’t you the lucky one tonight” He returned his knife to a sheath in his vest before calmly turning around and heading back into the last aisle. He came back with his suitcase in hand and the manager’s body over his shoulder, carrying her like she was weightless. He approached the janitor’s closet and opened the door I swore was ripped off its hinges not minutes before. When he opened it, cold air poured out and in the small angle available to me, I saw a body hanging from a meathook. The man walked in, throwing the manager’s body somewhere inside before turning around and gabbing the door handle. He looked at me one last time before closing it. In a friendly tone again, he spoke one last time. “Good day”. The automatic doors opened behind me and the swarm of men rushed in. Immediately, half a dozen or so walked to the closet door and pointed their weapons at it. When it opened, they were met with the inside of a closet and nothing more. “Fuck!” I heard one scream before kicking some bread off of a shelf. “We’ve been after that son of a bitch for months. How does he get away every time?” Another commented. The rest swept around the remainder of the store. Some brought in weird-looking equipment. Too much was happening for me to account for all of it but I did take note of some of what they were doing. Some collected hairs that had fallen on the floor. Others used a blacklight to show the footprints from the previous hunched-back monster. They collected all the change and one-dollar bills the children had payed with. Eventually, two large boxes were brought in that they used to collect the bodies of the other workers. I was left unaccounted for it seemed. A few minutes passed before one man in a suit approached me. He didn’t have any interest in asking me anything, it was clear he wanted to make a statement. “I know this is a lot to take in, and I know that not much of it makes any sense. There's no way we can explain it to you that will. I am sorry for whatever you had to see or experience tonight but there's nothing we can do about it. These…these things are doing this to people all around the world for reasons we have yet to discover. This is the 7th time this store, in particular, has been targeted. We are doing what we can. We are one of the only ones out there trying to stop them. We need you to stay silent about this, if people know about us, if they find out, we’ll be shut down and none of this will ever be fixed. People will die and it will only get worse. If you want to save anyone else, keep your mouth shut” He breathed and looked at me in pity. He pointed towards the entrance. “You can walk out of those doors whenever you’re ready”. I don’t know what he meant but I never planned on keeping it silent. What happened to those convenience store workers needs to be told. People need to be aware of this. Though, I didn’t let my intentions be known there. I said nothing and walked through the automatic doors and outside, in front of the street packed with their vehicles. I looked back at the store. The lights were on and it was empty. I turned back to the street. The SUVs were all gone. People were back, walking about like they would on any other night. I heard the metro train approaching again. It was done.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Hey, thanks for cat sitting on such short notice! [RESPONSE] *I’ll be in Kansas for the week helping my pops rebuild our old family farm, devastating that tornado was! All the cell towers are down, and considering it’s rural Kansas, it ain’t gonna be up anytime soon, so you won’t be able to contact me… so hopefully everything goes smoothly!* *I got ONLY three cats:* *Wilfred — all black* *Butters — grey* *Suzy — all white* *They‘re simple cats, fairly easy to watch, just refill their food and water each day and clean the litter box. Then I got a few more easy peazy rules for taking care of them. Follow them, please.* *1. Be VERY nice to Wilfred, the other cats respect him, he likes you, they’ll like ya too!* *1.5 . He’s a little old and blind, sometimes gets in the way, just watch where you’re walking.* *2. Butters gets some special treats in the blue container in the fridge, hand feed 5 pieces to him every day.* *3. Suzy NEEDS to be pet 2 hours a day, because otherwise, well, she can be a real b, if you know what I’m saying.* *4. If you hear meowing coming from a different room, but can see all three cats, do NOT go investigate the meowing. If you don’t see all three cats, you can check on it.* *See, the rules are easy, the job is simple and I will compensate you well for all your time when I get back.* *Again thank you so much,* *Amanda.* I set the letter down. Yikes, I truly should’ve had Amanda explain the details of this “easy cat sitting” thing before I agreed. But honestly, I probably still would’ve done it because she, to be blunt, is very hot, and hot girls are rare to find around here. So if I have to put up with some crazy cat lady bull shit to get a chance with a beautiful woman, so be it. Day One I didn’t realize how far from society Amanda's house is. She literally lives in the middle of nowhere. The last sign of civilization I saw was at least 7 miles back, the scenery is trees, trees, and you guessed it! More trees! Finally, I see the single cottage-like home perched on top of the hill. I parked my car near the front porch and found my way inside using the spare key hidden under the welcoming mat. I stepped inside and was instantly greeted by 3 cats staring me down. I gave them all a quick scratch on the head, “hi Wilfred, Butters, Suzy,” acknowledging each cat as I spoke their name. “I’m Matt, I’ll be taking care of you for the week and hopefully will be getting a date with your hot mom afterwards.” All three cats stared at me blankly, I begin sensing a weird tension in the room. I awkwardly started walking around the house. I gave myself a tour of Amanda’s place, her home is pretty tiny, so it didn’t take long. I found her bathroom first, which also happens to be where she has the litter box. I did my business and then cleaned up the cat’s business, too. “If I was more talented, I probably could’ve done it at the same time,” I told Wilfred, who was trailing me as I made my way around the house. I took note of the layout of the house, Amanda’s bedroom across from the bathroom, and at the far end of the hallway was a basement, maybe. Couldn’t tell for sure as the door was closed and I didn’t want to be snoopy. I made my way into the kitchen to hand-feed little Butters his treats. “Here Butters, come on now, come get your— oh, oh my god what is that,” as I opened the blue container a rotting, putrid smell came out. I fingered out a chunk of the gooey, red meat. “This can’t be right, it must’ve gone bad. You can’t possibly want to eat this, do you?” I asked Butters. The cat excitedly pranced back and forth meowing, as if saying “it’s all good Matt!”. I know cats can’t really beg, but I definitely would consider this the cat version of it. I plugged my nose and hand-fed him 5 pieces, one after another. He gulped each portion and even attempted to lick the remaining goop off my hands. Now it was time for the long and honestly questionable part: petting a cat for 2 whole hours. I took a couple of steps from the kitchen to the living room and plopped myself on the couch and put on the longest movie I could find on Netflix, 2 hours and 36 minutes. Suzy must’ve known it was her time to shine because she nestled herself into my lap and used her head to nudge my hand. Let the pets begin. Halfway through the movie I heard faint meowing. First thing I did was figure out where each cat was, Butters on the kitchen counter, Suzy on my lap, and Wilfred snuggled up in the corner of the couch. I attempted to ignore them, remembering the 4th rule, but the meows were slowly becoming more and more abrupt. I started standing up and Wilfred jumped up and sat on my feet, staring me down as if saying “no” to me. I sat back down and continued watching the movie, shortly after the cries stopped. After the movie was over, the entourage of cats escorted me to the door. “Bye little kitties, maybe one day I’ll pet you during a movie with your hot mom at my side!” As a I was shutting the door, I swear I heard Butters gag. Day 2 This day was very lackluster, cleaned the litter box and refilled the cat chow and water, with my diligent helper, Wilfred, watching my every move. I continued the rest of my tasks, fed Butters that rancid meat, pet Suzy, and I even pet Wilfred with my other hand while I was petting Suzy! The muffled meows started towards the end of the movie this time; all the cats gave me a warning glance when I started to stand as if they were urging me to sit back down. Day 3 Fuck. I’m so late, slept through my alarm like a fucking idiot, and only have 20 minutes to deal with these damn cats or I’ll be late to work. I didn’t even turn my car off and ran through the house hastily doing all the chores. Threw some of that gross-ass meat on the counter and laid a few pets on Suzy and rushed back out the door. Day 4 On the way into Amanda’s house, I felt very uneasy about how I left the cats yesterday. It was a shit show, to say the least, and the anticipation made me feel uneasy. “They're just damn cats, Matt, they probably don’t even care,” I reminded myself. I entered the kitchen and on the counter I only saw one cat, Wilfred. He was staring deeply at me, examining me. I went up and pet his soft head and held his face in my hands. “Ahhh boy I’m sorry, I’m sorry I suck Wilfred.” I backed away to search for the other cats, and gave one last glance at Wilfred who now had a pondering look on his formerly bleak face. I heard meowing and scratching down the hallway and figured I would be fine to follow the sounds since I couldn’t find the other cats, and the rule said I could if a cat was missing. Butters was eagerly scratching at the door towards the end of the hallway, the one I refused to snoop in on the first day. He saw me and meowed towards the door, and I swear I could hear muffled meows coming from the other side. I reached for the door and Wilfred came flying in from the kitchen and cemented himself in front of the door hissing and swatting me away. I backed off and he turned his attention to Butters giving him a threatening glare. In the commotion, Susie slowly waddled out from Amanda’s room. She seemed uninterested, or maybe was it disappointed? After the tension cleared up, and I was certain I wouldn’t have to break up any catfights, I started doing my daily tasks. Wilfred monitored me and our surroundings with alertness. I attempted to pet Suzy for a while, but she must hold grudges because I was being hissed and clawed at the whole time. “Dumb bitch cat,” I muttered while dabbing up blood from the cuts that marked my whole arm. I opened the fridge to once again feed Butters his foul treats. I held out a paleish pink piece and Butters took the whole chunk in one bite, nearly getting my fingers. I hold out the next piece and he misses completely, sinking his teeth into my index finger! “Ah fuck, fuck you, Butters!” I yelled at the cat. That was my final straw with these dumb cats! I'm so done! I start putting on my shoes to get the fuck out of this place when through my socks I start to feel a warm, soggy mass. Fucking cat shit. Enraged, I rip my shoes off and start running towards the bathroom sink. In my rage I accidentally kick Wilfred, sending the cat into the wall with a thud. I rinse off my shoes and they still smell that bitch cat probably pissed on them too. I say fuck it and leave the shoes; they’re ruined beyond repair. I’m leaving this house, shoeless and outraged. I open the door and take one last glance back on the cats and see Butters and Suzy comforting the hurt Wilfred. Day 5 So, I know I made it seem like I would never go back to Amanda’s, but I found out my shoes have a warranty on them so if I can get them back, I’ll be able to get new ones. No cat in sight as I enter the house. I walked through the hallway to the bathroom and found my shoes. “Perfect, now I can get out of here.” I turn to leave, and Butters is purring and caressing my leg, maybe he feels bad for being a little asshole yesterday. I pet his head and then he beckons me to follow him. He leads me to the end of the hallway and starts scratching at the closed door again. I search around for the other cats, remembering the rule, and see Suzy sleeping at the end of the hallway. No Wilfred anywhere though. I stood there debating if I should open it, but then I start to hear meowing behind the door again. Not muffled like what I’ve normally heard, but loud, distressing cries. It has to be Wilfred; he must be hurt pretty badly from when I kicked him yesterday. “I’m coming, Wilfred!” I open the door and am hit with a rancid smell; I plug my nose before I plunge further down the stairs. Thoughts of a decaying cat raced through my mind. “Come on Wilfred, don’t hide, let’s get you upstairs, you dumb cat!” I hear a loud bang and assume a draft must’ve slammed the door shut because I’m now without any glimmer of light, I pull out my phone flashlight and scan the basement. I see shelves full of jars with this pinkish substance and as I examine them closer, I see hooves and paws and is... is that a hand? “What is this!” I shine my light around once more and in horror see miscellaneous carcasses rotting around the room. “I need to leave!” Turning towards the exit I see a giant cat with red eyes, it’s hissing and swatting towards me to back up. It then starts circling around waiting for a reason to attack. From the corner of my eye, I see Wilfred sitting still on the staircase, then he gives a slight nod and the big cat lunges at me. Day 3 of being home from Kansas I shut my laptop off. I couldn’t watch anymore; I can still hear the echo of Matt’s screams in my head even when they weren’t playing. The moment I got home from Kansas, I knew something was wrong. I still had a sliver of hope Matt was okay though, even when his car was still parked in my driveway, and when I entered the house and only Wilfred and Suzy greeted me at the door but lost it all when I got a whiff of the deathly smell that was wafting through my house. I remember begrudgingly walking down the hallway, spotting Matt’s shit-covered shoes on the floor. Embarrassingly, I was still blindly praying he was just fine. When I noticed the basement door was wide open, I knew that was the complete opposite of the truth. Expectantly, I found Butters and Juney by Matt’s body, well you know cats do have their preferred treats. The next thing I did that first day of being home was I needed to find Matt’s journal, and it was conveniently sitting unharmed in his pocket. After finding it, I got to work. That leads me to now, three days later. You see, usually, after having a cat sitter I would come home to a body and have no clue what happened, so when I found out Matt was a journalist, I thought maybe I had a chance at seeing from the cat sitter's perspective what goes wrong? By going through Matt’s journal and filling in missing pieces that I gathered from the security tapes, I’ve been able to put all the events in order. I’ve even decided to use Matt’s experience as a learning tool to educate possible future cat sitters, so they won’t make the same mistakes. And now that you have read and learned from my post, I can tell you my reason for sharing: Hi, y’all my name is Amanda I have 4 cats, and I’m looking to hire a cat sitter.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Someone is talking through my speakerphone from my apartment at night. [RESPONSE] Well, I've been trying to find the source of the problem I'm facing for 3 days now. But I got my answer this morning. I live in an apartment in Montreal. I moved there about 2 months ago to be closer to my work and my university. It's a pretty lively place where everyone seems to be friends. For you to visualize the entrance to the building: A staircase leading down to a door which is the front door. There is also a list of the names of each of the residents of the apartment with a button that allows you to trigger the microphone to speak through so that the person who is in his apartment can hear you. This is also useful for package deliverers who want to alert me that one of my deliveries has arrived. 4 days ago, on a Saturday, I was in my bed watching a Netflix movie. Since I didn't work on Saturdays and had a day off at my university, I decided to stay awake a lot more. Around 3:20 am, when I was watching my Netflix movie, a noise started to appear. At first, I thought it was coming from my oven which is a little defective and which produces a noise about every 5 hours. I also thought the noise was coming from my Netflix movie but the noise continued even when I paused. I get up and decide to find the source of the noise. After several investigations, I found the source of the noise. It was coming from the loudspeaker which was next to my door. The problem ? You have to press the button in the entrance hall of my apartment (the one where there is a button with my name on it). The only way to communicate with me is to long press the button. I open the door to my apartment to go to the lobby to see if anyone wants anything. There was nobody. I go back to my apartment and block my front door with a chair (just in case). The day after : I didn't understand why there was this noise and I just wanted to forget it so it wouldn't obsess me and kill my day. Evening : I come home after seeing a movie at the cinema. I'm pretty happy because I saw my friend today for the first time in 1 year (due to the change of house) We went to Bowling and to the cinema and said goodbye around 8:00 p.m. and we each go back to our apartments. 4:18 a.m : I'm in my bed. I was watching a Youtube video. And suddenly, a HUGE noise suddenly appears. I immediately got up from my bed to find out what was going on. It was the loudspeaker again. This time, I decide to answer by pressing the speaker button. \- Who are you ? The noise suddenly stopped. But I perceive footsteps that seem to go upside down (The footsteps decrease gradually). I decide to call the police because I really couldn't take it anymore. The police tell me they are sending 3 officers. Several minutes pass... The hours pass... It's been 4 hours since I called the police. Nobody came. I go to sleep putting my closet in front of my front door and putting black tape on my windows so we can't see through them. The next day (9:40 am) : Today I woke up sweating a lot. I took my phone and I noticed that I was called twice by the Montreal police at 5:38 in the morning. I decide to call them to find out what is going on. Someone was spotted in a bush that was stuck to the door leading to the apartment hall. According to the police officers, he was apparently waiting for someone. They found several items on him. Here they are : \- Screwdriver \- Stolen identity card \- Lighter (but no cigarette) \- A photo in polaroid format God knows how much I didn't want to see that picture. It was me, crossing the street.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I went fishing in the Atlantic. The thing I reeled in should never have left the ocean. [RESPONSE] The cold, grey sea stretched out in front of me. The smell of salt and brine filled the air. A thick fog shrouded the boat. I was out on the open sea for the first time. Behind me, Joe was working the engine, and Phil was sitting next to me on the small bench near the bow. Neither me or Phil had fished before, and I had barely even seen the ocean. Joe was an experienced fisherman, though. All of us had been friends in college, but as the years passed we had drifted apart. I was surprised when Joe invited the two of us to his cottage in Maine for a reunion, as we hadn’t spoken for nearly a year, but it sounded good. Joe had met the two of us at the small airport. We got in his car and started to drive down the bumpy dirt roads to his cottage. We caught up on the way. “Any of you been fishing before?” He asked us. We both said no. “I’ll take you. I know some great spots. We can go today, and cook our catch for dinner. I tell you, there isn’t anything like fresh-caught fish.” “Sounds good.” I responded. We arrived at the cottage soon after. It was a small, wooden house with faded red paint in a clearing close to the ocean. He parked his car in the dirt driveway. We got out and walked in. Joe flicked on the light. “Haven’t been here in a while.” He commented. “I’ll buy groceries after we catch some fish, and then I’ll make dinner.” I walked around the house. It was pretty basic, with an ancient kitchen, a few bedrooms, and an old bathroom. I unpacked my stuff. After a while, we were all ready. Joe led us down to a tiny marina, where a small motorboat was waiting for us, along with three fishing rods. We settled down into the boat, and Joe took us out. It was a foggy day, and soon we couldn’t see the coastline. After a while, Joe stopped and threw down the anchor. “This is a good spot.” Joe told us how to drop our lines in, and we did. I felt the reel get smaller and smaller. Eventually, it hit the bottom, and the line went slack. Joe was surprised. “It’s a lot deeper here than I thought.” We sat there in the foggy afternoon for a while. Nobody was getting a bite. “Do you think we should go somewhere else?” Phil asked. “Probably.” Joe admitted. “Let’s wait a little longer, though.” A few minutes later, and we still hadn’t caught anything. We were about ready to give up when I felt it. A tug. I jumped in surprise. “I got something!” I called out. I began to reel in furiously. “Don’t let it go!” Warned Phil. “That’s the first catch we got all day!” “Keep your rod steady. Don’t let go.” Joe advised. I reeled it in more and more. I could feel the fish fight against it furiously. It thrashed from side to side, rocking the boat greatly. Joe started to look excited. “It’s a big one. I’ve never caught anything that big before.” I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to catch it at all. It was so violent and ferocious, I could barely hold onto my rod. Suddenly, the fighting stopped. The line still had something on the end of it, but it was now stationary. “It stopped fighting.” I said dubiously. “But I can still feel something on the end.” I slowly began to reel it in. It was tough. Even if it wasn’t fighting, it was still heavy as hell. Maybe dropping it so low was a mistake - it had been several minutes and I still hadn’t gotten it yet. “Maybe we shouldn't have gone so deep.” Phil commented. Joe didn’t say anything. Then, I could see it. I couldn’t see it well - it was obstructed by a lot of water. But I could see its vague colour and shape. Finally, I finished reeling and it drew out of the waves. It wasn’t a fish. It was a man. His body was barnacled, and sea-worms had pokes orifices through his face. His clothes were ragged and torn, and they looked like they had come from a ship hundreds of years ago. My hook had pierced his head. We all stared in shock. I think Joe was about to say something when the silence was burst by the sound of frantic breathing. “You have to leave!” He croaked. His voice sounded waterlogged - like its vocal chambers were still half-filled with seawater. “Before it gets you!” “Before *what*?” I asked frantically. He was about to answer, when he was pulled back into the water with a force so great that the fishing rod was ripped straight out of my hands. I almost fell in too, but Phil quickly managed to grab me before I went overboard. “What was he talking about?” I asked Joe desperately. But Joe was gone. “Joe?” I called out nervously. “Where did he go?” asked Phil. “I’m not sure. Do you think he fell overboard?” I answered. Phil was about to respond, but we were interrupted by a swirling white vortex in the water. Our boat was near enough that we might get sucked in. “We have to go!” I yelled, struggling to be heard over the sound of swirling water. Phil had been on a boat a couple times, and knew the basics, so he was the one who leaped towards the engine, started it up, and pushed it as fast as it would go. I looked behind us, and saw what was causing the vortex - several colossal tentacles broke the seawater, and a staggeringly large diamond-shaped head lifted up into the foggy sky. Joe was dead. I don’t mean that he fell overboard - he had been dead for nearly a year. Nobody had lived in the cottage Joe said was his for nearly thirty years. The police didn’t believe our story, of course. I’ve talked to a couple of the locals. Most of them dismiss it outright, but there are a few of them - mostly older fishermen - who know about it. Sometimes they’ve heard about it happening to a friend - sometimes they were the ones who received the lure, a false message from an old friend, and only narrowly escaped like we did. One thing I didn’t know, though - who it was that was masquerading as Joe. That was until I saw his cause of death - lost at sea, at that exact same spot.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The capsule [RESPONSE] It was just an ordinary Autumn day…or so I would think I was in the backyard with my friend Zander running around. Both of out parents were watching us from the balcony drinking wine and eating dinner. “I’ll race you to the swing” I said to Zander “You’re on!”he replied back. We were dashing to the tree at the end of my yard. It was head to head we made eye contact and pushed ourselves forward. Just then I tripped on something I fell face first into the wet grass I heard the giggles from Zander and my parents. In a calm gentle voice my mom said “Hey are you okay?” “Yes” I replied back “I think I tripped over a root.” I look at what caused my fall and it looked to be a handle. “Okay be careful sweetie” my mom said. Zander helped me up and we walked the rest of the way to the tree. Zander climbed onto the swing as I was pushing him I could not stop thinking about that handle. I started walking towards the handle while Zander was still on the swing “Alex!” He called at me. I did not respond back I just kept walking towards that handle. As I reached it I kneeled on the ground there were some dates on there. “1961-2011” I said too myself I brushed off the dirt covering the top of the box. As I was doing that it uncovered a steel box with roses as a pattern. “Woah” Zander said startling me. It just kept on going. It seemed to be at least 3 feet long. I was able to open the top of it and it was divided into sections. On to there was a note there. “Dear whoever is reading this, I was the first owner of this house if you found this it must be 50+ years into the future. I have put some stuff I thought was cool in this box.” There was a stop watch and some old toy cars in there. I opened up the second later and there was a stained blanket with flies and maggots crawling all over it. The odor that came out of it was horrid. I opened the second layer completely and I saw strands of blonde hair all over it. I opened the blanket fully and I saw it. A dead body,chunks of hair,blood, and even flesh were stuck on the bones. “Holy fuck” I screamed. My parent cam rushing over and dragged us away. There was an envelope I took with me when I got in my room I opened it it had a letter in it which read ”You found me…” there were pictures in there which showed the guy being stuffed alive into that box. They were scribbled in red pen with the word”I am sorry” “I should have listened” and “it’s too late”suddenly I woke up. I looked to my side and saw it crouching in the corner of my room. “Now get rid of me” then it disappeared.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I was in a band, and we didn't release a thing, but my fan base is growing somehow [RESPONSE] It all started with a single email: From: lilithchild13 (at) xxxxxxxxxx To: jason.reiterberg (at) xxxxxxxxx Time: 02/09/2022 18:31 “Hello! I just wanted to say I’m a huge fan of your music. The lyrics are exceptional. It’s like you’ve seen the inside of my head. Man, that ”Blasphemy in Darkness“ really hit me hard. Didn’t like your cover songs, tbh. But the original ones are dope. When will you release something? XOXO LilithChild13“ That was… something, and I think I need to bring some context here. I played in a couple of bands when I was in college. That’s, what? 15 years ago? Mostly as a session guitarist and a drummer. Nothing serious or groundbreaking. Just a couple of dudes jamming some metal. We never got big or even reached that step where we would record a demo tape and send it over to a recording company. Yeah, back then it was much harder to become a musical phenomenon: now you can streak three chords, upload it and wake up famous. Not then. But point is - we never went out in public seriously. We threw a couple of gigs and even performed in a club, but the crowd was mostly our friends and their friends. What was the band name, again? “Grim Sorrow” or “Dim Sorrow”, even I can’t recall at this time. And that girl (?) even knew the song's name. How? Are my friends pulling pranks on me? So I replied with the following: “Dear, LilithChild13. Thank you for your kind words and I appreciate your interest in our music, but the sad news is - we broke up 15 years ago, and I don’t know how did you hear about us, but consider that as our Opus Magnum. There’s no chance we’ll be getting back together anytime soon, sorry. Have a great day. Regards, Jason“ And that was it. Exciting, if you ask me. My first fan letter, even though it was 15 years late. I’ve been submerged in memories of the good old days. What a pity that Mark passed away. That dude could growl like a beast. And I wonder where did Kyle go… The last time I heard about him - was at a class reunion 10 years ago. He was going to Africa to build houses for the poor or something… Morning greeted me with a reply to my message: From: lilithchild13 (at) xxxxxxxxxx To: jason.reiterberg (at) xxxxxxxxx Time: 03/09/2022 02:18 “Nooooo! That’s so unfair. You can’t leave me like that. I want more. I need more. You’ve composed all of it. Start a new band or find new players, I don’t know. You need to play or I don’t want to live, jk lol. But seriously, Is it so much that I ask? I watched all your videos and even went through your unfinished material - there’s so much potential. Especially that ”Queen of Worms“ you’ve never completed. It’s so good. Please? Love, LilithChild13“ I didn’t believe my eyes at first. No, of course, there was a probability somebody filmed us on that gig and such, mobile cameras were already a thing back there, but the second part… Not a single person knew about that song. I never showed it to anyone. “Queen of Worms” was written after a breakup with my girlfriend back then. I was sad and angry, so I wrote a verse and chorus, but never finished it. “Hi, LilithChild13. The videos? I don’t recall anything like that, at least the ones I would be aware of. How did you know about that song? Regards, Jason“ The response dropped immediately: “Hi, Jason. Well, the videos were hard to get and I paid a lot to obtain them. The recordings from security cameras in club ”Paramount“, remember? This is a jewel among collector’s items and now I own it. And as for the song for your ex-girlfriend… I know a lot of things about you, Jason. He-he. So it seems you are interested in recording some new material, amirite? :D Love, LilithChild13“. That was disturbing. Security cameras? Personal details? Am I being stalked or something or is it a stupid joke? I wonder if Kyle is experiencing the same shit. So I went to search for my old notebook where I had his number written. 40 minutes later I entered the digits and pressed “call”. But no luck - there was no response. I wonder if he even uses the number anymore. So I checked my writing again and called his parents. Minutes later I hanged the phone, devastated - Kyle, my former drummer and friend died 2 years ago in an accident on a construction site. That was just sad… A notification popped up informing me of a new email, I opened it. “Hey! I’m not taking ”no“ for an answer. So, what do you say? Heading to the studio already? Love, LilithChild13“. I was furious. This was becoming quite annoying, so without a second thought I fired back: “Hey. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but this is a bit too much, don’t you think? There will be no new songs. Please, stop writing me. Get a life. Regards, Jason“. And just as I tapped “Send” on my phone - a new one arrived: “Oh! Look who’s talking. Mr. Tough Guy! Look, Jason. Your thoughts are tangled right now, you’re not thinking straight. I’m pretty sure you would enjoy writing some songs once you get enough motivation. You are a creator, so you can’t just be aside from your talent. Let’s try something else then. Love, LilithChild13.“ I blocked the address and went to take care of my business, pretty sure that the problem is solved. I didn’t have time to mess with some cuckoos who had nothing better to do with their lives. I spent the day with my woodworking project in the shed, so most of the time only the buzzing of the saw and drill noises were my company. Later in the evening, I checked my phone - not expecting to see what was there. Hundreds and hundreds of emails. Some of them were marked important and were placed atop the list. “Hey, Jason. This is James from that band that was in Stranger Things, he-he. I & Kirk listened to your songs and thought you’d be a perfect match for our upcoming tour…” “Hey, son. I just found your old guitar in the garage. So nostalgic. We spent a fortune on your equipment, as you seemed so excited. And we never heard any of your songs. Your mother and I are not getting younger, you know…” “Hey, this is Michael, your CEO. We never met in person, but it came to me that you are quite a talented musician. Would you care to write some jingles for our next promo campaign…”. All the addresses were fake as fuck. Though they were countless. Some of them were in foreign languages, I guess I saw a couple of emails written in Japanese, or was it Chinese? I have been spammed and it looked like someone had an obsession. I spent some time clearing my inbox by deleting batches and batches of new arrivals. By the night, that crazy person got tired, I think and the thing stopped. I put the phone in silent mode and went to sleep. By morning there was a single new email reading: “Well, did it work? :D” sent from ab\_bad\_don666 (at) xxxxxxxxx. I blocked that too. I washed my face and went out to get something for breakfast. The next incident happened in the store: there were a couple of teens, wearing all black, heavy makeup, studs, spikes, and chains. As I was checking the cereal section - they came along, whispering something to each other and looking at me. Finally, one of them approached me and said: “Hi. I’m sorry, but aren’t you the guitarist for Grim Sorrow? May I ask you for a favor, please? Could you sign me, sir?” “Excuse me, do I know you? What are you talking about?” - I didn’t understand and just stared back at the teen, who was handing me a large bowie knife. “Right here” - he said, rolling up the sleeve, revealing the pale skin of his forearm, making his intention clear. “Are you out of your fucking mind? I am not doing that. What the fuck? Are you that Lilith Child?” - I almost shouted back at him. “No, I’m Gore Master, a huge fan” - he smiled back at me with all that makeup making his face look like a macabre mask. I just walked away, leaving the kids standing there with their knife and stupid requests. What the hell was going on? Did I wake up to become a meme character or something? I just didn’t add up. The following weeks made things worse - I transferred all my contacts to a new email address and terminated my main account. That didn’t help. Somehow they found out - my inbox is bloated with emails. So is my physical one - tons of handwritten letters, asking for one thing - more songs. I see more and more teens wearing black around the town. They keep following me wherever I go. This is insane. I went to the cops, and you know what? “Hey, aren’t you that guy from that band? My daughter is a huge fan. Could I get an autograph?” - the officer told me. It’s like my whole town went crazy at the same time. The messages are getting grimmer and grimmer - I tend to read them from time to time. They vary from “Will you drop a song if I sacrifice myself tonight?..” to “I will break your knees and spoon-feed you as long as it’s necessary until you record the album”. I have no clue what to do. Police just ignore my claims, saying those are just edgy teens and there is no threat to my life. Whom should I call? National guard? I was about to post this and ask for your advice, but then something unnerving happened. I was sitting in my room upstairs, browsing Reddit, when suddenly I got a message notification. I would ignore it, the same way I did to thousands of others, but something made me click it. It read: “Jason, we are still not getting anywhere, so I, the president of your fan club decided to take action. We decided to visit you and make sure we’re on the same note here. This is taking too long and we can’t wait any longer. We will force you to do it if you’re not feeling it. Art is for the people, not for keeping to yourself. As a deed of goodwill - we brought Mark and Kyle with us, so maybe seeing old friends will light a spark? See you soon. :) Best wishes, Horned Shadow”. And then I realized I’m not alone. The sky was pitch black with clouds covering the rising moon. Dead silence hung in the house and I heard the floorboards creaking slightly in a room below. I leaned to the door and listened - there were some whispers and quiet shuffling sounds as if somebody was dragging a duffle bag across the hall. And then the smell kicked in - as if some raccoon found its way to a space between the walls and died there, emanating the horrible stench of putrid flesh. I’ve never felt more scared in my life. What were they up to? I called 112 as quietly as I could and before I said anything the operator said to my ear: “Hi Jason. Thank you for your call. Are you excited about a reunion party? We all expect new songs soon….”<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My lizard is acting weird [RESPONSE] I have a long tailed grass lizard name Stripey (Male, 2) and he is the sweetest little boy ever, I have many pets but he is my closest friend, he watches movies with me, I knit and 3d print him little toys, he never bites, he is even certified as an emotional support animal, he would never hurt me, the only times he was aggressive is during feeding. He lives in a 280 liter tank with a bioactive set up, he is living his best life he can, vet procured food, the whole 9 yards. but recently he has not been eating, he is usually very hungry, and he is more aggressive, I took him to a vet, over an hour away, and he ran out of the office, took us hours to find him, he was underneath a cross at the vet, Im in a extremely christian country, his eyes had a red hue. On the ride home I turned on some kendrick Lamar, and Sing About Me, Im Dying Of Thirst was playing. Stripey was on my shoulder then he jumped onto my face, I swerved and hit a tree, almost flying off a cliff, next time I saw the local scholar of christianity, I asked him about it, because both events where related to christianity, he said it couldn't be a demon because of it contact with cross was not harmful to him, He kept acting aggressive every time I tried to hold him, he kept biting my ring finger, which has a ring with a religious symbol on it of my religion(I do not want to share), then I realized he would be defensive to any religious symbol Then the hissing started, every second he lets out a little hiss and sometimes it sounds like words, I got one of those translator apps, and every language I tried said "wrong language" so it thought that was the default for when it doesn't pick up a language, then I tried Latin and it said, "surprisingly no" and I realized that it was picking up stuff the entire time, then I tried cantonese, where they are from, and it said, "I am son of rosemary, brother of Damien, I am god of the monsters" This sent chills down my spine, I has watched the Omen and Rosemary's baby with him. I looked at him horrified, he jumped at the glass and it shattered, the glass hit my body and send blood everywhere, I began to scream but I couldn't speak, there was glass in my throat he began to tail whip me, then he began to fly and levitate, I got to a hospital and got help, then went home to try to find him, I still love him, I set up a 208 liter terrarium for him he is beginning to eat again but his tail is growing longer and he always flys, at this point I give up, he is my baby, I would die for him, he is calming down but sometimes will see figures, or fires, or broken glass just some where in the house, and he constantly escapes, what should I do? Pt 1<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Blood flows through the streets of our town. And it's the best thing that's ever happened to us [RESPONSE] My parents own this beautiful little cafe in Marville, a town that might be the blueprint for autumn coziness. Our small alleys with old cobblestone that you can feel through your shoes have all sorts of tiny shops left and right. The narrow buildings almost transport you into a medieval town. It's especially nice when you walk down in the evening hours when the sun has already set but the shops are still open. Warm lights invite you in, the smell of fresh cakes escapes from the bakeriesI couldn’t remember that the red water was blood until this morning, and you can spend hours disappearing inside the different bookstores. Things are going well for us and the people that visit, at least when you ignore the recent happenings. The latest one came today and is unexplainable to most of us. You know how old towns often still have some of the old structures in place? One leftover in Marville is the sides of the road that are slightly deeper than the rest of the street and used to flow rainwater or in the past other substances toward the drains. This morning, though the entire town, those little water streets were filled with flowing red water. Very similar to blood. Maybe it's paint, a prank with Halloween coming up. But in our town that's the least likely explanation. \-- Most things are good though. My favorite place in all of Marville is our coffee shop. My parents built it on their own, carefully choosing every single unique chair, table, and comfortable sofas. They've created playlists with music that sounds just faint enough to make you feel at home and our coffee is the absolute best. Though to be fair I might be slightly biased as I'm currently in the process of taking over the business. Standing in the warm cafe, I forced myself to forget about the blood flowing through our town. A woman in her forties, with ash blonde hair and dark blue veins on her skin, walked inside. She was wearing a long coat and boots, dressed appropriately for the grey day. “Hello.” She was new. A bunch of new people moved to our town. It was good because a lot of our old residents moved away, or passed away, after a parasite infection that plagued our town. I know, this makes our town sound even older. It's dealt with now though and I'm glad my parents decided to stay. I even skipped going to college to help them rebuild our cafe. “Hi there, what can I get you?” I asked. The woman pointed to the special board advertising the gingermen latte. That particular drink had grown immensely in popularity. The same woman had been there four times this week alone. "To-go, please. I need to drink it at home. I have a lot of work waiting for me there." I knew what she meant by work but I ignored it. We always ignore that. I smiled politely and started preparing the espresso and the milk foam. But the most important ingredient of course is the spice mix. While we prepare almost everything ourselves here, the mix we get shipped from a place not too far from here. Our new neighbor Mr. Eli hooked my parents up with it, apparently, he used to work over there. "There you go," I put the to-go cup on the counter and the lady smiled. I'd been practicing with foam images and recently learned how to do a little tree. She sniffed the coffee and her smile grew all over her face. Then she mumbled something which almost sounded as if she said "smell just like death." She left a generous tip, with some odd stains on the paper, and left. \-- The last person coming in that day was Noor, Mr. Eli's oldest daughter. "Hey, Logan. One, please." It was always the same order. "For your dad, right?" She nodded. "Good." Her eyes wandered around the room. "You know I'm closing in half an hour anyway, I can take the coffee to your dad if you like?" I knew that Noor only came by to get her dad's coffee and then she'd spend the rest of the afternoon somewhere else. She shook her head. "Thanks but he wants it now," she smiled but it felt forced. I put the cup on the counter and she circled her hand around it. "You know my dad said the coffee is so good I should try it sometime." I swallowed. "You've had coffee here before," I answered. "But not this one." Noor wasn't like most people that moved here. Maybe because she was still young. Only a year older than me. "You know I almost tried it once. I was just curious why everyone liked it so much. My mum basically slapped it out of my hand. Some things are just better if they stay hypothetical, right?" I asked. She nodded. "See you, Logan." \-- When I walked back home I saw someone in my neighbor's window. When I squinched my eyes I realized it was our mailman. He was really nice, always smiling and chit-chatting when he brought the mail. He was quite new as well. When he noticed me he waved. He was smiling though it looked different now. Almost as if he was scared of something. I watched for a moment but he never stopped waving so eventually I decided to walk a bit closer. As I got to the window there was a loud thump. The face of the mailman had crashed into the glass. Figuring he just had a stroke or something similar I ran for the front door which conveniently unlocked. I found him in the living room, his body was moving but he didn't react to anything I said. At the back of his head was a wound, as if someone had hit him. Blood was slowly pouring out. I stepped back, I knew I needed to get out but my body felt frozen. Then I saw how he slowly turned around. His face was in shambles, bits hanging off like playdough with pieces of glass stuck in it. "Fuck," I whispered. Seemingly out of nowhere, Mr. Eli showed up with a big knife that he rammed into the torso of the mailman. "Logan, hello. Delicious coffee you made today. Really, marvelous." My entire body started shaking. "You alright, boy?" He asked. "Is this the first time you've seen this happening?" "I-I'm not sure," I muttered. "I think so. Sometimes I forget." I sat down on the sofa, thoughts racing through my mind. "Young man, real people usually stop smiling when they're almost dead and their face is falling apart." I took a deep breath. *Right*. "He wasn't real," I mumbled. Mr. Eli sat down next to me. I know I should have been afraid of him, I mean in some ways I was but I knew that he'd never touch me. "Oh, he was real. Just not a regular human." "Fuck, I liked him." Mr. Eli shrugged. "He probably would have murdered you and your entire family in your sleep if he felt like it. And I'd have to find a new barista." My heart was still racing. Deep down I knew that Mr. Eli and the other new visitors wouldn't hurt any of us. They only kill those parasites, like the mailman. The ones that come to visit our town, copy our mannerisms and looks. They were a real plague and almost rotted us out until our new visitors came along. I don't know what it is about that drink, Noor once said it had something to do with the cinnamon. But whenever they take a sip, they get into a murderous lust. And we have an agreement that they don't touch any of us. An agreement they are keeping so far. And they fit in here. Whenever they're not murdering, they love shopping and enjoying everything we have to offer. Where they came from they didn't have those opportunities. Noor said they weren't even allowed to leave the town until. Now a select few of them have settled with us. And ever since Marville is doing incredibly well. I was happy, we all were. I tried to remind myself of that as I helped Mr. Eli carries the dead body to the marketplace. That's where they stack them up after each day. The marketplace is high up and when it rains the blood flows through the entire town but as I said, we've seen worse in the past. Mr. Eli hummed happily as he threw the mailmen on top of the other people who weren't real humans. I'm not sure when I got used to a life like this but I must love living here if I stay despite these images. Although sometimes a weird thought creeps into my mind and I wonder if we really did choose to stay voluntarily. Only this morning I couldn’t even remember that <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm a patient at The Neverwood Facility For Young Monsters. Last night, my therapist asked me to tell her the story behind my creation. I told her this: [RESPONSE] There are several rules I have to follow inside The Neverwood Facility For Young Monsters, or I will be executed on the spot. Here is a copy of the list I have on my wall: 1)  I must eat all human food on my plate inside the cafeteria (including my vegetables) or I am not allowed inside the feeding room. 2) I must attend group therapy every day at the allocated time or forfeit meals for a week. 3) I must attend one-to-one sessions with my therapist. 4) I must not bite, eat, drain the soul or kill my therapist. 5) I must not ask my therapist private questions such as: “Do my remaining family think I’m dead?” or “Did you catch our creator yet?” 6) I must not leave my cell under any circumstances or risk being executed or forcibly restrained by awaiting guards. 7) I must be polite to my fellow patients. 8) I must not start fights with my fellow patients. 9)  I must not look in reflective surfaces. If I do, I forfeit luxuries such as internet usage and access inside the feeding room. 10) I must not engage in conversation with CELL NUMBER 405 also Frankie. He is still considered a CODE BLACK. 11) If I am to let go of my humanity and embrace the full shift, I have consented to be executed immediately. 12) I must not make contact with my creator. ... I woke up suffocating. Entangled. In my mind, I was both nothing and nobody. Thoughts disjointed. I couldn’t think. When I tried, there was nothing but blur and confusion, and a vague sense of dread creeping up on me. I felt nothing but… cold. Heavy. Like there was something on my chest squeezing the air from my lungs while ice seeped into bones I couldn’t even feel. Limbs which felt wrong. It was so fucking cold. I was so cold, but I couldn’t understand why. My body was cold, my brain. My thoughts.  It took me a while to gather myself, but even that wasn’t enough. I was surrounded by white when I managed to pry my eyes open. Sterile white. My head was against icy porcelain. Bathtub. The word trickled ever so slowly into my sticky-syrup brain. I was in a bathtub. But there was no water. Instead of water, I was enveloped in something slithery and warm. I could feel it wet against my own body. I was covered in it, painted in this thing which was more physical than water but was still managing to pull me under like a vicious current. Drowning me. When my brain started to kick into gear, I became more aware of my surroundings as choking fog started to clear. I already had an inkling what it was that I was drowning in when I woke up, but I didn’t even want to entertain the thought. Now my eyes were open, and I was seeing blurs of something covering me, piled on top of me, masses of unmoving grey lying on my chest—I realised what it was I was submerged in. I tried to move, tried to open my mouth to scream, but they were crushing my lungs. I couldn’t move.  My body was a dead weight. Panic struck. It was cruel and cutting, forcing my body into some kind of reaction. But I was paralysed. “I can’t move.” I heard my voice but it was an echo, and I was struck with the overwhelming sense of Déjà vu. This had happened before. I’d already experienced all of these feelings, all of this panic eating me up, this pain slicing into me like knives. “I… I can’t move.” I say it again, louder. “What can you see, Ren?” My therapist’s voice cuts through the memory, and it’s comforting enough to use as an anchor. I held onto it with everything I had. “I can see… white.” I whispered, trying to stay calm. “I can see white, and I can’t… I can’t move.” I knew what I couldn’t do. I couldn’t look down at myself. I couldn’t look at reflective surfaces—and most importantly… no matter how strong the urge was, I couldn’t look for her. Because I knew where she was. I knew what she was. I had already been in that bathtub. I had already suffocated in slithering masses of weight trying to plunge me into the dark. It was supposed to be hypnotherapy, a way to travel back to the root of my trauma and explore it. Relive it. Try and overcome it. But the deeper I had slipped inside my own mind, old thoughts were blossoming back into fruition. Human thoughts. Human emotions. I had to find her. As soon as the thought entered my mind, I was already searching through blinding white. I was trying to heave my unresponsive body through the masses of something suffocating me, trying and failing to push down a feeling which was slowly taking me over, creeping inside every piece of me and bleeding into my brain. Every instinct I had was fighting to recoil back from the memory, but I held on, forcing myself further inside my past selves’ thoughts and feelings which already slamming into me like waves. I already knew. Part of me knew where she was—and yet I was still looking for her. “Ren, I thought I was very clear,” My therapist’s voice hardened. “Do not look down at yourself. I want you to focus on your surroundings and four senses. What do you see, hmm? You told me you see white. Can you see beyond that? How about feeling? Can you hear anything?” Her words were like a whisper in the wind in my hurricane thoughts. “But… my arm.” I couldn’t resist spluttering the words out in a choked cry. “I have to.. I have to see…” I have to see if it’s real, I thought. If what I saw way back then was real—and if it was.. could I stop it? Could I stop it from happening? “Focus.” My therapist said. “Tell me about what you can see. Just start small,” her tone softened. “Come on, sweetheart. You can do this.” Swallowing down  a cry clawing at my throat, I pushed myself to keep going. “I’m in a bathroom.” I managed to choke out. “A bathroom, hmm? And do you know this bathroom? Does it have meaning to you?” Looking past what it was I was buried in, my gaze flicked to white tiles where cringy feel good quotes were stuck to the wall. I glimpsed a rubber duck sitting on the edge of the tub, tiny bottles of shampoo and shower gel, a bright pink hair scrunchie wrapped around the silver tap. When I tried to move my body, to lean forward and grab the scrunchie, I couldn’t. I was still drowning. I was still suffocating in… in them. I could feel my eyes stinging, a sob heaving in my chest and building in my throat threatening to rip from my teeth. “It’s… it’s home.” “Your parents’ home?” “I don’t have any parents.” I gritted out. “Then what does this home mean to you? Is it a sense of independence without parental figures?” “No.” I said, “It’s… just home. I feel safe here. I have people I care about here.” She hummed, and I could feel her fingers loosening the velcro straps pinning me down. In the real world, I was inside a room with four grey walls, a blinding light shining down on my face as I lay on a metal slab like a piece of meat ready for slaughter. I would have preferred it if I was going to die. At least I wouldn’t have to live through this again. Slowly, splinters of real life started to come through. I could sense my bed reclining, and the low hum of the machine taking readings of my brain. If I fully concentrated, I was able to feel both reality and memory at the same time. I could feel the ice cold porcelain of the bathtub in my memory, as well as the strange metallic headset which had been placed on top of my head in reality.  My therapist was one of the nicer humans who came to visit. I liked to think she actually had empathy outside of her professional façade. Though maybe I was just naïve and craved someone I could actually talk to. Holding my breath, I didn’t think about the velcro strapping me down, or the uncomfortable device digging into the back of my skull. I concentrated on the memory. But doing so only plunged me deeper inside. I was paralysed. I couldn’t fucking move and no matter what I did, I couldn’t force my body into fruition.  A sudden sharp knock on the door jolted my body against the restraints, and several different gloved hands were suddenly holding me down. They wanted to me to see it all again. I was told it would just be the start—it would just be before I opened the door. Before I saw him.  I shook my head rapidly, my lips moving but no sound coming out. I want to stop, I thought hysterically. I want to stop. I want to stop! My therapist’s hands were stroking the back of my head. She was firm, tightening the screw holding the headset in place. A muffled cry outside the door in the memory sent icy slithers down my spine, and I felt three separate pairs of hands struggling to pin me down in sputters of reality bleeding inside me. “Ren? Dude, let me in! Are you in there?!” Another knock. This time I felt it reverberating in my bones. BANG. BANG. BANG. Wood splintered. “Ren! Open the door!” His voice was so familiar. I felt my head sliding on cold porcelain, lazy eyes flicking to the door. “I can hear Johnny.” I said through panicked breaths, my body stiffening under the bindings. “I can hear him… he’s trying… he’s trying to get in.” “Ren, I want you to stay calm, okay? It’s not real. It’s just a memory—" Johnny’s voice enveloped the rest of her soothing murmur. “Please! I think there’s something wrong with me! I can’t… I can’t think straight! There’s something going on downstairs!” BANG. BANG. BANG. Johnny’s voice morphed into an animalistic hiss. “…He’s gone mad, Ren. Do you fucking hear me? He’s gone mad!” The door was almost off its hinges, and something inside me snapped. I felt my body writhing, my lips curling into a feral snarl. Whatever had been holding me back, stopping me from smelling them—smelling that aroma which drove me fucking insane, came apart. I’ve heard of special spray the human’s douse themselves in before they come near us. It dulls their scent  usually, but this time the spray must have worn off. Sucking in deep breathe of air as I struggled to claw my way through a brewing panic attack, I got a whiff of it straight away. It was like cocaine and heroin mixed together, an intoxicating mix in the air which sent my brain into overdrive. I could sense it suddenly. It was everywhere. I could smell coffee on their breath, spatters of lunch and cigarettes and sex dripping from them. Bringing it all together was petrichor which must have come in stuck to the bottom of their shoes and fibres of clothing. The smell of the air before rainfall. The smell of home before the storm. It was everything I used to have. It was life, the smell of the outside and humanity, stuck to them.  All of it hitting me at once was enough to pull me from my memory. When my physical self sat up, and I was ripped from my own mind, I was blinking at three shadows staring down at me. I was panting, choking on my own breaths. I was well aware of my stance, my fingernails scratching the table, my teeth on wicked display. Basking in sickly pale light, the shadow’s looming over me looked startled. Their eyes were frightened. I’d torn out of my restraints. Just a glance to the left, and I’d ripped through velcro designed me hold me down. My therapist was among the shadows. Instead of getting angry, her eyes were sincere. I wondered if she was smiling under her mask. “You’re doing so well, Ren.” My therapist said, her voice muffled. I relaxed under her gentle touch, pushing me back onto the bed. “Just a little more, okay?” Her words were breathy, panicky, as she redid my restraints and hastily fixed the headset back in place.  She was scared of me. They were all scared of me. Blinking into intense white light, I felt exposed under their eyes. I felt disgusting. Inhuman. They stunk, and I hated that they smelled of everything I wanted back. Some shadows left the room while others stayed with their arms folded, staring at me like I was a lab experiment. “You’re okay.” I didn’t know my therapist’s name, though her official name was Doctor Malia. Her voice was soothing as I slowly sunk back into the memory. “We’re going to try one more time, okay? I want you to tell me how you’re feeling. Then we will stop the exercise.” Johnny’s cries grew muffled like he was shouting into a void. The door continued to tremble, and I felt myself slip further into the tub. “I’m suffocating,” I said through sharp heavy breaths teetering on the edge of hysteria. And I was. I was slipping deeper and deeper into masses of ripped clothing and slimy skin which had been dead for hours. Days. Maybe weeks. Severed limbs and heads with no torso’s. I was somehow alive, and they were dead. “That is a well-known side effect among Newborns,” Doctor Malia said. “It’s an incredibly overwhelming experience.” “No, I mean I’m suffocating.” I hissed out, trying to force myself from the pile and breathe real air. “I can’t… I can’t breathe.” “Is it water? Is the tub filling up?” I was sure she could see everything I could through the device. Her question was pushing me to accept my surroundings. My eyes snapped to the writing on the wall, smears of scarlet my brain couldn’t untangle into cohesive words. “No,” I forced the words out. “It’s not water.” “Then what is it, Ren?” I had to think about my answer for a second. What was I drowning in? Slimy skin pressed to my own, clothes drenched in sharp, intense red and hair tickling my neck from dozens of decapitated heads. “Flesh.” I said, my voice rising. “I’m…. I’m suffocating… in flesh.” “Keep going.” Her tone was pushing me further over the edge. “Who are they, Ren?” “Them.” I spluttered. “I’m covered in them. I’m drowning… I’m fucking drowning in them!” For a moment, I was neither in memory nor reality. I was somewhere else entirely. I saw slivers of silver descending down on me, razor sharp edges slicing into my flesh. I was screaming. Before the blades cut through my vocal chords. Zigzagging sparks showering the air was the last thing I saw before I yanked myself from whatever that was. Something warm ran from my nose, tainting my lips and dribbling down my chin. Doctor Malia felt close. Her breath tickled my cheeks. “Can you explain to me what you’re seeing, honey?” “Doctor Malia, the patient is experiencing pressure on the brain,” a far away voice murmured. “I’m aware of that,” she hissed back. “Keep going. We can go deeper. Come on, Ren. This is further when we’ve ever gotten!” I coughed this time, rivulets of something wetting my lips. “Let me go.” I pulled on my restraints. “I want to stop. Now.” “Push through it.” Doctor Malia ordered. I could hear her murmuring to orderlies, but their voices were entangled. “Take me back to the beginning.” She said, when a dull pain arched its way across the back of my head. “Doctor Malia, if the body is showing signs of rejection—” She cut the orderly off. “He’s fine!” And then to me, “You’ve gotten this far. Now explore what you’ve been afraid to accept.” My response was a moan. “No…” I tossed back and forth on the bed trying to shake off the device which was glued to my head. But despite my protests, I was already falling. Plunging. Deep, deep, down. Reality was slipping away, along with Doctor Malia’s voice and my own writhing limbs rejecting the memory dive. “Ren?” Johnny’s muffled cries were back, but they were getting louder and louder until it felt like he was screaming into my ear. “Please let me in. I’m so… I’m so hungry,” He was crying, his words disjointed, but something feral, something monstrous was brewing. “I think I hurt Mina. I mean, I did. I fucking killed her.” A hand slick scarlet pulverised splintered wood. His hysterical laugh vibrated with the door as he forced his weight into it. “I killed her!” He wailed, his hand snaking through the gap. “I killed her, and she’s just down the hall, Ren! She’s waiting for you!” When the door was knocked off its hinges, my brain detached itself from the memory and bled into another. Johnny’s voice followed like a parasite. Until it wasn’t just in my head. It wasn’t just a memory. He was there. Right in front of me. I wasn’t in a bathtub anymore. I was in our kitchen. I came to at the back end of a Panic! At The Disco song playing on the Alexa. Johnny, a fellow resident of Shelley House was sitting in front of me typing on his laptop with one hand and stuffing himself with pizza with the other. It was hard to miss him. How could I not see that annoyingly bright red hair poking from his ratty baseball cap? His college letterman hangs awkwardly off one shoulder.  Johnny’s gaze was still on the screen as he typed manically. Probably an essay he’d forgotten to write. “I said,” Johnny spoke through a mouthful of tomato and cheese mush, shooting me a look over his MacBook, “It’s vegan. Like, actual vegan pizza.” He held the pizza like it was a lab specimen, pointing at its base. “See? Even the peperoni.” I grabbed a slice and took a bite. Huh. It didn’t taste like pizza, per say. But it was good enough. “Is this from the health food store?”  Taking another bite, I savoured fake string cheese which actually tasted like cheese. “Nah, it’s Pizza Hut.” Johnny dangled another slice in my face. “It’s good, right? I didn’t think I could go vegan but now I’m considering it.” I shrugged, swallowing another bite.  “Isn’t the food pricey? It’s like three bucks for oat milk.” Johnny turned back to his laptop screen. “I guess? But so is vegetarian food, and I’ve survived.” “Why did you go vegetarian again?” Mina, housemate number two, sat next to him with her head buried in her arms. Johnny settled her with his usual teasing smirk. “I’ve been a vegetarian since I was fourteen. Why are you asking me now?” Helping myself to another slice of pizza, I nodded, trying to avoid looking at my phone which was yet to light up with a notification. Lizbeth was in class, I knew that. It was our final year and things were crazy but she hadn’t responded since this morning. Still though, I wasn’t overly worried. She had a habit of turning off her phone and ignoring it for work. I just told myself to stop being paranoid. "I second that.” Mina didn’t lift her head. “Because I’m bored,” she mumbled into the table. “And I know once you start talking you won’t shut up.” Johnny shrugged. “I like animals.” She made a scoffing noise. “Weren’t you manically laughing at some YouTuber killing horses in a Skyrim mod a few days ago?” He rolled his eyes. “That’s Skyrim! Of course I’m going to laugh at it.” When Mina finally lifted her head, the girl looked half dead. Her dark blonde hair was a mess of curls and she looked like she hadn’t slept in… ever. She leaned close to Johnny, so uncomfortably close he inched away from her with wide eyes. Mina was scary when she hadn’t slept. “You were scarred for life by one of those documentaries we were all shown as kids. I had a kid in my class who fainted halfway through.” Mina sat up straight and held up a finger. “Exhibit A: Your great aunt was a meat eater when she came to visit before summer.” Johnny cocked a brow. “Wait, what is this, Sherlock Holmes?” She ignored him. And I was all for their little argument. That was what the kitchen was for after all. Mina held up a second finger. “Exhibit B: In your kid photos on your aunt’s Facebook, specifically one from when you were sixteen, you are eating a chilli dog at her summer BBQ.” Johnny looked… impressed. Maybe a little scared. He turned to her with wide eyes. “Wait, you have my great aunt on Facebook?” “Everyone does!” Mina’s lips broke out into a smile, “At this point you’re like our brother.” “Brother?” I caught her words. “Wouldn’t that be…” Mina grabbed the closest thing to her and held it up like a weapon. A towel. “Finish that sentence and you’re dead.” As usual, Johnny hadn’t gotten my joke. I think he was still trying to process that Mina had his great aunt on Facebook. “I’m one year younger!” He was starting to get pissed. Not proper pissed. Johnny pissed. Which was smiling way more than usual, his voice going a few octaves higher. When Mina burst out laughing, he shoved her playfully with a scowl. “Fine. You win. I watched Cowspiracy.” Mina pulled a face. “Urgh. The worst one.” I shot her a look. “I’m sorry, are you saying there are good documentaries about animal slaughter?” “Informative and depressing? Yes.” Mina stood up, strode towards the refrigerator and pulled out a soda. “Good? I’m going to say no. Unless you like gore.” “Speaking of gore,” Johnny finished up the pizza and shut his laptop lid, leaning his chin on his fist. “Where’s the Halloween committee? I thought we were having our annual party.” “Halloween committee.” I repeated in a scoff. My phone lit up and my heart did a leap. But it was just Uber Eats spam. “You mean Frankie.” I noticed a tinge of red blossoming across his cheeks. “He asked me to help him grab decorations from Target this morning, but I said I was busy.” “Busy.” Mina rolled her eyes. “On a Saturday.” Yeah, I found that hard to believe. Especially when Johnny’s idea of “busy” was playing GTA until 4am. It had been a week. One week since the two had drunkenly slept with Mina, the three of them in a strange threesome sandwich, and not one of them wanted to talk about it. Every time I tried to bring it up with them, they acted as maturely as 24 year olds would act. They stuck their fingers in their ears and walked away, sometimes yelling LALALALALALAALA I’M NOT LISTENINGGGGGG. Like we were in fifth grade. All three of them drove me crazy and  had done since I moved into Shelly House during my freshman year of college. It wasn’t quite college dorms.  It was the cheaper option, a boarding house on the edge of campus which we had collectively bought off of the owner. It was a halfway house of sorts, for kids (or adults) who weren’t quite sure what the fuck they were doing with their lives. Shelley House was a Victorian wet dream. It was kind of rundown and the walls were covered in mould, the shower didn’t work and we had a yearly infestation of rats every Fall—but it was our home. Johnny and Frankie had a thing a few months back, followed by Mina and Johnny, and then Frankie and Mina. In the end, I guess they said fuck it and went poly. But nothing had really happened since that night except awkward conversation which was hard to endure and the three of them being both stubborn as well as collectively sharing one—no, half a brain cell. I got it. Friends becoming something else was definitely weird, but it’s not like I hadn’t caught onto the fact that Johnny and Mina were in love with Frankie. And vice versa, I guessed. Johnny was quick to cut into the awkward silence. “I probably should have helped him.” “Well, yeah.” Mina  plonked herself back at the table, Coke in hand, nursing the can. “He’s the only one who actually wants to do the whole party thing this year. Because it’s Frankie. And Frankie will literally do anything to avoid doing actual work, while he still gets amazing grades,” Mina caught herself. “That’s not the point, however. As much as I want to rant about how much I think the man is actually blessed by an angel, I’m not too sure about a party this year.” She took a hesitant sip, savouring the drink. “Aren’t we a little old? Freshman throw them.” “Hey, mid-twenties is still young.” Johnny leaned back in his chair. “Twenty five is the best age to be immortal.” Mina choked on her soda. “You’re confusing 25 with 21, idiot.” she shot him a grin. “You know, Forever Twenty one? It’s literally a store.” “The desired age has moved over the years.” Johnny said. Leaning further back in his chair, he almost tumbled over. I caught the moment of panic flash in his eyes when he realised he’d swung too hard. “Twenty one is the new eighteen. Everyone knows that. Twenty five is true alpha age. Everyone wants to be 25. It’s where you can still be lost even as an adult and folks can’t get on your ass about having no life.” I threw our youngest housemate a look. “Sounds like you’re desperately trying to convince yourself you still have your youth, man.” Johnny threw a piece of pepperoni at me. “I do have my youth!” Johnny and Mina’s back and forth carried on while I scanned my phone notifications for a text from Lizbeth. Still nothing. I was considering ringing her when the floor flew open, and in stumbled my third and final Shelly housemate. Frankie. Who was weighed down with three bags he was struggling to keep from slipping from his grasp before he finally caved and dropped them onto the kitchen floor. The guy was out of breath, panting, seemingly trying to coerce words and failing before he grabbed a lukewarm beer from the countertop, cracked it open and took a long swig. I could see what the other two saw in Frankie. Dark brown curls pinned back with a pair of raybans, a strong jawline and glittering eyes. He was the human embodiment of a golden retriever.  Frankie was already in his costume. I was still trying to figure out what it was, a wonky headband with a bright green triangle attached to it. “Yeah, don’t help me or anything! I’m good!” he said sarcastically. His British accent was refreshing in a room full of Americans. But his tone didn’t match the stupid grin on his face which I swore was permanent. Frankie was smiling until his gaze found the dirty plates piled in the sink. I had meant to wash them up earlier, I just forgot. “Ren, dude.” Frankie groaned. “You were supposed to wash the dishes!” “I’ll do them later.” I said, more interested in the bags. The others were already delving into them, getting tangled in fake spiderwebs. "Are these Halloween decorations?" Johnny pulled out a scream mask with mishappen eyes. "Yep!" Frankie folded his arms like a proud father. "But these..." Mina picked up a pair of gummy fangs and tossed them to Johnny who struggled to lodge them into his mouth. "This is what you got?" Frankie scowled. "I'm sorry, did you drive halfway across town with a bust radio only for the Halloween section at Target to be empty? This is all they had. The rest I grabbed from a store just down the road. Howard Jekyll, or something like that. The dude had some cool shit.” Amongst badly made masks and glowing silly string, there were several stick-on posters each with a cringey quote. I held up one with, ‘LAB EXPERIMENTS IN PROGRESS! I MUST MAKE THE PERFECT HUMAN.’ In spooky red letters. “You’ve outdone yourself,” I chuckled. “This is scary. Like, people are going to shit their pants when they see this.” Frankie shrugged. “They’re just for added dec. I figured they’d spice up the place a little,” he lips curved. “Ironically, of course.” “I think they’re cute.” Mina was smiling at the other posters, flipping through them. I saw one for a mummy, a vampire, and a crime scene. “Cute?” Johnny spat out the gummy fangs. We’re going to be laughed at!” “Shh.” Mina held them up. “We can put these around the house! It’ll be like a spooky quote people can read before they enter a room,” she jumped to her feet with way too much energy. “I’m going to try find a costume. I should have something black. Oooh, should I be a ghost?” Turning to Frankie, Mina poked his headband. “What are you supposed to be again?” “A Sim.” He flicked the green triangle. “For the lack of effort I put into it, I think it’s awesome.” “What is this supposed to be?” Johnny held up a poster and prodded the monster's face. “That’s not a vampire.” “Then what is it?” Mina challenged. “I don’t know! But look at the marks on its face! What even is that?” “Fascinating!” Frankie pulled the poster off him. “We should probably get ready for this party." When the others started to decorate the house, I made my way up to my room. Lizbeth had texted me saying she was arriving in around an hour, so I hurried to wash up and pull on a decent shirt.  I was standing in front of my mirror frowning at my reflection and trying to tame my hair before everything turned… cold. It started like a bad feeling creeping up my spine, dread curling in gut—but expanded to my chest and throat. I couldn’t breathe suddenly. When I tried to, sucking in sharp breaths, the air was turning white in front of me. I was paralysed suddenly, my body stiff while my brain knocked around in my skull. Something was in the around me. I could see it at the corner of my eye seeping through the gap in my door; a dull green mist-like fog growing thicker before darkness swallowed me up and I plunged deep down. During my unravelling, I awoke twice. Once, right before my first death—and then again. In the bathtub. The first time was… strange. I felt weirdly giddy like I was hopped up on drugs. I woke to the sound of grinding blades inches from my face and singing. Loud singing. Hysterical singing. Screaming. Screams like I’d never heard before.  Agonising wails I wanted to block out as soon as they slithered into my skull when I slipped back into consciousness. I was aware of two things when I struggled to take in my surroundings. The figure looming over me was someone I knew, someone I cared about—and that figure was painted in red. Like he was its canvas, like he spoke for the colour. It wasn’t just him. Everything was blurred and strange and foggy, and definitely bloody. It dripped from the walls, from our kitchen table I was lying on. Even the ceiling. There was something… very wrong with our kitchen.  There was too much silver where there was supposed to be rustic wallpaper. Supposed to be Johnny’s drink’s cabinet, our bookcase full of classics we never read, and board games. Instead, I was seeing… metal. It was everywhere, like the room had been converted into something horrific, something from my nightmares. My capturers face was a blur in my mind. Maybe I already knew it but I was in denial. The looming figure was the one singing, the one laughing and dancing, twirling around, snatching up masses of flesh with fingers which were still twitching, eyes which still blinked, and throwing them onto the table. I wasn’t tied down. But I didn’t have to be. The spinning wheel of silver blades hanging inches from my face was enough to stiffen me in place and choke the cry building in my throat as the shadow leaned in close. In his hand was a sharpie. And with a grin stretched across his lips and a sparkle in his eye, he began to mark something across my forehead, and then right into my hairline. Where were the screams coming from? Was the only thought dominating my brain, as the figure above me traced his finger across the markings on my forehead. They were everywhere. They were behind me, in front of me, to my left and right. Up above and down below. They were in the walls, crying, screeching, wailing with the type of pain I didn’t understand. But when I did manage to catch sight of something, a writhing mass of flesh to my right, a pile of bodies stacked high with party guests whose parts had been mixed and matched, stitched and cut and patched together like they were dolls. But their heads, whether they were connected to a torso or not, were still screaming. Something sparked in the air above me. I could see it, sharp rivulets of electricity flickering to life. I didn’t have time to see what it was, to understand. Because my capturer’s laugh was growing more and more hysterical, and he was muttering to himself, giggling, his hands wet and warm grazing my cheeks and face—before the spinning blades started again. This time they didn’t just spin, transfixing me with how fast they were, the silver began to descend, cruel, cutting blades getting closer and closer until they were grazing the flesh of my neck. I remember crying out. Before his hands were appearing wielding instruments with edges like carving knives. He didn’t cut with them, instead using them to guide the spinning blades. When they touched down, I was already dead. It happened in the blink of an eye. One minute I was staring up at a monstrous machine primed to disembowel me, and then my world went silent.  The horrific grinding sound of the spinning blades, and the guy’s laughing.  Everything stopped.  A nightmare. That was what my first thought. My eyes flickered open. For a moment, I didn’t think about the flesh suffocating me. I didn’t think about headless bodies and wrangled guts spilled out around me, a wave of red lapping my knees. Instead, my gaze flashed downwards. The first thing I saw were stars. I was seeing stars speckled across an arm which was attached to me, wedged against the side of the tub. I knew those stars. I had been there when she’d gotten them, when she had hauled herself onto the chair with a bright smile, chewing her lip and tapping her feet and insisting that she was totally not scared of needles.  Constellations. Lizbeth wanted a sleeve of them dotting her skin and marking our relationship like it was some star crossed lovers shit. It didn’t make sense to me why Lizbeth’s tattoo’s were on my arm. When I realised I could move my body a little, I held it up and waved the arm. It was definitely mine. I could move it. I could scrunch up my fingers and make a fist. So, how did I have my girlfriend’s tattoo?   “Ren?” Johnny’s voice made me jump. My mouth wouldn’t sound out words properly, my voice barely a hiss. It sounded more like, "Jornnnnathooonnnn?" …”He’s gone mad, Ren! Do you fucking hear me? He’s gone mad!” It was then when I noticed the writing on the wall in startling claret: BAD BATCH (NUMBER 2) FAILURES. That was what the people were—the people entangled with me. Heads and torso’s, arms and legs. They were failures. Struggling through the masses of flesh, I tried to haul myself from the tub. “Please let me in,” he whispered. “I’m so hungry. I think I hurt Mina. I mean, I know I did. I fucking killed her.” His hysterical laugh vibrated with the door as he forced his weight into it. “I killed her!” He wailed, his hand snaking through the gap. “I killed her, and she’s just down the hall, Ren! She’s waiting for you!” When the door flew off its hinges, I managed to pull myself out of the tub before Johnny could force his way in. But he didn’t have to. Footsteps. The door, while being completely broken off its hinge thankfully still blocked the archway. “Fran?” Johnny’s voice became a snarl. I could sense razor sharp teeth. “Fran, what the fuck?” The footsteps thudded closer before the cracking sound so horrific I had to plant my hands over my ears. Johnny’s body dropped to the ground. I didn’t see it but I heard it. When I risked a peek through the door, I saw a blur of mismatched flesh and patchwork body parts. Like a doll, but it wasn’t different clothes I was seeing. I was seeing different patches of skin. Light, dark, tanned and pasty white. I saw different eyes forced into sockets and ugly stitches rutted across what was left my housemate’s neck. Nothing I could see Frankie, except maybe his torso and parts of his head. Everything else had been replaced. His right eye was backwards, the pupil zeroing in on me while his left eye was looking a whole different direction. In his arms, bridle style, was Johnny. Who was yet to be disremembered and put back together again. Though there was a glaring difference in my friend hanging from Frankie’s arms. Johnny’s face was covered in strange vine like black markings, like something was writhing in his blood, spiderwebbing across his cheeks and forehead. It reminded me of something. I’d seen it before, and it was driving me mad. Frankie paid no attention to me. He turned around with Johnny dangling in his arms and walked back down the hallway. I thought about following him before steeling myself.  I had to get downstairs and get the cops. I waited until he’d carried Johnny downstairs before forcing myself into a power-walk—but the closer I was getting to the kitchen, I could hear that noise again. Grinding blades. Strangled screams. I was grabbing the handle of the kitchen door when I noticed the  Halloween poster from earlier. Frankie had taped it to the door. LAB EXPERIMENTS IN PROGRESS! I MUST MAKE THE PERFECT HUMAN. And then I remembered the posters on the other’s doors. Johnny’s face, those markings under his eyes. His strength when he forced himself through the bathroom door. Something warm was slithering up my throat, but I was already doing what I wasn’t allowed to do. What I had promised myself not to do under any circumstances. Because I already knew once waking up. Once seeing Lizbeth’s tattoos covering my arm, the beginning of our relationship marked in constellations spanning across her upper arm and shoulder. When I pulled back a shirt sleeve which wasn’t mine, I was seeing Lizbeth’s tattoo. But I was also looking down at my own body, at how my leg looked odd next to my other one, and my stomach was a lot rounder than I remembered. When I clawed at my hair, most of it was gone, a large bald patch and stitches running down my hairline.  They were everywhere. Stitches. They were in my hands and on my arms and my fingers, across my gut when I lifted my shirt with trembling fingers. My skin was thousands of shades, like had sliced me up and taken care of each piece, stitching me back together. I wasn’t just Lizbeth. I was a piece of every person which made me up. I was all of them and none of me. Did any part me still exist? I got my answer when I forced my way into our kitchen which had been converted into a freakish laboratory which could only exist with some kind of inhuman force. Because there was no way Frankie could build all of this. When I stepped inside, I saw what was left of Johnny under the spinning blades. I finally understood what my housemate was trying to do. I was a failure of its practise, and it looked like Johnny would be a success. Johnny was in one piece before the world around me exploded. I remember him strapped down, struggling, snarling, pitch dark eyes brewing with something inhuman. Mina was on the pile of screaming body parts, her skin had been ripped into shreds and wrapped around her like a— Like a mummy. The perfect human’s, I thought, glimpsing pieces of my own body I recognised. When lightning struck the metal rod piercing Johnny’s body, men and women in white were suddenly pouring inside the house. Something shot Frankie, and he dropped to the ground. “Detecting high levels of G6! This place is doused in the stuff!” "Check everything. Especially Halloween decorations. That's the usual target." "Time of shift?" "Around 7 hours ago. Ten past midnight exactly. Holy fuck, we've got a bloodbath."  A woman pointed a gun at my head, her lip curling in disgust. "Mid-twenties. Hybrid of some sort. Should I shoot?" "They're all hybrids," a man grunted. "Howard Jekyll and his store have a lot to answer for. This is the second case in five years.” "Meaning? Didn't we have a deal with him?" "We did. It looks like he broke it." "Bring them in." A voice through static. "I don't care what state they're in.” "I don't think that's possible. These guys are code black hybrids. “I’m not talking vamps or wendigo’s. All of these people have been... altered." "Altered?" "Have you read Frankenstein? That seems to be the inspiration." A man had hold of Frankie. “This one needs to be sedated. Now.” Someone knelt in front of me—and I realised behind her the clock had stopped. It had stopped just after midnight. How did I never realise? "Can you tell me your name?" I thought of the tattoo on my-- no, her arm. "Elizabeth." "Okay, Elizabeth. This is going to hurt. I want you to hold your breath if you can and count to twenty. Can you do that for me?" One. Two. Three. Four. "End the shift. Do it, now. They've suffered enough." Five Six. Seven. Eight. "Are you sure?" "Yes. The longer we leave it they'll find it harder to adapt." Nine. Ten Eleven Twelve. The clock started to move again, the room filled with early morning sunlight and what I was finally hit me. Along with a sudden scolding hunger. I was a monster—a being made from patchwork flesh and discarded body parts. I stopped counting. And fucking screamed.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] She said TV would rot my brain... [RESPONSE] We didn’t get our first TV until I was 17. My mom always said that it would rot my brain, so I grew up with books instead. I’m not holding it against her or anything. To this day I still prefer words on a page to pictures on a screen, and that’s something I’m eternally grateful for. Plus, my mom committed suicide two months after we got it, so maybe she had a point. It was one of those old school behemoths that dominated living rooms across the country in the early 2000’s. Flat screens had been out for a few years, but my mom had always been something of a luddite, so one Tuesday after school I spent my afternoon with a mover hauling this 200lb monster into the house. In the beginning, everything was fine. My mom always kept the house meticulously clean. She cleaned other people’s houses for work, and when she got home, I guess she had trouble leaving the job behind. The house always smelt like disinfectant and bleach. To this day when I smell Lysol it brings me back to being a kid doing my homework while my mom bounced from room to room armed with a spray bottle and rag. I thought it was normal growing up. I never had anyone around to tell me different. It was me, my kid brother, and my mom most of the time, so I always thought her compulsive behavior was just something moms did. But then we got the TV. There was a week or two after we first got it when I thought television was just what she needed. When she got home from work she would actually sit down and unwind. Instead of picking up her spray bottle, she would grab the remote. She’d put on some shitty daytime soap opera or the local news channel, and for a few hours she managed to turn off the part of her brain that always yelled at her to keep cleaning. Then she found the QVC channel. I think the one that set her off was the ShamWow. At least that’s the one I remember. Despite her aversion to new technology, she bought the TV with TiVo. So as soon as the ShamWow commercial ended, she would rewind it and watch it again. It didn’t get bad right away. Or at least I don’t think it did. My therapist says I subconsciously blocked out a lot of the trauma, but I think she is full of crap. In reality, I was just stoned a lot when I was in high school, so my memories from that time are a bit hazy. Anyway, the first time I remember anything being wrong was during one of our Sunday dinners. I was sitting at the table high as a kite, with a brick of meatloaf and a mountain of mashed potatoes in front of me. My mom was next to me on one side, and my six-year-old brother was on the other. A piece of meatloaf slipped off his fork and onto the table, and being six years old he reached for it to shovel it into his mouth along with the rest. My mom shrieked. There wasn’t anger in her voice, only pure, animalistic panic. I jumped up from my seat ready to fight off the intruder that I was sure had busted through our front door, but then she lunged across the table and latched onto my brother’s wrist. “Drop it,” she yelled. And again, she wasn’t mad, only scared. “Drop it right now.” Her plate fell and shattered on the floor when she lunged, but she didn’t notice or didn’t care. My brother dropped the meatloaf and started bawling his eyes out. “There are over ten million different bacteria living on every square inch of this table,” she quoted from the ShamWow commercial. “Now stop crying and go wash your hands. I don’t want you to come back to this table until every single bit of your skin is as pink and fresh as the day you were born.” He went to go wash his hands, but he didn’t stop crying. “Get between your fingers too,” she hollered at him once the sink in the bathroom started to run. She cleaned her plate off the ground, made herself a new one, and we finished eating together. That was that. It either escalated quickly after that, or my therapist was right. Regardless, I don’t remember other “minor” incidents like the one at the dinner table, only the big one. She didn’t stop watching TV after work, but she did start to clean again. Except now she did it at night. I remember lying awake at two in the morning listening to the sound of her vacuum or the slosh of water from the mop bucket. I don’t know when she slept, but I guess that stopped being important to her. She got home from work at five, watched TV till eight, made dinner for me and Rich, and then she would clean. Every night at about 4:00AM I would hear the vacuum switch off. Then she would shower and head into work until she got home at five again. She ditched the soap operas once she discovered the QVC channel and the wonders of TiVo. Now when I came home from school, I’d hear Billy May’s talking about Oxi Clean instead of Nancy Hughes professing her love to Dan McCloskey. She must’ve recorded every infomercial for cleaning products there was. ShamWow, Oxi Clean, Shark Vacuum Cleaner, you name it. She stopped asking about our days at dinner, and instead would spend the entire meal quoting commercials and rattling off statistics about how dirty the typical American household was. Again, I don’t remember too much about the days leading up to the big incident, but that final day will be burned into my memory forever. When I came home that night, I knew something was off right away. It was 5:30, but I couldn’t hear the TV. I was so used to those damn infomercials that I think I noticed the TV being off before I noticed the screams. My brother cried as much as any other kid his age, but I’d never heard him make sounds like he did that day before. I sprinted upstairs to the bathroom and froze in my tracks. Rich was in the bathtub and my mom was sitting on the lip. She was pouring water over his head like she normally would to rinse the shampoo from his hair. Except this time she was pouring from a tea kettle, and the water hissed and steamed when it made contact. Blisters covered his face and there were red blotchy patches where the skin was sloughing off. The sight of Rich in the bathtub still haunts my dreams, but worst of all was my mom. Rich was screaming and thrashing trying to escape, but over the screams I could hear my mom muttering “Dirty boy. Filthy, dirty boy” over and over again. I grabbed my brother, burning my hands in the process, and rushed him to the hospital. When the police came for my mother, they found her dead on the couch with an empty bottle of bleach by her side. I wasn’t there but I can still picture it when I close my eyes. My mom sitting in front of the TV with her glasses on. Foam and blood-stained spittle covering her face. And Billy Mays’ voice in the background telling her lifeless body “Don’t just get it clean, get it Oxi Clean.” Me and Rich moved in with my aunt in Poughkeepsie, but I got out of there as soon as I turned 18. I got a job cleaning pools, and moved into a tiny studio apartment in the same town I grew up in. I furnished it with my childhood bed, the kitchen table from our old house, and a cheap couch I found at Ikea. Oh, and the TV. A buddy of mine loaded it into his truck and helped me carry it in today. It snapped on as soon as I plugged it in, and I was greeted with “Hi it’s Vince from ShamWow.” Those infomercials actually aren’t half bad. A lot of good information. I never realized how much bacteria there really is lying around. I washed my hands before typing this, and I washed the keyboard too. But I can still feel my fingers picking up dirt with every key I touch. I’m going to wash my hands again now, but the water from my sink doesn’t get hot enough. The girl from the Bissell Power Steamer commercial says that water needs to be at least 149 degrees Fahrenheit to kill bacteria.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I found the last remnants of Huitzilopochtli's cult, and what they do is disturbing... [RESPONSE] Today was a warm Sunday, the sun gleaming over the horizon, all things were waking up, the smell of flowers was amazing, and Hummingbirds flew overhead chirping along, most people in the morning get a coffee, and watch television, but for some in the woods, things were different. around 2:23 PM I went jogging along the wooden trail, either listening to music as I run, or hearing the calls of the animals. During the jog, I went off the trail unknowingly, I was listening to music at the time, not paying any mind to my surroundings. I was deep within the forest, and I heard a voice, yelling? or was it chanting? I tried to make as little noise as possible, and as I peeked from behind the trees, I heard the voice clearly now, a man who seems to be leading a ceremony, there were multiple people in a line up onto an altar. I heard the man speak " Huitzilopochtli is first in rank, no one, no one is like unto him: not vainly do I sing (his praises) coming forth in the garb of our ancestors; I shine; I glitter. He is a terror to the Mixteca; he alone destroyed the Picha-Huasteca, he conquered them. The Dart-Hurler is an example to the city, as he sets to work. He who commands in battle is called the representative of my God. When he shouts aloud, he inspires great terror, the divine hurler, the god turning himself in the combat, the divine hurler, the god turning himself in the combat. Amanteca, gather yourselves together with me in the house of war against your enemies, gather yourselves together with me. Pipiteca, gather yourselves together with me in the house of war against your enemies, gather yourselves together with me." He spoke again "For you Totec Huitzilopochtli! Hummingbird Of the South! Lord Of War! Patron Of the Mexica Tribe, and the city of Tenochtitlan! for it may have been lost, it will be returned under you might! Take these offerings as thanks, for defending our tribe from the vile Spainards! your strength knows no bounds, now feast! Hummingbird Of the South!" After his speech, ten men stepped up to the altar, and the priest took an obsidian blade, and cut open each of their bodies, taking out the still beating heart, and showing it to the heavens, the heart was tossed in a fire, and the bodies of the men were carried away. My heart felt afraid, but also exhilarated, but I pushed those feelings aside and attempted to flee, but the priest saw me. "Come here, Spainard.. for you are of our blood, and you have seen our ritual..." Two men grabbed me by my arms "You will have to join us and renounce your old faith... Do you agree?" He said, showing me the obsidian knife. I bowed out of fear, and he pronounced me a part of his tribe. He allowed me to leave, but he did tell me if I didn't return tomorrow, they will find me, and sacrifice me upon the altar, I don't know if anyone will believe me when I tell them, so I am writing here to gain advice, How do you sacrifice a man?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] A familiar visit from beyond the grave. [RESPONSE] “I’m taking him with me. I carried him for nine months. And you’re a terrible parent.” “I’ve paid the bills since day one, made sure we are comfortable, have a roof over our head. Don’t try to act like you’ve done more than me.” With my ear against my bedroom door, I listened to my parents trash each other over responsibilities. Only a child, I knew nothing of the word divorce, but we were past that point. During that fateful argument, it was just a matter of who I would be living with, my alcoholic dad or my lonely mom. “No, don’t—” I closed my eyes and covered my ears when I heard mom tumbling down the stairs. Once silence filled the air, I ran out to check on her, as dad—sweaty and shaking—stared down at her deceased body. Her head—impaled on the corner of the wooden radiator cover—looked up at us. Gripping my dad’s legs, I screamed out, “Dad, what did you do to mommy? Is she okay?” “She fell. It was an accident.” Her death was ruled an accident, but I felt conflicted, torn on what to believe. I loved my dad, but not when he was an inebriated mess that ignored me and kept me in my room while he watched his sports games. When I figured out my parents hated each other, part of me believed he may have pushed her down the stairs, but he stayed firm with his poker face. We buried mom in the cemetery next to our house. A town graveyard with hundreds of bodies was not exactly the bedroom view I wanted as a child, but knowing mom was still close by, put me at ease just a little. I’d look out the window at night and wave to her, talk to her, even though I knew she wouldn’t respond. But then she did. In the purple nightgown she wore the night of her death, I squinted and gasped when I realized she was walking towards me from the cemetery. With the right side of her face still smashed in, she looked like she only had half of a head. Her arms extended outwards in my direction, and I shuddered, hiding behind the curtain. I heard a ruckus downstairs and then the slamming of the front door. I looked back out the window and saw my dad headed to the cemetery gate holding a bucket. He went inside and approached my mom, who kept her focus on me. One by one, my dad threw rocks at my mom. He must have had a few dozen of them. She finally retreated and disappeared back into her grave. Too afraid to confront my dad, I said nothing about the incident that night, and he did the same. But then it started happening every night, right around ten at night, the time she had passed. I watched her from the window get closer and closer to the house, but dad always ran out in time to stone her. After a few weeks of this, I couldn’t stay silent any longer. I chased after my dad quietly. When mom sensed my presence behind a headstone, her body pivoted in my direction. “Son, are you out here?” my dad yelled. “He’s coming with me,” mom said in a raspy voice. “I’m bringing him with me.” “Mom!” I cried out, jumping up into view. “Cody, stay back,” my dad yelled. “You killed me, Paul. Why did you push me? Cody was my only friend.” I looked at my dad’s deer in the headlights expression. He said nothing, and then proceeded to throw the rocks at mom. Whether my presence played a role in her decision that night, I do not know, but mom shifted in the direction of my dad and wrapped her bony arms around him, smothering him. As she dragged him back to her grave, I made a run for it, out the gates and to a neighbor’s house. Pounding on the door, someone finally opened and took me in to call for help. Dad’s body was found in the same grave as moms. Ruled a suicide. But I know what I witnessed that night. And I haven’t been able to move on for the past twenty years. Because no matter where I’ve lived, I see them each night when I look through a window. Mom and dad standing outside, calling out to me, asking me to join them.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I can't keep what happened a secret anymore. The ritual we do every year protect us. Part 4 [RESPONSE] \### Link: \) \### Link: \) \### Link: \) I know… it’s been a while. Thinking about what happened in the library triggers me in such a way that it makes my brain start to… short circuit. I can’t really make sense of it all, but I need to try to tell and explain. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. We walked past the praying wretch. Down another corridor that seemed to disappear around us as we got further, and further away from the light of that friar’s dim candles. The area beneath the church was starting to feel much larger than it should’ve been, while feeling too closed in all at once. As an old cop, I thought that nothing could surprise me anymore… but I was wrong. Ever since that fucked up night, I’ve felt lost in the world. And the feelings of disorientation I was getting inside the catacombs reminded me of that. When the candles’ reach from that unholy shrine finally disappeared into nothingness behind us, the old man stopped walking and I heard the sound of a match. A dull glow started to seep out from the priest’s skeletal fingers, his hands looked like bones wrapped in paper as the light passed through his frail skin. Somehow, the tiny spark turned into the crackling flame of a brazer on the ground next to us. And suddenly… from what I could make out through the shadows, we were surrounded by rotting scrolls stacked up all around us. He started talking again. His voice sounding closer to death than that of life, like a man that had been lost in a desert with no water. Sounds coming from a dry place, a loud whisper of a groan that reminded me of the crumblings of dead leaves. “We are here. Blessed be the blood of the lord. Blessed be the tears of God, that we may drink and be replenished. This is the bibliotheca silentii, my son. Through these texts we have found a balance and learned the importance of silence to find God and grow in his wisdom. But… we have also found many other things—things that should never be found. Language is power and names are keys. The death of old tongues was never a mistake, but an attempt at separating our world from what was forgotten… God’s will. There is more to this world than just heaven and hell; and there is more to hell than a devil and his demons. For even the word ‘Demon’ is a lie, for if we were to speak their true names on our tongues, they would latch onto our breath, climb into our bellies and our souls would fester.” I looked around. And as my eyes slowly adjusted, I thought that I could see something else in the darkness. You know when you close your eyes after you shut all your lights off in your room at night? You see random colors floating, swirling, flashing dots flickering in and out of existence in a sea of velvet black—well, it was like that but—I could’ve sworn that these swirls were twisting into screaming faces, like the patterns weren’t so random or something. Fuck—Maybe I do need the medication. He went on. His decrepit voice echoing throughout the chamber as he slowly read through the decaying scrolls, speaking in a tongue that was foreign to me. His speech sounded like a sharp gibberish, unlike any language I’ve ever heard before… but all the words made sense still. Each syllable painfully scratching images into my imagination in the form of memories that I’ve never experienced. But could recall upon as if I’d been there anyway. My mind trapped within his grasp, being pulled into the past in order to recapture, revisit and re-experience moments long lost to the flowing currents of time. The light from the fire seemed to get sucked back into the brazer, and I was frozen. All the while, I felt like I was moving through a tunnel of inky black space. None of it made sense. Yet—all of it made sense. All of a sudden I was in the middle of a field surrounded by rows of turnips. The wind was crisp and the sky was painted in flame. Whether it was sunrise or sunset, I did not know. But the sun was low to the horizon, and an eternal sea of twilight was overhead. Beads of water covered the leaves of the plants, and the scent of men filled the air. I looked around and didn’t see another soul but couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t alone. I started walking through the field, holding my arms out so that my fingers would comb though the oddly tall leaves of the turnip plants. When I put my wet hands to my face… it wasn’t the scent of fresh rain, or morning dew—but instead the smell of sweat. The eyes I was trapped behind started to close and I felt a, sick, twisted smile come into my face. But in my own mind I was disgusted. When the eyes opened again, I was in a candle lit cabin room filled with faceless women. The fronts of their heads just featureless mounds of flesh; a layer of skin moving back and forth, ballooning and deflating where their mouths should’ve been. As if they were trying to breath—but couldn’t. And they were crying. All of them, including myself, frantically carving eyes, noses and lips into dried up roots with cut up, bloody fingers. Until one of the roots bit me and I knocked over a candle. Flames quickly caught onto my thick dress and the straw beneath my feet; it was in that moment that I realized that I too was female. My body jumped up in a panic and tried desperately to put out the loose fire, but the flame continued to spread. All the faceless women around me continued to carve, even as the inferno started to consume their dresses and eventually their flesh as well. Smoke replaced the air and the lids shut themselves over my eyes tightly again, while the smell of burning human meat filled my nostrils. The sounds of crying and screaming slowly transformed into the melodies of laughter and singing. When my eyes were forced open again, I had something sweet being pushed into my mouth; while chanting and dancing around in a circle with children. All our heads covered in burlap sacks as we frolicked around a woman burning on a stake. We sang in a language foreign to me, but the lyrics seemed familiar and old to me none the less. As I tried to pay more attention to my surroundings, I noticed that I was head level with the rest of the children. And the sweets being pushed into my mouth was being helped along by a tiny hand—my own. The more we danced, the more I noticed a pattern. The steps of our feet dug a circle and star into dirt around the woman burning in agony. And we were happy. As my eyes started to close again once more, I started to peer deeper into the flames, and I could see the woman’s burning face start to crack into a smile. I could see another type of light start to dribble out from her burned, hollowed out eye sockets. An evil… yellow… light. I could see the dark bright billowing out from within her mouth—along with long, inhuman, black finger-like things reaching… clawing. Slowly bending like the limbs of a spider, grasping upon cooking human flesh. And then my eyes closed again. I woke up laying on the ground in puddle of viscous liquid. Gasping for air and choking on smoke. The old priest was standing over me, staring down at me in silence as I tried to get used to my own body again. I was back in the library. After I gained my composure, I got up off the ground. Everything was back to normal. If you could consider any of this shit normal. Or at least… I thought. The priest didn’t move. And his skin looked more like papier-mâché than it had before. At first, I wanted to punch him in the face, even though that might have killed him. Fucking old piece of shit… but the more I looked at him, the more dead he seemed to be. He was breathing, but his breaths were shallow. His eyes looked dry and stuck to his lids. And that’s when I seen it. A bug. A single insect crawled out his mouth, across his face and under his eye lid. He didn’t move. And then something else happened. I started to see the light. The light was coming from within his mouth. I immediately pulled out my sidearm and shot him in his fucking face. Fuck that. He lived a long enough life anyway. Before I knew it, I was hastily moving back out through the path that had led me into that deep, dank place. But as I put space between me and that old corpse, I could hear inhuman things—things that sounded like gasping, but from too many throats. All of them too dry. And I could see a dull yellow glow growing slowly from within the library as quickly made my way back towards the entrance. The rusty gate was wide open and no one was there. Just a bloody looking crucifix and freshly lit candles. I made my way back though the catacombs, following the flow of that putrid liquid running through the open drainage system and the illumination of my flashlight. I walked up the spiral stairs, and when I got to the top, everyone in the church was staring at me with blank faces. Some of them with open mouths. When I finally made it back outside, I saw that it was the middle of the night. I had no idea that much time had passed. But I was glad to be above ground and out of that fucked up place. After getting back to my car, I noticed some sort of pastry resting on my driver’s seat. It was a small round cake with an “X” baked into it. There was dried fruit on the top of it as well—it almost looked like flesh. I slapped it onto the wet ground on the parking lot and drove off. As I cruised down that lonely road through a valley of endless trees, I knew what I had to do next. I understood what couldn’t be described in any language that was present in the world today. I felt like I had bore witness to something long forgotten in time. I felt like I had seen Samhain—lived it… and the weakening of the veil. I felt like I had taken part in an ancient ritual. I felt like it was a part of me now. I know what I must do… I’m not crazy. To be continued…<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] That wasn’t my mother… [RESPONSE] I was sitting in my living room one day playing my Nintendo wii. I was killing it in bowling when I heard my “mother” shout out my name.. I heard “hey can you come in here please” only she used my name and for privacy purposes I wont say it. I replied “hold on” as any other young teen would do in the middle of a game. I heard it once more again “hey can you come here” and i replied again “hold on ok mom”?… i shouted again “mom”!? Keep in mind that i was in my living room and 10 fr behind me is my parents room. My mom yelled back “what”!? But only it came from the kitchen , I asked my mom “hey did you call me and she responded with a a “no” what are you talking about. I instantly got chills due to the temperature drop and something told me not to turn around but i did anyway. I see a women no older than 35 or so with long black hair and glossy green eyes. Here head was peaking around the corner like a child playing peek a boo.. when i looked back she gave me a smile and moved her head back on the other side of the wall..Thats not even the freaky part.. she runs away and as i hear her foot steps running away i hear her say again “come in here” but followed by a laugh that sounded like a toddlers laugh with a flemmy throat. I ran into my moms room to see where she went but of course she was gone. Later that night i was woke. From a dead sleep in the corner of my room there she was again just looking at me with a blank expression. I asked “what do you want”? She just tilts her head in confusion and opens her mouth so wide and unleashed the same laugh i heard earlier that day. I stuck my head under my blanket and yelled for my parents and when my dad came in she was gone . I just told them I had a nightmare cause i didnt want to be looked at as crazy. I woke up the next morning and told them the truth. You can tell they wanted to think i was lying but it seemed like they knew something i didn’t. My mom asked me if i knew what a ouija board is.. I replied no i do not. She went on and told me all about it and how you can try and communicate with ghosts and what not and that they are bad due to the fact that they can open up portals and there is no telling what you can invite into your home. She said she caught my sister and her friend using one a couple days ago and my sister was telling my mom on and on about how she was antagonizing the spirits by calling them p***ys and saying “i bet you wont show yourself. My mom believes she may have invited in a un welcomed guest. To this day that house was never the same alot of other weird and freaking stuff continued in that house until we decided to move.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] chirp [RESPONSE] My house has very high ceilings. I was married to a wannabe interior designer. She wanted a big place to decorate and dote on, practicing her skills. It was a particularly animous divorce. We're both spiteful creatures. I kept her house in the split, and she took my daughter. Aside from the fact that I’d paid for it, I didn’t even really want the damn thing. It’s too big for me to live in by myself. People told me to get back on the market, that I was still young and deserved another chance. Fuck that. After ten miserable years and a nightmare divorce, I wasn't hopping at the chance to bring another woman into my life, even if it would fill the empty space. And christ does this place have empty spaces. The worst part is the ‘great room,’ a giant, vaulted, echoing dumpster with an overlooking balcony from the master suite. I used the balcony for my office space, when I used to go upstairs. The smoke alarm wasn't reachable from the balcony, up on the slant of the ceiling next to the skylights. When the chirping started, a soft battery alert off to my left, I remembered for the first time in years where the thing even was. And, look. I was married to my ex for a decade. I can tolerate petty annoyances. It's not something to be proud of, but it just wasn't pressing to me; I didn't want to deal with it. I only changed it the first time after my daughter came to visit. For me, it had already blended into the background, a basic part of living. It would beep every three minutes or so, not urgently but persistent. We were in the kitchen the first time it went off. She slapped her hands over her ears, and it must have really startled her because she looked suddenly drawn and terrified. Obviously I asked her what was the matter. Instead of answering, she just asked what that noise was. Gina's young, but definitely old enough to know what a smoke alarm sounds like. I crouched down and tried to explain it to her. That it was just a little alarm that lets me know when to change the batteries, that the sound is there to keep us safe. I don't think she bought it. It went off again and she flinched, wrenching away from me. She ran out of the house, and thank god her mother had already left or she would have seen our seven year old throw herself down on the welcome mat, fingers in her ears and anxiety prickling bright in her eyes. I caught her and tried to calm her down, but she kept squirming away until I promised her I would change the battery. Pulling her hands down she asked, "Will that make them go away?" I was rattled, but not as much as I should have been. Gina had always been a quirky child, and little kids react to things in ways you never expect. At that moment I was more concerned with nipping a meltdown in the bud. So I said, "Yeah, princess, of course," because I thought it would. Why wouldn't it? I got the ladder out of the garage, unfolded it and climbed up with the fresh batteries in hand. Changed the old ones out. The noise stopped. The silence was so desolate, it was like the intermittent alarm had been taking up all the space in the room. Now in the vacuum, the air hadn't yet filled back in. I folded up the ladder again and put it back outside. Gina waited on the porch the whole time, looking dubious even when I told her it was fine to come in. We weren't even planning on spending that much time at the house, since she was only here for me to take her out birthday shopping. Honestly, I was a little annoyed that I'd had to drop everything to fix the alarm, but I didn't want to be cross with her so I told myself begrudgingly that Gina had spared me from having to put up with it. After shopping, arms laden, I tried to coax her back in so we could have lunch and wait for her mother. Sure, I could have dropped her off at home myself, but like I said. I'm spiteful. Gina wasn't having it. She stood on the porch, fidgeting with her shirt hem and giving me puppy eyes. She didn't want to budge. I promised ice cream, a sneaky treat her mother wouldn't find out about, and she *still* wouldn't open the door. Hissing through my teeth, I set her presents down and swung the door open myself. "See?" I said, trying and failing to sound like a good, patient parent. "Everything is fine." She stiffened, white-knuckle gripping her clothes so tightly I heard a seam pop. I nearly scolded her, if not for the soft, distant chirp of an alarm. "The fuck?" I mumbled. Gina bolted off the porch, made it all the way to the end of the drive before I caught up to her. I scooped her up, and she started squirming and fussing like she hadn't since she was a toddler. That was how my ex found us. Gina flailing in my arms, almost worked to tears, door wide open and gifts abandoned on the porch. Parking at the drive's end, she sprang out of the car to interrogate me, chew me out. Gina reached for her so plaintively that I honestly couldn't blame my ex for the way she snatched her away. I tried to explain to her about the smoke detector, but she never listens to me anyway. She only barely stayed long enough for me to get the gifts into her car. Then she tore out of there, and I was alone. Pressingly alone, it seemed, when I heard the chirp from inside. It could have been a bad battery, or that I'd rushed and hadn't snapped them in right. The thing that unnerved me was really just how my daughter had reacted to it. I was worried for her more than anything else. At first. I tried to go back to ignoring it, put it out of my mind, whatever. But now when I would hear it, I would think: why did Gina run like that? What could have frightened her so badly? And one day, I wondered. Is it… getting louder? I couldn't be sure if it was my imagination. It's the red car problem, how you're more likely to see one if you're already looking for it. Before, I could ignore the sound even when I was sitting right across the room from it, but now I could hear it from any room of the house. I even tried to move down to the basement when the incessant noise kept waking me up and distracting me during work; even there in the bowels of the house, the soft voice of the battery alarm cut through wall to reach me. I couldn't go anywhere, held hostage to my home office on weekdays. Finally, I gave in. I got the ladder back out, climbed all the way up some fifteen feet, and replaced the batteries again. A brand new pack this time, absolutely no way they could already be used up. The alarm stopped for maybe an hour. When it returned, it was louder, faster. Beating urgently against the inside of the plastic casing. No matter where I was in the house, there was no escaping it. I tried earplugs, headphones, but the more I tried to block it out, the more sharply it cut through any barrier. It started to make my fucking teeth itch. It took me less than a day to crack, hauling the ladder up after an agonized dinner and scrambling to the top. I swear, when I grabbed the smoke detector, it felt like I was holding something living. A beating heart under my hands as I yanked it open. I didn't bother with new batteries now. I threw the ones inside of it on the floor, one of them leaving a fat dent in the hardwood. Who cared? I hated those floors. I hated the alarm. I left it dangling there, spilling its guts out. Proof I'd vanquished this stupid thing once and for all. Once I climbed back down, the exhaustion hit me like a truck. It was so quiet and I'd slept so badly. My brain was starving. I didn't even have the energy to carry the ladder back or fold it up or anything, so I just left it there and threw myself down on the couch. A scream woke me. It was like a nailgun to the eardrum. I had to clap my hands over my ears and roll my head around, looking for where it must have come from. The ceiling screamed again in a short burst. I lay there on my back for a few moments, trying to process what I was hearing. This had to be a hallucination or a dream, sleep deprivation catching up to me. But I've never had a dream that *hurt* before. Each scream, and they were coming with maybe ten seconds between them, they sent hot poker pain through my body. I rolled off the couch and into the kitchen, clipping the wall with my elbow. My body was uncoordinated and unwieldy. Too drained to think, now boiling with adrenaline demanding that I fight or flee. The screaming followed me as I yanked down the kitchen smoke detector. The one in the basement, the one in the upstairs hallway. Even as I was doing it, I knew I was in denial. The sound didn't come from here, though it was as loud as ever. I crouched in the stairwell, teeth grit and arms wrapped around my head. "Shut up, shut up!" I couldn't fucking hear my own voice even in the increasingly brief hiccups between noise because my ears were numb and my brain was on fire. Blood smeared on the sleeves of my shirt. Jesus, I was bleeding, and all I could think about was that sound and how to make it go away. Stumbling out of the house, I made my way barefoot to the garage. I don't know how my neighbors didn't wake up and start joining in, it was so *loud* even outside. Maybe they were. I probably wouldn't have noticed. I banged into the garage door and pawed around in the dark, too fucked to even hit the lightswitch. All I could see by were the streetlamps through the window, and I knocked over a few toolboxes as I careened around the place. One of them broke my toe and I didn't even feel it until later. But I got my hands on what I came for. I don't know why I went back to the house. I could have just left. I'd be crawling down the street, bleeding, and maybe I could never have gone back, but I would be free. I think in the moment I was convinced, possessed by the notion that the noise would follow me even if I ran. So rather than do the sensible thing, I dragged a mallet back with me. Dragged it through the kitchen and the great room, dragged it up the ladder one-handed. I was swaying so much, it's a wonder I didn't fall and crack my head open. When I got to the top, I started screaming back at it, hollering at the ceiling until my throat hurt. Grabbing the mallet, I braced myself on the ladder and swung for the smoke detector. I knocked it off the ceiling with one good strike, sending it flying with chunks of plaster. I hadn't gotten even a breath in before the ceiling screamed back at me. I swung again. Bits of ceiling came down around me. In my hair, in my mouth, sticking to the tacky half-dried blood running down my neck. It stopped. I held my breath, thinking maybe I'd just finally gone deaf, but no- I couldn't feel it in my body anymore either, it wasn't rending the air around me. I tilted my head back. Around the mallet and the still falling debris, shafts of light began to cut through. That wasn't possible. It was the middle of the night, my backyard was nothing but trees, there was no *room* above my house. I could see the dark sky from the window just beside me. I swung the mallet until I'd put a hole in my ceiling big enough to crawl through. I looked into the great room. I mean, when I looked in, it was a mirror of the same room. Not like it was a mirror, but, literally mirrored. Upside down from here. Empty the way it had been when we moved in. Another whole fifteen feet down- up?- from where I stood, there were bits of ceiling plaster on the opposite hardwood floor. The only other thing in the empty room was a ladder, like mine, standing right where mine stood. Looking up at the other room was giving me vertigo. Or maybe it was the rupture in my inner ears. I climbed down as steadily as I could and walked out of the house. I put the mallet back. Just to be sure, I stood outside, all the way at the end of the drive, and looked up. I couldn't see the hole from that side of the house, but I couldn't see another massive room above it either. Staring up at my roof, I almost missed it. The front door opened. My head snapped down just in time to see a silhouette, the size and shape of a man, running out the door and away. I ran across the yard before I even knew what I was doing. But he was fast, and I was barely on my feet. He ran down through the yard of another neighbor, and into the woods. I tried to follow him. Halfway into their drive, I collapsed to my knees, sobbing so hard I thought I would puke. I must have been so loud. I couldn't hear myself. When I got back inside, wet and covered in grass clippings and mud, I stood at the bottom of the ladder and looked up. Through the hole in the ceiling, I could see his ladder. Whoever he was. It lay on the floor of that opposite-room, unreachable. Whether he'd kicked it down as he left, or knocked it to the ground with a desperate leap to make it to my side, I have no way to know. I think the room is still there. I got someone to come in and patch the hole over, and by the look in his eyes when he left, he saw it too. I don't have any answers. Hell, I don't even have questions. What I have is partial deafness in both ears and a profound fear of heights. I know something happened in my home. I can live with not knowing any more.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] A Survivor's Accounts of the Depraved Funhouse: The Playmate (Part Two) [RESPONSE] [[1]]( | [[3]]( I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to dispel his echoing screams from my mind. "Fine, you win..." I said, sighing. "We'll wait for the cops." It was another five or so minutes before the police showed up. When they arrived, I let Ray do most of the talking. Finally, the officer turned to me and asked for the photo. "And you said the person that took this photo was the same one that chased after you?" he asked, periodically exchanging glances between me and the photo. "Y-Yeah..." I stammered, dreading the question I somehow just knew he was going to follow up this one with. "And what did you say this person looked like again?" I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath. "She had red and white face paint around her eyes and mouth... You know, like a clown..." I remember feeling so stupid when I said that last part. I was almost sure he was gonna blow the whole thing off as a prank. Surprisingly, though, he actually looked serious. "Would you know of any reason at all why this person would want to hurt this girl?" I just shook my head. I knew, though, it was to get to me. Why, though, I *honestly* wasn't sure. *They took my friend away from me, what the hell else do they want?!* *(The devil was never satisfied until he'd destroyed everyone, and neither was ...)* Finally, he handed me a card with a phone number on it and told us to call if either of us saw her again. I realized then that I needed to get home. The sky was pitch dark by then. *They're gonna kill me!* I thought to myself, despite the fact that I was, of course, *far* more terrified for Liza at the time. Using Ray's house phone, I called my house, immediately bracing to get both barrels from Ma as soon as she picked up the phone. What happened next, though, scared me far worse. At first, I was a bit relieved -- though of course a bit confused -- when it was actually quiet on the other end for a solid minute or so after the call connected. "H-Hello, Ma? It's me, Linus... Listen, um, I--" That's when I was cut off by a high pitched, squealing giggling from the other end. *What the fu--* My thoughts were cut off, however, when another, hauntingly familiar jittery voice spoke from the other end. *"Come home, Piggy, we've got a surprise for you!"* I began trembling and my hand shook so bad that I ended up dropping the phone, leaving it to dangle from the cord. *No! No, no, no, no, FUCK! They know where I live!* Immediately, my thoughts betrayed me by cycling back through the worst possibilities of what those freaks had done to my parents. "Linus?" I felt hands on my shoulders, shaking me. "Dude, what's going on, what's up?!" I snapped my head over to him, still shaking. "Th-Th-They're in my house!" I ran to the doorway just as the officer was about to leave and told him what'd happened. He asked me my address and I told him and he told me to get in the car. As we basically sped the entire way to my house, I shook to my very core with one very damning question. *What have they done to Ma and Dad?* I half expected the house to be in flames, with Ma and Dad trapped inside, slowly roasting alive. I was only half relieved, though, when we arrived to find that the house *was* still intact from the outside. Of course, I was still very much terrified of what I'd find *inside*. I grabbed the handle of the door and was about to bolt out when the officer told me to stop. "B-But..." I tried, wanting to just bolt out and help rescue my family. *(Just like how I wanted to help Derek...)* He radioed for backup and, ten minutes later, two other patrol cars arrived. "Stay here." he told me as he got out of the car and made his way to the front of my house. The two others I saw approached from the back. I saw the officer knock on the front door twice, drawing his gun after the second attempt. I was shaking, sweating bullets, when I saw the officer draw his gun. *Oh God, please let them be okay...* He then opened the door, apparently having been left unlocked -- something I knew my folks wouldn't ever do under any normal circumstances -- and went inside. *What's going on in there?!* I wondered with nauseating anxiety as I saw the lights being turned on from the windows. About fifteen minutes later, they all came out of the front door and walked back to the car. I was on the verge of a heart attack, bracing myself to hear the horrific news of what'd happened to my family. Then the officer opened my door. "Come on out, son, it's all safe." "Where's Ma and Dad?" I asked, my voice quivering and sounding like a small child about to burst into tears -- which I very much was. He then handed me a sticky note that read *"Had to step out. Door's unlocked. Be back later. Love Ma."* Despite the note, relief was still *very* slow to return to me. *What did they mean by "Surprise"?* I was immediately taken back to the dark room with the three doors. I could faintly hear Happy Bob's deep voice boom, *"... And the last door leads to a special secret surprise!"* As you can probably guess, I lost myself again to the haunting images of the altar and the... the... Well, you know... *("Would you like that, Piggy?")* I felt the officer's hand on my shoulder. "Did you hear me?" he asked. "Huh?" I replied, crashing back to reality. "I said we're gonna stay here with you until your parents get back, okay?" I nodded blankly, still just barely registering anything around me. "Would you have any idea as to when they'd be back?" I shook my head, dazed. Then, however, I remembered something. I remembered how Dad always kept a pager on him from when he was selling cars back in NY. He kept the number for it written on a piece of tape across the front of it. He always told me and Ma that we were only ever supposed to call it in the event of dire emergencies. I told the officer about calling the pager and he, along with two others, accompanied me back inside my house, leaving the other three outside with the vehicles. I dialed the number and waited, still trembling and by this point, just two seconds away from going straight into shock. It didn't help at all that, even with the pager, I still had to wait for one or both of them to *actually* get to a phone, assuming there was even one nearby. All the while, I was still panicking, wondering what the clowns were wanting me to find. "Hello? Linus? Is everything okay?!" The anxious voice of my Dad jarred me. "Uh... I... I..." I began tripping over my own thoughts. *How the hell was I supposed to explain this?* "Linus, what's going on? Are you hurt?" Unable to form a coherent sentence, I handed the phone to the officer. "Hello, this is Officer Hagan from the Nashville Police Department." He began. I listened to him explain the situation at Ray's house and the "possible home invasion", as he termed it. About three minutes later, Officer Hagan handed the phone back to me. "Son! Baby, Oh God, are you okay?!" It was Ma. "Y-Yeah... Yeah, I'm okay..." "We're coming home right now, hang in there, baby!" "O-Okay..." I squeaked out. I was barely being held together by shoestrings by that point, and I couldn't hide it in my voice, either. "I-I-I love you, Mom." "I love you, too! Just hang in there, we'll be pulling into the driveway in ten minutes!" she said before hanging up. About a minute after hanging up, one of the officer's walkies beeped. "Officer Whitmore, here, Over." he answered. *"A call's just come in about a domestic disturbance at a residence in the next neighborhood over from our position. Over."* I saw him look to Officer Hagan questioningly. "Go ahead," Officer Hagan replied. "Me and Gorman will stay here until the kid's folks arrive. Keep me posted if anything goes south." Officer Whitmore then stood up and headed for the door. "Copy that," he said into the walkie on his way out, "Where'd the call call come in from? Over." As the officers left, leaving only officer Hagan and his partner, Gorman, one question after another continued pounding like a jackhammer in my head. *How did they find my house? How long have they been following me? WHY have they been following me?* Then, of course, There was still the unshakeable, spine chilling question of what they planned to do with Liza. *What was the "Secret surprise"?* While my mind continued brooding over this, I could, albeit very faintly, hear voices breaking through the static of one of the officer's radios. *"Nashville P.D. to base... Repeat, Nashville P.D. to base... We're En route. E.T.A. ten minutes..."* was all I was able to make out at the time. I remember hearing a multitude of sirens in the distance, mentally noting with a shiver at just how close they sounded. *Why are there so many of them?* My head began spinning so hard from the hysteria and the confusion that I actually began to feel dizzy physically. "You okay, there, kid?" I faintly heard officer Hagan's voice say. "Why don't you go splash some water on your face? Help you relax." "O-Okay..." I meekly muttered, trudging upstairs to the bathroom. I had to hold onto the railing as I slugged along. My head was swimming. *What is the "secret surprise"?!* This constant paranoid thought process caused me to immediately begin turning the bathroom inside out as soon as I turned on the light. I shivered, fearing what I might find. Nothing. Nothing was wrong here. Nothing had been moved, taken, opened, or broken. There wasn't so much as a hair out of it's place. At least, not until I opened the medicine cabinet and a small slip of paper fell out onto the sink below. Eyes wide, I picked it up with reinvigorated terror. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to try and relax my quaking hands long enough to hold the paper still. Once I was able to hold still, I opened my eyes to see that I was holding another photo. This one was of Derek. Looking closer, my heart nearly stopped dead in my chest when I realized that it was the *same* photo from the park. The eyes and mouth had been defaced with the red clown smile just like the photo from earlier with Liza. I felt my stomach turn over on itself as I turned the photo around to see that it, too, had a message written on the back of it. ***"We had so much fun with him, didn't we? Remember how happy he looked?"*** *"Please! PLEASE, NO MORE!"* Vertigo finally got the better of me and I began to retch into the toilet. Images of Derek's scarred face flooded my mind. in an almost endless barrage, each accompanied by his pleas for mercy. A knock at the bathroom door took my attention away from the toilet. "You okay in there, kid?" "Y-Yeah... Yeah, I'm okay..." I weakly responded. "Alright, well, when you're ready, your parents are waiting for you outside." I slowly picked myself up and made my way back downstairs, still feeling extremely nauseous. Ma nearly bowled officer Hagan over as she swooped me into her arms before I could even reach the last step. "Oh my God! Baby, are you okay?!" I just stared back at her in a blank daze, before just burying my face into her chest like a shy toddler. Once again, I heard one of the officer's radios go off, faintly hearing the words, *"Attention all units, this is officer Whitmore requesting backup... We've got two adults and a minor in critical condition!"* "Copy that, you said two adults and a minor? Over." I heard officer Gorman respond as he walked outside. I just clutched tighter to Ma as officer Hagan showed her and Dad the photo of me and Liza. I felt Ma's embrace tighten around me as officer Hagan asked if they'd know of anyone who'd want to hurt me or Liza. Of course, they didn't. They wouldn't have known about the clowns... About Derek... I didn't ever talk about it. I didn't want to. I didn't want to remember. *(It was all because I wanted to forget...)* He then explained that a patrol would be stationed outside my house for the next week or so when officer Gorman came back inside, gesturing for his partner to follow him out. About two minutes later, officer Hagan came back inside and asked to speak with Ma and Dad privately. Obliging, Ma and Dad told me to go wait in the living room while they relocated to the dining room to talk. At the time, I couldn't make out any of what they were saying, noticing instead the periodic glances in my direction from the officers as they spoke. *What happened? What're they talking about in there?* I wondered with a sinister chill pricking down my spine when I watched Ma cover her mouth with a horrified expression. Almost immediately after she turned back to the officers, I noticed a small series of flashes from outside the living room window. And keep in mind, these weren't police flashes. No, rather, these were bright, white flashes that seemed to just occur sporadically, about two or three flashes every few seconds. I slowly got up from my spot on the couch and went over to the window, squinting my eyes. Cupping my face to the window, I strained my eyes to try and make out the source of the flashes. At first, I thought it might've just been one of the neighbor's porchlights going on the fritz from across the street. But once I got to the window, however, I noticed the flashes were occurring about two and a half or so feet *away* from the neighbor's house to the right of it. Despite straining my eyes to the point where it was actually beginning to feel uncomfortable, I couldn't see exactly what it was that was causing the flashes. Who or whatever was responsible for it appeared to be -- almost strategically -- placed in a spot just outside the illumination radius of the streetlamp that was situated just beyond the front yard of the house across the street, under complete cover of night. "Oh God, Linus, sweetheart, I'm here! Momma's here now!" I heard my mother softly say, shuddering as her arms wrapped around my waist and began to squeeze. A feeling I will always miss. I was jolted away from the window to see my mother's red face and watery brown eyes. "Everything's gonna be okay, baby..." She tried, futilely, to smile. Turning back to the window, I saw that the flashes were now gone. "What, what is it honey? What did you see?" I stared at the window, blinking in confusion. *What was that?* "It's nothing. I muttered, shaking my head. I felt her arms tighten around me. "Are you *sure* you saw nothing?" I saw her face take on the most worried and downright terrified expression I'd ever seen in that moment. It scared me, but worse, it broke me because of how much I could see the way this whole crisis was tearing at her. She was scared, which meant *I* was in trouble -- even if I didn't know (Or at least wanted to *pretend* I didn't know) why. I never wanted to see that look from her again. *(Like I'd get what I wanted...)* "Y-Yeah... Yeah, it's nothing, I promise. I think I'm just tired. I think my eyes are messing with me." She pulled me in for another snug embrace, burying my face in her chest. She just held me like that for another moment before telling me to go ahead and go lay down. I looked at her and then to Dad and the others. "Go on ahead to bed, son. I love you, we'll talk more in the morning." Dad said, giving me a brief, but firm side-hug before I shambled blankly upstairs to my room. Once I found my bed, exhaustion overrode my restless thoughts and I was out cold almost before my head could even hit the pillow. That said, my sleep was anything BUT peaceful. I'd spend that entire night tossing and turning with a very specific -- and very vivid -- nightmare. I dreamt that I was back inside of the dark room in HappyWorld. The "Balloon Room", surrounded by all of those dead kids. Only, they weren't dead. They all looked at me with their scarred, mutilated smiles and crawled towards me, screaming *"Always remember to smile! Smile for us!"* before bursting into flames. That's when Derek appeared on top of the altar. At first, he looked normal, but then he peeled the skin away from around his eyes and tore his mouth upwards ear-to-ear. He says to me "I wanna thank you, Linus. Now I can always be happy." I then become seized by the screaming, burning, mutilated kids as Derek walks up to me and says "Now we can both smile together." Then, he digs his fingers into my face to rip off my eyelids. As I scream in pain, I see the Amazing Beliar, smiling in demented glee, then plunge his blade into Derek's head, causing it to explode and shower the entire area around in gore. He then lets out an inhuman laugh as he sticks the blade in my mouth and drags it from one side to the other as his head morphs into that of a black goat with fangs. I screamed harder than ever as I then burst into flames myself, before suddenly being shaken awake. "Linus! Honey, wake up!" My eyes shot open and I immediately saw my mother's face illuminated in the moonlight from my bedroom window. I just laid there, sweating and breathing heavily when she asked "Are you okay?" I stared back at her in a groggy daze, mind completely lost in a scrambled trance and answered "Y-Yeah..." She kissed the top of my head before telling me to follow her. She led me down the stairs into the kitchen. When she pulled up two chairs to the kitchen counter, I knew immediately what she was doing. In a soft, soothing voice, she whispered, "I know you're all grown up now and all, but I can't let my little one go without some of momma's delicious cookies and warm milk after a nightmare like that." She began setting the oven. I sat down at the counter, a smile molding into my face as I saw her get out the ingredients. She winked at ne when she pulled out the chocolate chips and M&Ms. While I watched her knead the batter, I was instantly reminded of the nights when I'd walk into her and Dad's room after having a bad dream and she'd always whip up about two dozen cookies, each perfectly soft and crumbly to the point where they'd melt in your mouth on contact and each and every flavor would basically be imprinted in your tongue. She'd always serve them with a glass of freshly warmed milk that's heated just right to where just one glass (Or Hell, just ine good gulp if we're being completely honest) and it was lights out quicker than taking a tranquilizer in your ass. *(I wish to God I could have that now. Who am I kidding, though, I doubt even THAT would work anymore...)* Once she was finished mixing the batter, she handed me the spoon for me to lick clean, just like she would when I was little. Smiling, I took it and gave my taste buds a sense of heaven while she did the same, licking her fingers clean with a warm smile. I almost couldn't contain my excitement when I watched her dump half of the jar of M&Ms into the batter before mixing then in by hand. As she had her back to me to put the cookies into the oven, I caught a slight, bright flash out of the corner of my right eye from the kitchen window. It was instantaneous and, had the house not been dark and quiet, I probably wouldn't have even noticed. I looked over to the window to see nothing but the dark backyard. Nothing out of place. *Am I seeing things?* I wondered. "Whatcha looking at?" Ma whispered. looking out through the window herself. "Uh... N-Nothing." I responded, rubbing my eyes before putting an excited grin back on my face, anxiously anticipating the cookies. For a second, she held a somber, sympathetic sort of look on her face before melting away back to her warm, smile again. "Why don't you wait on the couch in the living room, I'll join you when the cookies are ready, eh?" I nodded and sluggishly shambled ny way to the couch. As I sat there, teased by the intoxicating aroma of baking goodies, my mind continued to, albeit only mildly, brood over one question. *What the hell are these flashes?* Eventually, Ma joined me on the couch with the treats, hugging me close with the cookie platter between us and lovingly whispering "Enjoy sweetheart." For about the next ten minutes or so, I did just that, smiling back up at Ma and telling her she was the best mom ever. Then I saw it again, another series of bright, blinking white lights from the corner of my right eye from outside the living room window. They were occurring even closer to the window than before, yet, I still couldn't really make out who or *what* it was actually coming from. I found myself then huddling closer to Ma. "Honey, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice beginning to break. I looked out of the window again to see -- just like before -- no flashing, no lights. "Nothing, I think I'm just seeing things..." I groggily answered again. *(Goddamn it, WHY DID I HAvE TO BE A COWARD!)* Ma put her hands on my shoulders, positioning me to meet eyes with her. "Linus, honey, *please*," I could see her eyes starting to glisten in the moonlight, "I need you to be honest with me." I just stared back at her, not knowing at all how to even begin telling her. That five months ago, I watched my friend get murdered and sacrificed to the devil by a group of psycho clowns in a funhouse. And that now, they were for some reason stalking me, as well as possibly targeting Liza, AND NOW, I'm seeing random, mysterious flashing lights outside. I know what you're thinking here, and I can't necessarily blame you to a degree. I know you think I should've just came clean already, but damn it, *I WAS SCARED, OKAY?!* Back then, I was just a stupid kid, loved life and just wanted to have fun. Then I met Derek, made a kickass friend in him. And then "The Balloon", and now all of this. I... I... *Oh God...* *(I just wanted to keep running. I still do...)* "Officer Hagan told us about the photo." she squeaked, her voice continuing to quiver. "Who's doing this? Who's trying to hurt you?" "I... I... I don't know." I lied. My body and mind were both trembling furiously, just wanting to write the day's events off as just one big nightmare that'd pass by morning. She just stared at me, just seconds -- no, *less than seconds* \-- away from straight up breaking down. "I love you so much, Linus..." With that, I just curled back into her embrace, clinging to her like a frightened animal for dear life. Before I fell asleep, my mother pressed my head into her chest and whispered the words that bring me so much more pain even to this day when I remember them, "I couldn't take it if I lost you."<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm a security guard for hire. My last job nearly killed me. (part 1) [RESPONSE] I’m a security guard who works for a company that hires me freelance to whoever needs. So I’ve had times when I would go to work and have absolutely no idea where I was going. Sometimes I’d be patrolling football games on Friday night. Other times I would have to fill in for someone who called off sick at a warehouse, or one of the other places the company contracted out to. So, there wasn’t a lot of stability in my job, but when you’re the night watchman, you’re the night watchman. There’s not a lot of activity, you’re just kind of there to check the locks and make sure nobody breaks in. There was a large antique store in downtown that used to be an old department store that went out of business. Back when such things existed. It sat vacant for years, decades even. And then someone bought it and turned it into an antique store. They sold things on consignment, so it was actually many stores within one. The security company I worked for was called because there had been things going missing from the store. They decided it was worth it to have someone staying there overnight to make sure no one was breaking in. So, I was given the job. It wasn’t tough. I would bring my lunch in and put it in the refrigerator, then I would walk around the store. It had an upstairs and downstairs, and at nighttime, it was a little creepy. Any place that you walked on the upstairs floor, the boards creaked. Downstairs was completely different. It was a basement, but it didn’t really have that musty basement smell. With all the antiques there it had that antique smell, which is kind of hard to explain. It was like old memories. After doing the job for a while the owners really came to appreciate the job I did. Nobody was breaking in, nothing was getting moved, and I was very clean. I didn’t leave anything behind, in fact sometimes if I saw a mess on the floor, I would clean it up. So, the owners talked to the company and requested that I work there full-time. And that was fine with me. It was interesting for a while. I would go through different parts of the store that had different things. Each section was like its own little store. At night if I was bored, I would go over and pull one of the used books off the shelf and that’s the book I would read for the night. When I’d put it back, I would make a note in my notebook of what page I ended on and the next night I would get the book and pick up where I left off. There were other times when I would look through the one shop’s records collection looking for ones that I wanted to buy or that my friends were looking for. I would call them and tell them it was here. Not only was I guarding the place, but I was also bringing in more business. I would walk through and see what was in each shop as I patrolled. And if I knew there was something a friend was looking for, I’d call up and tell them about it. I was very happy with my job. And then came the change in weather. During the summertime, it was great because no matter how hot it was outside, once I would get down to that basement, it was always nice and cool. Once fall came around something changed, something became different. There was a different mood in the air. During the summer I would go around and on days that I was bored, I would have conversations with the different objects, the different dolls, mannequins, and things like that. I would even name them. “Hey, Fred, how’s it going tonight?” I say in passing to the mannequin dressed in a gentleman’s suit from the past century. I would chuckle as I walked away. It was just something to keep me interested and keep me on my toes. When September rolled around the owners of the shops started moving different merchandise in for the fall season. Every night I’d come in and a few things would be different. I would familiarize myself with them and see what they were. Maybe it would be a new doll or a statue. I would give it a new name, but aside from merchandise changing, there was something in the air. The mood was changing too. I don’t know if it had to do with the change in the seasons or the merchandise, but it became less of a light-hearted, carefree attitude. Especially once the Halloween decorations started moving in. I have nothing against Halloween. I’m just as up for reading a scary book as the next person, but some of the things were downright weird. There was a ventriloquist’s dummy that looked super creepy. Not only were the new things moving in but sometimes those new things would change position from one night to the next. It seemed odd to me that the shop managers would switch things from one shelf to another. I don’t know if it had something to do with the display, that somehow it would be spotted and sold more easily, but it seemed to be happening a lot. Not just one shop owner was doing this daily switcheroo, but several of them. It was a mystery, but I had plenty of time to figure out a mystery while I was sitting around every night in between patrols. It was shortly after that I heard the first sound. Now mind you, I sit in total silence all night while I’m guarding the place. I don’t listen to music because I want to keep my ears open for anyone messing with the doors. By this point, I’d come to know the sounds this store made. There were times when the heat turned on and the pipes would creak and pop. There were times when the floors would creak because of the change in temperature. The first night I heard it, it freaked me out so badly. After months of working here, I knew exactly when every pop and creak will happen and what caused it. This one was different. I was sitting there reading a book when all of the sudden I heard a creak directly over my head as if someone had just taken a step above me. One step and that was it. I froze. I slowly put my book down and looked up. The ceiling didn’t provide me with any answers. So, I quietly crept out of my spot and started up the stairs, pulling out my flashlight. The place was semi-lit with security lights during the night. It was easy to see to get around but there were still dark corners, so the flashlight came in handy. I made it partway up the steps and flashed my light around trying to spot someone as quickly as possible. I focused my light on the spot where I’d heard the sound, but there was nothing there. I slowly crept around the side trying to come to that spot and head off any angles where someone could escape. I kept my light trained on the spot so I would see if they peeked their eyes around the corner or if they suddenly darted off in a different direction, but nothing happened. As I got closer, my apprehension grew. I switched my flashlight to my non-dominant hand, unlocked the taser, and had my hand on it. “Whoever you are, you’re trespassing,” I said to the air. I didn’t get any response back. The creaks being caused by my own feet were creeping me out as well. I came to a spot where there was a display, and I knew that was exactly where I had heard the footstep. I stood there, mesmerized, looking at the little pumpkin face decoration and smiling at me. I darted around the corner and flashed my light at the only place the person would have had to hide but there was nothing there. I suddenly felt very exposed. The thought crept into my mind and refused to leave. ‘Someone’s here and you can’t see them.’ I looked around behind the display but there was no one. I did a slow circle around all the other displays in that general area and found nothing. You know how when you’re watching a horror movie and you know something terrible is about to happen and it doesn’t? It makes you that much more terrified of what’s about to happen next. That’s a rabbit hole that I was slowly tumbling down. The longer it took me to find someone the more apprehensive I became. I did a slow walk through the entire upstairs, paying close attention to the dark corners, but there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. The only thing I could find different was once again a few pieces of merchandise had moved positions. Was somebody sneaking in and moving stuff around just to creep me out? I was mystified as to why. I mean sometimes kids do stupid stuff like that but how would they get inside? I double-checked the locks on all the doors, and they were secure. After I did my round, I wasn’t satisfied by any means. I would have much rather found something than nothing. Because ‘something’ you can chase away. You can yell at it, you can tell it you’re going to call the police. But with ‘nothing’ there’s not a single thing you can do. I went back downstairs feeling helpless as I did a round through the basement, also finding nothing. I sighed, attempted to shrug it off, and went back to reading my book. I can’t say I was fully focused on reading. The rest of the night my eyes kept darting around, waiting to see someone jump up at me and say, ‘Gotcha!’ But that didn’t happen either. Let’s just say that I was relieved when morning came that day. I was very happy to go home, however, my mind never got to full resting mode. That day as I fought off the sunlight to try to sleep, my mind kept drifting back to, ‘Did I really hear that, or was it just my imagination?’ I’m not easily rattled. I used to work as a corrections officer, so I’m used to dealing with difficult situations. But this was bothering me because it was a situation where there seemed to be no situation. And that bothered me because that meant it was all in my head. I went back to work that night and was on edge the entire night. I did more rounds than usual. I tried to stay diligent of dark corners. I shined my flashlight around a lot more than usual. It was like my entire body was keyed up in anticipation of the same thing happening again. But it didn’t. Nothing happened. I wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. The night after that I went back to work and tried to settle into my normal routine, mentally laughing it off at the fact that I got so upset over nothing. That night, once again, I was sitting downstairs after having completed my first round and was reading my book when I heard the footstep. This time it wasn’t just a creak of a board, I heard an actual footstep, like a boot had stepped on the floor. I instantly felt pins and needles all over my body. I slowly set down the book, picked up the flashlight, and started upstairs. Like the last time, I moved slowly and cautiously, trying to flank the position so that anyone who was there would not be able to get around me. “Whoever is here, you’re trespassing on private property!” I said, panning the flashlight around. “If you don’t leave, if you don’t show yourself, I will call the police.” Nothing. The only sound was the fading echo of my own words. I approached the same display where I had heard the creak the last time. Once again, I found a colorful display of pumpkin decorations staring me back in the face, but no person, no boot, no nothing that could’ve possibly made the sound. The only thing that was different this time was one of the pumpkin decorations was swaying back and forth a tiny bit as though someone had bumped the display. My search of the upstairs proved futile and fruitless. I went back to my book feeling rattled but also annoyed. I was going to catch whoever was playing this stupid trick on me, it was a mission. The next night went off without a hitch. Even though I was keyed up I was ready to catch whoever was doing this, but there wasn’t a thing out of the ordinary. The night after that I didn’t hear a footstep… I heard a dozen footsteps running rapidly, heading toward the far end of the store. I bolted out of my seat and ran down to the far end of the store in the basement, and took the stairs two at a time. I could hear as I ran the footsteps and I were running in the same direction. I knew I would catch him at the exit door. This was it. He was mine. I made it to the door before the footsteps did and stood there, my hand on my taser, my flashlight up and ready. I was going to catch him. And then the footsteps stopped. I stopped right before the top of the staircase. “I know you’re there,” I said pointing the flashlight up the stairs. “Step out and let me see you.” Nothing. Dead silence. “I’ve had it with this game,” I said. “Step out now! I’m taking the safety off my taser. If you don’t I will tase you.” Nothing. “Fine, have it your way,” I said as I bolted up the stairs. The footsteps had stopped right there, the person should’ve been standing right there. But there was nothing. There was no place he could’ve hidden. It was all open at the top of the stairs. He couldn’t have walked away. I would’ve heard the floor creaking. He couldn’t have gotten past me, I would’ve seen him. It was like he vanished if he was ever there. I stood there, dumbfounded. ‘What the hell is happening to me?’ I panned the flashlight all around, but there was no place he could’ve gotten to before I got to the top of the steps. The steps weren’t wooden, they were made of stone, so my coming up wouldn’t have made enough noise to cover the sound of him running away. I started worrying about my mental well-being. I knew I’d heard the sounds. I knew I’d heard someone running upstairs. There was no doubt in my mind… or was there? I hadn’t found anything. So, either I was hearing things, my mind was playing tricks on me, or it was something else. I decided I needed proof. So, the next night when I came to work, I sat my cell phone on the counter, and of course, I heard nothing. When you’re anticipating something happening and it doesn’t, it’s frustrating. The next night I sat my phone on the counter and read my book, after doing my normal rounds. As soon as I heard anything, I turned my phone on video and hit record. I heard footsteps running toward the rear entrance. I followed them. After another fruitless chase, I returned to my counter and watched the video. All it showed was the ceiling, but I was only listening for the sound. I heard the steps on the phone. I was happy that I could hear them. It meant I had proof that I wasn’t going crazy. Then I heard my own footsteps running away, chasing after them. I left the video running as my mind started wandering. ‘Ok, now I have proof, but proof of what?’ I thought. Suddenly I heard a voice. It was quiet, harsh, and raspy. It said four simple words. “Why are you here?” I spun around, looking for whoever had just spoken, but no one was there. “Who is it?” I screamed. “Stop doing that!” Nothing. I looked around for hidden speakers or anything that might be doing this. I looked under the counter, over the counter, through the counter. Nothing. I heard myself walking back and picking up the phone, then the video ended. I stared at the phone for a long moment then started the video again. Same thing, the footsteps, followed by me running after them. I was about to turn it off when the voice sounded again. “Why are you here?” I rewound the video ten seconds and listened again. “Why are you here?” I rewound it over and over, hearing the voice each time. Then I turned it off and did a slow circle. The only thing around me was the antiques. Old books and statues, buttons of failed politicians, and old porcelain figurines. There was no one there. I found myself at a crossroads. Do I treat this as a prank and ignore it? Or do I let my curiosity drag me down the rabbit hole to find out what was really going on? I set the phone on the counter, turned it to video, and hit record. “I’m here to protect the merchandise,” I said. “Why are you here?” I looked around and saw nothing out of the ordinary. I let the video record for another minute then shut it off and played it back. I heard my own voice ask the question, then after a few moments of silence, I shook my head at my own stupidity. ‘Of course, that wasn’t going to work because there was nothing there,’ I thought. Just then I heard the voice. “You don’t belong here,” it said in a low, raspy voice. My shaking hand reached for the phone. At that moment I completely agreed with the voice. I didn’t belong here. My knees were shaking. Chills ran up and down my spine. I spun around trying to find the mystery voice, but it wasn’t there. I nearly dropped the phone; my hands were shaking so badly when I rewound and listened to the video again. The voice was still there. I laid the phone down on the counter and started another video. “I have to be here,” I said trying not to stammer. “It’s my job.” Then I let the video record for another minute. When I rewound and played it, I got my answer. “Leave and never return,” it said. I started another video and said, “And what if I do return?” When I played it back, I wish I hadn’t. The only word it said was, “Consequences.” I suddenly felt cold, like the temperature in the room had dropped below freezing. I didn’t try to ask any more questions after that. I picked up my phone and went upstairs for the rest of the night. When the owners came in the morning the woman asked me if I was feeling ok. “You look pale,” she said. “Like you’ve seen a… “ “I’m fine,” I said interrupting her. “Just a little tired.” “Well go home and get some rest,” she said. “Thanks to you, we’re having a record quarter.” I smiled weakly and opened my mouth to say something, then thought better of it. “I’m glad I can help out,” I said, then excused myself and drove home. It took every ounce of fortitude I had to step inside the store that night. When I turned and locked the door behind me, the click had a sound of finality. I walked slowly through the upstairs on my first round, suspicious of every nook and cranny. Even the friendly faces on the dolls and festive decorations took on a sinister look. It was as if the entire store was watching me. By the time I reached the stairwell at the far end of the store, my nerves were shot. I had my flashlight out and hand on my taser. For some reason, the stairwell light was off. I flicked it on and descended the uninviting stairs. When I reached the bottom, the lights were off in the basement as well. I flicked them on and for a heartbeat, I swore I saw something dart out of the light and into a shadow. My senses, already on high alert, went into convulsions. Before I knew it, the taser was in my hand and the red beam was dancing around, bouncing off the myriad objects on the shelves. My feet felt like they were encased in concrete. For a handful of minutes, I stood frozen to the spot, waiting for anything to move, praying it wouldn’t. My mind screamed at me. ‘Leave! Get out of here! It’s not worth it!’ I entertained the thought and then came to my senses. ‘It’s just my imagination is all,’ I thought. ‘There’s nothing down here I haven’t seen a hundred times.’ I tried to smile and chuckle, but it didn’t quite feel right. Half of me wanted to listen to my mind's prodding and bug the hell out. I finally overcame my paralysis and started my round in the basement. I walked, trying to act nonchalant, but eyes darting back and forth looking for trouble. The taser hadn’t made it back into my holster yet either. When I got to the spot where I thought I had seen something move, I took a long look. There was nothing out of the ordinary, except an overweight porcelain clown that was on the floor instead of the second shelf where it usually sat. “Are you causing trouble, tubbo?” I said to the clown. Thankfully, it didn’t answer. I walked away feeling a little better for trying to lighten the moment. I stepped up to the books to choose which I would read tonight. As I perused the titles, one stuck out at me, literally. It was as if someone had only put it back in halfway. I pulled it out and looked at the title, ‘Cape Fear’. “Nope,” I said putting the book back. “Not up for anything scary tonight.” I looked around at the other books and picked out a Dave Barry collection. But I couldn’t pull it off the shelf. It was as if the book was glued to the spot. I shrugged and tried to pick another humor book, but it was stuck too. I tried others, but they were all stuck. It was the strangest thing. I tried a romance but couldn’t get it loose, I tried several other genres, but none would come off the shelf. I was mystified. Out of curiosity, I picked out a horror novel and it came out in my hand. I put it back and picked another, it came out as well. After trying many, I found the only books I could get off the shelf were horror. I backed away from the strange phenomenon and continued my round. ‘I just won’t read tonight,’ I thought, trying not to let the weird bookshelves rattle me. I made my way to my counter and eyed it with suspicion. ‘Maybe I should sit somewhere else tonight,’ I thought of my favorite spot. With no book and nothing to do but stare at the many objects that surrounded me, I found myself doing more rounds than usual. Hearing the floorboards creak under my own feet was little consolation. My nerves were still dancing on the edge of a knife. I went back downstairs to complete my round. At this point, I was intentionally trying not to notice things. I walked past one display and froze as I caught something out of the corner of my eye. I backed up and looked at the display. The clown that I had spoken to the last round looked exactly the same as it had, except for one important detail. It was back on the second shelf. ‘I know it was on the floor,’ I thought, my mind racing. ‘I *know* it was.’ I stared at the clown, his porcelain smile full of mischief. I tried something crazy, hoping no one would ever find out about it. I pulled out my phone and recorded the clown. “Are you the one causing all this trouble?” I said aiming the camera at it. I left the camera recording for an additional minute to give time for an answer. Then I stopped recording and started watching. I heard my voice ask the question, then nothing. I waited for the answer, but there was none. I stared into the glossy eyes of the clown for a long moment. Then I tore my gaze away and continued the rest of my round. ‘Someone is messing with me,’ I thought. Then I slowly reconsidered. ‘Or is it something?’ I looked back toward where the clown sat in his display. I sat quietly at my counter, trying not to have a nervous breakdown. My thoughts were tumbling through my mind so quickly that I lost track of time. I glanced at my watch and nearly an hour had passed. I got up and did my next round, but when I got back to the basement, the clown was once again on the floor. I pulled out my phone, mumbling, “I know he wasn’t there the last time.” Sure enough, I played the video and the clown was sitting on the second shelf. “Ha,” I said, pointing at the clown. “I caught you!” I turned the phone around and showed the video to the inanimate object. Then realized just how insane my actions were. I slowly turned the phone around and shut it off. I walked away and sat back down at my counter. The next round I tried ignoring the clown but found my eyes drifting toward its display. But instead of finding it once again on the shelf, there was another surprise. It was gone. I looked all around the display, but it wasn’t there. I frantically searched the nearby displays but couldn’t find it. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead. I did a slow pan around and felt as if it was lurking behind any of the thousand objects in the store. I pulled out my flashlight and searched every dark corner. I slowly made my way through the basement, not finding any sign of my quarry. I approached my counter and there it was, on top of the counter, pretty as you please, staring at me. It was all I could do not to scream. I refused to touch it. I stood there, transfixed, staring at this impossible scene. And then my mind woke up and sent me very specific instructions. ‘Run!’ it said. ‘Get the hell out of here!’ I bolted for the stairs and took them two at a time. I tore through the store and fumbled with the keys to unlock the main door, dropping them twice just like in every horror movie I’d ever seen. Finally, I managed to open the door and step out. The cold, late October, air slammed into my face making me screech to a halt. I stood there looking at the streetlights in the pre-dawn gloaming. The sidewalks were empty, making me feel totally alone and on my own. I took in several slow, deep, breaths of the frigid air. My mind began to slow. ‘What the hell just happened?’ I asked myself. But I couldn’t come up with an answer I wanted to accept. ‘I’m a former corrections officer,’ I thought. ‘I’ve dealt with people who’ve tried to kill me, throw things on me that should never be thrown, I’ve done countless cell extractions, and yet here I am scared out of my mind by a toy.’ I shook my head in wonder, then turned and went back inside, locking the door behind me. Two steps in I could feel the difference. There was a heaviness in the air. A stillness that was disturbing. My bravado was evaporating with every step. ‘Keep it together, man,’ I told myself, looking at my watch. ‘Only a few more hours, then go home and get some sleep.’ I came around the edge of the stairwell and started down the stairs when my foot caught on something and I went sailing out into the air. By sheer miracle, my hand shot out and grabbed the handrail, keeping me from tumbling down the stone stairs and ending up with at least a concussion, if not a quick trip to the morgue. My body swung around and slammed into the hard metal railing, knocking the breath out of me. I hoped I hadn’t broken any ribs, but there was pain radiating from my side. After a few minutes, I caught my breath and slowly stood, looking back up the stairs to see what I had tripped on. There sat the clown…<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I Can't Believe What Our Hotel Security Camera Captured [RESPONSE] As a teenager, I discovered I was a night owl. I blame the internet partially, but also, there was a weird thrill associated with being awake while the rest of the world slumbers. You feel like an explorer glimpsing something few people have ever seen. Granted, most of the time growing up, the only thing I glimpsed during those hours were video games and porn, but you get my point. It’s unnatural to be nocturnal as a human. There’s a thrill to being out of step with the natural order. To that end, I started working the overnight shift at the front desk of a hotel. While there isn’t a ton of people who come breezing in at those hours, you see more traffic than you’d imagine. It mainly was exhausted road-tripping families looking for a place to catch some Zzzs before the next leg of their sojourn or couples meeting up for a clandestine affair with lust clouding their eyes (it’s always easy to spot a cheating couple). Still, there was enough of them to keep you busy. Not overworked but steady. While I had never intended hotel work to be a career, I did find a lot of joy in the work, and, as an added bonus, I was *really* good at it. About a year into the gig, the big boss sat me down and asked me what my plans were post-college. I said I thought I might move to the coasts and look for work that would take advantage of my major (at that time, it was psychology), but everything was up in the air at the moment. The big boss told me that, if I wanted, there would be a night manager position opening up at a property the owner at just purchased in Cincinnati. The starting pay was great, it had tremendous benefits, and if I had a degree in hospitality management, my pay could double in the first year. I had no real love for psychology nor any real job prospects in the field at the time. Plus, the idea of grad school had started to fill me with dread. I decided that I would take the plunge and go for it. I shook the big boss’s hand, and my new career path was set. In a year, I’d be the night manager at a newly renovated hotel in a major-ish city. I was thrilled. A year later, I packed up my stuff and moved to Cincinnati. Built in 1922, the Pullman Hotel was a vintage building that had once been the city’s crown jewel but had since fallen into disrepair. What once was the town’s hot spot with a lively big band and front page style galas had become a flophouse that catered to transients staying week to week or prostitutes staying hour to hour. The guts of the building looked like an open sore that never totally scabbed over. But the facade on the outside could still catch you by surprise. It had that 20s Art Deco look that made even the drabbest office buildings stand out. Where the Pullman was located, it shined like a diamond in a pile of trash. But urban renewal was becoming all the rage, and gentrification came calling. Soon, all the dilapidated buildings nearby started to change owners, and construction crews shared the streets with unhoused people’s tents. My new boss bought the Pullman for a song and took a buffer’s rag to that dull diamond. The transformation was impressive. The Pullman looked as glamorous as the day it first opened. My boss took special care to keep the décor as accurate to the era as possible while adding modern touches. It worked. The local press went gaga for the restoration, and soon the Pullman was filling up with travelers from all over the country. The shift in the population of the surrounding area had happened. As always, working-class people were priced out of a place they had lived in for decades as rich, white yuppies moved in. As if to put an exclamation point on the whole gentrification endeavor, a Starbucks opened around the corner. While the Pullman filled with new staff, there were a lot of holdovers from the previous regime. My boss thought these people knew the hotel at its worst and deserved to see it at its best. I found that touching – that was something they didn’t have to do, but it engendered goodwill to the mostly new staff. The first three months went smoothly. I loved the night shift, and the crew was great. We all got along and kept the Pullman humming. I genuinely loved my night security crew – a few were holdovers from the other owners, and we just clicked. They had hundreds of stories from their time serving at the flophouse. Some wild shit happened in the old Pullman. Omar, the head of security, liked to talk about the guests who “checked in but never checked out.” It was his clever way of saying ghosts. He said the building was filled with them – a lot of people died in the hotel during its flop days. Omar mentioned that, even after five years on the job, he still got goosebumps while doing his nightly rounds. He was glad for the security cameras the new owner had installed – it meant he didn’t have to brush up against specters so often. I loved the stories Omar told, but I thought they were just that – stories. I don’t believe in anything paranormal, especially ghosts. Often times the “evidence” people mentioned with ghosts were all explainable. “Orbs” were just dust or bugs. “Dark figures” were just shadows that hit the right way. Voices picked up by “spirit boxes” or EVP recordings were just our brains trying to make sense of random electrical noise. Most ghostly faces were just everyday objects and tricks of light. Face pareidolia is hardwired into our brains – we seek out faces that look like us. Ever seen a face in a piece of toast or a tree? It’s your brain looking for others like you. Nothing more. But Omar was a true believer. He told me about all the times he saw strange shit in the hotel. There was the time he saw a disembodied hand open the emergency exit door on the second floor. Or the time he heard what sounded like people laughing in the empty downstairs boiler room. My favorite was the time he was climbing down an access ladder in the basement and saw a face staring at him in the room below. “Bro, I damn near shit myself when I saw that face. I shot up that ladder faster than a fuckin’ rocket.” As I said, Omar had a million stories about the Pullman, and he loved sharing them with us during downtimes. But while each story was different, they always started the same way. “It’s a cold spot – that’s when you know they’re there,” he’d say, shaking his head, “that’s when I bug the fuck out before someone shows up and haunts my ass.” I told him it was probably just our ancient AC system acting up. While the old Pullman had been a ghost haven, nothing out of the ordinary had happened since the renovations. Like the transients, the spirits had seemingly moved on. Apparently, we had thrown them out with the old rotted furniture. Omar said he was shocked things were quiet, but he didn’t believe they’d stay that way. “They’ll come back, believe that.” I didn’t. One of the things I had taken to doing about halfway through my shift was to walk the hotel. For one, it was nice to leave my office and stretch my legs. Secondly, it was good to have non-security employees walk the floors, so people know someone is always around if they need help. Finally, you really get to know your hotel when you walk the grounds. All the little alcoves and hiding spots. Places where you can add a vending machine or where kids would hide from security, or where you should put a camera. GI Joe told us, “Knowledge is power,” and I always trusted the Joes. Last week it seemed like the world was caving in at work. Everyone goes through those times when it feels like all you gotta do is stand up to keep going, but some pissed-off God keeps sending hurricane winds to knock you back to Earth. That was me last week. We had a power glitch on Monday that screwed up the air conditioner units. Some floors got blasted with AC, and others got none. On Tuesday, someone busted the lock on the side door on the ground floor, which anyone could walk into. Wednesday, our credit card system went down for a few hours and caused havoc with check-ins and check-outs. It was a mess. “Ghosts are back,” Omar told me on Thursday night. “Not ghosts, gremlins. We’re being besieged by gremlins,” I said with a sigh. “Nah, Gizmo was cool. This is ghosts.” “Ghosts broke the lock on the door? Ghosts busted the AC unit?” “Could’ve,” Omar said with a shrug, “anything’s possible.” “Not that,” I said. Omar shrugged, “Until it happens to you, everyone thinks that.” “Honestly, I’d love to blame ghosts. At least then I’d have a reason why we’re having this run of bad luck.” “Careful what you wish for, bro,” Omar said. Changing gears, he gave me a big smile, “We’re gonna go grab some Taco Bell. You want anything?” “Aren’t you suppose to do your rounds now?” “I did it earlier. I’m due for my break. You want something or nah?” “Of course I want something,” I said with a smile. “The usual?” “Yeah,” I said, handing him over some cash. He nodded and pocketed it. “New guy Martin is watching the cameras. He’s good for a few.” “I’ll take your word for it.” “Thanks, chief,” Omar said with a fist bump. “Be back in a few.” He headed out, and I plopped back down in my chair. I knew I shouldn’t eat anything late at night, let alone Taco Bell. Still, a spicy potato taco and a chicken quesadilla would be the calming balm I needed to take the edge off this shitty week. I spun in my chair, trying to center myself when I heard a knock at the office door. “Damn, was there no line at the Bell or what?” I said before looking up. It wasn’t Omar. It was Gwen. She worked the front desk and was probably my most capable employee. She could run this place in my stead, and there would be no noticeable drop-off. If Gwen was in here, something was amiss. “Sorry, Gwen,” I said, ceasing my spinning, “Omar went to Taco Bell.” “Oh, I know. I got a bean burrito.” “A classic,” I said for reasons I’m still not sure of. “What’s up?” “Umm, someone from the second floor was complaining about noises in the hallway.” “Okay,” I said, “Did you call Security?” “Yeah, but Martin...well, I think he accidentally shut off the whole system. He’s kind of flipping out. Not sure he’s the face we want in front of the customers at the moment.” I sighed. *Of course.* “Okay. I’ll go take a look,” I said, standing up. “Do you have a walkie I can borrow? Mine’s still charging.” “Sure,” she said, “Lemme go grab it.” A few minutes later, I left the lobby for the second floor. Now, the second floor is a bit of a misnomer because our second floor is actually at street level. In most modern hotels, the entire street-level floor would be just a lobby, bar, and ballroom, but the Pullman isn’t like most buildings. Our second floor is comprised of a small lobby and hotel rooms. Our ballrooms and bar are below street level, or the first floor as our elevator calls it. Below that is the basement, where the laundry and other hotel operations are located. Why the wonky labeling system? Well, when the building was first built, they took to calling the basement the first floor and the street level the second. Why? Well, the guy who first made the building had some weird beliefs about numbers and the stars or some such nonsense. I think the bars were built in the basement because of Prohibition, but I could never confirm that. I asked the new owner about it once, but it seemed he didn’t know either. He told me he wasn’t going to change anything because he didn’t want to “anger the spirits of the previous owners.” He was another Omar. If it were up to me, hotel operations would be the “subbasement,” the first floor would be the “basement,” and the second floor would be the “main.” Ya know, a common sense approach to everything. But, alas, I’m just the night manager. Those decisions happen way above my pay grade. The Pullman is an architecturally pretty building on the outside but it’s also just a big square. I figured I’d start where the guests had first heard the disturbance and make the walk until I came back to where I started. Along the way, I’d check the doors to ensure they were working properly. Hopefully, Omar would come back and fix the cameras, and we would catch whoever was running around. When I opened the door to the floor, I felt the cold piping in. The second was one of those cold floors the broken AC was assaulting. At times, the AC seemed to shift, which floor was cold and which wasn’t. The tech we had out on Monday had never seen the kind of behavior we had but assumed it had something to do with the computer system. We were still waiting for a computer specialist to come take a look at the software. In the meantime, I would freeze on the second floor. I started humming along to a Phoebe Bridgers song (*Savior Complex*, for those keeping score at home) as I strolled to the room that had made the distress call. I hesitated to knock on their door, but I knew they were still up. I rapped on the door and waited a few minutes. I could hear the people inside shuffling and murmuring. I was pretty sure I had just interrupted sex or the prelude to sex. The door cracked open to a shirtless, disheveled man who was none too pleased to see me. “What?” “Sorry to bother you, I know it’s late, but you called about the noise, correct?” “Yeah, Colombo, you solved it.” I forced a smiled and continued, “I was wondering if you could tell me where the noise was located.” “The hallway, like I said to the broad upfront.” “Yes, but, like, what was the noise? Running? Voices? Shouting?” “All of it,” the man said, “back and forth for ten straight minutes.” “What were they saying?” “I dunno,” he said, looking agitated, “I had a hard time making out anything. Some bullshit, I’m sure. Sounded like dumb-ass kids.” “Okay,” I said. “People don’t know how to take care of their fuck prizes these days,” he said. I heard the woman he was with admonishing him for the colorful expression of “children.” He grinned and shook his head. “She hates when I talk like that...ain’t that right, doll?” “I’ll leave you two alone. Thanks for your….” The man shut the door in my face. I took that as my cue to go and find the fabled “fuck prizes” roaming my hotel halls. I was sure if it was kids, they would be back in their rooms by now. It was late in the evening, and even the most unaware parents made sure their kids got to sleep. Regardless, it was my job to walk the chilly hallways of my Hoth hotel and find these rogue tauntauns. I turned the first corner of the big square and heard someone whispering in front of me. I stopped and cocked my ear in the direction of the whispers. They suddenly ceased. I faked walking a few steps and stopped to hear if the voices would start up again, but they didn’t. I started walking again, continuing to whistle my way through Phoebe Bridger’s Punisher album, when I heard what sounded like four or five footsteps running down the next hallway. I ran to the corner in time to see the stairwell door close. Whoever was there was trying to hide on the stairs. Or that’s what they wanted me to think. This wasn’t my first rodeo, and I knew kids always tried to pull a fast one on adults. Especially adults that were in an authority position. I suddenly shuttered at the thought that I was considered an “authority figure.” I felt my youth tip over and start to spill out of me at that moment. Just then, from the door at the end of the hall, I saw a figure move. Now, these doors lead to the outside and are made with frosted glass, so I couldn’t make out details, but I believed it was probably some of the kids trying to do an end around. The game was on. “Is Omar back?” I asked into the walkie. Static, and then I heard the unsure Martin respond, “He’s not. He’s, ugh, in the bathroom, I think.” “Martin, I know he went to Taco Bell. You don’t have to cover for him.” “Oh,” the voice came back, “then no, he’s stuck behind a lady he thinks is ordering everything on the menu.” “Great,” I sighed, “any chance those security cameras are up and working again?” “I, uh, after I accidentally turned them all off or whatever, I’d feel better just waiting for him,” Martin said. “Sorry, boss. I just don’t want to make things worse.” “I get it,” I said. “Just let me know when Omar gets back, okay?” “Will do,” he said. I looked up at the frosted door at the end of the hall and stared it down. If they had made it outside, they could only get back in through the lobby – these doors locked behind you. I would’ve called Gwen to tell her, but I was holding her walkie. I was sure she’d noticed a gaggle of kids walking in at this hour. I glanced over at the door to the stairs. I knew I should probably check the stairwell because there was a good chance they had darted down the stairs to hide. I would’ve if I was a kid and someone was following me. I was just about to swing open that door when I suddenly remembered another spot they might be hiding that was closer. About ten feet from me was a small alcove where we kept the ice and vending machines. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve found someone behind the machines trying to vape or get frisky during the night shift. A few times, Omar has found a former guest of the old Pullman trying to break into the vending machines. They wait by the outside doors for smokers and dash in before the door closes. There was a fair to good chance that’s where they were. However, if they were clever and their kid radar worked, they’d spot an even better place to hide. Behind the machines is a hatch for a small crawl space. It’s an access spot for some AC ducts on the first floor. It was a tight fit to get in, but once you got in and down the ladder, there was a lot of room. Granted, it would be pitch black, but that would help if you were hiding. I decided to skip the stairs and head for the vending machines. I took three steps towards it when, from behind, I heard laughing coming from the stairwell. I turned and lunged at the door. I ripped it open, half expecting to see a gaggle of preteen boys (it’s *always* boys) laughing at me. But, instead, I saw nothing. I checked behind the door and even under the landing on the first floor, but I didn’t see hide nor hair of anyone. I was stumped. I knew I had heard a laugh. It just didn’t make any sense. I walked back into the hallway and let the heavy stairwell door slam behind me. “Suck a crow’s cock,” I said out loud. That was the trigger. I suddenly heard someone trying to stifle a laugh. Then two people. Then a group of boys started laughing uncontrollably. It was from behind the vending machines, just like I thought. I walked over there and found four boys red-faced with laughter. “Hey guys,” I said. They started laughing harder. I couldn’t help but smile – it was contagious. Even though I was technically the authority figure here, I was still human. “Was it what I said?” I asked. “Yes!” they all responded. “That’s why I said it,” I lied, “I knew you wouldn’t be able to not laugh. Come on, let’s get out from there.” I moved out of the way and let them slide out from behind the machines. As they were passing, I nodded down at the crawl space hatch. “I’m glad you guys didn’t go down there. I didn’t want to climb down a ladder in the dark.” “We were going to,” the biggest kid said, “but we heard someone down there. We thought it was security.” “There isn’t anyone down there,” I said. “We all heard someone walking and talking down there,” the smallest kid said. “It was probably just the AC making noise. It’s not working correctly. That’s why it’s so cold on this floor,” I said. “It didn’t sound like an AC,” a blond boy said. “It was,” I countered, “where did the kids on the stairs and running around outside go?” They all looked at each other, confused. The big kid was about to respond, but then we all heard footsteps coming down the hall. The kids looked up at me in fear, and for a half-second, I was scared too. “David, are you and your brothers down there?!” The big kid recognized the angry voice. They all did. The jig was up. Mom had arrived on the scene. I stepped out from the vending machines, and the four kids followed behind me. The Mom and I locked eyes. “They were playing hide and go seek,” I said. She ignored me and zeroed in on the small group of boys, “What in the world were you four thinking? Sneaking out of the room and running around the hotel?” “They weren’t too loud,” I said, trying to soften the blow. “Thank you for finding them,” Mom said to me. “I’m sorry if they caused any problems. I can’t believe they snuck out.” “It’s not a problem,” I said, turning on the manager charm. “We all did stupid things as kids.” She feigned a laugh and pointed back towards her room. “Let’s get going, boys. Now.” They all hung their heads and started back towards the room. Mom and I locked eyes again, and she sighed. “Thanks again for being so understanding. Sorry if they ruined your shift.” “Nah, they gave me something to do. Enjoy the rest of your night.” “Thanks, you too,” she said as she turned and joined her four dejected-looking boys. She stared down at them and shook her head. “What am I gonna do with you four, huh?” “Sorry,” they all said in unison. I figured this wasn’t the first time they had done something like this. “Mom,” the littlest boy said, “Do you wanna hear what that hotel guy said about crows?” I turned to leave to avoid any side-eye from Mom for my previous outburst when I heard something bump the wall behind the vending machines. Confused, I thought there might be another rouge group of boys sneaking around. The other boys had said they heard someone down there. I sighed and headed toward the crawl space. I squatted down and put my ear to the cover. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I heard something moving down there. It was hard to make anything out for sure with the cover on. I knew I would have to remove the hatch to get a better look. I pulled out my multi-tool and unfastened the screws. When all four were out, I gingerly grabbed the hatch cover and pulled it away. As soon as I did, you could feel a blast of cold air coming up from the room below. There had to be a leak in these ducts. I made a mental note to tell the repair guy when they returned. I cocked my ear towards the darkness and listened. I didn’t hear anything now. No shuffling, no talking, nothing. I pulled out my cell and turned on my flashlight. I pointed it down the shaft and onto the floor below. My camera’s light struggled to illuminate much of the area. I leaned my head into the hole to get a better look. That’s when I heard someone start loudly knocking behind me. I tried to rise up but forgot I was leaning into the hole and slammed my head on the hatch opening. I nearly dropped my phone down the shaft to the room, but by the grace of God, I held on. I pulled myself out of the crawl space and from behind the vending machines. Rubbing the back of my head, I glanced down the hallway and saw a figure standing just outside the frosted glass door. I knew I had seen someone outside earlier, and now they were knocking to be let in. My guess was this was another group of kids who realized they had been locked out of the hotel. I started down the hall and pulled my walkie up to ask about the security cameras again when the figure standing outside waved at me. That was when I realized the figure was an adult, and they were trying to get my attention. I waved back and hastened my pace. Someone probably went outside for a smoke and forgot their key. As I said, it happens all the time. I got to the door and cracked it open. There was an older woman, I pegged her in her mid-fifties, standing outside with an embarrassed look on her face. She was wearing vintage clothes that were out of style but looked right on her. She had blonde hair with gray streaks and the most piercing green eyes I’d ever seen. Her face was cherubic and pleasant, but you could see the red of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. “Hey there,” I said, opening the door wide to let her in. “I got turned around,” she said, walking in. “Thank you for helping me.” “No problem. Did you forget your key?” “Yes,” she said. “If I had a dime for every time someone stepped outside for a smoke and forgot their key, I could retire.” “I’d love to retire,” she said with a faint smile. “What do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?” From behind me, the door to the stairwell slammed shut. I spun around, hoping to catch who was playing on the stairs, but I didn’t see anyone. There might still be another group of kids out here. “Is this the Pullman?” the woman asked. “Yes,” I said, confused. “Looks so different.” “We just went through major renovations,” I offered, “have you stayed here before?” “Oh yes, many years ago.” “We tried to keep some of the charm of the old place but update it. How did we do?” She didn’t respond at first. I thought maybe she hadn’t heard me, but when I looked at her, she looked lost. Like, I could see her eyes, but they were dulled. I wondered if she had a mental illness and maybe was off her meds. I knew the state-run hospitals made a habit of dropping off discharged patients in this area. “Are you feeling okay?” I asked, softening my voice. That question didn’t seem to penetrate her shields either. I was about to call for help when she finally stopped drifting and righted her course. “I’ve seen so many things,” she finally said, not breaking her gaze with mine, “So many horrible things.” *Drugs*. She was probably on drugs as well. It made the most sense. She said she was familiar with the Pullman but hadn’t been here in a while. Maybe she used to score at the old place and had been away for a time. I had to be careful because you never know how an addict might respond. Especially if they were mentally ill and off medication. “Hopefully not here,” I said in as light a tone as I could muster. “There are so many dark things here,” she said, looking lost again. “I feel drawn to them. It’s why I stay here.” “Is there someone I can call to help you?” She started laughing. It came on small, like a joke that took a minute to land, but then grew into a full-on fit. She doubled over and held her stomach, and laughed. I took a step back and started scanning the hallways for some help or a way out of there. Then she stopped as if someone had flipped a switch. She looked at me and shot me a warm smile. “Is Wallace still here at this time of night?” “I...I don’t know of any Wallace that works here,” I said. “Did he used to work at the hotel when you used to come?” “He owned the place.” I had known the names of the previous two owners, and neither was named Wallace. I wasn’t sure if anyone who had ever owned this place was named Wallace. I was sure I was dealing with a mentally unwell person at that point. I wanted to ensure they got the help they needed. I also needed to get them out of my hotel before something bad happened. Bad PR could kill a new place as quick as a bullet. “Maybe we can see if we can find him in our directory up front,” I said. “Can you follow me to the lobby?” “So many people died here,” she said. “Wallace hurt so many people.” I didn’t know what to say. While my brain searched for a response, I heard the squawk of my walkie coming to life. A familiar voice came across the walkie. It was Omar. “Hey boss, what’s going on?” I pulled up my walkie and smiled at the woman. “Give me a second,” I told her before I took a few steps away, turned my back to her, and pressed the button to respond. “About time you got back, Omar.” “Blame Taco Bell. Who are you talking to?” “Someone that may or may not be a guest in the hotel. I might need you down here to help.” “Boss, what are you talking about?” “What don’t you understand? You see us, right? You fixed the security cameras?” “Yeah, but….” “So what are you confused about? I need help with this lady. She may be lost or,” I whispered, “mentally ill or on drugs or something. She seems out of it. I’m afraid she might get….” Omar cut me off. “Boss, there isn’t anyone there with you.” The air went out of the room. I felt my skin go prickly all over. My head felt fuzzy, like I had just done whip-its. My mouth had dried in an instant, and my tongue felt foreign in my mouth. “What are you….” “I was calling to ask if you were okay because you’re talking to yourself.” “Omar, I was talking to….” I turned back and saw an empty hallway. I glanced in both directions but didn’t see a trace of the person that had been standing there. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. “Boss? You okay?” Omar’s voice sounded a million miles away. I thought I might black out. None of this made sense. My legs started to wobble, but I caught myself. I looked around again, but it was futile. I was alone in the hallway. “There are so many dark things here,” I heard a disembodied voice say. It sounded like it was coming from all around me. Then, right next to my ear, the woman whispered, “So many people were *hurt*.” Then I heard footsteps run down the hall away from me. Not just a pair, but what sounded like dozens. They pounded on the ground, sounding like a herd of elephants on the march. Then I heard the laughter again. I stood, frozen in place, unable to process anything. I heard a room door whip open and saw the pissed-off man I spoke to earlier come bursting into the hallway. He was completely naked, and it was apparent his good time had been interrupted, but now he had a look of murder in his eyes. He saw me at the other end of the hallway and yelled, “Catch these fuckin’ kids and keep quiet! I’m tryin’ to ball my old lady in….” Just then, he was violently pushed back into his room by some unseen force. Something cackled as the naked man tumbled to the ground. His door slammed shut by itself, and I was sure he wouldn’t come back out...or at all, if I’m being honest. The vending machine suddenly tipped over and slammed into the ground with a glass-shattering crunch. I saw the cover to the crawl space opening fly out and slam into the opposite wall. “Oh shit,” I heard Omar say, but I didn’t hear anything else. I dropped the walkie and took off in a full sprint in the opposite direction. I didn’t stop running until I hit the security office. Omar was smiling as I walked in. “I told you!” he said, pointing at the screen. “This place is haunted as *fuck*!” I watched the footage and saw what Omar had told me about. I was standing alone in the hallway, talking to no one. I felt sick to my stomach. I decided to take the rest of the shift off. I went home and stayed up for the rest of the night, afraid to sleep. When I felt better, I started looking into the hotel’s past. Turns out, the original owner of the Pullman was an eccentric named Wallace Hosiah. He made his money in the whiskey trade and liked to imbibe himself. The problem was he turned mean when he drank. When Prohibition hit, he poured his money into the hotel but never let his liquor connections go. Rumors were that he was mobbed up, and the Pullman was used as a final destination for many men and women who ran afoul with gangsters or Wallace himself. One of his alleged victims was his mistress. I saw a photo of her...it was the woman I spoke to that night. When I take my walks around the Pullman now, I do it when Omar does his rounds. Not that two people would be able to do anything if a ghost appeared and got violent, but we Americans love the illusion of safety. Even though my rational brain has a hard time accepting there are ghosts in this world, I know what I went through. I saw, spoke, and interacted with a person who simply wasn’t there. I think I need a raise.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] A message changed my life but I don’t know how to feel about it [RESPONSE] “From thestaronthesky5 To: rebeccaisurmom32 Good morning. I know that we haven’t met but my husband talked to me about you My name is Adeline and I am the CEO of AMA pharmaceutics. I'm writing to you because my husband heard from some colleague that you had some kind of sickness that the doctors hadn't been able to identify. What I'm trying to say is that we are interested in running some tests if you are up to it. You won't have to pay anything, we would pay you $853.000 for the possible inconveniences that could happen If you are interested please write to the following number: Xxxxxxxxxx Have a good rest of the day Att: Adeline Morley” That was the first thing I saw when I took my phone after the medical appointment. To give a little background, my name is Catalina and I have been sick since I was born. At first, the doctors thought that I wouldn’t make it the first week, but here I am, 25 years and still alive. If you can call this life. The symptoms that I experiment with every day go from headaches to me fainting in the middle of my class. The doctors don’t know what is wrong with me so there isn’t much they can do to help except give me medicine for the pain. That's why I texted the number that was in the mail. At this point, I would take any chance that someone could give me. And they are offering me money? I would do it for free but I'm not complaining about the money. To: Xxxxxxxxxx Hi, I am Catalina Harmon. I am writing in response to the e-mail from Adeline Morley telling me about some kind of tests they want to run about me and my illness. I am really interested in it and I want to know the details of the situation. Within 5 minutes a response came to my phone. From: Xxxxxxxxxx Good morning Catalina, I am Adeline. I'm pretty glad you want to do it. I'll send you an e-mail with all the information so you can take a look at it and then write me a confirmation. I looked at my e-mail and there it was. To keep this short, it said that they would transfer half of the payment before the tests and the other half after. They wanted me to go to the principal lab of the pharmaceutics tomorrow at 6 pm and that I couldn't tell anyone about it for some kind of privacy clause. I found that weird but at this point, I think it is worth the risk. In the worst scenario, I would die. I sent a confirmation and continued with my day. When I was heading to the lab I received an e-mail from a girl telling me not to go, that they have made something horrible to her and that it wasn't worth it. I blocked the number. When I arrived a guy received me and took me to a waiting room. After 20 minutes a woman (that I guessed was Adeline) met me with a hug and guided me to another room. There was something weird about the situation but I just kept going. When I entered what looked like a consulting room, a man appeared and made me sign some papers in case i “died”. I have to admit, I was starting to regret my decision but when I went to tell them that I didn't want to do it anymore, Adeline injected me with something and I fell asleep very quickly. When I woke up I was naked and tied to the bed. I. Freaked. The. Fuck. Out I started screaming but a voice from a speaker on the wall said that I agreed to that when I signed the papers and that they were going to fix me. What. The. Fuck Everything went dark and then something bright entered through a door at the back of the room. It came close to me but I couldn't see what it was or what was happening. It started touching me everywhere. And when I say everywhere I mean it. I started crying, I felt gross and just wanted to leave. Because the bright thing had human fingers. I started screaming again, trying to scare the thing but it kept going. After what felt like an eternity (but could perfectly have been only 3 minutes) it stopped, looked at the speaker, and told something I didn't understand because it wasn't in English. It left the room, the lights went on again and a group of three people entered the room. 2 men I didn't know and Adeline. Keep in mind that I was naked, tied, and absolutely terrified. They told me something I didn't understand but because I was freaking out. After some time they realized that and injected me with something to make me sleep. I woke up in a hospital room. When I asked what happened they told me I had been in a car accident 6 days ago and had pretty bad wounds but that I would live. I remembered everything but I know that I couldn't say a thing because no one would believe me. My regular doctor came in the room and told me that some kind of miracle have happened because all my tests that used to be really bad, now looked perfect. No one knew hoy did it happen, but I had an idea. Do you believe in aliens? No? Well, now I do. I know that I didn't hallucinate it and I also knew that the thing that touched me, wasn't human. It was something else. It's been 5 years since the “accident” and since then I haven't experienced a single headache. I have been able to do things that I have only dreamed of. Now I can run, jump and swim. Some nights I have nightmares about what happened and sometimes it feels so real that I have to go to the bathroom to vomit. One time I dreamed that I woke up and that shiny thing was there with me. Inside me. I'm sick of those nightmares but at least I am healthy. And I don't know how to feel about it.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Life On The Road (Part 3) Some Hotel Rooms Have Creepy Crawlies. [RESPONSE] (First: Previous: In order to fund my nomadic life, I took requests from a Corporation that deal with things out of the norm. They offered a job that paid a small amount to stay in a hotel room for a night or two to see if anything strange happened. They would cover hotel costs and room service if I ordered any. On the upside, I would have a bed for a night, a decent meal, and access to a shower. One of the only things I missed about not having a real home was being unable to bath whenever I wanted. Some people have suggested I buy a RV. At the start of my journey, I got a one second hand. Through some very strange turn of events, it exploded. The second and third one did not fare as well as the first. I gave up buying them knowing they would not last in my care. It felt like I was adopting shelter cats only to let them outside for coyotes or other animals to eat them. No, I could only seem to live out of my car and random rooms I found along the way. My theory was a RV or a camper could be a home. I could never see my car as a real home, so it was spared from my odd curse that forced me to travel. I accepted the offer of the room and drove to the location. The hotel was connected to a very large casino and appeared to better than most of the places I’ve stayed at recently. I waited in line and had some issues checking in. The room already been paid for and in my name, but the man behind the desk didn’t believe I was the Adelaide that should be staying in the room until I showed him a few sets of I.Ds. “Do your parents know that Adelaide is a girl’s name?” He asked trying to defend why he refused to believe a man of my age had that as a first name. “I’ll call them and ask.” I said making a show of taking out my phone and then pausing. “Oh, wait they’re dead.” That normally shut people up and ended the conversation. I rarely brought out the dead parents line and only used it if the person was rude to start with. I remained pleasant accepting my card key and wished the suddenly meek desk clerk a good night. I found my room on the fourth floor wondering if it might be worth it going to the casino. I didn’t have that much disposable cash and figured the chance of winning anything wasn’t worth the trip back downstairs. The room looked fine; a bit larger than I expected. It had a sitting area and the bed separated by a wall. The bathroom large with a shower and a hot tub, or are they called something else if they were indoors? Either way I hadn’t been able to afford something like this on my own dime for a long while. That tub looked so tempting. But I’d been sent here to investigate anything strange going on. The tub could wait until I knew if it was safe to let my guard down. I’d been told very little about the job. A few people had stayed in this room and experience odd sounds at night. Some woke up with swollen bites they suspected to come from spiders or a different type of insect. After each report the room got cleaned top to bottom with no signs of any creepy crawly creatures lurking in the corners of the room. I was shocked something this minor even got on The Corporation’s radar. Maybe they found something that hinted at a more supernatural danger besides people being nipped at in bed. I checked over the entire room a few times to find nothing of note. Not even dust bunnies under the bed. The long drive starting to get to me. If something appeared ready to eat my legs, I would deal with it when it happened. I wanted to sleep but first needed to get cleaned up a little. I often went a few days between shaving and hated how scruffy my face started to look. My hair also got pretty long. I spent some time getting my face back in order. I tempted fate to take a quick shower hoping nothing was inside that room that my human eyes couldn’t see. I didn’t want some sort of ghost of monster seeing me in such a venerable state. I didn’t even order food that night. I went right to bed just as the sun started to set. I needed the rest and it felt nice to be in a bed that wasn’t bumpy or worn down by countless other people sleeping on it. I only had this room for two nights. Might as well enjoy it. I’ve never been a heavy sleeper. Any noise in the night tends to wake me up. Anything nibbling on my leg bound to make me jump awake and toss the sheets off trying to find the source of the pain and I did just that. My leg stinging from where something crawled over to take a little taste. I left the bedside lamp on in case something like that happened. In the low light I noticed a black shape moving quickly off the bed. I jumped up and flicked on the other lights, then pulled the rest of the sheets off the bed trying to find anything else hiding in them. I then got on the floor to look under the bed to try and find whatever small thing ran off when I woke up. My mind might have been playing tricks on me. I checked my leg to find a small red marker showing that wasn’t the case. I paused searching when a noise came from the bathroom. One so faint, I didn’t think I heard it. I needed to pause breathing to hear better. I didn’t dare going near the other room or even moving a muscle. From under the closed door came a black shape. It quickly ran across the carpet and close enough for me to identify it. I slowly let out the air from my lungs while watching a black millipede run under the bed and into the darkness. The shiny body disappearing the moment another came from under the door. More started to join the first and I decided it was a good time to start moving. I started off quickly but the bugs swarmed faster. Each step an awkward dance trying not to crush the insects in my mad dash to the door. I got as far as the open doorway and made the mistake of glancing over my shoulder. In a flash a much larger shape came from the dark bathroom, bursting the door open, cracking the wood. It crawled along the ceiling, long body swiftly trailing behind. I got cut off when the creature went above my head and stuck fast against the door and only way out. I turned on my heel towards the sitting area. I thought I may have a chance jumping out the window. Being splattered against the pavement sounded better than being eaten in that moment. A hand caught my shirt. I knew I wouldn't be making it through the night alive even before my body got tossed on the stiff couch so hard it broke the small wooden legs. My head swimming in pain I had a second before the nightmare set in. The creature hovered over me and in an instant wrapped a long black body around my own in a crushing squeeze to tight my right arm snapped. I muffled a scream of pain trying to stay focused to see what suddenly attacked. The monster’s bottom half was identical to the black millipedes that started to fill the room. Only much, much larger. The body thicker than my own and so many feet long. With it wrapped around myself and constantly moving it was impossible to guess just how long this thing was. The upper half looked like a normal human's besides the pitch-black arms. Each finger covered in a hard jointed shell and tipped with claws. A pile of black tangled hair blocked the face of the monster. It shook some hair aside showing half the face underneath. Fighting through the pain, I glanced at the face with a hinged jaw filled with teeth, to the torso with skin so tight it showed ribs. I would be this monster’s first meal in a while. The body kept moving around my own, the legs never stopping. The tightness let up and my arm hurt slightly less. I still didn’t have any chance of escaping; my mind grasping at anything to try and get free. The smaller millipedes made their way over to crawl across my face, tickling a little. I honestly wasn’t scared of bugs. If I didn’t have a broken arm or a monster staring at me like a four-course meal, I would have found the millipedes cute. But I was seconds away from being eaten and my brain went blank from fear. I only wondered why I was still alive. “Who sent you?! What were you looking for?!” The creature hissed, in a voice that almost sounded too young for his body. Then again, monsters lived for thousands of years. He may have an adult body and still be a child age wise. That explained why he didn’t just eat me already. If I told him, he had no more use for me. If I didn’t, I risked getting eaten anyway. A no win situation and I figured the truth couldn't hurt. “A Corporation that deals with supernatural things asked me to look at this room.” I said and got interrupted. “An agent?!” He growled. The body got tighter and I couldn’t breathe for a few seconds. I shook my head, knocking some of the crawling millipedes off. He released his grip so I could explain. “Not an agent. Just hired help.” I gasped. I started to feel dizzy. The pain in my arm turned my stomach and I couldn’t expand my chest enough to get in enough air. At least the constant moving legs weren’t unpleasant. I should be freaked out by being touched by huge bug legs, but I didn’t mind them. They were almost cute in a way. “Where did you even come from anyway? I didn’t see any traces of magic when I arrived.” I asked thinking if I kept talking, I may buy some time. “The space between worlds is weak in this room. I found it. This hunting spot it mine! If I eat you than there won’t be anyone to report back about what you have found here!” I’ve heard a little bit about the whole other worlds thing. I wasn’t certain of how many there were out there. The things the lurked in the night lived in those other worlds and could cross int ours by using magic. The monsters that were more removed from reason and logic lived in further worlds. Thankfully all of the worlds where the monsters lived that could rip apart out small planet cost too much energy to travel between, or been sealed away in order for them to never gain access to our small existence. Creatures like the millipede hybrid were fairly common and lived in a world so close they required little to no magic to travel over. That explained why I’d been called over to look at the room. The Corporation must have known how close the two worlds lined up here, otherwise they wouldn’t have cared about a few reports of bug bites. I went over all of that in my head to try and ignore the hybrid getting ready to tear my body apart. The monster straightened up to use both hands to push back the tangled mess of hair from his face. His mouth getting even longer, if that was possible, and eyes turning jet black. His face shifted from an almost normal one to a monstrous thing from anyone’s nightmares. He let out a hiss behind sharp teeth extending pass his mouth. Those eyes looked down expecting a reaction he didn’t get. “Oh? Too scared to scream human? Is this face of mine too much for your mind to handle?” He mocked. Since I started travelling, I've seen some pretty messed up things. Even the slight memories of those things made my heart want to stop. And after coming across all sorts of monster and supernatural creatures I found out something I never wanted to. That you could be afraid and deeply in love at the same time. My body screamed to run but my mind made my heart beat from seeing the sharp teeth and dark eyes. The tips of the ever-moving legs brushed against my face and I didn’t flinch from them. Was this monster terrifying and going to eat me? Yes. Was he down right cute in a little brother sort of way? Regretfully, also yes. I didn’t feel attracted to him in a romantic sense after seeing his full face. Just saw him like a good neighborhood kid that needed to be taken care of and protected. I hated the idea of those teeth sinking into my flesh but accepted it was going to happen. After seeing how starved his body looked, I almost felt glad he finally got to eat something. “You’re... actually kind of cute.” I admitted. That wasn’t the right answer. It's never the right answer around monsters. They didn’t know how to deal with a human not running and screaming from them. When a person didn’t act scared, it tended to confuse them, making the creatures lash out. Those teeth came down and my blood sprayed over the creature’s face. I thrashed, trying to get away from the pain. I hated dying. Just because I woke up afterwards didn’t mean I wanted to go through the pain and fear. Being eaten sucked. I don’t think words have been invented that could fully explain just how painful that experience feels. At least he was kind enough to go for the throat to make me bleed out pretty fast. I fell into a cold darkness waiting for sunrise. That black void always there after I died. I didn’t know if this is what everyone went through after death and sincerely prayed it wasn’t. I didn’t feel anything but a sheer cold. My body unmovable and I doubted it was still there. I only remained in that dark space for a few hours and yet every time it felt like centuries. A crack of light came to my eyes, pulling me out of the dark and back to where I died. I gasped, coughing and rolled off the stiff couch. Some millipedes nearly were crushed under my body. I carefully moved around them, trying not to kill the poor things. No matter how hard I tried, one or two always stayed crawling somewhere on me so I let them instead of trying to win a losing battle of getting them all off. The room covered in them with only enough space on the floor for careful steps. The noise of them crawling around made my nerves tense, but overall, I wasn’t too scared of the small army. I could have gotten to the door in time and escape. I considered it. My job was done. I need to confirm something supernatural went on or not and I got a very clear answer. I took a step every few seconds. I needed to gently push away some millipedes with my foot to make some progress across the room. I stopped by the bedroom doorway, looking inside and finding a large shape curled up in a ball in the bed. Pretty bold of him to stay in this room after eating someone The Corporation sent. I didn’t want to consider he got tired after the first good meal in ages and needed to rest afterwards. In his sleep, he sensed someone else in the room. Before I knew the creature was awake, he sprang up. Long body uncurling and he skittered up the wall to press into a corner near the ceiling. His eyes wide and confused under his mess of hair looking down on the person he killed a few hours ago. “Are you... that man’s twin...?” He asked slowly trying to understand who I was and how I got there. “No, I can die and come back.” I answered and we went into a stalemate. Since encountering creatures and magic, I found out one truth that not even magic went against. Nothing came back from death. As far as anyone knew, there was no power in this world or any other that could do what happened every time I died. “A twin with bad jokes then.” The monster concluded not moving from his spot. “Sure whatever. Come down so we can talk.” I offered trying to get him to calm him. “It I eat you, are more twins going to arrive? Some of my siblings did not eat enough last night and I would greatly like to see just how many meals we can get out of you.” His dark eyes behind tangled hair actually made him scary for a few moments. I did not want to be eaten again and nearly made a run for it thinking about that outcome. I needed to stay though. At least for a little while. I steadied myself, hating what I needed to do. “You can eat me after we talk, alright? This is important. But you should really have a bath first. Your hair looks terrible. Seriously, when was the last time you washed it?” I’d met creatures similar to him before. They looked as monstrous as they should considering their form, but also took great care of their hair. It was a shame his long black hair hung in a knotted mess. His hand went to a long strand for a moment considering what I asked. “I do not know how to get water in this place.” He admitted. “Come into the bathroom. I’ll show you.” To my surprise, he slowly went down the wall and across the floor to follow me. I debated on the shower or the tub. I didn’t want to have to talk over the noise of the shower and the tub could fit at least most of his long insect body. I turned on the tap to start filling it with hot water and then looked for some shampoo. I found a small bottle, not enough for his hair. I sat thinking with the monster in the same room. His eyes on my back wanting to attack at any second. He'd gotten a taste of human. With one sitting in the same room utterly defenceless, it was tempting to have another meal. “I need to go to the store downstairs to buy some stuff. I can bring back some snacks too. Is there anything you like?” I offered and the creature was on top of me in a second. His heavy body pressed down and face twisted in a snarl. My pulse jumped making me almost scream at suddenly being face to face with this monster. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to fall for that?” He hissed, cheeks turning red at the insult. “I can take a millipede with me. You’ll be able to find me again if I had one, right?” I said thinking back to some vague information I heard before about creature very similar to this one. With there being so many different monsters all with their own rules and powers, most of the time trying to understand their abilities was guess work based on what other creatures you've come across. Guessing could be a dangerous thing and I found most people who deal with monster specialize in one type, if possible. “Yes... I suppose. They do appear to be insects from your world but are much stronger. You should not be able to harm one but if you do, I’ll find you. I won’t be as kind as I was last night. I’ll tear open a small hole and let my siblings eat you from the inside.” That was a terrifying idea. I raised my hands, sweat started on my forehead from stress making me look harmless. The creature believed I wasn’t trying to make an attempt to flee. I knew I would be eaten again; it was just a matter of when it happened. I needed to play it safe to put the pain off for as long as possible. With a wiggling insect tucked in my pocket, I left the room. I didn’t spend that much time outside. Just long enough to buy some shampoo and food from the little store next to the casino then headed back to the room. If I wanted, I could have called in a few connections to come over and save my life. But I went back inside, the millipedes hiding for a few seconds when a human entered, then crawled out comfortable I was the person they nibbled on the night before. I went into the bathroom to find the monster in the tub and water overflowing. His long body always moving but upper half staying in the water. The water spilled over into the drain set in the tiled floor so I didn’t turn the tap off. I took off my socks and let my pants get soaked when I sat next to the tub. “Here, try this. It's sweet.” I told him holding out a honeybun I bought downstairs. He looked at me suspiciously. Monsters don’t use money but rather exchanged time, information and favors. Getting something for free nearly unheard of with them. I needed to tell him I was human and therefore the whole giving him food for nothing was a gesture a part of my culture. He accepted the idea and took the treat after I unwrapped it for him. “What’s your name?” I asked watching the monster shove the pastry in his mouth. Yeah, he was cute. I didn’t think too many people would share that opinion though. “Malt...y...” He answered hesitating to say his full name for a moment. I couldn’t help myself. My face lit up hearing such a cute name. His answer flared up, long body thrashing in the water causing it to splash over covering the bath room for a moment. The millipedes stayed out of the bathroom but I saw them wriggling around the doorway, threatening to come inside to eat the person who upset their brother. “It means something important in my language!” He hissed, ready for a fight. “Mine’s Adelaide. I’ve had a rough time because it’s a girl's name and people think guys shouldn’t have cute names.” I explained fully understanding his reaction. He calmed down, and the slight hissing coming from the mass of insects in the other room quieted. Malty let me get to washing his hair after we bounded over names. I found a comb and got to work trying to untangle the mess it became while rinsing the long black hair with shampoo. This would take hours but at least he wasn’t tearing my body apart. “You English is pretty good. Did someone teach it to you?” I asked as I worked. “My mother was human. I lived with her for a few years.” I wasn’t expecting him to be a half breed. I’ve seen a monster identical to him before and he was a full-blooded monster. Half breeds are difficult to spot due to body adjusting to their environment. If he grew up in the other world, he would have become a creature exactly the same as full breeds. If he grew up here alongside humans, he might have shifted to having regular human legs without any way of getting his other form back. I assumed his mother died or else she might have raised him. The insects in the other room most likely full-blooded creatures from a different mother. “Are you the same person I ate last night? Not a twin?” Malty asked after a while of silence between us. I didn’t know how I wanted to answer his question. If I said yes, he may see me as an endless food supply. I would be powerless if he took me the other world to keep himself and his family fed until he died, or until another monster took his food away. I also didn’t want to say yes to give him hope there were ways of bringing back the dead. For some reason, I trusted him to not steal me away. At least not right then. “Yes. I don’t know how or why I come back. I just do.” I explained unsure if he accepted the answer. For him, unanswered question was normal. Sometimes things just didn’t make sense no matter how much one wanted them to. Supernatural creatures understood that. He nodded and then hissed when I pulled at a bad knot. At least we were getting somewhere with his hair. “You got lucky. If I was an agent or someone else, they would have fought back. You really shouldn't be hunting here. You should contact The Corporation and-” He sprang up again, his face monstrous and his rage clear. His body grew even larger and took up most of the space, each leg tapping hard against the tiles. “I shall not side with the ones who took away my family for no reason!” The creature shouted, causing the mirrors on the far side of the room to shake. So that’s what happened. His mother dead, his father killed by agents. If monsters hunted in the wrong spots or hurt a human, they became targets to be taken down by a company that dealt with protecting humans from creatures. Or The Hunters would find them and kill them regardless if they were dangerous or not. Malty was an older brother trying to protect his younger siblings after their parents died. His thin human half showed he let the others eat before him. I wondered just how much of my body he devoured last night or if he left it for his siblings. “They’ll kill you if you stay here. You can request an approved hunting spot. Forests are always fair game. Why don’t you find one to live in? You can eat injured and lost hikers or any animals you come across.” I offered. Once again, he calmed down. His body returning to the other smaller shape and sinking down into the over full tub. Malty assumed I wasn’t scared of his other form and didn’t want to waste the energy to stay puffed up. I was scared of him. Terrified, but I had enough practice to not let it show in my voice. My hands shook slightly when I got back to trying to tame his wild hair. “I can’t go any forest. My siblings would be eaten by something. Too many threats in the trees. I need to protect them.” He said with a long-tired sigh. “I understand how you feel but isn’t that a bit unfair? How come you can hunt and kill others but they can’t do the same with you? I always thought your kind never had any issues with that sort of thing.” I mentioned. He glared up and then sank down into the water to blow angry bubbles. I was right and he knew it. Didn’t change how he felt. I let him pout and thought of my few connections. He might not like the suggestion but he should take it. Monster that could rip me apart or not, I didn’t want to see him killed for just being born a certain kind of creature. Our hands became forced and our conversation ended before I knew it would be. Malty flared up again, face twisted in fear but also trying to make himself appear menacing. I stood up after hearing a knock at the front door. If it was just room service the monster would not have reacted in the way he did. I whispered to him to calm down and I would handle it. He stayed on the ceiling, body moving and twisting. His siblings already disappeared to somewhere or found a spot to hide. I walked over to the door, clothing soaked from washing a monster’s hair. On the other side of the door stood someone who I normally was glad to see. Right now, I really didn’t want him here. He was an agent I’ve worked with a few times and we had an odd working relationship. “340, what are you doing here? I haven’t submitted a report.” I asked him trying to sound natural. He was a part of a family that had so many brothers they gave up on names and used numbers instead. He looked the way you would think a secret government agent would. Tall, board shoulders and black neatly styled hair. Sunglasses covered his eyes and I couldn’t read his stern expression. Most of his brothers looked pretty much the same but he had a long scar going down his face starting at his forehead and ending a bit under his chin. It ran through his lips, exposing a small hint of teeth. I knew he hated that scar but of course due to my weird tastes made me think it made him look extremely handsome. “We weren’t picking up your phone. I was nearby for a job and came by. Who else is in the room with you?” He asked, tone even and stern. Crap, I didn’t even check my phone when I woke up. 340 was one of the rare people who knew I came back after dying. He didn’t like it and wanted me to avoid such a thing as often as possible. He had good senses and knew a monster was in my room. If he found out Malty killed me then he would be deemed dangerous and 340 needed to arrest him in the very least. I could feel the millipede creature waiting to attack from inside the room. This had the chance of turning very ugly very fast. I doubted a half-starved creature against an agent would end in a weaker creature’s favor. I needed to do something or else one of them were going to be killed. “Malty. He's a millipede and a good boy. He's protecting all of his younger siblings and came through here looking for food. He doesn’t know who to contact about getting an approved hunting spot through The Corporation.” I said quickly. I knew 340’s soft spot for his hundreds of younger brothers. He may look stern but was really a big softie for them. Malty let out a noise of betrayal and I ducked inside the room to grab his hand to drag him into 340’s view. This was going to happen either way and I needed to control how the conversation went. “Did he attack you?” 340 asked, his voice low and clearly threatening us not to lie to him. “No.” I easily lied. The millipede hybrid looked between us, confused on why I would say such a thing. When the agent took a step closer, Malty ducked behind me, making me want to hug the poor thing. “There is a long wait on hunting spots. I assume he has not gone to the woods in fear him or his siblings are going to be hunted as well by animals or other creatures.” 340 said and my heart dropped. Now what? This creature would not last long without being able to find a way to get a reliable source of food. 340 saw how I looked down at Malty and saw we were both still dripping water. The agent was smart and he knew me. He put things together and assumed I’d been trying to take care of a monster who easily could over power me. I was dumb like that. “His siblings are other millipedes, correct? And they can travel between weaker part of the worlds? They can be useful for The Corporation. If they apply, they may be hired in order to deliver messages to agents on the field in a more discreet manner than using mailmen or spells. They’ll also not draw much attention so won’t be in much, if any danger on those job requests. I’ve heard that the offices always need workers. If he can read and write, they’ll hire him.” 340 offered. I totally forgot that The Corporation always lacked man power. Hell, that was why I was the one looking into odd reports and not an agent. They didn’t have agents to spare on something so minor. Of course, they would hire Malty and his siblings. They paid pretty well too meaning they wouldn’t need to worry about food for a very long time. “Well...?” I whispered down to the boy hoping he agreed to the job. I didn’t blame him if he wanted to refuse. These were the people who killed his father. Then again, supernatural creatures were normally pretty understanding when it came to that sort of thing. If the murder was justified, they didn’t hold a grudge no matter how much they loved the person that been killed. A long pause came between us as we waited for an answer. “If my siblings are fed, its fine. We can work.” The creature agreed, but still looked scares of the agent in the doorway. With that settled we arranged to have Malty and the others picked up. The millipede creature staying behind long enough to privately speak with me as his other siblings were herded into a magic circle to transport them somewhere safe and away from humans. “If you told him I attacked you, I would be dead by now. I owe you.” Malty said, weary of the agents nearby even though he would need to work with them soon. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just what I do.” The boy looked up at me trying to figure out what to do. Creatures worked on a favor-based system. He couldn’t just not repay the fact I saved his life. But he didn’t need to repay the favor right away. He decided to figure out something at a later date, but I doubt whatever he thought of would ever be enough in his eyes. I said goodbye to him and his little siblings glad he had a future but also glad he didn’t kill me a second time. That would have sucked and make it harder to lie for him. With that sorted I was left with 340 after the others had taken the millipedes away. I knew 340 was well aware of my lie and started to feel nervous with his eyes hidden behind those dark sunglasses staring me down. “We’ll pay for the room for another night for you. I think you’ll get a little bonus for taking care of this in a peaceful manner, but you need to stop doing things like this. If something happens it’s not your job to take care of it. Call in an agent.” He said, sounding a little bit heated at the end. I nodded knowing he was right. I should have called in a professional to handle it, but would they have seen the boy as the small half-starved creature, or a dangerous monster that needed to be put down? I felt a small touch on my arm and looked up to see the agent got closer. Only one of his ginger tips touched my arm, but that was enough. He was a bit taller than myself and he lowered his voice in a way he very rarely did. “Check your phone next time. I got worried.” I nodded again feeling very tempted to take his hand. He backed away returning to his normal stoic agent image. He knew we couldn’t have a relationship besides seeing each other through work because of my own limitations. But we were able to have brief moments like this. His phone rang showing he was overdue for another job. Without too much else to say, he left going back to work. I stayed at the hotel for another night but found it hard to sleep. The room sounded too silent. I tossed and turned and then gave up to spend time in the casino for the rest of the night. My funds going up and down for hours and in the end, I cashed out with enough winnings to buy a new lighter. I smoked on and off and that day felt like a smoking day. I left that hotel behind thinking there was a good chance I’d never see it again. I got lucky this time. I only died once and found a monster a good place to be. The next time I wouldn't be as lucky. In this word, things lurked in each dark corner. Not all of them were caring older brothers that wanted to protect his family. Others were pretty nasty and I risked coming across them next. Still, I picked a random direction to drive in, unaware of what I may come across in the future.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm a Trucker for a Shady Organization. I Haul a Portal to Hell, Part 3 [RESPONSE] Rooming with a marionette contortionist shapeshifting asshole is worse than you'd imagine. "Ci…ci… heeelp…" an almost familiar voice tore me from my dreams. Drawing one of my stolen pistols, I tentatively approached the door. A slithering hiss came from down the hall, then **click** something flicked the hall light on. Dropping to a crouch, a glimmer caught my eye. Something was wedged beneath the door. A scream burst out involuntarily as the object registered. An eye. A single human eye stared up at me. "Heeelp… Cici? Is that you-?" The voice whimpered. Heavy hits as though from a jackhammer began crashing rapid-fire from the opposite side of the door. How the wood was withstanding the force, I didn't know, and in that instant, I didn't care. **BANG! BANG!** Two rounds loosed from my gun, piercing the door and sending splinters out like clouds. Silence fell as I curled up, quivering on my bedroom floor. Before I worked up the courage to inspect the intruder, something mind-numbingly infuriatingly worse broke out. "Kahahaha! Really had ya going there for a minute, didn't I?" D fell through the door, pounding the floor from laughter. **BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! click!** I emptied the remaining four rounds into that asshat. "Ahaha haha!" D continued laughing, ignoring the hollow holes ridding their clay body. Wiping an imaginary ear from an empty eye socket, D became serious. "Dispatch called." "Mother fucking fuck!" I screamed, hurling the six shot but missing the driver. I'll chalk that up to the shitty lighting. "By the way, you might not want to show your face…" D chuckled dryly, guilt tugging at their lips. *Great, two terrible options. Might as well rip the bandaid off quickly.* "Dispatch called?" I sighed, breathing slowly to reduce my heart rate.  "I wrote the address in my journal, here." D produced a velvet, leather-bound diary from seemingly nowhere, already open. "Shit really? That's… going to take for fucking ever…" I grumbled, cursing my existence. "The other thing-?" D began, but I interrupt.  "Nope. Not a good time. Just… give me a moment?" I shooed them out the door, walked to my bed, and screamed my throat raw into my pillow. — Assignment 24, Day 1, 5:39am Climbing into the cabin, I lugged my 'appropriated' supplies on my back. D watched, unblinking, as I secured the goods beside the mattress. "You really don't want to know?" D asked smugly, self satisfied for reasons I did not have the capacity to learn. Flipping them off, I ignited the engine. I put us in drive, and we were on our way. 8:11am "Why are you here?" I finally broke the silence we'd driven in. "Eh?" D shrugged their shoulders after a moment of thought. "Seriously? Why?" I pressed, not throwing in the towel easily. With an impossibly long groan, D said "fiiiiine. I'm looking for something. I figure that," D pointed to the cargo, "might lead me there." "Dare I ask what that 'something' is?" I made air quotes with one hand, keeping the other on the steering wheel.  "Answers. Just leave it there." D stated, then shot their head against the windshield. "Pull over. NOW!" Pulling over and flooring the break, the truck skid to a stop. Not waiting for it to stop fully, D had already vanished. Wasting no time, I unzipped my bag. Loading up, I carefully surveyed my surroundings. **WHOPAH!** something crashed in the middle of the road so violently, the street lamps were toppled. Crunching across the pulverized pavement, I saw a true demon. Fiery crimson skin pulsed with bright, ancient symbols. Each step it took, I found it harder and harder to breathe. "Aeshma! Not another step!" D demanded, arms spread to block the demon's approach. "You! What business have you, ancient one?" Aeshma snarled, baring swordlike fangs. Peeling skin tore as the demon revealed more and more teeth. "That I'd none of your concern, child. Why have you come?" D demanded with an equally intimidating presence. Just as I thought I would pass out from oxygen deprivation, air rushed back to my lungs in a painful wave. Gasping for breath, I fought to hold my rifle. "That portal… I need it" Aeshma sighed, cheeks knitting back together. The runes retreated into their crimson skin then they knelt before D. "Rise, child. I offer you a compromise. Leave us be until I have satisfied my own curiosity, then you may take what you seek." D's voice reverberated, as though echoing hundreds of times, all at once. "That is… agreeable-" Aeshma said, disappearing upwards. Aeshma left one nasty pothole, in case you were wondering. Nonchalantly, D paced back to the passenger side, then hopped back to their seat. After some time of my gawking at them, D shrugged. "What? I didn't know Aeshma was coming until they were nearby." Mouthing out the word 'what' silently, D shrugged again. "I don't ask about your private life." Sighing, I crawled back to the mattress and shut my eyes. I planned on sleeping this off like a bad hangover. 5:32pm "Hungry?" D prodded, landing another wet willy. "Stop that, asshole!" I spat, slapping the disgustingly long finger. "Seriously though, how are you?" *What a loaded question.* "Yeah, I'm hungry." I said, dodging the second question. Frowning, D shut the off engine. "I'll refuel the truck. Go get yourself something." Navigating the gas station aisles, I plucked an iced coffee, cinnamon bun, and some other snacks from the shelves. Walking to checkout, I found a line. While waiting in line, an amber alert caught my attention. Turning to the wall mounted tv, my heart skipped a beat. "-is highly dangerous and armed. Be on the lookout for-" the robotic voice of the broadcast droned, but I took off before any more. I knew the name of the suspect. That picture was unmistakable. 5:39pm "What the fuck did you do!" I shouted, flooring the gas pedal. "I tried telling you earlier" D defended, putting their hands up in surrender. "Why am I wanted?!" I yelled, regretting my morning scream as my throat was beyond sore. "As I was trying to tell you. Some officers came knocking. They were suspicious so I took your appearance and went with them. As I suspected, they weren't really police, so I…" D striked a beard that wasn't there, humming quietly. "You what? Murdered them all?" I asked sarcastically. After D drooped their head for a minute, saying nothing, I slapped my forehead. "How many?" I whimpered, feeling tears begin to well up. "About two…" D trailed off, counting on fingers then slowly sprouting more and more to count on. "Ah, there we are. Two thousand ish." I nearly swerved into the guardrail. Falling into insanity, I asked **"WHY?"** "As I said, they were suspicious. When their chloroform didn't knock me out, and their bullets didn't stop me, I figured they were out for you. So I killed them." "Dear God!" I gagged, breaking down in tears. "Which one, there a few gods of deer?" D asked, unhelpful as expected. "You fucked me." I stated, through the haze of outright dread. "It was going to happen either way. How'd you get those?" D said pointedly, gesturing at my small arsenal. "D has a point." My reflection added, speaking the truth I had already accepted. "Shut up!" I begged both the mirror and D. I didn't want this. Fuck!<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My new strange town has a set of rules in order to survive - We never knew those rules existed on the first day. [RESPONSE] My mom, my sister - Esther, and I just moved into this new town yesterday. In summary, my dad is a total jerk and my mom has had enough of his shit. She filed a restraining order against him and is going to sign the divorce papers next. I was sitting on my bed when my mom came and complained about how messy my room was. "Ray, could you unpack and organize your belongings?" My mother inquired, looking around my room dejectedly. My mother was looking at me worriedly. "Yes," I replied, quietly getting up and unloading the boxes. For a moment, she probably wanted to say something, but then stopped. I guess she was concerned about how my sister and I would deal with these sudden changes. “Remember to come down for breakfast.” I watched her figure disappear, then resumed my cleaning work. Our new room was a fairly basic room (yes, I share a room with my sister), with a window overlooking the street and a built-in wardrobe. The sound of children playing in the yard distracted me a bit. I continued to arrange my books and adjust the blankets. Then I finally checked the closet. The closet door was rather odd in that it was designed to be opened only from one side. I opened it, preparing for whatever animal was there to run out, but it was empty, except for a piece of yellow paper lying neatly on the floor. I was about to pick it up, but a call from downstairs stopped me. I rushed down while my mother was carrying a plate of pancakes toward the table and my sister was eating hers. "Estie, how did you sleep?" I laughed and hugged her. She squealed as she tried to keep the honey-stained fork from sticking to me. She gulped, then returned my hug. "It was tedious, but come and eat first, sis." My mother continued, as she sat in a chair, dipping her fork into a maple syrup-filled pancake, "Take a bite!". I ate it. It was delicious. We ate together and talked happily, and I suddenly realized that it had been a long time since we sat down to talk like this. My mom called us upstairs while we were still cleaning. My mother's room was cluttered with an open suitcase, and several shirts were strewn across the floor. "You forgot something?" Esther asked, bending down to pick up a shirt and folding it neatly. My mother shook her head, "Aunt Jones just called me." "I thought you filed a restraining order against dad?" I frowned, "Why is he still trying to contact you?" "He has some problems..." she sighed, looking back at Esther, "His lawyer said that I have to attend the trial tomorrow." Esther looked back at her; the shirt in her hands was crumpled to the point of wrinkles. My mother came over and hugged her as tears streamed down her cheeks. "I won't hesitate this time, I promise." And she looked back at me. "I'm going to be back in a week... Or more if he tries to reason with the court. So Ray, take care of Esther, alright?" I nodded and tried to comfort Esther. She was a little bit shaky. Every time someone mentioned anything about my dad, her PTSD would rush right in. My mom packed her things for another 15 minutes and we all came to see my mother off. We waved goodbye as her car disappeared. I looked back at Esther, who was still very frightened. "What do you want to have for dinner tonight?" I smiled, trying to cheer up. She wiped her tears, "Sweet and sour ribs? I always love that." "Sure!" I nodded. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ We were walking down the street to the nearest supermarket. The neighbor was too quiet at this time of day. Esther and I finally came to the supermarket on our Google map. It was a small, local supermarket that seemed rusty at first, but it was the only one near my house. We walked in, and it was quite surprising because of how **deserted** it was. Only a cashier at the checkout, a janitor cleaning the floor, and two other employees are organizing the products. I shrugged it off, *maybe they don't have that many employees at this time of day.* Esther was going around to get some snacks while I went to the meat section to get some ribs. We meet back at the checkout, with Esther holding a bunch of snacks. As we were checking out, I realized how one of the employees was looking at us with a worried look. I think Esther noticed that too. The cashier handed us the bag, and I gave her the money. "May **he** look over you," she said, smilingly. Even though I was very confused, I still nodded and smiled, "Sorry, but I'm an atheist. But thank you anyway." For a moment, she seemed... **angry.** She held onto my wrist and screamed, "**HOW CAN YOU BE THIS DISGRACEFUL!?**" Esther tried to break her grip on my wrist and the employee rushed in to separate us. I was shaking while she was still screaming and muttering unhearable things. The other employee came and escorted us out of the supermarket. "Our apologies," the employee said, "She has been strange these days." I shrugged it off, knowing it was not worth it to act like a Karen at this point. We just walked back to our house after that. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ I was still cooking when Esther came rushing down the stairs. "Pests again?" I laughed at her expression. She shook that off, telling me how weird the closet was. "It has locks inside. It's almost like a tiny room there." She described the closet. I smiled and ushered her to the dining room so that we could have dinner. We ate and talked for a bit, then I went up the stairs to take a bath while Esther was washing the dishes. We watched TV for a bit and then decided to go to sleep. "Sis, don't you feel weird about that closet?" "Alright, let's talk about it tomorrow. Let's sleep first!" I hear her whimper under her blanket. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ It was 2:43 AM when I heard some woman's voice downstairs. Esther was woken up by it too. "I think," she said, looking down the window, "It's... **MOM!**". She quickly grabbed her cardigan and dashed downstairs. I held her back right after. "How are you so sure it's mom? It could be anyone?" "But she's wearing the same clothes that mom wore today. Maybe dad has done something to her again!" She shouted and went down right after. *Shit*, I cursed, as I followed her. Esther was comforting the woman who she claimed to be our mom. I kneeled and asked her if she was alright. She was breathing heavily. She groaned, a small voice: "I... I'm alright." "Mom, can you stand up?" Esther worriedly asked as she was trying to stand her up. But it was useless, the woman stopped the heavy breathing, and then laughed. "**You stupid, stupid little girls."** I could finally see her face, *she was the cashier from the supermarket*. She laughed as she was transforming into something *that wasn't human.* Her hand now turns into long and thin claws, which are shaped like knives waiting to pierce through the meat. Her eyes became hollow, darkened, and twisted. I looked back, only to see a sharpened smile that shone brightly under the moonlight. And she gripped my hand again, the same grip at the checkout booth. *Oh shit,* I thought, *I'm going to die here.* **BANG!** All the chaos was interrupted by the sound of a gun piercing the woman's arm, and I looked around fearfully and felt the grip on my wrist loosen. From the side of the gun was a man, about middle-aged and a bit slim. In his hand was a shotgun. I was scared, screaming, "ESTHER! Get out of there! NOW!" **BANG!** Another shot rang out, it pierced the cashier's head. Her head was crushed, but instead of the usual brain and flesh, it was black and rotten liquid. I grabbed Esther and dragged her away, running for life. From behind, that creature was still following us. "**COme BaCK!**" It cried out. "YOU TWO, HERE!" It was the voice of an aunt coming from the old man's house. Regardless, I dragged Esther to the man's side and tripped as I entered the door. "ANDREW, COME IN!" The auntie shouted before the man fired another shot at the hideous creature. The uncle rushed over to us, pushed the three of us into the house, and slammed the door shut. The amount of adrenaline in my body made me shiver like I was on the other side of the North Pole, and Esther was still in shock. The man named Andrew gasped, then quickly threw the gun aside and sat down. "Thank God we got there early..." Outside, the creature is still growling and whimpering under my mother's voice. "*How could you two leave me here to die?"* My new strange town has a set of rules to survive - We never knew those rules existed on the first day.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] It keeps playing. [RESPONSE] Somebody.. send help.. I'm not sure how much more I can take. It keeps playing over and over again and it won't stop no matter what. Let me give you a bit of backstory.. I live in a large 1800s Georgian house. It's not a giant creepy mansion sitting on a hill like you might have imagined, but instead it's a seemingly normal house which sits beside a quiet street. I moved in here about a year ago and everything was normal until just recently. I own a music box. I have had this music box since I was a baby, in fact I'm pretty sure it was a birth present. My parents would wind it every night for me to help me sleep,and it worked. Now this box had somehow moved in with me, 22 years later. I don't know how it didn't make it into my parent's loft along with all of my other old stuff, but it was the only thing from my childhood that moved in with me. Yesterday I decided to wind the box a tiny bit to see if it still worked. I opened the lid carefully and miraculously, it squeaked out that same old tune from when I was little. I will never forget it. I held it in my hands before setting it back down on the table I had put it on. I left it alone, but just a few hours later I heard the song ringing out. What the fuck? I hadn't gone near it since I wound it before, plus you had to open the lid for the song to play, so why was it playing again? The lid was locked shut so how could it play? On the music box, there was no way to stop it from playing until you eventually had to rewind it, so I just had to wait for it to reset and then leave it. The house was quiet for the rest of the day until this evening when I was getting ready for bed. I slid under my duvet and got comfortable, and that's when I heard it again. That song. It was singing again. I didn't know what to do. It hasn't stopped playing since. The bathroom door has creaked open a few times and I've heard footsteps disturbing the shitty floorboards beneath the carpet, but I haven't seen anything. I've only heard that song. I'm going crazy. I can't take it. It won't fucking stop and I don't know what to do. Send someone. A priest, maybe. I should have returned it to my parents as soon as I found it in a box I had used to move in. I just heard footsteps right outside my bedroom door. The music got louder as if it was outside the door too. I'm scared. I might be dead, or worse, by the time someone gets here, but just tell my parents to smash that fucking box to pieces as soon as I'm gone. My door creaked open. I'm not looking. Tell everyone I love them. The music stopped.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My Upstairs Neighbor [RESPONSE] I live in an apartment.  Everyone besides the people on the top floor wonder what the sounds coming from their upstairs neighbors are. I don't have to wonder, the only sound that I ever hear, is laughter. Never a footstep, the movement of furniture or the life-interupting explosion of something falling to the floor. It's a laugh of pure joy, Deep and hearty. He laughs like he's with friends but I never hear anyone else.  One night, I was watching TV and we laughed at the same time. It felt like we were laughing at the same joke. I smiled...the first time it happened. The next day, he laughed at the same time as me, twice. I figured we were watching the same channel. I flipped to a streaming service and turned on a horror movie. During one jump scare, I hear him yell. I am really creeped out so I'm trying to watch happy programing. I'm not laughing anymore but he's still laughing at things I would have laughed at.  The laughter lasts longer each time he does it. Every now and then, the laughter is accompanied by the sound of slapping on his floor. Its loud enough that it makes me jump, everytime.  I am not the type to confront a neighbor about anything but I can't do nothing. I talk to the building manager. He tells me that unit is being renovated and there shouldn't be anyone up there. He asks me to call him right away if I hear it again. I walk into booming, maniacal laughter as I enter my apartment. I call the building manager and hold my phone towards the ceiling. The building manager says he'll check it out. A few minutes later the laughter stops. I hear the faint sound of footsteps across the floor. The laughter starts again. I hear a giant crash. The laughter pierces through the floor, like the squatter is right next to me. Something heavy is now being dragged. I grab a hammer, dial 911 and run towards the stairwell. My building manager was up there because of me, if he was in trouble, I had to try to help him. I reach the door, it's shut. I put my phone in my pocket and knock... "Cooome in!" The hearty voice beckons like it's welcoming an expected friend. I open the door and hold it in front of me like a sheild, I peak inside. There is nothing in the apartment aside from a petite, naked woman with long black hair. She is in the middle of the room, on her toes with her ear to a glass on the floor. Her body and neck are controrted into impossible angles. She is looking right at me, she is smiling. She laughs, the deep, hearty laugh that I had associated with joy...and a man. I could now see it was the proud roar of madness. She smashes the glass on the floor and starts chewing on the shards. Each skull shattering crunch reverberates through my body. I can feel it, like foil on my teeth. She doesn't break eye contact. She chokes, blood oozes from the corners of her mouth, the laughter resumes.  I run back to the stairwell; she is right behind me. She runs on her knuckles and is still on her toes. She is surprisingly fast. I get down the stairwell and to my apartment door just before she does. I make it inside and lock the door. She is clawing and snarling, choking... laughing. I pull the couch over to the door and lay on it. I haven't spoken to emergency services but they've been on the phone this whole time, they should be here soon. I pull my phone out, blurt out my location and do my best to explain the situation. The woman on the other end assures me that the police are already on the way then starts to laugh. A deep, hearty...joyful laugh.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] It took months for me to escape the unspeakable horrors, only to find out that years had passed for everyone else [RESPONSE] A year ago, I was found in bed at my apartment raving about a loathsome land that swallowed me up, a place that could only exist in the mind of a madman, a place where land and animal are the same. For 10 years they said I was missing, but for me it felt like no more than a few months. I have not aged, yet my brother just a year older than me had changed greatly, his hair now almost fully grey. I have no memory of how I got there, I went to bed like any other night and fell asleep. At first, when I woke, I believed it was a dream, a horrible nightmare that I could not awake from, in a land that was alive. If you could call that revolting foul-smelling thing alive, it could just as easily be dead with its rotting pulsating flesh throbbing, as if ready to burst. Its skin peeled in parts revealing a dark tar-like substance that seemed to infect the surrounding area, causing some sort of fungus to quickly spread like a virus. Some of the larger older “scabs” I call them have an array of weird things growing from them, at the surface countless jelly like tentacles that resemble a meadow from a distance, a dead one, void of color.  As I walked barefoot across it, I could feel its sticky arms burst, making a soggy sound as my feet sank deep into the hideous mess which left behind a pool of thick sludge in my wake, that I could barely pull my feet from. My reason for risking such a dangerous journey is simple, in the center was growing a long tree-like plant which rose so high that I could not see the top. But before I could reach the base, I had to cross a field of thorn like things, which looked as if they were dancing in the wind. But there was no wind, the only breeze I felt was from the odd pocket of gas that escaped randomly from the fresher wounds, the smell of which was like rotten flesh mixed with ammonia that burned my eyes and lungs. Trying to navigate through that horrific maze caused me unnatural pain brought on by endless wave after wave of attack from them foul creatures as they tore deep into my flesh, until I couldn’t take it anymore and fell to the ground. I have no way of knowing how long I was out, if it was hours, days or just minutes, but I woke with such an unsatiable apatite that even the repulsive vegetation tempted me. I found a grey orb-like growth at the edge of the thorny forest which did not have a putrid smell like most of the growing things there. When I bit into it its soft fleshy skin burst filling my mouth with a thick slime like substance that almost made me vomit. The smell was mildly unpleasant, but the taste was somewhat familiar, which I could never explain why. It took what I assume was days for me to get my strength back enough to make such a climb, but I have no way of knowing since the sky was always the same shade of bright glowing red. My only nourishment was coming from those awful orbs that made me so ill at first, that I spent most of my time curled up in a ball screaming in pain. But in time the pain eased, and I was able to stomach those gelatinous orbs with only the mildest discomfort. . My first attempt at scaling that monstrosity was cut short by an earthquake that shook the ground so much that I was lifted 20ft high, only saved by the angle of my fall sliding horizontally down the stem, slowed by the many branches before landing in a pile of sludge 5ft deep, which took hours to get free from. I was lucky to have escaped with such few injuries that it only took me days to recover. Again, I risked it all in hopes I would find a way out of my hell and climbed its fleshy veins that felt warm to the touch. In my trail I left a stream of green oozing liquid as I stuck my nails deep into it as I pulled myself higher and higher. As I climbed the skin on the tree started to become so thin, that it eventually became completely translucent, and I could see a flurry of white orbs flowing inside it, like blood pumping through veins. Every now and then I'd push my hand through its soft flesh and replenish my supplies, then watch it heal itself almost instantly. The true scale of what I was actually looking at hit me when I got high enough to see over what I thought was a large mountain range. For I could see the land open up, revealing what looked like an eye so big that even the largest city would seem miniscule inside of it. The large mountain range I was looking at was nothing more than a pimple on its skin. In that moment I believed I had died and gone to hell; how else could I explain such detestable horrors. As I stood there staring into its dark flickering pupil, I thought why me, I lived a good honest life, why would God send me to this place. I could feel the anger build up inside me and soon I succumbed to my rage and started punching the tree with such force that my hand got lodged deep inside. While trying to free it with my other hand I pushed with all my strength, but ended up getting both hands stuck. Soon I felt myself getting dragged inside. I did my best to fight it, but it was no use I got completely sucked in. As I climbed higher inside that tube, I finally saw past the red glowing sky which revealed endless worlds like the one I had just come from, all connected by stems like the one that brought me there. Struggling to take what I thought was my last breath. I could not help but think of the life I left behind and how insignificant my problems were before I was brought to that place, where no mortal should ever even dream of going and how different I would do things if I could go back to that place now. Then with a bright flash of light I was back in my bed, but it was not my bed anymore, for beside me was a woman that I did not know, in a room that did not seem in the least bit familiar to me, with its pink curtains and frilly bedsheets. Before she went running out of there, she screamed so loud I could feel my ears pop. Not long after a large man came charging in and pinned me to the ground, the cops soon followed. When they asked me where I had been for so long, and how I ended up in that poor girl's room, I had no answer to give. So, I was silent, and stayed silent to this day, for fear I might speak out loud the unspeakable horrors I had seen in that awful place and infect the minds of others. Now I spend my time sitting in my room alone, my only company is the memory of that monstruous thing, as it haunts every waking moment of my life. Even in my sleep I can’t escape my terror, for in my dreams I find myself back in that dreadful place. I only speak now because I am dying, infected by that cursed place, black tar seeping from the scars it gave me, infecting everything it touches. I thought I escaped that curse place, but I was wrong, it came back with me, and it is not alone, I can hear them calling out to me like a siren, warning of impending doom.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] She likes to be watched [RESPONSE] I thought it might be a one night stand. I met her at a bar in New York City late in the night, just before closing. I was in town from Seattle and was looking to catch the last few innings of the game at a Mariners friendly bar I had found online. She was the only person there, legs folded under her atop the barstool, flirting with the bartender. I thought they might be together, but she was quick to strike up a conversation with me. She had auburn hair which looked colored but not unnatural. It suited her fair skin and slender nose. She wore an oversized hooded sweatshirt which made her look comfortable and at ease. Her beer was halfway gone and she seemed to smile as she spoke. I asked if she was a Mariners fan— she wasn’t. She lived nearby and needed to get out of her apartment for a little while. There were rats in her apartment and she had set some traps. She didn’t want to hear them snap shut, so here she was. I told her the worst part wasn’t the traps snapping down, but prying open the hammer after the brains or blood had been spilled. She hadn't thought about that. She asked if I could come back to her place and help her with that part. The game wasn’t over. I didn’t mind. She didn’t catch anything that night. I told her peanut butter was the way to go. They only used cheese in the cartoons. She said she’d keep it in mind. Then she kissed me. She pulled back to look into my eyes. I didn’t realize how beautiful she was. But then she did something strange. She tilted her head and looked past me. Her eyes registered something behind me. I thought we were alone. I looked back. The room was empty. I asked her what she saw. She said it was nothing and pulled me back in and led me to her bedroom. All apartments in New York are small and her bedroom was nearly a closet. But as we undressed and I got on top of her she kept looking past me. I looked back again. The place was nearly dark, but I couldn’t see anything there. Was she still thinking about the rats? No, she said and wanted me to keep going. I had the feeling of being watched. I hated that feeling. I looked around. Were there cameras? I didn’t think so. Afterwards, when I was walking back to my hotel she texted me. She said she’d call me if she caught any rats. I replied, peanut butter, I’m telling you. She came to my hotel a few nights later. We flirted as we got to know each other. I asked where she was from, she said North Carolina. I asked where, she said somewhere in the middle. Like Raleigh? I asked. She smiled, exactly like Raleigh. We seemed to naturally fit. I moved toward her and curled her hair behind her ear. I felt that spark of electricity you get when you look deep into a woman’s eyes. I was really into her. But her eyes broke off to the side. She looked around. I did the same. What could she be looking at? She seemed disappointed and her demeanor changed. She said she should be going, but she had just got to my hotel. It didn’t make sense. So I opened the door for her and just as she was stepping out something caught her eye. She said, maybe she could hang around a little while longer. We spent the night together. She told me she really liked me. But that she didn’t want it to turn to anything more than what it was. A long distance relationship was the last thing she needed right now. She said let’s keep this just as it was. Just a fling. I’d be gone soon. She didn’t want to get too connected. She had just gotten over a long term relationship. Her last boyfriend had a hard time letting go. She was looking for a reset. She slept beside me and put her head on my chest. The smell of her shampoo was intoxicating. Her hand had traced my shoulder as she nodded off and I felt lucky. It never was this simple, this effortless. Except that earlier, the whole time she was on top of me, she didn’t look at me. Not once, now that I think about it. Her eyes were locked on the wall beside the bed. Whatever she was looking at turned her on. She bit her lip and damn she was sexy. But what was she looking at? It went on like this for a few weeks before I was ready to fly home. I started to have dreams about her. Or maybe I’d awake in the night, sometimes it was hard to tell. We’d be in my hotel room or at her place. In the corner of my eye I could see someone standing there. Their figure darker than the surrounding space. It did not move. It had no face, for it’s body was void of any trace of light. But I could feel it staring at me as I laid in bed beside her. I texted her that I wanted to see her one last time, but she was out with friends. I hadn’t met any of them. But apparently they urged her to invite me, but that I shouldn’t get any ideas. This was just going to be a fling, remember? I met up with her and her friends at a trendy bar in Brooklyn. They all had curious and suspicious eyes on me. I was outnumbered four-to-one, but I kept my own. After all, I was never going to see any of them again. So I was relaxed and played along with their teasing. She sat beside me with a careless hand wrapped around my arm as we drank and talked. She had an infectious laugh and I knew I was going to miss her. But I caught that look. The look she has when she sees whatever she sees. She was looking off toward the corner of the bar. There was no one there. She excused herself and navigated her way toward the bathroom. I watched her as she went, I didn’t care that her friends knew I was checking her out as she walked away. Her friends told me it was a shame I was leaving. I was good for her. I got her mind off her last boyfriend. I said she mentioned it was a rough break up. They said is wasn’t a break up at all. He had simply disappeared. So later that night, after we had said goodbye to her friends, I walked with her toward the subway station. She held my hand as we talked and gossiped about her friends. She was mid-sentence when she suddenly stopped and turned her head to the side, as if to listen to a whisper. She smiled and looked at me. She said she had set some traps back at her place. She wanted to know if I was interested in going back with her to check if maybe she had caught something. She had used the peanut butter. After all, it was my last night in New York City. Her eyes glittered in the reflection of the city lights. We slipped into her place, and I couldn’t keep my hands off of her. I kissed at her neck and ear and how I loved the smell of her hair. She said she didn’t want me to go. That this was maybe something special, something she hadn’t anticipated. I stopped and looked at her. She meant it. She wanted me to stay longer. Her eyes were finally looking into mine and mine alone. I wanted to stay. She was right. But I needed to know. So I finally asked her. I asked what she was always looking at, was there someone there? She hesitated. She seemed to retreat a little. I told her it was okay. I wanted to know. Did she see something? Someone? Yes, she said. Are they here right now? I asked. Yes, she said, they’re here right now. They? Can I see them? Promise you won’t leave me, she asked. I told her I wanted to stay. She thought about it before finally saying, okay, kiss me with your eyes closed. I did. I shivered. The room felt colder than it did before. I felt her hands on my back and shoulders but then felt something else. Someone else touching me. I opened my eyes. He sat at the edge of the bed. I couldn’t quite make out his appearance for his body was cloaked in darkness, not shadow, simply a void of light in the shape of a man. But I could see his eyes looking at me kiss her. He was nodding as if to say, yes, keep kissing her. His hands, or what might have been arms once folded around her and I could feel her excite, and she moved her hips into mine. She was breathing heavy and began to shudder when she bit down on my lip. That’s when I pulled away and saw another shadow beside us, watching, reaching for me. Yes, it said and I heard its voice from within my head as if my own thought and I heard her say, yes, almost in the same instant. I could feel hands pulling me into her from all sides, yes, they kept saying in my thoughts. What the hell was happening? And I was on top of her now, yes they said again and again and she was saying it with them like a chorus or some sacred chant. Stay with me, she said and they repeated her, stay with us… Something was happening, I felt euphoria and an immense fear and dread all at once when she said to never leave her. Yes!, I heard myself saying out loud and they were all around us now, then finally —SNAP! I stopped, and they were gone. What happened? she said looking around. We were alone again. I got up and walked toward the kitchen. There, by the foot of the refrigerator a small rat had its snout nearly severed in half from the hammer. It’s eyes bulged and blood spilled from its nose. I told her not to look. I would handle it. I took the trap and walked down the five flights of stairs to the garbage bin. I tossed the entire trap into the bin and looked up. Though no one was there, I could feel their eyes on me. I got the hell out of there and took the next flight back to Seattle. Part of me feels terrible. Here I asked her to open up, to be vulnerable and show me a part of her. It was scary as hell. I never liked being watched.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My girlfriend was up unusually early this morning. I wish I never found out why. [RESPONSE] “I’m going to take out the trash,” my girlfriend Monica announced as soon as I entered the kitchen that morning. I hadn’t expected to see her up this early. Certainly not after how late she must have gotten home last night. After spending Friday nights bar-hopping with friends, Monica usually slept in until lunch. “Okay, honey,” I said, without particular interest, “Thanks!” Grabbing the cereal box from the counter and plopping down on one of the kitchen chairs, I wondered if she had returned home earlier the previous night and I’d simply missed it. I mean, I normally woke up as soon as I heard the key turning in the lock, but perhaps that night she’d been particularly quiet? Or maybe she’d stayed with one of her friends? “How was your night?” I asked, as soon as I heard the front door click shut, “What time did you get home?” *Silence.* I raised my head from my bowl, waiting for her to emerge from around the corner, but the corridor was empty. “Honey?” I tried again, my voice saturated with uncertainty. Monica appeared in the doorway, her expression unreadable. She didn’t look disoriented or drunk, but she didn’t seem quite right either. Her hands were fidgety, and her eyes wouldn’t meet mine. “Monica?” I grunted, trying to tame the lump in my throat, “What’s the matter?” She took a deep breath and parted her lips, as though she was going to speak, but then hunched her shoulders and shook her head. “I need to take out the trash,” she said. I gawked at her, dumbfounded, “But…you just did?” She shook her head, and glided towards the trash can cabinet, opening it, and producing another bag from within. Then, just like the previous time, she turned on her heel and disappeared from the kitchen. Needless to say, the silent treatment was unlike Monica. *Had something happened during her night out? Had I done anything to upset her? And where were all these bags coming from..?* As soon as I heard the front door shut, I leapt out of my seat and threw the cabinet open, expecting to… Well, I’m not entirely sure *what* I was expecting. Either way, it was empty. “What’s going on?” I asked, when she returned five minutes later, the same empty look in her eyes, “Do you want to talk about it?” She looked dubious. “*Monica?*” “Okay,” she said, “But *first*, let me take out the trash.” My stomach lurched as she flung the cabinet open again, pulling out yet another garbage bag. “*What the hell..?*” I began, subconsciously pinching my arm, as if to ensure I wasn’t dreaming, “What are all these bags...?” But she wasn’t listening, instead turning her back to me and retreating the same way she had come. A chill crawled up my spine. *What the hell was going on?* I could have sworn the cabinet had been empty only a few moments ago. *Where had all these bags come from and why wasn’t she taking them out all at once..?* Shutting the front door behind me as meticulously as I could, I crept down the hallway leading to the stairwell. I needed to investigate. Monica had never willingly taken out the trash before - she said the garbage chute gave her the creeps. Our apartment was on the sixth floor, so there was no way she was going down all those flights of stairs for a single bag of garbage. The door to the garbage chute at the end of the hallway was ajar, and I could hear the faint wail of metal as it was pulled open. I swallowed, suddenly at a loss for what to do. *I mean, wouldn’t it be weird if she found me just standing there? And what exactly was I planning to say?* I listened in, my skin prickling in anticipation and my heart thudding in my chest. *Oh, what was I getting so worked up for? It was only Monica, for God’s sake. She’d probably had a falling out with one of her friends, or maybe I was snoring again and she couldn’t get to sleep. I’ll just go in and as-* But what I saw when I opened the door will remain with me for the rest of my life. Monica was sitting on the door of the chute, her legs already swallowed by the darkness within. Slowly but surely, she was edging her body into it, her palms clammy against the metallic finish. She turned her head at the sound of the door opening, and for a brief moment her eyes lit up with recognition. “Monica!” I cried out, dashing towards the chute, my heart practically leaping out of my chest, “What are you-?” But it was too late. Startled by my voice, or by my presence, she let go and disappeared into the chute, a raspy wail reverberating against the steel. *Thud.* I wanted to scream, but it was as though I’d suddenly gone mute. Fear sizzled through me like electricity as I flew down the stairs to the manager’s office. “Give me the key to the trash room,” I demanded breathlessly, “My girlfriend is inside!” He looked at me over the tops of his glasses, as though questioning my state of mind. “That’s impossible,” he retorted, “I have the only key.” Tears were flowing freely down my cheeks and my clothes were damp with sweat. I must have looked a downright sight, but I didn’t care. “She fell into the chute,” I sobbed, grabbing the edge of his desk for support, “F-from…the sixth floor…” Everything happened quickly after that. An ambulance was called, as were the police. At first they were hesitant to tell me what they’d found. They kept insisting I sit down and have some water, throwing leaflets about therapy and mental well-being into my lap. “Please, just tell me…just tell me…” I kept repeating, but nobody was listening. Hours seemed to pass by without a single word of affirmation or any information needed to piece the events of the morning together. The ambulance left within about twenty minutes of arrival, and left the police to take care of it. I couldn’t understand it. I mean, even if… Monica was… badly hurt… she’d still need to be looked at at the hospital. So, why had they left? Eventually, an uneasy-looking officer took a seat next to me. “Son…” he began slowly, studying my reaction, “Your girlfriend is… gone…” I buried my face in my hands. *Of course, she was.* She’d jumped down the *fucking* chute, plummeting God knows how many feet. “...but your story isn’t quite adding up.” he continued, his eyes narrowing, “You said she’d fallen into the chute, but…” He took a deep breath, his forehead creasing, “But we found her… Well, parts of her… inside… inside a garbage bag…” My blood ran cold. It was like I could no longer understand what he was saying. His mouth was moving, but the sounds were jumbled and wouldn’t make sense. *Inside a garbage bag..? What the hell was that supposed to mean?* He explained that the garbage bag had been there… for at least several hours before the police were called. He said that there was… no doubt that its contents belonged to Monica. He asked whether I had any idea what happened. Then, in a much softer tone… he added that I’d be expected to come in for questioning. When I finally returned to my apartment that morning, all I wanted to do was fall into bed and go to sleep, praying I’d wake up to discover that all this had been nothing but a bad dream. But as soon as I entered the bedroom, the front door slammed shut. “*Hello?*” I called out, my voice meek and croaky. *Silence.* A newfound sense of dread filled my lungs as I recalled the events of the morning. As I tiptoed slowly towards the kitchen, I couldn’t help wondering if- *No, it couldn’t be.* She was leaning over the trash can cabinet, a new garbage bag in her grasp. She spun around and our eyes met. “I’m just going to take out the trash,” she said. I stared at her, my breath catching in my throat. Here she was, right in front of me, talking about trash as if it were the most casual thing in the world. In a feeble attempt to make her stay, I asked the only question I could think of. I asked it, even though I knew the answer already. “What’s…what’s in the bag, honey?”<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I shouldn't have sold their treasure. I shouldn't even have touched it. [RESPONSE] *Ding dong!* The ringing was persistent. At this hour it sounded like a siren wailing into the night. “Coming,” I muttered, walking to the door. I rubbed my eyes and threw it open. The sun was beginning to rise, and new light flooded the town, bouncing off every sparkling surface and illuminating the shadows that once crept in the dark. I hissed like a vampire caught in the dawn. There was nobody there, and I banged my fist against the door, making the walls shake. I screamed, swore at the jokesters who dared wake me up at 6:35 on a Saturday morning. I was sure those little rascals were hiding away somewhere, giggling at their little prank. I swear, I just aged out of teenagehood, but I was never that *immature*. I was about to slam the door shut when I noticed the package on my front steps. It was wrapped in brown greaseproof paper, the same kind you would use to wrap a steak or a rack of lamb. Already its age was showing; the packaging was dirty and slimy with oil. “What’s that?” That was my brother Eric. We were 6 years apart, and I moved in with him before college started in the fall. Our parents didn’t mind; hell, they encouraged it. *Stay with your big bro,* they had said. *You might learn something useful with him.* I doubted it. Before I moved in with him, he was a bit of a slob. Mess everywhere, expecting me to clean up after him. I mean, even now, he was waddling towards me in coffee-stained pyjamas he had (conveniently) forgotten to wash last night. Despite everything though, I loved him. We’ve been through a lot together, me and him, even when we were isolated from everyone else. We were used to people gossiping about us behind our backs, making fun of us for how ridiculous our last names were, and even more ugly stuff I had to endure for years and years. Then Covid came and made everything a thousand times worse. But I had Eric and Eric had me. We bonded over video games and spicy Korean food. We took care of each other, and we had each other’s backs no matter what life threw our way. Including this package. Eric shook it. Something heavy thumped and rolled. Eric wrinkled his nose. “It stinks!” he cried. “Why did you order this?” “I didn’t order anything.” “It has your name on it,” Eric pointed out, angling the package to show me. Indeed my name was stuck on it, carefully typed out and printed. Arial, size 14. No return address. “It has our *last* name,” I corrected, but Eric was already tearing apart the paper with grubby fingers, as fast as a child opening his presents. But then he screamed, and jumped all the way back, and pointed at the contents with pale, shaking fingers. I peered into the box and my own heart leaped out of my throat. I turned around and vomited on the floor. It was a human skull, carefully polished and bleached until it shone. Jewels were jammed in each eye socket—a ruby on the left, a sapphire on the right, but it was slanted in a way that I could see the twin soulless voids staring back between the gaps. In fact, I swore I saw the jewels blink a few times and bit back a scream of my own. But then Eric abruptly stopped screaming. There was something in him now, something calm and collected, but I swore the temperature dropped thirty degrees because I shivered. He picked up the skull, examined it from all angles like he was just gifted a rare antique. Then he looked up at me and gave me a smile that made my hair stand on end. “It is mine now,” he said, and before I could stop him he had locked himself into his room. I stared after him, jaw still hanging open. Eric, so willing to share, had never been like this. But what chilled me to the bone was how *peaceful* his face looked when he turned to smile at me. The way his eyes closed into crescent moons, or the red blush creeping into his cheeks. Or how he walked like a zombie to his room, like he was half-asleep. *It simply was not Eric.* Not at all. It was just then I noticed that the package had come with a note. It was printed in the same typeface as the label on the box, and it said simply: **For Our Wonderful Master, Who Gave Us Everything.** Our last name was printed on the opposite side. *Master?* “I think you might have the wrong address,” I said out loud, but the moment I finished speaking I heard a thunderous roar and golden coins cascaded from the ceiling. I shrieked and jumped back, and nearly tripped into the rising pool of coins. They fell hard and fast and sharp, like little rocks, and I darted quickly under the table to hide because they hurt. Even then the rain continued, relentlessly battering the table and everything else around it. It was getting harder to move now, as the coins rose all around me in a tidal wave, eventually closing around my head and plunging me into darkness. I fought, fought with everything I got, as the coins rushed into my mouth and even my nose. Finally all was quiet, and I poked my head out of the solid water. I coughed, spitting out the last of the coins, and gulped in fresh air. It tasted heavenly, sweet like cold lemonade. Then I swam out into the open and had a look around. There weren’t as many coins as I thought, yet they still filled half the room. I impulsively picked one up to examine it further. Just the weight alone confirmed it was made of solid gold, no alloys, no funny business. A crown was engraved on one side of it, and the other side had the head of a demon. It glared at me with scarlet eyes, its forked tongue darting left and right, its hackles raised like a snake primed to attack. I had an idea. *How much was all this loot?* I couldn’t wait to find out. I gathered as many coins as I could and rushed to the pawn shop. The pawn shop agreed to buy them at a thousand dollars PER COIN. *Extraordinary,* he said. Of course I agreed. I could never be happier. I spent the next few hours running back and forth with bagfuls and bagfuls of coins. And the money? Well I spent it on everything and anything. All of my favourite things; all of my favourite foods. I tried to invite Eric along for the shopping spree. I knew he had been stressed recently with work. He always would come home too tired, too pale, eat without speaking and then disappear into his room to sleep. This trip would be a breath of fresh air for him. But his door was tightly shut and locked, no matter how hard I jiggled the doorknob. What disturbed me though was the laughter seeping in underneath the door. It didn’t sound human. Eric screamed. “Eric?” I yelled, heart pounding, palms sweating. “Are you okay?” Silence from the other side, save from the squelching of flesh. I waited on the other side, holding my breath. Part of me wanted to grab my phone and call for help but I couldn’t move. Finally his voice floated under the door. “I will be fine. Do not worry about me.” He sounded sick. Like something rough was scraping against his throat. “Okay,” I said reluctantly. “Do you want anything? I’m going out.” I was squeaking like a mouse. “No.” I got him some lobster anyway. It was something he always wanted to eat, yet he couldn’t as it was too expensive for either of us to afford. Freshly-caught, grilled in front of my eyes. I bought him champagne too—another luxury he rarely got to enjoy—but his sick voice, the way I heard him shuffling around in his room before I left—it was all gnawing away in my mind. And it stayed there, even as I tried to enjoy myself. A couple of times I couldn’t take it any longer, so I ran home to check on him, but I was either met with silence or the same response every time. *I will be fine.* When I finally headed home for the night, I was met with stone-cold silence. It was so dark that I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face; and even the shadows blocked out the moon. I turned on the light. I froze. My purchases shattered on the ground. Holes. The kitchen and living room was filled with *holes*. They were of varying sizes, some small enough to fit a mouse, others even smaller—and some so big they destroyed my furniture, but they were all the same shape. A three-pointed crown. *Creak…* One of the holes was widening. I stumbled backwards, nearly tripling over my bags. My nightmares crawled out. Or at least, it looked like it could come straight out of my nightmares. It was small, barely as high as my knee. It had green skin, sharp pointy ears and was naked except for a loincloth tied around its waist. It hissed, chattered in a language I did not understand and more of those creatures came crawling out of holes. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands, advancing towards me like little soldiers. The nearest one reached out towards my leg. *Screech!* I didn’t know what was worse, the high-pitch squeal as long nails raked against bare flesh, or the pain that soon followed. But it was enough for me to snap out of it, and I backed away as far as I could, but they pounced on my chest, knocking me over. They were chattering excitedly now, savouring victory that was inches away from them. I could smell their breath. It stunk of fresh death. A claw dug deep into my face, and the pain that exploded into my skull afterwards was enough to snap me into action. I shook off the monsters to the best of my ability, and fled to my own room, fighting them off with increasing desperation. I locked the doors, but I could still hear them yelling outside, and given how they managed to chew through wood, I didn’t have much hope. Besides, every time they yelled a shiver ran up my spine. My room was unchanged, save for more crown-shaped holes in the walls, but thankfully these holes appeared to be deserted. I went to my bathroom and washed myself best I could, but my body was still riddled with cuts and scars where claws met flesh. To make matters even worse, I realised with horror I left Eric’s food outside. Yet I didn’t feel safe. Images flashed into my mind of the creatures dragging my corpse all the way down to hell and I shivered. I hoped Eric would be okay with cold lobster tomorrow. I could still hear him through my walls, thrashing and yelling at something only he could see. I hoped he would be all right. I got into bed, but my mind was still going a million miles per hour. I glanced worriedly at the door, hoping it would hold. Long enough for me to buy another apartment, another house, far away from these things that now infested the flat I called home. I had the money now, after all. My eyes grew heavy, and I yawned, but then I woke up in a body that wasn’t my own. I was strong. I was powerful. I glared down at the creatures at my feet. The biggest one—the chief—was trembling like a leaf. “He got away, Master!” he cried. He knelt down and pulled at my cloak. “He must be punished,” I hissed. The voice wasn’t my own either. It was too cold, too high-pitched, like listening to a snake trying to talk. Every hair on my body stood on end listening to my own voice. My head was spinning. *This wasn’t me.* “For what he has done.” A door shimmered into view. A wooden door. My door. Nailed onto the door was my head, blood running down the wood in the shape of a cross. My skull was bleached, polished until it shone in the most unholy light of this place, and a golden coin was stuffed in each of my eyes. I screamed, and my eyes snapped open and I jolted out of bed. The lights were on. The place reeked of death. Blood crawled down from the holes, raining down on the dead bodies that were scattered all over the floor. It was the creatures, I realised, perfectly still and so pale in their final moments. They were surrounded by piles of human guts that curled around them like steaming hot noodles. Every one of them had a golden coin stuffed into each eye. I was truly awake now. Plans came racing through my mind. I needed Eric. I needed to get out of here. I needed to call the police. I needed to… Heavy footsteps stormed into my room, and all those plans flew out of my head as my mind crumpled. “Eric?” It wasn’t Eric though. It looked like somebody had torn off his face and put it on himself like a mask, but didn’t put it on properly. He towered over me, easily three times my height, and glared down at me with scarlet eyes as I shrank back against the walls. A forked tongue darted out and tasted the shadows. “Thief!” he thundered. “You dare steal from me?” “You dare spy on me through my dreams?” Eric raised an arm, pale and spindly like tree branches, and more of those creatures poured out through the holes. I edged towards the door. “No!” I blubbered. “I…I just…” Time was not on my side. One of the creatures noticed me trying to leave and jumped up and down at Eric’s feet. The message spread through them like wildfire. They lunged for the door. I squeezed out and slammed it shut, and bodies clattered down to the floor. But the holes were getting bigger, swallowing up our television, our furniture, *everything*—and this time they were armed. Spears stuck on sticks, the blades made of human teeth. They chittered, they jabbed, and I ran, faster than I ever had in my life, until my breath was coming out in short gasps. I got to the front door and just managed to dart out. I could still hear them yelling on the other side; and already a crown-shape hole was forming on my front door. A baby at first, but growing at a rapid rate. A single golden coin fell at my feet. Head’s up, coated with blood. I wished now I left those things alone. Then one of the creatures poked their head through the hole. It hissed, prepared to jump. I knew what would happen if I stayed there any longer. I ran. *** I had been moving around ever since, not daring to stay in the same place for more than a day. I didn’t use my newfound wealth, for fear that they would find me. Rather, I slept behind rubbish bins and in deserted alleyways, hoping they wouldn’t find me. Today, I am huddled up against this vandalised wall, typing on a cheap laptop I bought for myself. The cold wind is biting my cheek and slices into it like a knife. I shiver and rub my hands to keep myself warm. Something is hitting my head. *Plonk* *Plonk* *PLONK* It is raining golden coins. I don’t dare look up. I already know who is on the roof. Eric’s shadow is falling against my own. Gotta run, gotta go. But I don’t have much hope left. I know this could possibly be the end. Because a hole is opening up in the wall right behind me. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Its in my head and I know what it wants [RESPONSE] I awoke in a panic once again. Unable to move a muscle. Not even the slightest of twitch. My vocal cords felt like they were snipped in half. The panic rose. It was dark in my room, and I was under my covers. It felt like a dream state, like I was floating. But I was awake, very much awake. I tried to scream but my voice failed me. My muscles surged to break me free from the paralysis, but I was defeated. Shadows danced around me as something lingered in the darkness of my room. A sense of urgency was there that I needed to get away from here or something bad will happen. The impending feeling of doom. This is my weekly routine that plagues my sleep consistently. I knew it was coming, like it did since the very first time a few weeks ago. A thin, electric blue line of flames ripped through the darkness of my bedroom. The sleep paralysis froze me in place. Only the sounds of my muffled screams echoed in my head. The flames drew from ceiling to floor, pulling itself apart at its width. It was a portal; and it was opening before me. The celestial colors illuminated my room as the portal opened wider. Panic coursed through my body, soaking my sheets in sweat as the blue and purples burned my eyes. But I could not look away. I was drawn to the other side. I could feel my eyes being pulled towards the portal, as if they were going to be ripped out of my head. But it felt ok, I felt euphoria as the fear subsided. Time seemed to stand still, and I accepted my fate. My semi trance was snapped when a pale white arm protruded from the portal. Its fingers curled with sharp red nails. Veins traced its bulging arm as more of the entity emerged. It stood before me, tall and radiating with light. The fear returned tenfold. This was death I imagined. Its jaw hung loose, dripping with saliva. Eyes like I had never seen on a creature before, as if it had multiple pupils all capable of looking in different directions, all different colors. The figure stepped closer to me, it burst with heat as I felt my skin scorching. Blisters bubbled along my arms and face, bursting with fluid as the creature met his eyes to mine. As his jaw unhinged further, revealing countless rows of swirling teeth. It sank its jaws into my neck. I jolted from bed drenched in sweat. My heart nearly beating out of my chest. There was no portal, my room was empty, and I was alone. My sheets were soaked, and I came to realization that it was just another dream. Another dream where the entity from the portal takes me. The fifth time this month. But this time, it left something behind. On my arm was the tiniest of blisters. Strange to have a blister in autumn. I had barely been outside, and I had worn coats most of the time. My mind flashed back to my dream, praying not to make a connection but it was a struggle not too. School was uneventful that day. I had slept through nearly all my morning period classes, slept through study hall, and casually went through gym. All that was left was lunch and three more annoying classes. All through the day my mind couldn’t get away from the entity in my dreams. I had tried drawing it, researching dream analysis online but I was not able to come to any conclusions. I chalked it up to having cut back on smoking weed, I heard that you have more vivid dreams after quitting. But that blister on my arm kept bugging me and causing doubts. It rubbed against my long sleeve, irritating it till it was tender and hot. Painful. At the start of seventh period I excused myself to the bathroom. The halls were quiet as everyone was white knuckling their way to the end of the day at this point. I took a casual stroll to the farthest bathroom to kill more time. This bathroom was near the gym and did not get much use. For me, it was perfect to get away from everyone. I closed the stall door and began scrolling on my phone, I had at least ten minutes before someone came looking for me. To my disappointment, the bathroom door opened. The light flicked and struggled to stay on as it buzzed it life. The blister on my arm began to pulse. The person did not move, the door kept swinging open and then closing. Rickety as can be the door swung before I heard their footsteps. It sounded like they had walked in a puddle and their shoe filled with water. Strange since it was bright sunny day out there. They moved till they were standing in front of my stall. They were barefoot, pale and had long toenails. They tried to open the stall door. I yelled out that it was taken but they kept trying to open. I held the door closed as hard as I could, the lights flickered on and off and that same feeling of panic washed over me. The blisters on my skin began to pop up as if they were multiplying. My eye caught something between the space of the doors, a similar face I had been seeing all month. It was the same entity from my dreams. That feverish heat washed over me. I could hear it in my head. Calling for me. Bright blues and purples flashed before my eyes. I was seeing something not of this world. Some thing else was out there. But it was coming for me, and dread and fear latched onto my soul ready to consume me. I cried, begged, and prayed for it to end as the entity violently rocked the door. Debris from the ceiling rained down on me and a thunderous boom of drums filled my head. A voice inside me questioned “Am I going crazy”. And in a flash, just when I thought the pounding on the door would snap the hinges and the entity would consume me like in the dreams. I was alone in the smelly bathroom screaming to myself. Teachers were starting to come in, asking if I was alright. I must have been loud I figured. Still drenched in sweat with more blisters on my arm, my fears were shaken to life. This is real, very real. And it’s after me. The rest of the weeks after that bathroom incident felt like a blur of paranoia. It has been following me. I can see its eyes in inside the lockers I pass. The lunch lady serving sloppy joes has its same mouth. The voices in my head calling for me. Its out there looking for me, I feel like I am going crazy. The portal opened itself to me time and time again, there must be a way for me to open it again. Maybe this time I would step inside on my own. But something was different this past week. A new sense overtook me. One of obedience. I think the entity wants someone, maybe not just me? Why would I be the only one when there are plenty of people for it to take. I waited outside her house, perched behind a large bush. Like I had done day after day now. That same feeling of being watched loomed over me. A passenger in a car driving by looked eerily familiar to it. The old woman across the street seemed to be watching me, is that it? I thought. But I continued. The voices grew louder each day. I finally have the courage tonight. She is home alone as usual. I knew her schedule decently, I felt confident. I knew I could get her. If I can, maybe the entity will be pleased, maybe the portal will be revealed to me. If you are reading this now, I hope that I am no longer on this plane of existence. I have seen with my eyes what lies behind the portal. And I can take her there with me.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] It's been five years since I left the forest [RESPONSE] It was a while back I had just finished my junior year of high school when my parents said I and some friends and some friends can go on a camping trip... DAY 1: The day was like any other day when it started happening, We were eating some PB&J sandwiches when Brody brought up that he was hearing things and was seeing figures outside his tent he described it as a giant greater with long pointy fingers, he said it was about 7 feet tall, we weren't buying into it and said it was probably a squirrel or deer. But it did kind of put us on edge for the days to come DAY 2: It started with the smell of rotten flesh, after checking around we found a squirrel's dismembered corpse in the shape of a pentagram on a stone, that's when we heard screaming as Brody was running towards us, but. it wasn't Brody, it looked like him, it spoke like him. but it wasn't him, this thing had deep never-ending eyes and no jaw, in horror John picked up a rock and bashed the things head in I looked inside and only found a deep void I didn't even see his skull, we went back into the site to pick up out things when we were Brody with a stick through his throat on a tree John three up then we left. We then ran until we found a new place in the forest. DAY 5: Everything was fine up until day 5 we started seeing things just like Brody did, until the night when John started stabbing himself with his hunting knife, I stared in horror as this happened it didn't seem like him but it was him I was scared I ran away looking for an exit in the interminable forest. DAY 10: I ran and ran but I never found the exit I was looking around when I found Johns corpse with the words, "WE KNOW YOUR HERE LANDON" that's when I felt scared, I ran and ran until I eventually found the exit I ran and searched for our car and drove off to the police station, I tried explaining the story but they wouldn't believe it and eventually I was arrested for the murder of Brody Adams and John Green. But he never left the forest... Later police created a log after 5 years of the case being cold. LOG 1: We launched an investigation to find the two dead boys, going off on the suspect we checked the forest that's where we found Brody Adams stabbed into a tree, and John Green who had multiple stab wounds, that's when we saw our suspect Landon Whiyre with a gun next to his decomposed corpse, we looked as the analysis came in, two shots in the head created by himself, and a cut off arm we don't know where his arm went but we assume he ate it, we picked up a journal and read through it. We were in horror. We got a radio from the station that Landon started banging his head again and again on the walls,"But Landon's right here." I said in horror. We took all the bodies back to the station where we confirmed their body's and identity. Then we shot the other Landon dead, that's when the cold case of 5 years was finally solved<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Remember when everyone was “finding” lost episodes to tv shows? I think I found all of them. [RESPONSE] Remember when everyone was “finding” lost episodes to tv shows? It was usually kids' shows, and they always go the same way. Everyone acts cruel, somebody dies in a gory fashion, the end. It was fun for a while, but the formula got repetitive. And of course, no one thought they were real. Like everyone else, I hadn’t thought of lost episodes since maybe 2015. Well, now I’m thinking about them a lot more than I ever did back then. I found it at a yard sale. Yes, I go to those. Why yes, I do have cases of video games from the 90s and bootleg horror movie compilations. It’s also a great way to get your hands on cheap tools. Anyway, among the immensely crappy bargain bin comedies, one dvd case stood out. It was obviously some sort of compilation by the oversized case. The cover was bright and loud, I noticed it was made up of many smaller pictures. As the only thing that stood out in the bin, I picked it up immediately. “Lost Episodes Anthology” That was the title. I read it out loud in confusion. My first thought even then wasn’t “that” kind of lost episode. This was a whole, physical dvd. That just wouldn’t make sense. I assumed it was a compilation of unaired episodes of old tv shows. The traditional kind of lost episode. Still, the fact it caught my interest, and had no obvious indication what shows it might hold, meant that for the asking price of one dollar, it was a no-brainer to just buy and check it out more at home. So I did just that. I paid the perfectly ordinary middle-class late thirty-something’s running the yard sale and went on my way. It actually took a few days to pull out the dvd and take a look at it again. I wouldn’t say I totally forgot about it. But, it didn’t make a huge impression on me, so it took a while to top my to-watch list. The next Saturday evening though, with nothing good to watch, I decided to give it another look. A good close look at the case answered something I wasn’t certain about with only a quick glance at the sale; it had to be bootleg. The front only had the title, “Lost Episodes Anthology”, and the back had no text at all. There were none of the usual markings of a dvd, blu-ray, etc to be found on the case either. A closer look at the cover was… confusing to say the least. The little pictures making up a nonsensical collage were just screenshots of series. The weird part was just how many random series. I saw Lucy Ricardo laughing and Walter White crying. I think Jack Benny might have been in there sharing a cover with Jon Snow and Sheldon Cooper. Did someone try to take a clip of every tv show ever? And no, they weren’t all American. I just named the characters I recognized instantly. More than a few Indian, Korean, and many others were in there too. A fact that was itself possibly even more odd as it threw the nationality even of this disc in question. With nothing to go on from the case, I opened it up. Inside was a single dvd. I admit I had expected more from the oversized case, most compilations, especially cheap ones, are on multiple discs. That led me to assume it was only going to be a few episodes. I quickly learned my assumption was wrong. In the front cover of the case was a booklet. I was immediately happy to see something that I assumed would answer my question. On the front of the booklet, in the same simple font, was the title again, “Lost Episode Anthology”. I opened the booklet. The contents confused me at very first glance. It was a list, no other text. But, the font was incredibly small, each little page had three rows of entries, each title so minuscule the rows were dozens of titles long. It made no sense. I flipped through the booklet, six pages, each the same. There were no credits, no logos, just titles. Easily over three hundred titles given without context filled the book. What the hell was this? The disc couldn’t possibly hold that many episodes. Nor could any company possibly have rights, and it was ridiculous to imagine a bootlegger compiling such a thing. Finally, that many series couldn’t have “lost episodes”, unless the bar was lowered to any scraps of unaired footage. The obvious next step to take was zooming in with my phone and trying to make sense of the list. It made no sense. It seemed to list everything. I mean nearly everything. Every famous show ever: Heroes I Love Lucy Happy Days Game of Thrones Arrow You get the picture, right? All the people I saw on the cover, and anything more I could think to look for. Then I scanned it for obscure titles. Obscure fandoms I fell into that few people would know about. Surprise surprise: Wynonna Earp? On the list. Clutch Cargo of all ridiculous things? On the list. This settled the matter to me that the list could not possibly be the actual contents of the disc. Honestly, the list itself was a little unsettling to look through for long. Nothing was explicitly wrong, but it felt off how I was able to navigate through the items. It’s hard to explain exactly why. The best I can say is it was too easy to find each item. I was able to navigate the list because it was alphabetized. If I wanted to find Mo, I flipped to where Ma should be, and skimmed down the list to Mo. It felt strange though. Like I only needed to go past maybe a dozen titles until I was looking at Mobile Suit Gundam. But if I actually looked for titles with Ma or Me, the list was exhaustively long. Still, I couldn’t confirm anything was actually up with carefully photographing and cataloging the list, something I had no interest in doing right then. The only other interesting thing about the list was the last item. It wasn’t alphabetized, instead, it read “Director’s Commentary”. “Director’s Commentary”? Which director? Wasn’t this a compilation of shows? Though, when it couldn’t possibly be that encyclopedic list in the case, I supposed even that was in question. The only way to find out was to put the disc in. I popped it straight into a dvd player. No way I was putting this increasingly shady thing into any device with an internet connection. After a blank blue screen lingered for a few seconds, the disc went straight to the main menu. I was not terribly surprised that there were none of the typical screens a legal dvd would have. The menu used the exact same collage as the box for its background. There were three items: “Search Title” “Random Episode” “Director’s Commentary” That was it. There was no list of episodes. Which, despite my disbelief, meant that the insert in the box was obviously supposed to be how I would pick. This dvd truly claimed to hold “lost” episodes from virtually every tv show ever produced under the heavens. What was I going to see? Clips? Gag reels? Some weirdo’s amateurish home production? I needed to play something to learn. I could have picked a random episode, but I wanted to know what would happen if I searched for any given title. So, I typed in a name. I picked “The Smurfs”. It just seemed like something this sort of collection would have, and first I wanted to see what these episodes were. Later, I could get to checking how many were actually in there. Two entries came up. “The Smurfs (1961)” and “The Smurfs (1981)”. Okay, I did not expect that. I made a mental note to look up whatever the hell that is even before selecting 1981. The Smurfs intro started to play. I was taken aback. I still didn’t truly expect anything real to play. But, the intro was in full, professional quality, not even a crappy rip. Everything looked normal, and then a title card appeared. “The Forest Festival Folly.” I immediately looked it up. No such episode existed. The title would have fit just fine in any list, it sounded just like real episodes such as “The Magnifying Mixture”, but it just wasn’t there. The episode ran just like any other. The quality was completely identical to a real episode, the voices matched. Everything fit perfectly. The plot saw the Smurfs preparing for some animal friendship festival. The idea seemed to be that the animals would pick smurfberries and give them to the Smurfs as thank you for all the village does to protect the forest. Handy Smurf gets it in his head to invent a machine to help the animals out in gathering the berries, not understanding that this defeats the purpose of the event. Gargamel catches wind of things, as usual, comes up with a crazy plan to catch the Smurfs, as usual, catches a load of Smurfs, as usual, and the friends they made along the way come in to rescue, as usual. Except they didn’t. Obviously, Handy’s machines should have been used by the woodland critters to rescue the Smurfs, and Handy should have admitted that he should have never drawn Gargamel’s attention by meddling in the first place. By the Smurfs are captured without anyone learning anything. There are teary apologies, forgiveness, and then dead Smurfs. All in the style of the original cartoon. No hyper-realistic blood. Just goofy, Hanna-Barbera, dead Smurfs. I was shocked, and very freaked out. That was actually the moment I thought of the old lost episodes stories. Nothing until then suggested any kind of horror. I wasn’t traumatized or anything, but it was deeply uncomfortable seeing Smurfs boiled to death in exactly the style I saw them when I was a kid. I hit the power on the tv and took a moment to take stock of what I just saw. Fan projects to make lost episodes always look like just that. No budget, crappy photoshop jobs or awful splicing of scenes into some half-assed abomination. No one has the budget to make real, full lost episodes. Even if they did, how the hell did they fake those voices? That was Don Messick to a T. The episode was too complete, too high quality, to be a production prank. The most mental gymnastics I could do to justify that thing's existence was that maybe the episode was a real unused episode, and the bad ending was a joke. Or, someone with a lot of money and talent spent a long time on that. I realized that there was a way to rule out the latter idea entirely. I turned the tv back on, navigated back to the menu, and selected search again. Then, I typed in “Breaking Bad”. A live-action show would be impossible to mock up even with incredible talent and dedication. The actors are either there, or they aren’t. And no, I don’t believe anyone yet has the skill to deepfake an entire, plausible-looking episode of “Breaking Bad” yet. Oh, a fun aside: I had never actually watched the show until this incident. All of the online jokes make me think of it as the default example of modern television though, that’s why I noticed it on the box and thought to search it. The episode started up. Just like the Smurfs, everything seemed normal. I can’t tell you what season this was in, or what exactly was happening, for the reasons I just gave, but I could tell this was continuing off of events I assume actually happened in the show. Walter White was trying to keep a hold on his meth empire, dealing with the collateral it is taking on his life, etc. I already told you; I’m not informed enough to talk educatedly about this one. I absolutely know when it went wrong though. Walt believes Jesse is selling him out. An argument ensues. Walt straight-up kills him. Then, he proceeds to disassemble his body and dissolve it in excruciating detail. He is clearly tormented by this though and thrown off his game far more severely than the average betrayal and killing in the show. He attempts to pull off some deal (again, continuing some ongoing plot), but badly botched it and gets himself killed. I think it was half on purpose, really. That was awful, and fucked up. Not hugely more than the pretty dark show it was based on (or so I gather), but like the Smurfs, it somehow juggled being completely plausible with luridly dwelling on the unexpected brutality and deaths of the main characters. I think if I had known the plots and stories more, I would have felt the breakdown harder. Or would I? It’s fair to say at this point I was enthralled. What I just saw was impossible. Flat out impossible. There is no way a full-length episode of perfect quality was edited together like that. The actors were impeccably perfect to nearly a decade ago. The action was unbroken and yet included scenes that would never have been filmed. Now that I knew what I was in for, it was time to let it hit me where it would hurt. I wanted to feel the real impact of a lost episode. I went back to the menu again. This time, I searched for “Wynonna Earp”. Yes, I was going to watch my own niche interest. First, the important fact I learned: Yes, these episodes do fit themselves into the stories of the show, seemingly at easy points to create the gruesome endings they depict. In this case, it picked up immediately after the end of the first season, where the real season 2 episode 1 should be. I’ll keep the synopsis as simple as I can. The B plot deals with the titular protagonist’s younger sister, Waverly, being infected by a demon. In the real show, this was only faintly mentioned until a few episodes later. In this version, it immediately starts behaving in classic evil possession style, wickedly sewing doubts and divisions among the characters. Here it is much more blunt and cruel though. It immediately brutally mocks Waverly’s girlfriend, Nicole, and breaks their relationship. The scenes are unnecessarily cruel and filled with homophobic slurs. The A plot sees Wynonna far more depressed by the death of her sister at the climax of season 1. Her typically comical alcoholism grows out of control. Love interests Doc Holliday tries to reign in her behavior, but she rebuffs him. This is all fairly in character and resembles plots covered later in the show, just a tad darker. It grows worse and worse though. Ultimately, she picks a fight with revenants, the monstrous villains of the show, while far too depressed and intoxicated for her skills and is brutally killed. Doc, Dolls, and Nicole try to pull together and see if anything can be done, but without the protagonist's supernatural gun, and with the intervention of possessed Waverly, all are easily killed. I explain this all so you know, yes, unlike my other vague synopsis, everything here makes sense and fits the show. These “lost episodes” don’t just have the right characters and setting, they fit into their show’s canon. I’m not going to lie. What I just saw was depressing and hurtful. Seeing a character I actually like spew vile, hurtful words and then everybody die was awful to watch. But what I had was amazing: beautiful, useless, and amazing. I could see actors dead for seventy years acting again. I could see completely authentic, even if utterly horrific, episodes of shows canceled decades ago. Hell, this thing might make endings for shows canceled on a cliffhanger. Sure, it would be a bad ending, but it’s still something, and something impossible that only I had. So I watched that thing. I watched episode after episode, all night long. It was exactly like staring at a car crash, sickeningly fascinating and with a desire to piece together what happened. I watched all-new innocent family-friendly jokes from “I Love Lucy” end in screams and flame as the cross-country car trip arc instead ended in a crash with no survivors. I watched every one of Candace’s fears for Phineas and Ferb realized. Special Agent Fox Mulder truly learned the final truth. I didn’t need sleep. Not with these new wonders to see. Does knowing there is going to be a bad ending ruin the fun? If you think about it, not really. Traditionally, you always knew there was going to be a good ending at the end of every episode. And even if that isn’t really true of tv anymore, it still very much is in movies. I knew how it was going to end, but the journey to get there was every bit as interesting. Just what trouble was Richie going to get himself into to land a date this time, and how were he and the Fonz going to die in agony getting out of it? My wake-up alarm went off halfway through an episode. I had to get ready for work. With an exhausted groan, I hit pause and turned off the tv. It was another painfully repetitive dead-end day of labor. I had something to look forward to now though. It was a grim and strange miracle. But can anyone deny that in this mundane world, being possibly the sole owner of something truly, unmistakably magical wouldn’t change things? A dvd of bad ending might not be a dragon’s egg, or the Holy Grail, but it was my own magical artifact, and it was amazing. The whole entire workday was spent waiting to get home. It actually felt good to be eagerly waiting for something again, even if I was irritating to be forced to wait. The instant I was home I went straight to my lost episodes again. I had so many shows I was curious to see. By this point, I was looking up shows I had never even been interested in just to see how it would make them go wrong. Of course, my body needed to sleep eventually. I passed out sometime during the night while watching more episodes. Or at least I think I did? If I did, then I dreamed of death, people I know dying, people I had only seen or barely met dying. I watched lost episodes of life. My wake-up alarm went off. I had to be back at work. I turned the tv off. I pushed through the workday just wanting to see more lost episodes. Obviously the “Wacky Races” would just end in a bloody pile up, but how would Katarina Claes get herself killed in “My Next Life as a Villainess”? I was even more antsy throughout the day. I just wanted home again. All I wanted was to curl up and watch my disc. And it repeated again the next day. The dreams again too, if they were dreams. I still couldn’t have told you. It was becoming my pattern, except I couldn’t keep it going. I didn’t even realize it at the time, but I was becoming less stable with each passing hour. By then, I thought of the visions, dreams, whatever, constantly. I looked at people, and I knew how they would die (could die?). I fell in love with the tragic beauty of violence. I snapped while doing perfectly ordinary work. My supervisor gave me a typical instruction. “Fuck off.” Not surprisingly, I took a few seconds to even realize what I’d said. It was all the more shocking because my supervisor is actually kind of a friend. She’s stuck in the same shitty gig, just for about a decade longer, and so past hope of getting out. “Shit! I’m sorry! I’m… I’m not feeling okay.” I lamely babbled out my apology and excuse. “You sure aren’t.” She stared me down. “I’ll call in sick tomorrow.” She sighed. “Do that. Something ain’t right about you. You need to get it sorted.” I let out the breath I’d been holding. I was just so relieved that I wasn’t fired. I knew it wouldn’t last long though. Not how things were. I finished out the day and went home again. For the first time in days, I didn’t run to my tv chair. I just stood in the doorway for a few minutes and thought about what was happening. I let myself feel what was happening. Christ, I hadn’t eaten in days. That only occurred to me then. My body was so weak. I still didn’t know if I’d actually slept either. I dragged myself back over to the tv. Turning it on, I saw that it was still playing. A dying Buffy was tearfully apologizing to dark Willow I think. I sent it back to the menu. I clicked down the options to the Director’s Commentary. I knew that I needed to see it. It was the only thing left to learn. It was the only thing left to give me answers before I cut this thing out of my life. I clicked play. The screen showed a dark room with a blacked out figure sitting in it. It was just like when documentaries and things try to keep a person's identity secret. “Why don’t you introduce yourself.” A deep, heavily digitally distorted voice spoke from behind the camera. “I am the Director.” A higher pitched but equally distorted voice responded. “Let the audience know a little about what that means. Did you direct these episodes?” The interviewer asked. The Director laughed. “Haha! No. I just collected them. It’s my passion. I want these pieces to be available and seen as the complete expression they are. The Director is a nickname, a title of sorts, given to me because of how often I screened and distributed these pieces to interested parties.” “So tell us a little about these episodes, and what they mean to you.” The interviewer continued this incredibly ordinary interview, except for the anonymity. “Media, traditional media, is how humanity expresses how it sees itself. Lost episodes are the other side of this. Lost episodes are how media expresses humanity. If a movie, or a tv series are a self-image, what we see in our mind's eye, then a lost episode is the mirror image, what the world sees.” “So lost episodes are a natural phenomenon?” “They are.” The Director agreed. “And a useful one, an important one.” They help us to understand who we are. I have a little thing I like to do with people when I explain it. Take the dvd. Look at it.” I stared blankly at the screen. “Go on. Look at it.” The Director urged. I numbly popped out the disc. I was no longer surprised when the screen didn’t change. I looked at the back of the disc. “A dvd is just a mirror. I know this is a bit of a platitude, but it is true. It is a mirror holding data. But the most important data it holds is what it reflects about the person who watches it.” I stared at my face in the disc. I saw a haggard, anxious, angry figure. I saw a weakness and age I had never seen before. “Lost episodes are not ghosts. They are not a demon. They are a choice, and like any choice, the websites you visit, the friends you keep, you will get out of them what you put in.” I didn’t want to be the person I was becoming. I saw that in the mirror. I never saw people. I never did anything. Not after the disc. I didn’t want to be the person I was becoming when I found the disc. Just going out to check out a yard sale was the healthiest choice I had made in months. I stood up and turned off the tv. “Goodbye.” The Director signed off as the screen went dark. I put the disc away in the case and went out to my car. I drove out into the night. I knew where I was going, but I didn’t hurry to get there. I enjoyed the stars for a little while. I took simple pleasure in eating the forgotten snacks in my vehicle at stop lights until I reached my destination. I dropped the disc off in one of those free book exchange boxes. Sure, it wasn’t the right sort of media, but I think it would find where it needed to be. I got home, I drank a warm glass of milk. I went to bed, and I slept.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] i keep hearing it [RESPONSE] I keep hearing it. I swear it’s real, but it doesn’t make any sense. I haven’t mentioned anything to dad, cause it might just be my imagination, I hear weird things at mom’s apartment all the time. I didn’t start school until 1 pm today so I was able to just chill in the apartment for a while. That’s when I heard it again. Just as I was leaving for the bus. There was a stroller in the corner of the floor between the two other apartment doors. I figured that was where the sound was coming from but the second I set foot outside of the apartment the noise stopped. As much as I wanted to stand there in my confusion I didn’t want to miss the bus. Class was boring as usual. Swedish has never been my favorite subject and I was not in the mood for writing an analysis of a short story so I just wasted time by scrolling through reddit. When class was over I grabbed my things from my locker as usual and after saying goodbye to my friends, I sat down with my headphones in on the black couch next to the ping pong table with a book, waiting for my dad to come pick me up. Aside from a couple of kids and their parents walking past to get to their music class, it was fairly quiet. But I swear I could hear it again. The sound was faint, like it was coming from two rooms over but I couldn’t tell in which direction. It didn’t make sense. The sound was back and louder than before by the time I got home. As soon as I stepped into the apartment it was there. Louder than the workers outside, louder than my dad speaking to the birds, louder than the birds themselves. But he didn’t seem to notice. Maybe I was going crazy. Or it was all some sick prank with some hidden speaker inside of the apartment. Did that mean someone was watching? How else could the sound stop the moment I stepped outside? If dad’s in on it I can’t ask him, he’ll either pretend he doesn’t know what I’m talking about or actually think I’m crazy. I started hearing it at night too. It kept growing louder and louder. At first I thought it was coming from underneath my bed, but there was nothing there. The closet was empty too. Every drawer, every box, nothing. I didn’t know what else to do so I just plugged in my headphones and turned the music up, thinking that I could drown out the noise and fall asleep. But then I started seeing things. Small faces pushing through the wallpaper, through the floor, even through the covers. I ripped my headphones out and the sound of it was worse than ever. It felt as if my ears would start bleeding at any second because of how loud it was. My heart started beating faster and my tears threatened to spill over as I quickly tiptoed through my room and out to the living room. The birds had no reaction to me leaving my room, at least I couldn’t hear it if they did with the sound following me. I didn’t run outside. I didn’t want to waste time pulling on shoes and a jacket, I didn’t want to wake my dad up or go to my mom’s place because then I’d have to explain what had been happening. Instead I ran across the room and around the edge of the L-shaped couch to the balcony door. I pushed it open and stepped out onto the cold wood and the sound stopped. I turned around the grab a blanket to deal with the cold air seeping in through the glass when I saw this mass of billowing shadow on the coffee table. It had been a gift to my dad for his birthday, one, two years ago, I couldn’t remember. We’d covered it with a blanket but he hadn’t noticed anything different. We laughed at it. But this was no laughing matter. I quickly snatched up the blanket and pulled it to myself as I watched the mass of shadow slowly take form. Without taking my eyes off of it, I slowly pushed the door closed until there was only a centimeter or two of space left and turned the handle to lock it into place. Only for a second, I looked away to sit down on the couch and wrap the blanket around myself, I looked away. Then it was there. A crying infant wrapped in a cloth was lying on the wooden coffee table, waving its arms and distorting its features as it wailed. But nothing could be heard from the balcony. It’s past midnight when I’m writing this. I probably should’ve brought a charger with me because I don’t think I can go back inside without bursting my eardrums. I’m scared what it will do if I go inside again. Maybe it will make it real. Is it still going to be there in the morning when my dad gets up? Will he see it? Will it do something to him? I don’t know what to do, my only plan is to just sit here and wait, hope that it goes away. Maybe dad can help me in the morning, that is if it doesn’t get to him first. It feels evil.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I Lobotomised My Psych Patient Because I Believed the Story He Told Me... [RESPONSE] In 1955 I was a spritely 26 year old, I had just graduated in the field of psychology and landed a job in a hospital for the mentally afflicted. Terrible, awful places those hospitals were. Understaffed and overcrowded. It wasn’t uncommon to walk into a room and find a patient sullied in their own filth left unattended for days.  Many of those patients had been placed into our care by their own kin. Forsaken on our doorstep, no different to an animal discarded at the pound. Worse still was that as these people withered away, forgotten by all who knew them, the funding supporting their stay slowly dried up as well. Some families chose to forgo their payments, others simply denied ever making any at all and the monetary support provided by the state could only stretch so far.  However, among the great number of restless souls I treated one stood out. His name was Kenzou Hagihara, though we called him Ken for the sake of simplicity. Ken was in his mid 50’s by our best estimates. His paperwork listed no birth date and no patient history. He was a state assigned ward and once a month a tall dark man in a suit would visit him.  They would sit together for hours without moving or speaking. This was especially unusual because Mr. Hagihara was ordinarily a restless man and very vocal. He would shout nonsense sentences, speaking in both perfect English and Japanese intermittently at all hours of the day. He never sat still, he twitched or jerked continually. That was of course,  until the tall man arrived. Then Ken sat motionless and silent until his departure. It was an unusual thing for certain. I was assigned to care for Kenzou after he bit his regular nurse and she refused to go near him again. For the most part he was easy to manage. He allowed me to change his bedding and clean him. He ate the meals I provided for him without throwing them against the walls. Then one day without warning he grabbed my arm.  For a small older man his clasp was surprisingly strong, his long fingers wrapped around my arm in an iron grip. His eyes were wild as he looked into mine, “They eat CHILDREN!” He hissed with an alarming urgency in his voice.  Taken aback I had absolutely no idea what the poor fellow was on about. There were no children at the hospital, nor had there ever been. I couldn’t think of any answer to give him and when I didn’t respond he shook me firmly, repeating, “They *Eat* children!”  I won’t say a word of a lie. I was terrified. I winced when he shook me, I didn’t know how to safely deescalate the situation, I had never before been faced with a predicament quite as it was and I was quite certain he would hurt me if I said the wrong thing. It was at this time of personal crisis that I remembered the teachings of one of my professors. He had preached that through building an understanding relationship with a patient one might gain insight and resolve difficulties. Of course I had never put that aspect of psychotherapy into practice before, however, with Ken in the state that he was, it seemed as good an opportunity as any, “I will listen to you, who has the children?” I asked him, speaking in a subdued tone.  Ken’s eyes widened and his grip loosened slightly. I had never expected such an effect from a single sentence, “The Dunkel Institute. They are… There is no word for it! Akuma. Akuma!” He told me urgently. Unfortunately repeating the word had little to no effect for I didn’t know what it meant.  “Tell me about the A-koo-ma?” I pronounced the word as best I could and to my relief Ken let go of my arm entirely. He moved about the room then, barricading the door and closing the curtains. He even went as far as to stuff blankets under the crack at the bottom of the door. I was in equal parts alarmed and intrigued. His actions were so deliberate. Done with such *purpose*, he was far less simple than we had thought he was.  Once he felt the room was secured he began, “My father immigrated from Japan to this country, he married an American woman soon after and I was born here along with my sister. He fought in the war too.” He paused a moment then added, “The first war, I mean. I learned two languages growing up and found work in journalism.” I listened as he explained his career achievements and I got the impression that he could almost have been sound of mind. If not perhaps a little unconventional with some strange mannerisms. I couldn’t help but wonder how he had ended up in a place like this, that was until his silence interrupted my thoughts and I realized he had stopped speaking.  He looked more nervous now, he twitched anxiously, as if what he was about to say next brought back great traumatic events. Ken seemed to try and soothe himself by clinging to repetitive patterns, eventually he began to pace as he continued his tale, “..After I became head journalist I received all manner of invites to press events. Celebrity occasions, invention unveilings..  Medical demonstrations..” He shuddered involuntarily. “Then one day I was invited to the Dunkel Institute of Psychiatry. The Institute was owned by the Small family and was well known for performing miracles, healing incurable afflictions. It had never before opened it’s doors to the press, I was, as far as I knew, the only journalist to ever be requested. Of course I would have to travel interstate to attend. However the invitation was all inclusive with both travel and accommodation accounted for.. I thought it would make my career.. So I accepted the invitation.  The establishment itself was quite some way out into the country. The boundary of the property was unmistakable. It was a giant black fence that seemed to stretch the entire length of the grounds and was adorned with sharp points a top every post. I should have known then that something was wrong. Instead I assumed it was a status symbol of their wealth, that they were rich eccentrics who valued security, or at least that was what I had intended to write in my article.  Passing through the gates of the perimeter fence the air seemed to shimmer around us and from then it took a further five or so minutes to reach the building. It was a magnificent structure. Nothing short of a castle made from flagstone, supported by timber braces and garnished with slate tiles. I couldn’t imagine how old it was.  My transport pulled up to the front gate of the building and I stumbled out awestruck. I thought I wouldn’t even have to write about the conference, I would only have to write about the exterior of the castle and the papers would fly off the press. I wasn’t sure where I was meant to go from there, was I supposed to knock on the gates or speak to the guards out front? It hardly mattered for as I stood transfixed, a shiny black vehicle came down the drive behind us.  It very nearly hit me as it skidded to a stop in a cloud of dust. The driver stepped out in a hurry, he was a very striking man. Younger than I by perhaps a few years, or blessed by the gods, sporting ash blonde hair and dressed in fine clothes. My mother always said a man’s worth is in his wardrobe and I’m sure she wished I was as handsome as this man was.  I watched as he moved to the back passenger door and pulled a child from the back seat. The child was no more than 9-years-old I was sure, with dark hair and clothes that seemed damaged though he made not a fuss at all as the man carried him. They walked past me to the gates and I noticed the smell of smoke, as if there had been a fire. I realized later that it was the pair of them who smelt like smoke and that the child wasn’t merely covered in dirt, but in ashes, soot and what looked like blood.   ‘Wash my car, then put it away. And say not a word to my brother about this.’ The man hissed at the guards as he passed, then he appeared to notice me for the first time. He seemed almost startled to see me, he glared at me for a moment, his eyes were an unusual shade of green, then he turned abruptly on his heels and disappeared into the castle.  I had the distinct feeling that I had just been threatened though not a word had been spoken to me. My presence was displeasing, or maybe I had just seen something that I wasn’t supposed to see. I was still recovering from the brief exchange when a lady approached, ’Mr. Hagihara?’ she asked, catching me off guard.   ‘Yes.’ I answered giving a bow impulsively. The woman was just as beautiful as the man was. She was shorter than I, with long straight honey brown hair and deep brown eyes. She wore a long simple dress and smiled at me as if it amused her that I had bowed.  ‘My name is Molly. Please come with me, you have arrived later than we intended and the demonstration is about to begin. I will arrange for all your belongings to be brought to your room.’ I didn’t know what I could say so I followed her as I was told. The interior of the castle was just as magnificent as the exterior and far larger than I could have ever imagined. Pathways made of cobblestone wide enough for a car to pass through made up the entire outer inner layer and mounted torches lined the walls.  Molly walked with purpose and knowledge until we came to a stop outside a set of wooden double doors.  ‘Your seat will be in the second row, on the left.’ She instructed, opening one side of the door and gesturing for me to go in.  I did as I was ordered and hurried into the room. Inside it was dim and the air smelt of freshly cut roses, though I could see no flowers. I found my seat easily for it had a small silver tray with a ‘reserved’ sign sitting on it with my name printed in Japanese. This was surprising to me, as never before had any event used my native language written or otherwise.  The seats themselves were plush covered in red velvet and arranged in a semi-circle not unlike that of a theatre. Ahead, at the centre of the room, was a stage set with a medical table that had heavy leather straps. There were others seated in the area for I could hear the low murmurs of a crowd, though with the low lighting I couldn’t see them well.   I took my seat and set up my typewriter as a waiter came with a tray of glasses and food to offer me refreshment. I declined the drink but took a small pastry. Then the lighting in the room changed. The stage lit up well and the crowd quietened. A man stepped onto the platform, he walked with authority and his boots clacked on the wood with assurance.  He too was a handsome gentleman. He looked astoundingly similar to the man I had seen at the gates except, his hair was long and tied back with a black ribbon so that only the shorter parts fell forward at the front. His attire was old, quite out of fashion for the time with a high collar and ruffles down the neckline to the breast of his coat. An excited murmur passed through the crowd and I could tell I wasn’t the only one to notice his unusual choice of clothing.  Nonetheless he spoke with confidence, ‘My friends, thank you all for coming to this exciting occasion. I am Doctor Achaicus Small and today I intend to cure one of those among you. As such you are sure to witness nothing short of a miracle. Whether you have a family member afflicted by voices of the mind or are yourself troubled by the darkest of thoughts, we are here to offer you hope for a bright future.’ He began, his voice carrying across the room like a ringmaster at the circus, ‘If you would like to be chosen for yourself or a loved one, all you need do is pray in your heart for it as hard as you can, I will choose the loudest voice shortly.’  I typed feverishly on my writer trying to print out all the important details as fast as I could. This was exactly the kind of story that people would gossip about in the streets for days, an outlandish doctor dressed in fashion from the 1700’s curing impossible diseases. I thought myself fortunate to catch this story before anyone else. Looking around the crowd more closely I noticed what I had missed initially, that many of them seemed to be sickly in some way or another. Someone not two seats to my right looked as near to death as anyone I had ever seen, behind me sat a person with abnormal facial features, wide eyes and a seemingly permanent smile. I was sitting in a crowd of the afflicted and that knowledge made me instantly uncomfortable.  Still, no good article was written without some discomfort. On stage the doctor closed his eyes, giving off the impression of ‘listening’ to the crowd’s silent pleas. I could tell by then that this was a farce. Nothing more than clever showmanship preying on the vulnerable. There was no way any one of those around me could be cured.  At last, Doctor Achaicus opened his eyes, his gaze settling on someone in the crowd several rows past me to the right, ‘Frederick.’ He spoke the name in a sickly sweet tone, ‘Your mother’s voice is very loud, I will grant you restoration.’  I couldn’t see who he was talking about, but I could hear a woman sobbing in relief as two of the Doctor’s assistants made their way up to her. When they came back down they were carrying between them a man. The man chosen was clearly sickly. Drool flowed freely from the edges of his mouth and he sagged to one side all the while making the most disturbing noises. If I’m quite frank it was disturbing to see. Like the other  patients in this place. I’m not like them.” Ken stated as a matter of factly and I chose not to correct him as he continued, “Doctor Achaicus strode over to the handicapped man, placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke directly to him. I had learned how to read lips long ago, a handy talent to have if you’re too far from an important conversation in my line of work, still I instinctively leaned forward to hear what he said. ‘You will be well soon, your mother has made a generous offer for you.’ He whispered, though I’m not sure if I truly heard the words.  Fredrick was then taken and placed on the table center stage. With assistance from the two who had brought him, he was strapped down and a woman I recognised to be Molly approached with rolls of bandage in her hands. She placed the bandages down and, at the Doctors direction, set about checking all the straps were tight while he explained, ‘This poor soul is Frederick, his mind has stretched too far, he cannot speak and he agonizes every moment. But today, *I* will cure him.’ He began. ‘I have only but to place my hand upon him and he will be cured, for you see I possess a kind of magic, gifted to me by god. I can use this magic on any who ask, if they have *the will for it*.’ Achaicus then moved to place a hand on Fredrik’s chest. A faint glow emitted from his fingertips and in response Fredrick screamed.  It was blood curling, nothing short of primal pain and fear. Thankfully it didn’t last long then he began to convulse and foam at the mouth. Molly placed the bandages between his teeth, presumably to stop him biting his own tongue off, then it was just a matter of time. I can’t tell you exactly how long it went on for, but I can say that both Molly and the Doctor seemed perfectly at ease while the crowd murmured nervously around me.  When at last Frederik began to recover the effects were astounding. He no longer drooled, nor did he make any unsavory sounds. Molly released the restraints holding him and he sat up. For a moment he looked confused, as if he had woken from a deep sleep, then he spoke, ‘Where am I?’ He asked, looking out at the crowd with uncertainty.  I sat forward in my chair with great interest. Fredrick appeared to be not only cured, but improved. He looked better than most people ever did, he was handsome now, his body was no longer contorted in any unusual ways and his speech was perfect. From the crowd a woman, who I assumed was his mother, rushed down to the stage. She was quick to throw her arms around Fredrick, wrapping him in a tight embrace which he returned unsurely.  ‘What a beautiful moment.’  The doctor commented with a smile, ‘Cured and reunited with those who matter most. I can help all of you. Over the next few days I will make myself available to hear all your pleas, you have all been assigned a time, it is written on the back of your reservation sign. It is best that you are diligent in attending your assigned session. Please also remember that patience is a virtue, I will not see anyone before their assigned time no matter the reason.’  I checked the back of my reservation then, the time written was *1:07am Wednesday*. An odd time I thought, but stranger still was why I would need an appointment at all. I was sound of mind and no one I knew was afflicted. I couldn’t see any reason I should have an appointment, aside from to satisfy my own curiosity of course.  The doctor continued talking though I paid little mind as movement at the edge of the stage caught my attention. The man I had seen at the gates arrived there, and stood beside the platform. He spoke to Molly for a moment, I thought she said, ‘You’re late.’ Though I can’t be sure. However if that was the case the man showed no sign that he cared. He simply stepped up onto the stage and Achaicus stopped speaking mid sentence. ‘I-… Little brother.’ Achaicus smiled, ‘At last. I thought you wouldn’t make it! Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce to you my baby brother, Doctor Nathaniel Small, do try not to get us confused. He believes in being tardy to all events.’ Nathaniel gave a polite bow before speaking up, ‘Dressed as you are brother, I doubt many could confuse us.’ He assured the crowd joining in the jest. It was only then that I noticed how similar they did indeed appear. If not for the variance in dress and hair style I might not have been able to determine which was which.  ‘Perhaps.’ The man responded though seemed to be slightly annoyed at the returned remark. I’m trained to notice those kinds of things you know. Nothing sells papers like conflict and scandal.” Ken said with an affirmative nod to himself. I wondered if he remembered I was there.  “After that we were permitted to leave. In order to make my appointment time I would need to stay one more day, as it was only Tuesday. Though truthfully I had no intention of attending the session. Instead I planned to use the extra time to investigate. I was sure I would dig up some dirt on the esteemed Small family.. I thought with the odd natures of these people that I could get enough material to keep people hanging on the papers for days. I didn’t waste any time either. As soon as it got dark I left my assigned room and skulked about the castle. At first all seemed disappointingly normal, I wandered the corridors and found nothing. Speaking to servants of the manner was also pointless. They all repeated the same phrase ‘We are contracted to work here, and it is a pleasure.’ no one had a bad word to say - that would make for dull reading.  However as I rounded the bend in the corridor I realized I could hear the foot fall of others and accompanying voices. I quietened my own steps and listened.  ‘You seem to be in better spirits now little brother. You were so dreary for weeks after your pet Orphan died, but did you really have to burn down the orphanage? It’s going to take months to find another suitable source.’ I recognised the voice, it was Doctor Achaicus though I didn’t understand what he was talking about. A long moment and no response, then Achaicus spoke again, ‘Come now Nathaniel, you’re not still upset are you? I allowed you to attend the funeral as you wished, what more do you need?’ He sounded exasperated.  ‘Must you always go to such lengths with the theatrics?’ Nathaniel responded at last changing the subject.  ‘Humans love showmanship. And you know as well as I that they will give so much more if they believe God is making the request.’  ‘It’s distasteful.’  ‘Is that what your problem is now?’  ’Why must you insist something is wrong? You said yourself that I’m no longer ‘dreary’. What more is it that you want?’  There was another long pause, ‘You’re hiding something from me little brother.’ ‘I’m hiding nothing. I will find another way to get more children, we have supply enough for now. Focus your time on your ‘miracles’ but I will have nothing more to do with it. I have other matters to attend to…’   Though I strained to hear more, the voices faded and when I followed after where I thought they had gone I found only empty hallways. It was perplexing that they could get far enough ahead of me that I would lose them in such a short stretch of time. Disappointed, I returned to my room, though I couldn’t help but lament on their conversation.  As far as I was aware, the Dunkel Institute did not deal with children, only adults. I remembered the child I saw at the gates with Nathaniel, perhaps I was wrong. I thought about it for a considerable time, I couldn’t imagine what any establishment would need a supply of orphans for but I was determined to uncover the truth. I had found my headline story.  It’s sometimes difficult to know where to start an investigation. Fortunately, as I was in the business of exposing secrets I knew where to find things that people didn’t want found and so I spent the following day lurking in lesser traveled halls. If there was a crowd I avoided the area. Whenever I caught word of any hushed conversation I listened in.  Unfortunately I made little progress. At one time I followed Achaicus all the way to his personal chambers, though there was nothing exciting in that to report. However, it was as I was making my way back that I stumbled across what seemed to be a private garden. I didn’t think I would find anything of interest there, but the plants fascinated me.  They were unlike any I had ever seen, there were trees and shrubs of all sizes with iridescent glowing flowers. Fascinated, I moved through the foliage carelessly until the sound of metal hitting on metal caught my attention. I hid quickly, then dared to investigate further.  From my vantage point I could see Nathaniel, he was wielding a sword and sparring with a much smaller opponent. I had never seen anyone use a sword before, and haven’t since, they’re such an outdated weapon. Even my father kept his katanas for show only. It was with a start that it dawned on me, the man was sparring with a child, the one I had seen him with before.  The boy seemed slow and struggled to move effectively as the man swung at him. I realized then that he was wearing a leg brace and watched in horror as the child fell back. He flinched as Nathaniel swung the sword down on him, stopping only a breath away from slicing him in two.  ‘You lose again.’ Nathaniel stated calmly. At this the boy seemed annoyed, ’Then fight me again. I’ll win.’  ‘Delusional.’ The man scoffed, though now helped him stand, ‘You’re far too weak to win.’  ‘I’m not weak! It’s my leg, you said if I fulfilled the contract-‘  Nathaniel held up a hand, interrupting him, ’Now Eric, you didn’t ‘fulfill’ the contract, you broke it. I know as well as you do that you didn’t kill that nun.’  The boy looked surprised, ‘Yes I did! I stabbed her. How do you know?’ He lied poorly as children do when caught out.  ’I know because it was another who fulfilled the contract. Now answer me this, you had the intent and you named her as your choice. So why did you change your mind when you found her? Moreover, your job was already done, why pull the knife out? And why put it back in? Did you think I would be so easily fooled?’  ‘..No, I wasn’t trying to trick you.. I thought I had done it by thinking about it with magic and I was scared.. So I pulled it out to save her, but when I did blood sprayed everywhere.. I thought putting it back in would make it stop..’ He murmured. At this Nathaniel seemed bemused, ‘You would never have enough power to pull off something like that after only a handful of lessons. What about the fire? If my shadow hadn’t been with you, you would have burned to death as well.’  ‘I didn’t mean to start the fire.. I stepped back too far and the candle touched the curtains..’ He explained quietly though Nathaniel burst into hearty laughter, ‘It’s not funny!’ The child exclaimed, annoyed. ‘How disappointing you are!’ he chastised, ‘I thought you were clever. I thought you had the *will* to do as contracted and the cunning to cover it up. At the very least I assumed you had the deceit to lie to me about it when you failed.’ The way he spoke was almost as if daring the child to oppose him.  The boy grit his teeth, ‘Make another contract for me. I’ll do anything. I want to walk again!’ Eric insisted.  ’No.’ Nathaniel stated calmly, moving as if he had the intention to go, ‘Your will is too weak. You don’t mean your words, you don’t want it enough, that is clear.’  ‘I do have the will for it!’ The child insisted, his voice raising in slight panic as the man moved to leave and struggling with his leg brace to catch up.  ‘Oh? Prove it. Then I will grant you a new contract.’  ‘How?’ He asked quickly, jumping at the opportunity.  ‘By showing me your strength of will.’ Nathaniel mused, though offered a small kindness in waiting for the child to catch up to him, ‘Until then, I expect you will continue to train even as you are.’ ‘But with my leg..’  ‘I don’t care. Are you weak or are you not? You will train with your disadvantages until you earn another contract.’ The man said simply and I felt sick watching. He was manipulating this child flawlessly. And to what end? To have him murder someone? Would the child walking again be another ‘miracle’ like that I had witnessed with Fredrik? I had more questions than answers.  I remained hidden among the foliage until they left the area, then I waited longer just to be sure, before eventually making my way back to my room. Now, I was careful to retrace my steps. I paid attention to the turns I had taken so that I would be able to find my way back. However, I must have become confused for I soon realized that all the hallways were different.  There were far too many turns, landmarks, such as specific doors I remembered, were nowhere to be seen. Corners that previously only led one way, were now intersections that lead multiple directions. When I came across a staircase leading down I knew I was completely disorientated. It was an ornate staircase with small monstrous figures set on top of each banister post. I hadn’t passed a staircase of any kind beforehand, let alone one so recognisable.  Panic was beginning to set in. I convinced myself I would find the way out faster if I picked up the pace and before long I was running. The halls continued on seemingly without end, it was like a labyrinth. I don’t know how many hours I spent in that place. There were no other people. No servants, no other guests nor any other living thing at all.  Time seemed to stretch. I was caught in a hallucinative state and I found myself imagining that I was running on the ceiling of a spinning room, or that gravity was inverting as I climbed the walls. I thought I must have been poisoned, perhaps the shrub I had hid in was some kind of toxin?  Eventually I laid down in defeat. The floor was smooth and cold, it seemed to me to be oddly inviting. I can’t recall how long I was there for before I heard footsteps and voices echoing through the halls. I recognised them immediately, it was the Small brothers again:  ‘-you were sent to collect livestock not contracts.’ Achaicus was saying, there was a spiteful tone to his voice though he sounded far off and muffled as if I were underwater. ‘Now now brother, I simply saw an opportunity to collect both and took it.’ Nathaniel responded calmly.  ‘You could have told me before-‘ the Doctor began, spite giving way to annoyance. ‘Before telling father and allow you the opportunity to counteract me? No, I think not.’ his younger brother cut him off.  There was an agitated pause before Achaicus spoke again in a lower tone, ‘You should put that orphan with the rest in the meat farm. Mother and Father won’t approve of you keeping a pet. He won’t stay small forever, you know human children grow quickly. And he already has an attitude! He’s not one that will be easily trained. What do you intend to do when he gets bigger?’  ‘You concern yourself too much. Eric is very manageable, he learns fast and have you ever seen one with such blue eyes? I will tell mother and father once he is trained. Why don’t you handle your own contracts and stop worrying over me. I have everything perfectly under control.’  Nathaniel assured dismissively. ‘You haven’t thought this through, you can’t keep him as a pet once he’s grown.’ Achaicus insisted.  ‘Nonsense. You kept Molly even once she outgrew her pet phase.’  ‘That is not the same thing and you know it. I’ve had Molly since infancy, she is well trained, she never causes any problems. And I named her myself, you call the Orphan by his human name.’ Achaicus sounded disgusted.  ‘And *you* allow contracts to run about the halls without supervision.’ Nathaniel answered flatly now clearly annoyed. I felt my skin prickle, was he talking about me running around the halls unsupervised? ‘I know exactly where the journalist is. His appointment will start soon.’ He responded with a matter of factly tone and I broke into a cold sweat. They *were* talking about me.   Without a moment's hesitation I got up from the floor and ran. I didn’t care where I went, I just knew I had to get away and I soon found myself standing atop the stairs I had  seen earlier. I descended them and at the bottom of the stairs I came to a carved wooden door. It swung inward easily on silent hinges and I slipped into the room quickly. Beyond was a short narrow corridor and I could see light at the end, but it was the smell that confused me. It smelt of chemicals. I knew something was wrong immediately. This wasn’t an area I was supposed to be in. Still, my inquisitive nature encouraged me forward and I proceeded with caution to the end of the hall before stepping into the next room. It was extremely clean and strangely cold. The floors sloped slightly and had drainage down the center, it looked as though the area had been wetted down recently.  Partitions separated the room and there were rows of industrial stoves set into spacious countertops. Chef’s tools hung along the backboards above the benches and I realized that the room must be the castle’s kitchen. There were ovens along the back wall and pantries that I could only imagine must have been well stocked given the level of organization. I was so profoundly astonished by the place I was in that I had almost forgotten that I was being pursued. However, when I heard the door into the narrow hallway close I hurried to find an exit. There was a second door at the other end of the room and I moved for it with some haste. I felt as though I narrowly avoided discovery as I ducked into the room beyond. Though stepping into the new room was something I immediately regretted, for it was a meat factory. Every space was filled with flesh. It hung from hooks in the ceiling, saggy piles of skin were being rolled away on a conveyor belt and blood was being drained from hanging carcasses into containers.  For a moment I thought the remains were those of exotic animals, apes or monkeys of some kind, for they weren’t any recognisable domestic animal. Regrettably, the longer I stared the more I came to realize that the meat was in fact human. The bodies were small, child sized, hard to recognise without hands, feet or heads.  Automated machinery churned the corpses and unusual workers manned the processing stations. Some of them turned to look at me when I entered, they were inhuman, a goblin like creature if I must describe them. Those that turned to look at me, watched me with watery black eyes. Perhaps they were wondering how I had come to be in their work room rather than on the meat hooks.  I felt my knees give way and I sank to the ground-..” Mr. Hagihara stopped abruptly, and we both jumped as someone knocked  loudly on the door to his room.  Ken crouched down covering his ears and starting to shout in Japanese that I couldn’t understand as the knocking intensified, “Howard? Howard! Are you aright in there? The door won’t open.” I recognised the voice as Tracy, Ken’s former nurse.  “It’s okay, everything is fine.” I called back, “I’m just talking with Ken. It’s all okay.” I spoke trying to calm the both of them down.  There was a pause before Tracy spoke again, “Are you *sure*?” She clarified. No doubt she was thinking Kenzou had somehow trapped me in the room. Which was of course, exactly the case. But I didn’t feel threatened. Rather, I was intrigued. I wanted to hear more of Ken’s story.  “Yes I’m sure, it’s okay. I will call out if I need help.” I assured, grateful that she had at least stopped banging on the door.  “Alright..” She said skeptically and I heard her move away.  It took some time for me to calm Kenzou again and when he began his sentence a new I listened with morbid curiosity.  “I felt my knees give way and I sank to the ground, I can’t describe the feeling you get walking into such a place. The way your stomach twists and your heart rate skyrockets. I felt faint and I threw up on the ground, then a hand touched my shoulder.  ‘Mr. Hagihara, it seems you have stumbled into an area you weren’t invited into. Please come with me now.’ It was Dr. Achaius Small, he smiled down at me kindly as if nothing at all were wrong. As if we weren’t standing in a slaughterhouse. I noticed then that his teeth seemed a little too sharp, his eyes a little too luminous… He was Akuma.. a not human, something that eats humans. Despite his instruction I couldn’t move, my body was locked in a state of fear. He looked at me with sympathy as if he understood, ‘You can’t move can you? No matter.’ He assured, then something in the pitch of his voice changed, ‘Stand.’ He commanded and to my surprise my body followed the instruction.  ‘Come.’ He added with a wave of his hand gesturing for me to follow and I felt myself involuntarily begin to move. We walked back through the kitchen and up the stairs, I found myself watching the way his long hair trailed behind him as we walked. I think that’s all the shock of the situation allowed me to focus on.  He led me back through the hallways and opened a door in the wall that I couldn’t even see until it was gaping. Inside was a comfortable furnished office, ‘Sit.’ He instructed and I did. I felt whatever power he held over me release and my body became my own again as he took the seat opposite me across the desk.  ‘You were quite fortunate, you’ve arrived precisely in time for your appointment, I don’t much care for tardy clients.’ He lamented as he poured a glass of water and offered it to me, ‘Thirsty? We have a lot to discuss.’  I couldn’t find any words to speak, I watched him slide the glass toward me with wide eyes.  ‘No?’ He questioned when I made no move to accept the drink, ‘Very well.’ He shrugged nonchalantly as if it mattered not to him in the slightest, ‘What kind of contract would you like to make with me for your life?’ He asked curious.  ‘A contract… for my life?’ I asked weakly. My own voice sounded alien to me, barely a whisper was all I could manage.  ‘Oh well yes of course! You have, by my own design, seen far more than I’m sure you had ever wanted to. You cannot simply go freely now, but you do have several exciting options. What are your thoughts on the matter?’ His eyes gleamed as he leant forward.  I heard what he was saying, but I couldn’t quite comprehend, ‘Why..?’ I murmured.  A smile spread from ear to ear, he probably heard that question often I thought, ‘Why? Well there are certain forms of value in my world. Meat, magic, other items of interest.’ He said proudly, then clarified for my understanding, ‘That is to say, ‘food’, ‘power’ and ‘money’ are among the most valuable.’  ‘..Which am I?’ I asked now.  ‘Well, that depends on you Mr. Hagihara. Which would you prefer to be? Mature meat is of lesser worth, not as tender and juicy, but we do trade in it. Or of course, you may make a contract with me now. I will simply take something of value from you and in exchange you will get the remaining years of your life to live out before we collect you.’ He explained.  There was hardly a choice, ‘A contract.. I’ll make a contract..’ I agreed quickly. ‘Delightful!’ Achaicus clasped his hands together thinking, ‘What should it be? What is the most valuable thing you could offer me?’  For a moment I thought he was asking me and I didn’t even know what I could offer, ‘My soul..’ I whispered horrified. Achaicus looked surprised, then laughed wholeheartedly, ‘The soul of a sleazy journalist? I think not. You see, the most valuable souls are not ones that are offered so easily. The very fact that you offered it first means it has a low value.’ He explained, ‘No, I want something that you never realized you needed so dearly. I want, your sanity\~’ he purred.  He sounded eager, ‘My sanity…?’ I questioned, I wasn’t a fool, I wanted to understand the entirety of the deal first. ‘Yes, believe it or not the price for one's sanity is quite high, and I have a buyer in mind. So, the proposal is this. I will release you from the constraining bounds of sanity, and you will be allowed to leave this place with your life.’  I thought.. It was a good deal..” Kenzou trailed off looking regretful, “To seal the contract he marked me, look!” He said as if he had suddenly found the answer he was looking for and I will admit I was most curious to see if he did indeed have a brand as proof of his story.  Ken pushed back the hair from his face and pointed to a mark on his temple. It was a small silver blemish, no bigger than a thumb nail and I felt disappointment replace my enthusiasm. It was nothing more than a crescent shaped scar, or maybe a birthmark.  “Do you see? Do you see?!” He asked excited, looking at me expectantly.  “Yes, I can see.. Thank you for sharing all that you have with me.” I thanked him with a smile to mask my displeasure.  In the weeks to come I spoke to him on many other occasions, and he reiterated the same story over again. Each time he did so, he flinched when describing the ‘slaughter house’ and he repeated the same conversations that he had overheard verbatim as if he had rehearsed his story a thousand times. It was like rewinding a cassette tape.  For the sake of my own peace I researched the ‘Dunkel Institute of Psychiatry’. It was once owned by a wealthy German family, the Klein Family, and they were renowned for being pioneers in their field. However, towards the end of the war the castle was abandoned. There were no records for why exactly, but the ruins still stand. I believe Kenzou was a former patient of that institute prior to his transfer.  It’s unfortunate that of the many treatment methods we tried on Ken nothing ever truly seemed to help him. He was eventually lobotomised and though it didn’t fix him, he was certainly quieter.  He spent the remainder of his days sitting in his wheelchair staring at a wall before he was eventually reassigned to another facility. I don’t know what happened to him after that, but it was the dark man whom often visited him that wheeled him away.  <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Shadow Man [RESPONSE] So I live in a pretty old house, it used to be a barn, my room is the only one that still has some of the original walls. Because I have a big family (six children, three adults and two dogs) we all share a room with someone. My room is the only bedroom on the first floor, everyone else's bedrooms are on the second floor. I share a room with my little sister and my two dogs. So one night my little sister and I are just sitting on my bed watching some YouTube videos, we were up pretty late it was around two in the morning. As we watched the videos she heard three clear but faint knocks on the wall behind us. The odd thing is that behind that wall is the stairwell that leads upstairs, we brushed it off as maybe someone coming down to get water. So a few minutes later we forgot about the knocking and we're just laughing and talking about the video. But then we both heard it *knock* *knock* *knock* but this time it was louder than before. And the dogs didn't react to it at all, which is unusual because at night they are very cautious about any noise and bark at anything unfamiliar. But they seemed unbothered by the noise, they continued to sleep peacefully. I didn't want to just ignore the noise, especially because my little sister seemed frightened. So being the older sister, I decided to leave my room and search the house to see what could be making the noise, but after searching for a while I found nothing and everyone else was asleep upstairs. So I returned to my room and jokingly told my little sister that it was a mouse, it made her feel a little more at ease but we were still scared. About an hour later my little sister decided to go to sleep on her bed, and she soon fell asleep. Now it was silent in the house apart from the light snoring of my sister and the dogs, so I decided to try sleeping too. But for some reason I felt that if I went to sleep something bad would happen, I wasn't usually this paranoid about things like this so I decided to sleep anyway. Shortly after falling asleep I started to have a dream, in the dream I was laying in my bed when someone knocked on my window, I ignored it but then my window was shattered and a tall black shadow crept into my room. My dogs started barking and growling at the figure but it continued to drag it's heavy body into my room, my small dog charged at the figure causing it to fall to the floor, then my big dog charged at the figure. I couldn't really see what was happening because I wasn't able to move from my bed, but it was eerily quiet. After a short moment my dogs ran whimpering and sprinted under my bed, I began panicking as I saw the creature crawling behind my sisters bed. It slowly reached for her hand and I yelled out "leave her!!" , I instantly regretted my decision when the figure looked up and locked eyes with me. I was too scared to breath, suddenly the shadow appeared in front of my bed and let out a horrible scream, the sound was so terrifying that it felt like my heart stopped for a second. I was so frightened that I woke up crying and struggling to breathe, I looked around my room searching for my dogs but I couldn't find them. I knew they were under my bed, but why? It was just a silly dream right? Suddenly the home security alarm went off, I didn't want to go disarm it. I was too scared but I had to, so I opened my door and quickly walked to the security system and disarmed it. I was too afraid to look around, the shadow from my dream burned in my mind. I looked up and that's when I saw him, standing in my room smiling at me. He slammed my room door shut and I couldn't get in, I wanted to save my sister but ger screams told me that I was too late. All the noise had alerted my mom and she slowly walked downstairs asking what happened, I couldn't explain so I just opened my room door, and she saw my little sister covered in cuts and blood. My sister was rushed to the hospital but didn't survive and every night I see him standing in my room waiting. Waiting for the day when it's my turn to hear the knocking, my turn to be trapped with it, my turn to fight the shadow man.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] A Survivor's Accounts of the Depraved Funhouse: The Playmate (Part One) [RESPONSE] [[2]]( | [[3]]( If there's anything I've learned, anything at all, in the , it's this; memory is a cruel thing. Memory is what robbed me of sleep -- what *still* robs me of sleep. I still see everything. Memory continues to fuel my never ending night terrors. The memories of ma and dad, of Liza, Derek... (*The balloon...)* The thing is, it all leads back to those damn clowns; to HappyWorld. They say memory allows us to cherish life. To remember the good times and learn from the bad. Well, *I* say that's a fuckin' load. It was memory that costed me everything. Now, it's that memory that's brought me here today to finish what I started last year. I'm sorry, you're probably confused. I needed to vent for a moment. Understand that I said what I did, however, because it's true. I mentioned that that summer wasn't the last time I'd see HappyWorld, and that it would royally fuck my life in even worse ways than I could've imagined. The catch, it didn't have to be that way. I *could've* forgotten it a long time ago. Could've moved on, told myself it never happened; that HappyWorld never existed. Memory, I guess, is one of those things you hear about "having a mind of it's own". It'll happen to you whether you want it or not. Violating, I guess you could call it. What's even more ironic, though, I can actually remember the time in my life where I *was* free. Where I *DIDN'T* remember HappyWorld. *A time where I could've moved on...* That moment, if I had to go back, started just six months after that day at HappyWorld. By that point in time, everybody had long given up their search for Derek. In fact, funny enough (in a sick sort of way, obviously), I can actually tell you the slow progression of how the people of the small town in Tennessee just began to give up and fade Derek into obscurity. Three months, they searched for him via large search parties. Both authorities and locals alike pitched in, roving the streets almost constantly for a kid that only I knew wasn't coming back. The fourth month, the search parties started dying down and they instead resorted to plastering his face on the backs of the milk cartons. It was at the end of the fourth month, bleeding into that fifth, everyone finally seemed to accept that Derek wasn't coming back. That was the point where we held a memorial for him. I remember it being held in the state park. I can remember how cold it was that day. The sun shined on, but all anybody there could feel was a bitter cold breeze. Not that many people actually came, though. It was me, my folks, what was *left* of the Cromwells, as well as Ray and Corey. *You'll be here when he's gone, but not when he would've needed you?* I remember thinking bitterly. A picture of a younger Derek stood in place inside a large floral wreath frame in the center of the park in front of a large marble globe that stood in front of three circular concrete steps. Derek's father was the first to say something in his memory, briefly reminiscing about the times they spent bonding over classic monster movies. Liza went next. "I'll miss you, you big dork... wherever you are." I still remember looking into her beautiful blue eyes when she said that and immediately feeling like my heart had just been smashed with a hammer. I'd have broken down into tears, had everything that happened in HappyWorld not scarred me to the point where I couldn't even cry anymore. When it was my turn, though, I walked up to his picture and placed a pack of blueberry PopTarts in front of it, painfully picturing that day outside the Blockbuster. *"Great minds think alike, I suppose..."* I could hear myself say this again as I placed the PopTarts down and closed my eyes. *(I couldn't even look his photo in the eyes...)* "See you around, dude..." My voice shook as I bid my last goodbye to my friend. My friend who wouldn't ever properly be laid to rest. *(I still see his eyes, begging for me to run. I should've ran...)* As I walked away from the shrine, I looked over to see Liza burying her face in her parent's arms. It pained me to watch her. I remember because I knew that she still held hope that Derek was still alive. That he'd come home. For at least five months by that time, she'd held onto that hope -- clung to it, even -- and because of that, I couldn't help but to feel my heart break. *You're gonna have to tell her...* Of course, how was I supposed to even do that? What the hell was I supposed to say? Of course, certain of what to say or not, I knew damn well I wasn't going to be able to live with myself if I just sat quiet and continued to try hiding the truth from her. In the end, I'd decided to walk over to the Cromwell's house. If nothing else, I figured I might could be a shoulder to cry on. *(As if I could even get THAT right...)* The walk through the neighborhood, trying to search blindly for her house was just as cold and quiet as the rest of the day had been at the park. I still wondered *what* exactly I was supposed to say to her. I was scared and wished I could've given myself a little more time, or at least a better understanding of what to say or do when I came across her sitting on the front porch of her house. She was wearing a bright purple sweater with sleeves that were way too long and blue jeans and appeared to be drawing in a sketchbook. "H-Hey Liza." She shot a startled glance at me, eyes wide *(Just like how Derek's were...)*. "Oh, uh... S-Sorry, heh, heh... Didn't mean to scare you. I, uh, just wanted to see how you were doing." Without a word, she just very weakly shrugged her shoulders and went back to her sketchbook. I was about to just leave her alone and head back home, figuring maybe that just wasn't the time, when I noticed the small stack of posters and comic books laying next to her. Getting a better look, I saw they were classic Universal monster movie posters and those vintage horror comic books from the 50s and 60s in a stack next to her. "These posters are awesome, where'd you get 'em?" "Oh..." she said, barely glancing at them before going back to her sketching. "Derek collected them. He *loved* this shit." She went quiet again and I decided to sift through the stack myself. I remember how amazed I was at the different posters and comics he had. Everything from the classic *"Frankenstein meets the Wolfman"* to *"The Fly"* and even *"The Creature from the Black Lagoon"*. "That one was always his favorite. That, and the wolf guy." She chuckled softly and I continued to look throgh the comic collection until one made the blood drain from my face and freeze over. The cover depicted a giant clown monster with six long tentacles grabbing a couple of frightened kids and hoisting them in the air, ready to drop them into it's giant, cavernous maw with jagged piranha teeth. "When it's finished, I wanna hang it up in his room. Sort of a cool "Welcome home" present, you know?" I heard her say this, but I wasn't paying any attention. My thoughts were hopelessly trapped on the comic -- the horrific reminder of the Hell I'd lost my friend to. Hesitantly, I began thumbing through the pages; dropping the book in horror at a part where a wizard is shown summoning the clown monstrosity. *"Unto thee in the burning lake beneath..."* I could hear -- and in a way *feel* \-- the Amazing Beliar's voice followed swiftly by Derek's screams. "You okay, Linus?" I could hear Liza ask. Her voice sounded distant, like it was calling from the top of a mountain. My head snapped over to see Liza staring at me with a worried expression. "What's up?" I could feel the sting of tears beginning to well up in my eyes as I just looked at her, my face completely pale. "What's wrong?" Liza urged. *You know you have to tell her.* But how? How was I supposed to explain to her that I watched Derek get murdered -- no, worse yet, *sacrificed* \-- by a group of satanic clowns? "L-Liza..." I croaked out. I desperately tried to force myself to just spit it out already. "What?" she pressed. My tongue froze up and a weird sort of croaking sound came out of my mouth. "Damn it, what's going on?! This isn't funny, Linus! This is exactly what you did when Derek went missing!" *Tell her the truth!* That's when, for the first time in the five months since that day in HappyWorld, I actually broke into full-blown tears again. "Fine then, don't tell me!" she huffed as she began collecting the materials together and getting up to go inside. "You know what, don't even bother trying to ever--" "The blood..." I spat out finally, cutting her off. "It was his." "What? What're you talking about?" I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath. "Derek isn't coming home. The blood that was all over me... was his!" Immediately, the horrid memories of HappyWorld came crashing back to me in a merciless barrage. The white corridor, the epileptic vacuum room, the sacrificial altar, the pile of children's corpses, Derek's elongated torture, *everything!* Tears were now running freely and damn near uncontrollable by this point as Derek's murder mentally rewound itself, taunting me on an endless loop. "I... I... I tried to save him, Liza. But... They-they killed him!" "This isn't cool! That's sick for you to joke about. I thought you were his friend." I could hear the fear seeping through her denial. The fear that she knew what I was telling her was the truth. The truth that she wasn't ready to accept. "They made me watch, Liza!" I blubbered. "They made me watch while they tortured him! I tried... I tried, but I couldn't save him!" I felt the sharp sting of a slap across my right cheek. "All this time..." she said, venom practically dripping from her lips now. "All this time, you *knew?!* How could you?!" I had no words for her. She was right. I'd kept the truth from her for almost half a year and just sat and let her believe in the lie that Derek might come back. *"I HATE YOU!"* she screamed before running inside and slamming the door behind her and leaving me to stand alone on her porch. I stood there for about five minutes, staring at the comic I'd dropped. *I'm so sorry, Liza...* I thought before burying myself in my palms. How could I have done this? How could I have put her, this sweet, adorable little girl, under so much pain and misery? How could I have kept the truth from her, as well as basically everybody else, for so long? I felt like *I* was the one that took everything away from her and her family. *(The worst part, though, I've realized only nowadays, that neither of us had truly lost everything of value to us. Just enough to make us think it was as bad as it could ever get.)* *Ching, ching* The sounds caused me to look up from my hands. Riding by the house on a bicycle was what looked to be this tall, lanky woman with cherry red hair tied in pigtails hanging down the sides of her head and wearing overalls. For a moment, I seriously almost thought I was looking at the Wendy's mascot on a bicycle. She chimed the bell again and turned to face me, smiling. *What the...* Then my blood ran cold when I saw her pasty white face with the read teardrop designs around her eyes that connected to the corners of her crayon red lips. *No! No, no, no, no... No, th-this can't...* I watched as the woman on the bike giggled while waving at me and speeding off. That was when I quickly started walking away from the Cromwell house, looking anxiously over my shoulders every 2 seconds to see if I was being followed. Sure enough, I had managed to make it halfway back the way I came going to my house when I heard the bicycle bell ring again, this time coming *towards me* from down the street to the left of me. That was when all-out fight-or-flight kicked in and I started booking it down the street on the right. I just kept running further and further into the neighborhood. The whole time, I could hear the repeated *ching* of the bicycle right behind me, accompanied by the high pitched girly giggling. Suddenly, my ankles rolled mid-run, causing me to faceplant on the asphault. Immediately, I felt a searing pain coming from my nose and could feel something warm and wet running down my face. *Fuck, I think it's broken!* I began to panic as I instantly curled into a ball, cradling my nose in agony. I peered from my hands to see if the bicycle clown was still coming after me. Oddly -- yet fortunately -- there was no sign of her, not even the chiming of the bell. I began to try and pick myself up off the ground when I felt shooting pains coming from my kneecaps. Rolling up my pantlegs, I saw that my knees had been scraped raw, to the point where even the cool breeze touching them was causing extreme sharp pains to shoot throughout my body. Gritting my teeth and with sharp breaths, I worked my way up to my feet and and began slowly trying to limp towards where I thought I'd entered the neighborhood from. I silently thanked God or whatever forces that were watching over me that the bicycle clown was gone because I'd have had no chance in Hell of outrunning her at that moment. The bad news was, now I was lost and had no slue as to how or where I entered from. On top of that, pain was now exploding throughout my body, barely even allowing me to keep my eyes open without immediately wincing in pain. I persevered for about another 10 minutes or so before the pain became too much and I had to stop and sit down again. Looking around, I could see the sun going down fast. I tried to get back up but the stabbing pain I immediately felt all over quickly put an end to that. I just sat there holding my busted nose, which throbbed every second, and started to wonder how I was gonna make it home. "You okay there, dude?" I snapped my head around to see one of the neighborhood kids on their front porch. I tried one last time to get myself back to my feet, unsuccessfully. "What happened?" I heard the kid call out to me. I saw him start heading in my direction. As he got closer, I saw that it was Ray. "Hey, I remember you." he said, stopping about half a foot away from me. "You were the kid from the park, right? The one with the PopTarts?" He walked up and reached his hand down to me. I just groaned in response as I took his hand and painfully pulled myself up again. "Easy there, bud. You live near here?" "Y-Yeah... why?" I asked, breathing sharply from the aches in my knees. "Who were you running from?" I looked at him nervously. I wasn't sure whether I could actually tell him or not about the clown. *Would he even believe me?* Before I could come up with some lame-ass bluff, I heard the chiming of a bicycle bell in the distance. *"Fuck!"* I whispered louder than I'd meant to, allowing Ray to overhear. "What dude? What is it?" But I was already limping away as fast I could. I got *maybe* five feet from where I'd been before the, now excruciating pain in my knees ended up getting the better of me yet again. "Whoa, dude, wait up!" He ran over to me and threw my arm over his shoulder. "Let me go, she's after me!" I cried, panic overridong any logical reasoning. "Who?!" "Her!" I pointed behind me where the oncoming chimes of the bicycle bell grew ever closer. "You mean my brother?" he asked, looking and sounding completely bewildered. "Your brother?" I snapped my head around to look back behind me. Sure enough -- no clown. Instead, it was this tall, punker dude with long, dyed blood red hair wearing a black tank-top and skin tight black pants with a chain that hung down from his right pocket. I looked at Ray absolutely dumbfounded. "B-But sh-she was after me..." "Come on, man, let's get you inside. Need to get you bandaged up before you bleed out in my front yard." As we continued towards his house, him basically carrying my ass every step of the way, I continued looking over my shoulder, still convinced the clown was somewhere nearby. "You got a name?" I snapped my head back in his direction. "Huh? Oh, uh, Linus Davies. And you are?" I asked, despite still remembering him from that day at Blockbuster. "Raymond. But you can just call me "Ray". That's what all my friends do." *Like the one you abandoned...* Of course, I didn't actually voice this to him. No, instead, I just stayed quiet until we got up to the front door when I asked him where his folks were. "They're out. Won't be back for another couple of days. They work for the hospital across town as nurses. It's just you, me, and Reggie over there, and he's barely ever around anyway." When we got inside, he guided me over to the living room couch. "Wait here, I'll get some ointments and bandages." I sat down on the couch, clutching my busted nose, which was throbbing horribly by this point. I looked out the window. The sun was almost gone completely, leaving just barely any light in the sky at all. *God, Ma's gonna kill me.* I was basically simulating that conversation in my head already. *"Oh my God where were you?!"* and *"You had me worried SICK!"* And I'd have almost been willing to bet money she'd have used Derek's disappearance to fuel her anxiety. The worst part was, what could I have told her. Somehow, I felt the whole *"Yeah, Ma, see, I was being chased by a psycho clown on a bicycle"* schtick wouldn't have gone over real well. *(Why did I have to be a coward? She deserved the truth... She always did.)* "Alright, hold still." Ray's voice snapped me back to the present as he brought over some gauze and peroxide wipes. "Fair warning, this may sting a bit." He placed the wipe to my raw, bloody kneecap and began dabbing and wiping around it. The pain caused me to inhale sharply. "Sorry." he said as sympathetically as he could. "It's fine." I replied through gritted teeth. "So uh... Linus, you never did answer my question from earlier." I looked at him, confusion mixing with the discomfort. "Huh? What do you mean?" I asked. "About the park. You were there, weren't you? With the PopTarts?" "Yeah, why?" He shrugged and kept cleaning the wounds. "It's just that I've never seen you around and I was wondering how you'd have known Derek." I told him then about the day at the Blockbuster five months before, about me and him bonding over HappyWorld and "The Amazing Beliar". "Ahh... So he got you hyped about that, too, huh? He was *always* on about that, 'The Amazing Beliar'." I just stayed quiet as he continued. "I never got it. I mean, it was cool the first few times we went, but after a while, it just kind of got old, you know? I honestly don't even think "The Amazing Beliar was ever real. But Derek still did, so I just figured I'd go along with it. Here, pinch your nose and hold your head down." He bandaged my nose and handed me a tissue to hold up my nostril to stop the bleeding. "I'd like to think he's still out there, still just searching for him, you know?" "He's not..." The words jumped from my mouth quicker than I could realize I'd said anything. "What do you mean?" I'd said too much, and now I was going to have to bite the bullet for the second time that day. "I mean that he's not "Still out there". He's... He's not coming back..." Before any more could be said, however, the sound of glass being shattered caused the both of us to jolt in panic. "The fuck?!" Ray shouted as he went over to where the sound came from. I followed him and saw that someone had thrown a brick through the window. "Hey!" Ray shouted out the window, "I'm calling the cops!" Looking out the window, I very nearly went into shock when I saw the clown on the bicycle in the middle of the street, giggling and twiddling her fingers at us before speeding off. "I-It's... It's *her!*" I stammered, heart hammering away at my chest. "What?" "The person I was telling you was after me. It's her!" Seeing the panic building on my face, Ray told me to stay put while he got the police on the phone. While Ray was on the phone, I looked down at the brick on the floor amidst the sea of shattered glass. Hesitantly, I picked up the projectile to find an envelope with the hauntingly familiar red smile on the front tied to it. My hands shook violently as I untied the envelope and opened it. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw what was inside. It was a photo of me and Liza on her front porch. The demented red clown face had been drawn over her face in red marker. On the back of the photo was a message. ***"I spy with my little eyes, a piggy and his little playmate. Now WE'RE gonna have some playtime with her!"*** My mind immediately, and forcefully, took me back to that dark room. I even felt my right cheek, imagining the Amazing Beliar's smile as he stroked my face with his sledgehammer. *"Do you care for this boy's life?"* *"Would you like that, piggy? Would you like a balloon?"* That was what finally broke me and I ran to the closest trash can and puked until I couldn't anymore. "Whoa, you okay there, dude?" Ray asked, appearing suddenly beside me, causing me to jump and snap my head in his direction from the trash can. I just stood there, giving him that stare that this shit was urgent. "They're... They're... They're after Liza!" "What're you talking about? *Who's* after Liza?" I just held up the photo. His eyes widened. "What the fuck, dude?" He looked at me, confused. "Who are these people? What do they want with you and Liza?" "I... I don't know." I lied. I was too freaked out in that moment to care enough about a guilty conscience. More than this, I was far more worried about the very real danger Liza might've been in. "We have to get to her before they do!" I cried, attempting to make a mad dash for the door. Ray put his hand on my shoulder, stopping me dead. "Whoa there, dude, it's getting dark out there. You won't be able to see where you're going." Unfortunately, he *did* kind of have a bit of a point. Never even mind the fact that I *still* had no way of knowing how to even get out of the neighborhood. Of course, next to none of that was registering in my mind in that moment. "Well I can't just sit here. What if they've already got her?" *What good would it even do if you DID get to her first? It'd have been just like Derek and you know it...* "Calm down, okay?" he said. "The cops are on their way. Just show them the picture and tell them about the stalker on the bicycle." For a good couple of minutes, I just stared at Ray, quivering and spiraling as I tried to compose my thoughts that were racing through my mind. *I can't just sit here and do nothing. I HAVE to help her!* This was countered by the devil on my shoulder. *You mean like how you "helped" Derek?*<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I got a text message from Anne [RESPONSE] When I was a kid, I had this friend, Anne. If I'm being honest, she was the weirdest girl I've ever met, but I never had any problem being friends with the quirky kids. I was pretty odd too, so I guess it just worked. I met Anne when I was around 9 years old. My mom is a teacher, and she was her student. We were both the same age and ended up meeting at some of my mom's school events, which I can't quite recall. To describe Anne, I can tell you she was unbelievably beautiful. She had long, blond hair that fell over her shoulders and down her back in large curls. Her huge eyes were the most transparent blue I've ever seen; it was almost as if you could see through them or as if they were orbs filled with water. She had pale, smooth skin that looked like porcelain and tiny freckles on her nose and cheeks. She seemed so unreal that my parents each had a specific description for her: my mom said she looked like an angel; my dad said she looked like the little girls from horror movies. Somehow, they were both right. Now, you are probably wondering why a girl like this can be considered weird, right? Well, there were two things. First, Anne was one of those people that look different when you cover their eyes or their mouth. If you only cover her eyes and look at her mouth, she looks angelic. If you cover her mouth instead... well, it's unsettling. Her eyes always gave me the creeps. The second thing about Anne was that she was a pathological liar, making up terrible rumours about people to stir things up. My cousin Sophie used to join Anne and me when we were playing since we were all around the same age. Sophie had always been a very spiritual and superstitious kid, so sometimes we'd play some weird games, like those things with cards to foresee the future and whatnot. Anne was eerily correct in her predictions, which I always attributed to luck. One day, my mom came home and looked distressed. I asked her what was wrong. \-I'm worried about Anne... \-Why? \-Well... today, she came to class sobbing, saying her grandmother had fallen and fractured her skull and that she died instantly. I called her mom to give my condolences, and that's when I found out it was all a lie. Did you notice her lying about stuff like this before? I told my mom about some lies she had told us. A kid who broke a leg at recess, a friend of the family falling from the roof, her pet hamster getting its leg caught on the playing wheel and being badly hurt... \-Well, but the pet hamster did get hurt, though - my mom said. \-Oh really? Sorry, I thought it was one of her lies too. \-No, it did happen. It was yesterday. I didn't know you two talked today already. Did you meet at grandma's? My stomach dropped. I was so confused. I started questioning my sanity as I tried to piece together the possibilities. My mom looked puzzled at me, waiting for my reply. \-N-no... \-Oh? When did she tell you then? \-Well... three weeks ago... \--- I started paying attention to Anne's weird lies. Surely enough, her grandma died three weeks later; a kid fell and had an exposed fracture; a few days passed, and a family friend fell from a roof... I can't tell you how terrified my (then) 10-year-old ass was. I told my mom everything. As always, she tried to calm me down, said no such things existed and that I could rest assured everything was ok. She was just a kid who liked telling lies to get attention. That week, in what I'm *sure* was a *coincidence*, the priest came over to have dinner with us and bless the house. Sure, mom. After this, I stopped hanging out with Anne and lost track of her for years. I was too terrified of her, so I actively avoided her until she got the message and, from then on, life happened. I haven't even thought of her for years. Until yesterday... Yesterday, I received a text message. *Hey there, it's Anne! Long time no see. I'm not sure if you will be able to reply to this message. I was so sad when I learned about your accident and how you are paraplegic now...*<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My Daddy died working, but the Worms wouldn't let him stop. [RESPONSE] The mine used to be my town's pride and joy. Certainly was my Daddy’s. Every morning he’d walk out the front door with this ridiculous smile plastered on his face. You’d think he was a war hero with the way he held himself. It was like that with all the miners. You could pick them out of a crowd just by the twinkle of pride in their eyes and the chins they kept pointed at the sky. They knew what they meant to this town and had no qualms flaunting it.  I remember growing up and thinking I wanted to be just like them. Didn’t matter if I was a girl. I could swing an ax better than any boy my age and everybody knew it. That was my Daddy’s doing. He’d talk about me all the time, the other grown ups said. *Did you see little Stacy?* He’d say. *I’m telling yah. One of these days, she’s gonna dig us a hole right to China.* I liked hearing him say things like that. Other kids had to worry about what they wanted to be when they grew up. But I was gonna be a miner. The best miner this town had ever seen. I can tell you the exact day that all ended. July 10nth, 1993. It was a Thursday. Lasagna night. My Momma had everything all cooked and ready by the time my Daddy came home. I remember hoping from the dinner table the second I heard the front door open. *Daddy, Daddy,* I screamed as I wrapped my arms around him, but my excitement was meant with a sobering silence. I looked up at my Daddy and I’ll never forget what I saw. He wasn’t smiling no more and that don’t mean he was frowning either. He just stared ahead with these heavy eyes filled by stomach with stones. He didn’t look human, not a lick. More like a corpse someone had forgotten to bury.  The vein was drying up, he told us. No one knew how much longer it’d last, but its days were numbered. I didn’t know that was possible until that night. The mine had always been there since before even my Daddy was a babe. It drying up seemed impossible. That’s how I took the news, anyways. I told myself it was all just silly grown up stuff. Whatever would let me ignore it. But then miners stopped heading out for their morning shifts. Then the bills started piling up. Then my Daddy stopped smiling all together.  I remember waking up one night to the sound of my Momma and Daddy hollering up a storm. I’d never heard such a thing before, I thought the house was being robbed. Being the child I was, I crept out from my room real quiet like, hoping to catch them burglars to my surprise. Wasn’t until I recognized my parents' voices that I knew something much worse was happening. “I’m telling you, Shelia. Me and the boys have worked those mines since we were Stacy’s age. Know it like the backs of our hands. We know there’s something else down there.” “For God’s sake, Carl. Listen to yourself. You’re talking about gold or silver while I’m over here trying to find some real solutions.” “We are not going to your sisters, alright?” “And what. You want us to stay here? The only thing worth a damn in this town was that mine and now that’s dead.” “The mine ain’t dead!!” I gasped. I’d never heard my Daddy raise his voice like that, not to Momma. They must’ve heard me too because shortly there after, my Daddy called out “Stacy, that you?” Panicking, I replied “No?” My Daddy chuckled. “Come on out, sweetheart. Ain’t nothing to be afraid of.” I crept from my hiding spot and rushed over to my Daddy. He picked me up and set me down on his lap like he always had. My Momma didn’t say a word. “Did we wake you?” I nodded. “I thought you was burglars. I was gonna break your legs.” “Were you now? I guess we won’t be needing that guard dog then.” He laughed and looked to my Momma only for the joy to die on his face.  Whatever was eating my Daddy crept into me when I saw that and I asked “Is the mine gonna be alright, Daddy?” He didn’t say nothing for a good while and when he spoke, his words were tainted by that hesitation “Of course it is. That old girl’s served us well since long before even your grand-daddy was born. It ain’t quitting on us yet.” “Don’t lie to her, Carl.” My Momma voice snapped like the head of snake. “I aint, Shelia. Stacy, the mine is gonna help us. It’s just gonna do it in a different way now.” “Will I still get to break rocks with you?” “If all goes well, you might not have to.” “But I wanna break rocks!” “I know you do. But wouldn’t you like a bigger bedroom instead? Maybe a cute little doggie instead. Or how about that little pick up truck you’ve been eye at the toy store?” “You said we couldn’t afford those.” “Well, that might not be the case for much longer, darling. You see, there’s silver down in those mines.” “Oh jesus christ.” My Momma muttered. “It’s true, Sheila.” My Momma sighed and then dolled up her voice before saying “Stacy, why don’t you go back to bed for me now.” “But I’m not tired.” “Tired ain’t got nothing to do with it. You got school tomorrow and me and Daddy need to have a talk.” “Can’t I stay.” “Nope. It’s for grown-ups only.” I moaned like any little kid who didn’t get her way. “Now enough of that, missy. Of you go or else you’ll be walking to school tomorrow.” I looked up at my Daddy who smiled back at me, but it was his *I love you sweetheart, but listen to your mother* face. I moaned again and marched back to bed. Not that I got a lick of sleep that night. Not with my parents hollering up a storm. I woke up the next morning and my Daddy was gone. Momma was sitting by the window still, staring out with a look I’d never see on her before. “You alright, Momma?” I asked. “I’m fine darling.” “Where’s Daddy?” She paused and it felt as though it lasted forever. “He’ll be home for dinner, Stacy. Now go get yourself ready for school.” I love my Daddy, more than most people move themselves, but there’s one thing I’ll never forgive him for. He made my Momma a liar. I still remember looking through my classroom window and seeing the smoke billowing up from the mountain. None of us kids knew what it meant, but the sirens that came screaming up the mountain were happy to fill us in. I came home that day to my Momma bawling her eyes out. I asked her what was wrong, but she just kept on crying and crying and crying. Didn’t say a word about the mine or my Daddy. Still hasn’t. I learned from school that a bunch of the miners, my Daddy included, had stolen a bunch of company equipment and took it deep, deep, deep into the mountain. It was said they were chasing silver or gold, anything that’d keep the mine alive, really. What happened next is still unknown. Us kids thought it was a stray piece of dynamite that brought the cave down on top of them. The grown-ups said it was a case of them getting careless and hitting a piece of stone they shouldn’t have. I had some real choice words for those folks. My Daddy was the best damn soul who ever worked these mines. He wouldn’t have buried himself unless he wanted to.  It was hard those first couple of months. The house felt empty. It didn’t matter if you were in the kitchen on the shitter. You knew there was something missing even if at times you didn’t know what and that never went away. Only thing that happened was it got a little easier to live with.  My Momma really took it all in strides. First thing she did after the funeral was get a job bustling tables down at the old dinner. Between that and the insurance, we were able to live comfortably enough. But that didn’t mean we were staying. I overheard my Momma on the phone some nights, talking to my Aunt. It was never over details like driving out or selling the house. I think my Momma had already planned out a lot of this. The only thing in question was the date: December 10nth. Just in time for Christmas. “I don’t wanna go!” I said to her, “You can’t make me!” “Like hell I can’t, missy. We’re going and that’s final. Understand.” “But what about my friends? And Daddy. How are we gonna visit him?” “I told you, you’re Daddy’s not in that mine. He’s in heaven now and heaven is everywhere.” “No he’s not. His body’s down there. We can’t leave it alone. Daddy wouldn’t want-” “DON’T-” My Momma pulled back the second she heard herself, but it was too late. I was already trembling in my night skirt. ‘Don’t you talk about him like that. Your Daddy’s gone. And this is what we need to do so we don’t end up like him. So the least you can do is act like a big girl and not throw a tantrum at every single little thing I do. Understand”  She wasn’t screaming no more, but her words were no less bitter. I went back to my room trembling that night and just before I closed the door, I could hear my Momma start to cry. That night was another sleepless one. There’d be a lot of those since the cave-in, but this one was special. Something my Momma said didn’t sit right with me. Grown-ups always talk about heaven when people ask where the dead people go. But I knew where my Daddy was. He was down in those mines and come sooner or later, I was gonna leave that all behind. But I was damned I would without saying goodbye. So I laced up my shoes, got my winter coat, and snuck out through my window sill without so much as a peep. That night was a bitter one. Autumn’s chill winds chewed your nose raw and conducted an army of icy needles to dance across your skin. Even with all my layers, I was still shivering like a beat dog as I made my way to the mine. Almost made me turn back a few times. Almost. I ran along the dirt road connecting the town to the mountain as fast as my little legs would carry me. It was a miserable journey, but not enough to stop a girl on a mission. The old mine was almost unrecognizable. With no way back in, the company had come and collected all its machinery and mobile offices, leaving the place the world's most expensive parking lot. Only trace of what had been was embedded in the side of the mountain. Most of the debri had been cleared from when rescuers had tried to dig their way through. They’d done a decent job too. The entrance to the mine was clear enough to get my hopes up and I raced inside like the devil was biting at my heels. I thought it’d have a clear path down to where my Daddy lay until I smacked face first into the mother of all boulders. It didn’t do much to knock me down. It’d been in far worse scraps. But it did quite literally knock some sense back into me. Moonlight leaked in through the mouth of the cave and illuminated boulders bigger than I blocking my path. I knew deep down that was what I’d find, and yet, looking over the wall, I started to cry.  “I’m sorry, Daddy.” My words were mangled by all the snot and slime running down my face. “I was gonna visit. I promise I was. I’m sorry for leaving you alone. I promise I’ll be good. Please.” I stumbled towards the wall and hugged the big stone I’d run into. “I’ll be good. Just come back. God, if you just bring him back, I’ll be a good girl forever and ever. I’ll go to church, I’ll do my homework, I’ll be really nice to Momma. Bring him back and I’ll do it. I swear to you. I swear.” The cave echoed my words back to me. It was the only reply I got. Or at least, so I thought. As I hugged that mighty stone, ear pressed flat against it, I heard something.  *Clank* *Clank* *Clank* The sounds of metal striking stone. *Clank* *Clank* *Clank* And it was coming from the otherside of the wall. “DADDY!?” I cried out, jumping back from the rocks. I’m not even sure why I said that, but once the word was out there, I couldn’t ignore it. “Daddy, I’m here!” I jumped at the rock wall, trying to find some way through. I started moving aside some of the smaller rocks I could get my hands on. It was stupid so it fit me perfectly at that moment. I jostled loose dozens of stones, but they were mere peebles compared to bigger ones sealing up the passage. My frantic efforts, however, were not in vain. I wrenched loose another stone and suddenly, this massive plume of dust blasted me in the face as the rock suddenly shifted. I stumbled back coughing, lungs filling with dust. When I finished digging the sand out of my eyes, I saw there was now a tiny passage cutting through the debri. It was a pathetic little hole, barely big enough for a dog to fit through, but the perfect size for, say, a small child. Being the fool I was, I doze for that thing like a rabbit from a fox. The tunnel was quite the snug fit, forcing me to wiggle through the damn thing with my arms pinned at my sides. Jagged rocks cut my coat and even left a few marks on me. The air was impossible to breathe, what with all the dust filling it and my eyes began to burn with all the gunk that drifted into them. But none of that mattered because in the distance I could hear that sound growing louder and louder. *Clank* *Clank* *Clank* Eventually the tunnel gave way to this giant stretch of empty space. I scurried to my feet only to stop when I saw the darkness surrounding me. What little light that worked its way through that tunnel was swallowed up by that deep, dark shadow. My bravery fell away until I was just a little girl standing in the dark. “D-Daddy?” I called out, only for my words to be swallowed by a familiar rhythm. *Clank* *Clank* *Clank* I took a step forward, trying to force a smile on my face. It couldn’t be too bad, I told myself. This was the mine, afterall. They probably just had some tables and benches lying around. Nothing to be afraid of. Not with Daddy down there with me. Step by step I stumbled deeper into the mine, guided only by the distant sounds of stonework. I’m still not sure how I got outta there with my ankles unbroken. I called out into the dark a few more times, but nothing ever replied. That had to be the worst part. Aside from the clanking, I was all alone down there. I’d been by myself before, but the feeling of absolute isolation was crushing. I was starting to think it was just me down there when I saw something pierce through the darkness. There was a light out there, albeit a pathetic little thing. It flickered as if constantly on the verge of dying, but it was more than enough for me. I lunged forward, not caring what I might come smacking into. Not with my eyes glued to the flame like they were. Soon something else began to take form, a body outlined by the light. My heart nearly skipped outta my chest. “DADDY!!” I cried as I lunged at the figure and gave him the biggest bear hug in the whole wide world. I didn’t dare let him go as if me touching him was the only thing keeping him real. Snot and tears were running down my face, making it hard to even get my sobs out. Not that I needed to anymore. My Daddy was here. And I didn’t take that for granted either. I was gonna make good on everything I said. Only thing I could think of was all the homework I had to catch up on when we got home. Seems silly now, looking back, and that was before I felt the maggots crawling up my sleeve Now I may have been a little girl witnessing a miracle, but I was still a little girl and those fuckers were big as I’d ever seen them. In the flickering light I saw them falling from my Daddy’s pant leg onto my arms. Like I said, they were meaty fuckers with fat, bulbous bodies the size of your damn thumb. They even had this weight to them I could feel through my sleeves. And their faces, good god, they couldn’t even do that right. They were like flies with those alien mouths and big, inhuman eyes catching the light, all of which were looking right at me.  I yelped like a shot pooch and jumped back, frantically swatting those things off of me. Even now I’m still not sure I got them all. I can see feel their little legs crawling up my back and tickling my skin. Most crawl off into the dark after falling, but a few of them I saw inching their way back to my Daddy. As I watched, they climbed his boot and disappeared under his pant leg. I rushed forward to squish them, but that was when I finally got a good look at my Daddy. In one hand he held the stub of a candle under whose light I got a decent enough view of his face. I almost didn’t recognize him, there was so little left. Deep gashes criss-crossed his features, but there wasn’t any blood. Through them all I could dust stained bones peering out with scraps of dry fleshing hanging from them. A rock had speared through one of his eyes, undoubtedly scraping the back of his skull too. But none of that could compared to seeing what crawled through his mangled visage. I could see them poking through his skin. Through his wounds I could see others crawling around inside. One of them crawled out through a hole in his neck, scurried along his face, and then disappeared after wiggling its way into his skull. Whatever hope I had of squashing them all died in that instant.  But through it all, the wounds and that maggots that dwelled inside them, I could still see my Daddy. Couldn’t even pretend it wasn’t him all full of worms. Yet as I looked up at him, he didn’t look back at me. His remaining eyes, milky and lifeless as it was, were focused solely on the wall he stood before. In his other hand he raised the end of a pickaxe and beat it against the stone over and over again. *Clank*  *Clank* *Clank* *Clank*  *Clank* *Clank* Even in death, my Daddy was the greater miner you’d ever seen. His hand, nothing more than bone and dry skin, was still steady as the stone he chiseled at. There was no other way to do it. That’s what he always told me. Any work worth doing is worth doing right. Pretty sure he got that off a poster or something, but by good did he live by it. Die too, I suppose.  And those things crawling around in him, they were giving him a chance to do just that. Inch by inch he’d carve away at the cave, looking for something to bring back home to us. With every strike, a crusty piece of flesh drifted from him. With every strike, cracks raced up his old ones. With every strike, he persisted. But this mine, these walls, they were long dead.  “D-Daddy?” I didn’t know what I was saying, but that didn’t stop me. “Daddy, please stop.” *Clank*  *Clank* *Clank* “We’re going to Aunt Tiff’s place now. You don’t gotta keep working.” *Clank* *Clank* *Clank* “Daddy, you can stop that now. There’s nothing down here.” *Clank* *Clank* *Clank* “Can’t you hear me? That wall’s empty. You’re not gonna find anything anymore.” *Clank* *Clank* *Clank* “Stop it!” I begged, spit flying from my mouth. “Stop it now, please! That line is dead. This mine is dead! All of it is dead!” *CLANK* *CLANK* *CLANK* “Stop it! You’re fucking dead, so just stop it!!” It was then my words finally caught up to me. They hit the cave walls and came bouncing back at me before settling like nails in my gut. For the first time it all felt real even if it hurt so goddamn much. I couldn’t let my Daddy keep digging away at those walls. He deserved a good long rest. Even a little brat like me could’ve seen that. He swung his ax into the wall and when he went to pull it back, something stopped him. He looked down to find what had interrupted his work and saw a little girl hanging from his sleeve. She was standing on her tippy toes with her fingers just barely holding on. She couldn’t have stopped him. I think somewhere deep down he knew that. But for just a second she might’ve been able to make him listen. “It’s alright.” I said to him, “You can stop working now. I’ll take care of Momma, now. We’re gonna be alright.” He stared at me for the longest time. I can’t say what he was thinking. Maybe whatever was left of him couldn’t even do that. But whether it was, be it him or a pile of squirming worms, it heard me. It lowered its arms, settling me on the ground before dropping the ax. It clattered to the ground, heavy and lifeless, before he turned, pressed his back to the wall, and lowered himself to the floor. He rested his head against the stone and simply stopped. No more movement apart from the worms under his skin. No light safe for the candle dying in his hand. I wanted to hug him one more time. Just give him the biggest squeeze ever and feel his warmth once again. But I knew that time was long past. I turned and started fumbling my way back out of the cave, leaving my Daddy to his rest. No one knows exactly what happened that night and I’d prefer to keep it that way. I'm only writing this now to get it all out my head. Whatever found my Daddy down in those mines, I don’t think we want it up here with us. If you're reading this thinking you might wanna try and find them, I welcome you to try, but know that you're just wasting your time. There's nothing worth finding down there. Not anymore. Since then, I kept my promise. Momma and I moved out to my Aunt’s where she managed to find a decent job working retail. It wasn’t always easy, but we survived. I never told her what happened that night. Even if she believed me, I don’t think it would have done her any good. She’s doing well last time I checked. Settled down with some guy named Frank a few years back. He’s boring and has a voice like sandpaper, but he’s also good for her.  As for me, things have been steady. Got my degree a few years back. Work’s been smooth. A little bumpy, but nothing to complain about. In fact, I got offered this new gig by some start up in Beijing. I’d have to move out to China if I accept. It’s not through a hole, but I'll get there, Daddy. Just you wait.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Found [RESPONSE] (The following is a found journal of prisoner Jake Ralph of the Easterling Correctional Facility for men located in Clio, Elmore County, Alabama) Day 267 It must have happened over night. For as the morning sun poured through the skylights, it was quickly realised that our schedule had been changed. There was no roll call. Instead the guards went by each cell and left generous plates of food, along with three bottled waters, within reach outside the bars. It was the full shift. Passing by each other in an excited and highly nervous pace, making sure no prisoner went without.Fortunatly for me, Richard was on his way to my cell, which was in the upper floor of the block. In front of him were the three of the plate holders, while he lugged the cooler that contained the beverages. I asked him what was going on. The guards exasperated face was identical with the rest and at first it seemed he would pass by my cell without even making eye contact with me. But, I recon, his conscious over my past good deed of saving him a brutal shank to the ribs caused him to return the good will by delivering me the most disheartening news since my sentence. “We are leaving all of you...” As he turned away from me I slowly felt myself slump down to the cement floor with my hands sliding down the bars. I watched as a singular fly landed on the bread which sat on top of a mountain of Insta-Mash, beans, and something that resembled meat-loaf. The three bottles of Deer Park water stood together dripping presperation into the grime. Eventually, the fly left. The water rumbled slightly. I pushed my plate to my left to Charles in the cell next to me. I wasn’t hungry, neither did I feel like being so. I just wanted to sleep. The night before I prayed to God and asked him if my life was worth living through, would he please send me just a tiny shred of good news. I laid their on the floor clenching an iron rod in my right hand fully understanding the answer that had been given to me. I thought of my wife and baby girl leaving Alabama before all of this chaos began. They were safe, hopefully. But, I wondered what Sue was seing on news reports if the world noticed us missing. Did she worry for my safety. Did she feel any sorrow whatsoever for our separation. More than likely not. I remembered the day she said goodbye to me behind the glass. She had tears in her eyes. Tears for her new life without me. Without my anger. I fell asleep there on the floor, ignoring the cries and moans of my fellow prisoners. Abandoned Day 1 I awoke, in what looked to be afternoon, from a dream of open and empty cells in darkness. But there was a light in one of the cells below, like a fire lit up for camping through the dark, solitary night. I looked down in the world of reality and could see the same cell closed as well as unoccupied. What did the dream mean? I walked over to my cot and lay down in an attempt to catch another glimpse of that world of shadow. Are dreams affected here too? Abandoned Day 2 Chuck Able broke his neck across the casim. He shoved his head between the bars and whirled his body counter clock wise. Those on my side of the walkway began to scream, cry, vomit. I just looked on in admiration. I dont know if I would have the stones to do that. He had been silent up till now. He was about to make parole before the so called “Snap” happened. About to see his son for the first time. Visit his fathers grave. I slept. I made it out of my cell and to the starcase before waking up in the middle of the night from the sound of Charles calling to me from his cell next to mine. He asked me if I was hearing “that sound I wasn’t. At least not while awake. Abandoned Day 3 Joel Sykes broke free. He was able to pry the hinges of his cell door with a butter knife he smuggled. The entire Block cheered for him as he jogged out of the corridor with his arms up like RocKy. He said that he would activate the door locks and free everybody. I didnt want to go. I wanted to sleep so I could see the fire in the cell. I would get my chance, because Joel ran back into the corridor screaming. He reentered his cell and replaced the spikes for the doors hinges. I lay down again and close my eyes. I hear the sounds now. A legion of shrills in the distance. They are coming. In my dream I made it to the cell. There was a man inside. Black. Wearing a stripped uniform like prisoners from the chain gang days. Said his name was Cecil. I woke up. Abandoned Day 4 I want to talk to Cecil. But I cant sleep. The sound has surrounded the prison. They are deafaning. I cant hear anybody anymore, just those things from deep under the earth. They will break in soon. The gaurds were nice enough to chain the doors, but they will break through. Nothing we can do. I sleep. Cecil has golden eyes. He comforts me and tells me that I am only human and that we are made to be flawed and make mistakes. Our efforts to live a moral life are only imitations of Gods. We are a joke. Together we can laugh. Abandoned Day 5 I awoke to the things at the bars. They are the lost souls of Tarturus. Mangled. Demonized. Human. They shake and pull at the bars to get to me. They cant break through,but they will. Charles head was just passed by. It was still screaming. They will get in and rip me apart like they all were by Cerberus, whose many breathes I hear outside the walls. I sleep. Cecil is standing in my cell. “We dont want to be here.” He says. “But we must. Your prison is linked with ours, and we all must share our cell together.” His golden eyes shine beautifully. I embrace him like I did my father when I seen him last. Found Day 1 I awoke to my door being opened and hands lifting me from my bed. They took me out into the corridor where a new river is flowing through the prison. A new Styx. They take me out to the cliff edge where the earth had broken through and I seen him. My new father with six golden eyes. I am allowed to finish my journal before I am taken. I was chosen to take a task. With shedded skin and skeletal hands I take my row. (The rest is illedgible.)<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My own stupidity saved my life [RESPONSE] I am a very dumb person. I’m not mentally challenged or developmentally disabled; I’m “all there” in a cognitive sense—there's just not much that’s, well, *there.* I wouldn’t call myself stupid, as that seems just a bit too harsh, and neither would I describe my general behavior and outlook on life as idiotic. I have sense—but am often not very sensible. I think dim-witted would best describe me, both academically and socially. Yes, dim-witted is perfect.  I have taken the time to belabor a description of my intelligence for a purpose that will become apparent later on in this short tale.  Whilst casually strolling along in my neighborhood after having spent the better part of the day staring off into space—a frequently indulged activity of mine—I was suddenly accosted by two gentlemen. These gentlemen were plainly not of the area, for one bore the likeness of a newly risen ghoul, and the other of its duty-breaking caretaker. The former, having a sallow and sunken face—upon which actively feasted several plump maggots—stepped immediately in front of me and said, “Apologies for the interruption, but we require your viscera.”  Being a generous person, I would’ve given them a portion of my innards, had I the capacity to subsist without them. But lacking that physiological aptitude, I was forced to decline. Perhaps expecting such a response, the other gentlemen—dressed in an all-encompassing trench coat, with a black tricorn atop his head—withdrew a pistol from the pocket of the aforementioned coat, and summarily fired it at my head.  I fell, and the two gentlemen promptly began their business of unburdening me of my visceral organs; bringing forth a leather doctor’s bag and a large Tupperware bowl.  Darkness fell over my vision, and after a short interim of rather calming nihility, I awoke—perceiving again the mundane world. I at once surmised that the bullet had not had a fatal impact due to my characteristic lack of grey matter. Not for the first time in my life, I thanked the Creator for having so generously blessed me. A glance at my stomach—the clothes that had covered it torn and discarded—showed the evidence of a small incision, along which ran several neat stitches. I remarked aloud that had I known I’d be spared death, I would’ve at least expected grislier results. But my surgeons had performed quite an immaculate operation, and I felt only slightly less gastrically encumbered. Apparently, they hadn’t needed much. *Ah ha!* I thought to myself, *the anatomist is yet another learned man whose teachings needn’t be so faithfully believed!* Arising, I continued along, my mood no less cheerful. But then certain baselessly profound thoughts came to me, as did some rather insightful observations of my environment - both clearly of a higher intellectual order than anything I’d previously been capable of. After a moment of contemplation—which in itself was rife with considerations and ideas wholly unsuitable—I came to the conclusion that I was under a spell of some sort; that I had not actually awakened from my abdominal operation.  Coeval with this revelation, the world began to peel away, disintegrating like a wind-ravaged flower; and after a few moments I found myself staring up into the infinitely grim face of that dubiously dressed gentlemen. The ghoul (who was, I should mention, entirely naked) stood a few paces away, apparently keeping watch. The man recoiled, not anticipating my premature awakening. He asked how I had come to relieve myself of the spell, and I politely informed him that while the verisimilitude of the dream to reality was impeccable, the clarity and acuity of thought he had endowed me with was wholly unbefitting of my normal abilities.  Crestfallen, he rose from his crouched position and stepped a few paces back, allowing me to collect myself and rise. He hadn’t yet cut into me, and I realized, dimly, that the actual operation probably required quite a bit of preparation – if the organs were to be harvested properly.  The ghoul, overhearing the conversation, hissed and spat at his companion, deriding him for over-estimating my intelligence. By way of response, the would-be surgeon started to cry. Wanting to get on with my sojourn—for it was growing late and I am quite terrified of the dark—I announced that I was leaving them to their sepulchral business, and side-stepped the sobbing man. The ghoul—for whom my organs would’ve doubtlessly been harvested—maneuvered to block my path, and declared that he was still inexorably hungry. Not wanting him to go without food—for he was already severely emaciated—I resolved to help him in his troubles. Turning to the gentlemen I’d passed, I proceeded to rain blows upon him, until he was quite dead, or at least firmly unconscious. Then, gesturing to the collapsed man, I said, “Well, here is provender for your empty belly. Eat well, and be happy.”  Not caring that I had pummeled his companion, the ghoul nodded, a hunger-induced lunacy etched upon his cadaverous face. He strode past and without any culinary preamble began tearing into the unconscious man. Just when the ghoul had unceremoniously created an aperture in the man’s belly, the man cried out in maddened agony – and I felt a rush of relief, for I had never committed the act of murder, and would’ve despaired to have wasted the opportunity on such a considerate man as that. (Considerate in the sense that he had kindly over-estimated my intellectual ability.) I promptly hurried along, noticing with a chill that the shadows about the area were lengthening, and that the sun had nearly achieved its plunge below the edges of the flat earth – leaving in its wake the far-spanning wings of night. The encroaching black was quite frightful, and an eerie trilling and chittering of evilly jubilant insects rose above the choked gurgles of the ghoul’s meal. I really, really do not like being outside under such frightening circumstances. Who knows what could be lurking in the depths of that illimitably pervasive darkness? <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The memory from the past, created in the future, remembered in the present. [RESPONSE] I was tortured in the past for something I will do in the future Let me explain….. I was in bed, ready to fall asleep when I started remembering something I don’t remember remembering before.. I was walking home from my first job after closing up for the night when I was pulled into an alleyway by a masked man. I remember trying to scream for help but he punched me in the stomach and told me to shut up. I remember reaching into my pocket, taking out my wallet and begging him to take it from me so he wouldn’t hurt me but he said he wasn’t after my money. He was after me “Me?” I thought. “Why me? I don’t know you” I asked “Not yet you don’t but future you does” “Future me? What are you on about?” “You did something in the future to really piss me off, now I’m getting payback” “This guy’s crazy” I thought “Future? Yeah right” I tried to stand up but he pulled a knife out of his back pocket and pointed it at me “Move and I’ll kill you” I stayed on the ground, confused “So what did future me do to you then?” “Can’t say or it won’t happen” “Well if I did something to piss you off in the future, wouldn’t you want me to know what I did so I can avoid doing whatever it is I did to piss you off” “Sure but that’s boring” “So how did you get here then?” By the way, I still thought this guy was crazy at this stage. I was just playing along to buy time and think of an escape “This”. He rolled up his sleeve and showed me what looked like a watch “A watch?” “Not just a watch. A time travel watch” “Okay then. Prove it” I expected him to make up an excuse but he grabbed my wrist, said “1990” and then there was a flash of light. We were still in the same alleyway as before but it was a bit different. He told me to get up and follow him and when we were out of the alleyway, everything looked like it didn’t belong in the year 2018. “This is 1990. See, proof”. “This is real” I thought He dragged me back into the alley and spoke to his watch “2018” There was a flash of light and then we were back in the alleyway only this time it looked how it did before “How far in the future do we meet?” “About 10 years from now” “When was time travel invented?” “About 6 years from now” “Why haven’t we seen proof of time travel?” “You have. Ever heard of the Mandela affect?” “Yeah” “That was the creators of time travel experimenting” “Experimenting?” “Yes. You remember Looney Tunes being spelled “Looney T O O N S” correct? But it’s actually spelled “T U N E S?” “Yes. Well it was originally spelled T O O N S but one of the creators traveled back in time, pitched the idea of it being spelled T U N E S and then it was changed. That’s why you remember it that way” “I still don’t understand” “When something is changed in the past, everyone in the present still remembers how things were originally in the past even though the thing had changed” “I’m still confused” “Future yous won’t be though. Now, back to what I came here for” He pulled out the knife on me again. “Woah woah, let’s talk about this” “No” First he kicked me in the head “Please, let’s talk about this” “Shut up”. He kicked me again. Then he sat on me, lifted up my shirt and carved the word “cunt” on my stomach. I never remembered seeing a scar that resembled the word “cunt”, but when I lifted up my shirt to take a look, it was there. In big capital letters, carved into my stomach were the letters “C U N T”. Then he grabbed me by the shirt and pinned me against the wall. He placed the knife to my face and carved a penis shape into my cheek. That was never there before but when I took out my phone and switched to my front camera, there was a scar that resembled a penis. Then he spent a few minutes beating me. I sat up against the wall, covered in blood. “Wh-why now?” I asked He didn’t reply and then spoke clearly into his watch “2031”. There was a flash of light and the man was gone. I stayed sitting there against the wall all night in pain, confused and trying to wrap my head around how all this time travel bullshit worked but never could. It was only that night, the night I remembered when I figured it out. The events of the memory were happening live as I was remembering them, just a few years in the past. The reason I never noticed those scars was because I didn’t have them until that night. Whoever he is, whatever I did to him must’ve been bad for him to do this to me. I guess I’ll just have to make sure not to piss anyone off anytime soon, or ever.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Does anyone else have these HRT side effects? [RESPONSE] I want to preface this by saying that I love my mother deeply. It cannot have been easy to be a black single mother, but she’s always tried her best to give me a comfortable life. She provided for me to the best of her abilities and shielded me from the worst aspects of poverty, while making sure I still knew what was going on. When I came out to her she was nothing but supportive. She seamlessly went from calling me her “baby girl” to “her baby boy”, she helped me pick up clothes that fitted me, chose a new name for me at my request, and she even paid what she could for my top surgery. I know how lucky I am to have such a supportive mom. Not all of my queer friends have that chance and we’ve housed a couple of them on occasion… That being said, I now realize that my mother is also a woman who loves her secrets. I’ve started HRT 5 months ago. This is my journal. If anyone has had any of the following side effects from testosterone please. Please. Reach out. We really need to talk. April 2nd. Day 2 on T It felt weird to start on April first, so here we are. The first shot yesterday was scary. I’m glad mom helped me through it, but I have to learn to do it alone. I’m still scared of having messed it up somehow. But it’s been hours now and I feel fine. April 7th. Day 7 on T. I’ve never looked at myself in the mirror as much as I do now. It’s exhilarating, looking at my reflection and hunt for the slightest change. Was that hair here yesterday? Has my body fat changed place already? Is my voice lower or is it just in my head? I already look pretty masculine mind you, mom cut my hair better than any barber, and now that I’ve yote my tits, my chest is as flat as it’s ever going to be. But still, I want to grow a cool beard or have a squarer jawline. My friends keep telling me I should lower my expectations, that T isn’t going to turn me into René Jean-Page… Well I’m sorry for you and your poor genetic material, but my dad was a hunk ; so if I end up looking anything like him they might as well call me for the next season of Bridgerton right now! (I’m kidding guys, I love you, please don’t kill me in my sleep if you ever read this…) April 18th Day 18 on T Wow, bottom growth is no joke! April 29 Day 29 on T Hair! Hair! On my belly? What the fuck? May 10th Day 39 on T Acne? Really? Once of that shit wasn’t enough? Man this second puberty sucks! July: 2nd Day 63 on T I take back everything I’ve said, second puberty is fucking awesome! I’ve been hitting the gym since I was a teen and I’ve never \*ever\* seen gains like that! My muscles are inflating like balloons after the slightest bit of exercise it’s \*insane\*! Also, my shoulders are so much broader now?! Like, holy hell, call me freaking Michael Phelps! I may or may not have taken and sent a few dozen thirst traps to my group of friends… But honestly, I’m not going to have a body like that and not take pictures of it. Acne be damned! I mean, it’s not like anyone’s gonna look at my face when I carry \*these guns\*! And Lo, the NB cutie from our queer GC, loves the pictures, so you can bet it’s only the beginning of my reign of terror! July 4th, Day 65 on T. I’m having some killer headaches lately. Nothing to do with my T as the internet, my friends and my doctor assured me. I might need to watch out for iron deficiency though… July 7th, Day 68 on T So… My wisdom teeth just grew through. Which is weird, ‘cause I had them removed in my senior year of high school. I’ve looked it up and apparently it’s a thing that can happen. It’s not the original wisdom teeth growing but another set called “supernumerary teeth”. It’s rare, but not completely unheard of. At least that explains the headaches. July 14th, Day 75 on T. My pitch dropped!! It was so sudden but now I sound so se\~xy! I went to Mac Donald’s the other day and everyone called me sir! Even after I’d ordered! My gender euphoria is through the roof! Unfortunately so are my headaches. Or I guess “jaw ache” is more appropriate? My surprise teeth mustn’t be done growing through ’cause my jaws feel super uncomfortable. Sometimes the pain flairs suddenly and nothing but yawning can make it go away. I’m always snacking or chewing gum, as working my jaws seems to be the only thing that alleviates the pain. I feel like a teething baby all over again. But when I look at my teeth or jaws in the mirror, nothing seems out of place. I haven’t told mom about any of this yet. Dental is expensive and it’s probably going to go away when the teeth are done growing, right? July 15th Day 76 on T: I think I’ve gotten taller. Mom thinks she’s just shrinking faster than she thought, but I know it’s not that. The other day when I grabbed the flour from the top shelf, I felt the difference. I’ve always \*always\* had to stand on my toes to reach that last shelf before. But not this time. That cannot be the result of T. Every single trans person and health professional will tell you the same thing: Testosterone does not influence bone growth after puberty. And I’m well past that. But my transmasc buddies are also saying they’ve been standing straighter since they’ve transitioned, and that they felt those few inches difference… I sure hope it’s that. ‘Cause between the headaches and the rash that just appeared on my belly, there is only so much I can deal with. August 1st, Day 92 on T: Fucking rash! That sucks way way more than the acne. I can’t even find clear info about it online. Some people say it might come from HRT, others just from stress. I tried booking an appointment with a trans friendly dermatologist, but he is booked ‘til October! I’ll have flayed myself alive by then I’m so fucking itchy! I’ve tried some over the counter creams and they work enough for me not to consider going to a random doctor… Yet. If this goes on I might have no choice, transphobic pieces of shit be damned. Maybe Lo will accompany me if I ask them? If I only had to show my belly it might not be a problem (since I’m so swole now) but the rash is drawing weird lines across my torso, and some of them follow my top surgery scars perfectly. I feel like they’ve gotten thicker, more visible and kinda… Wet? It’s not all bad though ‘cause I finally have facial hair! That took long enough. And ok my mom burst into laughter when she saw the beginning of my patchy beard, but just you wait mother! With the help of a few shaves and a lot care, these barren wastelands shall soon become a lush forest! Or so I hope, I should probably look up beard products. August 12th At least my jaw doesn’t hurt anymore. I’m just going to write what happened. I was watching the most boring series ever on Netflix while waiting for mom to come home from her shift. I yawned. And my jaw unhinged like a snake’s. It was unlike anything I had ever felt. Not only did my lower jaw entirely separated from my upper jaw, but I clearly felt a second set of bones unfold. I stood there, shaken, for a few seconds. Then I ran to the closest mirror and yawned again. Only to see the lower half of my face split open into a monstrous jaw. The kind of shit you see on documentaries about the creatures of the deep. I apparently have a whole new articulation in my fucking mouth and it comes with a brand new set of teeth. What the fuck is happening to me? What the fuck is happening and how do I make it stop?! August 15th I haven’t left my room in three days. Told mom I got COVID so that she wouldn’t come in except to give me food. I don’t know what to do. When I’m not yawning my face looks normal, and my beard’s even getting fuller, but I just… I’ve grown almost a full foot in the span of a month. Fat repartition? More like fat disappearance! I’m all muscles and skin now, I look like I’m on steroids, this cannot be normal! I’m not even eating, just the smell of food makes me sick. But I can hear my guts make weird noises, and I have a strange feeling in my belly like… Like something’s moving. And then there is the rash… It’s gotten worse. Now my scars are dribbling some weird sticky fluid, along with most of the lines on my belly. I want to scratch them so bad but the idea of touching them makes me sick. What is happening to me? Am I dying? Mom I’m sorry. August 16th I was in the bathroom when it happened. I had just gotten around taking a shower. I was feeling better: The rash had lessened, I was feeling hungry again and as long as I didn’t think too much about my jaw it wasn’t that bad. I was looking at my body, my tall muscular body, with large shoulders and hair in expected and less expected places. I was feeling good about myself, about how much I looked like the man I’d always wanted to be seen as… So I smiled. And by some horrifying muscular chain reaction, that unhinged both of my jaws. Yes. Both. The foldable top one, with articulated additions and two dozens more teeth that it should have had… And the bottom one I didn’t even know existed until that point. My torso unfolded like a deep sea creature, toothy appendages linked by gossamer thin skin opened wide, reaching for the world outside in a tentacular embrace. I thought for a second my innards would splash on the ground in a writhing mess now that they weren’t being held by my skin anymore… But instead realized I had no more innards to speak of. My insides were unrecognizable, looking nothing like a human digestive system. Staring at them for too long made me want to vomit from the sheer impossibility of what was going on. It was like the drop of a roller coaster… Except it wasn’t stopping. So I fell to the floor, and I screamed. I cried, not knowing what to do with that monstrous body, torn between euphoria and horror as its massive muscles rolled under deep brown skin and its incomprehensible double maw moved in a way that added a wobbly quality to my cries of despair. Mom barrelled into the bathroom, eyes wide in fear. I had forgotten she was here today, looking after me as she’d always done. She froze for a second, seeing me on the ground… Then slowly bent down, gathering my hulking shape in a tight embrace. Her arms looked so small to me now. “My baby boy….” she softly whispered while cradling and rocking me, “It’s alright. It’s all going to be fine.” “I’m turning into a monster!” I sobbed. “No you’re not sweetheart. You’re just starting to look a lot more like your dad.”<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My Friend and I Played A new Game at the Sleepover [RESPONSE] Let me start off by saying, I don’t see my friends very often anymore. The reason I shut my friends out is because of “the incident” that occurred back in middle school. We didn’t get into a fight or anything, it’s because of a game. It started as a stupid idea for a game, the year was 2014. My friend group consisted of Logan, Christy, David and Alicia, for story purposes I will not state my name. We were not very popular, usually we sat in the corner of the lunchroom. It was Spring Break and we wanted to spend more time together. We were spending the night at my house as my parents were absent for the weekend. We were playing your typical board games and run of the mill sleepover party games. But then we weren’t. Logan suggested a game he had learned at Summer Camp. The game was titled “Aut Celare Mors” you play by saying some stupid gibberish while one player stands in the middle of a circle you must form. The person then becomes “possessed”and you must hide, or you die. My friends and I did not believe in this, yet we were proven very wrong. We forced Logan to step into the middle of the circle. We then muttered some strange gibberish. And for a solid minute nothing happened, until Logan started seizing, blood began pouring out of his mouth only for him to begin laughing. His pupils rolled back in his head… and then he started counting. My friends and I did not know what to think, except to hide. I’m not quite sure where Christy hid yet I knew David and Alicia hid together. Logan began saying “Ready or Not?” In a voice that clearly was not his. Logan then began roaming around to try to find his prey. I did hear Christy begin to scream, as well as a sickening splat. I was still in a cabinet in my parents room. I immediately heard running coming my way and someone began going through everything in my parents room, it was not Logan, I did see David however, he spotted me and told me that Alicia was dead and we needed to get out of here. However we heard Logans footsteps begin coming our way. I hid back in my place and David hid in the shower. Logan then left the room and was occupied in a different room. David and I then tried to book it towards the door. We did not get far before Logan spotted us. He then started spewing more blood from his mouth and fell over. David had now been covered in Logans blood. David and I approached Logan and had found out, he was dead. David and I unlocked the door and ran out of my house very quickly. I got pretty far before noticing David was no longer next to me. I looked back to see David start seizing while his eyes rolled back, far back into his head, and then, David began to count.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Mole [RESPONSE] My day started off the same as any other. I got out of bed and went downstairs to make breakfast. I opened up my fridge and got out the milk. I poured my cereal into a bowl then, as any sane person would do, poured the milk on top. Unfortunately, I overestimated the amount of milk that was left in the jug. Now I had too much cereal and not enough milk, and of course you can’t return the cereal to the box since it’s all slightly soggy, so I just had to deal with pushing the cereal around with my spoon to try to get enough milk on each piece before each subsequent bite. I was sure that I had plenty of milk the previous morning, so I didn’t even think to check to make sure. This kind of thing had happened a few too many times in the previous couple months. I really needed to keep better track of my things… I shrugged the thought off as my eyes quickly darted over to the clock. 8:24. I only had 6 minutes until I needed to be in the shower. I quickly finished up my breakfast, rinsed my bowl out, and put it in the dishwasher. I hopped in the shower two minutes late, so I needed to take a quicker shower than normal. It was starting to get cold outside, and I usually love taking twenty minute hot showers before going out, but an eighteen minute shower would have to do. After finishing my slightly shortened shower, I put on my work clothes and headed out. Work was fine. A bit boring, but fine. I don’t love my job, but I don’t hate it either. It pays the bills, and that’s what really matters. A few hours later, the clock hit 5 and it was time to head home. On my way, I stopped by the grocery store to restock. I was feeling a bit feisty today so I picked up an extra jug. I hadn’t let milk go bad in years. Maybe it would be easier to start buying two jugs at a time? Well, the best way to find out is to test it and see how it goes. After completing my purchase, I drove home. I live in a modest ranch style home and I quite like it. It’s not too big, has an open floor plan, and is just generally cozy. I brought my groceries inside and put them all away before preparing dinner. I grilled some chicken on the stovetop and microwaved a bag of frozen broccoli. I love this kind of meal. It’s quick and easy, but still healthy and delicious. Not 30 minutes after I finished cooking my meal, I had already eaten and cleaned everything up. Another benefit to this sort of cooking. I figured I would spend the rest of the evening watching TV, then head off to bed at around 10 to ensure I would get enough sleep for work the next morning. I sat down and let the evening relaxation begin, though for some reason, I got the feeling that I was being watched… I woke up on the couch with the TV still on. I must have dozed off at some point… I looked up at the clock. 11:53. It was time to get up and go to bed for real this time. I stood up, but as I shut off the TV I thought I heard a sort of scuttling sound behind me. I turned around, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The kitchen was just as I had left it, nice and tidy. It must have been my imagination. I walked into the bedroom, shut the door, and went to sleep. The next morning, I got out of bed and went downstairs to make breakfast. I opened up my fridge and got out the milk. I poured my cereal into a bowl then, as any sane person would do, poured the milk on top. This time, I had enough to fully cover the cereal. Much better. After finishing my breakfast, I checked the time on the clock. 8:27. Perfect. I should be able to get my full twenty minutes today. I put the milk back in the fridge, but stopped for a second. There was no second jug of milk. That’s odd… hadn’t I just yesterday bought two jugs of milk instead of one? Perhaps I had only considered purchasing the second jug and decided against it at the last moment. Yes. That must have been what happened. 8:28. I had spent too much time on this, I was wasting precious shower time. I finished putting my dishes away and got in the shower at precisely 8:30. Twenty minutes later, I put on my work clothes and headed out for the day. It was Friday. I quite liked Fridays. I got to leave at 4:30 if I finished all my work on time and then I got the next two days off. Just think of how many episodes I could watch! After what somehow seemed to be longer than a normal work day, the time had finally come for me to head home. After getting out of my car, I walked up to my front door. Sitting on the welcome mat was a small box. I brought the box in with me and opened it up on the kitchen counter. Inside was a small bag of cookies. Attached to the bag was a note, “Hey John, I’ve been trying to perfect my cookie recipe and I think this newest batch might be the best one yet! Let me know what you think when I see you next Wednesday. -Toni”. I smiled. Toni made the best cookies. She was trying to become a famous baker, and honestly, she might make it. I opened up the bag and tried a cookie. Then two. Then four. Soon half the bag had been devoured. These cookies were delicious! I mustered up my self-control and set the bag on the counter. I would save the rest for later. Besides, I hadn’t even eaten dinner yet. After another delicious meal of two grilled chicken breasts and a side of corn, I sat down to finish out the night with a few hours of the best the TV had to offer. I turned on the tube and started flipping through the channels to see what was on. Finally, I settled on a documentary about rodents and lost myself in the narration. The narrator’s voice was so calm… so smooth… but again, I couldn’t help but get the feeling that I was being watched… I woke up on the couch, the TV still on. I must have dozed off at some point. I looked up at the clock. 1:07. Wow, it sure was late. I turned off the TV. It seemed to be time– I stopped as I heard a quiet wooden creaking sound from somewhere in the kitchen. I turned around, and saw nothing. my kitchen was still just the way I left it, everything clean and put away. I shrugged this off as the house settling and began to walk back to my bedroom. I reached out my hand towards the doorknob, but stopped just before grabbing it. There was nothing on the kitchen counter. Hadn’t I left the rest of my cookies out so they could be enjoyed later? I turned around and went into the kitchen to inspect the counter. Empty. Where had my cookies gone? I couldn’t find them anywhere. This was very strange. I knew that I had put them on the counter. I *knew* that I hadn’t finished them. I checked the floor. Nothing. The cabinets. No cookies. The fridge. Just a jug of milk. The trash can. Only trash. my cookies had simply disappeared. This was… odd, to say the least. Though it was 1:14 AM, perhaps I simply wasn’t remembering what I did with them. So, I returned to my room and went to sleep. The next day proceeded as usual. Breakfast, then a shower, then I was ready for the day. Though today was a bit different. I had nothing planned. I could simply stay inside and watch TV all day. So, that’s exactly what I did. I, of course, took regular stretching breaks and stopped for meals. I made myself a sandwich for lunch. The loaf of bread in my cabinet had seven slices remaining. I used two of them for my sandwich and questioned to myself why they would slice a loaf of bread into an odd number. You need two slices of bread for a sandwich, so what was I supposed to do with that extra slice? Make toast? I dislike toast. It’s too bland. Oh well, I would simply have to buy another odd numbered loaf to even things out. Not today though. Today was TV time. After a while, it began to get dark outside, and I was happy. It had been a good day. I made myself a steak for dinner, but then one thought popped back into my mind… What had I done with my cookies? I thought for sure that I would recall having put them somewhere at some point, but clearly that didn’t happen, so… where were they? I scoured the kitchen. No sign of the cookies anywhere. This was disappointing, to say the least. Those really were the most delicious cookies Toni had made yet, and I had only gotten to eat half of them. Oh well. I would simply ask Toni for more on Wednesday. I went back to the couch and began to flip through the channels again. My eyes grew heavy and I began to drift off… but what was that noise? It sounded like… some sort of scratching. Again, coming from behind me in the kitchen. It wasn’t loud, but it was enough to pull me back out of my near sleep. Scratch, scratch. There it was again. I got up to check it out. As soon as I stood up, the noise stopped. I thought I heard some light thumping, like something scurrying away, but it was very faint, so I was probably just imagining it. I walked into the kitchen and looked around for any signs of anything. Perhaps I had a mouse. Maybe that’s what happened to my cookies. I checked all over the floor, in the bottom of every cabinet, everywhere I had checked previously for the cookies and more, but this time for any sign of a mouse. Nothing. No droppings, no scratches, nothing. Everything was as I had left it. Except… didn’t I have five slices of bread? Why were there only four slices remaining in the bag? A slice was missing. This time I was certain. I had specifically made a mental note about the exact number of slices I had left. Something was going on here. I turned off the TV. I needed to focus. my food was going missing, but I didn’t have a mouse. What other possibilities were there? I checked my doors. Locked. I hadn’t gone out all day, and I knew that the slice had gone missing while I was still at home. What could have possibly happened? I had already checked the kitchen thoroughly for clues, but still nothing. Perhaps it was time to search somewhere else… I walked into the pantry. I’ve never liked the pantry. It’s… creepy. I can’t explain it, but I always get a weird vibe from the place. I always assumed it was just because it was a completely empty room, as I really didn’t need the extra space for food. I could easily keep everything in my cabinets in the kitchen. I tried to turn on the light. Nothing. Then I remembered the other reason why I don’t like the pantry. The lights stopped working. I’ve tried replacing the light bulb a dozen times, but every time I do it would go out within a day. I went and got a flashlight from the closet. I brought it into the pantry and shined it around, trying to see if there was any hint of what was going on. I searched everywhere and couldn’t find anything at first, but then… I noticed a thin line on the wall. It looked kind of like a scratch. Maybe this *was* some sort of mouse or something. But wait… the line was perfectly vertical. That’s not likely to be caused by an accidental scratch. I leaned in closer. It was completely straight, there’s no way this was an accident. It also seemed to be just over two feet tall, spanning the entire distance between the floor and the bottom shelf. I touched the line. It was indented into the wall, it was definitely not just a scratch. I ran my finger down the line and noticed that along the floor was actually another line. This one was much harder to see as it went across flush with the floor, but it was there. I looked up at the top of the vertical line, and sure enough there was a third line flush with the shelf above it. Was this… some kind of door? I pushed on the wall, and it let out a quiet wooden creak as the small trap door slowly swung open. Unfortunately the door was caught on something and wouldn’t open more than a few inches. I could just about shine my flashlight in and make out a little bit of what was in there. It appeared to be some kind of dirt tunnel. It wasn’t very big as far as I could see, but I couldn’t see much. As I shined my flashlight around I noticed the light glinting off of something just a couple feet into the hole. It looked to be just about within reach. I stuck my arm into the slit and just barely got my fingers to touch the source of the glint. It crinkled as I managed to trap it between two fingers and pull it back into the pantry. It was Toni’s bag of cookies. That’s where they went. I reasoned to myself that this must be where whatever was getting in was getting in. The weird thing was, there was still one full cookie left in the bag which really doesn’t make sense because why would a wild animal eat all but one of my cookies? This is getting a bit too weird… I examined the trap door again. It was amazing how well hidden this thing was. I had lived here for seven years now and had never noticed it, and now there was probably something living inside of it. That was a pretty terrifying thought. I pulled the trapdoor closed, well, as closed as I could get it without smashing my fingers, then locked the handle of the pantry door and shut it behind me as I walked back into the kitchen. I would need to call pest control in the morning to check this out. For now, it was time for bed. After just a few minutes I drifted off to sleep. Upon waking up, I had completely forgotten about the previous night's discoveries. Breakfast, shower, ready. I had a few errands I needed to get done, so I figured I might as well get to them as soon as possible. A little after lunch time, I had finished all of my errands and began to drive home. Then I remembered that I needed to call the exterminators. I was already out though, so I thought that I may as well just stop by since it was so close. I pulled into the parking lot and walked in. “Hello sir, how may we help you?” said the clerk. “Oh uh, yeah. So, I found a crack in my wall last night and a few small food items have been disappearing so I think I have a mouse or something. Could someone come and look at that for me?” I replied. “Certainly! If you would like, we have an availability in a couple hours, would that work for you?” “Sure. Here’s my address.” I wrote down my details and handed them to the clerk. “Thank you, we’ll be out soon with an estimate!” said the clerk, as I walked out the door. A few hours later, I heard a knock on the door. Pest control had arrived. “I’m here to see about a crack in your wall?” the man asked. “Yes, thank you. It’s right this way.” I led the man to my pantry, unlocked the door, then went in. “It’s right-” I stopped. The crack was gone. “...here?” The man leaned forward and squinted at the wall where the crack used to be. “Uh… I don’t see anything. Are you sure it was here?” the man asked. “Yeah, I’m positive… it was almost like a door, it swung open just a little bit, but now I don’t see anything.” I replied. I pushed on the area where the door was, but nothing happened. I pushed again, harder this time. It wasn’t moving. “I swear it swung open last night…” I mumbled. “Huh. Well that’s odd… I’ll have a look around and see if I can find anything else then.” he said. “Thank you.” After a few minutes of poking around, he couldn’t find any evidence of any animals and left. “Thank you so much, I’m sorry for wasting your time!” I said as he walked back to his car. “It’s alright, let us know if you find anything else,” he replied. I closed the door and went back to the couch. Was I going crazy? What was happening? I *know* I saw that trapdoor. How could it have simply disappeared? Something for sure was going on, but I just had no idea what it was… Oh well. I supposed I’d just have to set out a couple of mouse traps and see what would happen. That night after finishing up a few chores around the house, I went to bed. I laid awake for a while, just thinking about what was going on. Maybe I had simply imagined that door, but then, how had I retrieved the cookie bag from inside the hole? Perhaps it had just been shut so snugly that you couldn’t see the cracks anymore, but then… how had it been shut? I didn’t fully shut it, so something else must have. Maybe the temperature difference had sucked it shut. I’ve seen that happen with other doors before. Yeah, that’s got to be it. Knowing that I had solved the mystery, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep. Suddenly I jolted awake. I couldn’t see very well, but it appeared that my bedroom door had been left open. I squinted hard to see if I could make out anything else and froze. I felt like I was being watched. No, I *knew* I was being watched. My eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, but I still couldn’t see anything besides my bedroom door, wide open, exposing myself to the outside world. I tried to sit up, but nothing happened. The piercing gaze I felt was coming from just out of the corner of my eye and I needed to see what it was. I did everything I could to turn my head, just a little, but nothing happened. I was petrified. I desperately poured all of my strength and concentration into one finger to just wiggle it a little bit to prove to myself that I still had some control… but nothing happened. I could feel my heart racing. There was nothing I could do. I was completely powerless. I tried to scream, but of course, I couldn’t. Whatever was watching me was right there, just out of sight, but I couldn’t even turn to see what it was. I tried again desperately to do something, anything… but as with all previous attempts, nothing happened. The only thing I could do was lay there. So lay there I did. After what felt like hours, I decided that enough was enough. I gathered together every ounce of energy in my entire body and focused it all directly into one single finger and flexed with all my might, but this time, it moved. That gave me the boost of confidence that I needed to keep going. I flexed another finger. It wiggled, just a bit. I tried to clench my fist. It just about did what I wanted it to. My elbow? Yup, now I can swing my forearm back and forth. Now my shoulder, and my torso too while I’m at it! Yes! I sat up! By now, my eyes had adjusted a little better to the darkness and I looked around. Nothing. I was alone. I let out a sigh of relief. Yet… I still felt that I was being watched. That’s ok. I would simply turn on the lights and prove to myself that nothing was there, that this was all just my imagination. I reached for the lights, then went cold. My entire body froze up, yet again. Another hand was already there. I didn’t know what to do, so I just stayed frozen, my hand resting on top of the stranger’s. I heard a slight giggle coming from the doorway, as the hand slowly slid out of mine and back towards the door. Then I heard that same familiar scurrying sound, followed by the wooden creak that I had become so used to, then, silence.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm trying to get rid of all of my money. [RESPONSE] I work as a taxi driver in England. I don't work in a major city, but it is a reasonably large town. We get a lot of students so weekends between 1am-3am are the best times. I wouldn't say I'm exactly strapped for cash, but that might just be that I'm afraid to admit it. I have just about enough to get by from driving taxis, although business is undoubtedly on a decline, and last month I was seriously considering getting a second job on top of this. That was before the events that I'm about to tell you about. I've picked up some shady characters in my time. I've been driving taxis for about 6 years now, I've always worked for the same small local company - I was their fourth employee. But in my time here, there's definitely been a handful of drives I'll never forget. One of these, and the one this story starts at, was last month when a woman got into the car and told me to "just drive". It was bright out, and at first, I thought maybe she was being followed by some creep. She was carrying 2 large black duffle bags, each with 3 large ASCII smiley faces in a white font. Just ":) :) :)". This has given me a bad image of this symbol, I can't see it online or in a text without freezing up for a brief moment. I never got the woman's name, but she had shoulder-length red hair and looked to be in her early 20s. I kept asking the woman where she wants me to go and if she was in danger. But she just kept saying "just drive", and so I kept just driving. This went on for about 10 minutes, and I had driven to just about the other side of town. "This is fine, pull over." Finally, she said something else. As I pulled over, before the taxi had even come to a complete stop, she had opened the door and was climbing out. I yelled at her about the price, but it was no use - She was off and I didn't want to cause a scene by chasing her. Besides, she was clearly already scared of someone or something when she got into my taxi; I didn't want to frighten her more. I had gotten back to the town centre when I realised she had left one of the 2 duffle bags in the footwell in the back. It wasn't the bag or even the large white smiles that caught my attention, but the money that I spotted through the slightly unzipped opening. Looking back, I like to believe it was my intention at this point to turn around and hope the woman was nearby the drop-off spot. But truthfully, I think I had made up my mind about what I was going to do before I even unzipped the bag. Of course, once I did unzip it further, my decision was sealed regardless of my original morals. It was more money than I had ever seen in my life. Telling you this now, I can tell you it was exactly £1,000,000... But at the time, all I knew is that this money was enough to solve any issue I had in my life. It probably goes without saying, but I did consider the legality of this. I knew I could not be caught with this money. Not only did I steal it from someone, but they probably didn't obtain this money legally either. Who walks around with this much cash? And she probably had more in that other bag that she took with her. I did also consider that maybe this was intentional - Maybe I had just been used as her getaway vehicle. It would almost make sense: the scared look on her face, the leaving half of the money with me as a large "thank you". But then I consider the fact that she had no idea who I was - She couldn't trust me. I had seen her face, and this money in the bag was proof, evidence, that a crime had been committed. And unfortunately, if you're looking for an answer as to why she left this money or how she got it, you'll find exactly what I found - Nothing. I waited 1 week before spending a penny. I kept it under my bed; I checked it every day. Whenever I looked at the bag, I felt an almost haunting presence. I can't quite describe it, maybe it was guilt. All I know is that every time I took the bag out from its hiding place, I'd find myself just staring at the print on the side. "Smile, smile, smile." During this week, I did a lot of research to make sure I knew I wouldn't be caught with this money. The woman who got the ride was clearly in too much of a rush to remember both bags, there's no chance she took note of the company or license plate on my taxi. The odds of her tracking me down? Minimal. She didn't even look at me the whole journey. But she wasn't the only factor - Someone was going to be looking for this money. This belonged to someone, somewhere. I looked online and kept tabs on local news. The most that I saw was a robbery that had been attempted at a small corner shop, far out from where I picked this woman up. It was unsuccessful, all 3 robbers were caught (they were all students), and the odds of this small place having £1,000,000 was practically 0. I also emptied the duffle bag once or twice looking for trackers or a mobile phone, but there was nothing. This is also when I counted the money for the first time - Exactly 20,000 £50 notes. After a week, I bought something basic, as a kind of test to make sure the notes weren't marked or anything. I don't know enough about how this stuff works, I've only ever seen it in movies, I just know criminals demanding money in movies usually ask for "unmarked bills". So, I was checking that, I suppose. I bought a new dining set and a toaster. I went for ones that weren't super cheap, but nothing too fancy. Just enough where I could pay with £50 notes without it seeming strange - It came to £97.98. The cashier took the box, and my heart was pounding. As he scanned it, my heartbeat still felt louder than the beep of the checkout. I almost felt like everyone could see my body wobbling with each beat, but I knew this was probably in my head. "Do you have a loyalty card with us?" I gave him the 2 £50s. I didn't even register what he had said until he had taken it from me. "Shit", I thought. He leans into the microphone built into the desk, "Colleague to checkout 3, please, colleague to checkout 3." The pounding in my chest became a fast, racing beat. From slow, hard-hitting drums, to fast, unrhythmic tapping. "I'm sorry, is there a problem?" "Yes, the dining set box is damaged. I'm just going to get a new one for you in case anything inside is broken." I thought I was going to pass out from relief. The sudden change in emotion felt like it had given me whiplash. He handed me my change, and as soon as a new dining set box was handed to me, I left the store. I got into my car and quietly celebrated. It was a success! I had done it! And I hadn't gotten caught! It was a rush of excitement as I realised that this £1,000,000 truly was mine now. I immediately went too far and started looking for a new car. Currently, I used the taxi as my personal vehicle. My boss was kind and let me do that until I got my own. He told me that 6 years ago, and we haven't spoken about it since, I feel like he probably just found it too awkward to bring it back up once it had been too long. I found one in a local car dealership, and I checked on the website to make sure they take cash. They did. So I got home, took the boxes out of the taxi, and set them down in the kitchen. I plugged my toaster in and got the dining set out of the box. I was going to bring it to the sink to wash, as I always assume new cutlery is automatically dirty. But I immediately tripped - Every single plate and bowl smashed, and I hit the floor just after them. I was mostly okay, by my left palm was pretty badly cut up. There was blood all over where my hand had landed on the floor, but it probably looked worse than it was. I cleaned up the blood, and wrapped a bandage around my left hand. I still let my fingers poke out so I could clearly still drive, I didn't want to risk the car not being sold to me over a silly accident. I left the smashed pieces on the kitchen floor as I rushed out the door. It was 7pm, and already getting dark. I wanted to get this car before the place closed. It was only a 15-minute walk from my place. I wasn't planning to get a particularly exciting car - I knew that £1,000,000 was only a lot if you let it last. I wasn't going to go crazy and spend a quarter of it on a car. I found one for £11,300 that was nice enough for me. Silver, convertible roof, second-hand. The walk there was fairly quiet, as I live on the edge of town. Not many people are driving or walking through these parts, the roads are mostly empty at the busiest of times. There's not even an exit into the next village over, so there's no reason to pass through here. The deal itself went through clean and fast. They were closing soon after I got there so they were in a rush to get me out anyway. Before long I was driving it back home. The roads were just as quiet as my walk there. I only saw 1 other car on my drive, right behind me. It was matte blue, and seemed to be someone who lived near me, as they were taking every turn I took. As I slowed down ever-so-slightly at the final turn for my place, BANG. The only other car on the road crashes straight into me. We both get out of our vehicles. The person with their car up the rear of mine was a bald man, and the most apologetic guy I've ever met. Which I guess makes sense given this was entirely his fault. He said "sorry" so much I actually cannot remember how many times he said it. But I did not want any kind of investigation into what happened, or how I could suddenly afford a car on my wage. I convinced the man it was my fault, and not to contact his insurance. I gave him £7,000 and told him to just get his car repaired with that money. After a lot of convincing, he agreed, before apologizing even more. My car wasn't totalled, it wasn't even **that** bad for how hard the impact felt. The rear was a little caved in... But it still worked, and I drove the final 20 seconds home safely. Getting into my place, it was pitch black. I thought this was strange as I don't remember turning any lights off, but I instinctively reached for the switch and flipped it...and, nothing. Still pitch black. At this point, I got a flashlight and went to check the fuse box. Sure enough, a switch had been tripped. After 5 minutes of unplugging various things, I walked into the kitchen, forgetting about the smashed porcelain from earlier. The cuts on my feet weren't as bad as my left hand, but it still hurt and made me jump when I wasn't expecting it. Then my eyes fixed on the toaster, and I realised what was probably going on. I was right - After unplugging it, I could flip the switch back in the fuse box and the power came back! I guess I was sold a faulty toaster. I checked my fridge and had pretty much no food, so I decided I deserved a treat after a stressful day. I got the duffle bag and sat with it at the dinner table, and then ordered a pizza. I decided I was going to be nice and give a handsome tip of £50 to the delivery person. This was probably a symptom of having a guilty conscience; As excited as I was about this money, I couldn't help but keep thinking back to how I acquired it. After about half an hour, there was a knock at the door, and the pizza was here. I had a small conversation with the delivery guy - He was wearing a high-viz jacket, so most likely had to bike here, but it's only a few streets down so that's what I'd expect. The jacket actually looked pretty cool - It had a reflective version of the pizza place's logo. He said it was his last delivery and then he's home for the weekend. I gave my tip, which he greatly appreciated, and for a brief second, I felt like a good person. I sat down to eat. I had gotten the Meat & Veggie Feast, my favourite pizza from a local delivery place. It had ham, pieces of meatball, chicken, pepper, and sweetcorn. Usually, when I order this, it's a happy moment. It's a treat for myself or a celebration of something. On this day, though, the unforgettable memory is the pizza itself. Despite everything that had happened that day, the pizza is what made this day terrible. I got not even a few bites in when I started choking. Not just a small choke, where you feel awkward if you do it around people. I mean properly choking. For a solid 30 seconds, I could not breathe at all, yet it felt like minutes. I have never felt so terrified in my life because I truly thought it was the end of my life. The whole time, the bag felt like it was staring at me with 3 faces. "Smile, smile, smile." Once I stopped choking, I burst into tears. I cannot capture how I felt at this moment - I was scared. I went to bed without eating any more pizza. That night, I had a dream that was so vivid and realistic. I've never experienced something that felt so real, not even in reality itself. In the dream, I was using my new toaster, when it sparked and set fire to the cardboard box on the floor, the one it had arrived in. I unplugged the toaster as fast as I could and threw it away from the fire. It landed on its side, and on the bottom was an ID number for the product - 13775. This number had no significance to me, but I remember vividly reading it. At this point, I felt a burning sensation behind me. I turned around and the fire was growing more and more. Just standing near it was burning me. I woke up with a jolt, and with no hesitation, ran to where I had left the toaster. I look at the bottom. 13775. I know in my heart that this dream is showing me what should have happened. This toaster tripping the switch was actually the best possible scenario - The alternative would have ended up being this. At this point, I realised something. Something that made my heart sink. Every bad thing that had happened to me these past few days had been from possessions I had purchased with the money I stole. The cut hand, the faulty toaster, the car crash, the pizza. All of it was directly caused by this money. I know it sounds paranoid, but I could not shake the feeling that it had to be what was happening. I don't know why it's happening, but I just know it to be true. Maybe the money is cursed, or maybe this is punishment for me taking it. Whatever it was, I knew it couldn't be mine. My immediate thought was to donate it all to charity. Anonymously, of course, I didn't want any questions being asked. But that was when I turned on the TV and saw that one of the main roads in town is closed for the morning. They were talking about a car crash and that traffic would be bad for the next few hours. The picture being shown was of a matte blue car, crashed into a river that runs alongside the road. They didn't show who was in the car, but they said that 2 people were killed. The driver, and someone walking by - Apparently their clothes were too dark for the car to see them, as the news presenter used this time to warn people of how important it is to wear visible clothing at night. I turned off the TV. I felt sick. I don't think I need to explain what happened, I don't know if I even have the stomach to type it. But I knew at this moment that this money didn't exclusively harm me, but anyone. I could not in good conscience give this to a charity. My next thought was to gamble it all away. I have no proof, but I believe that the money only continues its curse if given away to someone, because then it still has a curse to carry out. If I buy something with it, and someone else ends up getting that money in the future, it has already carried out the curse on me through the object I purchased with it. It just made sense to me. I took £1000 with me to a casino. I used my taxi to drive there. The first thing I did was the roulette wheel, I bet all of my money on Black 13. Bad luck number, best possible chance to lose. They spin the wheel, and the ball goes round and round, making a *clack* sound as it hits each bump in the wheel. Eventually, the ball came to a stop, on a black tile. I couldn't see what number exactly, but as you might have guessed, as the wheel itself slowed down, it was clearly on 13. This trend continued all night. I played Blackjack - A game I'd never played before, I just went with the flow - and won. I played on the slot machines and got the jackpot on my first go. They were live-streaming horse races and taking bets, and of course, my horse would win every time. I went into this place with £1000 and came out with £20,561. I had done the exact opposite of what I was trying to achieve. In fact, this bought my total money overall to over £1,000,000. I gave up. I went home before the casino thought I was cheating - If that's even possible. I felt stuck. I had more money than I ever thought I would have in my life, and I wanted nothing more than to get rid of it. Last night, I did what had to be done. I took the duffle bag and drove to a lake on the other side of town. I actually had to follow the river that the matte blue car had crashed into to get there - It comes out into that same lake. The whole drive there I felt sombre. I was really getting rid of this money. In a way it made everything that had happened in the past couple of weeks seem worthless - I was just going to go back to how I was before all of this, and then what? All that harm was for nothing? Not a single thing is different, besides the downsides. But it was the only thing I could do. I pulled up in the car park for the lake. Unsurprisingly it was empty. Nobody wants to be at a lake when it's dark, not if you want to feel safe. Ironically, though, I was here for that very reason - To make myself feel safe again. I took another look at the duffle bag as I approached the edge of the lake. "Smile, smile, smile," why were these 3 faces on the front of the bag? Why do I even care? The lake water on this side of the lake came up slightly onto the grass pavement, like where the ocean meets the beach. the tips of my shoes were in shallow water, whilst the heels were dry. Just then, I felt something bump my shoe. It was a wad of cash. The exact same wad of cash I had given to the man who crashed into me. It had made its way down the river, and to me. As I bent down to pick it up, I also noticed another £50 was alongside it. This had not come from this same wad, it was separate - A total of £7,050. I'm still not sure where this came from. But I put it all into the duffle bag, zipped it up, and placed it on the floor. With a kick of my feet, it rolled into the lake, and I watched it sink. I drove back home, and last night, I had the best night's sleep I'd had for a while. I didn't dream anything - It was just peaceful. It was bliss. It was a much-needed sleep. But now, I don't know what to do. Because this morning, I woke up, and felt that the bed was damp. I noticed that my hand was touching something wet. Disgusted, I pulled the covers off of me. The duffle bag was there, on my mattress, soaking wet. I looked at the faces on the front, and noticed something different. "Smile, smile, frown."<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] What a crazy dream… [RESPONSE] I jump up in bed slowly taking on my surroundings after the night mare I just had. I decided to go make a cup of hot chocolate and share the nightmare with yall. It was a stormy night and I was sitting at home watching chick flicks. I turned to look out of my glass door watching the rain pounding the window. Then came the flash of lightning revealing a large shadow of what looks to be a giant creature on my porch but it was gone just as quick. After watching a couple more times and seeing nothing I figured it was just one of the many trees in my yard. Drowsiness finally hit me and I go to get in bed. The brightness of the moon from the window beside my bed doing close to nothing to lessen the darkness. I finally close my eyes right as the sound creaking floor boards sounded. I instantly shot up in bed thinking I imagined it. To my horror faint foot steps slowly creaked closer and closer to my room then stopped I saw what looked like the shadow of giant claws. I sat staring until the feet retreated and then silence. I shrugged it off and rolled back to face the wall I had just started to close my eyes when the lightning lit the room up enough for me to see the most monstrous creature in the far end of the room. It was quick but long enough to see the long sharp talons for hands and feet. Glowing red eyes on the most horrendous looking face showing it’s razor sharp teeth with an ominous grin drooling. With the next flash though it was gone. Yea definitely need to get to bed I’m hallucinating now. I lay back down and finally fall asleep. *Drip* drip*drip around 30 minutes later I awake and instantly scrunch my face wiping it from the rain now leaking through my roof…or so I thought…the second I open my eyes I see that horrendous face again drool hitting my cheek. It gives me a sinister grin and a low growl right before lunging at me clawing my arm teeth going for my face. (Dream Over) after jumping up and out the bed I finally calmed down realizing it was just a nightmare and I’m safe. Which brings me to the present hot chocolate in one hand typing this story sitting at my desk lights off except for my laptop screen with the other. The rain has slacked up lightning strikes about every 15 minutes . Matter of fact it should be striking any time from now. That hot chocolate was delic- what the hell? I just noticed these deep gashes going up my arm as I say my cup down. I don’t know how I didn’t feel them they like pretty bad. They were covered in dry blood so obviously it happened at least an hour ago but I’d been in bed…dread and fear is what just washed over me. No it couldn’t possibly be…it’s just a coincidence I tried to convince myself. But that disappeared a second later when a strike of lightning quickly flashed a familiar looking shadow if I’d have blinked I would’ve missed it. I shake my head laughing at myself for letting a silly Nightmare get to me like that none of that would ever happen in real life lol there’s no such things. Alrighty people gotta end the story here I need to search for roof repair companies and windows my roof is currently dripping rain droplets on top of my head and I can feel the warm howling wind on the back of my neck thanks to my cracked window it sounds so funny almost like a low growl…<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Bottle [RESPONSE] As I sit here now beside my pond and watch the autumn fog dance along the water, and as the leaves whisper and chatter to one another as the wind lets them, I think of my wife, and how sorry I am I can’t live the rest of my days here like she wanted. On our little 12-acre farm. Our little quiet heaven, or at least that’s what it was supposed to be. But the land holds secrets. I know now, without a lingering question in my heart, that Hell exists. I wish that gave me comfort because that means that Diana is waiting for me at our next quiet little heaven, one that doesn’t mock the search for peace, but it doesn’t. Once the sun winks its red eye closed and retires for the evening I’ll be gone from this place. But there are two things I need to do first, and one of them is to write this down before I put it behind me forever. Although, a part deep inside of me, the part that can't be lied to, knows that the curtain will never close on me again no matter where I go. Knows that I’m forever and always awake. Cancer took her last year. She was thirty-seven. There are a million words in me I could say about losing her. The shock, the denial, the hope, the hope lost, and the twinkle in her eyes that was lost with it. The pain. Those nonsense last words. The last breath… She’s gone now. That’s all that matters. We’d bought a twelve-acre homestead in Southern Illinois to escape the city. The house had been built in 1898 as a colonial revival home and was more or less falling apart, but there was this secluded, rural charm about it. It sat on a strip of land several miles off of any main road, with fields used for harvesting corn nestling the house on either side, and behind it was a fenced-in pasture that shot back into the woods, which was perfect for our two horses. When we did the tour we sat on the porch and looked out at what might’ve been the most peaceful view we’d ever seen, with fields of wheat yawning and bowing in the wind like a sea of gold across from us. I could see in her eyes that she was in love, and so we made our minds up to make an offer right then and there. During the final walkthrough, the sellers had forgotten they’d changed the locks (they were going through what was apparently a rough divorce) and our agent had to call the estranged wife in to give us access to the home. She was amiable enough when she arrived and gave us a handful of apologies for not remembering to provide a new set of keys, but what struck me as odd, even then, was that she had seemed reluctant to step onto the property at all. She parked her car on the gravel road about one-hundred feet in front of the house and talked to us from there, and when she wasn't sure which key it was on her keychain to hand to us, she looked disquieted. She walked briskly to the house and fumbled with her keys and the deadbolt until she finally found the right one, and opened the door without walking in, pulling her hand away from the doorknob like it was something hot to the touch. She said something about needing to get some fresh air, told the agent to bring her keys after locking up, and then hurried back to her car. I thought there may have just been bad memories of the marriage that she didn’t want to revisit, or that she maybe felt awkward, or that she was intruding. It all makes sense now. We knew we had our work cut out for us from the beginning, and when we settled in it was one thing after another: leaking toilets, bad insulation, water damage — but we were happy. Diana got sick not long after, but I’m truly grateful for that short period of time when we would work on our old farmhouse, drink coffee and watch the sunrise from our front porch, taking in all of the life around us. After she passed, her sister took her horses as agreed, as well as our two dogs temporarily. It wasn’t my original plan but I was taking everything pretty hard and just needed to be alone for a while; just needed some quiet, which I didn't get anyway because of the damned wind, with its constant howling and moaning through the windows. My drinking was bad. There are large gaps in my memory, especially right after. I drank from the bottle like the evening’s watery haze would drink me in return, hoping it would dissolve me into nothing. One morning, I’d woken up to a massive hangover that felt like it couldn’t be cured by anything other than the sun and a walk, so I threw on some coveralls and went on into the woods behind the property. I’d known there was a stream or a creek of some kind that ran East through it, but the thorns and brush were so overgrown I couldn’t see through more than ten or so feet. There was a supposed path of some kind that led to the stream, and I thought if I could just push my way through enough, I’d eventually run into it. It only took me about five minutes until an overgrown - but - manageable clearing revealed itself and led me to the small stream, a steady flow of water running through it. It was only about six or so inches deep but had carved its own winding path deep into the dirt over the years. I followed, thinking I’d see the tracks of various animals nearby that came to drink from it, and I did. I continued on and in the water, I started seeing these broken fragments of bottles. They were old; very old; softened and smoothed by water and sediment and time. They were the kind of bottles you’d see on a movie set in some 19th-century period piece film, with deep brown and emerald glass with all of those gaudy, oblong angles, like some sort of snake oil elixir. There were just a few scattered fragments at first, but the further I trudged on, the more abundant the shards became until I came to the stream's watershed, and just beyond that was an opening in the ground that looked like some sort of den, big enough to walk in if I crouched. There must've been a dozen or so broken bottles in front of it. It was like someone had dumped them in a hurry all at once, or had drunk them in unison and then smashed them for some reason. Jutting out of the sand in the water, was a green bottle that seemed like it had remained intact over the years. It had two circular finger handles on either side of its neck and some kind of impressed label in the glass, but the letters were immersed and I couldn't make them out. I pulled it free and rinsed it in the water, and I was just able to make out the smoothed letters stamped into the glass: Arsenic. Bottles of poison... but why? Why here? And how had this been here all these years without being found or picked up by hunters or one of the previous owners? I reached into my pocket to take a picture of the whole scene with my phone but realized I had forgotten it. The hole bellowed at me as if commanding me to gaze into its swallowing darkness, and although I couldn't see anything, I felt I was being watched from within it. A coldness crawled up my spine. I shoved the bottle into the big front pocket of my coveralls and made my way back, not being able to help but check behind me several times along the way. When I got back to the house, I poured myself a neat glass of whiskey. It was still early in the afternoon, but hunting for little treasures on the land was something Diana had loved to do, and so the thought of coming across such a strange find made the antique arsenic bottle quite heavy in my pocket. I thought I'd lighten it with bourbon. I placed the old, green bottle on my coffee table and sat across from it on my couch, and I sipped my drink. I stared at it in my quiet, empty house, quiet save for the wind. I sipped again. It was so interesting. I thought deeply on how it got there; how it hadn't been found in -- well, I don't know. One hundred-thirty years, maybe more? I knew arsenic had been used in tonics and pesticides before they knew how deadly it was, but it just seemed such a strange place for them to be. I thought maybe the isolation and grief had made me paranoid. I sipped my drink again. I poured another glass, and then a few more. The room went orange as the low sun came through the glass and the wind howled through the poorly-sealed windows. The old poison bottle had entranced me, and in staring at it I'd lost track of time. Things went soft around the edges and the whiskey numbed my tongue, glass after glass, but I remember at some point I'd imagined it had comforted me; spoken to me with silent words. *Drink* it had said. *Drink it in.* And I did. It knew my pain and wanted it gone. I sunk into the bottle and faded with the evening. I awoke on the couch with a massive hangover, the bottle still staring. An empty one that had housed the whisky the night before now rested beside it. I fumbled around in the medicine cabinet for some spare aspirin and forced them down with some water from the sink, and went to the front porch to sit in my favorite chair and catch some crisp morning air. When I stepped outside, I noticed that the chair had been turned around, toward the windows, facing right into my living room where I had slept the night before. It had been pulled close to the glass, almost like whoever was sitting in it wanted to be as close as possible to get a better view of the inside. It had to have been me, I'd thought. But why the hell would I do that? The wind had been howling and was known to blow things around, sometimes clear into the yard, but this chair was made out of cured oak and weighed thirty, maybe forty pounds. It didn't seem likely to have moved it. This heavy, floral smell clung to the wood, like some sort of gaudy lavender perfume you'd find buried in some box in your grandmother's basement. Not thinking of the absurdity of it, I went back inside and sniffed the mouth of the old bottle. Nothing but the remnant smell of water. The pain from the hangover pulled the turned chair to the back of my mind. I had been in a drunken stupor and could've fumbled around out there, doing God knows what. I only managed to make it a few hours before heading to the liquor store to grab another bottle. I sat back on my couch, across from the old green bottle and its drained companion from the night before, and I drank in silence, just like it wanted me to. Sometime during the night, maybe eleven or so but It's hard to say, I was very drunk, I was browsing my phone from my couch, and three soft knocks tapped at my door. I didn't see any car lights come down the gravel road that ran adjacent to my house. Maybe one of the neighbors needed something, I'd thought. For reasons I can't quite comprehend, I offered a consulting glance at the bottle on the table. It told me to answer in its wordless way, and I listened. I got up and went for the door, flipping the light switch to the porch on and remembering there had been a short in the wires from mice or something. I opened it. There stood a thin young woman, faintly bathed in what little light the only lamp in the living offered. It was hard to make out her features, but she looked like she might have been in her early to mid-twenties. Her hair was long and looked like it could’ve been a light brown, draping halfway down her back. She wore this white embroidered nightgown that might have been beautiful, except even in the timid light I could see dirt on it in several places. The shadows hid much of her face, but even then she looked pallid, her eyes bringing about this astounded look on her face as if she were confused or lost. I stood there with my drink in my hand, unsure of what to say or how to address such a strange and unexpected visitation in the middle of the night. She said that she was sorry for disturbing me, but that she was looking for her dog. She said she lived about a mile down the road and had been hearing prairie wolves the past few nights, and her dog had run off into the woods and was nowhere to be found. She said she was getting very worried they might have tricked him into chasing after them. I told her I hadn't seen or heard of any coyotes and then asked her about the dog. She said he was a collie and his name was Copper. I looked down and noticed she didn't have any shoes on and her feet were covered in mud. "Did... you go running through the woods in a gown without shoes on to look for him?" I asked her. She glanced down and studied her muddied feet with that same surprised look and said nothing. I thought maybe she was drunk or medicated, but she looked harmless and the whiskey had always made me well-disposed. I told her to wait a moment and I'd go get a towel so she could wipe her feet off and could come inside and warm up for a moment. Then, we'd take a spotlight to go looking for him. As I reached to close the door handle and grab a towel, I noticed her eyes, so dazed and cloudy and confused before, now sprung alive in the dark with a distilled intensity, focusing in on the green arsenic bottle that sat on my coffee table. She took a single, eager step toward it, stopping just before my doorway. I held my hand out to halt her, a little startled by the approach but still attempting to be polite. She gave a sheepish grin and shook her head, "I'm deeply sorry. The cold has made me too eager for warmth this evening," she said. It was so fast I could've easily missed it, but as she smiled I noticed the inside of her upper lip stuck to her teeth, lagging on one side before breaking free as if her mouth had been exceptionally dry. The flesh of her lips looked -- harder than usual; stiffer, thin slivers of her dark gums revealing themselves. The whiskey had dulled my senses, but when she stepped in closer, I also noticed a lavender perfume smell on her and thought of the chair outside. She could've just been dehydrated for all I knew, but the whole thing just felt off; felt wrong. I closed the door and caught her glance at the bottle with that same look again, unable to will her eyes from peering at it. I stood there for a moment, hand still on the doorknob, and then flicked the deadbolt locked with careful fingers. I thought about calling the police at that instant. It was weird, sure, but I'd ran out after our dogs half-dressed, with no shoes on before when they chased deer or a passing car or something, so it wasn't unthinkable. But that smell. There was no mistaking it. Behind me, I could feel the bottle was displeased. *Let her in.* I shook my head at it and then downed the rest of my drink. "No." "Pardon?" I could hear her say from the other side of the door. "Actually, I'm very sorry, but it's late. I can call someone for you if you like. I'll keep an eye out for Copper and will take him to your house if he turns up. Which house did you say it was down the road again?" There was a pause that felt like an eternity. "Oh," she said, finally, not answering my question. "That's a shame." She sounded disappointed. Not angry or insulted, just let down. I opened my mouth to apologize again, but the words never managed to crawl out of it. The lamp's dim light didn't reach far enough to illuminate the porch through the windows, but in the darkness, I thought I could see the silhouette of a head tilt its way into view from the side of the windows the front door had been butted up against. The soft creaks of graceful bare feet on wooden steps groaned as she left the porch and she walked into the night without saying another word. I grabbed my nine-millimeter and made my way around the other doors to double-check the locks. My mind was reeling; trying to process what had just happened. "Prarie wolves..." I said to myself as I poured more bourbon into my glass. Who calls them that these days?" A part of me felt guilty. Maybe I'd just sent a poor girl with a missing dog back into the cold, but her mouth; that perfumed smell on her that saturated my chair the night before; how she looked at the green bottle on my table. My heart pounded in my chest. I didn't think she could pose any real physical threat to me, but I felt uneasy. Un-alone. I took another drink from the glass. I pulled my phone out to call the police, trying my best to stay out of the line of sight of the front windows. Although I'd heard her walk off moments earlier, I couldn't help but feel naked through the glass. I got ready to dial the local station's number, but the old green bottle beckoned me over to it. *Drink* it had said. And I did. I thumbed my phone back into my pocket and sunk back into the couch, and drank myself into an empty void. Three empty bottles greeted me from the table in the morning, the newest member laying on its side. I was on the floor. Even with the throbbing headache, I thought of the strange woman, and how I managed to get drunk instead of calling the police. I looked around. The house was trashed. I hadn't cleaned it in weeks; hadn't even swept up the clumps of dog hair that accumulated in the corners of the rooms and under the furniture from months before. And now my drinking had gotten so bad, I couldn't even manage to call the police before blacking out. Diana would've been heartbroken if she'd seen this. She hated my drinking. I let shame hit me like a puff of heavy smoke, and then I called the sheriff. As I dialed I could still feel that green arsenic bottle pulling my gaze toward it, weighing the room down from that coffee table and anchoring everything in place, drawing me in like a dancing fire in the dark. The sheriff came by not long after and I told her what had happened the night before; that a strange young woman was knocking on my door in the middle of the night but hadn't actually done anything illegal that I could be sure of, but that she might have been trespassing on my property the previous night and might have been on drugs. I told the sheriff where the woman said she came from and asked her if she knew any of the homes along the road the woman had described to me. She said there was only one within a few miles on that particular stretch, but the house had been condemned twenty or so years. She said drugs had gotten pretty bad in the neighboring town, and it was possible the problem had made its way to the more rural parts of the area. She told me she would ask around in the area to see if any of the other homes experienced anything similar and then offered to check in throughout the night. I told her it wasn't necessary and that I had plenty of guns in the house to protect myself with if it came to that. After the sheriff left, I uncorked my bottle and poured a glass. I just needed to take the edge off. When I looked over at the coffee table I noticed the antique bottle was gone. Panicked, I searched the house for it for fifteen or so minutes before I realized I'd put it in my coat pocket before the sheriff came by earlier, just to keep it close. A few hours later, as the sun was going down, I went around back near the gated strip that led to our pond and pasture that was butted up against the woods, where Diana's horses used to be. There had been some equipment I'd left out there for weeks and there was supposed to be a storm coming that evening, and so I’d wanted to move everything into the barn. When I got back to the gate I noticed it had been opened, which was something I never did, even with the horses gone. In the fading light, I made out... footprints, along a thin beaten path that ran through the center of the strip where the horses used to walk up to get feed. Bare footprints, from small bare feet. She had walked through the woods, through the pasture to come knocking on my door. I thought I could make out at least two sets going both toward the house and then back down the path again, but with overcast blocking the moon and stars it was getting hard to see anything. I followed the footprints two hundred or so yards until I could see them cut down into the pasture and to the gate that led into the woods. It had also been left open. I reached for the old green bottle for comfort and realized I'd left it in the house. I needed my gun. I needed my gun and I needed to call the sheriff, and I needed that god damned bottle. I began making my way back to the house when I saw the woman, walking past the pond and the mausoleum where Diana rested, and heading toward the house. She would've been impossible to make out in the dark if it weren't for that white gown. I yelled out to her and started running before tripping over some broken wire fencing that was on the ground. She either ignored me or couldn't hear my voice through the rustling corn, which had begun to move with the wind from the oncoming storm. I was just too far away from her. She made her way to the house with this calm grace and then went around it to the front. I realized my gun had been on my table, in plain sight, and I hadn't locked my door. I'd been drinking until I was numb, just like that fucking bottle had told me to; made myself careless and stupid. There were hammers and a machete in the barn, but it was in the opposite direction and by the time I grabbed one of them she could easily have been inside the house for a minute, maybe more. The best thing I could find on the way was a little trench shovel in the garden. I grabbed it. When I got around to the front of the house, the door had been cracked half-open. She’d gone inside. The wind blew harder and began its howling, now carrying cold pellets of rain that stung as they hit my face. My legs didn't want to approach the house, but slowly, I did, that middle step to the porch creaking the loudest it ever had, even in the wind and the rain. I pushed the door open further with the tip of the shovel. The whiskey bottles that had made themselves so comfortable next to the old green poison bottle were scattered about the floor, the green bottle gone. The gun was still sitting there, untouched. I grabbed it. I looked around for my phone but didn't see it in sight. I could hear her walking around upstairs, in what sounded like Diana's office. I aimed my gun into the darkness toward the top of the stairs and yelled out to her: "Come out of there! I'll fucking shoot you if I have to." The creaking floorboards stopped for a moment, and then she walked out onto the landing; an obscure phantom in the dark, except for the faint lunar glow of her gown; except for the whites in her confounded eyes. She had the bottle in her hands and she seemed to be crying. Her hands were shaking. "... Don't drop it," I said lowly; eagerly. She tilted the bottle up above her head and stuck her tongue in the opening of its neck, desperate for something that hadn't been inside of it for well over a century. Her tongue made this squelching noise as she did it, as if it were much, much too dry. She gave me a distraught look and cried harder. The wind moaned through the windows; through the darkness of the house. I'd never felt more alone in my life. "Why isn't it working, Elijah?" She asked me from the top of the stairs. I didn't know what to say, nor did I have any clue who Elijah was. The woman had clearly lost her mind. I had to make sure she put the bottle down before she broke it. "Come on down. We'll just talk about it." She cradled the bottle tighter, taking slow steps down the staircase and stopping at its base. "It didn't work for me," she said in the dark, sobbing as the words left her. I lowered my gun and reached for the lamp on the island in the kitchen near the foot of the stairs, and for the first time, I truly saw her. She wasn't much more than an emaciated skeleton. Her skin was hardened and yellowed and pulled tight to her. She looked... she looked not much different than Diana did on her hospice bed just before the end. No doubt If I would've left her in her bed a few days after she'd passed away, they would've been hard to tell apart. I should've been terrified and a part of me was, but she looked so helpless; so pitiful, like a child holding a teddy bear. This overwhelming sensation of sadness filled me. "Why did it work for you and not me, Elijah?" She asked me again. I set my gun on the table. I thought for a moment about whether or not to correct her on who I was, and decided it didn't feel like it was the right thing to do. I asked her what she meant. Her eyes sobered like she realized I wasn't whoever this person was for a moment, and then she retreated. "It calls to me, but why am I still here and you're not?" I didn't respond, but I felt her words. I'd felt them in me every day since Diana had gone. "And the others?" She asked I began crying with her. "I'm so sorry." At this, she regarded me, then winced with a tender pain and looked away. She tried drinking from the bottle again in vain. I reached out and touched her arm gently to stop her. Her skin was cold and hard. She sobered her gaze once more, and for a moment the faintest smile rose on her face, and then she retreated again for the last time, into whatever life she had known when she was still alive. I guided her gently to the door, her bottle still cradled close to her, and stood in the doorway as she left. I wanted to hold onto it more than anything, but it didn't belong to me. I asked her, "Was there ever even a Copper at all?" "Have you seen him?" She asked. I shook my head. She turned and moved around the house. I walked into the yard and to the side and watched her go on, back through the pasture and into the woods, the rain and the wind blowing her hair and gown like wild rags. She never looked back once. And then she was gone. The next few days I did a deep dive into county records, trying to find anyone that ever owned a home in the area named Elijah, but nothing turned up. It was as if she - and whoever Elijah was - never existed at all. I don't know exactly what happened to her, but I feel like she was warning me in the only way she was capable, to avoid whatever Hell she had found herself in. Every day I fight the urge to go back into those woods and see if that bottle is back where I found it. I catch myself walking towards the trees that lead to the stream; to that hole, and inevitably to that bottle. But I don't dare go in. She'd no doubt come looking to reclaim it, like she's likely done many times before. And if she didn’t, I don't think I'll be strong enough to part with it again. Which is why I'm writing this. I said that I have two things to do before I leave, and writing this down had to come first so you might understand when the realtor tells you why there's an abandoned mausoleum near the pond in the back pasture. I can't let Diana stay here. I'm taking her with me and reburying her closer to our hometown, near the place we first met. Someday, I'll revisit that place in the woods and see if I can do something; anything for the woman, but I'm not strong enough to face it. Not yet. Even now, I can feel the pull of that bottle out in the stream, begging me to come back and take it. And even as I write this, I can feel I'm being watched from the treeline, and I'm getting this feeling that it isn't her this time.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm A Rookie Deputy Working On A Long Dark Highway. (Part 3) [RESPONSE] (First: Previous: I’d finished my book of crossword puzzles faster than expected. I didn’t have time to get a new book for my next shift meaning I would be very bored at night. I met up with Rusty and he shoved a bundle of books into my chest. I looked them over finding them to be some old word search books. Some with pages torn out, or puzzles already finished. I wanted to point out those facts but knew Rusty would give me some attitude if I brought it up. I think he rescued the books from a recycling bin from somewhere. At least I had something to do. I didn’t really have a chance to look at the books. For once we were a bit busy on that long stretch of highway actually doing our jobs. There were a few drunk drivers and people speeding. We found out some sort of bonfire party was happening and that’s where all the trouble came from. Sure enough, a call came in for a large loud gathering of underage kids drinking. We needed to wait on a few other police to help break up the party. I don’t want to spoil anyone’s fun but this party got dangerous and stupid. The teens created a fire too large that nearly burned down the woods if we hadn’t gotten the call when we did. The tower of flames scorched some of the nearby leaves and I thought it was a miracle nothing been burned down before we got there. The morons were also putting spray paint cans in the flames which could have killed someone. Besides a few drunk and scared kids who to threw some punches, we didn’t bother arresting anyone for the underage drinking. We just made sure they were collected by their parents or a sober driver. The fire department had been called already. The firemen got right to work to put out the bonfire, cursing the ones who thought it was a good idea to start one in the middle of the woods. It was one of the more exciting shifts, but in a normal sense. I expected this sort of thing when I signed up for this job and not monsters in the woods. On the way back for the night we drove down the highway, our clothing smelling of smoke. I got started on notes for our reports so I didn’t notice what Rusty saw along the road until he started to pull over. I looked up to see a car just sitting abandoned. It was morning but we still had a few hours before the sun rose. The car sat empty; all doors open but no lights on. Rusty got out and I followed him wondering if someone just got into car trouble, or this was a dumped stolen car. Rusty was tense. His hand hovering over his gun and I did the same unsure of what to expect. I followed behind him and got out my flashlight to see the car better. Strange things happened on this long stretch of highway. I’d already experienced two weird nights but Rusty said supernatural things didn’t happen often. I must be lucky that I already seen so much in such a short time being on the force. I stopped beside the backseat of the car and shone my flashlight inside. The inside dirty and the seat torn in one spot. This had to be someone dumping a stolen car. If it wasn’t stolen then the owner would have brought it into be recycled. Metal prices around here was worth the cost of towing the car. Most people needed the money so even if they only got thirty bucks after paying for the towing, they would put in the effort to bring it to the scrap yard. Why waste the time getting it all the way out here if it wasn’t stolen? “Should we call for a tow?” I asked Rusty. I didn’t dare touch the car and just kept looking it over. The thing looked like it sat outside for a while. Some rust starting around the wheels and a bird's nest stuck in the empty back tail light. “Get back to our car.” Rusty hissed in a low voice I’ve never heard from him before. I froze not understanding what made him suddenly so upset. He was looking off into the overgrown field on the side of the road, his flashlight catching something in the dark. A shape moved in the grass and I moved a few steps closer to our car. I jumped in fear when a dark form jumped into the road. Here I was hoping I wouldn’t come across anything strange for a while. I stared at the monster, unsure of what I was seeing. The thing looked far too pointed to be anything natural. It was almost like a pitch-black wolf and yet... wrong. The snout long and came to a sharp point, along with the ears. The body of spiky rough fur being supported on legs became pencil thin and the paws weren’t there. Just small needle thin points sticking into the ground. The tail long and flowing also ending in a sharp point. The face turned towards my own, the red eyes almost an expressive as a human’s. “You get head start. Run.” The monster spoke in a voice much like a wheezing laugh. I looked at Rusty to catch his eyes. There was more of these creatures in the fields and we couldn’t take them all. Could we get past this one to get to our car? Rusty aimed his sidearm and fired. The thing jumped around in the road laughing at us. No matter how hard Rusty tried to hit this monster, it was too fast. I considered our options. Run and get eaten, or try for the car and get eaten. Then another option came to us. One I didn’t want to take but might be the only way to get out of this alive. Well, not alive but maybe end in a death that wasn’t being eaten but these wrongly shaped wolves. A pale white hand waved at us from behind the trees in the forest. I knew it belonged to the monster of the forest I’ve come across before. I didn’t want to deal with that thing either. A wolf came forwards and tore off a piece of Rusty’s sleeves and gave him a minor cut. We didn’t have a choice but to run. I rushed around the old car and grabbed my partner by the back of the shirt. He wasn’t easy to get moving. More of those wolves came from the grass, drool dripping down from their sharp mouths, catching the light of the moon. Soon Rusty was the one dragging me alone and into the woods. Those creatures hot on our trail, laughing the entire time. Black shapes darted through the trees. I heard them jumping around behind us, slamming into the bark causing leaves and small branches to fall down. We ran hard and for someone his size, Rusty kept up pretty well. My chest ached wanting a break. The laughing coming from behind us kept me going. In sheer fear I pressed on convinced the moment we stopped; we were dead. My partner snagged a branch and faltered for a second. That was all it took. One of those dark wolves came down from the trees and onto of Rusty, knocking him to the ground. I shouted and drew my gun. I fired shots into the monster at such a close range I knew I hit it even in the dark. The monster looked up and met my eyes with dark red ones. A grin came over its point face that caused the eyes to nearly close in glee. It let out a long loud laugh and jumped away. I didn’t know if these things were playing or really wanted to kill us. Might as well be both. I got down to help Rusty and see what the wolf did to him in the few seconds of attacking. His back covered in cuts and I winced seeing a large puncture wound on his shoulder. I grabbed his good arm and put it over my shoulder, half dragging the larger man along into a clearing. Rusty made an effort to stand up. I faced my back on him and he did the same, trying for us to be able to cover each other’s blind spots. My hands trembled slightly listening to that never ending laughter out of the woods. Red eyes moved in the dark, their voices mocking us. We needed to do something. I doubted my gun would be enough to kill one of these monsters let alone a pack of them after one literally laughed off a few bullets. A wolf got brave and darted into the clearing. I acted too slow. These bastards far too fast for me to react. The wolf grabbed Rusty by the leg and he fell to the ground. But he also pressed a gun to the thing’s forehead and fired which was impressive of him. The wolf backed off, spraying black blood and laughing the entire time it ran back into the woods. “What the hell are these things?” I questioned nearly out of breath. I got down low trying to see the damage the sharp teeth did to my partner’s leg. His ankle was bleeding pretty badly. “No idea. They're not from around here.” Rusty replied, sounding awful. I started to think we weren’t going to get out of here alive. My thoughts were almost confirmed by another wolf coming in. I fired and it did nothing. The thing reached my injured partner, pushing him back to the ground hard enough to knock him out. I jumped on the monster, arms wrapped around its neck and spiky fur jabbing into my body. It yelped in shock and started to buck trying to get me off. I held on fast, legs flailing. I needed to wrap them around the thin body to stay on. It ran around in circles, no longer laughing but the others in the trees did. The bunch never saw anything so funny. As long as I kept this thing from eating Rusty and kept the other amused, I was fine with them cackling. My arms burning from the effort of holding the beast but I refused to let go. It even rolled on its back a few times, jabbing sharp rocks and twigs through my uniform. This sucked but better than getting eaten. I didn’t have a clue how long it took for my strength to give out and for my body to finally get tossed off and very painfully against a tree. The wolf shook itself and started to head towards Rusty again. I shouted at it to stop but not recovered enough to stand just yet. “We not eat you! Only half-breed flesh tonight!” The wolf snapped back, looking a little worn out from running around with me on its back. Half-breed? What was he talking about? I looked from him and Rusty trying to figure it out. My partner looked pretty normal. Dirty brown hair and light skin. I didn’t think he had anything but white toast DNA in him. Was this monster talking about something not human being a part of my trusted partner? I got to my feet ready to defend Rusty again. The wolf also put up its guard, apparently not wanting to go through trying to get me off his back again. I nearly screamed when a soft fingertip touched my back from behind. A long pale hand reached around a tree holding a circle made of white twigs twisted together. I looked at it confused. The hand used a finger to point over to the wolf while still holding onto the twigs. It opened its hand and I caught it before the circle dropped to the ground. I held onto the thing made of twigs thinking it was useless. The wolf froze in its tracks and the laughing stopped in the woods. “What... you have?” The beast asked sounding worried. I took a step forward and it took a step back. My heart going crazy in my chest from fear and I refused to let it show after I somehow gained an upper hand. Faces of the other wolves came closer through the leaves and bushes, all very interested in what might happen in the next few seconds. “We not hungry. Just a oops. Us leave. Fun over. Ok? You-” I jumped forwards, circle in hand and the wolf let out and anguished cry. Bu some miracle I caught it before it ran and got a grip on it. I forced the collar made of branches around the monster’s neck listening to a horrible howling sound coming from it. I hated the sound. I was as if I was kicking a poor dog. Once the collar was in place the beast tensed up like a statue. Slowly it tipped over, falling to the ground, legs stiff. I reminded me of a cat after you put a sweater on it. I stood, breathing hard waiting for the wolf to do something. Soon the legs started to move, making it kick around in a circle in the dirt. It almost looked funny in a pathetic way. The sun started to rise over the trees making the other wolves to scatter. Each going off with a weird laugh as if they were just as confused as I felt leaving the scene behind. The one with the new collar finally got up and bolted, running into a tree or two as it fled. That was weird. Really weird. I didn’t have time to worry about what just happened. I needed to get Rusty out of the woods. I carefully woke him up and helped him to his feet. In the grey morning light, his wounds looked better than I thought they were before. We hobbled through the woods completely lost. A hand came from behind the trees and I started towards it. Rusty pulled back but I pushed him forwards. This time the hands helped me out. At least I thought so. I didn’t know what that collar did or if the wolves left because the sun started to come up. I followed the hands and they guided got us to the road nearby our parked car. I watched some dark shapes in the over grown field pushing the car that made us stop in the first place with their sleek pointed bodies. In the last shadows of the night, they disappeared along with the old worn-out car. Those wolves taking the prop they used to lure in victims with them. I gave one glance back towards the woods and saw a single hand peeking out from a tree. It must have noticed my gaze and gave a thumbs up, which I returned behind Rusty’s back. I didn’t know why the creature of the forest helped this time around. Things that lurked in the night sure are fickle. I got my partner home but he refused to make a report about his injuries or go to the hospital. He really didn’t look all that bad considering, so I left him alone to go home, unable to sleep from being so wired after the previous night's events. I treated my own cuts and bruises then made an attempt to rest. I gave up around dinner time only getting a few hours of sleep. I knocked on Rusty’s door making him regret the fact I knew where he lived. I’d bought some pizzas with me thinking it might put him in a better mood. He took them from my hands and considered slamming the door on my face. We sat on his front porch and I kept a close eye on him seeing how badly he was hurt. I wanted to bring up something. He must have known and refused to speak until I did. “Uh so... one of those things last night called you something weird...” I said, feeling just as scared digging around in my partner’s personal life as I did while defending him from wolves. “A half-breed?” He asked, not skipping a beat. “Yeah... That.” I replied not sure what else to say. He let out an annoyed noise that nearly made me run down the front porch. He didn’t want to tell me this and I really didn’t have any right knowing something so personal. “My mother wasn’t human but my father was. I have no idea what she was, and left pretty soon after I was born. Aside from healing up pretty fast I don’t have anything special powers from her.” He explained. Well, at least I now knew I didn’t have a cool partner with supernatural powers to fight creatures of the night. That sounded fun in theory but after the few encounters I didn’t want to deal with any monsters again. Half or otherwise. “Why did the woods help us out last night?” He asked and I shook my head. “No idea. I hoped you knew. I’m guessing whatever is in those woods wants to kill me with its own two hands. Or it has a crush on me.” I added the last part as a joke. Rusty nodded and I wanted to scream. He should not have agreed with me with that last statement. I might be alright making friends with a forest monster but how would anyone even go about dating such a thing, even if they were interested? No, that thing needed to want to kill me. The other alternative frightened me too much. After I knew my partner was going to be alright for tonight’s shift, I left ready to see him a few hours. He warned me to stay away from the woods and I still had time to request a transfer. I wondered if I really could do that. It already felt too late for me to leave this town behind, creatures and all. I arrived back to my apartment, keys in hand and wanting to get some more sleep before work. A shape by my door made me stop in my tracks. Something dark black sat outside my apartment. I wasn’t the same shape as the wolves last night or big enough to be one. I thought someone’s dog got out. I carefully walked over to it, the black dog raising its head. I reached down to check the collar for a tag to find nothing. The collar feeling old and worn, the edges frayed along the sides. Bringing a strange dog inside your place wasn’t really a good idea. But I didn’t want it running off before I got animal control over to bring it to a shelter. I opened my apartment door and the dog walked right inside as if it owned the place. It walked over to the couch, sitting down in seconds of coming inside. We both stared as each other as if it expected me to say something. I looked it over trying to figure out the breed. It looked like a type of husky, but black and with shorter fur. It must be some sort of mut with all these weird features. The mouth opened showing off perfect white teeth. “Are you hungry?” I asked it, not expecting and answer. “What you have?” The dog answered back. I jumped back against my front door, face drained of color and dropping my phone in the process. My mouth too dry to speak. It took me a few seconds to recover enough to find any words. “You just...” I started then it sank in. This dog sounded like the black wolf from the night before. “You put collar on me. I am in service of you. First, we eat. What you have?” It asked again, teeth showing. God damn it. I didn’t have time for a dog, let alone whatever this thing was. “I don’t suppose if I take off that collar, you’ll just leave...?” I suggested. “No. I eat you.” Well, I’ll need to figure something else out. I didn’t really have much at my place so the dog needed to wait until I came back with some roasted chickens from the grocery store nearby. At least they had deals on buying two of them. I even looked up to make sure the spices on which chickens were dog friendly. I got back and my new pet wasted no time eating two whole chickens, bones and all. I patted his back as he ate, warning him to rest afterwards. I heard dogs or other animals can really mess up their stomachs if they ate too fast and then ran around after. Maybe that wasn’t true but I didn’t want to risk hurting my pet so soon after getting him, unwanted or not. I didn’t want to leave him alone for the night while I went to work but didn’t have anyone to call over to watch over my talking new pet. I put on the T.V and that seemed to make him happy. His short attention span made a children’s channel the best for him. I got ready for work and adjusted his collar making sure it wasn’t too tight. At least with a talking pet you can ask him if he needed to use the washroom. I left him alone wondering what kind of mess I might walk into when I got off work. I think the monster of the woods knew what it was doing. I mean, why kill or eat someone when you can make them suffer by forcing them to take care of a new supernatural dog? Rusty noticed my mood when I got into work and decided I didn’t want to tell him about the dog right then. I needed to introduce him to the monster that almost ate him in a tactful way. I dreaded that almost as much as any new creatures we may come across on our job.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I need HELP. My husband is being a complete gentleman, and I think I'm in GRAVE danger. [RESPONSE] The title says it all. Before I explain, just know that I understand you’re going to judge me and I’m really not here for it. I know I’m an asshole. I know what I did was wrong, believe me, so I’m not posting here to be chastised by a bunch of holier-than-thou internet folks who’ve neeeeever done anything wrong in their lives. No, I’m here because I’m freaking the FUCK out, and I need advice ASAP in what may genuinely be a situation of life or death. First off, I *loved* my husband. Truly, I did. I can practically hear you all scoffing as you read this, but regardless of what you think about what I did it is how I feel. My…*infidelity* had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with my own selfishness. I missed that excitement I felt in the early days of our relationship. I want to preface this by saying Aaron (that’s what we’ll call him) had always been an absolute sweetheart, and even after my colossal fuck up, I was still convinced that he was my soulmate. *That* is what makes the present dilemma as difficult as it is, why my mind has been twisting itself into knots like a snake, trying to determine what I need to do. I **know** in my heart of hearts, that Aaron would never hurt me, **could** never hurt me. He’s always handled me with so delicate a hand, you’d think I was breakable, and I could barely recall even an argument in which his voice had raised, and yet… I can’t shake the fear that the love of my life might be planning to kill me. Things had grown distant between Aaron and I in the previous few months. His work at a cybersecurity firm had been swallowing up much of his time, and what little I did get with him was often relegated to eating or sleeping, despite his best attempts. One thing led to another, and I let myself get a bit too close with Brandon; an old friend from college, who I’d been casually corresponding with on Facebook for a while. He’d been making his advances less and less subtle. What started as mild flirty texts, scratching that itch for excitement I’d felt like I’d lost with Aaron, quickly became less fulfilling, until it escalated into pictures, those pictures intensifying into videos and promises, which soon led to action. It seemed like before I could really get a handle on what exactly I was doing, I was engaged in a full-fledged affair right under Aaron’s nose. I - I meant to end things, truly, I did. I spent the night after my first secret meeting with Brandon just *wracked* with guilt, every kiss on the forehead or kind word from Aaron made thorny vines of regret squeeze tighter around my heart. I wish I could say that was the end of it. Dear God, I know I'm an awful person, I know I should have taken it as a sign to stop. However, if anything I did the opposite. Instead I Dulled the pain of my own betrayal, with the momentary pleasure that those secret moments offered, the wrongness of it all only adding to the intrigue. It wasn't until a month later, this week to be exact, that it all came to an abrupt end. As much as I regret to admit it, through no choice of my own. Now, I'm here, writing this on my phone with shaking hands while my husband cooks us dinner downstairs, singing cheerily to himself. The heavy aroma of meat being cooked wafts up the stairs, sweet and savory, and I’ve never been more terrified of what might become of me. … 'I can't wait to see you again tomorrow. To hold you again, it's all I've been able to think of.' I bit my lip, stifling the smile I felt rising in me as I read the text. I swallowed hard, my face running hot, coughing and rubbing my palms over it to hide the blush I knew must be visible. "You seem happy tonight. What's up?" I met Aaron's gaze from across the table, breaking it just as quickly as guilt blossomed in place of that secretive excitement. He grinned up at me, spinning a forkful of the pasta he'd brought home for dinner. I stifled a frown, a twinge of sad sort of pain in my heart at his expression. He was as adorable as ever, big brown eyes looking back at me with that childish sort of adoration he'd always had with me, his carefree grin despite the lines of age and exhaustion from work had slowly begun etching in his features. "Nothing I just -" my mind scrambled for an adequate response, something that would pacify him enough to prevent any more questions. "I'm happy you're home. Always am." I smiled, reaching across the table and placing one of my hands atop his for good measure. His eyes lit up, grin growing into a full-blown smile as he raised it to plant a kiss. *'How can you do this to him?*' The thought rang so loud in my mind I was almost sure he could hear it. *You're a terrible person. He doesn't deserve -* The gentle buzz of my phone sent pins and needles rippling atop my skin like a tidal wave, my heart tingled with a nervous, yet intoxicating sort of excitement. I found myself searching for an excuse to step away from the table, my stomach churning with a regrettable longing. Aaron's smirk wavered but was back in place as soon as it had fallen. Still, in that brief instant, I wondered if I hadn't seen a momentary glimpse of something else. I felt a brief sense of trepidation at the thought, but it was dashed by another jolt of my nerves as the phone buzzed yet again. "Gotta run to the bathroom," I said, as I pulled away from the table. He nodded briefly, chuckling. “’Have fun, love. I’ll l pour you another glass.” His eyes followed me as I made my way to the hall. "Jess," the sound of my name halted me in my tracks, heart beating with anticipation, hand almost tingling to grab for my phone. "I know things haven't been…perfect lately, what with the new job and everything, and maybe I've been slacking a bit.I can tell you've been feeling that… " His voice wavered, the emotion he seemed to be trying to restrain momentarily bubbling to the surface. I felt my own spinning into a quiet maelstrom just beneath the surface. He was right of course, hell, he was only stating a realization I'd had months prior. I suppose I ought to offer some background on how we got here. Aaron and I have been together for seven years and married for three wonderful years out of those. We met our sophomore year of college in a physics class we both shared, and to hear him tell it, he was smitten from the moment we were assigned to work on that project together. It took me a liiiitle bit longer to see the connection, but the two of us grew close over the course of that year, and eventually, I fell head over heels. From the earliest days of our relationship, it was obvious he was the rare sort of college guy who actually listened when I spoke, often surprising me with little gifts or dates that correspond with things or interests I’d shared with him. He was attentive and gentle, the sort of person who moved the spider outside rather than squashing it, and he was the first guy I’d dealt with who seemed not to complain that I was “too self-absorbed” or “didn’t seem to care about him as a person” or any of that nonsense. I say all this to reiterate just how much I knew then, and have known all this time, I found a gem. But, like all relationships, with time - things began to shift. He had begun work at a new tech startup, working long hours in cyber security that kept him away from home and left him drained during the hours he was present. He kept up with his share of the duties around the house, even maintaining much of the cooking for us, but it was *different*. Things began to die down at an alarming rate, and before long I felt like our love life had already aged decades. I suppose that’s where my selfishness played a role. I guess I had become accustomed to a certain level of romantic attention, and as the months rolled by, with far less attention being paid to me by Aaron, I began to feel dissatisfied in my relationship. This is when I made the mistake made by so many others, and sought out the nearest replacement; letting myself get a bit too close with Brandon, an old friend from college. We'd been casually corresponding on Facebook for a while, and he had been making his advances less and less subtle until eventually, I reciprocated. What started as mild flirty texts, scratching that itch for excitement I’d felt like I’d lost with Aaron, quickly became less fulfilling, until it escalated into pictures, those pictures intensifying into videos and promises, which soon led to action. It seemed like before I could really get a handle on what exactly I was doing, I was engaged in a full-fledged affair right under Aaron’s nose. It didn't change how I felt about him, truly, and at the moment, my insides burned with regret. His eyes met mine, and it took everything I had not to look away. "But I love you... and I'm gonna make sure to remind you of it more." I could only manage a nod before turning and hurrying to the bathroom, as the myriad of conflicting emotions battled towards the surface. I’d like to say I blocked Brandon the moment I entered the bathroom and broke down in silent sobbing. Instead, I responded in kind. ‘Miss you too. Can’t wait for tomorrow.’ I wish it was a lie, but the truth is I was feeling so guilty about my affair that it ironically was the only thing in life that still felt good. I sat on the lid of the toilet for a while, wondering just how I’d let things get so far, before running the water. I splashed a handful on my face, and as I stood before the mirror, I found my eyes staring anywhere but. I didn’t recognize the person looking back. The rest of the night passed by relatively normal. By the time I left the restroom, Aaron was cleaning up, and straightening the table. Despite the almost incredulous look he gave me, he said nothing. He threw something on the television, which I was utterly unable to focus on, my mind already on the day ahead. Had I been more attentive, perhaps I’d have noticed just how closely he was watching me. The way he was almost searching me for something like I was under examination. I would find out the very next day. … By the time I woke up, the alarm on my phone blared through the wisps of sleep as an unusual grogginess clung to me. I silently cursed each glass of wine I'd had the night prior. As I attempted to regain my faculties through a headache far too severe for three glasses of merlot, sunlight was streaming through the bedroom window, and I could hear Aaron moving about the room. It was ten, or little after. It would be a late start at work for Aaron today. He had told me that things at work would be easing up soon and that due to their hard work in the months prior, they were allowed to come in a few hours later. I couldn’t help but resent that it couldn’t have come months before. I heard him as he approached the side of the bed, my eyes still shut. I felt a kiss on my forehead. “After today, things will be different.” his voice was low, and while I knew his words ought to be comforting, they made guilt swirl about my gut. I could smell the familiar cologne wafting off of him. “I promise you and weI will go do something. I’ll take some time off and we can go somewhere, anywhere you want.” He told me, leaning over as I lay in bed, planting a parting kiss on my forehead. I hardly opened my eyes, only nodding my response with feigned grogginess, feeling far too guilty to respond knowing what I was planning to do that very day. Through the slits that were my eyelids, I could see him watching me. He stood at the end of the bed for what felt like an unusual amount of time, his eyes on me, expression something unreadable. For reasons I couldn’t understand, it made my skin crawl, and my heart rate quicken. *Does he know something?* I stayed frozen, suddenly feeling like a child who was unsure if they were on the verge of being in trouble, unwilling to open or close my eyes even a bit until he had left. After a few more seconds, he chuckled to himself, and shook his head, before turning and heading for the door. I didn’t open my eyes fully until I heard the garage door closing and his car pulling out of the driveway, my heart thudding so hard in my chest that I was sure it would have given me away. When I did finally get up, it took a few minutes for me to gather myself, a whole-new wave of anxiety gnawing at me, before I started to ready myself for the day ahead. I reached blindly across my nightstand letting my eyes shut again as I sighed with a mix of relief to be alone, and the ever-present anxiety at my overarching situation; feeling for my phone expecting my hand to brush across it at any second. As I felt my hand slide across the empty wood, there was a surge of realization like being submerged in ice water, a jolt rolling through my entire body. I shot up, immediately searching the table, hearing my heart thudding in my head. It sat neatly on the far corner of the table, still plugged in. I felt a cold dread beginning to knit itself into my very being. It was all too neat… I couldn’t remember for the life of me how I’d left it sitting the night before, but I was sure of one thing - it had been facing down. I stared at it for several seconds, as though it might change the reality, my distorted reflection stared back from the screen of my phone… “Fuck,” I breathed. “Fuckfuckfuck.” Every second that passed as I hurried to open the phone felt like I was moving closer to a heart attack. Nausea bubbled up like boiling water in my chest as it clicked open. I swiped up, displaying all of my open apps, scrolling immediately to the messages, and not stopping until I was on the thread named ‘Melissa’. I felt a surge of relief as I scrolled through. Nothing had been sent from my side. I was certain if Aaron suspected anything he’d have at least questioned Brandon. It seemed, for now, my betrayal was still hidden. The only new text from “Melissa”, had been sent the night before. ‘Looking forward to work tomorrow. Been wanting to get that project of ours done since last week.” I breathed a sigh of relief. All of the most incriminating messages had been deleted immediately after sending. I couldn’t help but smile, all of the previous anxiety faded as I set to getting ready for the day. By the end of the hour, I was in my car, heading out of town towards our planned meeting spot. We’d agreed on a motel far enough away from both of our cities. One that we hoped would ensure even the brief possibility of running into anyone either of us knew. We planned to spend the day together, allowing me to return long before Aaron or his wife returned from work, hopefully raising no suspicion. The ride there was one of peaks and valleys, almost overwhelming excitement making me jittery. Believe me, there was doubt. Hell, there were several moments stuck at red lights, in which I nearly felt myself turning the car around. God, I should have, I just - I didn’t. It probably wouldn’t have made a difference at that point. I pulled in front of the motel around 11:40am. The parking lot was a small square of concrete tucked at the center of the ‘L’ shaped building. Mine was one of the only vehicles in the twelve or so spaces, with the exception of an old Ford pickup well past its best days, and a sedan. Neither of which was Brandon's car, the picture of which I’d almost religiously committed to memory in the days before. I debated between waiting in the car or checking in, my nerves eventually making me settle on the former; though the longer I waited the more I felt my eyes searching nervously. After sending a few texts, none of which received responses, I felt my nerves reaching a boiling point. I knew I was far enough away that no one I knew should see me, but the thought alone made my stomach flip. After several minutes of internal debate, I quickly gathered myself and hurried into the building. The lobby was empty, a small room with puke green walls illuminated by garish fluorescent lighting. A single man sat behind the desk, short, and slightly balding, not even bothering to glance in my direction as he watched whatever show was blaring from the screen of his phone. After an awkward few moments, I cleared my throat, prompting an uninterested stare. “I - we have a reservation under Billy Tucker,” I spoke, trying to sound confident as I offered the fake name Brandon had given. The man cleared his throat, a loud, obnoxious sound, sucking his teeth as he glanced over at the wall full of keys to the side of him. After a moment, he responded. “That room’s already been checked in.” I frowned, feeling a stir of confusion that only worsened my anxiety. “Who - when?” I’d seen no sight of Brandon’s car. Had he taken an Uber? It felt strange that I wouldn’t have seen him. The man flipped his phone, seemingly moving on to texting as a method of trying to ignore me. *Perhaps, he just wanted to get here early to surprise me.* I smiled a bit at that. Given the romantic nature of his messages, I certainly wouldn’t put it past him to try and doll the room up a bit, doing his part to make the most out of the dreary motel room. Still, it was a bit past 10:30am. He should have been there almost a half hour ago, and if there was one thing I’d come to learn about Brandon it was his punctuality. “When did -?” “He came a few hours ago, maybe 6, maybe 7. Checked into the room, and left a few hours later.” he cut me off, finishing whatever message he was sending as he slipped his phone away. He looked me up and down, snorting loudly for a moment as if to clear his throat. “Seemed reallll eager for your arrival, missy.” He stared behind me, giving little attempt at tact before grunting with and adding. “Can’t imagine why.” My eyes squinted, face twisting into an expression that, if looks could kill, would surely have struck him dead. My mind spun for a moment as I considered the variables. For one, it made little sense that Brandon would arrive so early. For another, he had my number, why not respond to the string of texts I’d sent since I’d arrived? I swallowed hard. All of my excitement for the day was quickly fading, leaving only a burning sense of anxiety. I felt like a child again, with the lingering sense that I may just be in trouble. Had his wife caught him? The thought was like a bucket of ice water over any passion still smoldering in me. If she did, did she know who I was? Would she tell Aaron? The questions tumbled one after the other through my mind, each raising my heart rate more than the last. “Was he alone?” I asked suddenly, hardly even realizing the words were on my lips. “Was there anyone with him? Did someone meet him here or…I don’t know - find him?” The man pursed his lips, staring to the ceiling in a look of exaggerated concentration. “Ya know, come to think of it, there might have just been someone with him. Hard to remember sitting here for so long.” I felt my heart take a plunge. “Who? Was it a woman? Was she angry was -” I held my tongue before I could begin rambling. “Jesus, it was so long ago. This is a busy establishment and I’m not sure I can remember without a little help, maybe some… motivation.” My teeth felt ready to crumble with how hard I grit them, as I reached for my wallet with all the speed and fervor of molasses. I pulled out a twenty, and at the sound of sucked teeth, pulled out another. He reached for the cash before I could even offer it, snatching it with his thick fingers, and smiled. “Yup…yup, I remember now. There was a guy. Dark hair, maybe late twenties, early thirties. He pulled in a little bit after your Tucker fellow. Gave the name and the room number so I gave em a key. Gave me a fifty just to text him when you got here.” I felt my heart pounding, a series of conflicting emotions and rising questions fighting for supremacy in my mind. “He paid you to - you - you gave him the key? Who was it, did you get a name?” He appeared indignant at the clearly accusatory tone of my question. “No, I didn’t. I don’t get into the business of what you people do in my rooms, and I’m definitely not asking no two men about what they’re getting into. Who the fuck do you take me for?” He stood and walked over to the wall, grabbing a key. “Here. You’ve got the room until 8, you can take it and fuck off or just fuck off.” He huffed, turning his chair to the side as he returned to whatever he’d been watching on the phone before. I stood for a moment, staring between the man and the keys on the table, before deciding I’d get no further with him, and snatched them up while I muttered, “Asshole.” As I stepped out of the lobby and back outside, the shift from anger to mild, uneasy panic was immediate. I felt my breath grow uneven as I began making my way towards the room, a quick scan of the parking lot still showed no signs of him. My head spun. The most likely conclusion I could think of, or most prominent at least, was that he’d been found out by his wife. It couldn’t explain what the man at the front desk had told me if he was being honest, and for forty dollars I hoped he was. Brandon had been here and been followed into the room by a man who knew the name and number to ask for. I wracked my mind for who would be following him like that. Had his wife hired a P.I? A relative, perhaps? None of it felt right. I couldn’t see any reason for someone to follow him into the room. I arrived outside of the door, my mind still turning over the sparse details offered. I pushed it open, partly hoping to be greeted with his voice but- It was empty. Well, not empty. I quickly made my way to the bedside, my eyes locked immediately on the note sitting on the side of the bed. I picked it up immediately, my eyes running along the sides laced with decorative depictions of flowers. ‘*Dear Jessie,* *If you’ve listened to my instructions, you’re reading this on the way home. Hours after we’ve already met.* *I’m not much for love notes, as you can probably tell. But I sometimes find expressing things face to face even harder, so I wrote this beforehand to make sure you’ve heard/read it at some point tonight.* *The time we’ve spent talking has been the happiest I’ve felt in years.* *You remind me that there’s more to all of this than the daily slog. I’m glad to share this moment with you, and here’s to the hope that perhaps, one day, it won’t have to be so covert.* *P.S. Hope you like the roses.* I felt my heart pounding as I finished the letter, searching immediately for the roses, and finding none. Had he not had the time to leave them? So he had been here, long enough to leave me a note clearly, someone had followed him in, and now he was gone. My heart pounded, my head buzzing with rising panic as dark thoughts began to creep in. I pulled out my phone finally calling. It rang and rang, with no answer. I tried again, and again, and again, five calls more all yielding the same result. For a moment I flirted with the thought of calling the police, but as logic followed the panic a series of flaws showed themselves with that idea. What would I tell them? “Officer, the man I’m cheating with failed to show up to our shady meeting, I believe he might be…” I didn’t even want to finish the thought. It was ridiculous, of course. The more rational, albeit still painful probability was that guilt had overtaken him, and he’d turned back. The thought hurt on several levels, chiefly the guilt I felt having had the decision made for me. Still, none of it explained what the man at the front desk had said. There had been another man to ask for a key, and who’d paid him fifty dollars to know when I’d arrived. Someone had followed him in here. With that emerged the darker possibility, that even if something had happened to him, I couldn’t openly report it. Getting tied into an investigation would inevitably expose what we were involved in. I felt my stomach flip, the urge to vomit making my eyes water. *No. He’s fine. He’s fine and he simply…went home.* I tried my best to be louder than the dark thoughts, but it didn’t account for the stranger details of the day. After a few more moments of trying to grasp the situation, I decided it best to return home early. I could think of an adequate excuse for Aaron as to why I’d be leaving “work” so soon. I didn’t want to spend a moment longer in that silent motel room, accompanied only by my thoughts growing more unnerving by the second. As I made my way back to the car, I felt an unwavering sense of disappointment tinged with my anxiety. I’d been looking forward to our meeting for so long, looking forward to finally feeling his arms around me, but now would be returning home with little more than worry and that note to accompany me. If it did turn out he’d just had second thoughts it would hurt, but at that point, I just wanted an answer. My head spun as my car roared to life, and I cast a final glance at the motel in the vain hopes he may pull into the parking lot. There was nothing of course. I sighed. *Another man with him*…I picked over what the guy had told me, sifting through what few details were offered. Dark-haired, maybe 20’s or 30’s. I felt a twinge of something cold and distant deep within. The icy claw of suspicion, faint but present. Quickly, I pulled my key from the ignition, speed-walking across the lot and bursting into the lobby quite a bit more frenzied than I’d intended. I could hear the faint thud of my heart as it began to speed up, the eerie suspicion echoing amidst my darker thoughts. The chubby man at the front desk shot me an irritated look as I approached, likely expecting some complaint about the room. “The man,” I breathed, hardly even spacing out my words as they spilled forth, “The man who came with Bran - Billy. Did he have glasses?” My stomach tightened as soon as the question left my lips, the deeper implications of the question setting my nerves alight. The man at the front desk smiled though there was no humor in the expression, his face quickly returning to that exaggerated, quizzical look. I groaned but quickly pulled out my wallet, offering another twenty without complaint. “As a matter of fact he did,” he said with a phony smile, “Real smart lookin’ fella, he was. Though, he didn’t seem to be in the best of moods. I felt my breath catch. The room seemed to be spinning. His eyes searched me, a nasty smile growing. “Something tells me that means something to you, huh? Well, I’ve got nothing else for ya. You’re welcome to stand here and keep paying me but if not -” he gestured to the door. I nodded slowly, feeling shell-shocked as realization began to sink its icy claws into me. I realized the thought had always been there, from the moment he’d failed to arrive, growing more prominent with each strange coincidence. “The - the key is in the room.” I breathed, turning slowly and walking towards the door, never blinking once even though my mind was spinning. When I got to the car, I sat for several minutes, my hands clasping the steering wheel as I stared out the window ahead. After several moments, I took out my phone and sent another text though I knew I was unlikely to get a response. ‘I just want to know that you’re okay. I’m not mad, just worried. Please text me back.” I sighed, staring helplessly at the screen. Somewhere, in the dark reaches of my mind, the cold tendrils of an uncomfortable idea began to grip me. I opened Google, and typed in a question, hoping beyond hope that I’d find no answer. ‘*How to recover deleted messages, Iphone*.’ With every second that the screen loaded, I felt nausea grow stronger. I’d never been the most tech-savvy, it was one of the many things I appreciated about Aaron as he always served as my in-house tech support over the years. I’d tried to the best of my ability to cover my tracks but… he had always known much more about the stuff than me. Finally, it finished, a series of links appeared before me, and my heart dropped. Following the first of them, I returned quickly to my messages, hands hardly working fast enough. I clicked edit, almost dropping my phone as I saw the deleted messages tab. “Fuck.” My mind was immediately taken back to that morning, my phone placed so carefully on the desk. I suddenly felt quite certain I hadn’t left it facing up. *Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.* It was all I could think of as I tapped on the conversation between Brandon and I. Somehow, I already suspected what I might see, though I couldn’t yet understand its darkest implications. All of our texts loaded, every single one, all of the flirtatious messages and explicit photos I’d hoped to have cast into a digital abyss, laid out bare. As I scrolled, my mouth went dry, the breath catching in my throat as I read the last several messages sent from my phone. I realized, with dawning dread, that I recognized none of them. They hadn’t been sent by me. I checked the times - the first one was sent at 1:23am.. Long after I’d fallen asleep. ‘*Hey, Aaron’s leaving earlier tomorrow. Let’s meet around 4. We want as much time as possible after all ;).*’ My stomach twisted into a tight ball, vision wavering and head spinning as I read the text I never sent, the feeling only worsening with Brandon’s response. ‘*Even better. Trish is leaving for her mother's house around 6, I can think of an excuse to head out a bit early. An emergency at the hospital, probably..*’ He followed it up with an image that would have made me blush any other time, but only made that ball in my stomach tighten. ‘*I can’t wait to be inside of you, for you to feel my love…I’ll see u soon.*’ he said to follow it up. I rankled at that, at the thought of Aaron reading that. ‘*You will.*’ My head pounded as I continued the rest of the conversation. It had taken place between the time of the first message and 5am. Brandon had texted “me” to let me know he was en route, and my phone had responded back saying the same. Around 6, both sides confirmed arrival, Brandon telling “me” he’d be waiting in the room and that he had something for me. ‘*I can’t wait. I’ll be there in a second. And eyes closed, I have a surprise for you, too.*’ It was the last message sent from my phone that I hadn’t sent. There was no follow-up from Brandon, the only texts remaining in the thread all coming from me from the start of that morning. I let my phone fall to the side, clattering into the console, as my head fell onto the steering wheel. I screamed. I screamed until I could taste the coppery flavor of blood at the back of my throat, not stopping until someone pulled into the lot, and cast me an odd look. I grappled with what to do next, what I *should* do. There was only one logical conclusion, desperately I wanted to avoid it, and that was that Aaron had gotten into my phone when I was asleep and sent those texts. Given his proficiency with technology, I didn’t doubt he’d known about recovering deleted messages long beforehand and had seen what I had tried to hide. What that meant for Brandon, I wasn’t sure. The logical, hopeful part of me told me Aaron must have confronted Brandon, maybe even threatened to expose him to his wife and made him back off. It would explain the radio silence. The less hopeful part, which I couldn’t help but feel eerily drawn to, told me Aaron had confronted Brandon. But the outcome was that something far more sinister had happened. I wanted to vomit, I wanted to peel out of the parking lot and tear down the nearest highway to just disappear. As the bleak reality settled in, I knew I had nowhere else to go, and even if I did, I couldn’t just disappear like that. Not without knowing what had happened. My mind became restless with unnerving thoughts, as I started my car and pulled out of the lot, beginning the drive home. It somehow felt twice as long as before; no amount of music at any volume was drowning out the questions I was asking myself, nor the curses I was directing at my own stupid and irrational behavior. By the time I pulled up in front of the house, my stomach was twisted into several knots. The lights were on inside, and as the garage door roared open, I saw that Aaron’s car sat waiting inside. A part of me nearly peeled out of the driveway, not even sure of where I would go, but I kept it at bay. My stomach flipped as I turned my keys in the door, and as I opened it I was ready to see Aaron standing in wait. As the door opened, I was greeted only by the fragrant scent of spices and cooking meat wafting out from the kitchen. The sounds of movement, clattering pots, and closing cabinets confirmed what the smell already told me. Aaron was cooking, and taking particular care with this meal, if the watering of my mouth told me anything. Confusion served to abate some of the initial unease for a moment. I closed the door as silently as I could, though I was sure he’d heard me, and crept slowly through the living room, towards the entry to the kitchen. As I peered around the corner, I could hear Aaron humming to himself as he worked, watching as he busied himself with the meat he was sauteing. “Dinner will be ready in ten,” I jumped as he spoke, almost forgetting that he’d heard me enter. “Go ahead and wait at the table,” he said, turning to face me. His expression was utterly unreadable, the mask of professionalism I often saw from him on business calls, almost work-like and yet…his eyes - despite his best attempt, I could see a cold rage beneath them. I felt my heart racing as it hammered against my chest, my mouth falling open to respond, yet I couldn’t think of what to say. The air felt heavy, thick with a surreal sort of tension, as I was walking through a nightmare that felt like static between us. All of the day's confusion and anxiety whirled about my head in a simultaneous maelstrom. Fear, embarrassment, worry, confusion, and a mild dread all battling for dominance. After a long, dreadful moment of silence, I nodded, slowly making my way into the adjoining dining room. My heart dropped as I peered into the room and saw what sat on the table. At the very center, lay a bouquet of roses, wrapped in decorative paper covered in hearts.I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat and tried not to acknowledge the uncomfortable questions it raised. I took my seat at the far end of the table, hyper-aware of every noise from the sliding of the chair against the wood, and its creak as I sat, my nerves on high alert. I watched as he began plating the food, still humming some unfamiliar tune to himself, the knot in my gut only tightening. I couldn’t understand why he was behaving the way he was, why he hadn’t just confronted me already when I knew that he knew. Waiting for the other shoe to drop was torturous, and I felt as though I might be sick. He filled two glasses with water from the pitcher, walking the plates over to the table first. He placed his down at the opposite end of the table, before approaching me. I felt my heart thump, threatening to burst free of my chest as he reached over my shoulder, placing it in front of me. He repeated the same with the water, and without another word, took his place at the end of the table, and began eating. I watched, eyes wide and unblinking, stomach far too twisted to even think of taking a bite yet, though what looked to be the steak did smell enticing. After several bites, he looked up at me almost quizzically. “Eat. Please.” I opened my mouth as if to argue, but given the situation, it felt like the last thing I had any right to do. Reluctantly, despite the nausea still nipping at my gut, I cut into the meat and took a bite. He nodded, as I chewed slowly. The taste was unfamiliar but deeply savory, I wondered what sort of seasoning he might have used. “How are the green beans?” he asked over a mouthful, “I think I may have overseasoned them but who knows?” I stared back, still in disbelief, as I chewed the gamey meat. It was delicious but unfamiliar. I took another bite. Was it elk? Deer? “Why are you doing this?” I blurted the question before I could think better of it. He shot me a look, confused, though I could see in it the anger barely restrained. “Doing what, my love?” he asked, a mocking lilt in his question. “Cooking for my ungrateful, conniving, treacherous wife as I do so often? Well, why wouldn’t I?” The sensation that pierced my chest was like a white-hot blade, my stomach lurching as he spoke. I knew he was angry, furious surely, but I’d never heard Aaron so much as address an unkind word at me, to hear such fury…almost hate, it chilled me to my core. “I - Aaron I know I fucked up I’m -” “Shut up, shut the *fuck* up.” he spat the words through clenched teeth, hands balling into fists around his utensils as he glared at me from across the table with such malice, for a moment I began to wonder just who I was sitting across. He glared at me for several seconds, as though he were considering something unspeakable before he took a breath, his face returning to the neutral mask of before. It was like he was dealing with a client, or talking to a boss rather than his wife. “I apologize for the outburst. Please, let’s enjoy the rest of the meal.” tried to blink back the tears that were blurring my vision, feeling my face start to redden. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. He nodded. “I’m sure you are. You’re sorry that you forgot, for all the praise I heaped on you, I’ve always been the smarter one.” His eyes locked with mine, and I was no longer looking at the Aaron who’d loved me for the past several years, but a cold, calculated man who had been scorned. “You’re sorry you got caught. Maybe you’re even sorry that you did it, but not because you regret it. Because you know there was no reality in which I wouldn't have caught you.” I could only listen as he spoke, feeling equal parts hurt and regretful that a part of me agreed with him. He smiled, the expression somehow genuine, taking another bite of the meat. “But - it’s okay. I think I can try and forgive you. After all, it’s not a mistake I think you’ll make again..” he peered up at me. “Right?” The question was asked in such a tone that I knew there was one answer. “N-no, of course not.” I wanted to be relieved, and part of me was but…something was still so wrong. My eyes fell on the roses lying on the table between us, my mind recalling the note I’d found on the motel bed. I had to know what had happened to Brandon. “I - I’m so sorry to ask, believe me, it’s not because…I just need to know. You were at that motel, the man in the lobby told me, you paid him to tell him when I arrived. You went into the room…” My voice shook, but I met his gaze. “What happened to Brandon?” He laughed, a deep genuine sound. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed some more until his face was red and he’d sent himself into a near coughing fit. I felt my guts twisting themselves all the while. “Mr. I wanna be inside you?” he asked, in a mock seductive voice. He chuckled. “Don’t worry, I made sure your lover got his wish.” My head spun as I tried to make sense of what he was saying. As realization began to rise, like some beast surfacing from the dark waters, I felt my mouth begin to water, my throat heaving with the need to vomit. “Speaking of which, how’s the steak? First time cooking something that isn’t beef, pork, or chicken, but" he shrugged, eyes gleaming with malintent. “I think I did .”<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The statue we found on the trail [RESPONSE] Kara wasn't home, so just Jodi and I went over to Jeff's house. There was a police car in the driveway. Jeff must have seen us coming as he came outside to talk to us when we went onto his driveway. "He just disappeared…the doors to the house were locked, and nothing was out of place or damaged. Even his sheets were pulled up on the guest bed where he slept," he said. "We have to destroy the statue," I said. "Maybe then the dreams will stop…and maybe your cousin will come back." We went inside and up the stairs to Jeff's room. A poster of Cindy Crawford was over the dresser where Jeff was looking. "Hey, I thought I put it back on my dresser," he said. He looked around the sides of the dresser and in his closet. "It isn't here anymore." "Did you show it to your mom or the police?" asked Jodi. "No…I didn't tell them about the dreams or the statue. I was afraid they would think I was crazy," he said. "Then where is it?" I asked. "I don't know," he said. There was a knock at the door while we were going downstairs. Jeff opened it up, and Katie was standing there holding the statue. "Do you think that's funny putting this in my room like that? Who let you in…was it my brother?" Kara said. "What? No," said Jeff. "It was in my room, and then it was gone." Kara glared at him. "I swear," he said. "I didn't move it." "Who cares how it got there," I said. "Let's just destroy it and get this over with. Do you have a lighter, Jeff?" "I think there is one in the garage," he said. "Grab it, and we'll burn it on the trails," I said. Jeff's mom and aunt were still talking to the police officers. Jeff shouted out, "Going for a bike ride with my friends. Be back before dark." Then he rushed us outside and quickly closed the door before they could respond. Jeff ran to the garage, grabbed the lighter and his bike, and off we rode for the trails. Before we turned down the dead-end street, we saw Kyle on his bike headed toward us. "Hey guys, I'm back!" he shouted. "Are you going to the hill?" He rode over to us, and we all stopped. The rest of us looked at each other, unsure of what to say. "Well, what are you waiting for? Let's go. I'll tell you about my vacation when we get up there," he said. "We're going to have a bonfire first," I said. "We'll fill you in when we get there." We went around the barrier and onto the dirt trails. Jeff led the way and stopped by the makeshift fire pit. Kara set the statue down, and we all started grabbing sticks and logs to build a fire. "What's going on?" Kyle asked. "You guys are so serious…this is weird." "It is hard to explain," I said. "See…we found this statue, and weird things have been happening." "What statue? Is this it?" Kyle said as he set his bike down and reached for the statue. "No, don't touch it!" we all yelled simultaneously. Kyle laughed. "You guys are messing with me," he said and then picked it up. "No, we're not," Kara said. "But it's probably too late now… you'll see when you go to bed tonight." "What are you talking about?" he said. We threw some larger logs into the fire pit and then added a bunch of sticks and leaves. "You guys are serious about this, aren't you?" Kyle asked. "Yes. We've all been sharing a dream since we touched this statue," said Kara. "And now Jeff's cousin is missing." "I don't understand," said Kyle. Jeff lit the leaves on fire, and we added more every so often to keep the initial fire going. After a while, the sticks and then the bigger logs caught fire. Once it was going strong, Kara grabbed the statue and threw it in. "Do you think he'll start the dream in the circle like us?" I asked. "Brian didn't," said Jeff. "He was at my house." "Wasn't that where he touched it?" asked Jodi. "Yeah. It was on my dresser when he grabbed it," said Jeff. "We always start in the circle where we first touched it," said Kara. "Maybe that means Kyle will start here." "Hopefully, this will stop it, though," I said as I put another log on the fire. "What if it doesn't stop?" asked Jodi. "We should show Kyle where to go, just in case." "Good idea," I said. "We can do it after we get rid of this stupid thing." "I'm still not sure what you're talking about, but okay," said Kyle. We added more wood and continued to sit around the fire. It was somewhat windy, so we had to move around when the smoke came our way. We hung out there for over an hour, watching the fire. Kyle told us about his camping trip, and we told him more details about the dreams and what had been happening. After a lot of the wood had burned down, I scooped up some dirt and sand to throw on the fire. Then I grabbed a big stick and pushed around the remnants of the fire. "I don't see it in here," I said. "Hopefully, it is burnt to ashes." "I like seeing you guys during the day, but I don't want to see you in my dreams anymore," said Jodi. "I still think you all are messing with me, but you are freaking me out," he said. "My mom didn't want me to stay out long since we just got back, so I should go home." "Good idea," said Jeff. "I'm sure I'll be in trouble when I get back. We took Kyle over to the circle of dead grass and told him to come right over here when the dream started. He nodded, but I don't think he believed us yet. "Is the circle getting smaller?" asked Jodi. "Huh. I think it is," said Jeff. Some of the yellowing grass was standing up, and I could definitely see that it was smaller than before. We got back on our bikes and rode on the trail back to our neighborhood. "Hope I don't see you tonight," said Kara. I said goodbye to my friends and headed home. When I got back, my parents talked to me about Jeff's cousin and said they didn't want me out after dark anymore. They said to be aware of anyone suspicious in the neighborhood and scream for help if I was ever in danger. I fell asleep pretty quickly that night and dreamt that I was walking through the trails by myself. The trees were burning all around me, and I could feel the heat from the flames. I heard a loud growl from within the burning woods and watched as the monster ran through the trees, stopping directly in front of me. It smelled of burnt wood and had smoke coming off of its body. I tried to move but was frozen in place. All I could do was stand there as it moved closer and closer. The heat was radiating off its body, and I could feel my body sweating. I heard my friends yelling my name, and I looked over to see them in the circle surrounded by a ring of fire. The monster reached out and touched my arm. I screamed in pain before waking up in my bed. My sheets were wet, which I had hoped was just from sweat, as I could feel it dripping off my face. I had a burning pain in my arm. After rolling up my sleeve, I saw a red mark where the monster had touched me. It hurt pretty bad, but I didn't tell my parents because I was worried they would think I burned it on a bonfire. At school, I couldn't wait for recess so I could talk to my friends. The morning moved slowly, and when it was finally time to go outside, I walked with Jodi down the hall and out to the playground. "What happened last night?" Jodi said. "You weren't with us, and we could barely see you over the fire." I rolled up my sleeve. "The monster grabbed my arm," I said. "Oh my God!" she said. "That's a pretty bad burn. It looks like it hurts." "It was worse when I woke up, but it doesn't feel as bad now," I said. Once we got outside, we saw Kyle by the swings and started walking over to him. "Oh no," said Jodi. "Here comes Jason and his friends." Jason was a jerk. He would always purposely walk toward you, and if you didn't move out of the way, he would strike you with his shoulder. I didn't feel like dealing with him, so I moved to the side. He put his foot out right as I walked by, and I stumbled and fell into the dirt. "Did you have a nice trip?" one of his friends said while they all laughed. Kyle ran over, and then he and Jodi helped me up. I brushed the dust off my clothes. I glared at Jason for a moment and then turned around. "Let's just go," I said. "He's such a jerk," said Kyle. He was always causing trouble with the other kids and the teachers. I was glad he wasn't in my class since he was so disruptive and annoying. After they made sure I was okay, we started talking about the statue. "I didn't have any weird dreams last night…I knew you guys were just messing with me about that statue," he said. "It was different last night," said Jodi. "But they are real. Look at this." Jodi grabbed my arm and showed Kyle the burn mark. "The monster touched my arm last night, and this was here when I woke up," I said. "Hey guys," Jeff said as he and Kara walked over to join us. "Why was it so different last night? I thought this was supposed to be over." "Me too," said Jodi. "You won't believe what happened this morning," Kara said. "The statue was sitting on my dresser when I woke up. It was covered with ash but looked the same as before once I brushed it off." "I think I made it mad," I said as I showed her my arm. "Yikes," said Kara. "I wonder what is going to happen tonight," said Jeff.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My wife has always hated Halloween. Now I know the horrifying reason why [RESPONSE] Phoebe has always hated Halloween. Even back when we were dating—she never came to any Halloween parties with me. *I have a cold. I have a headache. I ate something bad.* After we got married and moved into the suburbs, she wouldn’t even join me handing out candy to trick-or-treaters. *I’m going to sleep,* she’d say, even though it was only 6 o’clock. She'd even ask me to leave the house because I was "making too much noise." I let it slide… until Anthony was born. ”Come on. We *have* to go trick-or-treating.” Anthony was dressed up as the cutest little pumpkin—only 8 months old. He smiled as I bounced him in my arms, looking out the door into the night. “I’m really not feeling well,” Phoebe replied, lingering on the stairs. “You seemed fine ten minutes ago.” “Well, I don’t feel well *now.”* “I don’t believe you.” It was mean, but I was annoyed. She’d given me the same excuses for eight Halloweens in a row. It wasn’t coincidence. She didn’t deny it—just looked past me, into the night. “Why do you hate Halloween? Is it because your parents were so strict? I know you weren’t allowed to trick-or-treat, growing up…” “Can’t you just take Anthony alone?” “I want to go as a family.” She glanced again at the darkness gathering outside. Then she pressed her lips into a thin line. “I’m sorry. But I don't feel good.” A heavy silence settled between us. She came down the stairs. Wrapped her arms around both of us, and patted Anthony softly on the head. “I love you both. Have fun tonight.” From the way her voice slightly wavered, I could’ve sworn she was on the verge of tears. But she turned away, and in a flash of dark hair, she was already upstairs. The same dance happened over and over again, every year. Anthony was soon wearing Mutant Ninja Turtles and Star Wars costumes instead of pumpkins, but Phoebe still refused to go trick-or-treating with us. Every year we had the same discussion. I asked her to come. She insisted that she was feeling ill. She went upstairs to our bedroom and locked the door. Anthony and I headed out onto the sidewalk, candy bucket swinging. Except, on the evening of Halloween 2021, we came home early. Anthony had tripped and skinned his knee. So less than an hour after we left we were hobbling home. As we rounded the bend onto Maple Ave., I saw that the light in our room was on. Phoebe hadn’t “gone to sleep” like she said she was. I helped Anthony with the wound, set him up in front of the TV, and then charged upstairs. I was mad. She must’ve heard us come home, must’ve heard Anthony crying in the kitchen—and she didn’t even come down to check on us? Whether her aversion to Halloween was psychological, or some sort of moral religious thing, it had to stop. But as I got to the top of the stairs, I froze. Phoebe’s voice was coming from our room. She was talking to someone. I tiptoed to the door and pressed my ear against it. I couldn’t make out what she was saying—but her voice was low, fast, soft. Like she was trying not to be heard. My body went cold. I turned the doorknob—but it was locked. “Phoebe! Let me in!” The light coming from under the door went out. “I know you’re in there,” I shouted. Seconds ticked by. A clatter sounded from behind the door. Then, finally, it opened. Phoebe darted out, quickly closing the door behind her. She looked significantly worse than just an hour ago, her skin was pale and deep bags under her eyes. “You shouldn’t be home this early,” she whispered. “Who’s in there with you?” “No one.” She glanced back at the closed door. “You and Anthony need to get out of here. *Now.*” “What’s going on?” “Mike—” She was cut off by a soft *thump.* Someone was knocking on our bedroom door. Something about the knocks made my whole body go cold. They were slow, methodical—like the person on the other side had all the time in the world. “Who’s in there?” I whispered. She glanced back at the door again, her eyes wide. “Do you remember the time I got a really bad asthma attack? I told you about it when we first started dating. How I was in the hospital for weeks, how I almost died.” *Thump… thump…* “What’s that got to do with anything?” “I should’ve died. But I didn’t. And now—every Halloween—I have to give *it* some of my life, in payment.” Without another word, she pushed the door open. In the center of the darkened room stood a towering form. Black robes hung off its thin frame, trailing on the ground. A large jack-o’-lantern sat on its shoulders, its eyes flickering amber, the mouth cut into a wide grin. The only parts of its body visible were its hands—long, gray, bone-thin fingers that ended in sharp nails. It stood in the center of the room, absolutely still. Phoebe turned away from me. She walked towards the thing, her legs shaking underneath her. The jack-o’-lantern raised a bony finger and touched her forehead. And then it crumpled into a mass of black fabric at her feet. Phoebe turned around. Her mouth stretched into a wide grin as her eyes locked on mine. Then she stepped toward me, emitting a horrible, guttural laugh. I ran out of the bedroom. “Anthony!” I shouted. Finding him still in front of the TV, I grabbed him and ran outside. We leapt into the car and peeled out of the driveway. In the rearview mirror, I could see her—its—silhouette in the upstairs window. Watching us.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Something weird happened in my basement when the lights failed [RESPONSE] First of all, I wanna apologize for the possible grammatical errors bc English is not my first language but I needed to share this story bc if I keep it to myself any more time I think I'm going to lose it. To start let me tell you a little of history. 5 years ago I met Aaron, he was like the perfect guy, the popular one who plays basket on the uni team. Long story short, we met, we fell in love, and then got married 2 years ago. He is a computer science engineer and I am a nurse, so our salaries are pretty decent and we have been saving to buy a house in the neighborhood we’ve always wanted. Two months ago we found this big house at a very low price and we thought that it was our signal to buy it, so without thinking a lot we bought it and moved, all in 3 weeks. At first, it was all good, our families loved it and we were super happy, till one day something really weird happened. I was just chilling on the couch after a long shift when the lights started to fail, I called Aaron and asked him to go to the basement to check the controls, he went and didn’t come up for 3 hours. To be honest, at the moment I just called him and when he didn't answer I just thought that he was fixing the problem so I let it be. I know that some of you are going to think that I was dumb for not going down but the truth is that I am afraid of basements. When I was little I used to get locked in the basement as a punishment for my “bad” grades, so I really hate those places. Returning to the matter, when Aaron came back he was acting weird and had red eyes so I went to him and asked what happened down there but he just stared at me and then went upstairs, I caught that it was a signal for me to follow him so I did. When we arrived at the room, he locked the door, turned around, and looked at me. I swear, he had a look of absolute terror and said to me quietly “I don't know what just happened, I just know that there is something down there and it wants us dead” I laughed bc obviously I thought it was a joke but he remained serious. We looked at each other for at least 5 minutes without saying a thing when the lights started to fail again, and this is when this turns weird bc Aaron just busted out laughing and said “You should have seem your face, you were TERRIFIED” And then just went into the bathroom. Anyone would think that it was just some kind of joke but the thing is that when Aaron started laughing he had something in his eyes. I know I know I sound like a crazy person just seeing things but I'm serious Later that day, I was cooking dinner when my husband appeared and asked what have I done for dinner. I looked at him right in the eye and told him that he knows I never cook because the last time I tried I almost burned the house so he literally told me that from that moment I had prohibited to cook. Aaron looked at me and then said “Right, I forgot, let me cook” At that moment I knew that something was really wrong because he never forgets that detail, he literally tells me every morning “don't you dare burn my kitchen today” EVERY-FUCKING-DAY he says the same damn thing, even when he is mad at me or if he has a lot of things to do. this routine of him reminding me that I can’t cook is something that has been happening for 3 years, so no, I don't buy it. I went upstairs, did all my things and went to bed, and fell asleep. It was 3.30 when I heard something crash in the kitchen. I woke up and looked beside me but Aaron wasn’t there, and the sheets were untouched so I guessed he didn't go to bed earlier. I got up and went out of my room but stayed there because I was a little more than afraid that someone had broken into our house, but then I heard someone crying and it sounded like my husband so I rushed downstairs and saw him sitting on the couch with his hands on his head and mumbling something I couldn’t understand. I called him and he turned his head sharply and said “What are you doing here?” “I heard something crash and then someone crying so I came to see what happened” “Nothing happened, go back to sleep” “No” He stared Like really stared I stood there still because something was happening He blinked Blinked Again and again Just looking at me for 3 straight minutes And then his face changed completely He passed from being completely blank to having an expression of pure horror and pain, Then told me “Mara, I need you to leave this house because something is happening to me and I have this pure want to kill you” I didn't know if he was joking but I thought it was a really awful thing to joke about so I turned around and run out of the house. When I was out of the house I heard something crashing inside the house and then a shot. I was in shock Didn't know what just happened so I called the police and said that I thought that someone had broken into our house and that I needed them to come as soon as possible because my husband was still inside with the intruder. I don't know why I said that if I knew there was no one inside, I just needed someone to come. When the police arrived they told me to stay outside while they went in to take a look so I did exactly as they told me. Minutes later an officer came out and told me that it all seemed normal and that I must have hallucinated it I know I didn't Then my “husband” came out and looked at me with a blank expression and said “come in honey, it was just a nightmare” He never, not even once, had called me honey, we both hated that nickname. He took my hand and practically dragged me into that house, and the police didn’t do a thing because they thought I was having a psychotic attack or some shit like that. I'm not sure what happened next To be honest I don’t remember a lot after I entered the house The only thing I know is that there are days when I don’t remember going out of bed but then someone tells me something I did that day. Or I find dirty clothes around the floor that I don’t remember using. The same thing happens with Aaron. Days that we just seem to forget completely. One day I was recollecting dirty clothes around the house when I found a weird red mark on my favorite shirt. I'm really afraid that I did something that I don't remember and I don't know what to do. If I say something I may end up in a psychiatric hospital. But if I don't, I think I’ll lose it and end up killing myself to stop this anxiety that keeps me awake most nights because I know that when I fall asleep I'm going to forget what happened the other day<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm a Trucker for a Shady Organization. I Haul a Portal to Hell (Part 2) [RESPONSE] Assignment 23, Day 3, 12:00 noon "Wakey wakey, we're here." The driver spurred me from my slumber. Groggily, I sat up. Somewhat bruised and sore, the recent events came rushing back. "What are you!" I demanded, silently thankful to find myself intact after god knows how long alone with that thing. "I dunno" they shrugged, sliding into a posh British accent. "That isn't helpful," I scolded, unnerved. I reached for the weapon I had recently appropriated, tucking it into the back of my sweatpants. The cold metal pressed against the small of my back sent a shiver up my spine. "Really? Is that any way to speak to the humble driver who completed your route?" They scolded, catching my gaze in the rear view mirror. "That pitiful peashooter won't work on me, chap," they stated, with a hint of sadness. "You sound disappointed by that?" I blurted, slapping my forehead over my poor filter. "Clever girl," the driver said, briefly slipping into an Australian accent. "Righty then, where to, little lady?" "Ugh don't call me that, first. Second, scooch," I shooed them out of the way, taking control of the vehicle. Translucent green signs appeared before us, directing me where to go. "Bloody hell…" the driver trailed off, returning to a British accent. "I recommend shutting up. These guys aren't too friendly." I warned, feeling a vein bulge in my forehead. "Cheers love, what's the worst that could happen?" The driver chuckled, miming out a toast and a shot. "Wha-?" I spat, making a double take. The instant their lips parted, their entire appearance shifted. Instead of the mannequin body, there now sat a pilgrim looking, farmer's tanned, clean shaven man. "Is this not low profile?" The driver fluttered their lashes in an entirely disturbing way, considering their current appearance. "NO!" I half chuckled, half scolded. "Try something more… truckery?" The moment I finished those words, the driver took on a slightly overweight, trucker hat wearing man with t-shirt tan lined arms. "How 'bout this?" The driver boasted, raising a thumb to their chest. "Is the voice right?" The driver asked, singing a musical scale in a now perfect trucker voice. I did not justify that with acknowledgement, instead following the directions to the drop site. I pulled up to the Victorian black iron gate, rolling down my window. "Morning sir, I have a drop off for ParaPedigree." I called to the guard station. "Ma'am, excuse you." The security guard corrected, then ordered "papers." I produced the documents through the window, where she plucked them from my hand. With a 'fuck you' flourish, she scanned them over. "You know the place," she growled, buzzing to open the gate. Reversing to the leftmost bay, I disconnected the cabin from the cargo, then pulled forwards. "What now?" The driver probed, watching through the side mirror as the receivers unloaded around the delivery. "Keep your head down and shut up!" I hissed, throwing myself as low as possible. All at once, screams erupted in a terrible chorus, the staccato of gunshots peppered in. "Shoot, dammit!" One guard ordered, panicked. "We're shooting, we're shooting!" Another cried, dread and fear palpable. Twin primal roars boomed louder than a thunderclap as the guards whimpered in terror. "Idiots." The driver sighed, not insultingly, but in an objective way. "They're all idiots." I heard the click of the passenger door. Frozen on the ground, I couldn't bring myself to object to the driver’s actions. "Oi!" The driver roared. "Come at me, ya bastards!" Shots sprinkled the cabin as some guards turned their fire our way. The driver didn't seem to mind, but I was trembling. One well placed ricochet could end me. "Damn you driver!" I shouted. *If I died here, my last words would at least be good ones.* My window shattered as something shot through it, landing inside with me. Hazarding a glance, I nearly fainted. A fucking head sat there, staring, slack jawed. Beginning to hyperventilate, I thought I was going crazy as I heard and watched it speak. "Be a dear and toss me out there, wontcha?" The driver’s head asked in an unfamiliar voice. Breathing heavier and heavier, the world spun. This was batshit. "We don't have all day. They're coming-!" The driver warned, cut off as something crashed on top of the cabin with a deafening **CREAK!** A massive, meaty hand crashed through the passenger window, blindly searching for something. The driver said nothing, looking at me and raising their eyebrows a few times at the hand. With a painful, dry gulp, I grabbed the weightless head and hurled it out my window. Instantly, the thing pounced from its perch atop my vehicle, shattering the windshield from sheer force. I did not have the courage to watch, covering my ears and squeezing my eyes as tight as I could. I layed there for what felt like an eternity, waiting for the thing to claim my life. The driver's side door fell from the cabin, and I felt something cold pry my hand free and touch my ear. I let loose a piercing scream, drawing the pistol and firing blindly at where I thought the thing was. The thing only twisted its slimy finger in my ear, undeterred by my efforts. A cold hand pat my cheek, as the driver said "all clear." After I remained frozen in the fetal position for a few minutes, the driver slapped me. "Ey, you're okay." They pulled me from the floor of the cabin, then set me carefully on my feet. At some point tears must have begun streaming down my face, as my eyes felt puffy and stung. Wiping them a few times, I took in my surroundings. I might've stood there, frozen for the rest of my days, had the saliva not dripped down my ear. Absentmindedly, I wiped at my ear. The driver snorted proudly. "Wet willy, classic!" The driver chuckled to themself. I was too stunned to argue. The area was like a Picasso painting. Half melted body armor was fused to the ground, haphazardly scattered across the pavement. The remains of the guards oozed out from their armor, a purple goop sizzling as it sank in. The first thing that crossed my mind as my senses slowly returned was *my heart is beating really damn fast* as I fell into a black cold of unconsciousness. — "Wakey wakey!" The driver announced in a chipper, sing-songway. That energy quickly depleted as I unload my stomach in an awful projectile, drenching them. "Ugh…" I gagged, feeling another wave of nausea bubbling up. "Where are-what happened?!" "Eh at your house, nice place by the way." The driver gave a thumbs up, then asked, "where is your bathroom?" "Last door on the right-wait why are you in **my house** and how did you even get here?!" I demanded, pointing my finger at them like a bad dog. Raising their hands in surrender, they said "would you rather wake up surrounded by those melted corpses?" *They just had to say it!* My nausea peaked and another projectile sprayed the driver. They flipped me off the whole while. Without another word, they marched down the hall and hopped into the shower. They're currently showering. Do I call the cops or something? <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I discovered a wrecked ship off the coast of Hawaii, and now my life is in danger.- Part 2 [RESPONSE] I set down the binoculars calmly and stepped outside. I could feel my heart beating rapidly, like it was about to come out of my chest. The man holding the gun was large and burly. “Bet you thought you were so clever huh? Did you really think we didn’t know what car you drove? Or that we wouldn’t check for suspicious cars parked around the house?” I didn’t reply, just avoided his icy gaze. He reached up to touch his ear. “Yeah, I got him. He was sitting in his car on the hill.” His eyes then fell upon the car behind me. “Where is the helmet?” I knew I was defeated. And I didn’t want to risk any consequences of my actions falling on my wife and daughter. “It’s in the trunk,” I admitted. He stepped past me, opened it up, and pulled the helmet out. Once more he touched his ear. “I got it, it was in his trunk.” I noticed the men in my house swiftly exit, get into their car, and drive up the hill. “I gave you what you wanted, now let me go,” I said to the other man as he examined the helmet closely. I imagined he was trying to see if I had done any damage to it. But when he heard me he just laughed. “Are you kidding? We offered to do this easy way for you, but you wanted the hard way. Now there will be consequences.” The SUV pulled up besides my car, and the man opened the door and set the helmet in. He then pulled a pair of handcuffs out. I knew what he wanted me to do and stuck my hand out. For a brief moment I considered trying to run, but that thought faded quickly. It would have been a stupid move that could just result in me being gunned down. I stuck my hands out and he quickly cuffed them before ordering me into the back seat. There I sat next to another man, an equally huge guy who wore a black beard and stared ahead with a dead look in his eyes. Once the man who had handcuffed me got in the car, we began to drive off, and in the direction of downtown. I assumed I was under arrest, but noticed they hadn’t read me my Miranda rights like they were supposed. I thought about saying something or at least asking where they were gonna take me, but kept my mouth shut for now. The other men didn’t talk either so I was left to speculate who they really were. My best guess was the FBI. And that the helmet I had taken was some part of a prototype suit or armor, and that someone had taken it from them and was on the run. I couldn’t understand why they cared about the map though and hoped Nathan wasn’t in any serious trouble. I had good money and could probably afford a good lawyer, but I was already worrying about how much punishment I would face. I figured surely my lawyer could use the fact that they didn’t even disclose who they really were to my advantage. I was just a guy who found a cool helmet. And I did my duty as a good person to even report the shipwreck. But when the SUV slowed down and turned down a dark ally, I began to worry again. “Hey, what the… Where are you taking me? Shouldn’t I be going to the police station?” The SUV stopped in front of a decrepit warehouse, and the other men got out. “Who are you guys? What you’re doing isn’t right, I didn’t know who you were,” “Shut up and stop whining. We aren’t going to kill you. We’re with the government as you already knew. Someone just wants to talk to you,” he said and they all walked into the warehouse. I reluctantly followed. There was one man standing inside, someone I had already met. The Chapman guy from lunch. When he saw me in cuffs, he raked the other guys with a furious gaze. “What are you doing Greg? Did you threaten him? Hurt him in any way?” “No sir,” the guy who I presumed to be Cooper responded. He was the same one who had first confronted me at the car. “Uncuff him right now!” Chapman demanded. Greg pulled the key out of his suit pocket and complied with Chapman’s orders. Once I was out of the cuffs, I began talking. “Alright, you got your helmet back. Now can you please let me go? I’m sorry I took it, I had no clue It was something that important. And I fully intended to return it in a few days, I just wanted to study it for a little bit.” “Mr. Tupoula, please. Let me be the one to apologize. We didn’t mean to come off as so intimidating here, we didn’t want to scare you.” He had taken on a calmer demeanor to address me. “Scare me? Your guy here pointed his gun at me.” “Is that true Greg?” He narrowed his eyes at him. “But… sir…” “I don’t want to hear it. In fact, I think Mr. Tupoula here is owed an explanation.” He then turned to look at me. I could feel my heart beating fast, but I didn’t say anything. “Earlier at the lunch, I think my friend and I came off as too threatening and rude. I wasn’t lying, about being part of the government. But you see if I told you the name of our organization, well you wouldn’t believe me. You see we aren’t FBI, CIA, NSA… No we work in developing technologically. Technology for our military in fact. So you can see why we were all so worked up. And I won’t lie to you anymore. That helmet you have? It’s part of the advanced diving suit we’ve been working on. What happened was one of our men, tried to take the suit and sell it on some black market. We had no clue where he was heading, but I can see now he must have gotten caught up in some terrible storm and shipwrecked.” “Ok, well you can have the helmet back. I didn’t know what I had come across. I just want my family to be OK, and Nathan too.” “Your family and friends are both safe. We just told Nathan not to contact you in case you decided to flee. But he doesn’t know what you know. You are kinda famous, aren’t you? Former Olympic gold medalist? Run a diving company now?” I felt the heat of embarrassment rise into me. Even to this day I still didn’t like all the attention that came with all that. I was however more relaxed about my situation. I didn’t think they were gonna harm me or the people I cared about now. I shook my head yes. “Well you see that’s why I wanted to talk to you again, why we didn’t just take the helmet. I want you to test our new suit, in fact, I think you’re more qualified than most of the people we’ve had testing it.” With this Chapman gave me an almost goofy smile. “That’s a very big honor sir, but I think I’m gonna have to pass. I gotta stay with my family. You know I have a newborn baby and everything. She requires my constant care.” “Mr. Toupula, it will only be for a few days. There are two diving sites we have in the Indian Ocean. We will pay for the whole trip, and give you a lot of extra money to for your time.” “Thanks but I really don’t need it.” “We know you do Mr. Tuoupola, we checked.” I looked down. He was right. Ever since the shark attack, I had been on a steady decline of customers and losing money. People were too scared now, even though it was incredibly rare. Also, I couldn’t lie to myself. Now that I knew it was truly part of a diving suit, my curiosity had been piqued. And I had been really bored for a long time. Finding that ship, was the most interesting thing to happen in my life since Faith had been born. “How much money?” I asked. Instantly Chapman reached into his pocket and pulled out a check. There was just enough light in the dimly lit warehouse to make out the numbers. A number that was seven digits. My eyes widened. This could change everything for me, my family, and my business. I was never good at hiding my emotions, and Chapman could pick that up. “I assume that’s going to be yes. But of course, you would have to never tell anyone about this. And I assume you haven’t told your wife yet right?” I shook my head no. “What about Nathan though?” I asked. He had already seen the helmet and knew my theory about it being connected to a larger diving suit. “Nathan has been told the truth and knows your offer. We know he has some diving experience, but we know that you are a much better diver than he is. He has been compensated for his silence, same as you.” I took a few seconds before giving him my final answer. I knew I couldn’t resist. “Alright, I’m in.” Chapman smiled once more. “Good, we’re leaving tomorrow. Meet us at the airport at 8 A.M. sharp. Your money will be given to you after the trip.” With that Chapman and his men began to walk out of the warehouse. “Wait? What will I tell my wife?” “That’s on you to decide,” Chapman called back as they all got into the SUV and drove off. I was now left standing alone. I looked around, making sure they hadn’t left me with someone who was gonna finish me off. These men were still suspicious, but the rational part of my brain told me if they were gonna get rid of me, they would have done it by now. So I stumbled out of the warehouse, and down the alley. Downtown was not as crowded as this time of night, but taxis were still running, usually for drunks. If I had my phone with me I would have just called an Uber, but I had left it in my car. When I finally got home, I spent most of the rest of the night checking my house for missing items. Luckily they had been gentle when they searched my house and didn’t make much of a mess. I wasn’t tired, as adrenaline was still pumping through my veins. And I couldn’t decide what to tell Lilly yet. I imagined they had tapped all my phones, but telling her the truth was stupid anyway. I spent the entire rest of the night awake, rolling around in bed and thinking of excuses. When I saw light creeping through my windows, I got up and began packing. I figured we would be going somewhere warm, like maybe a coral reef. So I packed warm clothing. Around 8 my adrenaline had worn off and I was starting to feel really tired. I took an hour-long nap and woke up at 9. Now was the moment I was dreading, the phone call I was gonna have to make. After drinking a lot of coffee and eating breakfast, I decided I had an explanation. So I called her. She answered right away. “Oh thank God, I was just about to call you? Is everything alright?” “Yes yes, it was just a false alarm. You and Faith should be fine to return to the house today.” “Oh good, I’ll make up a big breakfast for us. We can put on a good comedy too, something to destress. Maybe like The Proposal? Game Night?” “Lilly, I won’t be here.” “What?” I hesitated a bit before going on. I knew what I was about to say was very dangerous. “I have to come right out and apologize honey. I lied to you yesterday. The men yesterday were not some criminals. Uh, in fact, they were lawyers?” “Lawyers? What do they want with you?” “Remember Allan Fitzgerald? The guy who got attacked by a shark on my dive?” “Yes, but don’t your clients sign a waiver thought?” “They do, but clearly he still wants to try to sue me. I gotta fly to San Diego and take care of this.” “San Diego? You can’t just do this all over the phone?” “You know I can’t Lilly, especially not over something this bad. And I gotta fly out right now. It’ll only take three days though.” “I really don’t appreciate you lying to me about this, getting me all worked up. You know I barely got any sleep right last night right Sione?” “I know and I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you I swear. I just didn’t wanna get you all worried about it until I felt better about it all.” “It’s fine Sione, I forgive you. Just please don’t do something like this ever again.” “I won’t, I won’t. I need to go ahead and get going, gotta be at the airport by Ten.” “You think he’ll actually be able to screw you over with this?” “No, no. But I still feel horrible about it happening. I think maybe I can work something out to avoid all this trouble.” “Ok, good luck Sione.” “Thank you, and I love you.” “I love you too.” With that, I swiftly hung up the phone. Every lie that had come out of my mouth in that conversation stung me like a bad jellyfish. But I couldn’t get caught up on it. I cleaned up my breakfast, finished packing, shut down the house, and hit the road. I considered leaving my phone at the house, but I figured I might be able to talk Chapman into letting me keep it. I don’t know how he did it, but as soon as I arrived at our airport Chapman found me. I had taken an uber to the airport so I didn’t have to worry about leaving my car there, but Chapman said he would have paid for that. He seemed oddly friendly too now, but I still trusted him. As I expected, we loaded up into a private jet. It hadn’t been my first time in one, but it always felt weird to me. It was all white with pretty much no markings, and a beige interior. “So where are we going?” I asked as I sat down next to him. I didn’t see any of the men from the warehouse on the plane, it was just me and him. “Madagascar,” he simply replied. “Oh really? I’ve only been to Africa once, but I remember watching this great documentary on Madagascar once. Hopefully, we’ll get to see those weird Baobab trees.” “Sorry, Sione… You mind if I just call you Sione?” “Sure.” “We won’t, we’re going straight to the boat.” “Ahhh, maybe there are some around the coast?” “There isn’t, hate to break it to you.” Most of the flight was pretty quiet, as Chapman pulled out his laptop and began going through stuff I imagined I would get in trouble for looking at. I instead watched movies on the little tv they had. But the entire time, I was in a rush of different emotions. Excitement to try this suit out, but guilt and shame for lying to my wife. My mind also wondered about Chapman and the suit. Like everyone I had heard government conspiracies before, stuff like the Illuminati and such. But now I mostly thought about the conspiracies I had heard in my life surrounding Area 51. People often said it was a place of government test sites, somewhere to test out advanced weaponry. I had always thought that kind of stuff was stupid, but now I wondered how much of that was really true. The flight itself took about a day, and I fell asleep before we landed. “Wake up, we’re here,” I heard Chapman’s voice in my ear. I woke up to see that the plane was completely still now, and sitting on concrete. I had been so tired I must have slept through the landing. It made sense with how little sleep I got the night before. I got up and stretched my legs, my stomach rumbling. But my biggest worry was the long time I had gone without cell service. I pulled my phone out quickly. As I had expected, I had five missed calls and four texts from my wife. The first few phones were just asking if I had landed safely, then the following messages were filled with concern over me not answering. I typed a quick reply, noticing I had barely any service. *Sorry Lilly, I haven’t been on my phone much, these lawyers haven’t really left me alone. I won’t be able to be on my phone really during this trip, but I did land safely* I typed fast and sent the message, but Chapman still noticed. “What are you thinking? Bringing your phone here?” He said and snatched it out of my hand. “Look, my wife thinks I’m in San Diego dealing with some lawsuit. If I go dark…” “I know what you told your wife, but I still can’t risk you slipping up, or your phone being trapped. I’m sorry again, but I’m gonna have to get rid of this.” He stepped out onto the staircase and dropped the phone facedown. It fell for a few seconds before hitting the concrete with a loud *SMACK.* I cringed and looked at Chapman. “Hey man, couldn’t you have just shut it off and kept it yourself?” “That still wouldn’t stop it from being tracked if she really wanted it to be. We’ll get you a new phone, a better phone. Don’t worry about going dark either. We have someone in San Diego who is already gonna pose as a lawyer for your wife. He’ll explain you broke your phone and whatnot, and that you’re too busy to talk.” “You guys really do think of everything.” “Come on, we’re in a rush,” Chapman urged me as he headed out of the plane. I grabbed a bag of pretzels and a water bottle on the way out. Sitting at the bottom of the stairs leading down from the plane was an old grey Hummer. The driver of it looked American, and he was the only one in the car. But as I took a closer look, I recognized it as Greg. As soon as Chapman and I got in, we were speeding off from the airport. I wasn’t too mad about the phone, as I had everything backed up on it anyway. I was a little worried about his cover story for Lilly, as I wasn’t sure she would buy it On the way out of the airport and to the boat, we drove through an incredibly poor city. I had been to third-world countries before a few times. Three times I had taken a missionary trip down to Venezuela. No matter how many times I went seeing how these people in these countries lived always struck me with pain. At least on the missionary trips, I was there to help, but this time I was just here for a selfish reason. “Where are we? Is this the capital?” I finally spoke as I looked out of the window. “Mhm, Antananarivo. We landed at Ivato Airport. It shouldn’t be long before we’re at the coast.” A million questions ran through my mind, but I knew he wouldn’t answer most. I still asked one, however. One I wanted to ask earlier but didn’t. “Why uh did we fly all the way out here? Madagascar?” I said. I was sitting in the back but now looking directly ahead at Chapman, who was sitting in front of me. He answered quickly, like he had been prepared and waiting on the question. “This is gonna be a field test, it’s why I wanted you. There are two recently sunken cargo ships in the Indian Ocean. Sunken by pirates. Fortunately, they haven’t figured out how to get down there to get the precious cargo we need to recover. It’s a perfect job for us.” “Y’all don’t have guys for that? Like the SEALs right?” “We don’t think there will be any threat to us. The pirates who sunk it have abandoned the wreckage and we haven’t seen them in the waters around it for months.” I felt a jolt forward as Greg slammed on the brakes, and looked forward to see a group of kids running out into the street chasing a soccer ball. “This place is such a shithole, and all these people are too. Damn idiots who won’t hesitate to rob you blind,” the driver mumbled under his breath. Chapman raked him with a disappointed glare. “Hey, why don’t you show some respect to these people? They can’t help where they are,” Chapman snapped at him. The driver didn’t say anything for the rest of the ride. It took a little over an hour to get to the coast, and the drive was mostly jungle like I had expected. I did however see a few of those towering Baobab trees, so I guess Chapman had been wrong. At the coast, we arrived at a small village, one that was even poorer than the capital. The roads were mud, the shacks were falling apart. I only noticed one car, and it was broken down and without wheels. The only building that looked remotely in tact really was a grey brick building. It had a steeple and even a few stained-glass windows. I assumed it was a church, but didn’t see a cross on the steeple. The docks were in shambles, except for one. There were a few small fishing boats attached to it, and another much larger boat that I could easily tell would be the one we were taking. It was a large white yacht-looking boat, probably around a hundred feet or so. The dock it sat on was the longest one, and it still took up the entire side. I noticed a probably twenty-foot-long submarine attached to the side of it, and giant cranes holding it. I imagined these cranes were used to pick it up and drop it in the water. The side read *S.S. Santo*. Compared to everything around it, it was like a pearl in a pile of garbage. The locals of the village were all gathered around the front of the dock, blocking the entrance. I noticed several men on our ship looking down at them. “Park by that hut,” Chapman ordered Greg. He complied and shut the car off. There were four other identical Hummers by the hut also, which was next to the big dock. “You two stay in here for a second, I’m gonna see what’s going on,” he said and got out of the car, carrying a concerned look on his face. I waited till he had walked a good bit away from the car to talk to Greg. “Do you know what’s going on? Are they mad that we’re here?” I asked as I leaned forward to him. Greg chuckled before pulling out a cigarette. He rolled down the window and lit it, blowing the smoke out. With the window open I could hear the crowd mumbling loudly, but didn’t understand anything they were saying. The driver chuckled once more before talking. “Nah man, these freaks don’t give a shit that we’re here. Chapman gave them a lot of money, but they probably don’t know what to do with it anyway. He has been pretty charitable to this village, but I think that’s a lost cause if you ask me.” I didn’t like his disrespectful attitude, or the actions he had done to me the other night, but I was curious about the villagers. So I kept asking. As I intentionally stared at the crowd, I noticed something else, something that looked like a coffin that they were carrying to the edge of the dock. Chapman looked like he was trying to talk to one of them, but they were ignoring him. “Why?” “I think like two of the villagers here speak English. Bad English, but still English. And since my job is to stay here the whole time, I got bored and talked to them. They got some weird ass beliefs. See that coffin they’re carrying to the water? Well, they dump all their dead into the ocean. Because apparently when they do that, the dead still sings to them at night from it.” “Hmmm,” I simply replied. I watched as they reached the edge of the dock and tossed the coffin in. Next, they got on their knees. From this far away, I couldn’t hear if they were saying anything still, or just sitting in silence. Chapman had given up on talking to them and made his way up onto the boat. “So can we go now?” I asked Greg, who seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. I could feel the pressure in my bladder building and realized I hadn’t gone to the bathroom since the plane ride. “No, he’s probably clearing some shit up on the boat. They’re really weird about everything, he’ll probably want you to see no one else when you go on board.” “Well I gotta use the bathroom really bad, so I’m getting out.” “Do whatever you want, just don’t go mingling,” he replied. I got out of the car and scanned the village for anything that looked like a restaurant or somewhere with a bathroom. Of course, I didn’t wanna just barge into someone’s house, or pee on the side of the road. The only building that I thought may have somewhere public was the grey-bricked church, so I began walking in that direction. My feet made gross noises as they tracked through the wet mud, and the sneakers I had worn were quickly covered in it. I looked back one more time before stepping into the building and noticed Greg wasn’t even paying attention to me. He was watching the villager’s burial. The inside of the building, well it did look like a church too. There were pews and an altar at the front. I didn’t expect anyone to be in it because of the funeral-type event going on, and I was right. Being a religious person I thought this might be a chance to maybe meet an English-speaking villager, and ask him about Chapman and the others. I didn’t see any crosses or bibles or anything that resembled Christianity. The stained glass windows all had the same image. Some tall and skinny cloaked figure. You couldn’t see its body, face, or anything besides a pair of wide black wings that stuck out from behind them. The cloak too looked like it was almost meant to be water of some sort. My first thought was that maybe it was some weird depiction of an angel, but I had never seen one depicted like that before. *Maybe this isn’t a Christian church at all? But some other religion?* I wasn’t too familiar with Africa’s primary religion and considering prying a little bit. But I didn’t wanna get in any trouble and quickly brushed that urge away. I did find it very odd that a poor village like this would be able to afford such quality stained glass windows. The building was only one room, so I didn’t see a bathroom. I did however see a door by the altar and followed it out behind the building. There I found two outhouses and promptly used the guy’s one. The bathroom was no more than a giant hole in the ground and was one of the worst-smelling things I had ever experienced. I finished quickly and walked back to the building. When I went back inside, however, I found company. A very old hunched-over woman and three men. As soon as she saw me, she pointed her crooked finger at me and begin yelling rapidly. I threw my hands up and pleaded. “Hey, I was just using the bathroom.” They ignored me and the two men grabbed me roughly. I began to squirm back, but I wasn’t a very strong person myself. And these people felt surprisingly strong for being skinny. The woman continued to yell at me as they dragged me out of the building and into the street. This caught the attention of Greg, who jumped out of the Hummer. He quickly put his hand on his holstered pistol and began yelling at the villagers. “Hey let him go right now! I swear to God! Let him go!” He yelled over and over again. I was worried I had set off a chain of events, and Chapman, who had been standing on the boat’s deck, quickly noticed. He turned and said something to the man next to him, and quickly ran down from the dock. The people at the funeral didn’t even seem to acknowledge what was happening, as they just continued to sit on their knees and face the water. Chapman quickly sprinted over to us right as Greg pulled his pistol out and began to slowly lift it up. “I’m not gonna warn you again! Let him go or I will open fire!” “Hey! Put the gun down!” Chapman yelled at him, grabbing his arm and forcing it down. Greg complied and next Chapman was speaking to them quickly. He sounded almost fluent in their language. The old lady wobbled up to him, and they talked back and forth for about a minute. The entire time the men held me still. I didn’t see any weapons on them, so I didn’t know what they were gonna do with me. Chapman and the old lady’s conversation sounded intense, but they finally seemed to settle down. At last, the old lady looked to the men, said a single word, and they all let me go. I stepped forward and to Chapman. “You should have stayed in the truck,” he said to me solemnly. I could sense the disappointment in his voice. “I’m sorry, I had to use the bathroom. I didn’t know they were so sensitive.” “Well, now we’re gonna have to go early. Let’s go, Greg,” He said to him. His eyes darted back to the Hummer and then to Chapman rapidly. “But sir, the other guys aren’t here yet. If we just leave the cars here these people could seriously mess it up.” “It won’t be safe for any of us to be here now, I’m gonna call the other team off.” “Yes Sir.” Greg made sure to roll the window up before we left the car behind. When I went to pick up my bag in the backseat, Greg grabbed it from me. “Gotta make sure you got no contraband,” he said unzipping it. I sighed with frustration, stepping back. He went through it quickly and rezipped everything back up. I noticed the old women and those other men staring us down with icy gazes as made our way to the boat. But none of them tried to do anything. The other people who were on the deck had disappeared from it by the time we got up the ramp. “Ok Sione, I’m gonna take you to your room. It is very important that you do not leave this room the entire trip. If you do so, I’ll have to send you home early.” “I understand.” Greg headed off in another direction as Chapman lead me into the cabin and down a set of stairs. The inside was luxurious and looked like a yacht outfitted with military equipment and computers. I looked around to see if I could catch a glimpse of the suit, but didn’t see it. I didn’t take long for us to reach a dark oak hallway, where we stopped at a door. “Ok Sione, this is your room. Our first drop will be in probably around thirty minutes, as the first shipwreck isn’t that far off. Your roommate’s name is Jin Devi. Do not leave the room until I come back and get you,” He instructed me. I nodded and he knocked on the door, waited a few seconds, and opened it. The room was small, it contained a bunk bed, desk, small closet, and small bathroom. Laying down on the top bunk was a small Asian man. He was wearing headphones and working on what looked like a sudoku puzzle book. His music was so loud, and I could tell it was some sort of heavy metal. When he eyed us he took off his headphones and rolled over to face us. He was also wearing very thick-rimmed glasses. “Jin, this is your roommate Sione Tupoula. He is a former Olympic diver and will also be testing out the new suit on this journey.” Jin just gave me an awkward stare, and then hastily put his headphones back on. “Well I’ll be back shortly,” Chapman said and left the room, not seeming to want to stick around and deal with the awkward vibes.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I woke up and I wish I hadn’t. [RESPONSE] I woke up but it was different this time. There were no birds chirping or my soft down pillow under my head. My room didn’t greet me. Tall crumbling buildings that creaked with every whisper of wind did. With a swift movement, my feet were under me. Every sense on high alert. “Where am I…” Taking a few tentative steps forward, I was standing in the middle of a now abandoned intersection. It was silent. Too silent. The only sign of life was my own heart beat vibrating my ear drums and the crunch of my last step echoing down the streets. “Honey? Is that you?” Whipping my head to the side, there he stood. My dad. The man who raised me. Standing in the shadows. Wearing his favorite teams jersey and his khaki shorts with the matching typical dad shoes that he was buried in 8 years ago. “D-dad? Am I dreaming?” Tears stung my eyes as my feet carried me towards him with speeds I didn’t know I could reach. Crashing into him, the warmth I expected wasn’t there. “Dad where are we?” “I’m not sure.” He said, stroking my hair with a deep breath. “I just know there’s a path down behind me that I followed here. Where I found you.” Taking me hand he started to show take me down the street away from the open street. Before us was an alley way. The end of it was unnaturally dark. A dark that makes your legs stiffen up. The dark you saw in your closet as a child. “No. Dad stop. Somethings wrong.” He ignored me. His grip tightening on my wrist making me cry out. “DAD STOP!! YOU’RE HURTING ME!!” Digging my heals into the cracks of the street, I tried to fight my way out of his grip but his grip wasn’t normal. Wasn’t…human. “Shut up and keep moving.” He growled at me in a voice that most definitely wasn’t his. I had to get away. Quickly thinking, I saw a fire escape coming up to our left. I forced myself to relax which in turned made it relax it’s grip on me. 5 more steps…4 more…3…2..1! Jolting to my left, I ripped my hand from its grip and jumped. The rust of the ladder bit into my palms as adrenaline pulsed through me. An ungodly inhumane noise rippled through the stagnant air. “NO! YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO LEAVE” Searing pain surged through my calf as I heard my skin then my muscles rip causing me to loose my grip. My stomach crashed into the ground causing any debris under me to embed itself into my flesh. It flipped me onto my back, my once short plump dad was now towering over me. All his limbs stretched and contorted like he had no bones. His warm smile replaced by a gaping hole of rows and rows of teeth that spun like blender. “You can’t leave here…” lurching forward his teeth came in-contact with my chest, drilling in. Lurching up in bed, the restraints kept me down. A bright light blinded me. “Shit she’s awake! Nurse! More anesthesia! We aren’t done!” My eyes darted to the lady next to me then down at my chest, my heart beating in the doctors hand. “You can’t leave here…” I woke up and I wish I hadn’t.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Fata Morgana is NOT an Illusion [RESPONSE] Have you ever heard of Fata Morgana? It's an optical illusion similar to a desert mirage. The most common form of it is seen on the surface of the ocean - making it appear as if boats are hovering a few yards above the water, seen from a distance during the proper conditions. But there's another version of Fata Morgana which is much more rare. If you do a quick internet search for "Fata Morgana cities" you'll find some very surreal images. Cities which seem to float high above us, perched precariously on the clouds, like a modern Mount Olympus. The pictures look fake, but they are verified to be real. There’s even video footage of these events. When people saw this illusion in China and in other places they gasped and whispered fearfully amongst themselves. Some even fainted or fell to their knees and prayed, thinking the end of the world was upon them - that these were the angels of heaven, and the cities of God, coming to announce the end of days. But as always those pesky scientists were there to scoff and say, "No, that isn't real - it's just an optical illusion." Fata Morgana, they called it. That was the official explanation for the cities in the sky which disappeared just as quickly as they arrived. But those scientists didn't see it up close like we did. There's a whole plane full of people who will tell you - the cities in the sky are real. They're no illusion. * I was on a trip to Asia when this all happened. We were flying over Jiangxi when suddenly something appeared in the clouds before our eyes. If not for the fact that I was looking out the window at that exact moment, I wouldn’t have seen it. But as it happens I was wide awake and admiring the view when the city appeared. The buildings resting on the clouds were dark and shimmering - almost exact replicas of the city far down below. Except we shouldn’t have been able to see them from where we were. The optical illusion of Fata Morgana can’t be viewed from within the image itself - it should have been impossible for us to see what we were seeing. But I wasn’t alone. We all saw it. When I looked around the cabin of the airplane I saw dozens of other passengers staring and pointing at the city in the sky as we flew through its mysterious borders, entering the surreal space that shouldn't exist. And then people began to scream. The airplane suddenly tilted half-sideways as the pilot steered quickly to avoid something - I imagined a building shimmering and materializing in front of the airplane at the last second, like a mountain coming into focus during a snowstorm. Everyone on the packed airplane began to scream after that, as overhead luggage broke free from the compartments and began to rain down, injuring several passengers. A woman who had been sitting across the aisle from me fell down onto the floor and I tried to help her up, but then the plane’s axis tilted again and I was thrown hard into the window. I turned around and was startled to see a hairline crack forming across it. But something even more terrifying caught my eye as I stared at the glass. Outside, there were creatures flying in the air. They looked like pterodactyls soaring between the massive black buildings. One of them landed on the wing, causing the craft to tilt and veer off course again. People screamed and shouted as they were thrown from their seats and luggage came crashing out of the overhead compartments once again, emptying them out of whatever was left inside. The creature on the wing of the plane began to skitter-crawl towards my window and I saw its eyes were hollow black sockets. Its maw was like a giant beak made of shadow, full of liquid black teeth. It scrambled rapidly across the wing, heading in my direction, and I could have sworn it was looking straight at me with its dead, empty eyes. That broke me out of my silent terror and I started screaming, pointing at the window as other passengers turned to look. Soon there was a small crowd forming around my seat, staring out at the horrible thing on the wing as it approached the window and began to scratch and claw and bash its face against the glass. I had never seen anything so desperate and insane, as if it had no purpose except to attack and to maim. A few seconds later there were more of them, fighting with each other as they tried to get in. I saw they had long tails with triangle-shaped points at the end, like demons sent from hell. Or, I realized, maybe that's where we were. Had we died in a fiery explosion without any of us realizing it? Was this just a grim, horrible afterlife which we were now destined to reside within for eternity? No, I refused to believe it. I refused to give myself to this place. I shook off that horrible idea and glanced back out the window, hoping it had changed and we were back on Earth again, in the real world. But no. The shimmering black buildings outside were so close now that I felt like I could see inside of them, if not for the fact that they were opaque. Whatever was inside was not meant to be seen by us, and I realized that was probably for the best. If these creatures were the birds of this hellish mirror-world, I was scared to see what their people might look like. I began to suspect we had crossed over into an alternate dimension somehow, and I wasn’t sure if we would ever be able to escape. Was this what happened to mysterious planes that went missing in the skies - over the Bermuda Triangle and in a handful of other places? I had heard of those events, but like everyone else I just assumed they were planes with mechanical failures, or drunk and irresponsible pilots, sleeping at the wheel. Turbulence and stormy weather, birds sucked into the engines or hurricanes with hail the size of golfballs - there were a thousand potential reasons for a plane to go down. Who would have thought that alternate dimensions could be responsible? I was snapped from my thoughts as suddenly the glass shattered and the plane lost cabin pressure. Alarms were suddenly blaring and the lights were flickering in the cabin as oxygen masks fell from the ceiling. People grabbed for them desperately as the creature began to squeeze its way into the plane through the window. Like a cat going through a chainlink fence it sucked in its gut and its wings flattened down as it began to claw and scratch its way inside. Meanwhile I was still desperately trying to snag one of the available oxygen masks. Since most people had been thrown from their seats, myself included, that was no easy task. The wind was rushing and whipping throughout the cabin, making it difficult to do much of anything. I scrambled over a nearby seat and reached for one available mask, just as an older man was about to take it for herself. I left it for him without a second thought. The other ones nearby were also being used, I saw, and began to panic. Looking around desperately, the air becoming too thin to breathe, I finally spotted a handful of unused oxygen masks near the front of the economy section. I was halfway towards the back of the plane and there were people in the aisles blocking my path, but I knew that I had to get up there. Like a game of musical chairs, there were only so many oxygen masks to go around on this packed flight, and I was seriously at risk of being the only one left standing when the music stopped. Lurching forward, I stumbled over injured people laying in the aisles, stepping over them awkwardly and feeling dizzy from lack of oxygen. I looked back to see the creature was inside the plane now, and for some reason it had its dead eyes fixed on me. It raced towards me, its horrible limbs leaving black, inky stains on the seats as it raked them with its claws. The world was spinning and I was getting a terrible headache as my breathing quickened, my lungs desperate for air. I fell over, unable to keep my balance, and began to crawl towards the front of the plane, my vision fading in and out. At one point I must have blacked out, because I woke up to the thing on top of me, snapping its liquid black jaws just inches from my face. Screaming, I reached up to push it away, only to find that my hands sunk into the thing like molasses. It was tenacious and sticky, binding to my skin and refusing to let go. "Die you fucking hell spawn!" A man's muffled voice yelled, and I looked up to see a guy wearing an oxygen mask, holding a heavy-looking piece of luggage over his head with both hands. He threw it at the creature and I recoiled, worried that it would crash right through the oily black creature and would land right on me. The heavy suitcase did just what I expected and slammed into the thing, splashing it in every direction like a water balloon being destroyed by a sledgehammer. The luggage landed on my gut, knocking the wind out of me and fracturing three ribs in the process. But luckily for us it took care of the creature. I was still covered in its sticky black goo, but at least it wasn't about to eat me anymore, and for that I was grateful. I stood up on shaking legs to thank the man for saving me, then doubled over in pain. My ribs were screaming at me with each breath I took and my vision was going dark from a total lack of oxygen. The contents of the plane were still whipping around in the air of the cabin as the alarms sounded and I heard the captain saying something about an emergency landing. And then everything went dark and I passed out again, this time staying unconscious until after we landed. * I woke up in a Chinese hospital. According to the official reports, none of what I've told you actually happened. They covered the whole thing up, as if it never occurred. We tried to tell them the truth - me and several of the other passengers have kept in touch over the years and we've all tried to get our story out there. Unfortunately, no one will believe us. The official reports contradict us at every step. The media won't even listen to our story, and I can't blame them really. Fata Morgana, they tell us. It was Fata Morgana and nothing more. But I know what I saw. I know where we've been. Hell is real, and it's waiting for us in the <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Deadhead [RESPONSE] Sometimes cutting the head off is not enough. I know that now. Back then, I had no idea. My marriage had collapsed, and my career was imploding, and I couldn’t sleep. I’d get thirty minutes here, thirty minutes there, then *bang* I was awake and staring into the darkness. Or I would lie there all night without a wink of sleep, and it would start to go light, and the next thing I knew my alarm was going off and my heart was racing. I’d fallen asleep a few minutes before I needed to wake up. It was cruel. And it was beyond exhausting. The world felt blurred, and I was slow and clumsy. This made work worse. My decision making was way off, and, though I was upset, I wasn’t that surprised when I was called into my manager’s office and told I was being suspended. It was all done above board. There was someone from HR there and a union rep, and, apparently, I’d been sent the meeting request more than once and asked to submit a written statement, but I was in such a daze I had not picked up on any of this. My manager seemed kind of sad when he was giving me the bad news, and afterwards he offered to walk me out to my car. When we were on our own, he told me I should try and look after myself. That, I should do something healthy. Then he wished me good luck and shook my hand. Which made the whole thing feel like a goodbye rather than a blip which could be got over. As I drove away from the office, I did not think I would ever be going back. Sitting in my apartment in the middle of the day on a weekday felt weird but also kind of nice. It was like a cloud had been lifted and I must admit I cried a couple of times. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done that. I knew I needed to tighten my belt financially, but I decided to treat myself, so ordered in a pizza. Extra-large with all the toppings. Then I settled down with my new best friend, daytime TV. About eleven pm I started to feel sleepy and thought I would be able to sleep. Just a few uninterrupted hours would be amazing, I thought, as I dragged myself off the sofa and went to clean my teeth. I put on fresh bedding, aired out the room, and lay down, closed my eyes. *Bang*! It wasn’t even midnight, and I was wide awake – and shattered. I tried to get comfortable, but it was no use. My insomnia was no better. I gave up and went into the living room and put the tv back on. Someone was selling jewellery at low low prices. The next day I didn’t get dressed. I just sat there. I had cold pizza for breakfast and, if I had had any alcohol in the apartment, I think I would have drunk it. This was bad, and I knew it, but I didn’t have the energy to do anything about it but slouch on the sofa watching tv – until it fell dark, and the prospect of another sleepless night began to press down on me. I couldn’t face it. I really couldn’t. I started to feel panicky. I found it hard to swallow and then to breathe. I thought I was going to suffocate and die, and I couldn’t even phone for help because I wouldn’t be able to speak. Then a gardening programme started on tv – and I know how stupid this might sound, but I was fine. A man was walking along a path surrounded by plants. They overhung and they bloomed and they shone. It all seemed so lovely and peaceful. And my breathing, and the rest, was back to normal. It was as simple as that. I spent the rest of the night watching the box set of the whole series, and in the morning I decided I needed a garden in my life. I walked over to the window and looked down at the busy road running past the front of my apartment block, and at the windowsill, which could have maybe fitted two very small plant pots. This was my first challenge. I needed a plot of land where I could do my gardening. I went online and started searching for ‘gardens for hire’. One of the results was ‘allotments’. I’d heard the word before but knew next to nothing other than that they were a small area of land for growing plants on. It’s all very British. Over the next few hours, I drilled into the details. It was a whole new world, and at first sounded ideal – but it turned out it wasn’t a world for me. Allotments needed to be leased from private or public authority landlords, and it looked like all the allotments across the city were taken. And there were hundreds of people on the waiting lists to take over allotments when they became available. I closed the lid of my laptop harder than was good for it and decided I needed some fresh air. I pulled on my coat and headed out. The early winter day was clear and cold. A breeze was whipping leaves into the air. Traffic rushed past me, and other people out on foot did the same. It seemed everyone but me had somewhere they needed to be. I sighed and set off walking. I had no destination in mind. I passed a coffee shop I had not been to in ages, an independent cinema I used to go to with my wife in better days, and the empty shell of a bookshop. I loved browsing there before it closed down. I passed a place that sold second hand cars, a bar with steel shutters pulled down over the windows. A couple of men stood in its doorway smoking. A stereo in a car parked on a street corner pounded out a bass beat. Close by, a burnt-out car had been abandoned in the middle of the road. I’d drifted into an area I’d never been too before – one that had clearly seen better days – and I figured I should probably head back to familiar territory. Maybe call into that coffee shop. I was about to turn around when I saw the plot of land. It was in-between a derelict building and a pile of rubble. It was about twelve feet long and eight feet wide and it was covered in weeds. Without thinking what I was doing I walked over to it. The weeds were all tangled together, a riot of straggly stalks. I had no idea what they were. The gardening show on tv had been big on showing captions with Latin names on. But these were a mystery to me, and I was wondering why I had been drawn to this patch of waste ground in the wrong side of town, when I saw the strip of dark red almost hidden amongst the weeds. I knelt down. It was a flower. It was long and slim. Kind of tube-shaped with the top of the petals gathered to form a small opening. I had never seen anything like it before. It was beautiful. The stalk below the flower was striking for different reasons. It was curved, light green, and was covered in small thorns. They looked very sharp. I got to my feet. Looked at the plot of land. And smiled. I had found my garden. After making sure my phone could show me the way back, I set off for home. The coffee shop would have to wait. I was bursting with ideas and questions, and I needed my trusty laptop and the net. One practicality which had occurred to me was, what if someone owned the plot of land? Sure, it didn’t look like it, but perhaps a developer did, and they were planning on building on and around it. Gentrification was still all the rage. Back at home, I started to search. I remembered that the nearest street sign to the plot I had seen was for Ashburn Road and so I began with that as my search term. The results immediately threw up something unexpected. Something gruesome. The news website raced through the details: *A man’s body was found on waste ground near Ashburn Road this morning by a passer-by, who alerted emergency services. Responding paramedics pronounced the man dead. Unconfirmed reports say that the man’s skin was pierced in a number of places and he had significant blood loss. A police spokesperson said there were as yet no suspects in this case.* I stopped reading there. This was way too dark for me. I went back to my search and did not find any reason I should not use the land as a garden. No one seemed to own it and, from the date on the news story, the killing had taken place a couple of months before, so it wasn’t like it was still a crime scene. That was it then. I was a man on a mission. The next morning, I went to a hardware store and bought secateurs and a trowel for cutting and digging and clearing away. I also bought lots of little packets of seeds. I did not know what would grow there, but I figured if I scattered and planted enough seeds in the ground, something would flourish. With a spring in my step that had not been there before, I set off for the plot of land. When I got there, I laid my new purchases out in a line by edge of the plot. Then I spotted that there was a second flowering plant close to the first, and decided to begin by clearing space around them. Carefully snipping away the weeds with the secateurs, I whistled tunelessly to myself. There was a strong breeze, which felt fresh against my skin. It all felt good. It was therapeutic. After an hour or so both the flowering plants were free of their plain neighbours, and the flowers and the stalks swayed in the wind. I was transfixed. I reached out to touch the petals of one of them – and winced. A swaying thorn had caught my skin, right on the end of the middle finger of my right hand. Blood seeped out. I rummaged around in my pockets and found a tissue – which didn’t look very clean, but I wrapped it around my finger anyway. It was stinging quite badly by now. “Dangerous business this gardening,” I said to myself, and laughed. It had been a while since I had laughed like that – and a while since I had done any physical labour. As I straightened up, I felt a twinge of pain in my back. With the tissue in my right hand, I put my left hand against my back, and pulled a face. That was how I was standing when the old man appeared. He came striding out of nowhere. “You shouldn’t be here,” he shouted. He had a few wisps of hair on his head, and plenty in his nose and ears, and his cheeks were a patchwork of broken veins. Even though he had come to a halt a good few feet away, I could smell alcohol on his breath. He scowled and yelled, “You need to leave, and leave now!” Just great, I thought. “Get out of here!” he screamed. Being shouted at was spoiling what had been a good day up till then, so, being careful not to step on any of the flowers, I gathered up my things and walked away. I glanced back once, and the old man was gone. “Good riddance,” I said under my breath. Back at home I made a warming bowl of soup and settled back down in front of my laptop. The browser was still open on the same page of the news site, and I noticed a link to a related story: *Disgraced academic claims Ashburn Road killer was something very strange* Talk about click bait! I clicked and started to read. *A former history professor at the city’s university has been contacting the police and local news media claiming that the man found dead suffered a very unusual fate. The professor, who was fired from his teaching position for unprofessional behaviour, is insisting that he fought and killed a vampire on the plot of ground near Ashburn Road and that its ashes, which he buried on the spot, have led to the victim’s death.* I stopped reading, my attention having been drawn to a photograph of the professor accompanying the lurid text. He had a bit more hair on his head and less sprouting out of his nose and ears and his cheeks were not such a mess, but it was clearly the old man who’d shouted at me earlier. It’s a shame, I thought. This individual clearly had serious issues. Well, I had my own problems to deal with, and with any luck I wouldn’t see him again. I checked the time. It was only three o’clock and I decided to go back to the plot. I could hopefully get in another hour of gardening before it went fully dark. Maybe scatter my first lot of seeds. My good mood fully back in place I walked back to the plot. The winter sky was already showing swathes of red by the time I arrived, and I got busy emptying a packet of seeds onto the ground as dusk started to fall. I was still doing this when I saw him again. My heart sank. He was walking towards me, and again ground to a halt well clear of the plot of land, but close enough for me to smell that he reeked of booze. I counted to ten and said in what I hoped was a reasonable tone of voice, “Will you please just leave me alone. I’ve read about you and what you claim happened and frankly…” He didn’t let me finish. His voice was raised and his words rushed out, almost tumbling over each other when he spoke: “I know what I’m talking about. I just find everything so difficult since I fought the vampire. I had a breakdown afterwards and I’ve been drinking, but I thought I could recover, because the danger was gone. But then I realised it wasn’t. The danger is still here, but it has changed. It’s the plants now. The flowering ones. They fed on the soil where you’re standing, where I buried the ashes of the vampire, and they were corrupted by the evil still held in his remains. The plants have developed a taste for blood.” As he spoke his eyes shone with what looked to me like insanity. Horrified, I glanced away… and remembered the man who had died here. Unbidden, it came back to me. How he was found on the ground. His skin pierced. With significant blood loss, the story had said. And I thought, No, it can’t be true what the old man was saying. There had to be a reasoned explanation. But what was it? I needed to think. I took a step backwards – then pain shot through my leg. I looked down. I’d snagged a trouser leg on one of the plants. Some of its thorns had cut through the fabric and dug into my flesh. Its slender flower pointed upwards – Almost as if it was looking at me, I thought, and a wave of panic rushed through my body. The old man had not moved and this time when he spoke his voice was quieter but still urgent. “You need to deadhead it,” he said. “Remove the flower and the body should wither. You need to do it now.” I was starting to feel nauseous, and the pain from the thorns was agonising. It felt like they were digging in deeper. A part of me knew that I was panicking. That panic was spirally into fear. And that my imagination must be overturning reason. But there was nothing I could do about it. Fear had reduced me to this. “Please help me,” I said, hating how pathetic I sounded. The old man was shaking his head. “It’s dangerous,” he said. “So dangerous to go close. That’s why I don’t you see. Why I don’t cut the heads off.” “Please,” I begged. He sighed deeply and finally moved towards me. He took a pocket knife out and slid it open. His hands were shaking badly, and I was worried he might accidently cut me, but, with a sudden slice, he cut the flower off. Then he hurried back to where he had been standing before. A dark patch was appearing on the front of his trousers. I don’t know why but the thorns did not feel to be pressing in as badly now. Something had eased, and I managed to extricate myself. The old man was leaving by now, he was running, stumbling as he went, and shaking his head. I stood there shivering for a long time then went to get my secateurs. There was the one other plant in flower – but it wouldn’t be for long. Crazy or not, I would follow the old man’s advice. I deadheaded the plant. And that’s where I’m at. I’m standing in the plot of land. Gripping the secateurs tight. The wind has died down completely, the air is still, and dusk is a memory. I’m not like the old man, I’m telling myself. I’m not going to run away. I’m going to be calm. Think rationally. I mean, a vampire and plants with a thirst for blood. That’s all nonsense – isn’t it? Only… the plant I just deadheaded is still swaying and its thorns look like fangs in the dark, lonely night.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] That time my imaginary friends came to life (Part 1) [RESPONSE] When I was about 11 years old, I was quite weird. I had imaginary friends that actually mimicked voices in my head, and visited me in my dreams. I would talk about how they spoke, and their personalities. This got me bullied, a lot. For clarity, ever since I was 8 years old I was bullied for this reason. This bullying went from being called names and picked on occasionally, to being a complete outlier and coming home with bruises. Oh yeah, I almost forgot to mention my “friends”. My first one I liked to call Mr. Star, and he wore a suit and tie, like a celebrity star. Despite wearing such formal attire, he was often informal, since being made at a young age. My second one was named Quiz, and made when I was 8. She was actually not even humanoid, and took the appearance of a crow with nerdy glasses. Quiz would actually be pretty important to my development, as she would encourage me to do my homework and study when no one else did. My last one I made last, and his name was Mr. Smirks. He took the appearance of a short furry creature, that looked like a cat if it could stand. Mr. Smirks was the one that wasn’t the best influence. He would encourage behaviors like acting up at the dinner table, and would get me to do dangerous activities, like playing with fire. Mr. Smirks was any mother's nightmare, especially with me almost burning my entire closet under his influence. My bullying peaked in early high school, specifically 9th grade. Ah yes, the BEST years of our lives! At least that's what they all said. Now, by high school, I had changed plenty, and learned to keep my mouth shut. My bullies were almost stereotypical in nature, using words like "Loser" and throwing spitballs. You know, the casual school bullies. By now, I had also forgotten about my "mind-mates", as I liked to call them. That didn't stop the bullying though; not by a long shot. One incident, on one unlucky day, had changed my life forever. I was walking by my locker, and had bumped into one of my bullies on accident, though I made a point not to be in the same location as them. "What the hell?" My bully had tried picking a fight with me, as many times before he had. As he was pushing me and yelling obscenities, I tried pushing him back. His big frame stopped me from doing so, however. He grabbed one of my textbooks from me and tried to swing it at me. I had dodged it though, and he had gotten even more furious. As he stomps towards me, one of his many friends had secured me in a chokehold and was ready to humiliate me in front of the entire school. As he readied his hand for a long day of punching, a voice had spoke to me, and I had seen only the solid color of red. "Kill. Him." I gouged the eyes of the guy choking me, and pushed him into my previous position. As he got punched by the other bully, I grabbed the pen I had in my shirt's pocket and stabbed the bully with it. While he did block it with his arms, he was still bleeding plenty. Soon enough, the school's security guard who hadn't taken a PT test in at least a year, had pulled his taser and ordered me to freeze and stand down. Of course I did what he told me to do. What was I going to do? Make a last stand over something little like this? After I was handcuffed and thrown into one of the chairs in the principal's office, the principal had given me the rundown. "Do you know how much trouble you're in? Those kids have to go to the hospital now because of YOU." I had laughed. I don't know how I found humor in it, and I never found humor in such a topic before. Today, however, was just different. I was turning into a monster, and it was clear that everyone was noticing. Despite how menacing I had became, I was terrified of what I was becoming, and what my future was going to be like. What would my family think of me after this event? What would my future be with a broken record? Somehow, I had gotten out of that situation scot-free. When I got home, I had received an anonymous letter from an old friend. I opened it up, and was greeted with a small piece of paper. It had only said: “Again the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor. - Matthew 4:8” I don't know who had sent me that letter, why they sent me it, and with everything going on that day, it had honestly scared me. Later that night though, everything became clear as day; my "mind-mates" were coming back, and nobody was ready for them. "Hello, Old Friend."<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] We had an unexpected lockdown drill today. I now know it wasn't a drill. [RESPONSE] I go to a fairly regular middle school. It's a bit shitty-the paint is peeling in some spots, the asphalt is badly cracked, and the tables are covered in doodles and gum- but I don't consider it to be ghetto, as many others do. The school's about as good as it can get when you're in the middle of rural Colorado. It was on this particular day, October tenth, that everything took a turn. We were usually informed before a lockdown drill, but we weren't this time. I was in my first period choir class when it happened, around 9:28. We all huddled together in one of the tight storage rooms, surrounded by instrument cases and disassembled drum sets. The longest lockdown drill we had ever had was about 25 minutes long. It was around 9:48, 20 minutes into the lockdown, that we began to worry. But we thought that the officers were just stuck in traffic. Police officers had to come to the school, even if it was just a drill. We waited in there until the clock struck 10:00. This was when we began to silently panick. There was no way the traffic was that bad, especially considering that it was 10:00 o'clock on a Monday, and the nearest police station was only about three miles away. At 10:21, nearly an hour into the lockdown, the police finally arrived. But we soon realized that it wasn't actually the police. The men wore black vests with a strange symbol. The symbol was three triangles. One red, one white, and one blue. They all touched corners, forming a larger triangle with an empty space in the middle. They didn't enter the school either, like the police usually did. One lifted a piece of plywood, while the other held a hammer and several nails. They were barricading the school. As the clock hit 10:34, the hammering stopped. But the sound that began wasn't any better. An ungodly screech blared from down the hallway. It sounded nothing like any animal I had ever heard in my life. No deer, bear, mountain lion, or coyote I had ever faced produced a sound nearly as haunting. It sounded like something straight from the fiery pits of hell. Several minutes later, the creature that had produced the sound began pounding on the door of the drama room, which was directly next door. It took only three hits to break down the door. As it began to massacre every living thing in that room, our teacher quickly led us out of ours. He wanted to get us as far away from the thing as possible. We were able to find our way into the seventh grade hallway, with nothing more than our phone's flashlights to lead us. After no more than ten steps on the smooth floors of the hallway, we heard a wet noise, if that makes sense. Each step we took, we were stepping through a pool of unknown goop and liquid. Several flashlights pointed downward, and that's when I saw it. We had been walking through blood. The goop we had felt was partially chewed human flesh and organs. About five students audibly gagged, and two vomited right then and there. We took just three more steps through the pile of blood and fresh vomit when a loud chewing sound came from behind us. I spun around instantly and pointed my flashlight down the darkened hall. That was when I finally saw the creature that had been terrorizing our school for an hour and a half. It was a quadriped beast that was larger than a lion. It had black fur, but the blood made the majority of it red. Its mouth opened wide in multiple directions, similar to the mouth of Predator. It was chewing on the severed leg of a student while lying in a puddle of human blood. It didn't take long for the beast to notice us, and it soon stood up and began to sprint towards us. We instantly ran for our lives. Two students slipped in the blood and couldn't get back up in time, which gave the rest of us several minutes to get away. We were able to make it into the 7th grade social studies room, and we barricaded the door with tables and chairs. We're currently trapped in this room. It's just past midnight, and my phone doesn't have much charge left. If this message reaches anybody on the outside, send help. Send help to Cleveland Middle School. We're running out of time.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I've had a stalker for two months. He just told me my boyfriend isn't who I think he is (pt 3). [RESPONSE] \------ I stared blankly at my phone screen, now covered in texts from Jacob, and wondered what my next step should be. What’s the point of taking a next step anyway, now that I know what Jacob is and that he could find me wherever I go? I realized then that he was probably nearby, stalking me through a window or peeking around a bush, but I didn’t feel his presence. I know that sounds kind of strange, but I feel like if he was nearby I would feel his gaze, and I didn’t feel anything other than the normal anxiety I had while talking to Chris. “Lily,” Chris said, snapping me out of my own thoughts and back into reality. “What did he say?” “He said he can find me whenever he wants. I think he knows I’m with you,” I responded, turning my phone screen to him so he could read the texts. “Shit, Lily. I had a feeling we were out for too long. How long do your runs usually last?” “I’m not sure. Not as long as we’ve been sitting together, I know that. It’s been a little over an hour.” Chris could sense that I was getting anxious and who wouldn’t? The man that I thought was stalking me was actually after Jacob, and now Jacob is targeting me. “Ok, you’re not gonna like what I’m about to tell you, but there really is only one way to fix this…” I didn’t like the tone Chris had when he said this. What are we gonna do, kill him? “We’re gonna have to… We’re gonna have to kill him, but don’t freak out quite yet.” Kind of too late to tell me that. “Because he’s a darklighter, we have to ‘vanquish’ him. It’s hard to explain,” “You’re gonna have to try because I’m not too fond of the idea of killing my boyfriend.” “I know, I get it,” he continued, seemingly empathetic to my situation. “Basically, darklighters have crossbows that they use to kill whitelighters. They have a poison that slowly drains them of their power, and then their lives, but they aren’t invulnerable to these arrows. It works on them the same way it does whitelighters. The only issue is that it’s hard to get the crossbow away from them.” At this point, I could already tell where this was going. “You’re gonna have to be the one to take the crossbow away from him, and the only way to do that is to make sure he knows I’m around.” “So, you want me to risk my life and yours to get this crossbow?” “Not yours. Although he’s been corrupted, I don’t think he would hurt you. Not quite yet.” “So we’re limited on time?” “Yes, which is why I think we’ll need to do this today.” Chris and I sat for a little while longer and devised a plan. Basically, it goes like this: I’d bring Chris into the apartment, and we assumed that Jacob would try to kill him with his crossbow. Apparently, these whitelighters can “orb” in and out of places, basically like teleportation, so he’d orb behind Jacob and restrict him while I get the crossbow. I’d shoot him, and Chris would heal his body while the darklighter powers die off, leaving him to be completely human, since his whitelighter powers can’t be restored with this method. After fully developing this plan, we headed towards the apartment and I texted Jacob, telling him that I had stopped somewhere to grab a bite to eat. I knew deep down that he knew I was lying, but I didn’t really have any other choice. I couldn’t let him know anymore than he could probably assume. Despite Chris trying to calm my nerves, I couldn’t think straight and my anxiety was through the roof. *What if he doesn’t live through it? What if Chris has been lying to me this whole time?* My worries wouldn’t stop running through my head until we arrived at the apartment. At that point, stressing about possible outcomes would just distract me. Chris had to talk me through unlocking my front door, trying to calm my nerves, but nothing would help me settle down. I just had to push myself to do what I needed to do, so I unlocked the door. All I saw when I walked through the door was the back of Jacob’s head slightly above the back of the couch, facing the apartment window. Did he not hear me come in? “Hey, Jacob, I’m back. Sorry I was out for so long,” I called out to him, attempting to sound calm and normal. I’m not sure if I succeeded, but either way he didn’t budge. “Hey, Lily. I was wondering what took you so long.” I knew it was him talking, but from how still his head was, it was like I was talking to a doll. Something was wrong, and I felt like he knew what was about to go down. “What have you been doing since I left?” I asked Jacob, Chris walking slowly behind me. “Just relaxing, watching the city from the window. I assume you didn’t see your stalker today?” “Nope, actually. Doesn’t mean he didn’t see me though,” I said with a fake chuckle. Still no sign that he’d caught on to what was going on. Before I could ask Jacob another question, I heard Chris cough behind me. I turned around to give him a look, and I noticed a small smirk on his face. I’m not sure if he did that on purpose or if it truly was an accident, but it caught Jacob’s attention either way. He sprung up from the couch, his crossbow already loaded, and pointed it at Chris. In not even the blink of an eye, Chris disappeared from my side and orbed right behind Jacob, holding back his arms and making him drop the crossbow. Chris couldn’t get a word out with Jacob struggling in his grasp, but he was watching me, waiting for me to grab the crossbow and follow through with the plan. I leaned over, picked it up, and held it to Jacob’s chest. Chris told me to aim it towards his heart, since that was the best way to make sure that his darklighter powers would truly be vanquished. I felt like I could trust him, but I knew that I wouldn’t be able to shoot Jacob in the heart without feeling immense guilt, even if Chris did fully heal him. Against my better judgment, I still aimed it at his chest, closing my eyes and pulling the trigger. I heard not one, but two agonizing screams come from across the living room, and opened my eyes. Both Chris and Jacob were lying on the floor, holding their wounds and crying in pain. I couldn’t even reach Jacob before I saw the life leave his body, but Chris was still barely holding on, clutching his chest where the arrow had pierced him. I wasn’t sure if I was the last thing he wanted to see before he died, but I still went and held his hand as his shirt grew increasingly darker. I knew he wouldn’t be able to speak, and frankly I couldn’t either, so I just held his hand until his grip loosened from mine. As I sat there, trying to understand what I had just done, I watched their bodies orb themselves out from my living room, not even leaving blood stains on the carpet. If it wasn’t for me, at least Chris would still be alive. Although I pointed the crossbow at Jacob’s chest, it must’ve shifted when I had closed my eyes, and drifted up towards his throat. It hit there first, piercing far enough through him to reach Chris’ chest, resulting in both of them losing their lives. I know, I had to shoot Jacob either way, but nothing will change the fact that Chris died from my own stupidity and cowardice. I shouldn’t have closed my eyes. Now I’m sitting in my living room, writing these updates, wondering what I should do next. I mean, I’m not sure if Chris had any family or if they were even human, but I knew if Jacob’s mom stopped receiving messages from him for an extended amount of time, she’d be suspicious. How do you explain to someone that their son died because of some weird supernatural entity taking over his body? You can’t, right? I’m sure I’ll figure it out someday soon, but as I sit here typing this last update, somehow I feel a little at peace. I feel like I had ended something sinister for Jacob, and I was with Chris as he died, hopefully giving him some peace about his death as well. I know I can’t be sure of either of those assumptions, but that’s what I’ll have to tell myself until I get things straightened out.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] i’m only supposed to take my on walks at night. [RESPONSE] Johnny, wake up bud, I said to my dog. My dogs name is johnny and he’s an old one but he’s been with me since i was young. We usually go on walks in the night we live in a safe neighborhood so i’ve never had any second thoughts about these walks. When i grew older and was old enough to walk him, my father always told me to take him on walks in the night, i never thought why. i guessed he just liked the night more. i shook him again. Johnny come on dude. he wouldn’t wake up so i just decided to wait till tomorrow morning. he’s a fat old dog so i didn’t think anything of him sleeping in any longer. so i went to sleep and didn’t think much about it. but not too long after i fell asleep i heard thudding around in my kitchen. was johnny up? i got up and grabbed Johnny’s leash. now i can take him on a walk i mumbled to myself rubbing my eyes. johnny? i said walked down the stairs. you up buddy? usually he’d bark in response but i didn’t hear anything. johnny, let’s go on a walk bud, okay this is weird i again whispered to myself. I peeked the corner of the wall between the stairs and the living room. when i peeked the corner the rumbling stopped. johnny? i said again, now i was started to get creeped out. i stepped down and walked into the living room. Jesus christ johnny stop messing with me man. when i was younger johnny and i would play hide and seek. i thought that since he was older he wouldn’t be as interested in it. i guess i was wrong okay johnny! i said, ready or not here i come! i peeped around the couch and i instantly dropped the leash i was holding in my hands. j-johnny? i dropped to my knees and grabbed the bloody corpse on my floor, i cant see well? is this johnnys corpse or is it something else. i looked around and stood up when i saw the figure standing in the door frame of my kitchen. is this a goddamn prank? you think this is funny? i shouted. i picked up the leash and walked towards the figure. until the realization hit me, this wasn’t a human. what the fu- i shouted. i turned around a tripped over my own feet as i tried to run to the door, i sprained my ankle and the thing that was in the doorway was reaching for my shirt. i was freaking out and i froze up. i passed out and the last thing i remembered was my kitchen floor all cleaned up and Johnnys corpse was gone. for the next few days i was pacing around questioning what had just happened to me, i was even thinking about going to the police. I had so many questions was the thing my dog? how come my dad knew to only take him out at night?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] There's an old lady at the door and I can't make her leave [RESPONSE] She showed up maybe at 6 pm? Perhaps a little later, but it wasn’t more than an hour after my parents had left that she came. Before you ask, no, I’ve never seen this woman before. If I had, her face would be the star of each and every one of my nightmares. There’s no reason for her to be here. “Let me in,” she keeps calling. “Let me in.” Her voice is like the creak of tree limbs through the autumn wind. Quiet, yet pervasive. I keep calling my mom, but she’s not answering. I’m seriously starting to think about dialing 911. Consequences be damned. That old lady. I don’t want to look out the peephole again, but I don’t need to do that to describe her. Her face is burned into my memory. She has leathery skin that looks more cracked than wrinkled under the yellow light of the porch lamp. Her hair is long and matted with every shade of grey intermingled randomly. The old lady is so thin that her joints all stick out in an unpleasant, skeletal way. Her sallow cheeks and hollow face look much like a skull. Maybe, if it weren’t for her eyes… maybe I could tell myself there wasn’t anything sinister about her. Maybe I could believe she’s just some old lady, off her rocker from dementia or whatever, and out bothering people. I mean, that happens, right? It feels like I’ve seen article titles about that sort of thing, at least. But nope. I can’t even give myself a pretty lie because I saw her eyes. They’re wide and pure black. No pupil. No iris. Just a dark void of twitching nothingness. A substance too thick and too dark to be tears runs down her cheeks in thin streams of sludge. There’s something wrong with her. “Let me in,” she keeps saying. “Let me in.” And I’m really panicking. You know, if I weren’t so stupid, I would just call the cops, but I can’t do that. Do you know why? When mom and dad left, I thought it’d be cool to engage in a little teenage rebellion for, like… the third time ever. I went through Jake’s room since he won’t be home until Thanksgiving break. I was just looking for some cash to get a pizza, but guess what I found? Little shoe box with a baggie of weed inside. And do you know what I did? I tried to smoke it. Notice how I said tried. I’ve never done it before and had to watch a YouTube video to figure out how to roll— Well. That’s irrelevant. I didn’t come here to embarrass myself. As I was saying. Cops. Mom still isn’t answering her phone. Dad’s must be dead because it keeps going to voicemail. I can’t call the cops. The house smells like a stupid skunk, but that old lady isn’t leaving. She keeps running those too-long fingernails against the screen door. The metal scratches beneath them, and I can hardly think straight. “Let me in.” If I call the cops, they’ll take me to jail, right? But if I don’t, what happens then? What if she gets in? Where will I end up? Instead of jail, hell? I can hear the crunch of her bare feet as she moves off the porch and over to the window. I’m hiding behind the couch, but I can hear her so clearly. “Let me in.” It’s too cold for the window to be open, but did Dad lock it? I don’t know. I’m too scared to check. She doesn’t pause in her mantra, and I hear her nails scratching against the glass. That tell-tale sliding of the window never comes. The window must be locked, after all. “Let me in,” she keeps calling. My phone is seriously trembling in my hands. Like. I’m considering texting my address to the GroupMe for my science class in the hopes that one of my classmates will show up. I wish I’d been more social, but it’s not like I ever knew that not having friends meant not having someone to chase away this… bogeywoman. I don’t even care if it’s freaking Sarah. If she showed up, that scared the old lady away. I'd forgive her for everything. Even putting gum in my hair on the first day of high school. I hear the hedge on the side of the house rustling. “Let me in.” She’s moving around the house and. The back door. It’s not locked. Okay. I got to it before she did, but what the fuck was that sound? That awful squeaking scream. Did she… Did she get the little chipmunk that lives in our yard? Dad always complains about him. “It’ll mess up the foundation.” But he never actually does anything about it. I think he likes the little guy. He’s always out in the morning time. I like to think he’s watching me get on the bus safely. But- Against the door’s glass, a visceral red with splotches of fleshy pink paints the view to the outside. “Let me in.” And I hope what I’m seeing isn’t that cute little chipmunk. I can’t see outside. I don’t know what she’s doing now, but I hear her mantra and fingers as she moves along the house siding. “Let me in. Let me in.” And I don’t know what to do. I keep dialing 9-1-1 and then erasing it because I can’t go to jail. I’d do horrible. I can’t even shower in gym class; how am I supposed to make it in prison? Do they even have TVs? I bet not. Overwatch 2 just came out. I’ve barely gotten to play it at all. I can’t go to jail. I actually did send my address with a ‘help, there’s a monster outside my house,’ but all that garnered was a hear reaction from Brad and a ‘what a loser’ from Sarah. Mom. She still won’t answer the phone. She’s got to hear it, right? Like even if it’s on vibrate, I keep calling repeatedly. She’d feel it, wouldn’t she? “Let me in,” she keeps calling. And finally, it’s just too much. I can’t keep listening to her. And hiding. And being scared that I’m going to see her stupid sewer-spewing eyes through the widow. I can’t keep on cowering. I don’t know if I dropped my phone after this decision or threw it on purpose. Either way, with my hands free, I pounded against the wall I thought she stood behind. “Go away!” I shrieked at her. “Go away! Go away! Go away!” And I kept repeating it as she did. Over and over. Forever. I screamed until I couldn't hear her creepy whispers, wandering fingers, and crunching feet. “Go away!” I am unsure how long I was beating on the wall, screaming at the old lady, but I didn’t hear the car's engine as my parents pulled in. Nor did I hear as they unlocked and entered the front door. “Go away! Go away!” I was still screaming when my dad grabbed my shoulders. I turned and my mom’s nostrils were flared, breathing in the stink of that shoebox I’d found under Jake’s bed. “The old woman!” I tried to explain. “Her skin was cracked, and her arms! They were too long! Her nails were like knives.” “Laura,” my mom said in a far too steady voice. “You have no idea how much trouble you are in.” I’ll spare you the details of what came next. Threats and punishments. Lots of disappointment and anger were directed at me. Some harsh words were exchanged. And, of course, the complete denial of that old woman, ‘that crazy drug hallucination’ I had. My phone was so cracked that I guess they didn’t even think of taking it away. Like they did everything else. But I’m glad I have it. Because outside my window is a crooked shadow. I hear the crunching of crisp leaves, nails too black and too long to be entirely human dragging themselves along the brick outside my room, and that horrible voice calling out. “Let me in. Let me in.” Mom locked my door from the outside for the first time in years. She’s worried that I, the girl who has to be begged to leave the house, might try to sneak out. I have no way of leaving. I can’t just lay here all night, listening to her fumbling with my locked window, can I? I tried screaming. I tried calling for mom and dad. I tried begging for help. I got told to shut up the first couple of times, then ignored. There are tears in my eyes. Big, angry water droplets. Are they just leaving me here, serving me on a platter to that monster outside? I tried screaming go away again, but it didn’t work. She’s still there, but I have an idea. Maybe there’s a way to get her focus off me. Dad usually smokes before bed with the window open, after all. All I have to do is… “Try my parents’ room. Three windows to the left.” And the old lady doesn’t pause her mantra, but it grows distant as the crunch of leaves fades to silence. For just a moment, I can close my eyes. It’s so quiet that I can almost believe that that old lady was just some sort of awful hallucination. That I didn’t redirect her to my parents. The thought of sleep crosses my tired mind. Melting into the safety of my dreams. Wouldn’t that be nice? Then the screaming started from my parents’ bedroom. It never seemed to stop. I tried getting out of my room, regretting what I’d said to the monster, but the lock. I could never break through it before, either. Eventually, it was just my dad left. Just his deep screams that cracked as if he were just a boy my age. What was she doing to them? When would it end? I buried my head in my pillow, and at some point, sleep found me. Now, it’s morning. Well. Barely morning. I’m still locked in my room, but that’s probably best because I can hear her voice on the other side of the door. “Let me in.”<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Oily Man [RESPONSE] I’ve had Snowy for about 5 years now. I fell for her the moment I saw her at the pound. Actually, I like to think that she chose me. She had walked right up to me and let me carry her, nuzzling her head into my shoulder. She was a tiny thing then, only 3 months old. I decided right on the spot that she was the dog I wanted. I call her Snowy, but she has a glossy black coat of soft short fur. It was a silly name I played around with as a joke. It was funny to see the confusion on others’ faces whenever I called for her and she came running in her full ebony glory. But she took quickly to the name, and the name stuck. Snowy has large round caramel brown eyes that can melt your soul. She’s also a rather large and muscular dog. Yet, she walks with a lithe grace that resembles the movements of a cat. Her black tail is usually curled upwards, forming a little fibonacci spiral. It wasn’t curled on that day, though. It was shooting out backwards in a rigid horizontal line. Her face, usually alternating between sad puppy eyes and a bright sparkling smile, was tensed up, her lips curled back to bare her teeth. A low rumble emanated from deep within her. I came to a halt, and followed her gaze. There was a man in a grey hoodie on the other side of the road, with his face almost fully covered with the mask he was wearing and the hood draped low. In the dim evening light, I couldn’t make out his eyes. He was walking at a casual pace, with a slight odd gait to his steps. I felt a tingle of fear, but quickly brushed it off. I had heard lots of stories of dogs disliking people dressed in hoodies and who have their faces covered. Dogs apparently like to be able to read people’s expressions. I walked on, tugging lightly at the leash to guide Snowy forward. She walked ahead of me, still keeping her eyes on the man. When he began to cross the road over to my side, I felt myself tense up as well. I kept my face neutral and looked straight ahead, increasing my pace. Snowy began to growl louder. By the time he stepped onto the pavement right in front of us, Snowy was letting rip with full-on ferocious growls, her hackles up and her sharp canines clearly visible as she snarled. For a moment, I found myself lost in awe and admiration. She’s always a big softie around me, sometimes gentle and often happily excited, with a really goofy nature. I haven’t gotten to see her get truly aggressive ever. She was a terrifying sight to behold, yet beautiful and majestic at the same time. *The Hound of the Baskervilles.* The thought popped into my head. Then I quickly remembered the threat and poised myself to run, gripping her leash tightly in my hands. “Whoa, whoa!” The hooded man said, in a rather high and nasal tone. The incongruence of the threat he seemed to pose and the pitchy sound of his voice jarred me free from the stress and dread that I had been gripped in. He swiped his hood back off his head and took off his mask. He was just a normal guy. A normal guy with slightly rosy cheeks, a round face and eyes that blinked nervously as Snowy continued to growl. He held his arms out in front of him, trying to calm Snowy. “Hey, whoa, I just wanted to ask you where the nearest convenience store is. My phone’s dead and I need to buy a cable and charge it somewhere,” he said, looking warily at Snowy. I stared at him, still suspicious, given that Snowy was still snarling at him despite him having revealed his face. She kept herself planted between the man and I. “Oh, I have a dog, it’s a really anxious, jumpy fellow. Your dog must be smelling it on me. Lots of dogs dislike me and my dog, I think it lets out some sort of fearful pheromone or something,” he continued. I relaxed a little. That made sense. Snowy had often barked at a neighbour’s jittery little dog, and she often seemed to hate getting into the lift of my apartment. I had long suspected that it was due to the scent of the neighbour’s anxious dog, which probably lingered in the lift. *No wonder his dog’s anxious,* I thought, *any human who calls their dog, “it”...* “Yea, sorry,” I said, “She doesn’t like the scent of anxiety, I guess.” I held on tighter to her leash, pulling her back as she tried to lunge at the man. “Anyway, there’s one right around that corner. Just keep going straight, turn right at the main road, and you’d see a petrol station on your right. There’s a convenience store right there,” I said, gesturing with one arm to show him the way. “Great, thank you!” He looked nervously at Snowy, then walked away with a wave, occasionally turning back, probably to check that Snowy wasn’t lunging after him. Snowy quietened down when the man was completely out of sight. He must have been really scared of her. I turned my head back to look a couple of seconds after he walked off, and he was already nowhere to be seen. She seemed subdued for the rest of the walk, but perked up once we were home and I had gotten her a treat. She had been a good girl, the way she had tried to protect me. The next day, we were back on the same path, after all, it was one of our usual routes. Lo and behold, Snowy suddenly stopped and started growling again. I looked around, half expecting to see the hoodie guy around again. But there was no one around me. I walked faster, feeling unnerved by Snowy’s growls. I was tempted to turn around and head home, but Snowy needed her half hour walks. Snowy’s a really energetic dog, which was something I had realised, too late, after bringing her home from the pound. She had seemed so sweet, so gentle and so placid, that I had thought she would be the perfect dog to have in an apartment. But once home, she began her zoomies, and just didn’t stop. Over the years, her energy levels are much more manageable, but she still requires at least two walks a day of half an hour of brisk walking. So I strode on, all braced for anything that could happen. Snowy kept growling, a low tone that vibrated into the night. We were walking by a lamppost, when I saw it. A shadow, apart from ours. It seemed to stretch from someone behind me. I froze, feeling my heart thumping and my ears begin to ring. Then I spun around, as did Snowy. There was no one there. I thought I had caught a glimpse of a shadow darting into the darkness, but I was probably imagining things. Or that’s what I repeatedly told myself. I was done with the walk. I would walk Snowy for an hour in the morning, tomorrow. Screw routine. I began to head back at an almost frantic pace, Snowy keeping slightly ahead of me, pulling at the leash, seemingly as eager as I was to get home. We were waiting for the lift when I heard footsteps. My nerves were stretched so taut, I was surprised I didn’t just rupture an artery. I stood by the lift doors, facing the source of the footsteps. The lift door opened just as I saw the tip of a shadow appear from behind the corner. I dashed into the lift, dragging Snowy in as she started barking and growling at whomever was around the corner. I jabbed rapidly at the “close” button, pushing aside the brief thought of, what if it was an old lady slowly making her way to the lift, and I shut the doors in her face? Rather safe than sorry, I told myself as the doors began to close. To my relief, no one jammed a hand in at the last minute to stop the doors, like in so many movies. I leant back against the lift wall, breathing out a sigh of relief. Then realised that Snowy was crouched and poised to spring, baring her teeth at something on the ground. That’s when I saw it again. A shadow. A humanoid patch of darkness that draped itself in a corner of the lift. I felt a scream building in my lungs. By habit, I held it back. Repression, for me, is a habit that doesn’t go away even in the face of danger, it seems. I inched further back into the opposite corner of the lift. I darted my eyes about, trying to find anything that could potentially be a source of the shadow, anything that could explain why there was a shadow without a man. The shadow oozed forward, seeming almost like a viscous dark liquid. It grazed the ground beneath Snowy’s paws, and she leapt back, letting out a whimper. She seemed frightened. Terrified, actually. She lowered her body near the ground and hunched her body. Her tail drooped. She was still baring her teeth though, and keeping herself between the shadow and myself. The door finally opened, and after taking a second to steel myself, I grabbed the leash and charged out the door, past the shadow that was right by it. I fled down the corridors to my home, and almost dropped the keys as I tried to insert them into the lock with my shaking hands. Snowy seemed to psych herself back into a posture of pure aggression. She faced the direction of the lift, every muscle in her body tensed and ready to spring. I finally got the key in, unlocked and opened the door. We almost threw ourselves into the house, and I quickly closed and locked the door behind me. I flipped every switch I could find, until the house was lit in every nook and cranny in warm light. Then I flipped each switch again, to get the bright white light of the other light mode. I had a feeling I’d need the brightness. We retreated to the bedroom, with me not even bothering to wash Snowy’s paws. I tried to huddle up with Snowy on the bed, but she sat herself firmly down in a corner of the bed, facing the door. I noticed that she kept licking her paws, and made a mental note to check them out once the threat was gone. I grabbed the wooden katana that I had by the bedside. I know, it might seem odd why I have one right there. I was going through a combat/martial arts phase, but unfortunately, it didn’t last long. Nowadays, I just keep the wooden katana by my bed in case of break ins. I have a baseball bat by the outer door too. I really wished I had continued with the martial arts training. I should have taken up kickboxing, or Muay Thai for real. Or something, anything. Because I felt just vulnerable and exposed at that moment. After around twenty minutes of surveilling every inch of the apartment, I began to relax. Snowy was still tensed up with her ears pricked, but I just began to pat her in slow gentle strokes to try to calm her down. I headed to the toilet, and Snowy leapt off the bed to follow me there, though she seemed to be limping a little. I tried to check out her paws but she pulled them away, seeming to shrug me off as she stayed focused on standing guard. I decided to go on with my business and check them out later. I rolled the small rollie bedside table out of the way to open the toilet door. For once, I didn’t try to shut the door to keep her outside. I stared at my unnerved expression in the toilet mirror, and marvelled at how pale my lips were. Then I saw something in the reflection that finally shattered my nerves. The shadow cast by the rollie table had not moved, even after I had pushed it aside. I finally began screaming. A shrill screech tore itself involuntarily from my lungs, and Snowy went mad snapping and bellowing at the door. I spun around in time to see the shadow remorph itself into a humanoid shape, and glide towards the toilet’s doorway. Without thinking, I took two steps forward and leapt, hoping to clear the patch of shadow. An oily hand reached out from the pool of shadow and grabbed me by the ankle. I felt flat on the ground, landing on my chest and chin, only breaking the fall slightly with my left elbow. The wind was knocked out of me, and I struggled to breathe. At the same time, I felt a sharp pain blast through my elbow. *God damn it, I probably fractured it,* I thought, before my vision blurred for a moment. By the time I regained my wits, Snowy was already snapping at the slimy arm connected to the hand on my ankle. She chomped down hard, her sharp teeth piercing the oiled up skin of the arm that reached up from the shadow, which seemed to glimmer with a layer of dark grease. The hand loosened its grip on my ankle. The arm pulled back, and Snowy’s teeth lost purchase on the oily skin. I watched as dark putrid ooze spurted from the bite wounds on the arm. The arm retreated back to the shadow puddle, and I groggily dragged myself backward with my right elbow. I stared at the shadow and for a few heartbeats, nobody moved, not even Snowy, who was glaring intently at the shadow. Then the shadow swept forward, leaving a trail of grease on the ground, and before I could react, it had slid its way across half of my body. It’s hard to describe what it felt like. I’ll try, but I doubt I could capture the horror and stomach-churning disgust I felt. I expected it to feel cold, like how most horror creatures feel. But it was not. It was uncomfortably warm, almost hot, and the sensation of that warm oozing, greasy pile of slime that climbed across my body almost made me puke on the spot. The lower half of my body felt trapped, glued to the spot by the ooze. I tried to kick at it, to wriggle my way out, but I could move it. It slowly draped its way up to my chest, then to my neck, and I realised I couldn’t breathe. Which was almost a blessing, because the nearer it got, the harder the stench of rot, sewage and human waste punched me in the nostrils. I could almost taste the reeking odour in my mouth. I began to flail and scratch at it, mostly with my right arm, for any movement wrecked my left elbow with almost unbearable pain. I’m not ashamed to say that I lost control of my bladder right then. I felt my pants turn warm and wet, the warmth and wetness soon merging with the sludge enveloping my body. Snowy leapt madly about, desperately trying to save me but not knowing how. Then a head began to rear itself from the puddle, right above my chest, and I recognised the face of the man I had seen the night before, now gunked over with a thick black grease. Even his eye whites were covered with grease. His irises seemed to expand in size, as he stared into me, a bodiless head emerging from the shadow that was suffocating me. That was when Snowy sunk her teeth into his left eye socket. I saw her widen her jaws, lunge forward, and watched in terrified amazement as her lower canine tooth hit and dented the eyeball, before it broke through and went deep into his socket. It all seemed to happen in a really slow motion. My mouth hung open, as the black sludge sprayed from his eye socket, some hitting me on the tongue. I gagged, and retched, as much as I could without being able to take in a breath. He screamed, a terrifying shriek that scraped my ear drums. Snowy pulled back, tearing some of the grease and flesh off his face. He continued to scream, and Snowy went in for a second attack, this time clamping her jaws on his nose and upper lip. More flesh and black blood spewed into the air as she tore back again. The bone chilling caterwaul he let out lingered in the air as he slunk back into a puddle, then retreated from my body. I could breathe again. My body felt squashed and limp, but I could move most things. Snowy dashed after the shadow, but it was faster. She returned after a while, and licked my face as I continued to lay in a sprawl on the floor. It was only when Snowy began to whine and whimper, that I snapped myself back into action. She was no longer putting pressure on her front paws, and I quickly grabbed them to check them out. To my horror, I saw red blisters and open flesh wounds on her paw pads, resembling images that I had seen online of skin that had been inflicted with flesh-eating bacteria. Don’t Google it if you’re about to have dinner. “Snowy!” I yelled, staring at the rot on her paw pads, then at her beautiful face. That was when I realised that the flesh around her cheeks and lips were also covered in sores, blisters and at parts, uncovered flesh. I screamed. Then dialled the ambulance. I don’t know why I did that, but I assumed no one would be asshole-ish enough to not help a dog. She continued to whimper, and as I dabbed at the seemingly necrotized flesh with alcohol wipes, I began to notice a painful tingle climbing from my right palm to my forearm. I finally remembered to check, and realised that the same blisters, sores and rot were forming on my hand and forearm. I choked back my scream and forced myself into an icy calmness. Boy, am I glad I wore long pants that night, and didn’t take off my socks. After finishing with cleaning up her paw pads, lips, cheeks and the insides of her mouth (which was tricky, considering she kept trying to shut her mouth when the alcohol touched the sores inside), I wiped down my right arm with my left, clenching my teeth to overcome the shooting pains from my left elbow as I tried to manoeuvre my left hand. By the time I had carefully changed out of my sludge covered clothes without touching any of the gunk, the ambulance had arrived and we were both brought to the hospital. I think they got an actual human doctor to take a look at Snowy before a vet arrived. I’m still really grateful for how concerned and caring they were towards Snowy. The doctors said that there was some new strain of flesh-eating bacteria in our wounds, and they hooked us up to an IV drip with antibiotics. Or I assume the vet did the same for Snowy, for I didn’t get to see her until after I was discharged. No one believed my story. The police said that it was likely that someone had drugged me, and had, for reasons even they couldn’t think up, poured something containing flesh eating bacteria on us. I was hallucinating the whole thing, they said. The officer who said that, didn’t even seem to believe himself. I’ve been searching everywhere for any shadow that seems out of place, for any dark puddles that moved. I barely slept a wink in the hospital. When they refused to keep the ward’s lights on, I plugged in a dozen book lights, which they acquiesced to eventually. Well, to letting me keep three of them on, at least. I’m back home now, with Snowy, and she’s doing okay. Thank god her toe beans didn’t have to be removed. If that happened, I would probably hunt down that thing and go kamikaze on it with fire. Anyway, the antibiotics stopped the necrotizing of our flesh, and while we are both scarred, me on my right hand and forearm, Snowy on her lips, cheeks and paw pads, we both survived relatively unharmed. Screw that, flesh-eating bacteria sucks. But all in all, with me in an arm cast and Snowy with bandaged paws, we are still here to tell the tale. I haven’t stopped looking out for moving shadows. I’ve changed the walking route completely, and I’ve also arranged to move out of my apartment next week. I have barely slept a wink, still, despite friends staying over and keeping the lights on 24/7. But what really bothers me, is that today, my scars have begun to ooze a sticky, oily substance. It looks like dark grease. I checked Snowy’s scars, and found the same droplets of brackish goo. We’re headed to the doctor’s and the vet’s in a bit, just after I finish up with my online meetings for the day. I’m really desperately hoping that it’s nothing horrible, just some weird infection and gross pus spilling from the scars. The oily substance is leaking at an increased rate. My keyboard’s getting all mucked up with slime from my right hand. Snowy just skidded a little on her front paws, and she’s leaving greasy prints all over the ground. I think I’d better call off the rest of my meetings. I put on gloves to continue typing here, but my right glove is already bulging at the fingertips. Wish us luck. I think we'll need it. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] There's no telling who you'll meet when you work at an occult store [RESPONSE] You encounter some pretty interesting people when you work at a store that specializes in things like tarot cards and other items connected to the occult. Although encountering interesting people is the norm when you work any retail job anymore, it's a unique experience in my case. Personally, I think it's worth it to not have to deal with the usual nonsense like Black Friday, and the upside is that the store always smells amazing from the variety of incense you can buy. Most of the time customers are a little quirky, but respectful and polite. The store is in New Orleans, so it wasn't like I was working at an occult store that stuck out like a sore thumb or didn't fit in with the community. But most of all, the job was simple and straightforward, and the store itself was quiet, calm, and peaceful. And what more can you ask for from a job? But there is one particular customer that stands out above all the rest. It was on a Tuesday afternoon when the shop was quiet. I was in the middle of adjusting some crystals we had on sale when I heard the telltale chime of the bell that announced we had a customer on the premises. So I stood up and headed to the front of the store to see what was up. "Hello, welcome to The Purple Candle, can I help you with anything?" I asked the figure with their back turned to me as they were looking at some books. "I'm not sure. Let me look around and I'll let you know." The customer said as he turned around. The guy was gorgeous. Deep green eyes and a jawline so sharp it could cut through bricks. But what got my attention most of all was his attitude. Many of the people who set foot in here often do it on a dare, or because they're getting a tongue in cheek gift for a friend, and it shows. That wasn't this guy. As he browsed through the shop with a hint of seriousness, he methodically studied the various items on display. I could see his eyes sweeping over everything while I walked back to the checkout counter and busied myself. I could also tell he’d never set foot in a place like this, because he had the telltale uncertainty and awkwardness of someone who was out of their element. But that’s usually how it goes; people who come in here either know exactly what they’re looking for or don’t have the slightest idea of what’s going on. "Do you like Ouija Boards?" He asked me out of nowhere after a few minutes. "Not particularly." "Why's that?" "It's best to avoid asking questions you don't know the answer to. I don't care if it's your boss, your landlord, or a wooden board and a planchette." "Fair point. What about some questions you do know the answer to?" "Those can be just as risky." "That they can." He nodded. "Do you do witchcraft?" "No but ask my ex-boyfriend and he'll tell you something different." He chuckled. "I'm sure. Well if he left you, I'd bet money the other woman is a witch and has him under a spell. It's the only possible explanation for leaving someone like you." "Actually it was a mutual decision. But nice try." He smiled at me. “You know it.” "But if I'm being honest, I would've absolutely been accused of being a witch back in the day. Aside from working here, I have a black cat." "Definitely grounds to be viewed with suspicion back then. Which means you would’ve been sent right to the gallows." "Not burned at the stake?" "Not here. They burned witches in Europe. Here in America it was hanging." "That's correct. But at least I would've had good company. Me and virtually everyone else I know. Literally anything was grounds for being called a witch back then. Just like most things were fair game for being committed to a psychiatric hospital for centuries after that. "Indeed." "If I recall correctly, they even put a psychiatric hospital right where old Salem used to be. Fascinating, right?" "Absolutely. Speaking of witchcraft, do you like working here?" "I got no complaints. It's a job, like any other." "What if a better offer came along?" "I'll decide what to do if it comes along." "I understand." He paused briefly and went to look at the display of tarot cards that occupied a table nearby. "Do you have a favorite deck?" He asked a few moments later. "Not particularly. They all have their own unique style." "Do you believe in them?" I paused for a moment. "I tend to think of them as a form of meditation. If you're quiet and in thought, it's amazing what can come to you." "I can respect that." He shuffled through a few decks and held one up to me. I noticed that the Devil card was displayed on the back of the box. "What would you do if I told you this was me?" He pointed at it. I shrugged. "The same thing I'm doing right now." "You don't seem surprised or shocked." "Because I'm not. I get asked weird things all the time working here. Besides, everyone's got their own version of the Devil and everyone's the Devil to someone, it's just a question of how many people share that version. You know what the difference between an angel and a demon is?" "What?" "About thirty seconds." He chuckled. "Well said. But what's your version of the Devil?" "I haven't quite decided yet. Probably because there are countless versions. To some the Devil is that bottle of booze, while to others it's a bag of powder, the abusive spouse, the nasty boss, or the treacherous coworker. But they're all accurate. It's just a matter of picking your poison. My version, like most people's, all depends on what's happening." "Very interesting observation. I like you." "Thanks." I had no idea how I felt about this guy. "One last question. What do you think of all this stuff in general?" He gestured around the store. It was a common question for me. "Humanity has existed for thousands of years. Certain practices have come and gone over the years, but a lot of the tradition and folklore has endured. It's just a question of whether it's simply changed shape or gone underground. Many ancient ideas and practices are still out there, they're just hiding beneath the surface or practiced on the margins." He nodded. "I see where you're coming from." "Alright, I give," I said. "What are you here for?" "Do you read cards?" "No, even better, I read people. And you, my friend, are here for a specific reason. I'm just not sure what it is. Yet." "Would it be ridiculous to say I was looking for some help?" "Not at all. Most people are looking for help anymore. But as to what brings people in here, I find people are typically looking for assistance it as it relates to job, family, or romantic troubles. And since you don't carry that unique sense of misery that comes with job issues, I'm gonna guess family or dating." "You're observant. It's family." He paused for a moment while I stood there, quietly waiting. "It's my sister. Kelly’s her name. She's in trouble." I remained silent while he stood there, trying to articulate his thoughts. "She ran away a few months ago. We couldn't find her, so we hired a private investigator. He found her two weeks ago in a place about three hours outside of town, and she was hanging out with people widely described as 'weird' and 'creepy'. The investigator had also done some research and found people associated with them have gone missing." "Alright." "It gets worse." He swallowed nervously. “He says there are rumors they meet in remote places and do...." he fumbled for a word. "Things. Rituals." "So you want some insight." "I'd be grateful for literally any help at all. The PI is good, but he lost them. Said they just up and vanished without a trace." "And here you are." "And here I am." He nodded. "I'm Alec by the way." "Isla." I reached out and shook his hand. Alec's grip was firm, but gentle. Then I stood up from where I’d been leaning over the counter and looked him in the eye. "Well Alec, the first thing to remember is that a ritual means different things to different people. The term ritual has an inherently ominous connotation in many cultures, but anything can be a ritual. Opening presents on Christmas morning after you eat a breakfast of pancakes is a ritual. Like most things, everyone and everything has rituals, it's just a question of how far some people take it." "Fair enough. I just," he struggled for a moment to get the words out. "I'm scared. We all are. We've noticed people following us. Lurking outside the house. Nothing serious or overtly scary. Or enough to call the police. But it’s just enough to let us know they're there." "Right." "But I did manage to get a picture of some of them one night. Here it is." Alec took out his phone, swiped through it, and held the screen up to me after a moment. The picture was of a group of people who were dressed casually, but in ways that took care to hide their faces, be it with baseball hats, knit caps, or the odd hood up. I was almost done with the photo when something in it caught my eye. One of the figures in the middle of the frame looked vaguely familiar. So I took a closer look and noticed that despite the baseball cap on his head, I could still make out his face from the angle. My stomach sank when I recognized it immediately. "Oh my God. One of the people in it is my ex-boyfriend Cameron." "You're kidding me?" “No. That's him." I jabbed my finger at the picture while the floor felt like it was tilting beneath me. At some point we ended up calling Vivian, the store owner and a good friend of mine who knew Cameron. She didn't hesitate to come in when I explained what was going on. Despite arriving on short notice, Vivian looked great as always. She's one of those people who always looks great no matter what's going on or what she wears. "So where do we go from here?" Vivian asked when Alec had finally finished explaining things. "Well, everything we've been told says that unless an actual crime has been committed, there's no reason to call the cops. But regular people like us? We're free to do our own legwork. Although I'm not sure how much good that would do. We tried that before and got nothing. The group Kelly is with constantly moves and leaves false trails." "But we know they remain in the general area," Vivian brushed a strand of auburn hair out of her face. "Which means they must have a place to go where they do, well, whatever it is they do. And if there's one thing I know, it must be well hidden. Because everyone notices a group of people." "That's exactly what the PI my family hired said. It's what drove him so crazy. That a large group of people would be so hard to keep track of." “The island." I blurted out without warning. "The island?" Alec asked. "It's the name for a stretch of land that's been in Cameron's family for generations. It's been his ever since his father died. There used to be a cabin there, but it’s been long since demolished." "Is it a good place to hide?" For the first time since he walked in, Alec was looking at me with something that resembled hope. "You have no idea. It's out in the middle of nowhere, and unless you know what you're looking for, you'd never find it." "Well then what are we waiting for? It's field trip time." Vivian clapped her hands together. It took Vivian no time at all to close up and flip the sign to closed on the shop door. Then we piled into her black SUV and headed for the island. Vivian drove, Alec took the passenger seat, and I was in the back. We drove there in complete silence, and while the radio was on, I couldn't tell you what was playing if you paid me. The whole thing had a surreal, dreamlike atmosphere to it. Eventually the city faded away in the rearview mirror and we were the only ones on the road. I'm not sure how I felt about that. It was fitting for sure. "I can't believe Cameron is mixed up in this," I said eventually. "I just can't." "Why?" Alec turned around in his seat to face me. "He was always so normal and intelligent. The last person you'd expect to get involved in something like this." "My sister was like that too. That's what makes it so terrifying." "They wanted his land," Vivian said from the driver's seat. "What?" I asked. "His land. They wanted it. Whoever is the ringleader probably saw Cameron had something useful and then did whatever was necessary to recruit him. Made him feel included. Important even. Same reason people get involved in gangs or organized crime. From what you told me, Cameron always felt like he was an outsider and excluded. Being made to feel part of something when you have that feeling is incredibly powerful." "I think you're onto something there." Alec whispered. It was a sentiment I agreed with. It didn't take long to arrive at our destination after that. The Sun had gone down by then and the area came to life at night like only a swamp can. The air hummed with the sounds of splashes in the water and of things whizzing through the air. I never did particularly like coming out here with Cameron. The island was a massive bit of land situated deep in the swamp that was surrounded by water on almost all sides, and the only way I knew how to get there was through a narrow path that wound around the swamp. So with my phone in hand as a flashlight, I lead the way. We all trooped silently on the worn dirt path, with only the frogs, crickets, and other swamp dwellers to keep us company. But it didn't take long to find out we had the right idea. Because after walking for about 20 minutes, I could see through the trees that there was a massive bonfire sitting right in the middle of Cameron's land. And as is often the case with massive bonfires, there were plenty of people surrounding it. They were dressed casually enough, but that was the only remotely normal thing about the situation. The people moved and danced around the fire in ways that can only be described as unnatural. I love to dance, and I love the freedom and the fun that comes from dancing to one of your favorite songs. You can always tell if someone is truly happy while they're dancing because no matter what the tune is, they move in a way that's inherently calming to watch. This was anything but. The movements I was watching now were manic and intense. If you didn't know better, you'd suspect them of having a bad reaction to some kind of drug, which was entirely possible. Which was why despite the dense humidity, which was already making sweat drip down my arms, a shiver ran through my body at the sight. But I did my best to stifle the feeling as we slowly crept around and settled in a spot that gave us a perfect view of the area. It was a sliver of land with several trees that was raised above the island, so it allowed all three of us to look down at the group without them having a clue. So all that was left was for us to sit there silently and watch until Vivian took out her phone and began recording what the group was doing. "In case there's something we can use." She explained when the two of us looked at her. "Good idea." Alec nodded. Whatever we were witnessing went on for a few minutes until a loud popping sound rumbled through the dense swamp air. It was obvious that something was up, because the group immediately stopped what they were doing and looked around in what I could tell was total confusion. There were no deliberate, unnatural movements here; it was all good old-fashioned surprise. Moments later, more popping sounds penetrated the air, and it was obvious that it was gunfire, and someone was shooting at the group. One of them on the far-right side had been hit and went down immediately. As several more shots rang out in the air, more people around the fire went down and didn't get up. The group was in full confusion now; they were trying to run for cover, but there was nowhere to run to, and they had no clue what they were even running from. The three of us sat there spellbound as the sight unfolded before us. But after several more moments of haphazard gunfire, it was silent. But not for long, because from far across the swamp, several figures emerged from the shadows and approached the roughly two dozen group members still remaining. In the flickering light from the massive bonfire, I could see there were four figures, and they were all armed with machetes and wearing cheap, costume store masks. It didn't take me long to realize what would happen next. But nothing could've prepared me for the raw brutality of the four masked strangers and how they raised their machetes and hacked through the group one at a time. They were methodical, taking care to surround them and pick them off at odd intervals like a pack of lions going after a herd of prey. The screams were without a doubt the worst sound I've ever heard. The assailants' blood-soaked machetes gleamed in the fire light as Vivian silently recorded it all. But eventually the area fell silent again and the masked assailants left soon after. Then it was just the three of us, what was left of the group, and the bonfire. Once a few moments had passed, Vivian used her phone to call the police and tell them what happened. Then we were left with nothing but the hum of bugs and frogs to keep us company. Vivian, Alec, and I didn’t talk much as we waited. There wasn’t much you could say after something like that unfolds right in front of you. And the longer we were there, the more the massacre we had just witnessed chilled me to the bone. This wasn’t some random act of violence by people who were just out for a thrill. The assailants knew exactly what they were doing, knew that the group was there, picked off just enough of them to cause a panic, then methodically set about executing the rest of them in a way that suggested they’d done this all before. It was late at night when help finally arrived, and by then the bonfire was little more than smoldering ash and glowing coals. But no one was prepared for what the paramedics found when they arrived. As they were cataloging bodies, they stumbled onto Alec's sister Kelly, and she was still alive. Unconscious, but alive. And she was the only one. She'd been hit with gunfire, but it was in the right shoulder and the leg. Then she immediately went down and was knocked unconscious when her head hit the ground at an odd angle. Which was how the paramedics found her. The surgery went fine, but it's a long road to recovery, and that's just the physical part. The mental therapy involved will be even more grueling. But Alec and his family got what they wanted, as Kelly was finally free of those people and whatever they had planned. Cameron wasn't so lucky. He'd fallen victim to one of the machetes and there was nothing to be done. I felt sad at his demise, but worse about how his family would take it. They were such nice people. That's the real tragedy of the situation; all the people who were nothing but collateral damage. But somewhere along the line, you make ties that even if they don’t replace broken ones, they help ease the pain. Which is why it was no surprise Alec stayed in contact with Vivian and I after what we saw in the swamp. He's told me a million times I'm the only reason Kelly had a shot at making it out. Vivian agrees. The one thing that bothers us the most is the assailants who massacred the group. There was absolutely no way to identify them, which means their motive was unknown and they were still out there. The theory is that the group messed with them in some way, and this was their way to get even. If that's the case, then mission accomplished.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I went to a Halloween party with a friend. I barely got out alive. [RESPONSE] I awoke to something dry and bristly rubbing against my face. Tilled earth and fertilizer filled my nose as I lie on the ground, face pointed toward the sky. A wave of rustling echoed in my mind as a cool breeze flowed over my face. My eyes struggled to open, matted from a heavy… sleep, I guess you’d call it. Turning my head side to side, all I saw were endless rows of corn. The tops of the brown, crisp stalks bobbed lazily in the light wind. Their dry leaves brushed against each other making a sound like dry skin catching on cheap linen. My head swam. It felt like a hangover, but I knew I hadn’t drunk enough to cause that. Three or four beers at most. Maybe someone put something in my drink. That’s the only thing that made sense. I pushed myself unsteadily to my feet. My vision doubled and refocused. A clawing pain ripped through my stomach as though I hadn’t eaten in weeks. It was a sickening mixture of starvation and nausea. The rancid taste of vomit filled my mouth. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I was concerned to discover that whoever had dumped me here had taken my cell phone. My wallet was missing too. The only things left in my pockets were a half-crushed pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Looking to the ground, I saw the remains of my meal, congealed and soaking in the loamy soil. Sitting next to it, looking into the moon-filled sky was a silicone Halloween mask. The skeleton face framed in a ratty white whaler’s beard smiled up at me. *Funny meeting you here,* the mask seemed to say. I nervously chuckled as the thought bounced inside of my head. “Yeah,” I said to the mask. “Pretty wild.” My mind was foggy, but I could remember a few details from earlier in the night before I woke up alone in the cornfield. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Marcus Hart, my roommate, told me one of the fraternities on campus had planned a Halloween kegger at someone’s cabin. A girl Marcus was chasing after mentioned that she would be there and Marcus dragged me along. Marcus and I weren’t outcasts by any means, but we weren’t hanging with the popular people on campus. Friendly, sure, but party invitations weren’t filling up our mailbox. The entire concept of a frat party seemed a little offputting, but I hated to make him go alone. “I think Stacey’s into me, Danny,” Marcus said as my Acura rumbled down the country road. I was going to the party as a favor to him, so he had the pleasure of driving us. “Seems like a good signal that she told me about the Halloween party tonight.” “She didn’t exactly invite us,” I chuckled as I took a drag off my cigarette. A crisp autumn breeze was blowing in through a crack in the window, blowing ashes wildly through the cab of the car. “She didn’t exactly volunteer the information. Didn’t you ask her if she had plans?” Marcus took a hand from the wheel and extended his middle finger in my direction. I chortled again as I flicked the smoldering butt out the window. It bounced off of the mile marker sign, exploding into a cloud of red cinders. “I’m just busting your balls,” I heckled. “She could have just told you she was busy and it seemed like she was pretty happy when you said you would stop by. Relax. It’ll be a fun night.” Marcus smiled at my response. “Let’s not stick around too long,” I said. “Frat guys are a bunch of assholes and I’m not looking to spend the whole night with them drinking cheap beer and watching them show their ass.” “They aren’t all bad,” Marcus responded. “I have some classes with a few of them. Decent enough guys.” I rolled my eyes and lit another cigarette. “I don’t know what high school was like for you,” I replied snidely. “For me, those are the guys that gave me hell all the time. Being in a frat is for rich kids who want to buy friends. Not my kind of scene.” We drove on in silence. I guess I offended him, but it was how I felt. Not everyone in a fraternity was a bad guy most likely, but it seemed like an accurate stereotype to me. After what felt like an eternity of winding down two-lane country roads, the GPS on my phone alerted us that the house was ahead on the left. As we rounded the final corner, we could see smoke rising from a bonfire by the edge of a cornfield. Loud music blasted through the air as nearly one hundred college students milled about. We parked in the field across the road and headed over to the thriving party. After grabbing a few beers and making laps to see if we knew anyone there, we settled toward the edge of the costumed horde and watched the chaos. Marcus looked frantically through the crowd trying to spot Stacey. “Did you see her anywhere?” he asked, slight panic in his voice. “Everyone at this damn party has a mask on. I’m not sure I’d recognize her in one.” I shrugged. He had a point. She would blend into the crowd. “I think I’m going to make another pass and see if I spot here,” he said. “Gonna come?” “You go ahead,” I said, pulling a pack of cigarettes from my shirt pocket. ‘I’m going to step off to the side for a smoke.” Marcus tossed me a wave and headed off into the crowd, scanning the shifting cluster for Stacey. I walked a few feet away from the cluster of people to save them from the cloud of cigarette smoke. Just because I was destroying my lungs didn’t mean they had to suffer the secondhand effects. I lit my cigarette and turned to look out at the immense cornfield. A long draw of smoke was drifting into my lungs when a heavy hand fell on my shoulder. It startled me and I choked as my body ejected my last draw. Body shaking with tremors from my deep coughs, I turned to see a shirtless man wearing a monstrous jester mask. “You’re breaking the rules!” the demonic harlequin shouted. In his hands, he held a floppy Halloween mask and a red plastic cup filled with beer. “If you wanna stay at this party you have to wear a mask and you have to drink some beer!” He shoved the mask and cup into my hands. Turning the mask over in my hand, I saw the smiling skeletal face framed in the white whaler’s beard. The hollow sockets seemed to look into my eyes. I had worn dozens of masks in my life, but something about this one made me uneasy. I couldn’t explain it. Taking a long swig from the red cup of beer, I held the bearded skeleton mask out toward the man in the jester mask. He tilted his head to the side to express his confusion. I smiled at him and gestured toward the mask. “Not my style,” I replied as politely as I could. “I’ll have a few beers, but I’ll pass on the borrowed mask. Sounds like an awesome way to catch COVID.” “I don’t think you understand,” said the jester in a booming voice. He pushed the mask back toward my chest. I could see over his shoulder that the outer rim of the crowd had fallen silent. Dozens of masked faces turned toward us and watched our exchange. A few of the larger guys donning floppy masks and fraternity shirts stepped out of the crowd and began to walk toward us. “Wear the mask or get out of here. Are you too good for my mask?” My eyes scanned the line of large men marching toward us. Some of them dropped their cups to the ground and clenched their fists, veins bulging under their skin. Others cracked their necks side to side as they approached. More and more of the crowd behind them turned to watch us. I tossed the beer back nervously and smiled in an attempt to calm the situation. Reaching out, I grabbed the mask and stretched it over my head. The inside of it smelled like a medical glove and the large frame caused it to shift randomly in front of my eyes. The world looked like a claymation movie as the scene before me came in and out of view. The line of fraternity guys stopped and eased their posture. Most of the crowd began to turn away and started dancing again. The jester patted me on the shoulder and laughed loudly. “That’s the spirit!” he howled. “Let’s get you another beer!” He put his hand on my back and guided me toward the crowd and waved his hand. A young woman wearing a terrifyingly realistic zombie mask darted forward. She shoved another beer into my hand as the jester began chanting for me to chug. Soon, the crowd nearest to us joined in. Feeling a mixture of peer pressure and exhilaration, I pulled the chin of the skeleton mask over my mouth and tipped the beer back. Long waves of beer poured down my throat, leaving a metallic taste in my mouth. Almost like it had set in the keg too long. I wanted to spit it out, but I was afraid of how the jester might react. Cheers erupted from the crowd of dancing college kids. Their masks bounced and contorted unnaturally as they moved. My stomach churned as it tried to settle the sudden flood of beer. My vision began to blur. “Just one more,” said a man dressed as a gorilla, shoving another beer into my hand. “Just one more and you’ll be in the spirit of things.” I once more tipped the beer back and the crowd roared with delight. That’s the last thing I remember before waking up in the corn. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ They must have drugged me. My head throbbed as the rustling of the corn waxed and waned. Bright moonlight washed over the field, casting the faintest of shadows as it passed through the stalks. I looked at my watch and saw it was nearly midnight. Marcus and I arrived at the party around seven that night. It couldn’t have been longer than an hour before I had funneled the three drugged beers so I had been out in the field for at least four hours. Unsure of what to do, I decided to try to make my way out of the field. There were no landmarks available so I started walking through the rows of corn. The stalks towered overhead, unusually tall. I had no view of the field at all. I even tried to jump a few times, but the massive wall of vegetation was too high to see over. In the distance, I could see that the row of corn appeared to come to a dead end. Most of my life had been spent living in a mid-sized city and I didn’t know much about farming, but I knew it was odd. Corn was planted in neat rows. A nervous bubbling grew in my stomach as I grew closer to the end of the row. When I was a few feet from the end, I saw that the row didn’t end. There was a ninety-degree right turn. I went around the bend to see another turn about twenty feet ahead of me, leading to the left. It wasn’t a damn cornfield. It was a maze. In frustration, I sat on the ground and began to run my hands through my hair. Panicked thoughts raced through my head as I tried to figure out what the hell was going on. None of it made sense. The fraternity hosting the party had drugged my drinks, but why? Was it some kind of hazing ritual? No, that wouldn’t make sense. I hadn’t pledged to any fraternities and I wasn’t popular enough to be approached by one directly. Was it a practical joke? Probably so, but what the hell was the point? None of those guys knew me. Regardless of why they drugged me and dumped me in the middle of some stupid maze, I was terrified. The corn was unnaturally tall and the rustling noise produced by the wind in the plants made me feel like something was moving through them, watching me. Hunting me, even. Some ancient sense filled my body with the dread that something stalked me. And then I heard a voice. “Found your mask back where we left you,” it shouted from a few rows away. “I thought you knew the rules! Gotta leave your mask on! Don’t worry, I’ll bring it to you. Just hold tight!” Heavy footsteps began to mingle with the rustling of the dry corn. “We have to punish you for breaking the rules, though,” he shouted again. “It’ll hurt, but I’ll try to make it quick.” Bolts of panic filled my body and I jumped from the ground and began to run back in the direction that I had come. My body weight was trending forward, causing me to fall to the ground before regaining my feet and running as quickly as I could. “Over here!” shouted the voice I assumed belonged to the jester. “He’s running back to where we left him! No cheating, pledges! Stay in the maze! Anyone caught running through the rows will be punished!” Dozens of footsteps filled the air now like a demonic herd of cattle moving through the field. Brief glimpses of masked faces appeared and vanished rapidly in the rows beside me. Some of them were so close I could hear their ragged, hot breath billowing inside of their rubber masks. Their hands reached out, slapping the dry stalks of corn. It created a deafening web of noise all around me. I couldn’t tell if I was surrounded, by the symphony of terrifying sounds at least gave me that impression. “Only one pledge spot to fill this year, boys!” came the voice of the jester. “Whoever brings me his ears will join our brotherhood!” A chorus of laughter broke out around me in response to the macabre order. There was a boiling sensation of fear and anger in my stomach as my feet hammered the ground, pushing me back toward the clearing where I had woken up. I had no plan, operating off of pure fear and adrenaline. As I neared the end of the row into the clearing where I had awoken, I saw the jester standing with his back turned away from me. In his left hand, I saw the skeleton mask and in his right, he held a long-bladed knife. In a mixture of terror and rage, I barreled toward him and tackled him to the ground. The knife and mask tumbled to the ground as we slammed to the earth with a sickening thud. His head smacked heavily against a rock protruding from the ground. A gust of air and a whimper burst from the jester’s mouth as I landed on top of him. Unsure if he was still conscious, I pushed myself up from the ground and grabbed the knife. Turning back toward him, I pointed the knife in his direction. At first, I thought he was dead until I saw his back rise and fall, taking shallow breaths. I inched toward him, knife still outstretched, ready for him to attack. He never moved. Kneeling, I settled my knee in the center of his back. He groaned in pain but remained in place. Slowly, I tugged the jester mask off of his head. His face was a ruin of fractures and lacerations from his fall on the rock. Dark red blood traced through his messy mop of blonde hair. His glazed eyes twitched and struggled to focus on my face. “You better… better…” he coughed and a spray of blood and phlegm peppered the ground in front of his mouth. “Better run, man. They won’t stop…” I could still hear footfalls in the distance and the whisper of the cornstalks. They would be there soon and I knew I had to move. I needed to slow them down. Buy me some time. Then I saw the discarded skeleton mask. Everyone at the party had seen me wearing it. Maybe it would throw them off. I grabbed the crumpled mask and tugged it over the blonde man’s head. He fought weekly against me, but I was able to get it onto him without much trouble. After I placed it on his head, I took grabbed his jester mask and put it on. It was disgusting, but maybe they would recognize the mask and think I was one of them. The smell inside nearly made me vomit again. Sweat and the thick scent of copper overwhelmed me. Warm, sticky fluid made the rubber cling to my face. A mixture of the jester’s blood and sweat, no doubt. Voices behind me began to grow loud and the sound of hands brushing against the rows of corn swelled. They were getting closer. I had to leave and hope that the man wearing my mask would slow them down. At first, I considered bursting through the rows of corn to run in a straight line but thought better of it quickly. The noise would be immense and alert them to my location instantly. Even if they didn’t hear me breaking through the dry stalks, the visible path I would leave behind would provide them with a direct path to track me. I moved toward one of the rows of corn and carefully pushed two of them aside, leaving enough room for me to slide through. Carefully, I lifted one leg and sat it down on the other side of the row. Once I had solid footing, I brought through my second foot and gently released the two stalks I was holding, and allowed them to lazily bounce back into place. I performed the same separation and step-through move on the second row of corn, leaving two rows between myself and the jester’s battered body. I hoped the group would find him and be satisfied that it was me on the ground, but there was no way to be sure. If they discovered that it was their friend on the ground, I had no way to be sure they wouldn’t ignore the rules and burst through the maze walls to search for me directly. “There he is!” I heard a voice shout in the distance. It sounded hauntingly familiar, but in my panic, I couldn’t figure out where I had heard him before. At the party most likely. “He’s on the ground! His ears are mine!” Between the rows of stalks, I could see a young man wearing a werewolf mask run toward the body. The jester, now wearing my skull mask, pushed himself onto his back and held up his shaking hands toward the approaching man. He stood over the broken man and pulled a knife from his belt. “Put your hands down and take it like a man,” the werewolf said and kicked the jester in the ribs. A loud crunch exploded from his side as a high-pitched whine escaped the mask. “I’m just taking your ears. Sit still and I’ll cut them clean off. Won’t even hurt… that much. You may even make it to the main road before you bleed to death!” The werewolf kneeled and reached his hand toward the top of the skeleton mask. I had been transfixed by the events, but suddenly I realized my half-clever diversion was being wasted as I watched them. Moving as quietly and quickly as I could, I began to slip carefully between the rows. All the while, I prayed I was moving closer to the edge of the field instead of farther in. “Guys!” shouted the werewolf. “It’s Brandon! The son of a bitch hurt him! I think… it looks like he smashed his head on a rock and broke his ribs.” *Asshole*, I thought to myself as I pushed through the corn. *I busted his head up but you broke his ribs.* I almost chuckled to myself at the thought, half maddened as I was. Footfalls sounded behind me as the cluster of psychotic pledges pounded through the field looking for me. My heart thundered against my chest as I continued to quietly slide between the rows of corn one at a time. With each successful pass, the sound of the mob grew a bit quieter. Even with their leader killed or out of commission, they seemed dedicated to holding to their rule of not breaking through the corn maze walls. It was a relief, but I still doubted I would be able to move out of the field quickly enough to escape them. Even if I did, there was no telling how far I was from my car. Even if I found it, Marcus had the keys. In the distance, I thought I could hear the sound of cars. My heart filled with hope and I began to move a bit more quickly toward the noise. For a moment I had hope that I would escape. Suddenly there was the sound of snapping corn stalks behind me. I looked over my shoulder to see glimpses of the werewolf mask bounding after me through the rows of corn. He was alone and must have assumed the other pledges wouldn’t see him. My reliance on them sticking to their own rules had failed. “I see you,” he whispered as he pushed through the corn. That same familiar voice scratched at my ears. “Stop running and this can all be over.” I began to run faster through the rows. Leaves and corn cobs smacked against my face. He was gaining on me. His footfalls were near behind me. My mind raced between turning to fight and continuing my failing escape attempt. “It’s done, Danny!” He shouted. “It’ll be so much easier if you would just give in. All I need are your ears!” Danny. He called me Danny. The werewolf knew me. I stopped and spun around to face him. The jester’s knife was still clutched in my hand and I held it toward the werewolf. He stopped in place and held out his knife toward me. “Marcus?” I asked between gulping breaths. “What the hell? Marcus?” The werewolf grabbed the tuft of hair on top of the mask and pulled it off. Before me in the cornfield stood my best friend, Marcus. A hateful smirk curled his lip. His hair was matted to his head with sweat and his eyes were full of madness, but it was him. I pulled off the stolen jester mask and stared in bewilderment at Marcus. “Sorry, buddy,” he said calmly. “I hate that it had to be you.” “Why are you doing this?” I said, holding back my desire to scream. It would only have attracted the rest of the murderous pledges. “You don’t have to go through with this. We’re… shit… I thought we were friends.” Marcus lifted his free hand and wiped the streams of sweat away from his face. You could see the moisture evaporate from his skin in the cool night air. His smirk faded away and turned into a determined glare. “I’m tired of being nobody,” he said flatly. “Being a face in the crowd at a party doesn’t bother most people, but I’ve spent too much of my life being ignored. I pledged the frat but didn’t tell you. I knew you wouldn’t support it. You think you’re better than them. You think you’re better than me.” “Marcus, I’m sorry,” I muttered. He was inching toward me and I walked backward, catching my feet on the stalks and stumbling. “You’re not like them. This isn’t you. Let’s get out of here. We’ll get you some help. We can…” Before I could finish my sentence, my shoe tangled in a half-bent stalk of corn and I tumbled onto my back. The air rushed out of my lungs and bright white stars shot across my field of vision. I couldn’t see him, but I heard Marcus say something under his breath and the sound of his feet hitting the ground as he began to run toward me. I held the knife out in front of me as my vision steadied. Just in time to see Marcus. He was running toward me, knife above his head. Preparing to plunge it into me and I lay helplessly on the ground. *This is it*, I thought. *Killed in a damn corn maze.* Marcus was just above me, swinging the knife in a high arc when I made my final desperate move. I picked up my right leg and drove it into his knee. The joint hyperextended, angled in the wrong direction. He fell to the ground shrieking in pain. The knife flew from his hand and into the row behind us. His howls of misery filled the air. I knew it would draw the rest of the pack. They were far enough away that it would be difficult for them to figure out where we were immediately, but I knew if it continued, they would find us in a matter of moments. At that moment, I did the worst thing I had ever done. The worst thing I ever would do. I placed the knife to his neck and ran the blade from ear to ear. His cries and bellows ceased immediately. Dark crimson blood began to pour from the wound, bubbling as he attempted to speak. He reached for me and took ahold of my sleeve, but I slapped his weak hand away. As I stood to leave, he reached a hand toward me, gesturing for help. I looked into his eyes. The madness was gone. It was Marcus again, my friend. He was dying and I had dealt the killing blow. Only moments later, his hand went limp and fell to the ground. Hot tears streamed down my face and bile rolled in my stomach. I had to get out of there. I needed help. I wanted to survive. The field was mostly quiet again. A cool breeze picked up and began to rustle through the corn again. The dry leaves crackled and scraped against each other. In the distance, I heard the horde yelling again. They weren’t close yet, but they would be soon. My mind was still hazy from the drugs and I was struggling to recover from having the air knocked out of me. All of my energy had been exerted during my escape attempt from Marcus. My tank was empty. I had killed my friend. The pack of pledges would find me soon. Even if I did manage to escape, what cop would believe any of it? I reached into my pocket and pulled out the crushed pack of cigarettes and a lighter. If I was going to die, I thought I should have one last cigarette. Soothe my nerves and enjoy one final thing before I went. Placing the bent cigarette in my mouth, I cupped the end of the lighter and put the flame on the tip of my cigarette. As I was taking a drag to keep it lit, a cornstalk bent in the breeze and pushed a dried leaf into the flame of my lighter. It began to ignite rapidly. In a panic, I swatted at the burning stalk and smothered the fire. The smoke and light would lead them right to me. There was no need to draw attention to me any more quickly. Besides, it would ignite the entire field. That was it. Set the field on fire. Trap them inside. Cigarette dangling from my mouth, I placed the lighter on one of the dry stalks in front of me and sparked the flint. A tiny flame danced from the end of the lighter and spread across the dry leaves. It lept from stalk to stalk in a matter of moments. I passed through the row of corn behind me and set two more stalks ablaze. Just like the first round, the tightly packed stalks of corn passed the flames between each other like cancer. The immense light illuminated the light. As I passed through the third row, I set a final blaze before turning to run toward the sounds of the road. I must have run through the seemingly endless rows for ten minutes before I finally hit the edge. A wide-open field spread in front of me and beyond it sat the country road that had carried me and my best friend to this ill-fated party. I turned toward the cornfield a final time before I collapsed to the ground. What had been only a few small fires when I left had turned into an enormous blaze. The flames licked toward the night sky, dancing like spirits against the dark backdrop. Over the crackles of the blaze, I could swear I heard <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My dad sold my soul to the devil [RESPONSE] Yup, just about as crazy as the title sounds. My dad is what they call a "macho man". All he wanted was sons. He lived and breathed for "another Keller boy." Naturally, when my older brother was born, he was overjoyed. Three years later, he begged my mom to have another son. When he found out we were twins, he was excited to have three sons. So when my brother and I came out, and he saw that I was a girl, he was despaired. I've always been his least favourite kid, and he never tried to hide it. While he named my brothers Anthony and David, which mean priceless and beloved respectfully, he named me Lilith, which literally means night monster. While my brothers and mom tried to soften that direct punch to the gut by calling me Lili, he insisted on us all calling me Lilith, so I could "feel the disappointment that he felt the day I was born." Clearly him and my mom did not stay married, and quite unfortunately he signed for full custody when Anthony was five, and David and I two. Things just got worse from there. If he took Anthony and David out to eat or to see a movie, I was to stay home. He spent all his time playing sports with my brothers, and wouldn't let me join even though I, as a girl, actually showed a genuine interest in what he was doing with my brothers. When I was four, dad got cancer. And from what I heard, it was supposed to be terminal. That's where the title of this story comes into play. Yup, he made a deal with Satan. 15 more years of life if he sold one of his children's' souls. And big surprise, he chose me. So once I die, it's off to hell, no matter how little I sin or how much I pray. The first time I remember something happening to me was about a month after my dad made that deal. I was in my tiny, cramped room, trying to sleep on a bed I outgrew years ago, while my brothers and dad watched a movie downstairs, when I saw it. This thing in my closet. It was pale, with gaunt, sunken eyes and a gaping mouth. It's long and bony fingers wrapped around my closet door. There was no question that this thing was a demon. I immediately cried for my dad, who stormed up the stairs and gave me a proper beating for interrupting his movie night with his kids. After that, he called me a little girl for crying and locked me in my room. As I cried all that night, the demon simply watched me from the closet, unmoving. Demons watching me were pretty normal from then on. Sometimes it would be the pale gaunt thing in my closet, other times a dark figure hovering over my bed. And on bad nights, a horned figure with glowing red eyes would stare at me, taunting me through the window. After a while, I stopped being scared of them. One night when I was nine, the gaunt creature was back in my closet, staring at me while I read. He began to make this really weird growling noise, to which I shushed him. He then did something he never did before. While he would occasionally wrap his hand around my slightly ajar door, he never actually came out of my closet. Until that night. In one swift movement, he tore open my closet door and stood up fully, revealing he was taller than the ceiling itself. He bent his neck in an abnormal way to fit under the roof. I rightfully should've been shitting my pants at this moment, but for some reason, I just wasn't that scared. We locked eyes for a while, which was more awkward than scary, so I just went back to reading my book. He just looked at me curiously for a while, until my dad decided he wanted to be a horrible person again, and threw open my door to yell at me for something or other. The entire time the demon just watched. Thankfully my dad left after slapping me across the face, but I was crying again for the rest of the night. The demon, who now looked at me with something more than curiosity, looked back at my closed door, trying to see my dad. As I did nothing but sob, the demon just sat down beside my bed, towering over me. Neither of us looked at each other the rest of the night, I cried while he just stared off in the distance, but I wasn't alone, and that was all I cared about. From then on things changed. I wasn't just not scared of the demons, I welcomed them. Especially the gaunt looking one who sat by me that night. He would sit with me whenever my dad was bad to me, or whenever I had boy troubles at school. He never talked at me, and barely ever looked at me, but all I cared about was that he was there for me.I even gave him a name. Papa. I remember this one night, I was fourteen, and upset because Jacob, the boy I liked, didn't invite me to the Valentine's Dance at our school. On top of that, my dad had gotten into one of his moods, and had thrown a chair at me. When I ran into my room, I was almost relieved to see Papa crouched by the closet. "Papa!" I cried, running to him. It was stupid, I know, I was calling a literal demon papa, but I had nobody else. He was the only one who had ever shown me any sympathy. At first he stepped back, but as I cried even harder, he looked at me in the eyes, maybe for the first time since that night he stepped out of the closet. Then he did something surprising. He hugged me back. As I felt his icy cold hands wrap around me, I should've been terrified, but I was filled with love. Love, for finally finding a dad who loved me. But one night, as I was reading To Kill A Mockingbird for my school project, I made a mistake. Papa looked curious, so I decided to read out loud to him. I guess I made too much noise though, because David opened my door. "Lilith, who the hell are you- WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!?" He screamed, and my dad came rushing up. Papa couldn't hide in time, and now, Anthony, David, and my dad all stared him down. He stood up, revealing his giant stature, and David began to cry, while Anthony froze in place and my dad ran off to get a vial of holy water he had kept by his bed ever since the deal was made. As I tried to run away with Papa, he stopped me and shook his head. We both knew it was too late. I cried as I hugged him goodbye, and as my dad approached us with the holy water and sprayed it on Papa, he let out a blood-curdling screech that could've been heard across the country. I watched in horror as Papa, who had stayed by my side all these years, faded to nothingness. "There." Dad said. "It can't hurt us anymore, sons." He said, embracing David and Anthony in a hug. I just laid over Papa's lifeless body, uncontrollably sobbing. We were all so caught up in our own worlds we didn't notice something come up behind us. He was large, even bigger than Papa, and had two large horns, a goat's head, and a large stick in his hand. Dad turned around slowly, looking to this thing as he glared down at my abuser. "Your majesty, I-" "We had a deal, Stanley. I granted you 15 more years of life, on two conditions. TWO!" It boomed, and I noticed David had wet himself. "It was a misunderstanding, sir, my daughter-" "You were granted 15 more years of life, on the conditions that I get your daughter upon her death, AND... you never harm anyone, ever again. Do you understand?" It asked. "Yes, and I haven't. Promise." The creature laughed. "First you break a promise, and now you lie? To his Satanic majesty himself? Seeing you have not only harmed your daughter her entire life, but have killed one of my best minions, you have broken my trust. I'm breaking off the deal." My dad got down on his knees. "NO, please I'll do anything." He begged. Satan looked at me. "There is one way; if Lilith, your daughter and the one you cursed, forgives you. I will set you free, and you will live the rest of your life." My dad slowly turned to me, and put on a smile. "Hey, Lili, what about it? Look at me, I'm your dad. Your papa. I raised you. Don't you love me? I'm your dad, for fuck's sake!" He said, getting more agitated as I stared at him. "It's up to you, Lilith." Satan said. I looked to Papa's body on the floor, then back to my dad. "Come on, you gonna believe Satan, or your dear ol' dad?" My dad said, pleading to me. I glared at him. "My dad is dead, bitch. You killed him." I said. "I don't forgive you." And with that, Satan dragged my dad down to the netherworld, my brothers and I hearing his screams until it was far away enough that it faded away, to where he could never hurt me again. As my brothers cried in the loss of their dad, I walked back to Papa, on the ground, and kissed his forehead. "Goodbye, Papa. Thank you."<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The latest play at my local theatre gets VERY positive reviews. [RESPONSE] There’s this old theatre near my house. Very decrepit, rusting, sagging with age. I don’t think it’s been open for nearly 40 years. I never thought much of it - there are a lot of abandoned buildings in the part of town I live in. At least I didn’t - until it happened. One day, I was driving past the theatre when I noticed it. The rust and decay had been cleared away. The theatre bore a fresh new coat of jaunty red paint. The marquee was lit up with lights so bright they nearly blinded me, and bore the words: THE GREAT SHOW - 8:00 PM. I was surprised, to be sure. I had driven past that theatre nearly every day, and I hadn’t seen even a hint of any sort of restoration. Did someone do this all in one night? It was unlikely, but that seemed like the only plausible explanation. While I was surprised, I wasn’t considering attending the show. I’ve never liked the theatre, not even a bit. I wasn’t planning to give it any more thought. I hadn’t given it any more thought until one of my coworkers went up to me one day on my lunch break. “Hey!” he said. I was surprised. I had barely spoken to this guy before. I don’t even think I knew his name. “Um, hi?” I asked, a little confused. “Have you seen that play? At the theatre?” “No. Why?” I responded. “You definitely should go. It was a life-changing experience. Every part of it was completely perfect.” He was acting weird, but the rave review had piqued my interest. “What’s it about?” He froze. I could see the smile fall off his face. “Um…” He said. I was starting to get a little nervous. I wondered if he was playing a joke of sorts on me, but I didn’t think so. I could see him frantically searching the crevasses of his mind, looking for an answer. “I don’t really remember.” He admitted, after a minute. “But I did enjoy it a lot. That’s all you need to know.” Then he walked off. I had to pass the theatre to get home from work. It looked the same as before, but this time I got a bad feeling about it. Things continued on for a couple days. It seemed like everyone I met was singing the praises of this show. When I went online, I found hundreds of reviews, all saying that the play was “Life-Changing” and “Revolutionary”. Yet I couldn’t find anything saying what the play was actually about. Not anywhere. It was never mentioned in the reviews, and anyone who I asked in real life couldn’t remember. I didn’t know it at the time, but this was tame compared with what was to come. The next thing I noticed was changes in my coworkers. It started with the first guy who had approached me. I noticed he became paler - his eyes were reddening, and his hair started to grey and even fall out in some spots. He was at his desk, but he barely seemed to be working. He was just tapping on the keyboard, absent-mindedly. I looked over his shoulder, and it seemed like he was just typing nonsense - a slurry of random characters and punctuation marks. I tried to approach him. “Hello?” I called. The typing stopped. Slowly, he began to swivel his office chair around to face me. From up close, I could see how much worse he had become. The bald spots on his head, which had previously seemed to have fallen out on their own, were now evidently torn off - I could see the scars. “Yes?” He rasped, in a low, husky voice. “Have you seen it?” I hadn’t heard him speak much, but I knew that this voice wasn’t his own. I lost my nerve. I just ran back to my cubicle. I found him again that night. I was driving past the theatre when I saw him, shambling towards the entrance like some sort of reanimated corpse. I stopped the car and watched him closely. He walked on and on until he reached the entrance. He stopped at the front door. It swung open for him. I was immediately taken by surprise. Instead of seeing a theatre lobby, I saw nothing but a cheap, grease-stained carpet floor shrouded by a thick fog. That was when he turned around and saw me. I panicked. The fog began to leak from the theatre, and encompassed my car quickly. It happened so fast I barely had time to react. I looked outside, and saw that I was no longer in my neighbourhood. I was in an endless parking lot. I tried to start my car, but it wouldn’t work. The gas levels were normal, so it couldn’t be that. I had no choice but to get out and start walking. It felt like I had been walking for ages across the eternal rows of empty parking spots when I finally saw something in the distance. It was the theatre. It looked even worse than when it was abandoned. The roof was close to caving in - the marquee was slanted at an unsafe angle. Most of the bulbs were burnt out, and the few that weren’t sent a shower of sparks onto the asphalt. The last thing I wanted was to go in - but I didn’t know what else to do. Hesitantly, I walked inside. It somehow looked even more dilapidated on the inside. Rotting wood pillars reached to the ceiling. A greasy carpet like the one I had seen through the door went from wall to wall. A few bulbs hung from the ceiling, casting a dim light upon the building. I saw something in the corner - an old ticket booth. To my surprise, the station was manned by an ancient, rusty robot, attached to the stand. It sprang to life the moment I went up to it. It was in the shape of a normal human, and was wearing a decaying usher's uniform. The name tag was too worn to make out anything. In a rusty, metallic, inhuman voice it screeched - “TICKETS. NO ADMISSION.” An iron hand shot out from somewhere, holding a single ticket. I took it from the automaton’s hand as quickly as possible, lest it try to grab me. As soon as the ticket left its hand, it slumped back into its original position. At this point, I was scared out of my mind. But I felt like I had to press onwards - like an invisible being was forcing me to do it. I walked slowly into the door with the sign that bore the words “THEATRE”. The theatre looked like the rest of the place - old, rotting, and falling apart. My ticket held the words, “A3”. I went to the front row, and there it was. It was difficult to find, because the metal nameplates on the chairs were almost rusted beyond decipherability, but I made it. I sat down. The curtains slowly drew open. It was nearly two hours later when I emerged from the theatre back into the real world, a changed man. I know my fate - I have seen what happens to those who indulge in it. But, my god, the play was good. It was perfect - in every unimaginable way. It showed me everything - all of it. All that there is and all that there ever will be. I saw it all. So, why am I telling you this? Consider it something of a review. I know that you might feel apprehensive towards it - I did too. But you must see it. You must.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Are All Big Cities Like This? [RESPONSE] The old woman looked at my suitcase and sniffed. “That’s all you packed?” I shrugged. “Just the essentials. Figured I’d have my family ship me the rest of my stuff once I’m sure of where I’m staying.” She nodded. “Well, if you decide to stay here, just remember to pay your rent. You’ve only paid me for this month.” Here, it happens, was a one-room apartment in a dingy complex on 131st street, a dark and dirty street in one of the cheapest areas of the city. I didn’t really expect to be staying here for long. Still, the rent was almost comically cheap, and it had a bed and running water. That would have to suffice until I found somewhere better. “First time in the city?” The old woman asked after showing me how to work the archaic lock on my door. I nodded. “Well, it’s not much different from any other city. But every city has its own little quirks you need to get used to.” I nodded again, pretending I was interested. “This city, for example, has a wide variety of weather. There’s rain, drizzling rain, pouring rain, rain and fog, and when we’re really lucky, hail.” She gestured at some dents in the roof as she mentioned the hail. “But there are a few quirks you should know about.” She continued. “Common sense stuff, but you country folk seem to have a different kind of common sense. I’ll write you a list, so you don’t go getting yourself into trouble.” With that, she left. Once I’d unpacked my clothes and laptop and checked that the bed was reasonably clean, I decided to take a nap. The walls seemed thin, but I couldn’t hear anything from the apartments next to or below me, for which I was grateful. I was awoken about twenty minutes later by a knock at the door, followed by a shuffling sound as the old woman pushed a slip of paper under the door. I heard her footsteps heading back down the hall as I picked it up and skimmed through the list. *Rule One: This isn’t an election year. If you see someone asking you to vote, ignore them.* Okay, that was a little weird. Maybe it was some sort of scam. *Rule Two: If someone approaches you while it’s foggy and offers you a wish, politely decline and leave. Do not give them anything, and do not say anything that could be interpreted as a wish. If they follow you, keep walking and ignore them.* That was weirder. *Rule Three: If you are out at night and hear the sound of a frog behind you, run. Get home as fast as you can, and do not look behind you until you are in bed.* Now I was just creeped out. I debated running outside and demanding the old woman explain herself, but I figured I should read the rest first. *Rule Four: Don’t piss off anyone from the N?ne crime syndicate.* Okay, that one made perfect sense. Maybe the weird ones were just to make sure I was paying attention. *Rule Five: Don’t look into any storm drains, no matter what you hear.* Or not. I shoved the list into my pocket. Not something I want to deal with right now. *** Once I was settled, I stepped outside and went in search of food. As soon as I exited the apartment, the scale of my new home struck me once again – the towering black skyscrapers that seemed to loom over the entire city, the dark roads that seemed just a little too narrow, the thick black clouds covering the sky and unleashing an endless drizzle of chilling rain. The streets were lined with endless buildings, even the smallest of which must have been at least four or five stories. Narrow alleys ran between them, seemingly too small for anyone to walk down, and yet I knew from the graffiti that people must walk there constantly. Everything in the city had a looming presence, a sort of twisted grandeur. I had the sudden realization that there were probably people in this city who had never actually seen a field, nothing but the endless stifling presence of countless black buildings. I wondered about the people who lived in these other buildings – the run-down tenements, the luxurious skyscrapers. My phone struggled to find a signal – apparently, my normal cell carrier didn’t service the city – but I was able to get the maps app to open. The area I was in was largely old warehouses and equally old apartments, with few shops around, but the map pointed out a small café not too many blocks from me. It seemed like a good enough option. *** The café was located on the bottom floor of a ten-story building, but judging by the lack of lighting anywhere else in the building, the café was the only part still in use. A sign above the door read, “Anne’s Café: Try Our Red Velvet Cupcakes!” A smaller sign taped to the door read, “Endorsed by Aki N?ne.” That gave me pause. I didn’t move into the city blind. Financial circumstances may not have given me a choice about the move, but I still did my research, and I’d read about N?ne before. The idea of entering a café seemingly favored by someone who would call themselves the “Crime Princess” worried me, no matter how cheery and welcoming the café seemed. Still, I was hungry. And in a way, maybe a building openly endorsed by a mob boss would be safer, in its own way. Who would dare to commit a crime against a place like that? With those thoughts in mind, I pushed open the door and stepped inside. I felt a little foolish about my nerves once I really looked around. It was a simple mom-and-pop place – well-lit, wooden tables and chairs, nice tablecloths that looked hand-sewn. Upbeat music played quietly from a radio behind the counter, and the smell of freshly-baked cupcakes filled the air. “Are you alright?” I jumped and looked around. The voice came from the sole other customer, a young man wearing a black suit with an emblem of a black bird emblazoned above his heart. A mug of coffee and a collection of mini cupcakes sat on the table before him. He had messy black hair and deep blue eyes, eyes which were currently looking at me with mild concern. “You look worried.” I shook my head. “No, it’s nothing much. I just moved here, so I’m feeling a little out of place.” “Let me guess,” he said with a laugh. “The sign about N?ne endorsing this place made you think you were walking into a syndicate front operation?” I felt my face redden, and he laughed again. “Don’t worry, the endorsement is literal. Her Highness adores red velvet cupcakes, and this place makes the best in the city.” I relaxed a bit and went up to the counter to place my order. The woman running the café was quiet and seemed tired, but I got a friendly vibe from her. Once I’d gotten my sandwich and smoothie, I turned to find a table, but the young man waved me to his table. Feeling awkward about accepting but feeling more awkward about refusing, I sat across from him. He introduced himself as Zach and said he worked nearby. “You just moved here?” He asked, opening a packet of salt and pouring it into his coffee. “Yeah, from the country, so it’s...quite an adjustment.” He laughed. “I can imagine. I’m from out-of-town too, but I grew up in a city, so it wasn’t quite as big of an adjustment. This city is…certainly unique, though. Don’t worry; you’ll get used to the city’s eccentricities.” I sighed, remembering my landlady. “Eccentricities, huh…” “What?” I shook my head. “Nothing. The landlady of my apartment just gave me this weird list of ‘city rules’ when I moved in.” “Really?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. I pulled the list from my pocket and handed it to him. “Huh.” He muttered, skimming through it. “‘Vote For G’…Wishgranter…The Kirigari Man…Cutter Clinic…” He sipped his coffee. “Seems like your landlady’s been around the block quite a few times.” “You know what those rules mean?” I felt a vague prickle of fear on my back, but I wasn’t sure why. “Sure.” He answered. “The city’s major urban legends. She missed a few – personally, I’d have swapped the Kirigari Man for the Raven; more people have seen that one, but she got the major ones. And the obvious one of not annoying Princess N?ne.” He slid the note back to me and popped one of the mini cupcakes into his mouth. “So they’re just urban legends, then.” I felt relieved at that, knowing they weren’t anything to actually worry about. I also felt a little annoyed at my landlady for wasting my time with them. “That doesn’t mean they’re not true.” He said pointedly, adding more salt to his coffee. “But not something you’ll need to worry about, I imagine. You don’t seem like the sort to get caught up in stuff like that. It’s still good of your landlady to warn you, though.” I shrugged. I would have preferred that she not give me pointless things to worry about. “Mind if I ask where you’re staying?” he asked. “This café isn’t really a tourist spot, so I’m assuming you live nearby.” He leaned back and sipped his coffee. “Yeah, a few blocks off,” I answered. “I rented an apartment on 131st.” With a choking gasp, Zach spat out his coffee, barely missing me. “Are you okay?!” I asked as Zach struggled for breath. “Ye-yeah.” He shook his head. “Where did you say you live?” “An apartment on 131st?” His eyes narrowed now, and he stood. “You’ll probably find this very weird, and you’re free to say no, but would you allow me to walk you back there?” “Why? His eyes darted evasively. “Well, it’s late at night, and that’s a bad part of town. Safety in numbers and all that.” It was odd. I could tell that wasn’t the reason, and beyond that, I knew nothing about him, yet something inside me was screaming at me to accept his offer. It was the same strange feeling I’d had since I arrived in the city, that something was wrong, something was missing. This strange feeling now told me to listen to him if I wanted to fix that. “Sure.” *** Zach was quiet for most of the walk back, not speaking until we stood before the door to the apartment complex. “You’ve been humoring me quite a bit already,” he said, “but I’d like to ask you to humor me for one more thing.” “What?” “I’d like to go in ahead of you. Just for a few minutes.” Once again, I had a strange feeling that I should accept. I did, and Zach disappeared inside, telling me to please wait for the next six minutes. I felt the world close around me as he vanished into the darkness, as though swallowed up by a gaping maw. In my mind, slight shadows down the alleyways turned into lurking figures waiting for me to drop my guard. My eyes darted to the nearby storm drain, my ears scanning for any vague noise, half-convinced that I was about to hear the croaking of a frog behind me. With no rational cause, my heart started pounding, and a cold bead of sweat traced its way down my spine. Despite my fears that I had been abandoned, almost exactly six minutes later, Zach exited. Carrying my luggage. “Wh-” Zach cut me off. “I’ll explain in a minute. Just follow me, and don’t look back until we’re across the street.” There was an intensity to his voice that made it impossible to refuse. Zach walked across the street, not hurrying, but with nervous energy to his step. I followed behind, feeling the urge to look behind me but worried I’d lose sight of him if I did. The trip across the street felt far longer than the twenty seconds it probably took, but we reached the other side. Zach set down my luggage and gestured for me to look back at my apartment. I did. All I could do was stare in horror at what I had thought was my apartment building. “One more rule for that little list,” Zach said. A wry smile crossed his lips. “There has never been an apartment on 131st street.” <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I Wish They Wouldn’t Come Knocking [RESPONSE] The following has been transcribed from a note found in an abandoned residence. …. I wish they wouldn't come knocking, late at night when I'm sleeping. For when I wake in a terrified state I can hear them, knock, knock, knocking I wrote that when I was… 10? Or maybe 11? Whatever age you are in grade 5. We had just finished our poetry unit in English class, and all had to write something. Most of my classmates wrote some cheesy bullshit about their parents or family; a couple even wrote about their playground crushes. Me? Well, I wrote about my personal torment. What kind of torment can a 10-year-old have? Why ghosts of the dead keeping you up at night, of course! Okay, okay. So I've gotta go back, like way back to when we first moved into our house. My parents worked their asses off so they could finally buy our little family of four a home to call our own. No more paying rent to some lazy asshole who couldn’t be bothered to fix a fucking hole in our roof; I swear that guy would watch my mom through the window sometimes and... Sorry, I’m getting off-topic. The point is, we were all really excited to have a place to call our own. The pride my father had as he took us by the hand and led us through each room, he was simply gleaming. It was a raised bungalow with two bedrooms upstairs and an unfinished basement. If I’m being honest, as happy as I was to finally have our own space, I remember being a little upset with dear old Dad. You see, once we got to the house, he informed me that I would need to share a bedroom with my little sister until my room was finished. “Share a room with her?! No way!” I yelled at my father from across the room. “She will get into all my stuff and want me to play dolls with her. You said before I’d get my own room! This isn’t fair!” I spat as I stomped my way outside to sit in the car. Geez, looking back on this moment, I was such a fucking brat. My parents left me alone in the car for a few minutes before my father came strolling out with his hands in his pockets while he looked down at the ground. I can’t imagine what must have been going through his mind after what I said; the personal triumph he felt must have been stripped away with my little outburst. He never showed it, though; my father was the most patient and kind-hearted man I ever knew. He opened the car door and knelt down to be at eye level with me as he spoke in a soft voice, “I promised you your room, and you’ll have it as soon as possible. There's a lot of work that needs to be done in the basement, but once I do that, you’ll have your own room and a rec room as well.” I quietly sighed to myself; I think even back then, I knew what a little brat I had just been. I turned and looked at my Father. “Yeah, that sounds really cool, Dad. Thank you, I’m sorry.” as I finished the half-assed apology, my Dad immediately picked me up out of the car, threw me over his shoulder, and carried me inside. At the same time, I laughed and screamed for him to let me go. We had pizza for dinner, spent the night playing games, and the following day Mom made pancakes! After that, we got to work unpacking; my dad finished the basement; I grew up in that house until I was eighteen, went to college, and got a great job. We all lived happily ever after the end! Aw, what a nice thought. Does it make for a better story? And they all lived…happily ever after. What? Can’t a guy live in fantasy while telling his life story? Ugh, fine. You’re no fun. It was a few weeks until my Dad had finished up my room in the basement; I can’t stress enough how excited I was to finally have my own space! My sister was a sweet girl, but a man just needs to be on his own sometimes, ya know? The day my Dad came to start moving my stuff downstairs was one of the best days ever! When I walked into the room, I was shocked at how awesome everything looked; he had painted the room just how I wanted it! The only thing left unfinished was the wall at the back of the room; it was an outside wall and was actually part of the house's foundation, so it was just concrete. It looked kind of cool unfinished like that, very modern. I was so excited to run around my room, set my things up how I wanted them, and not worry about playing “tea time” anymore! We set my bed up in the corner of my room with the concrete wall at the head of my bed. “There's nothing but dirt on the outside side of this wall, buddy, so it might get a little cold at night.” my Dad said as he laid his hand flat on the wall. Of course, the first night in my new room was a little scary, seeing as I had never slept in a room alone before. My Mom came down to tuck me in, and I asked her to leave the light on; she told me that my Dad had installed a timer on it, so she set it for an hour and left me to sleep. I fell asleep after tossing and turning for a few minutes. After that first night, I slept great in my new room and would get up a little early to play every morning before my Mom called me upstairs for breakfast! The second week that I was living in that room, I decided to stay up late to finish playing a game I had borrowed from a friend. There is nothing like playing a game in a dark room with nothing but the screen's light, am I right? I struggled to keep my eyes open, so I turned off the game and got in bed. I was just about asleep when I heard a weird noise… Knock, knock, knock. The noise was quiet but deliberate. I looked around the room for a second before thinking it was just the pipes; my Dad had warned me I might hear some strange noises like that. My eyes grew heavy again, and just before I fell asleep, I heard the noise again… Knock, knock, knock. There was no mistaking it; there was a knocking sound coming from somewhere in my room. I jumped up, ran over to my light, and turned it on, only to find my room was empty and quiet. The knocking sound repeated several more times before I realized where it was coming from. The concrete wall behind my bed, and there was no doubt in my mind a person was making the noise. Now, I was just a kid, but I had my pride. I wanted to run upstairs screaming for my parents, but I also didn’t want them to think their son was a big baby. I may not have been the brightest kid out there, but even I knew that a person couldn't be on the other side of that wall; after all, there was just dirt on the other side, right? I stood there, staring at the wall for hours until the knocking suddenly stopped. I cautiously walked up to the wall and pressed my ear up against it, feeling the cold concrete's sting. I couldn’t hear anything at all, and after a few seconds, I turned off my light and climbed back into bed. I didn’t know it at the time, but this would be the first night my torment would start. Every night for the next seven months, I would get woken up by that damn knocking. Without fail, I’d be fast asleep and would shoot up out of bed in a cold sweat to the sound of knocking just behind my head. I mentioned it to my parents so many times; my Dad was perplexed at what it might be and called in a few contractors. None of them had any answers aside from the house expanding. We ended up moving my bed across the room, but the damn knocking just got louder! It felt like I hadn’t gotten a good night's sleep in years! My school work was being affected, friends said I was acting different, hell even my teachers were concerned. Especially after that lovely little poem I wrote. My parents were at a loss, they tried sleeping in the room with me, but they never heard the sound. Only I heard it; I would wake up my Dad and point to the wall…but he never heard the knocking. He pressed his ears right up against the wall and never heard it. I thought I was losing it…so did my parents. Shortly after this, my parents decided to get me some professional help. Let me tell you, seeing a psychiatrist as a kid was one of the most awkward experiences of my short life. You’ve got to understand, I had a wonderful childhood before all this late-night knocking nonsense. This shrink asked me whether or not anyone was touching me or had ever made me feel uncomfortable. She was trying to piece together trauma that could be causing these issues, but there was nothing to piece together! I got so mad; how dare she even begin to accuse my parents of this kind of shit! We got nowhere after a few sessions, but she did diagnose me with night terrors. All that work, and the only answer she had to give us was fucking night terrors. So I kept waking up every night to that goddamn knocking. My parents finally decided to move me upstairs at the psychiatrist's recommendation, but it didn’t work. No matter where I slept, I could still hear the knocking. It didn’t make any sense, but then again, stuff like this never does, right? I didn’t want to have friends over; I fell even further behind in school, and let's just say my overall mood was less than stellar. I was tormented by whatever was knocking on the wall every night, and I was at the end of my rope. I needed it to stop; they needed to go away; I had to get some peace and quiet; I needed to get some fucking sleep! Finally, one night I had enough. I woke up the same as always, breathing heavily and in a cold sweat to the sound of the knocking. Knock, knock, knock. Jumping out of bed, I screamed as loud as possible, “LEAVE ME ALONE!” and slammed my fist against the wall. I instantly recoiled in pain for a second but returned to banging my hand against the wall, one, two, three, four, five times before I stopped. Then, there was silence. For the first time at night, the only sound in my room was my own breathing. It was so peaceful; I must have stood there just taking in the silence for an hour..before it was broken by a most gentle sound… Knock, Knock, Knock. I’m not sure what compelled me to answer…but I did. I walked up to the wall, placed my hand against it, and responded… Knock, Knock, Knock. There was nothing but silence, and I felt relief wash over me. I took a few deep breaths and turned to get back in bed. Suddenly, a new sound rang out through my room, cracking. I turned around and looked at the wall to see a large crack spreading throughout it; before I knew it, the crack was all the way up the wall, I screamed for my parents when the wall gave way, and tons of dirt fell onto the floor! The force of the wall giving way and the dirt piling into my room knocked me over, and some of the soil fell onto my legs. I could hear my parents upstairs yelling and heard footsteps coming down the stairs; tears welled up in my eyes as I looked on at the dirt. Very slowly, a decaying hand pushed its way out and grabbed ahold of me. Soon several more hands moved their way through the dirt and pulled decaying bodies out of the earth that had spilled into my room. There were several of them; they all looked at me before slowly moving towards the sound of my parents yelling. I couldn’t make a noise, not because I didn’t want to but because a cold, slick hand had grabbed me by the throat and was squeezing the life out of me. I looked upon the face of what I believe was once a man. His skin had almost all rotted off, but he had just enough left to smile at me as I heard my parent's blood-curdling screams. So, you probably have a few questions, I guess. Like what happened to my sister? Where did they come from? Why did all these undead people storm into your home and kill your family? What happened to you, and how the hell are you sharing this story with us?! Well, I’ll give you the short answers. I’m confident that my sister is very dead. I'm sure they did to her what they did to my parents, which, well, decaying dead people don’t like to see the fresh skin of living people. As far as where they came from, well, they came from the dirt. Speciallicaly from my backyard and surrounding neighborhood. Years ago, this area used to be a cemetery. The greedy bastards in this town decided to “relocate the graves” and sell this area for development. The only thing is, they didn’t move the bodies; they just took their headstones. Just think, you’re enjoying your afterlife, and suddenly you’re awoken and don’t remember your name. They STOLE your goddamn name! Why did these dead do it? It's obvious, isn’t it? Revenge! They want revenge on everyone who disturbed their rest and stole their names from them. The lack of respect for the dead must be punished; we bought the house, making us guilty. Finally, what happened to little old me. Do you remember our friend missing most of the skin on his face? He dragged me by my throat into the dirt as I kicked and tried to scream. The last thing I saw was the bloody face of my father as he tried to reach out for me, right before one of my new undead friends tore the skin from his face. A very unpleasant thing to witness for a kid. So, now here we are. After the undead killed my family, they all returned to the dirt where we’ve been ever since. The only thing is, I can’t seem to die. It’s been years, and even though I can’t seem to breathe, I’ve yet to die. Sure my body has started to decay, but I’m still conscious of everything around me. I’ve grown up here in the dirt, surrounded by the undead who crave revenge. They speak to me, or at least they try to. It's hard to talk when you don’t have a tongue. I’m angry too, do you understand why? My life was stolen from me, but I don’t blame my new family; they needed to do what they felt was right, and I understand their pain. For now, I feel it too. I don’t remember my name, father's name, sister's name, mom’s name, or even my family name! It’s gone; I can feel the hole in my memory where this information used to be, making it harder to accept. It was stolen from me, just like my family's life, and it’s all too much to bear. But, what choice do I have? I’m stuck here in this eternal prison, and you wanna know who I blame for this? Do you?! I blame you. If you are reading this note I’ve left, understand that we blame you for the fate that has befallen us all because now you live in the town my family once called home. Maybe it's a terrible stroke of luck that you’ve wound up here; you scream that you had nothing to do with what happened to us! We don’t care. You will understand our pain; you will pay for the greed that disturbed our rest and stole our names. We blame you. So, If late one night, you wake up screaming And can hear us knock, knock, knocking Don’t be afraid, just answer us, friend And give us our revenge<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Gen V [RESPONSE] I was kidnapped by a group of Gen Z vampires. Storytime….. About a year ago I was lonely and felt ready for a relationship so I downloaded Tinder. After months of no luck, a pretty Goth girl liked me and messaged me with a pickup line “Are you Pepsi Max, because you’re too sweet” I’m not good at cheesy lines like that so I replied with “maybe I am”. She sent an “LMAO” and we started talking. She had similar interests to me which we talked about a lot and after a few days of chatting she asked if I was interested in meeting up. I told her I was and she asked if I wanted to go watch a movie with her the next evening at around 9pm. “Sounds good” I replied and the next evening I arrived at the cinema early and waited for her for about 10 minutes. When she finally arrived in a car with 3 other girls, she asked me if I wanted to get some food with her and her friends first. They seemed nice and I was pretty hungry so I said “sure, why not?” and hopped in the car. None of them really talked on our short journey. The passenger in the front and the girl I was taking out were just on their phones watching Twilight edits on TikTok. When the car finally stopped, it wasn’t at a restaurant but at an old church. “What are we doing here?” I asked The girl I was taking out hit me across the back of the head and I think I passed out because the next thing I remember was being tied to a chair in front of the altar at the old church. Standing in front of me with a needle was the girl I was meant to take out. “What’s going on?” “Shush” “Let me go” “I said shush” “Look, I’m not into whatever this kinky shit it is you’re into” She started laughing “Bestie. This isn’t what you think it is okay, now shush” The girl I was meant to take out approached me and stuck the needle into my arm taking out some blood. “SAOIRSE. LOUISE” Two bats flew in from the front door of the old church and then transformed into the two girls who were in the car with us “Um, what the fuck?” I asked frightened and confused The girl I was with handed the needle to one of the other girls and then sat on my knee “We’re vampires, honey” “Vampires? VAMPIRES? Vampires aren’t real” “Didn’t you see those two transform from bats into themselves?” “Yes” “What can vampires do?” “Turn into bats” “Exactly” “So you’re going to drink my blood then” “What? Don’t be silly. That’s such a 1600’s thing to do. We’re vegetarian” “So why do you have my blood then” The girl who took the needle off the girl I was with reached into her back pocket, took out a vape, filled the tank with my blood and then started puffing on t” “Pass it here Louise” said Salirse She passed her the vape and she took a puff “I was craving this for ages now” The girl I was with reached out her hand and Saoirse gave her the vape and then she took a puff. “So since you have my blood for your…..vaping addictions are you guys going to let me go now?” All 3 laughed “Daddy Satan needs his monthly sacrifice to stay happy. He’s really depressed these days so in order for him to be happy, we sacrifice people to him. Sacrifices are like his anti-depressants” said the girl I was meant to take out. “Ah fuck off” I tried to break free but the ropes were too hard to break free from Louise started approaching me and started speaking in a weird language that I was unable to understand. “What’s this, some Satanic language or some shit?” I asked “What? No? It’s parseltongue, from Harry Potter. Satan loves Harry Potter so we speak parseltongue to him. Daddy Satan loves it when we speak parseltongue” “Whatever” Saoirse then approached me with a knife, held it to my throat and started speaking parseltongue too I closed my eyes, preparing for my throat to be cut open but then I heard a howling noise coming from outside the church “Fuck. It’s those werewolf slags. Another time Daddy Satan, we promise” said the girl I was meant to take out. All three turned into bats and flew away. Then two large werewolves entered the church and ran towards me. Again I closed my eyes, this time preparing for my throat to be bitten open instead of cut open but I felt the ropes loosen and when I opened my eyes, there was two more girls, one standing in front of me, the other to my side “You’re lucky we sniffed them out or you’d be dead” said the one standing in front of me “So you two are werewolves?” I asked “Yep” “And werewolves don’t kill humans” Nope” “Okay then” I stood up from the chair I was tied to, thanked the two wolf girls and then walked home wondering what the fuck just happened.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Ashes and Snow (Pt1) [RESPONSE] “Hey, Toli. I’m leaving, I will be doing overtime tonight, I might not come back before tomorrow afternoon.” Said my father. I simply nodded, I was 23 now. Yet, he still treated me like a child. He often stayed up to 18 hours at his job. He never refused a shift for me since I was little. I know he cares for me, but he loves his job even more. A little too much. My mother left him for that exact reason. She moved somewhere in the south. He gives his job more attention than his family. Not that it bothers me that much honestly. He’s a good person, just not a good dad. I also enjoy my quiet time. I love having the apartment for myself. My mother was a little too crazy, so I chose to stay here instead. I also didn’t want to lose my friends. As for me. What can I say? Some would consider me a loser, but on the other hand, most of us out here are like that. Especially the younger people, none of us choose to be born here. In the coldest of lands. The icing on the cake as they would say. The top of the top. Welcome to Norilsk! The most depressing city in the world according to YouTube. In case you don’t know about our lovely town. Which is almost certain. It is one of the northernmost cities in the world. It is basically an industrial city based around the enormous nickel mine. Oh! Did I forget to mention, also the most polluted city in the world, apparently. And I wouldn't even talk about the winter out here. We are in the polar circle, so it gets quite cold and there is no sunlight for around 30 days. I hate this damned place. I want to leave so badly. Me and around three quarters of the people around my age say this, but no one does it for some mystical reason. Apparently, life expectancy is shortened by around 10 to 20 years or something like that. In reality, I have no idea what to do with my life, so why bother look that far? Most of the time, I am bored out of my mind like the rest of the people of my age. Sometimes our internet connection interrupts and we can’t even play online. There aren't many people around my age either. So, we find ways to amuse ourselves with the little we have. Me and my childhood friends from the block spend most of our free time together. I am the only one who lives with a single parent who’s never home. Needless to say, my apartment is hosting the parties pretty often, even without my consent. I don’t know how they do it, but somehow my friends always figure out when my father won’t be here for the night. I think someone is guarding the entrance, but I’ve never figured out who. Or maybe they would just show up randomly hoping they’ll have my house for the evening. This time, I invited my girlfriend only, Iryna. I was feeling unusually lonely. Then, she invited the rest without asking me first, like usual. Most of us either had none important jobs, or didn’t work at all. That meant we had a lot of free time on our hands. There wasn’t much of an education worthwhile around. Other than what the factory offers obviously. I often wonder if I should join the army just to get out of here, but I don’t do it, like the rest of the things I wish I would do. I complain a lot, but don’t do much about it. I take a deep breath and release a long sigh. The phone buzzes. I don’t even need to open it to know the content. They will be here soon enough. The fiends. They are coming, I can feel it. At first, there was the knocking at the door, then the imposing desire to stay on my couch and not say anything. However, it didn’t take long for my resistance to break. My friends were cheerfully knocking at my door and talking loudly in the hallway. “We should celebrate before winter comes.” Said Borin from outside. “We have a whole other month before sun fall.” I reply while standing up. “Then we’ll party the whole month!” He counter replied. They all cheered while I was opening the door. Usually we would go do some stupid stuff outside, but not today. It was already too cold for outdoor activities and I was feeling down for some reason. I just wanted to stay home. My friends on the other hand, were already wild and not a single drop of alcohol was in their vein yet. They all came from within the block and somehow managed to pour snow into my apartment. “Hey, be careful!” I protested. “So! Got something to drink?” My girlfriend asked me, ignoring my warning. “No, he drank it all already.” I said, thinking of my father. “Alright! So, who’s gonna sacrifice himself on a trip to the corner store? There is a huge storm already.” Asked Huan. “Not me, I’m guarding my place, you jerks aren't trustworthy.” I said half joking. They all laughed as if it was nothing, but I actually didn’t trust them. Last time, they broke my table playing some stupid game. I stood on the sofa quietly waiting for them to sort their stuff. Eventually, Huan and Borin decided they would go outside to get the booze. As for my girlfriend she would go on a scavenging mission into her parents locker to find something to drink. I didn’t argue. I was happy, I would have peace for a moment and be with my friend Anna. She was a lot like me. We both were introverts. We didn’t exactly love to party, but did it anyway from peer pressure. I always felt better when she was there. As if I feel less bad for not fitting in like the rest. “Wish us luck comrade” Said Borin while getting his winter coat on again, just a minute after he removed it. And they left, as fast as they came in. They were as sudden as the storm outside. I loved my girlfriend and my friends, but I wish they would leave me alone tonight. I don’t know why. I had a bad feeling. I wish they would go party somewhere else, but I was the only one who had the home for himself. My father was often gone for the night and it always ended up like that. For some odd reason, even if I felt lonely, I always long for solitude. I often looked outside the window by night, wishing to disappear into the dark. “Hey, are you ok?” Anna asked me. Pulling me out of my thoughts. “Yeah sure, why?” I replied nonchalantly. She shrugged and went texting something on her phone. I acted cold, but in reality I felt warm inside that she cared about me. I wanted to tell her that I hated when people would just crash at my house like that. I wanted to tell her how much I hated this place and that, deep inside, I resented my father. I didn’t say anything. She already knew all of it anyway. Out of no wear, an imminent urge to look through my window came to me. I had to see the two adventurers on their way to the corner store. To my surprise, the snowstorm was even worse now. I could barely see outside. In fact, I didn’t see them at all, I couldn't even see down the street. Not only was the snowstorm rapidly intensifying, but it was also getting unusually darker. “Hey, we are a month before the long night? I’m not crazy right?” I asked worriedly. Anna stood up and came next to me. She looked at the time on her phone and then looked at me with a worried look. “It’s weird.” She said silently. We didn’t say anything until the two others came back around 20 minutes later. The corner store was literally in front of the street. Why did it take them so long? The door opened violently and the two guys rushed inside shaking and throwing even more snow all over my place. “Watch out! It’s going to get wet” I said angrily. “What the hell? Did you see that?” Said excited Huan, ignoring me again. “See what?” I asked, not sharing their excitement. “Well! We survived the earliest snowstorm!” They Exclaimed together. I hated them so much… “We got 'em! No store is off limits. Vodka no limit!” Yelled Borin while raising the bottle in the air. I hated them so, so, much… The party began right away. It took them exactly five minutes to undress and start drinking. My girlfriend came inside right after. No one noticed the pond they just left at my doorstep, neither did they listen to me. With a deep sight. I almost told myself I hated her too. I think I need a drink, I thought. And so. I drank with them… When you are sad you drink, when you are happy you drink. Your birthday? You drink! Your pet dies, you drink. It’s unhealthy, you’re about to die, you still drink. That’s what my stupid friends told me. Today, I was sad for some unknown reason and strangely worried, so that is a double reason to drink. Screw me. I’m as bad as them. **\*** **\*** **\*** We played some old American pop and rap music, there was always that time when Huan had to show off his English skills by singing over some Eminem songs. He was actually good, he could do something with this one day. Only, no one would ever listen to him outside of this place. I sighted again, this time in desperation. Every time I think of my birthplace, I wish I could leave it so badly. Go somewhere like Europe or Canada. One day I thought, one day. I turned my head toward the window daydreaming. The curtains were closed. I stood up from the sofa and walked toward the window. I opened the curtains. As expected, there was a layer of ice and snow over the glass, blocking the view. There wasn’t much to see anyway. However, there was something odd. It was even darker than last time I checked. We were only at the beginning of November. There remained at least three more weeks before the long night. I thought I would open the window to see outside, but it was stuck frozen. How cold was it? I forced the frame and it finally moved after a loud crack. A cold breeze abruptly interrupted the party with a loud howl and snow infiltrated my home once again. Anna and Iryna shriek almost simultaneously. “Close that window right away!” My girlfriend ordered me. But, I didn’t. Something was off. The two other guys came next to me and looked as stupefied as me. “Isn’t it weird? The weather. I’ve never seen something like that.” Borin said after a couple of minutes of baffled gaze. It was indeed weird, it was as if the snow was gray, as if it was ashes and not snow. No one has ever seen something like that. Obviously, we lived in the most polluted place on earth, but that was no reason for the snow to be gray. Not only did it cover everything in a dark shade, but it also absorbed all light. It was as if the light was getting eaten by the snow. As if darkness were swallowing everything. It wasn’t the same feeling as when the long night came. No. If you would take a flashlight and shine into the snow, there would be no reflection. No one has ever seen anything like that. We were all terrified. No one said anything for a long moment. We had no clue what was going on. Usually, I would have kicked them out of my house right after the party, but not today. I was scared and I didn’t want to be alone. For once, I wanted them to stay with me. I think they thought the same because no one wanted to move from here. We felt safe as long as we were together. “Hey, my father is in the mine, yours too right?” Anna asked me. “My father is working overtime, what about yours?” I said. “He is too”. She confirmed. We all looked at each other even more worried. “Let’s call them.” I said. I went to pick up my cell phone and called my father. After five rings, I hung up and texted him instead. The others did the same thing. “My messages are getting sent, but my parents don’t receive them.” Anna said quietly. For the next few hours we stayed in my apartment, discussing all the various possibilities. “Maybe they are burning something different in the factory?” or “Maybe a volcano erupted somewhere?”. There was no way to know. What we knew for sure is that it was way darker for that time of the year, the snow was gray and the storm wasn’t settling anytime soon. In addition, there was no public announcement anywhere. Even the internet connection was struggling. The party broke pretty fast and inevitably my friends returned home except for Iryna. We stayed home together. We’ve spent an anxious night, waiting for something to happen. We called multiple times and looked online unsuccessfully. The next day was exactly the same. We woke up as if he hadn't slept in the first place. The workers still weren’t home. We tried to call our parents again. However, this time, there was no signal at all. “What the hell?” I said while a long shiver ran across my back. “I don’t think they will come back in a weather like this. They have dormitories near the factory for emergency situations. They will probably wait for the storm to calm down. Don’t worry. Let’s instead enjoy our time alone.” Iryna said comfortingly. I nodded in agreement, yet unable to believe I would enjoy my time. Since there wasn’t much to do, I preferred waiting with her. We sat on the couch with a blanket over us and cuddled. The air was getting oddly cold. And just like that. Without warning or reason, the longest night of my life began… \* \* \* A week later. “Toli! Open the door!” A familiar voice called me from outside my apartment. I stumbled on my way there and opened it halfway. It was Viktor, the old neighbor from above. “Listen, I know your father is not here. If you need something you can always come.” The old man said gently. “It’s in times like these we have to work together, alright?” He added. I thanked him and began closing the door, but he suddenly put his hand on the cold wood, preventing me from closing it and stared at me with intense eyes. “Listen, I’ve heard some strange stories. Something is not normal, we all know it. We can’t even get outside the building, the snow already covers the entrance and there is still no communications, you know, we don’t exactly need rescuing for now, but, what if things stay like that for a month or more? What are we going to eat?” He finished with a quiet voice. “It won’t last that long, it never happened. It won’t” I replied in denial. “How would you know?” He challenged me. “I don’t know. What is it that you want, really, tell me?” I was getting angry. “When the time comes, we should work together. Understand?” He said whispering and with a grim look on his face. I began to understand what he meant and I didn’t like it at all. I hated thinking about it, but the picture was already getting painted in my head. “Sure, now leave me alone.” I said coldly and I closed the door. I was shaking, the air in the corridor was colder than usual, but that was not why. I was getting utterly terrified now. What if something happens to my father? What if something went wrong in the factory? My heart was racing at these thoughts. I turned around to look at Iryna. We’ve spent the whole week together, we couldn't stand to be next to each other anymore, but it was still better than being alone. I sat next to her on the couch and gently caressed her. There was nothing to say, and so we quietly fell asleep on the couch again. Chaos outside our apartment woke us up in the middle of the night… or day. It didn’t make any difference now. It was dark at any time. People were shouting and yelling in the staircase. “What now?” I spat between my teeth. I removed the heavy blanket from over us and I immediately felt my skin freezing. “My god!” Iryna said with a pitched voice. “What the hell?” She added. Ignoring the cold, I paid attention to the people talking outside and I could hear someone say something about the central heat system being broken. “The pipes! They’re frozen, and the electrical system is out of reach.” Someone yelled from downstairs. “Can’t we use the gasoline generator?” A voice from upstairs replied with another yell. “I tried it, I think it’s broken. Come and help me!” The conversation continued like that for a moment. Eventually, I took my courage at hand and went to open the door. It was even colder than last time. I looked up and down. A lot of my neighbors were chatting through half open doors. “The heating. It stopped.” Said crying the old lady next door. “Can’t we fix it?” Asked loudly the person on the floor above, without venturing into the staircase. “Alright, alright, I’ll come down. Let me dress up a little”. He yelled once more. Now, I was definitely panicking. What are we going to do? I put all my hopes into my fellow block mates, hoping they would arrange the system. But, what my upstairs neighbor told me the other day came back to mind. What if things didn’t improve? The storm was still raging and it was getting colder by the day. “We can’t even open the main door”. Yelled someone from below. If this keeps up, we might eventually run out of food. There was a food storage in the basement. I went there yesterday and it was already completely distributed among the dwellers. I already began rationing, just in case. Iryna and her family too did it. At least, there’s an advantage of not having parents around. I smiled sadly. More food for me. I wanted to help the situation somehow, but I was utterly useless, I had no particular skill and I didn’t even have tools at home. Me and Iryna simply waited for something to happen. The wait was getting unbearable. We had literally nothing to do, but wait. We were bored out of our minds above all. “I think I’ll go see what’s going on.” I said to Iryna. “You stay here, I’ll go check on the others.” I dressed with my winter coat, hat and gloves and ventured into the staircase. I knocked around, asking for news. Most people were in a similar situation. No one dared to go outside, but sooner or later we would need to resupply. Right then, I realized something. I had a whole apartment to myself. My father wasn’t really taking care of me that much, but at least he always did his groceries. I had a whole appartement of food for a single person. The others had whole families to feed. If someone would be asked to share, it would certainly be me. “Damn that bastard was right.” I whispered, thinking of the neighbor upstairs. I won’t go see him. Hoping he might forget about me. Which I doubt. I decided I wanted to see Huan next. He lived on the floor above mine. On my way there I met the crazy Ivan. He was carrying something strange. The bastard was always up to something. He was all geared up as if he intended to conquer Siberia all by itself. He was carrying a large tube with a black cable wrapped around it. “What’s that?” I asked curious. “I’m building something” He replied with his usual angry face. “What are you building?” I continued. “Something useful, you’ll thank me later”. “Can’t you just say it already?” I was getting annoyed. “I’m communicating with the block in front of us. With light. We had to learn morse code in the navy. Unlike you, I know useful skills.” He grimaced at me. “Communicating? And you didn’t tell anyone about that?” I felt the blood heat my face. Anger was comforting in this situation. It warmed me. “Boy, things are dire. Worse than you might think.” He said quietly while approaching his face. “If you really wanna know what’s going on. Come with me”. I nodded and he backed on his tracks, getting back to his home. My curiosity won over my anger and I followed him inside his apartment. I’ve always wondered what the inside of the lonely, angry and crazy Ivan living space was. And, it was exactly what I expected. It was a total mess. However, it was warmer here. He had all sorts of strange devices and constructions half finished around. He had makeshift isolation on his windows. It looked like he cut a mattress and stuck it against the windows. It was a brilliant idea actually. As I got inside, he closed the door and I realized he had tapped blankets on the door. I noticed he had a whole crate of candles. Where and when did he even get all that? “Come here.” He spoke even more quietly, as if we were being listened to, even inside of his home. “Listen boy, I don’t care what you think or do, this is bigger than all of us. There is something wrong going on outside. I’ve been speaking with the block in front, and they saw something outside in the dark. Their heating stopped working yesterday just like us. Is it a coincidence you think?” He paused for a long moment. I didn’t believe him. I looked at his apparatus on the window, he had made a hole and strapped a spotlight of some sort. I assumed that’s how he was talking with the people in front. “I don’t think that’s a coincidence, someone wants us dead”. He continued with a grim tone. “We need to establish a direct line of communication with the other blocks. This cable, let’s go outside before we can’t and my friend there could make up a functioning radio”. “Wait a second, you of all people don’t you have a working radio already? Doesn’t walkie talkies work? It’s right next door. I should work right?” He grimaced with an even uglier face. He put his thumb between his teeth and walked in circles for a moment. “This isn’t snow. It blocks communications and radio waves, and I won’t even talk about how it absorbs light”. He spat at me. He was nervously walking in circles, talking to himself. I had nothing else to add, so I waited. It was simply unreal. “They finally made it, I knew it would happen”. He suddenly spoke loudly. “They did what?” I asked. “The third world war, they unleashed some sort of new weapon, or maybe it’s just nuclear fallout. The bastards, no one cares about us, we are just a forgotten city in the grand scheme of things”. He was always saying crazy stuff like that. Usually, no one ever listened to him. But this time, for once maybe, he might be right. I looked around, and I noticed he had weapons laying around his apartment. He also had a handgun hanging around his waist. I didn’t like him. Even less than before, there was a scary and negative energy coming out of him. I slowly walked outside his apartment and left him to his crazy fantasies. Without saying a word, I left and he ran past me with his apparatus and cables wrapped around. “We can’t get out! The main entrance is blocked! There’s so much snow, what the hell?” The person downstairs yelled. For some reason, I felt defeated, I abandoned everything and went back to my appartement. Not even saying hi to my friend on the way there. \* \* \* Two days later. The storm finally stopped. Despite that, it was still dark as if the sun had simply disappeared out of existence. The heating was still off and we were still disconnected from the outside world. It was an odd situation. Everyone was scared, but things were so calm and so boring. It was only natural for people to start spreading strange rumors. Someone from the first floor was talking about hearing voices and seeing something outside his window. Walking slowly, as if it was trying to get in, yet keeping enough distance to be hidden in the shadows. Ivan managed to reach the other block and connect his communication device after all, so maybe someone was actually trying to get in. Also, almost everyone barricaded their windows from the cold, it was hard to even look outside. Who knows what’s going on? “Since it stopped snowing, we might try to dig a way out from the main entrance” Someone said. A couple of people reluctantly volunteered, but no one actually wanted to do it. I, myself, didn't want to go outside. The snow was repulsing, just by its unusual color. It was just snow in the end, but we still didn’t want to touch it. Something was terribly wrong and we all knew it. No one wanted to take the risk. Who and why would someone wanna go outside? If the other blocks don’t have heating too then why even bother? As for the food, the market was a couple of streets from here, I wouldn't dare to go outside by myself. I’m not that desperate for now. Though, if we wait for too long, the people living closer might loot it before us. But wait, what am I even talking about? It was not even the long night yet. It’s just a storm, nothing more. I tried to reassure myself. We can’t just go steal food? Days later, the storm began raging anew. The longest night of the year officially began. It was even colder, no one managed to turn on the heating since it broke. The communication cable Ivan put outside was severed. Rumors about something lurking outside spread even more. Even me and Iryna thought we saw something the other day. There seemed to be something roaming outside, but the view wasn’t clear enough. Digging a hole at the main entrance was pointless. We tried it and the snow filled the hole again in no time. So we were shut from the outside world. There shouldn’t be anyone or anything outside. There were no animals around here either. “What now”? My girlfriend asked me out of the blue. “What do you mean?” I frowned at her. “Aren't we going to do something?” She asked me for the 100th time. “And what are we supposed to do? Light a campfire in the middle of the appartement, go steal food from outside? Do YOU wanna do it?” I exploded angrily. She was getting desperate and so was I too. I wanted to kick her out so badly, but everytime she went to her parents I began freaking out. The loneliness and the silence was maddening. I began hearing odd noises and seeing shadows moving in the dark. I saw a bright red light the other day, right after she left. I couldn't see what it was, but it came from the other block’s direction. No one else saw it. It’s hard to know if I imagined it or not. The tension and the wait, I hated it so much, I was going out of my mind. I had to do something, go somewhere, be useful, anything! And so, I made up my mind. The constant pressure was getting more unbearable than my fear of the unknown. I was feeling trapped, crushed, between these four walls. “Alright, you know what? Let’s go outside, let’s make a trip to the market!” I said loudly. Iryna's face turned from surprise to anger. Infuriated she stood up yelling at me about how much I’ve lost my mind and all. The truth is, that deep inside, I’ve always wanted to do something worthwhile, even before this. I’ve always felt lost and useless. It’s maybe my time to make up for it. I didn’t listen to her, got dressed up and went to talk to the people around the block. The boys agreed right away, I think they must have been feeling the same thing as me. A feeling of urgency, as if something had to be done. Vicktor and the crazy Ivan both agreed to join. The others looked at us like deers in front of truck lights. As for the girls, Anna and Iryna, they would wait for us at the entrance. We over equipped ourselves, as if we were about to go climb a mountain, we might look ridiculous, going two streets from here. Nonetheless, the situation was unexpectedly weird. Speaking of which, we chose to jump through a window from the second floor instead of digging a hole through the iced off entrance. It is easier that way. Otherwise, we would need something heavy, like a pickaxe and we didn’t have the energy or patience to do it. “Are you ready?” I said to my courageous friend Borin He nodded and forced the window open. Right away an intensely cold wind hit us right in the face. He bent over the window and examined the surroundings and looked at me with terrified eyes. “Wish me luck”. He said and proceeded to get outside. He didn’t rush to climb down the window. He dropped down very slowly and carefully. It was oddly dark outside, there was literally no light. We couldn't even see the block right in front of us. Me and Huan tied a rope around the staircase and threw it at him. He tried to see if he could climb up again, with our help he managed awkwardly but safely. We judged it would be better for old folks to remain in the room with the girls and lift us back inside if something happens. I would have prefered it to be a five men expedition instead of three, but I also didn’t feel confident enough that I would be able to climb back up, let alone count on the girls to lift us rapidly. Borin took the lead, jumped back down more confidently this time and lit up his flashlight. “We should be fine!” He shouted at us from down there. I took a deep breath and followed him through the window. There we are, the three of us, already struggling against the elements. The first thing I noticed was how hard it was to breathe, to see and hear. The snow under our feet was soft at first, but right under there was a thick layer of ice already. I was scared at the thought that the whole floor was a frozen sheet of ice. Sure the city is already over a layer of permafrost land, but that was a whole other level. I looked behind me. I couldn't see the roof of our building and it felt like vertigo. As if it was infinitely taller. My friends were talking right next to me and I could barely hear them. It made me feel as if we were alone in the universe. They were saying something about following the building since we can’t see the roads of the sights. We might get lost right away. Even if I knew the city like the back of my hand, I still preferred to be cautious. “We are counting on you!” Borin yelled to the girls and our neighbors. We waved a farewell and began our walk. In that temperature, it would be better not to stay too long, I was already feeling numb on my face. We went along the building for a couple of minutes, but something strange happened. The storm calmed down a little. In exchange the air got increasingly colder. The change was so sudden that the three of us stopped in terror. I was feeling overwhelmed with a strange feeling of anxiety. I wanted to run away back inside and my two friends seemed to share the feeling. The storm dissipated almost instantly. There were few snowflakes falling slowly now. I raised my head and looked at the sky. I couldn't see the stars. I thought it would have been the ideal time to look at the sky, since there was no light pollution. Instead, dark omnipresent clouds were suffocating us. I turned my head left and right, we could distinguish a bit more clearly our surroundings now. The city was usually lively, even during the night. At least the street lamps would have been working. Now one quarter is under the snow. Even cars were almost completely buried. I stopped for a moment and stared at the building in front of ours. I shivered, I was feeling watched. However we couldn't see inside. They too have barricaded their windows. The whole first floor was completely dark. As for the second one there was light coming from some of the windows. I felt a strange unease, as if something was looking at me. I searched but I couldn't see anyone on the windows. I shivered even harder. “There is something!” Suddenly yelled Huan in terror with his high pitched voice. I turned back immediately, but there was nothing. I couldn't see nor hear anything. “What’s there?” Borin replied in an agitated voice. “I don’t know! I saw something moving. I swear!” He reaffirmed and pointed somewhere in the dark. I looked at the pointed direction and around rapidly. There was nothing but I was feeling increasingly paranoid. I was also looking at the barricaded windows next to us. I hoped to see a familiar face, but there was nothing to see but snow. “Let’s go home, forget about this, I wanna go home!” I almost cried. I ignored what my friends said and began walking back home as rapidly as I could. I looked in front of my feet, trying to keep my balance on the ice. “WAIT!” My friend yelled. I stopped at the sound of his voice and raised my eyes… My heart stopped. There was something… It was there a second ago, not anymore. “There really is something!” I yelled in sheer terror and stepped back. I collided into my friend that was right behind me. “Did you see that?!” I struggled to ask. “See what?” They asked. Panicked and in confusion the three of us ran straight to the nearest window by reflex. I kept looking while searching with my shaking flashlight. I pointed at the direction I thought I saw something. It was useless, the light died off on the darkened snow. I then pointed at the window that was almost half buried under the snow. “Break it!” I yelled. “But, there’s people inside.” Borin protested. “Break it, do it!” I ordered him to. He kicked it with his boot, but it didn’t break. He kicked it a couple more times unsuccessfully. Meanwhile, me and Huan looked in the direction we saw the thing. I was desperately hoping to see something and not see it at once. “It’s not breaking!” Borin was out of breath. “We’re not that far, it's just right there, let’s light a flare! They might see and come for us.” Huan proposed. Without thinking, I took my bag out and quickly grabbed the red emergency flare and rushed to ignite it. It took a couple of panicked tries, ultimately the flame ignited. Even in this situation, the fire prevailed. It lit the surroundings with an alarming red light. And it was right then and there that we saw the thing. The three of us saw it clearly, yet it was indescribable. It had a misshapen form. Almost unreal while being somehow familiar. After a couple of seconds that felt like eternity. The thing backed off slowly into the dark, disappearing. Frozen in fear, the three of us remained immobile staring at the thing. It was right at the edge between the light and darkness. It was barely visible now. After only a couple of seconds a powerful gust of wind made me loose footing. The storm was already raging anew. It came back as suddenly as it disappeared. It was already impossible to see around us. The winds were so powerful that the snow was cutting our skin on our face. “We have to get back immediately!” Borin yelled with a muffled voice. “We barely walked any distance, the girls are right there!” He pointed somewhere up. We ran the fastest we could. I waved the flare in the air signaling that we were in an emergency. The girls and the elders opened the window and threw down the rope. The three of us began fighting for the rope. In sheer terror and panic someone hit me in the face and I felt on the ground. I tried to get up as quickly as I could, but I slipped and fell on my back. I looked at the direction of the thing and it was still there. Right next to me, in the edge between the storm vail and my vision. It was looking at me calmly. I turned toward the rope. Borin was already halfway there and Huan was right behind him. Iryna screamed so loudly that I heard it clearly even from down here. I didn’t waste a second and jumped at the rope. “PULL! PULL!” We yelled in unison and suddenly, I felt my feet lift from the ground. The combined force of our neighbors managed to pull us back up. I held the rope so tightly that my hands hurt. I was repeating “Faster! Faster!” until I was back to safety. With a final pull, I fell head down first into the apartment. “Close the window.” One of us ordered. Everyone but me gathered at the window, trying to see the thing outside, but none managed. Whatever was out there, had already left. I remained on the floor rejoicing the safety inside. I saw it, it was directly in my line of sight. I didn’t need to confirm it. On the contrary, I wish I would doubt and eventually dismiss it. But, that would not be possible. “Anyone seen anything?” Someone asked, confused. “I saw something, I don’t know what it was” Iryna said terrified. “It looked… Like, I don’t know. A polar bear maybe?” Someone laughed. “There’s no polar bears here”. “No no, it wasn’t like a polar bear, more like a…” Iryna tried to describe it, but couldn't. “If it’s a polar bear, we can kill it and eat it, no?” Someone else proposed. “No! I saw it, it was staring at us from afar, but when I ignited the flare I managed to get a good glimpse of it.” I said still on the floor. “Right when I looked at it it backed off a little and hid in the snow. It was like. An ape maybe? I don’t know how to describe it, it was disgusting. It was terrifying! A monster! I tell you!” I almost yelled while standing up painfully. I was looking at the people’s faces, they ranged from confusion to terror and disbelief, but all were worried. Anna crouched near me and helped me to remove my coat and said quietly to me. “I believe you. I know you wouldn't make something like that.” “You won’t ever go outside again, you understand me!” Iryna scolded me in front of everyone.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Ding dong ditch was my favorite game to play as a child. My addiction to it has led me down a dangerous path. [RESPONSE] When I was fourteen years old, my best friend Marcus and I loved to play ding dong ditch. We would often go to a nightclub after it had shut its doors and the staff was preparing to clean up and clock out. We hid in the nearby bushes and threw rocks at the front entrance. A bouncer who looked as though his other job was lifting weights walked out. He must have thought it was the wind or a random straggler who found their way down the road, so he went back inside. We threw stones a second time. Then a third. By the fourth, the bouncer was so angry he screamed at the entire vicinity when he stepped out. \* We graduated to suburban homes. This was in the early millennium before everyone had a ring camera. Home security was not as cheap as it is now. At first, we relied on word-of-mouth to tell us the addresses of the teachers we disliked. We tormented them in the dead of night by ringing the doorbell and running away before they could answer. We executed our prank in wealthier neighborhoods. We hiked along trails to get past the men who guarded the gates of the affluent suburbs. We both came from poor households. Something about perturbing the rich made us happy. That is until the police showed up at my house. Two of them flashed their badges through the peephole. When my father answered, the officer told him they reviewed clear camera footage of my face. It showed me ringing the doorbell of an estate owned by a doctor. “The intent likely wasn't property damage or a violent misdemeanor,” the cop said. “Your son can still face charges of harassment and trespassing.” Although they did not take me into custody, I was still at the other end of a stern lecture. It calmed me down and prevented me from engaging in my favorite hobby. At least for a few months. Marcus and I were at it again within a matter of no time. We decided to go for more middle-class properties. Individuals within our economic class were less likely to have surveillance, after all. \* There was a cabin that sat at the end of a road only two blocks from the lake. It was distinctive because it was such a small piece of real estate, no bigger than a tool shed. Yet the patch of land it sat on was large. There was also no gate surrounding it. I always wondered why they did not build more on its soil. “Elise lives there,” Marcus said as we strolled by it one evening. “Who?” I asked. I threw a rock in the air to make the bats chase after it. “Elise, the Grandma from hell. The old lady that everyone thinks is a witch. She dresses like she’s on her way to one of those *Lord Of The Rings* movies.” “Let’s ring her doorbell,” I said. “Are you sure?” Marcus asked. “You’re not going to let an elderly person scare you, right?” “No, it’s not that. There are stories of how she used to curse people she didn’t like. Even kids.” “She doesn’t even have a camera," I said. "Tell you what, to make ourselves extra safe, let’s pull our shirts over our heads far enough so she can’t see us. We’ll ring and sprint like we always do.” After I exerted enough peer pressure, Marcus agreed to it. We folded the back end of our t-shirts over the top of our heads. We followed a dirt pathway. The doorbell had a ring of rust. The front door had a knocker that was in the shape of a naked female demon. She had serrated teeth. Her hips also had wings that protruded behind her. Their tips were sharp and extended. I found the architecture strange. Still, I did not think anything of it beyond how it was an eccentric choice for the owner. Marcus and I looked at each other as a nonverbal cue to prepare one another to run. I pressed the doorbell. Two things happened. I saw blood drip from my fingertip. The doorbell contained something sharp which cut my skin open. A jolt of pain coursed through me. I put pressure on the wound with my palm to try and stop the spurting. Then we heard the noise of an angry dog barking. We turned our heads to where the noise was coming from, and we saw a black hound jogging towards us. We ran as fast as we could. We moved past other old and vacant houses. Adrenaline and fear coursed through us. We moved through the parking lot of a cheap trucker motel. Dizziness overcame me. The last thing I remember was falling between the soda machine and the pool. The side of my face scraped against the concrete. \* When I came to I was in my bedroom. I faced the ceiling on my mattress. Marcus hovered over me. “Thank God you’re awake,” he said. “What happened?” I asked. “I brought you home, man. I didn’t know what else to do. Your Mom’s nursing skills came in handy because she managed to stop the blood. Your Dad’s angry. I lied and told them we were skateboarding and you had an accident.” \* For the next few days, mental exhaustion became overwhelming. All I could do was sleep. One night I awoke and was hungry. I opened my bedroom door, crept down the hallway, and went downstairs to the kitchen. As I was preparing a cold-cut sandwich, I heard the doorbell ring. I chewed and inched towards the door. I stared through the peephole. No one was there. I went back into the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water. I was still delirious and tired, so I did not think much of what transpired. The doorbell rang again. I went towards the door again and this time opened it. I wish I had not. A bloodied chicken with its feathers plucked and head removed was there. I took in the scene and tried to make sense of it. Who would do this in the middle of the night? I closed the door and locked it. That was when the doorbell rang again. And again. And again. I went into the kitchen and retrieved a butcher's knife. I waited for the doorbell to ring once more, and I opened the door when the resonance of the noise was still in the air. I looked out at the front lawn and the shrubbery there. An old lady's face stared at me from behind the bush. It had deep line marks all over her face and a permanent grin. Her skull turned into a freakish smile. One of the things that struck me as strange about her mug was how small it was and how it seemed to float. She was either very short behind the vegetation or I was hallucinating and she was a hovering head. The starlight made her eyes twinkle with the same sort of shimmering quality as the grassy dew. She drifted towards me. I shut the door, ran upstairs, and peeked out through my blinds to stare at the lawn below. She was gone. \* A similar series of events transpired for the next month. Every night some preternatural or supernatural force would harass me. I thought I was going crazy. I even lied about having suffered a concussion to get a head scan. This made my parents happy but muddied the waters of my sense of sanity. I told Marcus about everything one day when we were hanging out at our local arcade. “You might be going crazy,” he said as he killed a dozen zombies in a row with perfect headshots. “The woman cursed me,” I said. He dropped the plastic weapon and stared at me with his jaw hung slack. “I’m going to beg her to lift it,” I said. “I will apologize for the wrong I did. I need you to come with me. In case she tries to hurt me.” “So you’re going to admit to her we ding dong ditched? She could call the cops and use it against us." “If you come with me," I said, "I’ll buy you lunch for a week.” That convinced him more than a lecture on loyalty ever could. \* The house seemed even more decrepit and covered in grime than it had the last time we were there. The street was so dark it was as though the neighborhood had evacuated. I also noticed how there was music blasting from the inside of the domicile. It sounded like a slowed-down classical orchestra. I walked up to the door and knocked. No one answered but I persisted. “Let’s go,” Marcus said as he shivered. “It’s getting cold.” I motioned for him to follow me as I circled the small building. Our feet crunched the autumnal leaves and their crisp scent wafted over us. We got to a window with a carmine curtain, its pane cracked. I reached in, opened the pane, and pulled the curtain to the side. Elise lay on the ground. Around her was a red symbol. A bucket of what looked like blood sat beside her as well. I tried to call myself down and tell myself it was nothing more than paint. The four corners of the room had mutilated chickens. “What the hell is that?” Marcus asked as he pointed at the ceiling. Another glyph was there, and it matched the design on the ground. When I peered back at the floor, Elise was gone. Then she appeared in front of me like an apparition. Her mouth was open and she shrieked. I looked behind me and saw Marcus run down the street. “I wanted to say I’m sorry,” I said as I backed away. “What I did was disrespectful and wrong. If you could take away whatever hex you put on me, I’ll be grateful. I’m good at maintenance work I can fix things. I’ll come by and do chores every once in a while if you want.” She opened up her palm and I swore I saw a tattoo on the inside of it, a strange symbol with a likeness unfamiliar to me. A burst of white light flashed between us and I passed out. \* When I came to, I was in my room. I looked at my nightstand and the alarm clock and saw I had slept well past morning. I could not figure out how I lost the day, I had no memory of getting back home or going to bed. I also had a splitting headache. I went downstairs to eat breakfast and try to find Tylenol. Dad sat at the table eating cereal. He looked up at me. “Is everything okay? You haven’t been drinking have you?” “No,” I said as I massaged my forehead. “I didn’t get enough sleep. I’ll be fine though.” “Good,” he said. “We have new neighbors and I want you to be nice to them, not grumpy because you’re sleep-deprived. They’re out there right now. Go out and introduce yourself after you’ve had a cup of coffee.” I opened the blinds and saw a man and a woman walking down the ramp of a U-Haul. The woman stared straight at me. Her face contorted in morphed into that of Elise. It changed back in a millisecond. \* It has been eighteen years since that experience. The visions lasted for another year before they stopped. The haunting terrors ceased when she died. Elise passed away from a heart attack. The house ended up demolished to make space for a hotel. They built a hot tub in the exact space it used to be. I will never walk by that area again.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Trail Surgeon [RESPONSE] It all happened so quickly. It was a blur, really. One second I was hiking, soaking in the beautiful scenery, the next I was laying in a motionless heap on the dirt trail, screaming in agony. A pothole embedded deep in the trail. I caught my foot at an odd angle, tried to correct myself, and managed to snap my leg in half. After I wiped away my tears, I could tell that the break was messy. To my absolute horror, I saw shards of white laying on the ground. Bone. My bone. Then came the blood. Not a lot, but enough to soak through my pant leg. The stickiness was warm and a deep, rich red. Almost like wine. My shattered leg was bent numerous degrees in the wrong direction. Once the adrenaline kicked in, I managed to start crawling. Slowly at first, and then slower still as dirt nestled its way into my leg, infecting it. Ants started nibbling at the pools I was leaving in my wake, whether it was blood or urine I couldn’t be sure. As the afternoon wore on, I assumed I would see other hikers and seek help. Even though this hiking trail was remote, I didn’t think I’d be alone for this long. I started to worry as the sun's rays started to get longer. I managed to perch myself up against a tree and sleep the first night. I was thrust awake by a voice. I jumped up, startled. I screamed out as pain rippled up my leg and into my ribs. “My oh my feller, that’s quite nasty, isn’t it?” An old man. His grey beard hugged his cheeks. He wore a black suit and a top hat. His soft, high pitched voice and overall demeanor reminded me of a man who was not of this era. Lost in the wrong universe perhaps. A wanderer. “God it hurts so bad.” I managed to squeak out. “I can sympathize. I used to be a surgeon during the war, mind if I take a look?” He asked, placing a leather travel bag on the ground next to me. I nodded my head as I bit my lip. The man retrieved a pair of scissors and sliced through my crusted over pant leg. He peeled the two stiff flaps apart. Immediately his hand flew to his mouth. He started to dry heave, but he didn’t turn his head away. My leg had maggots crawling in the bloody, bone exposed, purple-tinted flesh. The old man vomited at the sight of this, a horrendous shade of green sludge exited his orifice and splashed down right into my broken leg. I wailed in revulsion and misery, the fresh stomach acid burning my exposed pain receptors. “Fuck! Jesus fucking Christ!” I shouted. “Sorry, sir. I mean no ill intent. I’m gonna have to do one of two things for you.” He wiped his chin with his sleeve. “What?” I was hyperventilating. “Well, your leg is gangrenous. How long you’ve been out here?” He looked up towards the sun. “I don’t know. A day or two?” The old man shook his head in disappointment. “I can amputate, which I recommend, or I can set it. Either way, your legs more than likely gonna have to face the axe I reckon. Either here or elsewhere.” His face was grim, he shook his head again, this time in pity. “Hell of a thing, partner.” He finished. “Can you set it?” I asked wearily. “Well, it’ll hurt like a bastard, that’s for sure mister. I’m gonna have to tie your arms and torso to that there tree so you stay still.” I shuddered, my chest constricted in anticipation. “And amputation?” I dredged up the courage to ask. “The same. But worse.” That was all I needed to hear. “Set it then.” I leaned back against the tree as he used his belt to tie my hands around the trunk, behind my back. He fetched some rope from his bag and tied a knot I didn’t recognize around my chest. The knot made me completely immobile from the neck down. Then, as if the stuff of nightmares, the old man pulled out a hammer and two planks of wood. My stomach lurched at the sight. “Whu… what are you doing?” My eyes started to water in fear. The man slid the wood planks along either side of my leg. Even that caused me to wince. My mangled mess of a leg was a cacophony of color. It was still bent in the complete wrong direction. “For the pain.” He pushed a bottle of whiskey to my lips. “I’m not a drinker.” I protested. “You have to be or you’ll start going insane.” He tipped the bottle forwards and forced the hard liquor down my throat. After a few long pulls that burned like the pits of hell, he pulled it back. He raised the hammer to the side. “There’s gonna be intense pressure.” His eyebrows furrowed. “You’re gonna feel it penetrate your muscle and hit against your bone. Don’t feel embarrassed if you relieve yourself, everyone does.” He grimaced, then steadied himself. “Wait, stop!” I shouted. Second thoughts intruded into my brain. There had to be another way! My pleas came too late as the hammer swung downwards in one fluid swoop. I heard the bone crack first. Then… “AHHHHHHHH! OH. MY. GOD! AHHHHHHH!” Inhuman. Demonic. Ape-like. “FUCK NO!” I couldn’t breathe. “NO! NOT AGAIN!” Another swing. I didn’t scream this time. The pain was so intense I wheezed, my mouth unable to do anything but inhale and exhale. I shook violently against the tree stump, leaves falling down in response to my convulsions. My bladder released. My bowels released. My eyes rolled. I didn’t pass out, but I wanted to. I’d have rather died than felt pain like that. The old man winced again. “Well, it’s not ideal, but I’m gonna need to cauterize the wound. Kill all those critters.” He mumbled to himself as he pulled out a torch. “Nuh-uh.” I mumbled incoherently. I couldn’t shake my head. I remember my vision going fuzzy. I couldn’t move. Blackness began invading my eyesight as I lost consciousness. I don’t know how long I was out. I remember jolting back to lucidity. I studied my surroundings. The old man, the trail surgeon. Seated next to me. “You know, I don’t care for you all that much.” He sighed. I groaned painfully. “So I’ve decided to leave you all tied up. Watch you die. The gangrene is spreading up the leg. Ya don’t have too long, partner.” He laughed. I screamed. No words. Just sounds. He and I sat for hours. “Fuck you!” I shouted. He snickered. “Should’ve taken my advice. Should’ve amputated, but I suppose you knew better.” He shook his head arrogantly. “I was a surgeon on the battlefield, you know.” “Piss off.” I hissed. “I don’t have a saw with me. Couldn’t amputate your leg anyway. But I could…” He trailed off as he shifted towards me. He bent down towards my battered leg. *He bit into it.* *Like a zombie.* I screamed. As loud as before. Birds flew upwards. I kicked and fought back, but my tied limbs were of no use. I wretched and bucked ferociously. Suddenly, a sound. From up the trail. I screamed louder now. The old man looked up, his mouth covered in flesh. He picked up his bag, instruments spilling out, and hoofed it into the woods. A couple, a man and a woman, approached me. When they saw my gruesome condition, they both vomited onto the ground simultaneously. I started sobbing. Once they composed themselves, they approached me, horrified. “Oh my god!” The woman shrieked. “What happened?!” The man asked, dumbfounded. “I broke my leg a few days ago…” I was panting, sweat soaked my clothing. “This crazy… old man tied me up to this tree and tried to eat me!” The couple looked at each other, pondering their next move. Surely I sounded, and probably looked, insane. “Just now?” The woman asked. “Yeah, he went that way.” I pointed out into the woods. “What a psychopath!” She exclaimed. “Yeah! Could you guys untie me?” “Sure.” They both said uneasily. My broken leg assured them I was no threat. I was escorted out by a rescue helicopter shortly thereafter. The surgeons at the hospital were able to save my leg. I don’t know who that trail surgeon was. I don't know where he wandered off to. He could be anywhere. I don’t recommend you go hiking by yourself, but if you do… Don’t let him operate on you.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm a Trucker for a Shady Organization. I Haul a Portal to Hell [RESPONSE] Every few weeks, I receive an assignment. I find every vehicle I sit in becomes the damned truck, until I complete the delivery. I wanted to chronicle my deliveries and hopefully get some of this off of my chest. Assignment 23, Day 2, 3:11am "Keep your hands on the steering wheel, no sudden movements!" The officer shouted, using his microphone to blare over the siren. I did as I was told, placing my hands on the steering wheel. I watched the passers-by slow to watch the spectacle. "Drop the window." The officer ordered, hand hovering over his holster. He added "slowly!" I slowly lowered the window, leaving my right hand on the steering wheel. "Good morning officer, how may I help you?" I yawned, slightly annoyed that I'd been pulled over just shy of the rest stop. "An anonymous tip called in. Come out and cross your hands behind your back. You are under arrest." The officer sprayed my face with saliva, practically frothing at the mouth. Thanks to some poor decisions in the past, I knew better than to run my mouth. "I am going to open the door sir. Please step back." "Don't order me around!" He growled, drawing his pistol. My pulse quickened slightly at the sight. "Sorry officer. It's been a long trip and I'm incredibly exhausted. I was trying to make it to this rest stop and catch some sleep. Please instruct me how to act." "Open that door." I opened the door, where the officer pulled it the rest of the way. He didn't seem to mind my lack of a seat belt. He proceeded to cuff me, lead me to his rear seat, throw me in, and slam the door. I rearranged myself to a more comfortable position. Just as I righted myself, the officer returned. "Keys. Where?" The officer shoved an outstretched hand in my face, bending his fingers into his palm a few times, in a 'give me' gesture. "Around my ne-ack?" I coughed as the officer tore the necklace from around my throat. "Wait!" I called, realizing what was happening. The officer ignored my calls, approaching the rear of my truck. I threw myself low to the ground, unsure of what would happen. The one rule I had was to never open the back. Experience told me staying low was the best option, should that rule be broken. **SCHWIP!** a meaty tearing sound exploded, then dozens of cars pressed on their horns. What sounded almost like hail pelted the roof of the cop car, tinging against the metal. **CLANG!** metal crashed against metal as the door slammed shut. The horns continued their auditory assault. Cautiously I wormed my way upright, shivering at the thought of what I'd see. "Here goes noth-guahh!" I lost my stomach, immediately regretting opening my eyes. **ring! ring! RING!** my alarm blared, dragging from the edge of shock. Numbly, I wiggled my phone from my pocket and dismissed the alarm. As soon as that concluded, my phone rang again. Groaning, I answered the call. "Cici, the clock is ticking." My dispatcher, I'll call Shithead, snickered. As his cackling concluded, the line went silent. With great effort, I managed to find the keys to my cuffs. They laid in a pile of crimson coated clothing just behind the truck door. "Yoink!" I giggled, swiping the holster for myself. Casually strolling to the driver’s seat, I stole a glance in the mirror. "You aren't well" my reflection said, a truth I tried to avoid. "Yeah well, what can I do?" I retorted, rolling my eyes. The mirror said nothing for a few minutes, so I looked up once more. *Missing. Of course she'd hide* I started the engine, shifted to drive, and went on my way. I was not out of the water yet. 4:09am I decided to make a call before calling it for the night. "Ey, Shi-I mean Simon," I started. "What do I do if the cargo is crying?" Shithead took a minute long sigh before replying "you have a single rule, Cici. Follow it." And he hung up. The sobbing continued, occasionally with a soft knocking from within. "Uh… hey in there?" I tried, testing the waters. The sobbing stopped suddenly, so I pressed my ear to the cold metal side panel. "What are you?" A woman hissed, or at least, in a woman's voice. "A truck… driver? What're you doing in my truck?" I countered, quickly doubting the legitimacy of the voice. "Wait, I'm in a truck?" She suddenly sounded very excited. "Let me out! Please! I've been trapped in here for too damn long!" She began knocking incessantly from within. *What do I do? I can't just leave her… but I can't open the door either…* "I-I'm sorry. I can't open the door." I bit my lip, desperately considering an excuse. "Please! I'm begging you!" She broke out into fresh, violent tears. The banging became frantic. I fell a few steps back, battling over what to do. I couldn't make up my mind, the whole while the banging and crying went on. Another part of me broke as I carefully, quietly returned to the cabin. My sleep was plagued with these terrible nightmares. I don't remember exactly what happened, but I know it was something about getting chased through an endless mall. On the plus side, the crying was gone when I woke up. 8:23am The rings under my eyes were pristine as ever, much like my progress on my route. At the rate I was going, I would make it in half a day. **WHAM!** my truck swerved and tires screeched. *Thank you seat belts!* Dizzy, I shot from the cabin to investigate. "Shit mate, you alright?" I ran over to the totaled 4x4 half crushed like a tin can against my truck. Smoke began trickling up from the destroyed vehicle, but the driver remained silent. I bolted to my cabin, recovering my crowbar and fire extinguisher, then back to the black 4x4. "I'll get you out!" I shouted, wrenching the door open after my fourth or fifth attempt. Inside, the ghostly pale driver sat, joints twisted all wrong. "Heyyy…" they croaked weakly. Swallowing back down the bile, I pulled the driver free. The driver was… incredibly light… like lighter than paper… *No blood? What the hell is going on?* "You're going to be okay-NOPE!" I screamed, hurling the driver as hard as I could. "That wasn't… very nice…" the driver whined, not seeming very concerned as their body fell apart bit by bit. "What the fuck!" I screamed, turning to run. "Chill." The driver growled. Something tackled me to the ground, pinning me there. "Get off!" I pleaded, flailing at my back. "Calm down already. Seriously, you're giving me a headache." The driver's head snaked beside my own, pupilless eyes gazing into my own. After a minute of failed escapes, I let out a trembling breath. "What?" I spat. "Hi. Think we can move? That truck is about to blow" they warned. As if on cue, a fire ignited out of the destroyed vehicle. The grapple loosened, and we took off. "Shit!" I cried, feeling the gravel give and I began to fall. "Gotcha" the driver caught me, then pulled me forwards. **FUUOO!** the truck detonated in a massive explosion. As the smoke cleared, I was ever so slightly relieved to see my own vehicle unscathed. "Hey? Heeey?" The driver called, though I could barely hear over the ringing in my ears. "What!" I shouted, expecting my heart to burst any minute now. "You know you have hell in your truck?" The driver asked. "Yeah! Kinda hard to ignore, thanks!" I spat incredulously. "Ah, hmm…" they trailed off. "I'll be tagging along then." "Yknow what. Fuck it, sure. You're driving first." The driver shrugged, snapping their limbs back into place with a sickening crunch. "Kay." <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I’ve hidden the craziest fetish since adolescence, but I’m coming clean about it to save your life [RESPONSE] Coulrophilia. It means I get off on clowns. No, I haven’t talked about it before. The reasons are obvious. I hid it from every sex partner about it until after I was married, because I couldn’t risk being the ‘clown guy.’ I didn’t even seek clown porn online. I just couldn’t risk allowing a shred of evidence to exist. So I imagined the most bizarre scenarios to keep me satisfied. The thought of a big, red nose bobbing up and down my shaft was a favorite adolescent masturbatory fantasy; I wanted nothing more than a coat of white makeup on my balls as evidence of my unspeakable deeds. I can’t even see a bicycle horn without getting aroused. My wife is an angel. Lucy held my hand through the entire discussion when I finally told her, never breaking eye contact or casting judgment. When I finished, she kissed me once and squeezed my hand. She told me that she was (understandably) surprised and unsure how to react, but that she loved me and would work with me to keep us both satisfied. We hugged, and I left the bedroom to have a drink and be alone with my thoughts. I’d been there for just nineteen minutes when I heard footsteps creaking down our thirteen wooden stairs. I felt a knot tighten in my throat as the door slowly creaked open. It was beyond bizarre to see a circus clown wander into the living room of my boring ranch home late on a weeknight – but she was beautiful. Heart racing, I glanced at every window to make sure the shades were drawn. I couldn’t have the neighbors witness a lifelong fetish finally coming to life. She moved in front of me on the couch, a shy, cute smile on her red and white face. A crooked conical cap completed the look as my dick sprang to life. Without a word, she knelt down and unbuckled my jeans. Her attention to detail was exquisite: the gloves fit her hands perfectly as she took my manhood in her nimble fingers. I was in ecstasy as her frilly collar tickled my balls. But what nearly put me over the edge was her shoes. She wore genuine size 25 floppy Ronald McDonald numbers that stole the show. I grabbed her green wig and prepared for the biggest orgasm of my life. That’s when Lucy opened the living room door. My brain struggled to assemble the conflicting information that it was receiving. I stared back and forth between the clown and my wife, not wanting to accept the reality before me. Lucy and I live alone, work from home, and just moved to a city where we have no social network. I had *no idea* who this clown might be. Lucy clearly had the same thoughts. Her face had turned whiter than the clown’s. The clown’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of us. No one wanted to make the first move. Lucy finally stepped forward, and that sent the clown into action. She leapt to her feet, ran across the room in her ridiculous floppy shoes, and fiddled with the door. The knob had been sticking, and it had taken us weeks to figure out how to work it just right. She opened the door on the first try and ran into the night. I didn’t cum. * I had no real option besides telling the cops everything. Lucy and I couldn’t allow this intruder to invade our home without attempting to figure out what the fuck had happened. Yeah. The cops stared at me like I was a freak and whispered openly in my presence about me being the ‘clown guy.’ There really wasn’t anything they could do. The clown had never spoken, and I didn’t see her actual face. We couldn’t offer any suspects. Eventually, the police left us to deal with the horrifying reality: The clown knew how to open the back door. She knew every detail of my fetish. This person had been living in our home, and probably for some time. I have no explanation for how she acquired the clown outfit so fast; the only possibility is that she had it on hand and ready to go at a moment’s notice. Lucy went to bed an hour ago after a triple dose of the leftover Vicodin from her last dental surgery. I, however, cannot sleep. This person has been watching and listening to us. She’s clearly obsessed with me and knows no boundaries. I don’t even have the beginnings of an idea for how she’s been getting into and out of our home. It is impossible to imagine myself ever sleeping again. I’ve never been this scared. Any advice on how I can face the next forty years of my life would be . <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I just wanted coupons but I think I accidentally sold my soul [RESPONSE] It turns out Hell is real, but at least it smells nice. I always thought of a human soul as something extremely valuable. You only have one and if you sold it, it was for something cliched, like to save a loved one, or an inordinate amount of money, or all the knowledge in the world. You know, *something,* anything of value. But not me. I accidentally sold my soul for 25% off hand soap. I’m not sure if my use of ‘Hell’ and ‘soul’ are truly appropriate here – I’m just not really sure how else to describe what I’ve experienced. I suppose it’s my own fault for not reading the fine print. I was always so good about that, too – from software updates to my rental agreement, I tended to read all things super carefully. Except of course, the one time my life depended on it … I guess I just never expected a simple store loyalty program to have such a life (and after-life) altering impact. The chain is a common one, found in most malls across the country. I’m not sure if all their stores are like this, or just mine because it’s the ‘original’ store and that means something somehow. I cannot get more specific, it’s too risky and I’m running out of chances. I’m sorry. On that fateful day, I was in the area and since there was a big sale, I was stocking up on gifts. The store was filled with brightly colored bottles of soaps, lotions, and candles and the walls were plastered with cheery posters. On the air lingered an unusual mixture of assorted sample scents that was borderline cacophonous, but somehow worked. It was bustling, there were actually more employees than customers – I hoped that meant that they took care of their staff and were a good place to work. Wishful thinking, I suppose. As I checked out, the employee at the register quietly asked if I wanted to join their loyalty program. While he did this, he gave me what I now realize was a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. He looked at me with something akin to decades of regret in his sad hazel eyes, despite his young appearance. His name tag, which indicated his name was Jeremy, said he had worked at the store since August 2022. I had to prompt him a bit to find out more details. He stared at me reluctantly, looked around, and told me in an unenthused tone that I could get 10% off each purchase, earn points and get 25% off my purchase that day just for signing up. I thought ‘sure, I’ll take a discount on this hand soap’, and went for it. I used the throwaway email address I use for random junk, and I read through the minuscule text on the first page of terms and conditions on the little keypad and found it to be pretty standard. By page three I felt guilty about the long line forming behind me and just scrolled through the remaining four pages so I could sign quickly. In retrospect, I don’t know why I didn’t find seven pages of fine print for a store loyalty program suspicious at the time – but I guess all things seem more obvious in hindsight. Once I had signed off on the tiny novel I had skimmed through, the cashier could no longer meet my eyes. Instead, his darted back and forth, and he quickly wrote something on the bottom of the receipt and circled it. After he did so, he winced, and I saw he had a fresh cut on his palm. The palms of both his hands were already filled with cuts and scars. His look of deep exhaustion suddenly turned into one of pain and fear and he looked around frantically. I was worried and I asked him if he was okay, but he seemed lost in his own world. Unsure of what to do, I just left. I looked at the receipt that night and noticed instead of circling some sort of survey code, he had circled a message written in messy, rushed handwriting: ‘don’t get 5’. It turns out, they take loyalty **very** seriously. I wish I had read the damn agreement. I live in a small town, so it takes me at least 45 minutes each way to drive out to the aforementioned store, the one that’s ruining my life. So, a few weeks later, when I was getting ready to go out of town for a conference, I bought a cheap travel-sized lotion from a different shop. As I swiped my credit card, I felt a searing pain and then stared, confused, as blood began to drip from the palm of my hand and onto the counter. A thin but deep line seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. I had no clue how or when I’d managed to cut myself and I offered to get a paper towel and clean it, but the cashier smiled nervously and said she’d handle it. I felt guilty but figured it was probably kinder of me to just leave so I’d stop bleeding all over the place. That cut really hurt, too. It healed quickly, but it formed an ugly scar. I didn’t make the connection at that time. I mean sure, it seems painfully obvious now, having seen the end result, but at the I didn’t make the logical jump that my little plastic discount card for 10% off lotions and soaps would have had a lasting impact on the rest of my existence. My next apparent transgression was leaving a 3-star review on one of the soaps that I had thought smelled a bit ‘meh’. As soon as I had clicked ‘submit’, I felt the same sharp pain, and a second ‘hash mark’ appeared next to the other. I realized then what Jeremy had been trying to warn me about. The solution sounds easy enough, don’t buy anything anywhere else, never leave a negative review. But, I found another caveat, too. A few weeks later, my sister gifted me a candle from a different store for my birthday and the moment I unwrapped it, another deep hashmark was carved into my hand by the same invisible source. My family stared at me, alarmed, as the vivid red dripped onto the discarded wrapping paper on my lap. My sister quickly apologized and grabbed it away from me, inspecting it for broken glass or other sharp edges, and of course she didn’t find any – I knew she wouldn’t. I quickly made up a bogus story about accidentally reopening a recent cut I got at work. I mean, would they have believed me if I told them the truth? The next day, I drove to the store, using the 45 minutes to mentally plan my conversation points, namely 1) What the hell, man? And 2) How do I get out of the program? Once I walked in, I noticed familiar faces. They seemed to be the same batch of employees from my previous visit, but upon closer inspection I noticed that they seemed tired, empty. One particularly sad looking man had his hand on the glass window and was staring out with a look of such wistful longing – an expression that no should ever wear when staring into a parking lot. I approached one employee, who according to her nametag was Suzzanne Z. and had worked at the store since 1991 (which was strange since based on her appearance, that seemed to be several years before she was born). I asked for Jeremy and her eyes flickered to a camera on the ceiling. She said I'd need to ask her Manager. I decided to browse a bit while waiting, but the Manager was there the moment I turned around. She was uncomfortably close to me, and her eyes were such a pale shade of blue that her irises would’ve almost blended in with her sclera save for a dark ring of gold around them. I felt an odd sensation behind my own eyes when I met her gaze and I couldn’t help but notice that she was the only employee who seemed genuinely happy to be there. When I asked to speak to Jeremy, she artfully dodged my question. She was friendly, but in a way that was borderline threatening. I kept pressing until she informed me that there was no longer a Jeremy working there and smiled at me with far too many teeth. I asked how to get out of the loyalty program, and instead of answering, she grabbed my hand, looked at my palm, and patted me on the shoulder as another deep cut appeared. “No one leaves the program, Lindsey. At the rate you’re going, I’m sure I’ll see you back here in a few days.” She seemed absolutely thrilled about the idea. “Good news, though! We’re hiring!” She laughed heartily at this, and as she did her jaw seemed to open wider and wider. I backed away and turned to run right as it seemed as if she was about to unhinge it. I needed help, so I discretely stuck around until the mall closed, hoping to catch an employee heading out. I figured that maybe I could get a copy of the agreement I had signed – I didn’t feel safe trying to talk to anyone else while inside the store. They eventually closed, but gated the store from the inside. The Manager disappeared into the back. The other employees simply stood in the darkness. I could make out their forms nearly still but slightly swaying, for hours on end. I eventually gave up and went home. Since Jeremy had seemed willing to help, I tried finding him online, but his name was so common that I couldn't even after an hour of searching. I tried Suzzanne next since she had a unique spelling plus a a somewhat uncommon last initial of Z. I tried to find her on social media but couldn’t. I did eventually find her after digging through several pages of search results, but once I did, I realized that I’d never be able to get in touch with her: the only mention I could find of Suzzanne Z. was through findagrave.com, which told me that Suzzanne was buried a few towns over. It linked to an old, digitized obituary with a picture, and without a doubt, this was the same Suzzanne from the store. According to the obituary she had been otherwise healthy, but passed away in her sleep in 1991 at the age of 25. Based on what I found, I decided to try and find Jeremy again, but this time I searched specifically for an obituary, and from around the time when his nametag said he started working at the store. I did eventually find him, and that he left this world when his car seemed to randomly swerve off the road and into the bay, in August 2022. I have four marks now, and it’s only been a month and a half. I think I know what happens if I get five. I hope I never find out what happens if I get ten. Without knowing what the rules are, I don’t know how long I can go without making what will become a lethal mistake. I had to tell my friends and family that they absolutely cannot buy me soap, hand sanitizer, room spray, lotion, candles – basically if it smells nice **do not** give it to me. I’ve started bringing my own soap to work, too, in my purse. I sound and feel crazy, but I don’t want to risk it. I don’t talk to anyone about the store or products. I had been debating if I should write this for about a week and I’m honestly a bit afraid of what will happen when I hit ‘Post’. I am hoping that I’ve been vague enough for this to not to count against me. If it does, but keeps someone else safe, it’ll be worth it. Please, always read the fine print. Please don’t sign your soul away for coupons.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I don't know what's happening anymore [RESPONSE] I grew up in a small town where nothing ever really happened. It was a nice quiet place, low crime, about 900 people, and on the edge of a beautiful forest. At least it was nice until a couple months ago. It started when a kid went missing after school. He had gotten off of his bus and that was the last anyone saw of him. Of course a huge investigation occurred and rumors were being spread but nothing ever really came of it. The rumor mill was big though. You see, even when I was a kid there was a rumor about something that would take people into the woods and eat them. Parents used to say it to scare their kids into coming home early. So I didn’t really believe in it. Although it was said that anytime something like that happened, a horrific scream would come from the forest. But I never heard it, at least not until after that kid went missing. I was walking downtown when a screeching noise came from the forest. Almost like an old broken tornado siren screeching out its last life. I looked around to see if anyone else could hear it but no one else was around. Almost like the town was empty. Then, when the sound ended, people were exiting stores and acting as though nothing happened. Although, one person came up to me and said “You heard that right? You have to tell me you heard that.” “I did, what was that?” “It was the scream of someone who became lost.” “Became lost? What do you mean they became lost?” “Can’t talk anymore, they’re watching. Don’t trust anyone. You have to get out of here.” And with that the man ran into a nearby alley disappearing out of sight. “Who was that?” I heard coming from behind me. I turned to see Chris, one of the town's police officers and a good friend. “I don’t know, I haven’t seen him before.” “Hm, well its a small town. If I see him again I’ll be sure to give him a talkin.” “You do that Chris, I gotta go though, nice seein ya.” With that I was off and continued my normal day to day monotonous life. That was until more missing persons signs kept popping up. You see it's one thing when one sign comes up every once in a while. But it’s another when thirteen have gone missing in the last three months. Something was wrong and I was determined to figure it out. After the seventh sign popped up that was when I decided to give Chris a visit at the station, but he was nowhere to be seen. The clerk told me that he went on vacation, but that didn’t seem right. Chris was someone who loved his job and loved working. In the last ten years I have lived here, he only went on vacation twice. The other thing that seemed off was the way the clerk spoke. “I’ll let hhihhim know you stopped when he gets back.” Something about her voice was off. It didn’t sound human. It sounded as though an AI was learning to speak but still had some hiccups. That right there put me on edge. It wasn’t the first time I noticed it either. The last few months I’ve noticed people’s voices sounding like that. Maybe I’m going crazy though, I haven’t been sleeping well and my insomnia has been catching up to me. Yah that’s it, I’m just tired. I need some sleep. “Wake up.” I heard in my ear as I shot up from my bed scanning around the room only to find nothing like usual. That was the fourth time that it has happened in the last month and I was getting pretty annoyed. It was always at 3:16 in the morning that I would wake up hearing something say that. I got up and searched my room like usual looking for whatever spoke but could never find it. Then because of that, I would be awake the rest of the day. It pretty much just became my routine. I’ll let you know if anything changes. It’s November second and the weather is getting pretty chilly outside. The last missing person was found today and is being questioned. The police department wants me to come and speak to him. I guess being the only psychiatrist in town puts you on the spot. I’m heading there at noon to speak with him. As I was heading to the police station random people kept watching me every second as I passed. It was as though these few had their eyes glued on me waiting for something. Once I reached the station and got in, an officer greeted me right away. “This wayay.” he said, leading me into an interrogation room. “What’s his name?” I asked “Greg Farlec” The officer replied, opening the door. “Also no taking of notes or bringing in sharp objects. So hand them over nwow.” Confused, I handed the officer my belongings and entered the room. “Mr. Farlec, I heard you wished to speak with me?” The man sitting in front of me looked up from his hands and I recognized who it was. It was the man who talked to me after the first screech was heard. “What are you doing here, you need to leave.” “What do you mean? Why do I need to leave?” These people aren’t who they say they are. You need to get out of here.” Entertaining the man I asked, “And… How do you get out of here?” “Kill yourself.” “Excuse me?” “You need to kill yourself, do it to escape. Otherwise they’ll keep you here. Feed off of you. Here let me help.” With that the man lunged at me gripping his hands around my neck. “You’ll see, you’ll soon see.” He said as we fell down, his hands still choking the life out of me. In the matter of seconds officers rushed in pulling the man off of me and screaming at me to leave. The last thing I heard as the door closed behind me was “Burn them all.” I couldn’t sleep at all the night after that. I kept hearing voices and skittering noises around the house. That guy had gotten into my head to make me think I was crazy. It was about four in the morning when I heard a knock on my door. It was Chris, I hadn’t seen him in a month. “Where the fuck have you been?” I said annoyed at him. “Vacation.” “That’s all you’re gonna say. Vacation.” Chris just stared at me blankly like I said something that offended him. “Wha-” “Can I come in.” He said interrupting my next question. “Sure, come on in.” I replied, opening the door more and motioning him inside. “What did he tell you?” He said sharply walking into my kitchen. “What do you mean?” “The man at the station. What did he tell you?” Something about the whole altercation seemed off, Chris seemed off, and the town seemed off. These last few months haven’t felt normal. A lot of townsfolk didn’t act the way they used to. And all sounded off. It was starting to really get to me. Chris began snapping at me while saying “Tell me what he said.” “Nothing, he just attacked me as soon as he saw me.” “Fine, don’t tell me the truth. I’ll just have to get it out of you.” With that Chris pulled out his baton and began marching towards me. “What the fuck are you doing?” I said right before getting hit in the head and falling to the ground. Flashes of things I didn’t remember coming to the forefront of my mind. Hearing the third screech, walking into the forest, an old abandoned house, skittering in the trees, something crawling down my throat. All that washed away though as the second baton hit me in the ribs. An audible crack was heard and Chris said once more. “Tell me what he sa-ahrg” He was cut off as I kicked his knee inward causing him to collapse. I quickly got up and began running outside. As I entered my car I saw Chris running toward me as if his backwards knee had never even happened. I slammed the car into reverse and sped out backwards out of my driveway until I hit something. Or something hit me. Stopping to assess the situation I saw a couple of townsfolk who began running and slamming themselves into my car. One even grabbed onto the top railings and began slamming her head multiple times into the passenger side window until it spidered. “What the fuck?” I screamed and she began pushing her face into the window causing the glass to cut away and peel off parts of her face. “I’m gonna getcha!” She said before I said said fuck this, kicking it into drive and speeding off. I was heading for the town exit. Which prompted me to go through our main street and cross a bridge. While at main I saw buildings and cars on fire as well as twenty or thirty people all fighting and tearing each other apart. More of them ramming themselves into my car or in front of it in hopes to stop me. “What the fuck is going on!” I screamed as a man threw a brick at my car, shattering the windshield. I just need to get to the bridge I kept saying to myself to get me through the carnage. It was another minute or so and I was there, but boy was I in for a surprise. As I reached the middle of the bridge, cop lights appeared on the other side. They created a barricade. I decided to kick it into reverse, but as I looked in my rearview mirror I saw Chris’s cruiser. Along with twenty bloodied up townspeople behind him. “Fuck fuck fuck what do I do what do I do.” I said to myself trying to think of a solution. “Cmon man, It’s not that bad here. Come back into town and we can sort this all out.” I heard over the intercom. It was Chris’s voice. “We can make you forget all this ever happened. Just come out with your hands up.” That was it, I lost. There was nothing I could do, I was trapped and wanted this all to be over. “Wake up.” I heard in my ear as I shot up from my bed scanning around the room only to find nothing like usual. That was the fifth time that it has happened in the last month and I was getting pretty annoyed. It was always at 4:16 in the morning that I would wake up hearing something say that. I got up and searched my room like usual looking for whatever spoke but could never find it. Then because of that, I would be awake the rest of the day. It pretty much just became my routine. Something was off though… I looked at my clock again, “3:16”. That's not right, it just said 4:16. With that, flashes of the previous night came to mind. Chris hitting me, that lady peeling off her face in my window, and then waking up. It’s not right, nothing's right, “What is this place?” I said to myself before falling asleep again. “Wake up.” I heard in my ear as I shot up from my bed scanning around the room only to find nothing like usual. That was the third time that it has happened in the last month and I was getting pretty annoyed. It was always at 2:16 in the morning that I would wake up hearing something say that. I got up and searched my room like usual looking for whatever spoke but could never find it. Then because of that, I would be awake the rest of the day. It pretty much just became my routine. “Wait two sixteen?” I said to myself, that's not normal. Previous night's affairs began flashing in my head. Me heading into the woods, something crawling down my throat, Chris hitting me, bridge, death.” As I stood up I suddenly felt dizzy, almost falling to the floor. “Stay awake.” I said to myself, pinching my neck to keep me awake. “Honey, come baaack to bed.” I heard call out from behind me. “I will in a minute sweetie. Just going to the bathroom.” I called out, out of impulse. As I finished up in the bathroom I looked in the mirror and saw hand prints on my neck. “How did those get there?” I said as I stroked them. “Honey.” I heard from the doorway. “What are you doing?” “Sorry I was just checking…” As I looked back at the mirror the marks were gone as if nothing happened. “I’ll be going to bed in a sec.” She giggled as she walked away back towards the bedroom. Something wasn’t right. I needed to figure out what was happening. But not after some rest. I awoke standing on the ledge of the bridge, cops on one side, bloody townspeople on the other. Chris’s voice over the megaphone again. “Don’t! You don't know what you’re doing. You’ll kill us all. Just step down and we can make you forget.” Contemplating for a second I stepped back half a step. Previous nights flashing through my head. “That’s it man, it’ll be ok.” “No.” I said as I launched myself off the bridge. They say the first thing you think of when you jump is regret. Boy is that right, feeling myself fall faster and faster almost made me pass out until. I awoke groggy in a dark room, barely able to comprehend what was going on. Skittering on the floor and a screeching noise happening. But as I focused more I saw a tube pulsating in front of me going up to something on the ceiling. Shitty thing is, that the tube was also down my throat. Gagging, I slowly reached up and grabbed it. As soon as my hands touched in I heard a little shriek. That began to get louder and louder as I pulled the tube out. The thing must have been five feet long until it finally came plopping out. I still had one hand on it as it lunged towards my mouth again. Little eyes and a mouth full of sharp triangular teeth met me face to face. I squeezed harder and threw it on the ground before stomping on it. Once I was done I looked around and saw that I was in a basement full of people. At least forty, all either sitting or leaning against the wall, white tubes down their throat. Sadly I can’t say I went and saved all of them. I don’t think I could have. The majority of them all looked almost mummified. Some pretty much were. Skittering could be heard coming from a room across from me. Little creatures poured in through the doorway making their way towards me. The screeching and squealing was almost unbearable. Looking around trying to find a way out I saw something that made my heart drop. It was Chris. Although he looked a lot older than the last time I saw him. His beard was unkempt and his uniform was almost black from dust. My saving grace. Once I reached him I began shaking him profusely but it was to no avail. “I’m so fucked.” I said right before my eyes met his service pistol. I grabbed that and began shooting at the mass heading towards me. I hit a few, heard screeches and the rest scurried their way out of the room. “You need to stop.” I heard coming from across the room. I Turned to see an almost mummified man sitting on what appeared to be a throne made of I don’t even know what. As I looked around I noticed all the tubes led into one central mass. And that central mass had a tube leading to that thing. “You’ll doom our whole species.” It spoke again. “Why should I care after what I just discovered?” “You were not supposed to wake up. You were supposed to feed us for years to come. We only take when need be. But when others come looking, we like to feast.” “What are you doing to these people?” “Feeding.” “Feeding off of what?” “Emotions. They are a delicacy. The only sad thing is that we have to virtually make husks of you. How about this. You leave and never look back. By the time you find civilization and get them to come back we will be gone. You’ll be deemed crazy and I will be sure to find you again. Or you can bring me a replacement and help feed us, until we are strong enough to take over, and you will be spared. The choice is yours.” I stood there thinking for a second before almost out of instinct, raising the gun and shooting the being multiple times. Screeches and rumbles could be heard all around. The bulbus in the center of the room shook and the creatures from earlier were coming back. “Wrong Choice.” The being said before it fell limp. I looked around eagerly to try and devise a plan but nothing was coming up. “Burn them” I heard Greg say in the back of my mind. I looked to Chris’s service belt to see his flare gun. I grabbed that and pointed at the mass on the ceiling firing the only shot I had into it. A deafening scream rang out causing me to drop to the floor holding my hands over my ears. Until I passed out. I awoke in a hospital bed covered in bandages and loud ringing in my ears. “Nurse He’s awake.” I heard a familiar voice say. Looking up I saw that same malnourished Chris I saw in the basement looking at me. “Where am I?” I asked, sitting up slowly. “Careful man, don’t get up too fast. You’ve been out for a while.” “I thought you were…” “Dead? Nah, I awoke to that screeching and dragged your ass out before the whole building collapsed. What was that in there?” “It said that it was feeding on us, and that… are there anymore survivors?” “Just us, believe I tried but the building was so old that the flare you shot caused the place to light up like gas on a fire. I barely had time to pull that tube out and carry you out before it collapsed.” “What about that man in there? The mummy looking guy. Did you see him leave?” “What mummy looking guy?” “Nevermind, he must’ve stayed there.” “You ok man?” “I don’t know. I’m Just glad to be out.” “Yah, same heheer.”<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Moravian Night Doctor [RESPONSE] So far, I have had two experiences with the European healthcare system. The first was a lesson in how free healthcare works and the second… Well, the second was a lesson in the incomprehensible. My first interaction with a local hospital came approximately three hours after I touched down in Prague from Newark and I nearly cut off my finger. On the flight over I managed to drop one of my airpods into a glass of orange juice so I bought a cheap pair of headphones at the airport. The packaging of the headphones was impossible to pry open with my fingers, so my smart ass decided to raid the hostel’s knife cabinet for the sharpest blade I could find. Ten minutes later I was in an Uber with my gushing finger wrapped in countless paper towels. Growing up in the US the European healthcare system has always been a mystery. My trip to Prague’s Motol hospital did a fair amount to illuminate that enigma. No insurance? No problem. 30$ patch-up and no questions asked. Spent about fifteen minutes in the waiting room and the doctor had the bedside manner of a prison guard but it was nice not having to pay an arm and a leg for a simple mistake. When I did a free tour of Prague two days later my tour guide assured me that most Czech doctors treat their patients like war criminals awaiting trial, so I shouldn’t take it personally. I didn’t. I was just happy my accident didn’t include excessive paper work. I thought I had a fun cultural experience. I thought I’d come home with a keepsake scar and spend the rest of my Central European adventure with my right hand wrapped in gauze. I was wrong. A week later, I type this message with fingers that bare no evidence of my accident. Back in Prague the doctor told me that it might take a couple months for me to regain feeling in my sliced fingers and that I should be ready for the possibility that those two fingers will always feel somewhat numb, yet as I type this message, they feel brand new. My whole body feels brand new. My whole body feels brand new because tonight, I had my second experience with the local healthcare system. So I’m standing outside of a pub in Olomouc, Eastern Czech Republic, enjoying a cigarette. It’s well past two in the morning and the pub closed down three hours ago but there’s still a sizable party going on inside. My cousin — who I’m visiting — knows the owner and insisted that the place stay open so that he could show me a good time. There’s enough plumb schnapps at the bar to drive the whole city blind and the patrons aren’t particularly concerned about their eyesight. It's a fun night — but these folks go hard and I need a breather. So, I pop outside for a cigarette. My parents used to live in Olomouc back in the communist days but escaped over to the West when the Soviets sent half a million troops to Czechoslovakia as a gift of “brotherly assistance”. My parents escaped the system, but I was raised on stories of their youth. I distinctly remember looking out at the lamp lit cobbled streets trying to imagine my mom and pops drunkenly strolling around singing anti-government songs. My drunken imagination came to a sudden halt as I got punched in the stomach. The guy was wearing a dark hoodie and was at least a head taller than me. That’s all that I could make sense of. He just rushed by me, socked me in the stomach and then continued stumbling up the street. A couple of feet later, the man in the hoodie came upon a street sign. He seized the metal pole in one hand and started punching the sign itself with the other. Three or four dull metal thuds later, my assailant turned the corner and disappeared down one of the alleys. The punch had knocked the wind out of me. Before I could make sense of what had happened another figure grabbed me and shook me by the shoulders — a woman in her twenties with enough metal in her face to make a headbutt deadly. I barely speak the language, but from her expression and the handful of Duolingo classes I took on the flight over I could tell she was apologizing. She shook me, apologized and then ran off after the man in the hoodie. ‘*No police, please*’, she kept on yelling in Czech as she disappeared. ‘*No police!*’ I was drunk enough to not feel the initial impact of the hit, but as my breath returned a sharp pain started to spread through my abdomen. Once I was sure I wasn’t going to vomit I made my way back into the pub. Again, I don’t speak Czech very well. My cousin, to match me, barely speaks English. It took a good amount of gestures and google translate work to explain exactly what happened. As I was pantomiming my random assault the party was in full swing, yet as my point started to come across the merriment slowly drifted from the pub. ‘Stranger man on street hit you belly?’ my cousin finally asked. Everyone was quiet. Everyone was watching us. I nodded. My cousin shook his head in disappointment, slammed some colorful bills on the bar and then put on his coat. ‘Time to go find man who punch,’ he finally said, standing in the doorway. My stomach was still in pain, but I tried to argue. I had no interest in getting into a fistfight anywhere — let alone abroad. To all my arguments my cousin shook his head. ‘If man punch you and you let him walk away without fight or sorry, you will hurt for rest of life. Come, time to find man who punch.’ I don’t know how many of the pub patrons understood English, but they all nodded along in agreement. They had all decided it was best for me to leave with my cousin to go find the man who punch. The sweet smell of liquor and sweat in the bar felt infinitely safer than the cold streets outside, yet I was a guest of my cousin’s. I didn’t question him. I just put on my coat and followed him out into the night. As the door was closing behind us the owner of the pub shouted something to my cousin. Again, Czech isn’t my strong suit, so most of the sentence flew past me. I did, however, understand one phrase of the bartender’s message: *No?ní Doktor.* The Night Doctor. I tried steering us off course and asking my cousin what the Night Doctor is then — but his aim was singular. He wanted to find the man who punched me. With some trepidation, I pointed to the street sign my hooded assailant had attacked. There were specs of blood right next to the indented directions to the city center. My cousin set out through the city in a confident pace and I, reluctantly, followed behind. The impact of the sucker punch had ballooned up to my chest and each breath I took made me twitch. I didn’t feel like I needed medical attention, yet I did want the night to come to an end. I figured it soon would, the chances of randomly bumping into the guy who socked me seemed minimal. Yet, after about a fifteen minute journey, we arrived at a large open square with a haunting gothic column in the center. Next to the centuries old monument stood the hooded giant who had hit me and the woman who had begged me to not call the police. They were arguing about something. I have never been in a fist-fight and, judging by his physique, neither has my cousin. As chubby and short as he is though, my companion approached the situation with blind courage. With theatrical flare, he put out his cigarette against the back of his shoe and then started to shout at the arguing couple. They quickly stopped arguing. I was drunk and hurt, but seeing the giant approach my cousin sent a shot of adrenalin up my spine. He looked as if he was about to swing at him as well. That wouldn’t end well. There were no cops on the street. I had no chance of backing my cousin up. I braced for the worst, but my panic quickly gave way to confusion. My cousin spoke in a low and assertive tone, occasionally pointing back to me, occasionally to the city beyond. Instead of throwing another punch, the giant’s shoulders slumped. He intently listened as my cousin spoke, outlining some sort of a deal. The woman who had been bickering with the giant listened too, but only for a bit. Before my cousin had finished talking, she rushed past him and began pleading with me directly. Again, I don’t speak the language, so I couldn’t figure out what she was saying. I could make out the phrase ‘*no police’* and she seemed apologetic enough, but her eyes were wild and she was way too close. Walking backwards I yelled to my cousin for a translation. ‘She say her boyfriend angry man. He catch her with other man. He get angry and he hit everything. No control. Nothing personal when he hit you. She says everyone sorry. She says do not call police because boyfriend criminal. I agree. Maybe we don’t call police but he must —’ ‘Hit him!’ the woman yelled in English. She dragged her giant before me and illustrated her point by hitting him and making an equal sign. The giant looked at me from above, looking like a Slavic Moai head with puppy eyes. He had been crying. ‘She say you hit him and then everything equal. But I say —’ ‘Hit me,’ the giant ordered, lowering his head. ‘Hit me,’ he said, tapping his cheek. Every ounce of self-preservation I had went against the giant’s wishes. I didn’t want to hit him. I was already in enough pain. For all I knew his ‘angry’ instincts would send another hit back in reflex and kill me. I didn’t want to hit him but there was alcohol on his breath and he was a head taller than me. With a respectful amount of strength, I planted my fist in the giant’s stomach. Throwing the punch sent a lightning bolt of pain up my abdomen and the giant barely flinched. The moment I pulled my hand back the woman grabbed the giant and started to drag him away from us. She considered the matter resolved. So did I. My cousin did not. ‘*Ne!’* he hissed, and then, with a familiar low tone of voice, proceeded to make demands. From his speech I could only decipher a single phrase, repeated multiple times: *No?ní Doktor —* The Night Doctor. With each mention of the name the woman grew more and more agitated until finally she started to yell back. She started yelling at me to hit the giant again. When that didn’t work she started to swinging her purse like a mace in the general direction of my cousin. The giant gently pushed her aside and shook his head. ‘She say you hitting make justice, but I say no. You are guest. Should be treated with honor. This man punch — you get justice. You can only get justice with Night Doctor,’ my cousin said, producing another cigarette. ‘So I make man call Night Doctor.’ ‘What’s a Night Doctor?’ I asked. My cousin puffed on his cigarette and thought. ‘He is man who…’ with frustration he pointed to the stars and snapped his fingers hoping for words to manifest. None did in English. He said a couple words in Czech which I did not comprehend. ‘He is man who help. Both help you and help get justice. You see. Don’t scared. Night Doctor working quick.’ He snapped at the giant and the giant’s head went low. In a voice strained with fear, the man started to recite some sort of a poem or prayer. I understood none of it, with the exception of one phrase: *No?ní Doktor* — The Night Doctor. As the giant recited his prayer the woman took a handful of steps aside and turned her back. My cousin also inched further away from me and the giant, but he kept his eyes locked on us. When the giant finished his recital, the air grew still. A piercing chill joined the numb aches that followed each breath I took. For a moment I saw my cousin puffing on his cigarette, but the ashes were travelling up the rolling paper far too fast. He breathed out a large cloud of smoke and with it, he disappeared. Everything disappeared. My cousin was gone, the giant was gone, the gothic column in the center of the square was gone. All that remained was a sea of cobblestones beneath my feet and the wild stars above. Then, out of the darkness, a terrible thing emerged. It wore a long dark coat with golden buttons and had the facial features of a man, but it certainly wasn’t a man. It’s face was old and eyeless and possessed a thin moustache of white. The rest of its body was not of flesh but of an ethereal light that pulsed between a starlight white and a foggy blue. Without its formless feet touching the ground, the specter advanced toward me with its hand stretched out. I was far too paralyzed with drunkenness and fear to do anything, but the ghoul’s hand touching my forehead shocked me awake. The touch of that terrible thing was colder than any winter I had ever felt. I screamed in pain and shock. Or, at least, I tried to scream. Nothing but a weak hiss came out of my mouth. A shot of ice ran up my jaw. The specter used its free hand to close my mouth shut. I stared on at the being in terror as it pulled its hands back and moved closer. The Night Doctor pressed its frigid lips against my forehead. My terror had reached to the point of nausea yet the moment the horror’s lips touched my forehead my stomach eased. The pain from the hit, the uneasiness from the alcohol — it all rocketed up through my being and exited without a trace. My perception cleared and I could only sense one thing: The Night Doctor smelled like freshly roasted coffee in an infection ridden hospital. As the specter pulled back my head grew light. The Night Doctor’s form disappeared beneath the weight of an incoming faint — yet when my vision cleared I was back on the square with my cousin. The body of the Night Doctor was imperceptible in the gaslight, but his coat remained. The long formal coat of the Night Doctor was wrapped around the giant. The woman had her back turned away from the scene but in the quiet night, gently hiding beneath the whistling of the wind — I could hear her sobbing. Soon enough the soft cries of the woman got overtaken by guttural dry heaves. My hooded assailant fell to his knees and reached for his stomach. Just before the giant started to vomit, the Night Doctor’s jacket slid to the side. It flew off in the night wind and disappeared into the darkness as if it had never existed. The giant was holding his stomach in the spot where he had punched me. Not only did he seem to inherit my wound, he seemed to inherit my drunkenness. When the man finally finished emptying his stomach, the giant looked up at my cousin with eyes so glassy it was a wonder they were conscious. My cousin nodded. And with that nod the giant went on his way. He walked opposite the way in which the Night Doctor’s coat flew. The woman ignored him at first, but eventually she caught up with him and gave him some paper towels from her purse. ‘See? Justice. You no longer hurt. now only man who punch hurt,’ my cousin said, lighting up another cigarette. ‘Now, we go drink more?’ I told him I would prefer to go home. He acquiesced; I was a *guest* after all. My cousin passed out the moment we got home. He slept soundly like a baby and snored like a wood saw. The terrible visage of the Night Doctor kept me awake for a good chunk of the night, but eventually my exhaustion set in. I slept, or at least I think I slept because at some point the sun had risen. I was willing to catalog the whole affair as a drunken misremembering, but I can’t do that anymore. I had drunk enough the night prior to be put out of commission for at least a day, but I don’t feel hungover in the least bit. My stomach, as well, bears no signs of injury. Last night I was having trouble breathing but today I feel more alive than I ever had. I feel as if every ache and pain from my back has been removed as well. I feel great. Yet it’s not just my soberness and lack of aches that makes me think that my ails were transferred by the Night Doctor. Had I simply woken up hungover and without bruises I would have found a way to ignore what had happened the night prior. I might have even avoided this whole corner of the internet all together. But I am here. And I’m here for a reason. This morning, as my cousin snored in the living room, I made my way over to the bathroom. I wanted to brush my teeth and my bandages were due to be changed. I had never changed them before and I haven’t had a chance to look at the wound properly since it had been sown up. I presumed the sight would be unpleasant, but what I found was shocking enough to make me feel faint. Beneath the bandages there was no wound. My fingers, the same fingers that I type this message with, the same fingers that were nearly sliced off during my accident a week prior — they are completely whole. I do not understand what happened last night. The concept of the Night Doctor completely escapes my understanding and I fear that with the language barrier I will never truly comprehend it. My mind keeps reeling back to watching the woman and her giant walk away into the dark night. I have visions of sitting in an uber with my fingers wrapped in a mass of paper towels. Even though he hit me, I hope the giant is okay. I hope that whatever scar he inherited from my misadventure with the headphone packaging doesn’t cause him too much of a headache. I hope he’s fine. He should be fine. I hear the healthcare is pretty good .<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] He Made Me Watch [RESPONSE] He dragged the old wooden chair in front of me, and then sat down—still holding the rusted crowbar. We were directly in the diamond-shaped scope of sunlight from the cave’s collapsed ceiling, and I hazily watched the illumined specks of dust as they floated in and out of the illuminating column. Behind the glimmering motes, *he* sat staring at me, his irregularly spaced eyes fixed darkly on my bruised face. I couldn’t meet his gaze, couldn’t bring myself to stare—yet again—into those abysmal pits. The last time, there had only been a cold depravity in them; a hollowness, a chilling, inwardly spiraling darkness.  His face, though scarred and misshapen, was expressionless; the pallid skin taut upon the asymmetrical cheekbones and the misaligned jaw. His profound hideousness was the least terrifying thing about him. I’d seen all sorts of bruised, scarred, and physically wretched people before; it was his aura of thoughtless malignance that unsettled me, that would’ve driven me away from his presence, had I seen him out in public—had I not been abruptly abducted from campus whilst walking home from class... We sat there for a while, silently. I had long since abandoned any hope of talking him out of it. I didn’t even know what he wanted—he hadn’t spoken a word, and ignored all attempts at communication. I was certain that I was going to die, that he was going to mutilate and kill me—it was only a matter of how. I imagined him swinging the crowbar, striking me in the head over and over, splitting my skull open and reducing the brain therein to pulp.  Earlier, I’d seen him use the crowbar to pry open a long wooden box, and from its bottom had come skulls and other ossuary fragments. But he’d ignored them, tossing aside the cracked and dust-coated human artifacts to withdraw a crinkled piece of paper. He had studied it for a few moments, then folded it and pocketed it; spending the subsequent moments muttering insensibly to himself in a language that to me had sounded vaguely “European”, however you’d like to interpret that. He’d later nail the document to a nearby wall of the dome-shaped cave; occasionally consulting it here and there for some unspoken purpose.  His expression still unchanged, still cryptically austere, he placed the crowbar across his lap and put both hands on the knees of his jeans. Like his grey windbreaker, they were faded, obviously old, and had sustained quite a bit of wear and tear. His boots were the only normal things about him: polished, plainly new, and this newness unsettled me. I couldn’t imagine him going out and buying a pair, had never seen him shopping anywhere in town. The box of bones behind him suggested another means of acquisition… The crowbar in his lap was within reach, and I considered prying my hand from the arm of my chair and reaching out for it. I’d have to sacrificed the hand, but figured I’d be able to hold onto the crowbar tight enough and for long enough to strike him at least a few times. He’d broken my right hand, but had only nailed the left one to its arm rest; and the nail, while long and worryingly rusted, was fairly thin, and embedded just between my pointer and middle finger—in the thin, easily torn spread of connective flesh. I wanted to do it, it wouldn’t have taken much effort to free the hand—no doubt at the cost of a tremendous amount of pain—but his almost stoic immobility held within it a level of intimidation that was so overwhelmingly disheartening. I feared what would happen if I interrupted his already unsettling dormancy. Finally, no longer able to bear the hope-promising light from above, I turned away from the wispy motes of dust to look at him full-on. Immediately, I cringed, seeing those two spheres of depthless darkness, windows into a mind so terribly deranged that not an iota or inkling of humanity existed therein.  It wasn’t hatred or any conception of sentient evil behind them, but a feral, primal malevolence. I wasn’t looking at a person who was simply sick in the head, who’d once been sane or *had* held some approximation of sanity. No, this was an inhuman being, an anthropologically unclassifiable entity who had never once held any kinship with Man—civilized or otherwise.  I got the impression that a shadow-wreathed shell sat before me, a warped vessel masquerading as a being of substance; a “man” who’d been born without a soul, or a soul that had, through some cosmic mischance, been blackened during its attachment to the body.  I started to feel lightheaded, sick to my stomach, but couldn’t look away. There was a gravity to his gaze, a mind-draining magnetism that kept my eyes locked with his own, even as my brain sent signal after signal to turn them away. The light falling from the hole in the cave’s ceiling appeared to suddenly grow dim, and the darkness began to flicker and solidify, like shadows come to life.  The coffin-like box of bones, now barely visible in my haze, seemed to expand behind the fiendish lunatic; growing to impossible proportions. The bones visible within also appeared to morbidly increase in size, and I began to cry as a great colossal skull loomed over me, a sepulchral leer upon its chipped and broken face.   *He’s poisoning me with his mind, filling me with his evil sickness!* I thought to myself, struggling to turn my eyes somewhere, anywhere but there. As lucidity continued to wane, I found myself wondering when, if ever, my corpse would be discovered. The Titan’s skull had stopped growing, and as I regarded it, I noticed the agedness of it; the cracks, craters, and time-yellowed surface suggestive of decades—if not centuries—of charnel decay.  Despair awoke in me as I realized that no one had found these remains—that I would probably join those poor unsaved souls in that damned box. Playthings of a nightmare.  It wasn’t until the terrible hallucinations became overwhelming, suffocating, that he spoke. His voice was oddly light, soft - in total contradiction to his brutish stature and odious appearance. By degrees, with each liltingly spoken syllable, the otherworldly images faded, making way for a new and very real picture of horror.  “I want you to watch me—as they’ve watched me. I want you to witness my rebirth. If you can stand it, if you can take it, I’ll teach you how do it.”  Obviously, I had no idea what he was talking about, but the grave tone with which he had spoken those ominous words only served to chill me to my core, and further diminish my already depleted hope of survival.  Without waiting for any response, he picked up the crowbar, raising it above himself and out of my reach. I thought then that he’d bring it down onto my skull, that he’d bludgeon me to death. That his wish for me to behold his rebirth was more metaphorical, than literal. *How can a corpse witness anything?* But he instead smashed the tool onto his own bare scalp. Once. Twice. Again and again and again, until there was a clear dent in his skull; the skin sunken and fractured, forming a bloody valley that ran down to the forehead.  He teetered in his chair, the crowbar held suspended in mid-air, and I thought he’d surely topple over. But, with some last vestige of maddened animal strength, he delivered one final blow to himself, and the roof of his skull collapsed, just as the roof of the cave had—some decades ago. The deranged man then slumped forward, leaning lifelessly toward me, a deluge of eerily dark blood coursing from his self-inflicted wound.   The crowbar clattered to the floor when the arm that had been holding it finally fell. But the lethally repurposed tool was out of my reach, coming to lie on the ground a few feet away. While I was safe for the moment, I knew that I had to relieve myself of the chair before infection set in—if it hadn’t already. Both of my hands burned from within, and I’d been sweating feverishly for quite some time—despite the pervasive chill in the air. Starvation and dehydration were also pressing concerns; I hadn’t eaten or drank anything in at least 48 hours—having been imprisoned within the cave for several cycles of night and day, as determined through the ceiling’s hole.  Thankfully, the chair was simply constructed, having only a wooden frame held together by unsecured nails; it was crude, makeshift carpentry. With the need no longer as dire, I refrained from ripping the flesh between my fingers to free my nail-trapped hand, instead preferring to just break the whole chair.  After wobbling back and forth several times, I managed to rock myself onto the ground. The left armrest broke, and with my newly freed hand I undid the leather straps that had secured my feet to the chair’s legs.  Thus freed, I hobbled over toward the opposite end, past the opened box of bones, toward the wall where he had nailed the piece of paper. The exit—a waist-high, moss-shielded tunnel in the left wall—wasn't far off, but curiosity compelled me to investigate the piece of paper.  I’m glad I took the time to look at it, because doing so probably saved my life.  On the piece of paper was a diagram of a man, in what appeared to be three phases of existence. The first, a normal, seemingly healthy image. The second, a somewhat emaciated figure, long-limbed and sickly. The third, a cadaverous form, ghoulish in the face and fleshless in body; with hands like gnarled branches from which extended savagely long nails.  Beneath each figure was a short note. The first image bore the description, “Man in his most basic.” The second: “Man undergoing the wondrous transition.” The final: “Man - Transcended. Reborn.”  At the word reborn my attention was drawn toward the corpse in the chair—or what should’ve been a corpse. Instead, there was an animate *thing*, tremoring and shuddering as if galvanized by an electric current. One of the arms—the one that had wielded the crowbar—spasmed, and I watched, horror-stricken, as black, knife-edged nails began to grow from the spasmodically clenching hand.  Acting on an impetus that I can only describe as an instinct to natural duty, I quickly made my way to the horrific scene. Keeping my gaze averted, I snatched up the crowbar and drove its rusted handle into the heaving, now fleshless chest of that morphing fiend.  There a sudden glottal shriek, a few moments of bodily convulsing, and then the thing went as stiff as a statue. But somehow, I sensed a lingering life within it, an aura or emanation of some sinister, preternatural essence. I had “killed” it, but it had not necessarily died. Without letting my eyes turn toward his assuredly monstrous visage, I hurried past it and exited the cave. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] DO NOT DOWNLOAD THE MOD "MEMORIES". [RESPONSE] I've held this story to myself for weeks, Maybe even a few months....I don't know why I need to share this story. Possibly to feel less insane, possibly to have people lie to me and tell me that what occurred didn't occur. However, I know that this will not work...I know what I saw, I know what I've experienced....I'm going to be scarred for the rest of my life. All because I downloaded a mod.... It was march 18th 2022....I finally managed to purchase elden ring after saving up for some time. I mean after playing the other games developed by FromSoftware Inc. It was only mandatory that I get their latest creation. I spent so many hours beating the main game, even the side quests and optional bosses. I'll admit, it was a lot of fun to play, and I found myself just like any other gamer after getting a cool new game, checking out mods. I find myself enjoying the cursed mods people create for nothing more than fun. Elden ring was no different for me. I spend time searching google, discovering some cool new mods to play, even watching youtube videos on mods others would recommend. I scrolled for hours and played so many cool mods. It was fun, until one day....I found a video on my recommendation list and saw a video titled: "DO NOT PLAY THE MOD "MEMORIES ." This strange title piqued my curiosity...if only I could've stopped myself. I clicked on the video, thinking this was nothing more than a creepypasta or some ARG someone was making for fun. The video began with a man sitting in a chair....he looked stressed, weak, as if he hadn't slept in days. His voice sounded no better..he sounded as if he was paranoid. As if he was being watched. "Listen, whoever you are watching this, I found this mod for Elden ring...and i-it's not what I thought it was. Not in the slightest. This thing is a curse, and it's after me. THEY'RE AFTER ME. I need to get away from them. I have barely any time left....so I'll use my final moments to warn you all....Listen, whatever you do. DO NOT DOWNLOAD THE MOD TITLED "MEMORIES". The video ended, leaving an unsatisfied me questioning the logistics of his words. I immediately went searching for this so-called 'cursed' mod, Surprisingly it was rather simple to find. Being a total daredevil, I downloaded it to my Playstation 4, I then opened my game. I was met with a warning on the main menu: *"The Mod you downloaded is UNSTABLE. Are you sure you want to continue?"* I clicked yes. "*By clicking yes you acknowledge that the developer will hold no accountability any trauma sustained. That includes mental, emotional, and* ***physical trauma?"*** Once again, I clicked yes whilst admiring the detail the mod developer added just to creep me out. I know what you all are thinking: "Those warnings were a big enough red flag. You should've just quit whilst you were ahead." I know, but I was more curious than concerned, so I continued. I customized my character and spawned in the gatefront ruins to begin the run. I ran through the area with a weapon at the ready until I noticed something strange. I was running past enemies, like literally running PAST them. They didn't seem to care that I was intruding. They just stared at my avatar. Cold, blank, lifeless stares. That sent a shiver up my spine, but it wasn't enough to get me to stop. It was that moment when alarms should've gone off in my head, and if they did...I didn't hear them. I was too intrigued and curious to see more. Whereas the various blank stares were creepy, the voices that followed minutes after were much, much worse. As I walked through the cobblestone streets, I heard the enemies and the Npcs speaking, even though I didn't interact with them. Their voices sounded hushed and secretive, as if they all were hiding something. I could barely make out what was being said, but I made out a few words: "Do you remember 1999? The cable came around her neck. She's dead. She died alone...." I didn't understand what any of that meant. It was now that I started growing concerned, but I was too infatuated with what I was hearing and what I was seeing...I had to find out more. If the Npcs are this tweaked...what did this developer do to the bosses? I made my way to the first boss..Margit. I was excited to see how the cutscene was changed. As I made my way down the corridor leading to the boss fight, I noticed the feeling of dread looming over me. The entire area felt off...as if I was going to see something I wasn't supposed to. I couldn't ignore this feeling like the other times either. Regardless, I wanted to see more. I entered the boss arena at the entry of Stormveil castle, and the feeling of dread increased as the cutscene began. Margit's lines of dialogue were kept the same, until he jumped down in front of my avatar. As he lifted his cane to prepare for the battle, the line he said, made my blood freeze: "It was an accident." I wasn't what he said...rather how he said it. He sounded so, distraught. As if he lost the will to live. Then the boss fight started, Margit doesn't do his usual approach, walking slowly towards the player. In fact, he charged at me very quickly, I had no time to react. I managed to move out of his path, and he missed. What happened next, scarred me for life. Margit turns around, now bearing a large, sadistic grin on his face along with a crimson red eyeball, staring right into ME. He wasn't staring at my avatar....***he was looking at ME***. As if he was possessed. He started giggling. He started walking near me. His face told me enough about what he intended to do if he were to get his hands on me. So I refused to go near him, I was even too scared to hit him with the sword I had. The entire time, I was utterly terrified, albeit impressed as to how the developer of this mod added so much detail to this mod. Instead of attacking me, however. Margit stops and stares at me. Then he walks off of the edge of the cliff, even though that's against his programming. He falls down to the bottom, and I was left a little disappointed by this climax. I was thinking to myself "That's it? A little scare and then the boss kills himself? What a downer." I decided to just walk through the gate and enter Stormveil Castle, as I inch closer to the gate, the feeling of dread returns, even worse this time. I tried to continue to the gate but my avatar stopped and looked up to the sky above. Margit fell only being caught by a rope around his neck. He was screaming in terror, begging for help as he scratched as his neck, he was panicking, struggling to remove the rope from his neck. I heard him choking and even saw him coughing up blood. I couldn't just leave him there, something in my being told me to help. I attempted to but to no avail, I couldn't reach him. Margit's seemingly eternal suffering ended as I heard a sickening snapping sound as Margit fell limp, and then fell on the ground. He was dead. I was frozen stiff. I approached his body, his face was frozen in terror and his neck and mouth were covered in blood. I was terrified, but it was just a game. As I stared at Margit's corpse, His body glitched...and I saw the silhouette of a young girl. She looked up at me...and smiled whilst giggling in Margit's voice. She glitched back to a stiff and dead Margit. Seeing that girl's face, looking at me with those hungry eyes, as if she wanted to pull me through the screen... That caused something to snap in me...I realized enough was enough. I decided to turn the game off, only to realize...it wasn't allowing me to. Every time I tried to close the application the game would say "Too late..." I decided to try turning off the game system. No dice. I tried turning off the TV. Nope. I started to panic, not paying attention to the dead Margit getting up on his feet. He stared at me again, this time walking towards the screen completely ignoring my avatar standing there. He walked so close to the screen I could see his face in all of its morbid detail. The blood from his mouth is still sitting there. His eyes now rolled backwards. He started to speak, this time his voice sounding more distorted than before, as if someone else was talking through him: " It's good to see that fool's lies didn't work. He wanted to keep me from making my family larger...It's alright...You'll be a great addition, just walk up to the screen....don't be afraid." Before I could react, Margit started to come out of the TV...He pushed his face against the screen and tried to get into my home. That caused me to panic even more, fearing for my life I grabbed a bat I had in the corner of my room and smashed the TV to pieces. the face of Margit retreated into the black screen and I thought it was over..... I thought that whatever THAT was would leave me alone. I even wanted to deny that whatever I saw was real, but I couldn't. It's been three weeks since that even occurred, and I can't smother the feeling that I'm being watched. I had nightmares every time I went to sleep, causing me to sleep less.I continue to see the shadow of a noose looming in every dark area I go to. I'm exhausted. This would've never happened if I had just heeded the Youtuber's warning. The latest nightmare I had gave me a message: "stop resisting and join the rest of them." I think this is a sign, I can't run away forever...I'm going to be a part of this 'family' whether I want to or not....I don't have much time left. So I'm going to warn whoever reads this... If you see me on the papers and it says i'm missing...I'm dead. So don't even try searching for me... And whatever you do, Never download the mod titled "Memories" whilst playing Elden ring, or you'll end up dead like us...<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My roommate is weird. Really weird. I’m not sure how to kick him out. [RESPONSE] Okay, so I’m gonna try to make this quick. He’s coming back soon. I’m not really sure where we went wrong. Well, I should start at the beginning, I guess. So, a few months back I moved out of my parents place. I didn’t have a lot of money saved up, so I could really only get a place in the worst part of town. This building seemed like the safest place in the part of town I had to move to, and I refuse to go back to my parents. Everything was fine, except the rent was pretty high. I put out an ad for a roommate on all the places I could think of, and I finally got a hit on Craigslist. That really should’ve been red flag number one, now that I think of it. He seemed like an alright dude. His name was Jackson, and there was about two years of age difference between us. Him being 25 and me being 23. I know, I know, I should’ve moved out a long time ago. That’s another story. But, everything was okay for a few months like I mentioned before. He would come home late in the day, sometimes at night, and he’d leave early in the morning. I personally would not want that job. Anyways. He seemed to have the weekends off, so it was an okay situation, at least he never complained about it. So, on the weekends we would go and get something to eat, hang out at places, or just eat at home. This is where my problems started with him. For some unknown reason, he never picked up after himself. He’d leave his trash by the front door never taking it out, to the point that whatever in the bag would start to rot. I really don’t know why I never checked the bags. I should have checked the bags. He’d leave his dishes in the sink, and whenever I washed them, the water would turn a murky brown color. These were all only knives and sharp objects. Why didn’t I notice that before? Anyways, I refused to wash them because it was just disgusting, and he should be able to clean up after himself. Whenever I brought it up to him, he’d get angry, and storm into his room, muttering something about “getting caught”, and ”police”. I just brushed it off like he was crazy, which he probably is, in hindsight. This made me afraid to bring it up to him. I was still fine with him being in the apartment, after all, he was on the lease. I didn’t really have a choice BUT to be okay with it. Another weird thing. He never wanted to watch the news. If we were watching TV and the news came on, he would either turn the TV off or change the channel. When he isn’t around, I look up the stories for that day. Stuff about murder. Maybe he’s got PTSD and that stuff triggers him? I don’t know. It definitely doesn’t sit right with me though. Maybe I’m overreacting. I’m not really sure what to make of this situation. When we go out in public, he’s always wearing a mask and sunglasses, as if he’s afraid to be seen. He never wants to go places with a lot of people. He would rather stay at home. I’m a homebody to an extent, but even I like to go out sometimes. I really don’t get it, i just don’t. It’s like he’s a murderer or something, lol. I doubt that’s the case, I would’ve noticed. Or would I have? Thinking back on it, maybe he is. I mean, it all lines up. I’m probably just overreacting though. Right? Yeah. I’m overreacting. I just can’t get over the thought. I don’t know what to do. Another thing that’s weird- he spends hours in the basement of the apartment complex. I’ve asked the owner of the building if he’s okay with this, and he seems to have no problems. He seemed nervous when I asked though. He said that he heard some commotion in the alleyway by the apartment, and when he went to check it out, he saw my roommate hurting someone. He said he got away without my roommate seeing him, but he’s still scared that my roommate saw him. He then asked my landlord for the keys to the basement. Not wanting to get hurt, he gave them to my roommate. I wanted to investigate but I don’t want to risk it. What if I get caught? Or what if because of my paranoia, an innocent person dies in the basement? I would rather just not attempt it. I don’t know what to do. I’m scared that he’ll find this. I want to kick him out but the manager of the apartments seems scared of him, and by what he said, for good reason. I think I should be too. I just don’t know what to do. I’m scared that he’ll see this post. I’m afraid that he’s going to do something bad. Should I go to the police about this? What if they find something, or worse, they don’t, and I’m just crazy, and the one that falsely accused his roommate of murder. What happens then? I don’t know what to do. I’ve been watching the news closely for a story about a murderer, but nothing. I think I’m going to confront him. If I don’t update, I’m dead. I really hope I'm just paranoid. Oh god, he’s here. He’s unlocking the door to the apartment. I have to go. These may well be my last words. If they are, I love you mom. I’m sorry I was such a bad son. I love you. Goodbye, hopefully not forever.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm an actor. I recently had the strangest audition of my life [RESPONSE] I entered the apartment, doing my best to hide my shock. I had never been in an Upper East Side penthouse before, and this was most certainly not what I had expected. The floor was covered in piles of trash, everything from old takeout containers to tattered books to half-melted plastic dolls. Besides the trash, the room was nearly empty except for a glass coffee table, upon which sat what looked like an ostrich egg painted gold, and a purple loveseat, nearly all of which was taken up by the fattest man I had ever seen. I navigated slowly to him, stepping over dozens of dead and dying cockroaches, trying to ignore the overpowering stench of rot. ”It is an honor to meet you, Mr. Feurstein,” I said. “Please, call me Horace. Have a seat.” He brushed a bunch of playbills and newspapers off the cushion next to him. I squeezed in next to him, wondering what had happened to the once-renowned impresario, the producer who was behind some of the highest-grossing musicals in Broadway history. He had never been an attractive man, had always been overweight, with a face misshapen and deeply pitted from acne scars. But this was an entirely different beast next to me. Only about 5’8, he had ballooned to over 350 pounds. He appeared sickly, his face sallow, his stomach, which stuck out under his filthy shirt, was covered in a scabrous rash. “Some food's going to be delivered soon,” he said. “Ten orders of crab rangoon, 5 orders of fried dumplings, and three orders of boneless spareribs. Feel free to have some. You’re a top; you don’t have to watch what you eat. And don’t worry about me, I won’t eat until we are done. I’ve made sure I’m clean.” “Thanks,” I said. I doubted that Horace had showered within the last month. This was not going to be a fun evening. “Sorry for the mess,” he continued. He leaned in closer to me, his blubber rubbing up against my body, and put a sweaty arm over my shoulder. “I’m arthritic, and since my wife left me, there’s no one to help me out.” “It’s fine.” He laughed. “I saw that look you gave me when I mentioned my wife. I know what you’re thinking. She didn’t leave me because she found out what I did with guys like you. She knew. Sometimes she even joined in. She left because she didn’t want me to produce any more shows. Said it was a waste of money. That was all she cared about: my money. I truly thought she loved me. That was in early 2020. Right before everything shut down. Before, I could always go into a theater, and when the orchestra began the overture and the lights dimmed, be transported to a world far away, where my problems were non existent. But not anymore. I thought of throwing myself out of these windows hundreds of times.” “I’m sorry,” I said, not knowing what else to say. “It’s OK. It all led me here to this. This show, which could not happen without you, would not have happened without all that. This is going to be the biggest show of my career.” I had my doubts about that, but just nodded. Horace had not produced a hit in almost 20 years. His recent shows, experimental plays, each one more incomprehensible than the last, were not received well by either audiences or critics and never ran for more than a few months. But none of that mattered to me. I just wanted a Broadway credit to my name. “Let’s get down to business,” Horace said. “First, you know what I want from you in exchange for a role.” I nodded. Wasn’t looking forward to it, but it was what it was. “Great! Last week, I had another young guy who had no idea what I wanted. Conversation got super awkward. First thing’s first—payment. You are an Equity member, correct?” “Yeah, got my card last year.” “Then I’m required to pay you a minimum of $2,200/week. Unfortunately, I am not able to pay more than the union minimum, at least for now, but that is a pretty good rate for someone who only says one word in the entire show. Your contract is for 6 weeks, but if the show does well, and it will, that will be possibly extended. There’s no set closing date, and I expect it to go on for years. What do you say?” “That’s amazing,” I said. “Truly is. Can’t thank you enough, I’ve dreamed of being on Broadway since I was a kid.” “Easiest negotiation ever,” he said, laughing. “Now on to the play. I travelled to France in 2019. Brought back a lot of curious artifacts. Like that dragon egg on the coffee table.” I laughed and he glared at me sternly. “That was not a joke. It is a genuine dragon egg, brought to Europe by a German expedition to Antarctica in the 1920s. Only a few known in existence. Before the last ice age, before the continents drifted, dragons were the lords of the skies, the firmament was their fiefdom” “I see,” I said. Either this guy was playing a practical joke on me, or he was crazy. I suspected the latter. “Brought a few other trinkets back.” He reached to the coffee table and picked up a large white fang. “This is from the Beast of Gévaudan, a werewolf that slaughtered hundreds of peasants in Southern France in the 1760s. And this,” he said, digging under some rubbish to retrieve an old book with a tan cover devoid of any title or decoration, “you will learn the meaning of shortly. “However, the most valuable thing I brought back was a copy of the most extraordinary play. After reading the first scene I knew this was the work of a genius. I reached out and found that it had never been produced and the rights were available quite cheaply. I spent the last two years translating it, tweaking it, perfecting it. It is about an elderly charman, who is on trial, but no one—not the judge, not the jurors, not the attorneys, not the witnesses, not even the charman himself—knows what the crime is. Takes Kafka to a whole new level. A manciple will testify about the affairs of a monastery in the Carpathians, a donkey will testify to the price of wheat in the Ukraine, a—“ “Sorry to interrupt, but an actual donkey?” “A donkey like Balaam’s. Isn’t it genius?” “Most definitely!” I said, feigning excited. This play was going to be another of Horace’s flops. I would be surprised if it stayed open for a month. “And the most genius part of it is the ending,” continued Horace. “Do you know what your one line is?” “Nope,” I said, shaking my head. “So close. The ending is something of my own invention. Usually, the original is far superior to the translation. But not for this play. The playwright’s genius did not lay in his trochees and iambs. He was not a poet, but a philosopher. His genius laid in his ideas, and I truly believe it was my destiny to find the manuscript, for only I could improve it. This will represent not just the pinnacle of my career, but the apotheosis of theatre itself. No work that was ever produced, or ever will be produced, can hold a candle to it. Back to the ending. In the original French, the defendant is tried by a panel of three judges. But I changed that to a jury of 12 men. You are juror number 7. The poor charman is found guilty, and the judge is polling the jurors. Asking if the verdict they rendered is correct. The first 6 jurors say yes, but you, you my dear friend, say no. And then the lights go out. ” “Wow!” I said, trying to muster up enthusiasm. “Can’t wait to read it.” “I must warn you that there are verses of untranslated French. It used to be that a theatre-goer could understand them, but, alas, times have changed. Anyways, enough about the show for now. Let’s have some fun. Can you take off your shirt please.” I was not going to have fun, but I took off my shirt. He gasped. “May I touch?” I nodded, trying not to recoil as he ran his grimy hands over my chest, as he kneaded my shoulders with his filthy fingers, as he scratched my abs with his overgrown, yellow fingernails. “How rare. A 7-pack. Seven, the number of completion. Four segments on the right, three on the left.” “Yeah it’s just a quirk of genetics,” I said. “Nothing to do with my muscle composition. I’m like 7.5% body fat.” “Was that obtained naturally?” “Yeah, I’m natty. Don’t want to look like one of those overgrown, muscle-bound, roid-raging meat heads. That look’s disgusting.” My body was not natural. Natural attainable, yes, but not natural. Neither was anyone else’s in the industry. I did what I had to do to compete. “I do not think I have ever seen a 7-pack before, how rare.” “Well, you will soon see something that’s an 8,” I said, trying to do my best to flirt with this grotesque creature. “8.5 to be precise. And thick.” Horace laughed. “That’s what they all say. Then it turns out to be a 5 or a 6. They even got fake rulers they sell. Don’t know why anyone would fool a poor old man like that.” “Well, I guarantee you mine is legit.” “We will see about that. But first you’re going to be the one using your mouth.” “Wait…what? I thought—” “Not like that,” he said, smiling. “Why do you think I reached out to your agent?” “I have a pretty good idea.” Hate to burst your bubble, but you aren’t the only twink with a nice body and face in this city. There are hundreds who are carbon copies of you.” “A twink? I’m 6’3, 220. I think that falls into twunk territory.” “Twink, twunk, otter, I have trouble keeping all the labels straight. But what attracted me, in addition to your pictures, and believe me, I saw them all, even subscribed to your OF, is your birthdate. 9/9/1999. Do you know what that means?” “Uh…I’m a Virgo?” He glared at me again. “You don’t understand and I’m not going to try to explain it to you. It takes a very high degree of intelligence to understand all of it. I’ll just say only someone like you can do what I require.” He picked up the tan book from the coffee table. “The skin of the last witch executed in France, the Breton Marie Feval, was used to bind this tome. Her followers drained her blood for use as ink, gathered her bones to boil to glue. Her power is imbued in every page. Look closely at the front cover, and you can see an outline of her face.” I looked closely, thinking the old man was imagining things, but I could make out the faint outline of a scowling old crone. Doubted it was legitimate though, probably painted on there by a bookseller to fool a gullible old man. He opened the book about halfway and pointed to a block of text. “Can you read this for me, please.” I looked. Illustrated on the page was the elongated figure of a woman, wearing a long black robe and a black witch’s hat, her face pearl white, juggling seven ivory balls in front of a desolate desert landscape, empty except for a round tower far off in the distance. Above her, in dark red, was written five lines of text in a language I could not identify. It was definitely not French. “Uh, it’s not in English.” “I know it’s not English,” he snapped. “I’m not an idiot. It’s in Breton, a Celtic language. I’m just asking you to read it, not translate it.” “Oh, sorry,” I said. I did my best to read it. “That will do,” he said. “You just ensured the play’s success. Now let’s have some fun.” I hesitated. I did not think I could get with this repulsive man, no matter how much he was paying me. “Look,” he said. “Most actors would die for this chance to perform on the Great White Way. You don’t know how much a Broadway credit will help your future career. It will ensure you will have no problem getting an audition. It’s a springboard to bigger roles.” “I appreciate that. I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I can—” “I have something that will help you perform back in my bathroom. I know I disgust you. I don’t blame you. I disgust myself. Have since I was a child. I didn’t grow up in the city. Was born in Erie, Pennsylvania. Working class, blue collar town, very Catholic. Not a nice place for someone like me. Got beat up at school and beat up at home. Ran away at 16 and ended up here. It was a gritty back then, like cities should be, not sanitized like today. Times Square, you can’t even imagine what it was like. “I was 110 pounds back then, can you believe it? The scrawniest kid you’d ever seen. No matter how much I ate, I could never put on weight. Thought I’d make it big. But nope. I was short, had no muscle and an ugly face. Guys like you had modeling contracts, got roles even though they couldn’t act. When they were partying on Fire Island, I was begging on the streets. After a few months, I met an older gentleman, a historian of the theater at NYU, who recognized what I lacked in looks I made up for in intellect. He took me in, and I helped him with his research. Sadly, after a few years, he died.” He glowered at me. “Do you know how he died, young man?” I shook my head. “How do you think he died, you blooming idiot? Those were the days when a silent specter haunted the city, The Sword of Damocles dangled over your neck. No one knew where it came from, no one knew what caused it, and no one knew who would be next. Can you imagine?” “I can’t. I can’t begin to—” “Damn well you can’t. You’re just a moron, that’s what you are. You young men have no respect for your elders. You have things like ‘no fats, no one over 30’ in your profiles. We endured horror beyond your comprehension. We fought for your rights. Without us, you’d be nothing. The least you could give us is a little gratitude. The least…” I heard a cracking sound coming from somewhere. I hoped the floor wasn’t going to collapse from all the weight on it. “…just a little love!” continued Horace, who was yelling hysterically now. “Is that too much to ask? Just a little? My ex-wife. Her name was Juana, she was an actress. From Cuba. Best actress ever. She got me convinced that she loved me. Not for my body, no. I’m smart enough that no one will ever love that. She told me she didn’t care about that, she was in love with my mind. But no. She was in love with my money. But I got the last laugh. I had…” I heard another crack. Between that and the crazy old man, it was time to get out of here, Broadway contract be damned. “I’m sorry, I’m going to leave,” I said, as Horace continued to ramble. Before I could extricate myself, I heard another crack and saw the golden egg split in two. An amorphous red blob crawled out of it, about the size of a baseball. It rolled off the table and disappeared among the trash. “You fool,” Horace shrieked at me. “You pronounced the spell wrong. Look what you have brought into the world.” As I tried to get up, Horace grabbed my waist and attempted to hold me. Despite his immense size, he wasn’t strong. After a few seconds I managed to free myself. I scanned the room. The red blob was gone. I made my way to the door, moving slowly so not to trip. Every few seconds I looked over my shoulder, making sure that neither Horace nor the red blob were after me. They weren’t. When I was about halfway to the door, something sprung from the trash, landing a few feet in front of me. It was no longer the amorphous blob, but human-like in form. But it was no human. About three-feet tall, his skin was scarlet red. Eyes of pure yellow blazed, horns the color of ebony sprouted from his head. Instead of feet, he walked on hooves. It was no dragon’s egg that Horace bought, this was the devil himself or one of his spawn. I threw a right hook to his head. My hand recoiled in pain, most likely broken. It was like I punched a wall. The monster did not seem to notice. I began backing up, the devil following me slowly. He was growing, and by the time our slow dance had reached the couch, he was towering over me. I looked over to Horace. He had either passed out from shock or was playing dead. As I continued backing up towards the large windows, I searched the trash-strewn floor for a weapon. I picked up an old brass lamp. Hefty, probably weighed a good 15 pounds. Ignoring the pain in my right hand, I held it up like a baseball bat, as the demon, the devil, whatever it was, continued its slow approach. When it was a two feet away, I swung at its head. The blow would have felled, if not killed, any man, but the monster stopped only for perhaps half a second before reaching for the lamp, yanking it from my hands and snapping it in two. I continued backing up. No escape, just the windows. A fall from the 70th floor would surely kill me, but that death would be less painful than what the devil had planned for me. But I wasn’t ready to give up. With my back against the window, I stood still as the devil approached me. He was now over ten feet tall, having to stoop to make his way through the room. When he was nearly upon me, I sprang forward, attempting to dive under the reach of his arms. He nimbly bent down and lifted me up with one hand, slamming me up against the windows. His hands shifted to my neck. I attempted to pry them away. I punched, I kicked, I kneed, all to no effect. I felt myself start to feel faint. I was going to die soon. I heard a knock at the door. “Delivery,” a voice cried. I felt the devil’s hands loosen as it turned its neck to glance at the door. Just slightly, but enough for me to scream. The door flew upon. “Help!” I cried, but the deliveryman just turned around and fled. The devil turned his attention back to me, his eyes, his yellow eyes, just inches from mine as he throttled me once more. An idea came to me. If it didn’t work, I was dead. I reached up and jabbed at his bright eyes. Unlike the rest of his body, they were soft. My fingernails weren’t long like Horace’s, but I jabbed with enough force that he squealed out and released his grip. I made a dash for the door, and soon after began hearing footsteps behind me. I didn’t look back, but kept sprinting to the door. I made it as far as the couch. He picked me up, lifted me to the ceiling, and threw me down on the coffee table. The glass shattered. I felt thousands of tiny pricks of pain as the shards embedded themselves in my back. The devil got down on his knees next to me and started to laugh, a demonic, otherworldly laugh. I saw row after row of razor sharp teeth. His mouth opened wider and wider, wide enough to devour me in a single gulp. I tried to roll towards the door, a last-ditch attempt to escape the fate that awaited me, when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. A curved fang, Horace’s werewolf fang which I had completely forgotten about. I reached towards it and grasped it with my left hand. As the devil bent down, his monstrous maw fully open, I jabbed with it towards his neck. It pierced his hide like a knife through butter. He stumbled backwards, gallons and gallons of black blood spurting from his thick neck. I got up, and slashed his stomach. He doubled over, grasping it, before collapsing on the floor. I walked over to him. He was not dead; I could hear his heart beating rapidly. I raised the fang and brought it down like a sacrificial knife. As the fang pierced his heart, he began to shrink. After a few minutes, he was the size of the red blob that had emerged from the golden egg. He kept getting smaller, the size of a pea, then the size of a grain of sand, until he finally vanished. I looked at Horace, who had revived and was staring at me wide eyed. “After that performance, I think I deserve a few more lines in your masterpiece, don’t you?”<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I work for a county Sheriff’s office in Maine - I had to call in the Specialist. [RESPONSE] I don’t remember it. I don’t remember getting up, or navigating to the kitchen, and I most definitely do not recall taking a knife from the knife block. What I can recollect however, is my pinky toe bending at a right angle as I slammed it into the edge of the couch hard enough to wake myself up. Pain radiated up my body and the blade I had been holding clattered to the floor narrowly missing my other foot. To say I was confused is an understatement, it took me a few moments to understand where I was and what had happened. You see, I used to sleep walk as a child, but I hadn’t in years. So while I was surprised it wasn’t exactly something that had never happened to me, though, I’ll concede I hadn’t sleep carried around knives before. After picking up the knife I hobbled back to the kitchen, I intended to get a glass of water, put the knife back, and go back to bed. However, as soon as I entered the room I realised that wasn’t going to happen. The area was a disaster zone. Half emptied food containers were strewn across the bench, left overs I had stored carefully were now sitting half eaten out in the air. A carton of milk lay on it’s side, the milk flooded over the countertop and had puddled on the floor, splattering the entirety of the cupboards below as it did. Sleepy and annoyed I was in no way prepared to deal with this mess, but it wasn’t something I could just leave until morning. I set about cleaning up as I cursed myself. Of course I couldn’t remember making the calamity that was before me, but I supposed I was hungry and the sleep walking was a result of that. I was probably lucky I didn’t chop my fingers off while trying to make a snack. By the time I got things back in order I decided there was no point in trying to go back to sleep. Since I had the day off I planned to make the most of it, get some chores out the way, go shopping, maybe get a meal at the diner. The pin prick on my hand from the charm was bothering me slightly. Overnight it had become swollen and itchy. I thought it must have become infected or that the poison in the thorns was lingering, so I agreed with myself that the infirmary would be my first stop. I sat in the waiting room at the doctors surgery for what felt like an eternity. I found myself falling into a kind of trance as I listened to the hum of the office fish tank, the gentle bubbling of the air stone was strangely irritating. The overhead lights seemed too bright and the sound of other people in the waiting room merely breathing was too loud. An uncomfortable anger was starting to burn in my veins then a strange idea came to me. It manifested as a suggestion that passed through my mind as if someone had whispered it in my ear.. *Shoot everyone*. The words were crystal clear. It felt like someone poured a bucket of ice water over me and I heard myself take a sharp breath in. The notion horrified me, I had no idea where that kind of violent thought came from. Of course I carry a weapon for work, but I had never found it necessary to fire it at another ***human*** person before, let alone ever thought about shooting up a room full of innocent people. I cannot express the relief I felt knowing I wasn’t carrying on my day off. When my name was called it was as if a bubble burst and I realised I had been staring at the floor for some time. “Sorry, that’s me.” I apologised, they must’ve called me more than once, I just hadn’t heard. “It’s quite alright, what can I do for you today?” The doctor asked as we sat in his office. He was a well built man, taller than I with ginger hair and light eyes. I read on his name tag that his name was Dr. Sean Dempsey. “Well.. I think this might be infected.” I answered, offering him my hand so that he could see the puffy reddened mark. “Alright, let’s have a look.” He mused, taking my hand and examining it, “Does it hurt or itch? Can you close your hand?” In response to his question I opened and closed my hand, “I can, but it does hurt a little bit, and it is itchy.” I agreed. “It’s quite strange, it almost looks like you’ve been stamped or something. How did it happen?” “Stamped?” I asked dumbly, looking at it more closely. I hadn’t really looked at it that much, but I realised he was correct, it looked like I had hit something hard enough that it left the imprint of an object on my skin. Though what kind of object makes a seven pointed star shape on skin I’m not sure, “I picked up a thing wrapped in thorns.” I went on to explain. “What kind of thorns?” He asked raising an eye brow. “I don’t know.. Pointy ones?” I struggled. “Right. And how do you feel? Any fatigue, nausea, muscle weakness?” Dr. Dempsey quizzed me further though I could tell he was less than satisfied with my answer. “I’m a bit tired, but that’s just because I didn’t sleep well last night. But otherwise I’m fine. Some joint soreness, though that’s just from work.” I said tranquilly. “What do you do for work?” he inquired. “I work at the Sheriff’s Station, sometimes out at the ranger station too.” I answered honestly, I couldn’t see why that mattered but I noticed the Doctor hesitate slightly. “And you say it was an object wrapped in thorns that started this?” He asked to clarify. “Yeah, I was taking down some halloween decorations in the woods, just stuff kids put up.” I explained vaguely. “I see. There are a lot of unsavoury plants out there. I’m going to write you a prescription for some light antibiotics. Take them once a day with food. You’ll be fine.” He assured, turning in his chair to start scribbling on the paper. I couldn’t help but feel unnerved that he felt the need to tell me that I would ‘be fine’. I wasn’t previously worried that I wouldn’t be. Leaving the doctors office I picked up my new drugs and made my way to the local diner. Millie’s Diner was situated on the corner between the road and the park at the end of the Main Street. It has a window that opens to the street for passers by, booth style seating inside and extra tables on the sidewalk for outdoor seating. It’s usually busy and you can always smell the baked goods even before you cross the street. I chose to sit inside in one of the booths and looked over the menu. Truth be told I was a regular and almost always ordered the same thing: a coffee with one sugar, a juicy steak with eggs, mash and a side of toast, which I was rather looking forward to. “Charles, are you pretending to read the menu again?” I was called out almost immediately as the waitress came over to me. She was carrying with her the days paper and a mug of coffee. Her name was Jessica, she had been the year above me in high school and when she smiled her cheeks held small dimples. Her hair was a wavy dark brown, long, and tied into a high pony tail as it always was when she worked. Her eyes were a deep brown and she was wearing a white apron with a strawberry patten on it. That wasn’t part of the cafe uniform, but I suppose when your father is the owner, you can wear what you like. “That obvious?” I asked embarrassed with a sheepish smile. “The usual then?” Jess asked returning the smile warmly as she set down the coffee and paper for me. I realised then that she must’ve anticipated and made it the minute I walked in. She also didn’t have to bring the paper, but she knew I liked to read it so she often brought it over for me. “That would be great, thanks.” I agreed, I could feel my ears turning flush, I had no way to thank her enough for the kindness. “Coming right up!” She assured turning on her heels to leave. I watched her go and lamented on the fact that I hadn’t been brave enough to speak to her in high school before turning my attention to the newspaper. I was about a quarter of the way through the first article and deep in thought when someone silently slid into the seat opposite me. I can’t say that I really noticed them at all until they spoke, it was as if they simply appeared in the space before me. “Do you always turn so red when pretty girls speak with you?” I recognised the voice instantly. Eric Linnaeus. I put down the paper to look at him and was surprised to see him in casual dress. He wore a white top under an open wool jacket with a high collar. As always the right hand sleeve was empty with his arm wrapped and slung across his body. Instead of being combed back, his dark hair hung forward covering his right eye. It’s strange to say, but he looked almost angelic without his darkened eye immediately visible and I had never before noticed just how ocean blue his left eye was. He set his cane down beside him and let it rest leaning against the table. “Have you ever considered wearing a cat bell? You know, so you don’t give people heart attacks.” I muttered in return ignoring his question entirely. “If you were paying more attention to your surroundings I wouldn’t have startled you.” He responded smoothly. “I was reading! That’s perfectly reasonable.” I insisted. “If you say so.” He shrugged but I got the feeling he was somehow amused. “What are you doing here?” I grumbled dejected, I noticed then that since he had sat down the mark on my hand begun to ache. Looking him up and down Eric seemed well. Despite his right arm being bandaged, as it always was, it looked okay. The damage from Oklahoma appeared to be healed and he looked healthy. However I couldn’t help but feel somewhat anxious seeing him. I hadn’t gotten around to calling him and I was beginning to realise that part of me was worried. Though about what exactly I couldn’t precisely say. “Your Sheriff called me, and given how much the man hates me, I supposed it was important. He’s worried about you.” Eric said calmly, though I could feel his gaze on me, as if he was analysing my every movement. I shifted uncomfortable in my seat, “I’m fine. Some kids put up Halloween decorations in the woods, Sheriff had me take them down. It’s not a big issue. He gave me the day off today but I’m fine.” I assured. “May I see your hand?” He requested, holding out his left hand for mine. I hesitated a moment, I hadn’t told him that my hand was injured. Subconsciously I had even been directing it away from him, so how did he know? Did the Sheriff tell him? I’m not sure why it bothered me, I didn’t want him to look at it or touch it. A tense moment of silence passed between us before Eric spoke once more. “I’m not going to ask you again.” His voice held no agitation though he articulated the words firmly and I understood that he wasn’t making a request. I swallowed, “Sorry. It’s really fine. I have meds for it.” I tried as I reluctantly offered my limb. Eric didn’t say anything further as he looked over my hand. I’m a little ashamed to say that I thought his hand would be, *inhuman*, in some way or another. Cold or something. But it wasn’t. It was as normal as anyone else’s. He examined the mark for a long moment, it had darkened over the course of the day with the lines of the star-like shape becoming more pronounced. He ran his thumb over it lightly and I winced. A hot pain radiated through my fingertips and up the length of my arm. It hadn’t hurt like that when the Doctor had looked it over and I realised that it was reacting specifically to Eric, as if his touch somehow made the mark angry. “You can breathe Charles.” He reminded me without emotion as he took his hand back from mine. I felt shame in the pit of my stomach. I’m sure he felt my hesitation to touch his hand, “Tell me, what did the cursed object look like?” He asked now. “Cursed object?” I echoed confused. “The ‘Halloween decorations’.” He clarified. “Oh… They were circular, just made of plastic and thread.” I elaborated vaguely. “Charles.” He sighed with a hint of annoyance, he knew I was being deliberately vague. I don’t know why I felt so nervous, this man had risked his life for mine twice and I trusted him. Or at least, I thought I did. “Someone must’ve went the extra mile for their make believe seance, one of the decorations was.. A bit more.. Realistic. Than the rest.” I admitted unwillingly. “I’m going to assume it was this ‘realistic’ one that cut your hand? Did you *see* anything after it tasted your blood? Has anything *unusual* happened since?” I swallowed anxiously. My lips felt dry, the way he said it had ’tasted my blood’ was disturbing. I was about to answer him honestly when the word came to me.. *Lie*. It was clear and compelling, I thought about it a moment longer before I answered, “No..” I murmured weakly, “No I didn’t see anything. Nothing strange has happened, it’s all very normal.” I lied more confidently. Whatever his thoughts Eric’s expression betrayed nothing and I couldn’t tell if he believed me or not. I thought he would answer me when Jess returned to the table. I realised then that he must have seen her coming and decided to wait before saying anything more. She set down my plate and cutlery then turned to Eric with a sorry expression. She was apologising to him, saying how she thought I was dining alone and asking if she could get him something. He declined politely but in truth I couldn’t hear the words properly for another thought entered my mind.. ***Kill Him. Do it now!*** The words were icy, I don’t know where they came from but I felt myself break into a cold sweat. Somewhere in my mind I was aware that I had taken a hold of the steak knife that came with my meal. I was gripping it so tightly that my knuckles had turned white, ***Kill Him***. The suggestion came again more firmly this time and I struggled to ignore it, the compulsion was so strong that I could see how to do it. Stab him with the knife, catch him by surprise… “Charles.” Eric’s voice was low and calm, it broke through whatever spell was over me. Jess had walked away at some point while I was consumed with my thoughts and all of Eric’s attention was now focused on me. I let go of the knife, it clanked loudly off the table to the floor but I made no move to retrieve it. I was trembling with adrenaline and when I looked back up at Eric I could see that he was tense. His hair was now pushed aside slightly and his right eye was locked on me. I felt a chill of fear run down my spine. It was the eye of a predator and he was ready to attack, I was sure this was the way he looked at the things he killed. I thought for one delirious moment that he was somehow able to see my thoughts, that he knew what I was thinking and was ready to end me. He watched me for a long moment before he seemed to relax, “I wasn’t going to hurt you. I’m *Not* going to hurt you. I was only going to stop you if necessary..”. I must have looked afraid because he spoke more softly to me then and smoothed his hair back over his right eye, “However,” he continued, “I do want to know what happened just then. What did you hear?” “I…” I struggled to begin, maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the violence of the thought or the shame I felt, “N-Nothing, I.. I was just.. Day dreaming is all..” I decided not to tell him that I thought to murder him, just in case he changed his mind. “Look at me.” Eric ordered and I reluctantly met his gaze, “I can’t help you if you keep lying to me.” In response to his words I heard the voice clearly in my mind again.. ***He’s going to kill you.*** I felt sick. Panic was bubbling up in my chest, it was hard to breathe, I felt like everyone was staring at me, “I have to go.” I told him quickly and got up to leave. I fled Millie’s without eating and I don’t know if Eric followed or not as I walked hastily to my car. Outside the cool air helped calm my nerves. I hadn’t fully realised until then how warm I felt in the diner, it was like I was burning up from the inside out, they must have had the heaters up too high I rationalised. I drove with no destination in mind and without any specific direction, I just wanted to get away. I rolled the windows down and turned the radio up to drown out my thoughts. It didn’t help much. The mark on my palm burned and the same notion played in my mind repeatedly, ***Kill him kill him KILL HIM!***. It was hysterical, not like it was before. Previously it had been a whisper, a suggestion. Now it was like a toddler throwing a tantrum after their parent had denied them candy. Some part of me knew that it wanted Eric dead because he threatened it. But I also understood that if this voice was now a part of me, and it compelled me to try to kill him.. That he would kill me. I didn’t know what to do, I felt pure dread thinking about it. I had to get rid of the mark and it’s curse on my own. Only I had no idea how to do that. I couldn’t even bring myself to accept what it was or that it was happening to me. After some time the voice began to subside. Honestly I think it just ran out of the energy to keep screaming at me, and I found myself travelling along a seldom used service road in silence. I recognised it because it was the one that travelled along side the park. I’d used it last year to evacuate some hikers when a small brush fire came through. I continued along it until I heard my car make the sad sounds of a vehicle running out of gas, filling it should have been on my list for the day, but I hadn’t expected to drive for so long. I pulled to a stop in the middle of the trail and just sat in my car for a long time. Deciding what to do next was the hardest part. The car wasn’t going to make it back and my cell phone, for the brick that it was at the time, had no reception. The idea that I might be spending the night in the woods didn’t bother me especially. What more was in those woods that could scare me now? Still, I decided that I would go for a walk to try and find some signal. I picked the direction that lead to the nearest hill and set off into the forest making my own path. As it would turn out I was wrong about the forest. It did bother me for it was entirely silent. The foliage varied in density so that sometimes I could walk between the trees freely while other times I had to push my way clumsily through the undergrowth. Before long the daylight began to fade and the woods seemed to come alive. I became certain that there were things following after me. Creatures hidden among the elongated shadows of the trees watching me as I made the decision to return to the car and abandon my mission for signal. However, it was when I turned back that I saw her.. The burned woman, crawling out of the trees toward me on bent limbs and slowly beginning to stand upright. This time I had the good sense to run. She shrieked after me but I didn’t look back. I ran like a track star through those woods, vaulting over logs and ducking under branches. Part of me knew of course that it was pointless. I had no where to go, I was marked and I regretted leaving my gun at home. Not that I truely believed it would have been of any help in this situation. ***Stop***. The command came and I felt my body seize up. A fresh wave of panic consumed me, I understood that now that she was close she could control me more easily and I fought for my autonomy back. I could feel my limbs twisting unnaturally against my will, they bent in ways that my joints weren’t made to bend. It was like someone was reaching inside me and before long I was writhing on the ground in agony. I heard my shoulder dislocate as the entity willed it to happen and I shouted in pain. She was punishing me for running. From my vantage point in the mud I saw her walking over, she was moving slowly and that was somehow worse. Every step she took was disjointed. When she reached me she crouched down and stroked the side of my face with her hand, she opened her mouth as if she was talking and the words came to me, ***Young. Handsome***. Somehow the compliments didn’t hit the mark. The her skin was made of shrivelled back peels, the same as when a heat source is held close to plastic and each layer melts back individually. She smelled of charred flesh. I tried to will my body to move but I had no control left. She then took my marked hand in her hands and pressed it to her face, she seemed pleased in a repulsive way. ***Mine.*** I shuddered involuntarily. Then the worst thing I have ever experienced happened. The burned woman began to pick at the flesh of my hand, she was pulling back strips of the star that had formed and was dribbling black fluid from her mouth into the wound. I could feel her flowing? Into my body through the mark. That’s not accurate.. But I have no better way to describe it. She was infesting my body with her very being. It felt like boiled water was being injected through my veins, the pain was excruciating, it was worse than what I had experienced in Oklahoma. Though, the entire process didn’t take long. As her physical manifestation disappeared I could feel her will being imposed on my body and my own conscious thoughts being suppressed. It was unnatural, unholy, violating in every sense of the word as my limbs moved under her direction. I..? She..? We. Stood, and she forced me to walk forward. I could feel her emotions, she was pleased, ecstatic. I supposed she wanted a whole body again and now she had mine. Our focus landed on a circular arrangement of twigs not to far from us and I heard the sounds of young birds moving nervously in the nest. ***Food.*** We thought and I understood that she wanted to eat. She was going to make us eat those birds alive and I knew it. My unfiltered terror pleased her and I felt my lips pulling themselves into a smile. Thankfully, we didn’t take more than a single step towards those baby birds before I suddenly felt a jolt of malice mixed with nervousness? For a moment I couldn’t think what would make this thing anxious. Then I saw it. Nearing us from the left was a dark shape. Through the witches eyes over my own I could see the form of a human wrapped in a writhing mass of dusky energy. It approached through the darkness and as the figure stepped out of the trees into the clearing with us the moonlight hit him. I realised then that it was Eric. The energy flickered around him like a flame casting off sparks into the night air. It covered him entirely though it was primarily focused around the upper right hand side of his body. I noticed that it was a translucent grey, or maybe a blue turned grey in the darkness, I couldn’t really tell. When he stepped out of the shadow the energy almost seemed to shimmer. It was… Oddly beautiful, and I’m sure my human eyes would never have been able to see it on their own. In addition to the peculiar energy surrounding him Eric’s right eye was also strangely bright. It reflected back at us like a mountain cat’s eye in the shine of a flashlight. He stretched out his inhuman arm and the claws extended. I felt a doubled wave of fear flood through me, it was both mine and the burned woman’s, we knew he was there to kill us. “I’m sorry.” Eric spoke, his gaze rested on us and I felt that he was looking through the witch to speak to me directly. I wanted to answer him, to tell him it was okay. But she disallowed me to speak. I felt the witches energy start to swell, it was like nausea and I could tell we were about to attack him. Before I knew it was happening the witch launched us at him. The magic that leaked out of me from her burned the ground where Eric once stood but he had already moved. He was too fast I thought, remembering his speed every other time I had seen him fight and I experienced the witch’s resentment at that information. That was almost pleasing to me. I knew he would win, I would die and so would this entity inside me. The fight didn’t last long, we were in fact severely out powered. The one time Eric didn’t move aside he caught my arm by the wrist in his right hand and I felt his magic smother the witch’s. His claws cut into my skin without any pressure at all and I felt blood running down my arm. In moments he had us pinned to the ground. I should probably, at this point mention that I’m just over 6ft tall and while Eric is slightly shorter than I am, his weight on my chest was crushing me. I’m sure that he was unnaturally heavy, he’s probably made of stone or something. I closed my eyes and the witch allowed me to do so, I guess, she didn’t want to see us die either. As I waited, I felt his claws at my throat and knew that soon I would be dead.. But that was alright.. I would die without having hurt anyone or eaten any birds because he stopped us from doing so. Then to my shock, Eric spoke, “Leave him.” He commanded, the anger in his voice was vicious. I opened my eyes and was surprised to see his face scrunched into an expression of pure fury. I don’t think I have ever seen anyone look so mad, let alone Eric, who’s emotional range had previously been limited to the slightest hints of amusement. There was a moment of pause from the witch, I felt her confusion, then her understanding as she took the opportunity. Immediately I felt her presence receding from my body, she left the same way she entered through the curse on my palm. I can’t say it was any less painful leaving as she was entering but it was, at least, a relief. I didn’t see where she went after she left my body. However after I felt the last of her existence leave, I expected that Eric would allow me up. But he didn’t. Instead, he stabbed a knife into the sleeve of my shirt, skewering my left arm to the ground and readjusted to hold my right arm down with his left hand on my wrist. “What are you..-” The words died on my lips as I realised. He was restraining me now because he was going to cut off my hand, “No! Eric!” I protested urgently, “Please!”, I know it’s stupid, but I would rather be fully dead than an amputee. I couldn’t imagine living without right hand. “Shut up.” He snapped. I couldn’t really see what he was doing, but I could feel him weaving threads over my hand. Then there was a burning sensation in my palm, not dissimilar to that of when the witch possessed me. Only this time the spread was localised and it felt like he was pulling the nerves out of it. I screamed in agony. When it was done I saw him throw something away. I heard it land with a wet slop on the leaves somewhere in the near distance and I realised tentatively that my hand was in fact still intact, “You’re a f\* cking idiot Charles.” He scolded me. I didn’t know what to say. Without the witches eyes Eric looked quite normal in the moonlight and I saw his expression change from anger to relief. We stared at each other for an awkward moment before we both seemed to realise that he was *still* sitting on top of me, holding me down with his one hand on my chest and the other on my wrist. He looked almost as surprised at this revelation as I did and he let me up. Though I didn’t try to get up immediately, my shoulder wasn’t in any good way and blood poured freely from the injuries to my hand. “I can bandage you, but we need to get you back.” He told me now, he was eyeing off my injuries as well. “Okay.. Just.. Give me a minute..” I agreed. Eric didn’t look pleased, but he seemed to accept my answer as he set about bandaging my wrist and hand. I noticed that the way he held the fingers on his right hand was almost uncomfortable looking. He was making an effort not to touch anything with the claws, I supposed they were sharp enough to cut through fabric and flesh without much pressure. “Not a word, I don’t want to hear a single word.” He said firmly, catching me watching him. I hesitated, “Two words then.. Thank you..” I murmured, I wasn’t going to miss the opportunity again. At this he seemed genuinely embarrassed, “Never say that again.” He warned. “You just saved my life for a third time. I owe you two other thanks as well.” I reminded him. “Maybe next time, just don’t touch cursed objects.” He reprimanded me. “I didn’t know it was cursed. The rest weren’t..” I muttered, I knew I had messed up. I could have hurt someone, I nearly crushed and ate raw baby birds. Eric watched me a moment then he seemed to take pity for he chastised me kind of playfully, “You touched *more* than one? Didn’t you learn your lesson about touching things in Oklahoma?” “You’re kind of a bastard you know that?” I grumbled. “So I’ve been told.” He mused with a slight smile. I hate to admit it, but that actually made me feel better. His teasing was reassuring, it made me feel like he knew what he was doing and that I was going to be alright after this. There was another deliberate moment of silence before I gathered the courage to speak again, “..Can I ask you something?” “Perhaps..” He agreed after a moment “When she, it.. was inside of me, I could see what she saw… “ I began. Eric tensed, “And?” He stated dryly, his emotions returning the carefully maintained facade. I could tell he didn’t want to talk about it. “..There’s an energy around you..” I didn’t quite know how to word what I wanted to ask. “There’s an energy around everything.” He said flatly. “..But yours is.. Well I mean it’s not..” I fumbled, “It’s not really human is it? You’re not really…” I trailed off and Eric turned away from me. He didn’t show any emotion but I got the distinct feeling that I had hurt him in some way. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly before turning back to me, “You need to get up now. It’s time to go.” He spoke calmly ignoring my question entirely as he offered me his human arm to help me up. “Eric, I don’t mean… What I’m trying to say is.. I know, and it’s okay.” I felt awkward trying to articulate myself as I accepted his help. “Stop talking.” He told me firmly making it clear that he wouldn’t elaborate, “I have more work to do here. The only way to kill a thing like that is if it’s in the body of someone, or to find whoever cast the original curse. The witch is still out there and you need medical attention. We’ve done enough for tonight.” Understanding dawned on me. He had allowed the burned woman to get away in order to spare my life. That meant it was still out there, and it was still dangerous. The Sheriff would *probably* kill me if he knew I was the reason there was still a witch in our woods. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I found a pirate ship buried in a forest in Ireland [RESPONSE] There is a forest near my home that I love to go walking in. I live in a quite remote area so luckily I never bump into other people because I love my solitude. There aren't any set trails to follow so I just decide randomly on which direction to follow. I was out on one of my daily excursions when my foot caught on something jutting out of the ground and I fell face first into a wet pile of leaves. I lay there cursing my own bad luck as it would take me an hour to get home and my clothes were now drenched. I pushed myself to my feet while cursing my own bad luck. It was then that I noticed the unusual piece of wood that was stuck in the ground. I moved closer for a better look and stood there dumbfounded as it looked like a woman's face had been carved into the wood. I knelt down on the ground beside it while ignoring the mud that sunk beneath my weight. I grabbed onto the end wood and attempted to pull it out but it refused to budge. I marked the location on my phone and resolved to dig it out. Over the next few days I returned with shovels and other pieces of equipment as my obsession intensified. It took me until the second week to realise that what I had found was the prow of a ship. The woman's face was part of the prow that someone had spent a long time intricately carving into the wood. I started spending nearly all of my free time digging, and only leaving to either sleep or get some food. It took me two months to realise there was an entire ship buried in the woods. I sat there in wonder after reaching the hull of the ship, as I couldn't understand how it ended up here. We were miles away from the nearest river and the ocean was an hours drive away. I returned the next morning and was about to start digging when I noticed that hatch that I was convinced hadn't been there yesterday. I cautiously approached it and used my torch to shine inside. The torch barely made a dent as it was sheer darkness inside. My brain screamed at me to stop but I ignored it and climbed inside. I instantly became light headed and I had to grab onto something before I fell over. I waited a minute or two for my body to return to normal, but for some reason I was still unsteady on my feet. I sat down the floor and was confused as the floor seemed to be moving beneath me. It was as if the ship was moving in water which wasn't possible. My eyes slowly adjusted to the light and I looked around at a small cabin with very little furnishings. I jumped up and began pacing the room as I couldn't find the hatch that I had entered only minutes before. The walls were now solid with only one door leading in. I checked my phone only to learn that I had no reception. I resolved to search the rest of the ship and find a way out. I made my way towards the door and took a couple of deep breaths before pulling it open. I recoiled in shock as an ocean breeze whipped across my face. I could hear seagulls in the distance and looked out at a clear blue sky. I inched forward onto the deck of the ship before making my way to the bow of the ship. I held onto the sides for dear life as I looked down at the water that surrounded us on all sides. I heard footsteps behind me and I spun around to see almost a dozen rotting corpses advancing towards me. My legs refused to budge as I tried to force them to run as far away as possible. One of the corpses pulled out a sword and time seemed to slow down as he swung it towards me. I felt an agonising pain in my left hand as the blade sliced through it. A look of confusion crossed his face as my hand was still somehow attached to my arm. He swung his sword a couple more times but my arm was still unscathed. I was trying to hold back tears as my arm felt like someone had run over it with a lawnmower. I tried to flex my fingers but they were completely numb. My gaze shifted upwards and I did a double take when I saw the skull and crossbones flag hanging above me. The pirates had retreated a short distance away and seemed to be discussing what to do while shooting me occasional glances. I was about to jump overboard when I felt something launch itself at my face. I barely had time to react before it tore into my left eye. I desperately tried to fight whatever it was off, as it was tearing strips off my eye. The attack lasted mere moments as the creature suddenly disengaged, leaving me weeping and curled up on the deck. I raised my head and with my one remaining good eye watched the corpse of a parrot land a small distance away. It gave me a spiteful look before starting to groom what few feathers it had remaining. It randomly called out "pieces of eight" before launching itself into the air. I moved my fingers to my eyeball and was relieved when I found it was still intact. My left arm was starting to regain feeling and I prayed that my eyesight would fully return as well. The pirates had obviously decided to ignore me as they moved around the ship, and paid me no attention. The one who had initially attacked me now stood at the helm with the parrot sitting happily on his shoulder. I can only assume by the way that people were looking at him, that he was probably the captain. There was a cry from someone up in the rigging and they all started rushing around preparing for battle. I raised myself from the deck and vomited due to how wretched I felt. I ignored the nearby snorts of laughter and made my way back towards the side of the ship. I almost fainted when I saw the giant wave fast approaching the ship. My initial thought was that it was a tsunami but then I noticed the movement beneath the wave. There was something coming towards us and it dwarfed anything I had ever seen before. The wave suddenly subsided and the ocean went deathly calm. My heart was thumping in my chest as I tried to figure out where it had gone. The crew rushed about looking in all directions trying to find it. The water below the ship gradually grew darker and darker and I came to the sickening realisation that it was below us. I turned towards the captain and he seemed to understand what I meant when I pointed downwards. He began bellowing orders but his shouts were brutally silenced, as a tentacle the size of a giraffe smashed into the deck where he had been standing. The tentacle quickly withdrew back into the waves as his crushed body now littered the deck. The parrot had miraculously escaped the carnage and now flew around the ship, screeching at the top of its lungs. The crew stood there in shock for a few seconds while coming to terms with the fact their captain was dead. They were shaken out of their shock when hundreds of small crabs began clamouring over the deck and began attacking anything that got close to them. I let out a yelp as one of them began nipping me on the back of my leg. I tried to crush it beneath my feet but my foot passed harmlessly through it. Soon I was under attack by almost a dozen of these crabs and my lower legs were in agony. The rest of the crew were having better luck than me as they had wiped out the rest. I jumped over the ones attacking me and watched in appreciation as one of the crew killed the ones that had been harassing me. His empty eye sockets locked on mine for a few moments before he turned and moved away. I lifted my trouser legs and saw hundreds of small scars that hadn't previously been there. We barely had time to catch our breaths when tentacles began smashing down on all sides of us. The crew member who had helped me out moments before was picked up and dragged overboard. Within a minute I was the only person left on the ship as everyone else had either been crushed or dragged away. Tentacles began climbing over the deck as if searching for me. I had to move away numerous times as they got too close, but I was starting to be blocked into a corner. I held my breath as one of the tentacles touched my foot. It moved away and I let out a sigh of relief which was cut short as the tentacles suddenly converged on my location. They used the suckers that covered every inch of them to drag themselves forward. I relaxed for a moment as they initially passed harmlessly through my body. Their attack on me intensified and I flinched back as the first sucker somehow latched onto my skin. I began screaming as the sucker seemed to be burning through my flesh. The other tentacles quickly followed suit and my body was soon covered in hundred of tentacles. I lashed out with my feet to fight them off but they didn't even acknowledge my futile attempts. I looked around me and spotted the cabin door that I had come from earlier. I launched myself in that direction and cried in joy as the tentacles were wrenched away from my flesh. I jumped into the room and slammed the door behind me. The room was suddenly filled with a deafening thumping noise as the tentacles tried to force their way inside. The wood began to splinter and I knew it would only take a matter of seconds to smash the door open. My eyes traversed the room and finally rested on the hatch that had miraculous reappeared. I ran full speed at it just as the door exploded inwards. The tentacles flew towards me as I dived through the air and into the hatch. I awoke hours later lying on a bed of leafs on the ground. The ground around me was now empty apart from the few tools that I had left here. I gathered up everything and fled home. It has been weeks since it happened and the doctors told me that I will probably never see out of my eye again. I have started wearing an eyepatch to cover it up, which is kinda ironic since I now look like a pirate. That wasn't the only memento I got from that trip as another one showed up a few days after my escape. He now lies in a cage in my cellar, and I will occasionally go down at his rotted corpse and listen as he cries out pieces of eight.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Have you heard of The Folding Man? [RESPONSE] I had always had a deep-rooted hatred for door-to-door salesmen. Ever since I moved away from my family and owned a house on my own, they always seemed to come knocking at the most inconvenient of times. Mostly they would be ignored, if I knew they were salesmen. But it was hard to tell exactly why someone was knocking on my door from just the time of day. In hindsight, I should have had a peephole, or even a security camera, installed when I moved in. Then maybe I wouldn't have ended up in the situation I find myself in today. They say that The Folding Man comes knocking, dressed in a dull suit, trench coat and a fedora which shields his face from view. He seems to be somewhat of an urban legend, or horror story to tell around the campfire for a cheap thrill. Specific facts about The Folding Man that i've heard have all varied, but there is a general consensus about the briefcase he drags around with him. It is a brown leather business case, one that looks like it should be used for filing. It folds open much akin to an accordion, and has a shiny golden clip keeping the case shut. I woke up in the middle of the night with a jolt. Drenched in my cold sweat, I downed the rest of the glass of water, recalling exactly why I had woken up so suddenly. My night terrors had been getting worse by the day, and therapy wasn't helping. I had considered medication, but decided against as I would probably end up forgetting to take it anyway. I would always have a recurring dream, the same one every night. Each night, it would feel more real than the last, and the pain of it would get worse and worse every time I went to sleep. The dream consisted of me, in 1st person, standing outside my front doorway, when my limbs began to twist and contort uncontrollably. I could feel ligaments and muscle being torn apart, while my bones splintered and skin ripped. First, my arms would be snapped backwards at the elbow, folding in on themselves. Joints dislocated and tissue compressed against each other as I felt blood splattering all over my face and body. I cried out in pain as I realised that my legs were next. My knees were then snapped the wrong way by an unseen force, and my legs pressed against my figure as tightly as they could. The dream ended when my neck was snapped backwards, after I felt my skull begin to be crushed under an invisible weight. I felt my nose cartilage pierce blood vessels and teeth caving in on each other, and then my neck was snapped swiftly, attacking my spinal cord and waking me up from that hellish nightmare I can recall in finite detail. After waking up from my restless slumber, I jumped as I heard a very loud thump. And then it happened again. And once more. Then it occurred to me- that it was someone knocking on the door.Reluctantly, I grabbed my robe and tied it lazily around my waist, combing my hands through my light brown bedhead as I made my way down the small staircase separating my living room from my upper floor. I disliked being disturbed in the middle of the night, but I had a feeling that there was a possibility that the person on the other side needed my help. And I knew better than to reject anyone in need, so I walked into the living room and opened the door. I recoiled slightly in shock as I felt a dark presence surround me, despite the well-lit street outside illuminating everything else around my doorstep. I looked up to see a too-skinny man that towered over me and the doorframe itself, in a dull coat to conceal his figure and a hat that rested slightly askew on his head. I couldn't make out any facial features, apart from freakishly dull skin and a sullen expression, that I would go as far as to say resembled grief, or loss, which rested on a sunken, lifeless face. Unnaturally dark freckles rested upon the little exposed skin that I could see, giving off a similar appearance to black mold when it begins to take over its victim. I could hear the man's laboured breathing, as he picked up an object next to him and brought it closer to me, in one slow, smooth movement. When my eyes eventually focused on it and I could make out its appearance, I slammed the door on him and locked it behind me immediately. *A briefcase.* It was exactly as it had been described by anybody who had mentioned it to me, brown with a gold buckle, that opened like an accordion to hold files. I considered that this person was just dressing up as The Folding Man and walking around the neighbourhood to get a rise out of people, but I doubted anyone in a neighbourhood like mine would be decent enough at makeup and special effects to pull it off that well- let alone balance well enough on anything to make themselves look as tall as that man that was standing there. I exhaled in relief as a few seconds passed and there was no sign of the man, but inhaled sharply once more after I head three more merciless thumps against the door. This time, however, I did not answer. I simply waited, to see what would happen. He would eventually leave after I ignored him long enough, right? I felt a pit in my stomach grow as the man would knock on my door again, every few seconds, each set of three louder and more aggressive than the last. I felt a twinge of sympathy for him as he sounded almost desperate to see me again, and show me whatever was in that briefcase. I double checked the lock on the door before making my way upstairs once again, refusing to talk to the man again tonight. The knocking did not cease, however. I could only hear it get louder and louder, and more and more frequent the more I tried to ignore it. It became agonising, to the point where it was impossible to tune out. No matter how many doors I shut, how many pillows I put over my head, and how much I blasted music through my headphones, the volume and intensity only increased. I felt it in my body now, I was beginning to develop a piercing headache from the sheer volume, and my vision started to blur for a split second each time I heard the man thump on the wood of my door, feeling the intense and now somewhat painful vibrations in my chest . I knew that he wasn't thumping on my door anymore, and it was driving me mad. Despite my weakened state I knew that the only way to stop it was to open the door to the man again. If he was able to do this to me, I didn't want to know what else he was capable of if I didn't follow his wish. I stumbled back to the front door while covering my ears and threw it open, relieved to hear the knocking fade away and then cease completely as the same man stood there, in the same position that I opened the door to him the first time. He picked up his briefcase from beside him, still holding that same, unmoving expression, that made me wonder if he had lost something dear to him in the past. This time, I watched anxiously as he unclipped the buckle on his briefcase and let the lid fall open, and I recoiled in horror as I watched it begin to leak and spill all over the place.A thick, red slime began to drip from the edges of the briefcase and onto the ground, and I held in my own vomit as I watched something crawl out of it. I saw pieces of exposed bone and miscellaneous strips of flesh emerge from the case, gripping onto the edges with what remained of their hands before the moving pile of human remains spilled out onto the concrete step with an obscene squelching noise. I stepped back as a few droplets of blood sprayed onto my face, horrified and disgusted by the sight. "H-hhe....." The pile of flesh began to form words, its voice gargling on its own miscellaneous fluids. God knows how this thing could even still be alive. "He wants... a... Bring him.... an object that means... the most to you..." The thing said in-between heavy wheezes and laboured breaths.I dashed inside, fearing that I would end up like the pile of human remains that rested on my doorstep, and snatched my girlfriend's locket off of the bedside table. She had passed away a year ago, and this locket was the only thing of hers I had, aside from photos. I felt a few silent tears roll down my cheek as I looked inside, taking one last glance at the photo inside. It was a photo of us on a ferris wheel, on our first date back in high school. I hesitated for a moment, having second thoughts about whether I really wanted to give this away to a poltergeist and a pile of flesh and bones. But my thoughts were interrupted when I heard a series of wet slapping noises rapidly approaching my location. I grabbed the locket and ran back to the front door, where the man was waiting and I handed the necklace to his outstretched, grey-skinned hand. For the first time I had ever seen, his face contorted into a soft smile. He put the necklace into the blood-soaked briefcase, and closed it. Right as I heard the buckle on the case close, I turned around in a panic and watched the pile of meat and bones scream in agony as its mound of tissue twisted and contorted. I watched in horror, mouth gaping, as one broken bone was put back together, and then another, and another. The figure stretched and compressed, as it writhed in its place on my floor. It looked like its formerly compressed heap of a body was being unfolded, reconstructed, right before my very eyes. The more the thing unfolded, the more I could make out its features. His formerly bloodied flesh was now a healthy tan colour, and I could make out that he had rich brown eyes and looked like he was from Hispanic descent. The man took a large breath of fresh air after his fully formed, fully healed body turned to face me, and he said softly, "Thank you." I stood in complete shock, my pale flesh standing even paler now as I was frozen in place, still trying to process what just happened. My new roommate Rafael was quite a nice guy. He told me a few days after arriving on my doorstep that his run-in with The Folding Man was quite a similar one to mine. Except, there was no-one there to warm him of what The Folding Man wanted, and he was Folded as a result. He explained that even though the experience was excruciatingly painful, it left no lasting symptoms or any scars of no sort. We speculated that The Folding Man was missing a part of himself, and wanted to feel whole again, maybe, and that was what drove him to take sentimental things from others. I'm glad to have given up the necklace though. I miss my girlfriend every single day, but I know she would be proud of me for saving a life with what she had given me. My night terrors also stopped completely after being visited by The Folding Man, so I take that they were a harbinger of his arrival. I do wonder though, what will happen if he visits me again and I have nothing to offer to him. Will I end up being folded like Rafael? Until it happens, if ever, I will never know. Some say an attachment to material objects is a bad thing, but in my case, it saved my friend's life, and my own as well. My final word of advice to anyone reading is to stay attached to your things and love them greatly just as if you were to love another person. Because even if losing it hurts, the pain might be enough to save you from an even more painful fate.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] That Lady at the Ziesser's House Wasn't Human [RESPONSE] My hands are shaking as I write this and I don't know how much time I have left so if I have any mistakes, just know that I tried before it was too late. I'm Vanessa, I'm thirty-six years old and though I'm not from here, I live in a lost place in England. A few years ago, I traveled to a more populated city looking for opportunities, without much more to lose other than my clothes and dignity, so when I heard about a rich family that was hiring staff for the house I applied immediately. It offered a place to stay and food while also paying a little money for this full-time job. I was over the moon with the idea of living in this enormous white mansion that had nearly as many rooms as a castle would, not to mention that I knew the others working there would be like a family. Naturally when I got the interview I grew increasingly nervous as the minutes passed, the man talking to me was Edmond Theodore Ziesser, the head and owner of the house. I had studied him and he was one of the most successful in his family, and of course, loaded with money. True to the picture people had painted of him, his voice was intimidating as a director's while his light blue eyes remained freezing me, cold as ice. His expression rarely changed by a frown or a notably fake smile, he was serious as if displeased all the time, which honestly could make anyone uncomfortable and yet he didn't seem to care. Surprisingly despite the poor development of the meeting I was hired, beginning three days after. I soon came to know the people there. From the other members of the staff to the family itself. Miss Ziesser was Judith Evelyne Le'Clair and I suppose I could start describing this lady with her albinism, contrasting to her husband's dark brown hair, she had the palest shade of white I have ever seen in a person, and that, combined with long eyelashes decorating beautiful downturned eyes gave her a serene, wise vibe, though the next thing I noticed was their color, her irises where red or somewhere between that and fuchsia, attention-seeking and intense. It was a weird combination that made me reckon of animals, but what totally got me was their son. Ren Ziesser, such a simple name for a rich kid. He had purplish but the shape of his mother's eyes and features, as well as his dad's portion of genetics too. He wasn't albine but had really clear hair, with brown eyebrows and eyelashes a little darker. He did have delicate, but defined attributes, with a height that in the future would for sure beat Miss Ziesser's. He was the quietest of them three, though there weren’t many chances to talk to him either, he mostly spent his days studying and being trained for the business, and I heard he was very clever, but that was about it. I was told the reason they were hiring new people was that they were in need of more staff since the previous ones had started to quit suddenly, without any explanation. I have to admit this was kind of a red flag, but to be honest, it was too much of a good deal to care about this. The first day I was instructed by and met most of the others working there, being told what to do and how to do it was a relief, since they were mostly very polite and kind. The only thing that I was not too convinced about was the treatment that they received from the family, because every time they would come across any of them they would seem... scared, overly cautious. I wondered why, and not afraid of asking, I did so. Yet I was answered with something more intriguing than before, a list of homemade rules, advices followed by most of the ones there, a short list, but a specific one. It went like this: 1- Don't ask why. If you're ordered something, just follow it to the letter. 2- Don't ask about other family members. 3- If Miss Ziesser talks to you, make clear that you're listening while also doing your task. 4- If Young Mr. Ziesser ask you for help, don't answer and go away as quickly as possible. 5- If any of the parents ask "If you have heard or seen anything" say no. 6- If you hear a fight, get away. 7- If any of Young Mr. Ziesser's teachers asks how he's doing; you must answer fine. 8- Whatever happens in the mansion, stays in the mansion. Being given all of this while I cleaned was one thing, but processing it was other entirely different, not only was this shady, but also harsh on some topics. And yet I guessed every home had its quirks so I kept my cool and followed them as a part of my job. Caring for a mansion is hard, every day was exhausting and I would end up so tired I barely had time to share before going to my room, but now is when it all started. I remember this particular night, I had been there for about two weeks and I was walking to my bedroom. It was raining, not cats and dogs but definitely not lightly either, just a regular kind of rain to clean the roofs and water all the plants. My feet crawled across the marble floors as I tried to reach my door, the lights turned off as I passed the others, seeing a fainted glow squeezing through the lock from time to time of the people who were still awake. I was calm, sleepy even, until I heard something. There was an opening sound and a loud thud coming from a window behind me, it was a few meters away turning right. No one seemed to care, so I went to look what was going on by myself, waking up a little. When I noticed there was a wet trace on the floor I sighed, thinking about how someone would have to clean that, but soon I realized what this would also mean. Someone had broken in. I quickly ran up to the opening not letting the cold breeze paralyze me and shut it as silently as I could, decided to ask for help on what to do in this kind of situation, I went and knocked the first door, but the light inside turned off, and when I tried to open it was locked. So I tried on the next one, but it was the same. I began talking, explaining the situation and trying to get anyone to come out, but no one seemed to want to get involved. It was only when I heard footsteps coming to this direction that I realized how loud I had probably been, my petition then becoming increasingly insistent and impatient, scared of what might happen, and yet not a door opened. So I figured it was enough and sprinted to my room, closing and locking the door as soon as I got in, with my lights off and a jump to bed, I covered myself in sheets before peeking from my place, restless. The footsteps, ones that sounded like high-heeled shoes, stopped before the door and I watched as something tried to open. The doorknob moved from left to right, up and down and to the front, I just closed my eyes waiting for it to stop, the rectangular piece of wood trembling for such strength being used to try to open it, I grew so scared I started crying, but just when I thought it would crack open, another door from behind did. Everything went silent. Next day and I learned that one of my colleagues had left at some point in the night, I had fallen asleep like that so I couldn't really tell when, so when I asked about what had happened to the others they just answered I should sleep earlier, or that they didn't hear anything, which was impossible. But as someone told me to leave it, I did. Perhaps in the end I was too tired and hallucinated such events. I tried to convince myself of that, but it turned out impossible when I found, cleaning one of the bedroom’s hallways, a necklace. It had one of those circles where you put pictures inside, it was of him and his wife, the one who had left. This time I didn't tell anyone, I had already understood that no one wanted to get involved in anything but their routines. I was on my own. I was about to slide it in my pocket when someone touched my shoulder, a white glove. 'Excuse me, miss, that doesn't belong to you' he said, staring straight at me. It was Young Mr. Ziesser. I froze as there wasn't any rule for this, and I didn't want to appear a thief either, so I nodded and gave it to him, apologizing. 'Who's is it?' I asked as gently as possible, but all I received was a subtle fake smile and silence as he left to go to his room. 'What's wrong with Young Mr. Ziesser?' I questioned to my co-worker, rubbing the clothes of a shirt to clean it neatly in the washing room later. She looked around and took a breath before speaking in a quiet voice. 'We're not supposed to talk about this but... I think he is recovering.' She affirmed. 'Recovering from what?' I looked at her, confused. 'He used to appear with bruises and stuff. Miss and Mister Ziesser are very severe when it comes to him. Oh, you should have heard how he screamed when he was a child, he couldn't stop crying while we did his makeup.' She spoke completely focused on what she was doing, hanging the clothes now for them to dry. I just listened, horrified. Did all of them know about this and did nothing? I remained silent for a moment, but before I could say anything, we heard a loud scream, calling for anybody who could help. It was Judith. We ran to where the sound was originated only to discover her with a broken glass of wine crying uncontrollably on the floor, pointed by the sun rays that got through the window as if they were a reflector. 'My glass, my sister's glass...!' She cried, trying to put the pieces together with her hands. We went and helped her to stand up, but she didn't want to get away from there. 'You have to do something, please, do something...!' She glanced to a man past us, Mr. Ziesser, who ordered us to take her to her room. So with four of us we did exactly that, and eventually, after throwing hands and some objects, she calmed down. 'She was always... mentally unstable.' My colleague explained as we cleaned the mess. Of course she was, I wouldn't even discuss that, but no one knew exactly what she had, there were only rumors. So my chance got ruined and now I only could ponder about what happened once in bed. So the following week I kept going back to how unhappy everyone seemed, for the way Edmond had referred to his wife I could see he didn't have not even the littlest scrap of love for her. The lady was crazy, the kid surely traumatized and everyone afraid of them. Keeping all that in my mind, I could rationalize about how probably the woman had scared me the other time, perhaps she was the one that broke in and tried to open my door, but I couldn't tell. One night I tried to prove my theory, I stayed up until late and I began wandering through the tall-roofed, white and empty echoing hallways, making the long way to my room until I heard a voice, Young Mr. Ziesser's. He was talking to somebody, but by the time I approached and peeked from a corner, they were gone. It hadn't been Miss Ziesser's voice, it was another woman's, yet none of my co-workers were awake. 'Don't hurt this one, she's new here, it'll be odd.' I heard, whispered by the teenager. And at that moment I knew I had to leave, so I began to quietly walk backwards until I got on track to my bedroom again, and it would have been it, if not for the table I moved. It made a screeching noise against the floor and that was my signal to run, but the footsteps that followed behind me were so fast... that couldn't be human. There wasn't any choice but to hide in some room, yet I couldn't just do it without solving the mistery, so I hurried to a random door and hid behind it, hoping for whoever chased me to not find me. She wasn't Miss Ziesser. It was hard to see in the dark, but her irises glowed a saturated coral orange, her figure being tall, skinny and delicate. She was wearing strange clothes, like victorian style, as if she was in a costume from the past. And playing with her almost white light blue hair she looked around and said, with a gesture of a hand, corpse's pale. 'She has gotten away. What shall we...?' She couldn't finish the phrase, for all the running had captured someone else's attention. A man approached, making her turn, and a millisecond before I shut the door she glanced right at me. She apparently disappeared, because Mr. Ziesser only pushed and kicked his son, yelling at him for staying up late. As soon as both left, I did the same. That night, I had trouble sleeping, I just kept on reckoning about the final glance and felt observed. That couldn't be human at all. The very next day I came across Young Mr Ziesser, but noticed no bruises or signs of what had happened, he didn't even look at me as I cleaned. It was freaky, but I couldn't have possibly imagined what was to come at night. That night everything was silent, I had decided it was enough of just saying it was fishy and time to move on, to take the next step and leave before something else happened. So I prepared a note and was packing my stuff in my room when I heard something outside. I stopped rolling those old but dear clothes and remained like a statue for a second, listening. When I couldn't distinguish anything else I left my bedroom and headed to the window to watch. They were Mr. and Miss Ziesser, going towards their son, who waited patiently until they got near him. I wondered what kind of game was he playing, I mean, he knew they would punish him for whatever he was doing, so... But I didn't have time to finish, as his voice raised and he began talking to them, he told them how much he had suffered, how much they tortured him and how it affected him, he gave them the chance to apologize, but as his father grabbed him by the arm he instead pushed down and got him to the ground, kicking so hard beyond what he would be able to with that body that he rolled through the grass. Then he looked at his mother, and a fight later she was dead, on the ground, with her limbs twisted in all the wrong directions. His dad followed, with tears on his cheeks he watched the light leave his eyes for what felt like an eternity after making a punching bag out of his body, finally suffocating him. They looked like all their bones were broken, as if they were mere toys who had filling inside of them, but were soft. And when all of that finished, she came. She hugged him as he cried, telling him he had done the right thing, and I would have left again but her sight... her sight got me, and it was so bone-chilling that all I could do was faint. The screams of pain and agony resonated in my head as I gained consciousness, all the pictures I had seen too coming back, it wasn't until I heard his voice that I reacted. 'Vanessa?' he had kneeled down next to me and was staring. 'Are you alright?' I nodded, terrified, though I figured it would be better to hide it. 'Did you see or hear anything?' He asked. And at that moment I knew why were the rules made. She was there, the lady, observing us from outside, narrowing her eyes so she could see better. I turned my eyes to him and opened my mouth. 'No, did something happen? It might just have been my low pressure.' He accompanied me to my bedroom. Where I felt the walls asphyxiating me so bad I couldn’t sleep one bit. I left the next day. I soon learned that both parents had gone missing since that day, no one knew how or why. And I didn't tell a single word. I disappeared from the radars, moved out and never went back. Of course the lady I had seen had something to do with what happened, maybe she was manipulating the boy or encouraged him to do it, but for all I know that night he did something I can't explain. All that strength, and how fast he and she moved... they weren't human. They just simply weren't. I kept contact with the rest of my colleagues, yet one by one they went missing too. I didn't want to relate the facts, but now that the only one left disappeared, is 3 AM and someone is knocking at my door, I can see a coral orange reflection on my window and I don't know If I'm going to survive.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] If you find what moves within the dark, I'll tell you what will happen [RESPONSE] I’m a grown man whose afraid of the dark. I know it sounds ridiculous but before you judge me let me tell you what happened. I was seven and my household was fairly normal. Loving mother, stoic father. Looking back I was better off than most people then. But now, rife with tracks marks from the needles with bottles in my room you’d never have believed it. I just needed to be happy. Anything to let me fall asleep with some warmth in my chest. To go in the darkness without that thing to get me. It was getting dark when I was young and my parents sent me off to bed. The two were still very much in love when I was younger. My father, back from his job with the Teamsters, was eager to get some alone time with his wife. I miss those days when they smiled. I haven’t seen them do so in a while. So off I went, climbing up the stairs to my room. I threw on my pajamas and turned to hit the lights. On grabbing that nib of plastic a sense of dread came over me. I hated the dark then yet even so it felt like more than a child’s fear. Something seemed to watch me in the shadows when I slept. From The closet, under the bed, now it was the window of the second floor. In it there was nothing but that oaken branch cutting across the moon in the night sky. It swayed with a weight unnatural for its size, yet then again it was over a decade ago, should be a fainter memory. Even so the image of that room remains crystal in my mind. From hardwood floors all the way to the cotton throw blanket covered in moons and stars. I breathed in and threw the switch. Afterwards I dove into my bed beneath the covers. After a moment curled in the safety of my blanket nothing had come for me so I peeked my head above. It was then I noticed I’d accidentally left the window open. I swore to myself, looking to the doorway ensuring I wasn’t heard. After gaining my courage again I crawled out of my bed, heading for the window. A gust of wind came in as I tried to pull it shut, shoving me aside. As I fell there was a a thump in my closet across the room. Between that and my already bristling nerves I cried out in fear, running for the door. Tumbling down the stairs I called out for my parents. The two hopped up from the couch, fixing their shirts with a face like their hands were caught in cookie jars. “What is it boy” My father to his credit wasn’t angry. He simply moved between me and mom as she made herself decent. He even had to stop himself from laughing. I was far too young and frightened to notice or care. “There's something in my room!” I pointed up the stairs begging my parents to come and look. “Joseph” My mother opened her arms to which I ran as she embraced me. She stroked my hair as I cried, looking to my dad with eyes full of pity for her boy. “We should let him stay with us, just for tonight.” My father stood there and thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No, he’s a big boy now. There's a time he has to learn. Come with me Joe, were facing this together.” My mother agreed, letting me go with a gentle push to follow. After my father I went up the stairs and back into my room. He turned on the light and sent me in. I looked around nervous as darkness still filled the closet. The light from the ceiling was an old swinging bulb hanging from a line. The house was by no means a hovel but it was definitely a fixer upper. Dad eyed both me and the closet and pointed. “Is that where you think the monster is?” I nodded, thinking he would go in and check yet instead he stepped out for a moment, returning with a flashlight. “Go on. I’m right behind you.” I took the torch, pointing it in the doorway as I inched closer. I swallowed hard as I stood within that doorway. Swinging the light around for the movement from before. Dad stood behind me looking in. “Looks like your monsters there.” Upon further inspection it looked like he was right. An umbrella and a couple boxes fell from one of the upper shelves, its contents spilling across the floor. My dad squatted down, putting a calloused hand on my little shoulder. “Look son. Most of the things in the world, especially in America that you might run into; Raccoons, Mice, stray cats and dogs. Most of the time they’re the ones who are afraid of us, and rightly so. We’re the things that went bump in the night for them, not the other way around. So when something goes moving in the dark, whose the monster?” I hesitantly pointed a finger at myself. “Me?” “That’s right. Now go look in there and give a big roar at whatever was it was. Like this.” To which he made a funny roar at the closet with his arms raised. “See, now you try.” I pulled my little arms up with my hands stretched like claws, roaring as best I could. My father laughed and roared again with me . “Good job son. Now who‘s the big bad monster in this room.” I giggled as I replied. “I am.” “You are. Now give me a hug. Its time for us all to go bed.” So he wrapped his arms around me with a squeeze. He shut the window I had missed, grabbing the light as I crawled back into bed. I turned around, curled in my blanket and waved. “Good night dad!” “Good night son.” My father smiled and flipped the switch, off to be with his wife downstairs I rolled over to face the window, looking at the night sky. The moon shone its glow around me as I drifted off to sleep. And that was when it happened. I awoke to the world around me yet unable to move. My body tingled with a numbness. That tingle was followed by the sense that my being wasn’t so much through my extremities, but seated in my eyes. Those eyes took in the world around me yet never moved, only remaining aware of what was in its view. Laying there, willing myself to sit with no avail I noticed it. The movement in the closet had returned. Now there were no boxes, but a stump of a foot entering the light. A squat, fat, and horrible ugly thing entered my room. Its eyes glowed in the moonlight above a snout as short and hideous as the rest of it. Beneath its trunk its yellowed skin and lips smirked like a hunter looking above a trap. Its hands were dancing in the darkness, rotating in the night air, weaving invisible thread around me as I lay there paralyzed. Strange as it was, I was yet aware that this was no dream. Fear crawled through my heart, watching it weave it’s spell in vulgar hands with ill intentions. My heart raced, screaming in my minds eye to move! That thing came ever closer, still twirling its hands and piggish arms about. The pot belly naked and brown like a boar wallowing in mire, moving ever closer. It pulled its hands around a thread invisible, moving its stumpy legs toward me. It was, small, fat, horrible and ugly, and it was coming for its prey. It knew that I could see it. It knew that I knew and Its wicked grin had grew. It mirrored my displeasure with a joy sadistic as it came. The weight of that thing shifted my bed, pulling itself atop the covers. I felt its weight across my chest, standing above me as it glared with beady eyes. There it sat, crossing its stumpy legs above me, relaxed as one preparing an easy lunch. I failed to scream as it rubbed its‘ hands for dinner. It thought that it would eat me. A little boy stolen by an ugly devil, thrown into the night for a stew. It and others dancing around a cauldron in the night. No. What it did was worse. Its jaw opened wide, stretching like rubber as its’ eyes glowed looking upwards. Its gaping maw faced me with its purple wriggling tongue as the darkness in its mouth swirled. That hole flickered with a light that I found magical, haunting, and a terror to my dreams. It was dreams that I had saw. Hopes and happiness. A portal had swirled inside its mouth. Rolling in blueish hue as the veins of black spun thread inside its waves. Like driftwood in a storm images came and went within the folds. Nightmares from before running from a monster in a cave. The dream I’d one day be a firefighter. Memories of a child’s infancy and more. Other children s lives flickered like Polaroid stills, dissolving in it maw in sick digestion. The portal was getting larger. Or perhaps I was going in. My consciousness felt those ripples growing larger, threatening to pull me in. My life and memories would leave me, abandoning a husk of a child with light no more inside. It was then its’ trap had shut. Sitting there it watched me, eyes glaring as though it had been offended. Its trunk snorted with a ripple of its snout. Standing up it hopped off my bed. A wave of its hand opened my window and it hopped into the night. My parents came a moment later. “Everything alright in there. We heard a noise.” The two had found me laying there frozen with a face in terror and eyes weeping yet still unable to move. The first sensation returning I sobbed in clenched jaw, my mother holding me in the dark. The happy boy they knew had died. No longer had I found joy in anything. Since the incident my therapist calls things like night terror and sleep paralysis, my mind seemed incapable of squeezing any joy. The pills did little and my parents did more. More fighting, more blaming of each other. My father took more trips at work, avoiding a trouble he didn’t know how to fix. My mother took to drinking, avoiding the boy who never made a smile. Decades passed and I wish I could be happy even now. That I could give them back the spark they had so warm between each other. Yet now that spark was gone , as sure as it died in me.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I’m a fire watch lookout and I think I’ve made a terrible mistake (Part 3 - finale) [RESPONSE] Link to part two: Another night. Another goddamn night, stuck in this window-lined prison. At least I have a good view, so I guess that’s something. The storm raged all night again last night and only let up just before dawn. At one point, the winds were gusting hard enough to rock the tower, which was a bit disconcerting, the say the least. As I stand out on the wet catwalk around my shack, I see that the clouds haven’t let us go just yet, though, and look every bit as pissed-off as they did yesterday afternoon. It seems like the dry season has come to an end, which is good, since I’ve been slacking a bit on my fire-watching duties over the last couple days. Gallows-humor, right? It’s either that, or sitting in the corner in a fetal position, crying, and I’ve been told by my ex-fiance that I’m not an attractive crier. I haven’t heard a peep from Billy since his last terrifying broadcast to me yesterday. I’ve tried to reach him several times since then, but no dice. I’ve also tried reaching Nathan and the ranger station, but all I get is static, even from my base radio set. When I first started here, I remember Billy telling me during my brief orientation that the radio should be able to reach out fifty miles or more, so I’m not sure what’s going on with it. Update – I just took a quick look at the base station and found that the cable leading up to the antenna on the roof of the shack is now just a dangly thing swaying in the breeze. The storm must have decided it needed the antenna more than I did, because it’s gone. I can see where the screws were torn out of the wooden mast. And before you say anything about whatever this thing is that’s been stalking around deciding to sabotage my radio, I should probably tell you that the wooden antenna mast looks like it’s been around for a long time. The wood was probably dry rotted to begin with, and now that it’s soaked, it crumbled away in little wet brown bits as soon as I probed at it with my fingers. Speaking of whatever this *Kuwetami or* *angler* thing is – I’m just going to call it a *mimic*, I think – I haven’t heard or sensed anything weird since yesterday. I’m assuming it’s still out there somewhere, but I don’t think it’s nearby. If it’s still anywhere around here, it’s probably somewhere over near Tower 12, or at least that’s what makes the most sense to me, anyway. Which brings me to my shiny new lunatic idea. My Jeep. It can’t be more than a mile down the northern track, still sitting there in front of that fallen pine. I could probably get to it in less than an hour, even with the wet and muddy ground. It had almost a full tank of gas, and I’m pretty sure I could outrun this *mimic* thing in it if I can get onto a straight shot of service road. I definitely don’t relish the idea, mind you. Every instinct is screaming at me to sit my butt right where I am in this tower. I know that the ranger station will start getting a little antsy when Billy doesn’t check in after a few days, but I’m also thinking they may extend it out a day or two in light of the foul weather. Maybe five days at the outside, and then I’ll have a ranger truck parked outside my tower. The question is what they’ll find when they get here. See, I’ve been thinking about it – Billy definitely knew more about this thing than I do. Certainly, enough to not open the door for it when he heard it outside pretending to be a girl scout selling cookies. That makes me think that maybe the fence and the trapdoor might not be enough to stop it if it really wants in. As pants-shittingly terrifying as the prospect of leaving the tower and making for the Jeep is, sitting here cornered in my window-lined shack, just waiting for it to show up in the middle of the night, is even worse. At least I have chance out there. I still have the magnum; it’s been holstered on my belt since yesterday. They don’t issue peashooters for bear protection out here; this thing is the most powerful handgun in mass production. It’ll put down anything in North America, as long as you can hit it right. Any normal animal, anyway. Who knows what *this* thing is capable of? Still, it does provide a level of comfort and gives me some confidence that my plan may work, if luck’s on my side. For now, I’m going to try to eat a granola bar to put something in my churning stomach and try to build a little energy. I don’t think I’ve eaten anything since early yesterday. After that, I’m grabbing my pack and heading out. Wish me luck. \* I left my tower shortly after ten AM and let me tell you, those were some of the most difficult first steps I’ve ever taken in my life. Stepping out through the chain link gate into the open space beyond my small compound felt like I was stepping off the roof of a skyscraper. When I closed the gate behind me, I just stood there motionless for what must have been five minutes, frozen in place with my hand clenching the grip of the revolver still holstered at my belt. Even with all the stress and anxiety swirling around in my head, I was amazed at exactly how keen my senses seemed in that moment. It felt like I could hear every rustle of leaves and smell every damp patch of moss in the thousands of acres of wilderness surrounding me. In that moment, I felt very small. Very insignificant. Trivial. When my chest began to ache, I realized that I had been holding a breath in, subconsciously afraid to make even the slightest sound. I let it out slowly and forced myself to breathe normally again. Scanning the trees, I turned slowly in a circle, eyes searching for anything that seemed out of place, like it didn’t belong. But there was nothing there. Everything seemed normal, at least to me. Casting one last look over my shoulder at the refuge of my tower, I started off along the seldom-used service road to the north, careful of my footing on the muddy and uneven ground. I allowed myself to move at a slow jog, fast enough to make good progress, but not so fast that I was announcing my presence to the world. Not so fast that I couldn’t hear the forest around me over my own breathing. I stopped a couple times during my trek to catch my breath and take a drink of water and thankfully still seemed alone and unpursued for now. I wondered if it was out there somewhere among the dense trees, hiding in the muted gray shadows of the forest. Maybe it was looking for me at that moment. Perhaps it had returned to my tower in my absence, found it empty, and was even now tracking my flight along this trail. If I paused long enough, would I see it suddenly rounding the gentle curve behind me as it caught up? Or did it prefer to move more stealthily, among the trees and underbrush, laying in wait alongside the path ahead, ready for my approach? I had to forcibly shake myself of that line of thought. It wasn’t doing me any good now – I was committed to my plan. The thought of retracing my steps and returning to my lonely watch tower held just as much terror, because now it sat there unmanned, unwatched, abandoned. For all I know, the *mimic* could be there at this very moment, ransacking my shack. I definitely didn’t want to walk back in on *that* little scene, I can promise you that much. I ended up making surprisingly good time on that northern path; it was only about thirty minutes before I saw the dim shape of my Jeep, waiting dutifully in the middle of the path ahead. The matte tan paint job and black cloth roof stood out remarkably well against the muted greens and browns of the surrounding forest. Urging my pace to quicken, I covered the last hundred yards before I even realized it and found myself standing at the door, hand on handle. I paused. A chill ran down my spine, inciting an unbidden shiver. I realized then how quiet the forest around me was and wasn’t sure how long it had been this way. I felt that something was out of place and so did the native fauna. On any given day, the trees were alive with the sounds of wildlife. Squirrels and chipmunks chittered, insects buzzed, and a thousand varieties of birds called and sang from the treetops. Not now, though. It was as if they had all left, and I felt very alone in that moment. Only, not *quite* alone. Somewhere out there, in that sea of trees, something stalked. Something that didn’t belong in the light of day. Something that didn’t belong under the watchful eyes of mother nature. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t have let something like the *mimic* evolve, had it not been hidden in its underground realm. The door of the Jeep was thankfully quiet as I depressed the latch and swung it open. If this had been a horror movie, I’m sure an ear-splitting screech would have erupted from its hinges, but in real life we tend to take care of these vehicles pretty well. In the best of times, they are the only convenient transportation for twenty miles or more. In times like this, though, it was likely the only thing that would save my sorry ass. I jumped in and pulled the door shut behind me with a dull thunk, subconsciously locking it. I almost laughed aloud when I did that; the entire top of the Jeep was nothing more than canvas and plastic windows. A feisty hamster could probably have penetrated my little haven. I doubt the *mimic* would even think twice about it. The Jeep fired up immediately when I turned the key in the ignition, and I threw it in reverse for the most ungraceful fourteen-point turn you’ve ever seen on the narrow and muddy service road. Once I got turned around, I didn’t waste any time directing it back the way I’d come. The service road was really little more than an uneven and ill-maintained dirt trail and was only ever used infrequently by the rangers and lookouts. As I’d previously mentioned, it was a rough ride, even for the heavy suspension of my trusty steed, so I had to keep it at a reasonable speed. The very last thing I needed was to snap an axle or bounce myself right off the road and into the trees. Compound the condition of the trail with the fact that it constantly wound and curved as it progressed, and it meant that even my best speed wasn’t too much faster than I could run on foot. That’s okay – once I got past my tower, the service road was generally better maintained and followed a more-or-less straight path. I’d be able to build some decent speed there, and I’d be out of the wilderness and standing at the ranger station in an hour or so. The abrupt appearance of my tower caused me to feather off the gas as I rounded the last curve from the northern track. I slowed to a crawl and squinted through the now-dirty windshield. From here, everything looked exactly like I had left it. The gate still stood closed and, looking up, I could see the trapdoor also appeared shut. Maybe this thing hadn’t returned. Hell, maybe this thing wasn’t ever going to return. For all I knew, it was headed in the opposite direction. It’s not like it had a GPS or anything. It was at that moment that I nearly pissed myself when the radio still clipped to my belt squawked and I heard probably the last thing I had expected to hear. Billy. “John, are you there?” The signal was pretty clear, but his voice sounded weak, strained. I almost didn’t respond. I was frozen, indecision clouding my mind. I didn’t know what I could trust to be true, but I doubted that this *mimic* had read the radio manual and learned to operate the handset. I snatched the handset from my shoulder and keyed the mic. “Billy? Holy shit, is that you?” He answered me right away and I thought I could hear relief in his tone, buried under his pained words. “John, thank God! I was afraid you were gone.” My eyes drifted to the trail leading past my tower. Toward the ranger station. Toward safety. “Another five minutes and I would have been, Billy. I’ve got my Jeep and I was just about to haul ass for the ranger station,” I replied. “What’s your status?” There was a moment of silence and I wondered briefly if he’d even heard me. But then he answered. “I’m not doing too hot, John. I’m in my tower, but that thing hurt me. I’ve lost a bit of blood and have been drifting in and out. I’ve patched myself up as best I could, but I can’t stop the bleeding from my leg.” I frowned and closed my eyes a moment, asking a question that I was pretty sure I knew the answer to. “Are you able to get to your Jeep?” I thought I heard a coughing bark of laughter before he answered. “I don’t think so. I’m pretty banged up.” “What happened, Billy?” “The sonofabitch got into my tower. I managed to get off a shot at it, but not before it got the jump on me,” he explained. “It took off before it did me in, so I think I hit it. I don’t know where it is now, though. My tower is wide open, though, and it hasn’t come back, so maybe it’s dead.” I doubted that. Things never work out that simple. “Are you stable, Billy? Can you be moved?” Another silence, and then, “I know what you’re thinking, John. Turn your Jeep east and haul ass to the ranger station. That’s an order.” I dropped my forehead to the steering wheel, closing my eyes and cursing. It would have been easier if Billy hadn’t radioed me. I know it’s selfish. I know I’m an asshole for even thinking it, but I could have been blissfully out of range if he had only waited another ten minutes. I could still put the throttle down and get out of here. I could still race for the ranger station and have them mobilize a chopper to come back for Billy. But they were at least an hour away. Factor in the spin-up and travel time for the helicopter, and you’re talking more like an hour and a half before anyone gets to him. He didn’t sound good. Something told me it was unlikely he would last that amount of time. I could still turn left. I’d likely live, but could I live with myself, knowing that I left Billy to die alone in his tower? What if our situations had been reversed? Sure, I might be saying the same words he was saying now, but in my heart, I’d be pleading for that voice on the radio to help me. I couldn’t imagine being in his position – lying there, hurt and bleeding out. Knowing that his safe haven was wide open, and that *thing* was out there somewhere. Look, I know what you’re going to say. I know what you’re probably already saying. “Don’t be a dumbass. This is exactly why everyone dies in a horror movie!” I get it. Believe me, I get it. But this isn’t a movie, and my friend was lying there dying in his shack. If I could get to him and get him into the Jeep, we could both be out of here, leaving all this twisted nightmare bullshit behind us. “Billy, I’m headed your way. Get ready, because we’re going to wrestle you down the stairs and into my Jeep as quickly as we can,” I said, cranking the wheels to the right and taking the western trail with more speed than I should have. “John, I gave you an order. Get out of here now.” Despite the situation, I managed a sardonic grin as my rig bucked and bounced over the uneven trail. “Billy, I’d like to take this opportunity to officially tender my resignation from the fire watch. Now shut your mouth and conserve your strength; I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” \* Fifteen minutes turned out to be a pretty good guess and before long I skidded to a halt outside Tower 12, next to Billy’s ride. I opened the door and stepped out into the quiet air, my handgun coming out of its holster and held before me like some sort of shield. I took a quick moment to let my eyes roam over the surrounding woodlands for any sign of movement before quickly jogging around my Jeep and towards the compound’s entrance. I passed through the open doorway, taking note of the heavy chain link gate that was laying twisted fifteen feet inside of the fence. Another dozen paces and I was at the base of the stairs, craning my neck to make sure nothing was awaiting me above. I keyed the mic at my shoulder and said in a low voice, “Billy, I’m outside of your tower right now, heading up. For Christ’s sake, don’t shoot me!” I turned the volume on the speaker down just in time for his response. “Damn it, John, I told you to leave.” But despite his words, the gratitude and relief were clear in his tone. I started up the stairs, revolver still held at the ready as my other hand ran lightly along the railing. My eyes were drawn to the red-black spots staining the gray paint of the steel steps. I found even more of the viscous fluid on the railing as I continued my ascent. Blood, but not Billy’s. *Good. I hope that fucker is laying in the woods, breathing its last breath.* He definitely hit it, but I had no way of telling how seriously it was hurt. In a human, bright red blood indicated an arterial bleed, which was typically a fairly significant injury. With this thing, who knew what black-red meant? I climbed the rest of the staircase as it wound around the tower and stopped just below the open trapdoor. “Billy?” I called out cautiously. A pause, then came his reply, shaky and with a wheezing sound that I didn’t like at all, “How do I know it’s you? Say something that this fucker couldn’t have heard you say before.” “I’ve always admired and respected you,” I answered without hesitation. “Asshole,” he said under his breath. “Come on up.” I took another couple steps, cautiously poking my head through the trapdoor. Billy was sitting upright, more or less, resting his back against the doorframe of his shack and aiming his own handgun generally in my direction. As soon as he saw my face, he dropped his hand to his side, the stainless steel barrel clanging against the metal walkway. As I stepped fully through the trapdoor, I noted two things immediately. Firstly, there was a significant amount of that black-red ooze splattered around. Secondly, I realized how badly injured Billy was. His face had gone gray with a sickly paleness, and his breaths came in ragged hitches. Blood-soaked bandages wrapped both forearms and the side of his face was covered with a crimson rag, taped haphazardly down. His entire khaki parks shirt was painted in a hellish tie-dye of shades of red. But it was his leg that worried me most. A tourniquet had been tied around his thigh near his groin, but the pants leg was a cherry red below that, and was glistening in the late morning light. “Jesus, Billy,” I exclaimed, holstering my gun and rushing to his side. He waved me off as I knelt beside him. “I know. It looks bad. Save it for later. Let’s get out of here before that thing decides to come back for another round.” I nodded and stood again, taking a quick glance past him and into his shack. A twin to my own tower normally, Billy’s looked like a warzone now. His table and desk had both been overturned and smashed, along with his base set radio. On the floor nearby was a satellite phone, its antenna and display obviously smashed during the attack. Lifting his arm over my head, I helped him to his feet. He grimaced in pain, but threw his remaining strength in with mine, and we began the precarious descent through his trapdoor. “Did you at least get to make your phone call?” I asked him as we took the steps carefully and agonizingly slow. He shook his head. “It got here just as I was getting ready to. It was using your voice, telling me that you were from the parks service and that you were here to help.” He looked at me with a shaken astonishment. “It sounded just like you, John, but when I looked over the catwalk railing down at it…” He winced again as we half-stumbled on a step. Almost there. “John,” he continued, “*holy hell*. I’ve never seen anything like it.” I shook my head as we reached the bottom step and moved onto the rain-soaked ground and grunted with exertion. “Save it, Billy. We have a long ride ahead of us – plenty of time for that later.” He just nodded as I maneuvered him around the passenger side of my Jeep and helped him climb in. Once he was in, I hurried back around to the driver’s door and got in, starting the engine as I pulled the door closed behind me. Throwing it into reverse, I felt the wheels break loose as I stepped on the gas with a bit too much enthusiasm. I swung the 4x4 around and put it into drive, pointing it back towards my tower, and beyond, safety. I only had a heartbeat’s warning from Billy before I saw it, barreling from the underbrush at us. It threw itself, a great mass, crashing into the side of the Jeep and Billy scrambled to get away from it, damn near climbing over the center console in the process and knocking my hands off the wheel in his panic. The Jeep swung wildly left and I stomped down on the brakes to avoid careening off into the trees. One of the front wheels dipped off the road and the steel bumper crashed through a small cluster of oak saplings, halting us abruptly and stalling the engine. Everything went silent in that moment as we froze. My breath hitched in my lungs and my eyes widened in shock as I laid eyes upon this abomination for the first time. My first impression was that it was much larger than I had thought, but the nightmare visage before me eclipsed such a pedestrian observation. The thing stood in the middle of the trail still, shaking its head as if trying to recover its senses after the collision with the two-ton vehicle. It looked vaguely humanoid in a sense, but it walked on four limbs clearly proportioned to such a task. It was hairless and with mottled pink-gray skin stretched tight over muscles, bones, and odd, unidentifiable bulges. The limbs seemed to have joints that bent in all the wrong directions and ended in what should have been claws. But instead of the distinctive keratin-composed sharp nails that seem so familiar in the natural world, these seemed to be extensions of the creature’s skeletal structure, protruding painfully through its veiny translucent hide. But worst of all was the bulbous and disproportionately large head that topped an oddly gaunt-appearing neck. It was oblong and reminded me of the shape of a feline skull in general appearance. Its maw seemed a jagged tear across its face, with ill-fitting and chaotically positioned teeth that didn’t seem to allow the mouth to close properly. I couldn’t see any eyes, but where they should have been were instead two bulbous and cyst-like organs, seeming to bulge and flatten in a slow rhythm, as if bladders filling with air or liquid. I reeled back in revulsion as it turned its sightless head in our direction searchingly. Flaps of skin on either side of its malformed snout opened slowly like some obscene blossom composed of milky gray bat wings, and I had the sense that it was using them to try to somehow locate us. It was then I saw where Billy’s shot had struck the creature in the face. One of the snout flaps was nearly completely severed, hanging limply in contrast to its sibling, and a gouge furrowed by the bullet’s travel creased along the right side of the thing’s head, piercing and ravaging the bulbous organ on that side and leaving it a deflated sack. When it turned its head farther in our direction, I could see clearly where it had bled significantly from the shot, but was horrified to see that the wound had already sealed itself and a shiny silver scar was left to mark the incident. “I knew I hit you, you bastard,” Billy whispered, half to himself. The mimic stopped its motion, and we watched as the uninjured bladder on its head expanded like a half-filled party balloon. It dipped its head a bit and we saw two membranous slits in the top of its skull dilate. A moment later, the twisted sound of a human voice assaulted our ears. "*I know you’re out there!*” The voice was unmistakably Billy’s but was distorted and wrong. I thought that the wound from his gunshot probably had something to do with that. The thing raised its head again, turning a bit more in our direction, and took a few experimental steps forward. Again, it paused and lowered its head. This time we heard what sounded like the pained roar of a bear, almost perfectly replicated, except for that same distortion that we had heard previously. Had this thing killed a bear? I held my breath as we watched it again raise its head and take a few more contemplative steps in our direction, slowly swinging its grotesque snout back and forth. I could see how the flaps of skin that were flared open where its nose should have been twitched minutely back and forth, and I felt like it was using them to listen for us. “It knows we’re here somewhere, but it can’t see us,” whispered Billy, leaning close. “But if it gets close enough, I’m thinking we’re done-for.” I looked over at Billy and realized that there was no way he’d be able to make a run for it in his condition. From the look of the thing growing ever closer to where we cowered in the Jeep, I thought it was likely we didn’t have much time before it got close enough to hear our breathing or heartbeats, or whatever, even inside the 4x4. When that happened, I knew what would come next. Billy closed his eyes a moment and turned to me. There was something in his eyes then, some sort of acceptance that I didn’t like one bit. “Get ready with that cannon,” he whispered. “You’re only going to get one chance at this fucker.” “What are you talking about?” I asked. A moment later, I had my answer. Billy took a deep breath and mustered every bit of his strength, flinging the door open and staggering out of the Jeep. “I’m right here, asshole!” he shouted at the thing, limping weakly across the road away from the Jeep. The mimic whipped its head in his direction instantly, but tilted its head to the side, seemingly momentarily puzzled at this unexpected turn of events. Billy held his own magnum in his hand, but he was too weak to raise it towards the beast. Still, he pulled the trigger and a resounding boom seemed to shake the air. The mimic flinched at the deafening sound of the gunshot, the flaps of membrane at its snout snapping shut protectively, but its stunned hesitation didn’t last very long. In an instant, faster than I would have thought possible, it launched itself on powerful limbs at Billy, knocking him to the ground and tearing at him with teeth and claws. I heard my friend start screaming then, a horrible, soul-rending sound that I’ll never forget as long as I live. But now was my chance, and I took it. I swung the door and stepped out of the Jeep, my gun coming free of its holster in the same movement. The creature was preoccupied with what was left of Billy, but as soon as I brought the gun up and thumbed back the hammer, its head whipped around at me. It crouched like a compressed spring as it prepared to launch, but I was quicker. The report of the gunshot was incredible, and the recoil of the powerful round rocked my wrist back painfully. The beast staggered and I saw a burst of blood and tissue explode from the wound near where its shoulder met its neck. It howled out an otherworldly cry, sounding like a bedlam mixture of man and beast, but though the wound seemed terrible, it tried once again to throw itself at me. I was set in my course, though, and took step after step towards the creature, pulling the trigger again and again until the gun ran dry and all I was left with was the clicking of the hammer and the high-pitched ringing in my ears. The acrid smell of gunpowder stung my nose and by the time I finally stopped, I found myself within only a few feet of the horrid thing. Six blackened holes stippled the neck and torso of the creature where the bullets had entered, and I knew that the destruction of their exits on the opposite side would be far worse. The mimic lay sprawled across the ruined body of Billy Johnson, its weight crushing what whatever had been left of my friend. Black-red blood spread out from beneath the thing’s bulk like an oil spill across a smooth floor. I noted with some muted surprise that the creature still twitched and slowly flexed its powerful muscles, and a wheezing sound was quietly emanating from the slits on the top of its skull. I holstered my empty handgun and scanned around the sodden ground for what I knew was there. A moment later I spotted it – Billy’s own magnum, laying half buried in the muck where it had been torn from his grip under the weight of the monster. I snatched it up and shook it clear of most of the mud and grass. Opening the cylinder, I saw that only one unfired round remained. That was enough, though. I approached the horror before me without apprehension or pause, my eyes focused on this thing that had caused such pain and terror. I thumbed the hammer back and placed the muzzle against the mimic’s head, which still convulsed with some small remaining life. I didn’t know if it would be able to heal from the wounds I had already inflicted – logic told me it was unlikely, but the silvery scar I had seen from Billy’s previous encounter caused me to question everything I thought was possible. I felt the tremors from the creature vibrate through the gun as the barrel rested against its skull, right between where its eyes should have been. I tensed my finger on the cool steel of the trigger and the crack of the gunshot echoed through the forest. It was done. But even as I walked back numbly to the Jeep and restarted the engine, I wondered if that was true. I thought back to the journal I had read, written more than a hundred and thirty years before, and how it had alluded to tales of this creature going back long before then. As I drove the Jeep along the rough and winding service road, I wondered at the possibility that what we encountered was the only one of its kind. That this same beast had somehow terrorized cultures separated from each other by great time and distance, spawning the legends that the author of the journal and his companions had pursued. It didn’t seem likely. And now the door was open. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I HAVE TO GET RID OF THIS GUITAR I FOUND [PART SIX] [RESPONSE] “I recently found a lead that might help in the search for my brother, William “Wills” Forte. A journal he had written, along with a cassette that was filled with what can only be described as very unusual field recordings. Kirk Hammett has agreed to quickly transpose the less complex portions of the cassette while keeping the integrity of the original field recordings intact. These you can play or loop alongside the reading of each part, to create the appropriate mood for these journal entries. We still advise you take precautions before listening to the recordings.” – Abigail Forte PART SIX : Lost in the Fire Lands Since we’re getting close to the ending, at least this ending, I’ll take you back to the beginning. That dark shape, remember? Made of shadows and pretending to be human. By the way, it’s still hovering in the doorway, still trying to convince me of things I do not want. \~ Wills, you can still join us \~ I haven’t slept since I started writing this. According to the cracked cheap alarm clock by the bed it’s three am, and I’ve realized two things. First, Corso underestimated who he was dealing with. This guitar thing is tearing me apart, but it’s still just an addiction. I’ve gone through worse addictions and made it out alive. This demon has its claws in my soul, but Cristopher had my heart, and I’m not letting some guitar shaped boogeyman define my destiny. It's going to be a struggle though; Hell may seem like a horrible concept, but if I don’t get that guitar back, I’m going to end up in a place that’s much worse than hell. But you want to know how I got here. I’ve been hiding out in this small cabin in the mountains by Eldridge, California, for a couple of weeks now. I’ve also been trying to go cold turkey before I start out again. It’s hard, we’re all healing, but these wounds burn deep. Wounds from that hellish confrontation outside of Las Vegas when we were surrounded by demons in the Valley of Fire. \*\*\*\* It was like a scene out of some old Western film, riding into the canyon at sunset, but instead of horses kicking up the dust in some slow-motion sequence, it was an old beige 1979 Dodge. We had no idea what we were looking for, but I could feel the pain I had earlier building, in my gut clenching and twisting. As we passed a large grouping of the colorful sandstone formations the pain grew unbearable. “Stop! Here.” I felt like I couldn’t breathe, but as Hawkes pulled over to the side of the dusty road, I managed to get out. Sara and the Detective followed me as I slightly stumbled towards the wall of rock. The air was still. It was that time of the day when the sun’s golden rays hit the cliffs of rock and red sandstone, painting a picture of a world on fire. Then the pain hit again, and I fell, clutching my stomach. I heard Sara cry out, and Detective Hawkes knelt in front of me, a look of concern flashing across his face as he put a hand on my shoulder to steady me. “I felt that too, it’s here.” Sara said, standing behind me. “Where?” Detective Hawkes asked, standing to turn in a tight circle. The glint of sun catching on something metallic in the face of the rock wall caught my eye, a line of mineral deposit cutting close to the surface, but the shape was not random. It was a doorway made up of thin silvered lines of a mineral ore interspersed among the layers of gleaming red stone. “There.” I pointed. Detective Hawkes and Sara stood next to me, following my point, but neither of them seemed to see what I saw. I approached the design, traced it with my finger, “It’s like a door, carved into the sandstone.” I looked back. Detective Hawkes shrugged and shook his head. Sara came closer and put her hands on the stone. “I feel something, but I don’t see what you’re seeing.” Hit by another burst of pain, I fell to my knees, and that’s when I saw the engraving at the foot of the cliff. “Aqua regia.” I whispered, tracing the outline with my finger, remembering Octavia scratching the same shape on the back of the guitar. “What did you say?” Sara asked, startled. “There’s a symbol here. It matches one on the back of the guitar.” I told her. She got a pen and notebook from Detective Hawkes and scribbled something on the paper. She held it up to me and I nodded, “Same symbol. You really can’t see it?” “It’s alchemical, hidden to most of us. You can probably see it because of the connection you have with the guitar.” I wished Octavia was with us. “So what does it mean?” I asked Sara. “It means we need to knock on the door.” She drew another symbol on the paper. And handed me a rock shard from the ground at her feet. “Draw this in front of you, the symbol for mercury.” It was a circle, with a cross underneath and what looked like horns above. As soon as I finished scratching it in the rock, the outlined doorway grew brighter and the silvery mineral in the rock started to melt away, turning to a wave of sand that crashed at our feet. We were standing at the entrance to a cave built into the sandstone formation. The detective started forwards, pushing ahead of me. “Hawkes!” I shouted, “It’s a trap.” “No kidding.” Detective Hawkes grumbled, pushing past me while pulling a gun out from under his jacket. I followed him past the edge of the wall. It felt like the air became suddenly thicker, harder to breath and hotter. It was like walking out of the desert into a sauna, and it smelled of sulfur. So strong that all three of us covered our noses with the backs of our hands. In the back of my mind, I noticed that the pain, the hunger, the claws that had been tearing at me almost consistently for the past few days, had lessened. I had a feeling that meant I was close enough to the guitar and that it no longer felt the need to pull me. We were attached. It felt like the first hit of heroin after a month without. Like chasing the dragon all over again. I was so distracted by the absence of pain that I failed to notice the figure at the far end of the cavern. Hawkes saw her first. “Abbie!” I yelled out, as Hawkes ran towards her. She was standing, head down, arms behind her back, as if she had been tied to an invisible post. I ran, following Sara and the detective towards Abbie. “Wait!” Sara cried out, “The ground!” She stopped, pointing towards Abbie’s feet. She was standing inside a circle of symbols carved into the earth. Symbols like the ones from outside. I stopped, but Hawkes didn’t. As he went to pull her out, he screamed and stumbled backwards. His jacket burst into flames, and he quickly dropped to the ground to extinguish it in the dirt. Woken to action, Sara and I helped him up, made sure he was okay, and I turned to Abbie who was looking up at us groggily. She looked slightly drugged. “Abbie. Are you okay?” I asked, not wanting to get too close to the circle. “I’m not hurt, but I don’t think I’m okay. Are you?” She said, her voice quavering. She had her arms in front of her now, but she was still trapped within the enchanted circle. “I’ve been better.” I looked around. “Where are the others?” “Dad...” she sobbed, stopped, started again, “Dad went down there,” she pointed towards a pathway off to her left. Another cave entrance that I hadn’t even noticed before. It twisted into shadow. “Then what?” I asked. “Then two others passed by, following. I don’t think he knew they were there, but I’m pretty sure he knew they were coming. They both looked at me but didn’t say anything. One of them stuck out its tongue, it was so long, Wills, it tried to lick me.” Abbie’s face held a look of disgust, and she shuddered at the memory. “I think it was the one Octavia called Corso, the one with blue hair, right?” I looked over at Hawkes, “I don’t think that gun is going to help much.” “Wills?” Abbie asked. “He was going to kill me. I’m sure of it. But then he said you would be better. I just need you to get me out of here and then we can leave.” “It’s not that simple, Abbie. He has the guitar, and if he figures out the right way to play it, that guitar is going to kill me. Even if it doesn’t, I can’t let him have the power that’s in that guitar. It’s too dangerous. I will die before I let that happen.” “Wills ... what happened to him?” “I don’t know for sure, but whatever it is, I’m not going to let it happen to either one of us.” I said. “And Octavia? I remember that vile thing. It took her, and Mag.” “I don’t know,” Abbie paused, her voice heavy with sadness, “He grabbed me, and I don’t know what happened after that. You were out, the blackness went into the guitar, and that’s all I remember. When I came to, I was here, and I don’t know how to get out.” Sara, meanwhile, had been slowly walking around Abbie, studying the symbols on the ground. “I think I get it.” She said, standing. “Abbie is surrounded by two different levels of alchemical symbols. The inner ring, where Hawkes got burned, are the elements. He came in on the fire side. Going from there, clockwise, you have water, air, and earth. Not sure what defenses those areas will have, but I’m sure they’re all as potent as the fire.” “What’s on the other ring?” Abbie asked. Sara walked around the circle again, “Those are all different compounds, but I’m not sure what they mean. I know one is silver, another is sulfur. Then there are a few different metals.” “And that’s the same one I saw outside,” I said, pointing to the aqua regia. “Of course, that’s right. And that means that one,” Sara pointed to a similar shape, “is aqua fortis. There should be a third water symbol outside of the circle. Check near the entrance to the cave.” Hawkes nodded, and moved towards the sandstone wall, eyes on the ground in front of him. “Found it!” We stood over the small V shaped carving. “Now what?” I asked. “Now we work the magic.” Sara said, smiling for the first time since we’d met. Using the heel of her right foot, she sketched a circle around the aqua vitae symbol and then crossed that with two straight lines, each leading to the edge of the circle around Abbie. One went to the regia, the other to the fortis. “I hope this works...” Sara said, then knelt to draw a symbol over each line. “Purify,” she whispered, “and dissolve.” The circle in the ground flashed so bright we all had to shield our eyes, and then it was gone, and Abbie fell into my arms. “You need to go back out to the car.” I said. “No, I can’t. Not now. We go together, we fight our father together.” “Damn it...” I started. Abbie stood tall and shut me up with a look. I knew that look well. It was fight time. “Right.” Hawkes looked at us, a grim expression on his face. “I hate to be ‘that guy’, but do we have any weapons that might actually work here? I’m guessing my gun won’t stand a chance in hell of hurting a demon, right?” “I have the gris-gris bag my sister gave me." I said, “It’s not a weapon, but it’s powerful. I’m pretty sure without it I’d have been suffering a lot more from the guitar withdrawals. Abbie should hold on to it for now. I have a feeling the guitar doesn’t want me dead quite yet.” Sara put her hand up to the necklace around her neck and took it off. She handed two little charms to each of us. “These aren’t weapons either, but they will help protect us. A little.” “Great. A useless gun, a bag of magic leaves, and some silver trinkets. Demons gonna be tremblin’.” The Detective grumbled and started walking towards the shadowed cave entrance. “Is he always like this?” I ask Sara. She nods. \*\*\*\* We must have been walking for fifteen or twenty minutes through the darkness, occasionally hit with a sparkle of light from silver veins running along the rough corridor. Then we heard the sound and saw a flicker of light, like a flame coming from up ahead. It was the guitar; I recognized the tone immediately. A soft strum, but it reverberated right through me. Cautiously, we turned down a last tight bend in the cave and found ourselves looking down into a huge cavern, sunken down about six feet below the opening we stood in. There was a sharp cracking sound, like rocks breaking, and I almost shouted in fright as suddenly my father stood in front of me with a huge grin on his face. I stared at him, and he didn’t blink or look away, just kept grinning. He looked even younger than the last time I’d seen him. Then the smile vanished as he stepped backwards into the cavern, beckoning for us to follow. “I knew we’d get the family reunion I always wanted.” He grinned. Behind him, on the floor of the cavern, Corso paced in a circle, strumming the guitar softly. He stopped playing for a second to raise his hand in a backwards wave but didn’t stop and fell back into his walk and strum rhythm. My father moved swiftly down towards Corso, and then someone else moved past me. Detective Hawkes with his gun out, pointing it down towards Corso. “Don’t...” I started, but he wasn’t listening. He fired twice as Corso circled back towards us. Corso jerked backwards, hit in the chest, and then stopped in his tracks. He slowly raised his head to look at us, and then started laughing. “Well, good evening to you, friends! Join us!” He called out. My father now standing next to him. Hawkes looked at the gun, then back at Corso. “Damn. Well, I had to try.” “Wait,” Abbie whispered. “Did he say ... us?” “Yeah. He did. This is not going to be good.” I responded, taking a few steps forward and peering down into the cavern. There was a spiral carved into the ground, covered with alchemical symbols and strange looking letters. Like an alphabet of the damned spelling out our destruction. “Aramaic.” Sara whispered. “Great.” I returned, more concerned with what was at the center of the spiral. It was Mael. Bound by the same invisible force that had held Abbie, but, I guessed, far stronger. His eyes were closed, his head was thrown back, his arms crossed in front of him. And behind him a figure stood in the shadows, watching the proceedings. I didn’t recognize him, but I was pretty sure I knew who it was. He noticed, or possibly felt, my gaze upon him and stepped forwards into the light. His jet-black hair was a stylized mess and seemingly unaffected by the heat, he was wearing a perfectly fitted red velvet tuxedo blazer over a black buttoned shirt. He tilted his head slightly and then shot a dazzling smile towards us. “Mister Forte, so glad you could join us. I am Mister Velvét, but please. Call me Harry.” I ignored him and turned my attention to Corso. “What happened to Octavia?” Corso stopped and turned to face us. “Oh, my dear little mortal, why such concern for someone who has no soul? She went home to her own little private hell. Ha! Soon, I’m sure, where you’ll all be joining her in the endless, eternal, dark pits of her own suffering.” He spun on his heels to face Mael. His back to us. “But now that we’re all here, let the performance begin.” “Too bad these aren’t silver bullets.” Detective Hawkes mumbled. “Silver is for Werewolves, not demons.” I replied. “Wait,” Sara stared at us, “What about Iron? And Salt, right? I mean, I’ve never actually tried to kill a demon before, but it’s supposed to be like cold iron and salt. There’s enough material in this cave to create an arsenal of ammunition. I just need the right symbols, and a little time.” Corso had moved back to stand beside Harry, behind Mael, who remained completely unresponsive. Harry nodded, and Corso handed him the guitar. I could see Harry step back, as if shocked, but he held the instrument tight. “What’s he doing?” Abbie asked. “Corso can’t play the guitar the way it needs to be played. Not for this.” I started to comprehend what was going on. “Only a human player can invoke the power in the guitar, and the cost is greater than what my dad’s willing to pay. That’s why they got Harry to do it.” “But won’t it do to him what it did to you, and your father?” Sara asked. “Yes. But some people think they can handle the power... the addiction.” I stare at my hands, shaking violently. I can feel the guitar pulling at me. “But I know some people can’t.” I looked at Sara, “You make your weapons, I’ll buy you some time.” Before anyone could object, I slid down the side of the cavern and made my way towards the spiral. I had a feeling that I wouldn’t be stopped, and I was right. My father and Corso, and behind them, Harry Velvét, stood and silently watched me. I was supposed to be there. They wanted me there. I was a part of their madness. Then I realized that they’d lured me here to complete their depraved act, using the guitar to beckon me forward. As I moved closer, I was greeted by a heated wind of foul-smelling wind. It moved around me, following the lines engraved in the red sandstone floor. I almost threw up but held steady. My eyes were watering a little, but once I pushed through the wind it was calm on the other side. “Are you sure your sister won’t join us?” my father asked. I looked back at the entrance of the cavern. It was about forty feet away above a fifteen-foot curve that seemed a lot steeper than it had when I came down. Abbie and the Detective stood, watching, but there was no sign of Sara. “Leave her out of this. I’m here. You don’t need her.” “No, I suppose I don’t anymore.” He turned away from me and gestured for the guitar. Harry walked over, carrying it gently. Not like it was delicate, but like it was painful. Harry handed it to the demon. Now it felt like my head was on fire and about to explode, “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to play it, but I still get it when you’re done, right Corso?” “You will get what you paid for, human.” Corso grinned, grabbed the guitar, and handed it to me. I can’t even begin to describe the ecstatic shock that coursed through my entire body when my fingers wrapped around the neck of that instrument. A feeling of falling through dark grey clouds. Smiling, watching me bliss out in the damnable energy of the guitar, Corso moved to the back of the cavern where there was a grouping of stalagmites that formed a sort of seat, almost a throne. Corso took a seat on it, ruler of his own little empty corner of hell. “Play us a song, human.” He bellowed dramatically, then belched some blue fluid. I held the guitar, still on a high from the dark surge I felt flowing through me. I wondered if the gris-gris bag was doing anything to diminish what I felt, or if it was doing nothing, because this felt so good. I felt untouchable, but I knew I had to be clever about this. “The Maelstrum?” I called back. Corso looked pleased. “You remembered. But no, not yet. I’ll show that soon. Just play what the guitar shows you.” I realized now I didn’t have a choice. I needed to play along until I knew how to get us all out. So play I did. I start with just a simple rhythm in the key of E, letting the sound and tone guide me. I close my eyes, feel the chords push out, hear the melody take shape. I hit a b5 chord, I feel the ground shake. I don’t stop playing, but my eyes flash open and meet Corso’s. “They’re coming.” Corso gleefully exclaims. I see Mael’s head move slightly, but his eyes remain closed. Harry Velvét steps to the side, looking a little less pleased than he had been. “Corso?” He looks at his blue-haired companion. “What is this?” “One little cursed guitar isn’t quite enough for this particular exorcism.” Corso deadpans, and while remaining seated he lifts his hands up to start chanting along to the rhythm I couldn’t stop playing. With each downstroke I hit, another strange syllable was uttered, and with every utterance a small crack appears in the spiraling circle surrounding Mael. And out of each crack a shadow starts to drip upwards. A slow steady stream of nightmare black droplets hitting the rock ceiling to form quivering mounds of shapeless onyx. Soon the vaulted ceiling is circled by a gathering of obsidian stalactites made from some kind of demonic sludge. Then those shapes slowly elongate until a circle of shadows, slightly humanoid in shape surround Mael. As I played the shapes reverberated and responded with the notes in different tones. Dark ominous tones that caused cold shivers to run down my arms and chest while beads of sweat formed to run down my face and neck. Corso let out a delighted laugh, “Ha! Look, it’s the rest of your band!” Suddenly he stood up, making a grand gesture with his arms above his head, “Strike up one for the band! Ladies and gents, the Maelstrum can now begin!” As the tones circled around the cavern, a wind picked up behind them. A wind that carried the stench of rot and death with it. A wind that pushed the notes together into some stygian melody. The dark shapes swayed and pulsated. I watched, unable to stop my playing, as my father danced around them, his face shining in some twisted childlike glee. Corso, seated again, leaned forwards, watching the proceedings, and Mael slowly opened his eyes, and what he saw must have evidently struck a chord of terror deep within him, as his mouth opened up to let out a scream that cut through all the sounds like a sonic knife edge. A scream that stopped everything except for the sound of the guitar I held. I stepped closer, still playing. The shadows moved and gathered around me, a tightening circle. Corso stood on his stone throne and shouted out another string of words that seemed to push the shadows into a frenzy, and the thick noise started again, more dissonant and more frenzied. Mael looked up at me, his eyes burning red, dripping black tears. “Stop this.” He whispered. “I beg of you, human, before it’s too late.” “I can’t.” I replied. “Then you will burn with us all.” Mael uttered with defeat, his head falling, his body slumping forwards, but still held upright by some invisible force. Behind him and in front of me, Corso yelled unintelligible blasphemies into the void. My father echoed his shouts as he jumped up and down in front of the blue haired demon. A demon, I thought, gone mad. I saw out of the corner of my eye a movement and turned to see Harry Velvét scrambling up to the cave opening. I shouted his name, and he turned to look at me before pushing past Abbie and Detective Hawkes. “I didn’t sign up for this, my dear boy. Drop me a line if you make it out!” And then he was gone. “Hawkes!” I shouted, “You should go too! Take Abbie, get out now!” The detective started to shout something back, but I couldn’t hear him. I couldn’t hear anything other than my guitar, hitting a melody of torture and delight. I looked down, my fingers were raw and bleeding, but they never stopped playing. “This is it!” Corso shouted, moving towards me, through the swirl of sound. The black shapes were moving together, their cacophony doubling in intensity, long sinewy tendrils stretching out towards Mael. And I had found myself standing in the thick of it all, watching, playing, as that horrible but familiar thing started to move out from the guitar. The lower E string started to unravel, my fingers still plucking around it. The shadow and the string started to twine together and twisted, it cut through the air and curled around Mael’s neck. Shining silver and cutting into flesh. The shapes pushed in, slowly becoming one mass of darkness that moved around me. Mael’s eyes flashed open again, as the wire pulled against his throat. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. And then a sharp crack of thunder broke through the howling feedback, echoing through the cavern. Both Corso and I turned to face the source of the sound and saw Detective Hawkes standing at the base of the cave wall with my sister and Sara beside him. His gun pointed straight at us. “Stop this now, Corso.” Detective Hawkes shouted. “That’s still not going to do you any good, human. Your weapon is useless, remember?” “It was useless.” The detective smiled and pulled the trigger. The bullet flew straight towards us, whistling past my ear, and embedded itself in Corso’s forehead. Corso started to smile, but then stopped. His smile faded, his face took on a look of confusion, then as he put a hand to his head, a finger touching the hole the bullet had made, a look of fear and pain. Suddenly his skin changed to the same color as his hair. “What did you do?” He screeched, black ooze pushing out of the hole and around his finger. Dripping down into his eyes. “Your bullets can’t hurt me! What is this!” Sara took a step forward, as the detective raised the gun again. “They can if they’ve been transmuted into pure iron, laced with salt.” Corso’s eyes opened wide with incredulity and the Detective fired again. This time the bullet hit Corso in the left shoulder, and he spun around backwards before hitting the ground. He sat up, fast, and started screaming again, the same strange language, but the words were sharper, harsher. Staccato syllables coming out to stir up the shadows again. I had managed to stop playing the guitar, as if a spell had been broken when the bullet had buried itself into the demon’s head. My fingers were raw and bloodied, and I felt like I’d just run a marathon. And then I felt the shadows grab me. Wrapping around me and pulling me towards Corso. Mael was hurt, but struggling, trying to break the ties that bound him. The Detective, along with Sara and my sister, were hidden from view, obstructed by a pulsating inky wall that rose almost to the ceiling. Corso stood now, one arm pointing up, the other towards me. The sound was unbearable. I pushed my hands against my ears, but it made no difference. It was all around, and inside me. It sounded like a death scream. The foul curse of a thing in the guitar was being pulled out, and I could sense that it was against its own will. Corso wasn’t trying to just destroy Mael, he was trying to tear apart the Asag as well. And at this point I knew that if he succeeded, I’d die as well ... as would my father. “Samuel!” I shouted into the chaos, hoping he’d hear, praying he’d listen. “If Corso gets the guitar, we’re both dead. I know you don’t care about us, but are you willing to die for this?” I don’t know if my words got out past the noise; I was shaking as if I was being electrocuted, the guitar becoming a conduit between my soul, the demon inside, and whatever Corso was doing to pull it out. And then I saw her, Octavia. I saw her arms first, coming out of the black shadows, pulling herself out as if she had been swallowed by a pit of living tar and had to claw her way to the surface. Then her head, hair plastered against her face, followed by shoulders, waist, hips, until finally she stood before me, naked, dripping with that inklike ooze. “Miss me?” She quipped, then without waiting for a response, she turned abruptly, her arm swinging swordlike through the murky black wall behind her, splitting it in two. It fell like a dropped water balloon, splattering black liquid across the rocky floor. I heard a scream then, and it was my father. I could see him now that the wall of shadows had been broken. He was hanging on to Corso’s neck, trying to strangle him, or stop him from his incantations, but a shadow figure had pierced through his side, moving between his ribs and then down around his legs. And unlike the demons, my father still bled red. It was everywhere. I didn’t have the strength to do anything other than take a step towards them, and then fall to my knees. Corso pulled away from my father, who collapsed like a rag doll. Drained of blood and life. The demon shadow began slowly sucking him up while Corso started moving slowly towards me. I could tell he was in pain, but his hatred was stronger. His eyes were glowing blue. “You pitiful waste of flesh. How dare you get in my way. I will make you suffer for an eternity, and then I will make you suffer it all over again.” He started to rise, bringing all his strength to bear. His body elongating, his arms twisting out. He reached out for Octavia, grabbed her, and flung her aside, almost as an afterthought, while moving closer to me. She hit the side of the cavern and dropped to the ground. I saw her struggle to get to her feet again, and as she did, her face started to morph into a strange shape. But before I could figure out what was happening, I heard a shout behind me. “Wills, heads up!” It was my sister’s voice. I turned and saw the detective throw his firearm toward me in an underhanded arc. I caught the gun, and without any hesitation I swiveled back towards Corso and pulled the trigger. The iron bullet hit Corso dead center in the chest. He screamed in pain, yelled in anger, and began tearing away at his body in agonized frustration. He tore at his hair, pulling out chunks of the blue along with portions of his flesh underneath. It was like he was ripping a mask off, but the features under it were even more hideous. Knotted and bloody and pulsating mounds of blue bone mixed with flesh. The black winged shape that had been Octavia swooped towards him and tore at his already flayed flesh with razor talons. He screamed and tore back, and they both started twisting around and into each other while around us the thick dark waves of sound grew louder, pulsating and shaking the very ground we stood on. I felt it inside me, controlling me, pushing, pulling, squeezing, and caressing. Not my body but my very soul. The shadows started to merge with my blood, the sound filled my veins, the music slid against my mind, wrapping around my spine. And I felt that darkness stronger than anything I’d ever felt before. Deeper than drugs, deeper than love. I was being made one with oblivion. The dark shape came out of the guitar, but it was coming out of me as well. It slid and twisted and undulated towards Corso, who was now staggering around the cavern, a mess of alternating flesh. The blue human slabs being torn from his body and the shuddering bruised purple and blue mass that lay underneath. I felt everything leave me, and struggled to hold on to consciousness, but my legs faltered and gave way. As I collapsed and fell forward the guitar fell out of my hands, into the dirt. At that moment there was another sharp thunderclap, and lightning that glowed red shot from the center of the cavern up into the ceiling, shaking rocks and sharp stalactites loose. It sounded as if the entire cave they were in was going to split in two. The walls shook and a rumble started filling the cavern as Mael, who had freed himself from whatever alchemical spells had bound him, appeared before me, bent down, and picked up the guitar. I tried to stand, but all I could manage was to kneel, and shout out towards my sister and the others to get out. I don’t know if they heard me. I hoped they had. But Mael, with a smile, hit a chord on the guitar. A chord I couldn’t name if I tried. The tone tore through my mind, and I felt as if my grasp on reality was being torn apart. Note by note. My eyes blurred, my vision turning into a white tunnel, and all I could see was the guitar in front of me, being played by twisted fingers. “Wills... get ... Gris-Gris...” I heard a voice, those words, faint as if from a dream. “What?” I mumbled Louder now, “Get rid of the Gris-Gris!” It was Octavia, coming towards me, coming for Mael. I shook my head, not understanding. Get rid of what protected me? “Do it!” Octavia was upon us now, her talons driving into Mael’s shoulders. With what little strength I had left, I pulled the small bag out of my pocket and tossed it aside. As I did so, Octavia shook Mael while lifting him up. The guitar fell from his grip and to the ground. Behind him I could see what was left of Corso struggling in dirt that had been turned into mud by the blood from my father. The bag hit the ground, and almost instantly, two charcoal shadows slid through the guitar and pushed between my lips, down my throat. I choked and gagged, trying to force breath around the thickness of the shadow that was filling me up. The white tunnel shifted to red, and I stood, knowing that I was feeling the Asag taking place within me, and within the guitar. Connecting us. Allowing me to stand and play once more. I picked the guitar up. My sister, along with Sara and the detective were nowhere in sight, and I could only hope they had made it out. And then I played. The black shadows swayed and burned with midnight fire. I couldn’t tell if I was breathing air or shadow, but it didn’t matter. I’d never been able to make sounds like this before. Chords formed using configurations I didn’t know my fingers could grip, microtones that I didn’t know existed, let alone that could be played on this instrument. I created a dark world with the music, and the demon recreated that world within me. I was a cyclone of sound, pulling all that remained around me within to the now shimmering and pulsating sound hole of the guitar. The frets felt like razors on my already bleeding fingers, but it felt fantastic. The pain fueled the song, and the song ate the world. Corso was devoured, Mael shrieked, I drowned in the pain. Then silence. \*\*\*\* Hours, possibly days, later, my eyes opened. It was dark, but I could tell that I was in a small room, lying in a bed. I stood up, still dressed, and walked shakily towards the door. I seemed to be alone, and as I stepped out; I was hit by a vision of night. I was standing in front of a small cabin, surrounded by trees. The air was cool and above me I saw nothing but the night sky and a million stars. No cave, no shadows, no screaming. No sound at all. “You’re up.” A familiar voice said. I turned to see Octavia sitting in a chair on the porch. “What happened? Where am I?” I ask, “What day is it?” “You’ve been out for a few days, but you’re safe. We’re in California. Eldridge, to be exact. After you, and the Asag, of course, managed to take Mael down, I got you out of the caves. Your sister and the other two mortals were waiting. We put the Gris-Gris back in your pocket, weaved some alchemical invocations to help strengthen your psyche and your soul, and brought you here to recuperate.” Octavia explained. “Your friends will be back soon; they’ve gone to get some supplies in the town.” “The guitar?” I ask. Octavia looked at me for a few seconds before speaking, “Harry Velvét was also waiting. We made a deal. Along with a very nice sum of money ... you won’t have to worry about your finances for a while ... he also gave us a powerful Tibetan amulet crafted from silver and bronze. That allowed us to stave off the demonic infection, leaving you strong enough to continue without the guitar.” I stared at her, letting the words sink in. “You sold the guitar? You saved me? But Lillian...” I started. “Stop.” Octavia held a hand up. “It was my choice. You have not lost the guitar, and the guitar no longer controls you. You are still connected to it, as your father was, but hopefully you will not turn out like him, and be able to keep and maintain the power without corruption. It doesn’t matter where the guitar is, the Asag is part of it, and still part of you. Close your eyes, feel it, hear it, but never listen to it.” “I feel like my heart is breaking because perhaps yours can’t.” I take a deep breath, trying to do as she says. I sense the darkness in the center of my chest. It curls around, pushes against my heart, pulls at my arms. It feels like needles just under my skin but needles I can handle. I open my eyes and see a shadow behind Octavia, but it’s not hers. She sees my gaze shift, turns, but she can’t see what I see. Suddenly a black slab of tar melts and opens. I look, and it’s the Asag, but it’s also my father. It’s a murky portal into a demonic pit, and it wants me to dive in. But Octavia was right, it wasn’t pulling like it used to. It feels somehow muted. I can resist. I can fight. I can keep it in the abyss where it belongs. \*\*\*\* Now, Detective Hawkes and Sara have gone back to the east coast, but they’ve promised to keep in touch. Sara said she’ll try to find if there is a way to separate me from the demon without destroying me. Corso and Mael are, as far as I know, somewhere within the Asag’s endless chasm of existence. Mag, Octavia tells me, is alive and recovering in some nightmarish purgatory, and loves it. My sister is staying with me for another week or two, and it feels right, this family connection. And then there’s Octavia. I’ve finally realized that I can fix this. I don’t need the guitar, but I still feel it, and I think I know how to reunite Octavia and Lillian. Mom said never fall in love with someone who’s dead. I hope that doesn’t include demons, but maybe it does. Doesn’t matter now, though. I’m going to have to remember those four steps mom used to talk about. It’s probably time to start following them a little more strictly. I’m posting this in hopes that readers might be able to help me locate Mister Harry Velvét. I have to get back that guitar I found. \*\*\*\* Standing up I move outside. A breath of clean air, a stretch to the stars. “Are you finished, my little human?” A voice I instantly recognize asks quietly. I turn. She sits on the porch and watches me. I can’t tell in the darkness, but I’m pretty sure she’s smiling. “This is where the journals end. Perhaps there will be no more. Perhaps this is actually only the beginning. I hope my brother is safe. Thank you. – Abigail Forte<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The House of Attics and Basements [Part 5] [RESPONSE] I stood in front of the clock, knife in hand. I had wanted to dismiss John Lewis’s diary as some kind of hallucination, but there was just too much I couldn’t explain. So much about my encounter with Emily had left me baffled–especially the way she had disappeared into the clock. John Lewis had claimed that the stranger he encountered had used the knife as a sort of key, inserting it into the center of the clock’s face. I touched my fingers softly to the cold glass, searching again for hidden ridges, but I came up empty. On the other side, there might be nothing. Or there could be Emily. Or the Traveler, waiting in the dark with his own glistening knife. Thinking of him, I started to sweat. Suddenly, it was like I was a boy again, watching him split the wallpaper in my bedroom with his razor sharp blade. Except in my imagination, it wasn’t wallpaper, but my skin, a wall of flash splitting clean down the center. I held the knife inches away from the glass, preparing to stab forward. For some reason, I felt an instinctual hesitation, the way you might feel before stabbing a living thing. I wondered, briefly, if my father had ever done this. Had he tried to travel through the clock, or had he only suspected that visitors came through it? My father was a success by all accounts. He’d taken a struggling farm and survived a few hard years, buying his neighbors’ farms for pennies on the dollar during drought years. Then the rains had come back, and everything seemed to break his way. Every crop he grew seemed to pay off better than expected, and after a few years a Big Ag company had offered to fold him into their business for an ungodly amount of stock. By the time he died, we were one of the richest families in the county. My father always credited his success to tenacity. He’d been the last man standing. The sole survivor. Of course, around town there were whispers. Too much luck for one man, people would say. Deal with the devil, whispered the old women in church. My father paid them no heed. He was the hero of his own story. Which is why I ended up being such a disappointment to him. “The Little Master,” he always called me, bitterly. He’d been right, of course. Even as I got older, I made a habit of giving up. I was a B student in high school and a middling athlete. In college, I changed majors half a dozen times before finally graduating with a trendy “self-designed” liberal arts degree. My father had declined to attend my graduation. He died shortly after that in an unexpected accident, falling down the house’s central stairs, his neck twisting around in an impossible angle. Any momentum I might have had in life seemed to leave me then. Maya had stuck with me for about a year after father’s death, seeing me through the grief. But I’m not sure that’s even what I’d been feeling. I was simply stopped. What did any of it matter, if my father wasn’t there to see? My father was a success, but he was no adventurer. If anything, I was surprised he hadn’t had the clock encased in a steel box. Maybe he had his reasons not to. I was no bold hero either, but here I stood, knife in hand. Maybe I just had less to lose. I thought of Emily. Then I stabbed the clock face. The glass gave way beneath the knife blade like jello, parting cleanly as it began to glow bright blue. My body began to tingle. Then everything went black. I found myself in a vaguely familiar room. Small windows lit the otherwise dark space. An ancient furnace, no longer used, sat dormant in the corner. The basement. My basement–or at least, one very much like mine. I looked back at the clock. Everything appeared the same as before, except for one key difference. Here, the hands pointed to eight. Before I could examine the clock further, I heard footsteps from above and heard the door to the main floor open. Light flooded down the stairs, and I quickly hid beneath the furnace. Above me, I watched as Emily started down the stairs. “I told you we’re not done talking,” came a man’s loud voice from behind her. “Just have your assistant take care of it,” Emily shouted back. “Like when she gave me my period talk.” “Now, Emily. Or you’ll regret it. I promise you.” She turned back upstairs and closed the door behind her, the room going dark again. Slowly, I crept up the dark staircase, listening to the sounds or arguing in the distance. Emily and the man walked in the direction of the front door, practically screaming at each other now. Then they headed outside. A minute later, I heard a car engine turn on. Then, all was silent. Quietly, I opened the door to the main house and peered inside. Here was the kitchen–my kitchen–and yet entirely different. A wall of cabinets had been removed to create a modern open floor plan flowing into the living room, and the oak cabinets had all been painted white, their antique brass knobs replaced with stainless steel. Out in the living room, a garish 80-inch TV was playing CNN at low volume for an audience of no one. Lining the staircase, the ancient portraits were gone, replaced with family photos: one of Emily in elementary school, and another of her posing with Maya Green. And then the one that made my heart stop: Emily, Maya, and me. At least, a version of me. He was maybe thirty pounds heavier, most of it muscle, with the kind of smile only successful people wear. A few more steps up, I found another photo of him, this one wearing a red tie in front of an American flag and a small engraving at the bottom of the frame reading, “Sen. Stephen Walker of Oregon.” In a strange stupor, I walked through the kitchen, looking for something to drink. But the liquor cabinet was full of tea tins, and the only drins in the fridge were cold-pressed juices. “You’re a long way from home,” came a voice from behind me. I turned to see a man in a gray suit. He wore dark glasses and a black facemask, obscuring his features, but I knew immediately who he was. I felt suddenly paralyzed, like I’d been caught breaking into my dad’s liquor cabinet and was about to catch the beating of a lifetime. “It’s funny, you know,” he said. “I never took you for one to get off the couch, much less to go traveling through clocks. But that’s the nice thing about this business, I suppose. The surprises.” He gestured to the grand kitchen around us. “So what do you think, Seven? Some people say one version of hell is when the person you became meets the person you could have been. So here he is, the Golden Boy, or at least, he thinks so. Senator Stephen Walker. Of course, he’s not done yet. Ambitious one, he is. Already got his eyes on the White House. Oh, I hope he makes it. I’ve always wanted to kill a president. Yes, I think we’ll give Senator Walker a little time to ripen, see what he becomes.” He took a step toward me, removing a poker from the fireplace. He swung it in lazy circles as he stepped toward me, his features inscuratable behind his mask. “But you, Seven, I could give you a hundred years, and you’d just spin around the drain like a little unflushable–” He was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. Fast as a cat, he sprang up the stairs toward the attic, leaving the fire poker clattering on the kitchen floor in front of me. Still reeling, I ran to the walk-in pantry, closing the door behind me as quietly as I could. Through slats in the door, I peered out into the room. In walked Emily, a woman behind her who I recognized as Maya Green’s mother, Layla. “Just give him time,” Layla was saying. “The stresses that man deals with on a daily basis are well beyond–” But I could tell Emily wasn’t listening. Her eyes fixed on the poker in the center of the kitchen floor. She examined it for a moment, then looked directly at me, as if peering right through the pantry door. “I just need some time, Grandma,” she said. “Actually, there’s someone I need to talk to. Why don’t you go to your room? We’ll catch up soon.” As soon as Layla was gone, Emily walked right over and whispered through the slats. “I hope you know how stupid you were to come here. We’re dead now, both of us.” “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s okay,” she said, smiling a little now. “It was probably going to happen anyway. It’s–it’s kind of sweet. You–well, other you, has never really taken any interest in me before, so it’s kind of a nice change.” She reached for the doorknob, and the darkness around me was split with a beam of light as the door opened. “You’d better come out of there. We should talk.” <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I encountered a Wendigo while making a remote border crossing [RESPONSE] We’ve got crows back at home. In my town we see them every day. Sometimes solo, sometimes in a group. I am well aware that a group of crows is referred to as a “murder” but despite this ominous label, they’re pretty shy and generally fly away at the first sign of danger. But the pair of big black birds circling the point across the lake were something else entirely. I know that around the Canadian border ravens become more common than crows, and this is what I suppose they were. But these were really big– too big, possibly bigger than an eagle. And as they circled the point, the calls they made were unnerving. Nothing like the “caw” of a crow, the sounds were screeching drawn out croaks, as though to make sure that every creature on the lake was aware of their presence. I kept quiet from my vantage point two hundred yards across the bay, and the travelers I had in my charge knew enough to keep still and silent. We were three quarters done with our journey that had begun at a clandestine location outside of Atikokan. I never thought I could become a smuggler, but here I was, tucked under ancient white pines with a man and woman who were essentially strangers to me. They watched the huge birds with me, whispering back in forth in their native language. I don’t know what they were saying but the look in their eyes showed their fear. And these people have seen things in their homeland bad enough for them to leave with nothing more than a few possessions, and then give all of their money to a stranger who arranged for me to take them through the wilderness to cross the most remote section of the largest unguarded border in the world. Traveling by canoe along a route that my ancestors have traveled since long before there was a border, we had crossed the imaginary line last night, and by this time tomorrow I planned to load them into a van that would be waiting at a trailhead near Ely. This was where we would part ways. For now we were preparing to break camp at a campsite known only to me. I carved it out of the timber a few years ago, and it is able to conceal not only a tent but a canoe as well. There’s not much canoe traffic this time of year, but I was doing a final check to make sure the coast was clear when the birds showed up. Figuring there must be something along the shore holding their interest, I fished my binoculars out of my pack to get a closer look at the sinister pair. To the naked eye it looked like a typical rocky point on a shield lake—a smooth rock shoreline gave way to a stand of sparse bulrushes with a couple of boulders. One of the boulders didn’t look right, I realized that I was actually looking at a dead moose that had floated up there. Likely a casualty from the moose season that ended the week before. That explained why the pair of birds were circling, and I pulled the binoculars away to study how the birds were behaving. They took turns swooping down low over the moose and then soaring higher than the treetops and letting out their disturbing calls. Then there was movement in the trees. I pulled the binoculars back up and focused in on the mix of birch and fir that was along the shoreline. At first I thought it was a bear, coming down to take advantage of the dead moose. But this was far taller than a bear. Then I saw the antlers. Some smaller trees parted and then what at first I thought was a moose stepped to the water’s edge. I’ve seen hundreds of moose in my time up here, but what I was seeing now didn’t make sense. Sure it had antlers, and it was tall like a moose. But it was mostly without fur, and the color was all wrong, more of a sickly pinkish gray than the dark brown you would expect of a moose. I could see its ribs. And its front legs weren’t really legs, they were more like long, gangly arms. Arms that ended in long bony fingers. Even though I was about 200 yards away I could see the glint of fangs. It stepped from the trees to the water’s edge. It paused and looked up at the circling birds. It let out a scream that hung in the air. One of my travelers let out a whimper, and I turned put a raised finger across my lips. I knew we were out of sight of what any typical animal or person could see, but this was far from typical. I flashed back to many years before when I stared wide eyed at my grandfather as he told stories around the campfire. Flames flickered and birch logs crackled as he described an evil spirit called the Wendigo. Many generations ago a lost hunter turned to cannibalism to survive, and his evil deed transformed him into a horrific beast. A beast that roamed the wilds with an insatiable hunger for flesh. Human or otherwise. While this story terrified me as a child, I never gave it any thought as an adult, as the elders had many tales of spirits and such. But here I was, miles from the nearest road, two strangers in my care, looking at the impossible. I subconsciously reached to feel the outline of my revolver tucked into the back of my pants. The beast had now waded into the water and its claws began tearing at the moose carcass. It ripped off huge chunks of flesh, hide, and bone with ease, shoving them into is gaping mouth where they were crunched and swallowed. The water around the moose carcass was soon tinged red with blood and the pair of giant birds took roost in a tall pine above the beast. The carnage continued as the creature consumed impossible amounts in minutes. I heard one of the travelers whisper “Monstoro”. I didn’t need translation to know what it meant. They had every reason to be scared now. I’ve had face to face standoffs with wild bears, with big city gangs, with angry fathers. At least with those you have an idea of what you are dealing with. My grandfather never said how one would deal with a Wendigo. With most of the moose consumed, the monster let out another scream. I was back to looking through binoculars, which was a mistake as the beast’s face and chest were covered in blood, and flesh clung to its claws. An image I will never be able to erase. Despite having consumed the better part of an adult moose it was still gaunt in appearance. It took a last look around and I stopped breathing when its gaze seemed to focus on our location for a moment. It slowly turned towards shore and then disappeared into the brush. This cued the black birds to come down for what was left. One bird rested on the moose’s hindquarter and picked away at intestines, the other rested on the head and feasted on the eyes and torn-open neck. After a few minutes they flew up silently, circled over our location and then headed in the general direction the Wendigo had gone. At least they went in the opposite direction we were headed. We sat in silence for a time, then I pulled out a map. I showed the travelers where we were, where the Wendigo had gone, and where we needed to go to complete the journey. I showed them my gun, which I had kept hidden from them until now, hoping it would ease their fears. It didn’t do much to ease my fears. It was a .357 revolver, enough to stop a bear, but what would it do to a Wendigo? I suspected there needed to be some version of a silver bullet to stop an evil spirit. I gestured to them to pack their belongings, which they did quickly and quietly. I calculated that if we traveled lightly and quickly we could be out by nightfall. I decided to leave the tent and everything else not essential. We slid the canoe down the bank, climbed in and pushed off. The woman sat on the floor in the middle, the man was at the bow. I paddled from the stern with intensity, we had about ten miles to the end of the lake. At the end of the lake was a portage trail of about a half mile that would bring us to the next lake. We had done a number of portages already on this trip, and after the morning’s events I was dreading having to be on foot. There was no other way out. A light wind was at our back, allowing for relatively quick travel. The man was paddling as best he could, but it was marginally helpful at best. The woman kept her head down and did not move. Usually on this kind of trip I try to hug the shoreline to keep a low profile, but now we were tracking right down the middle of the lake. I was making a beeline for a height-of-land where I knew the portage was, and we continued along in silence. The paddle down the long lake was uneventful, and it was early afternoon when we reached the portage. Once ashore we took a short break and ate some jerky, and then it was time to make the portage. It would be easier now since I had abandoned most of the gear. On earlier portages I had the travelers hide out while I scouted ahead to make sure we would not meet anyone on the trail, but there was no time for that. I think they understood me as I tried to explain the importance of moving quickly and quietly. I pointed to the trail and then to the packs and paddles. They took the cue and I put the canoe up on my shoulders and we plodded along through the forest. It took less than an hour to get to the next lake. There was a forest fire here several years before, and the charred remains of a few old growth pine stood in stark contrast to the young aspen, birch and spruce that had grown in the void left by the fire. This lake was smaller, with many bays and points, and we were soon back to making progress in the canoe. wendi 5We came around a point midway down the lake. I looked to the end of the lake where we would find the next portage and stopped padding. Maybe 300 yards away was the remains of a burnt pine. Roosting in the tree were two birds. Big, black birds. The man in the bow saw them too, and muttered something to the woman. She looked up for the first time and stifled a scream. We had to go past them to get to the next portage, so I kept paddling down the middle, not taking my eyes off the birds. As we got closer it was obvious they were watching us too, their heads pivoting as we passed them. I kept looking back over my shoulder at them, but they held their position. I didn’t know what the presence of the birds on our route signified, but based on what I saw this morning it couldn’t be good. By the time we were at the end of lake where the next portage was, I could barely make out the tree anymore. I thought that perhaps we were in the clear, but then we all heard the unmistaken sound, the same sound we heard the birds making this morning. Even though they had to be over a mile away there was no mistaking it. The long, drawn out croaking continued for a minute, then it was silent again. I paddled towards shore so hard that the bow slid two feet onto the bank. “Go! Go! Go!” I yelled. The travelers seemed shocked at my yelling, as I had not said anything to them in the few days we had been together that wasn’t a whisper. They both scrambled out of the canoe, grabbed the gear and headed up the path. I again wrestled the canoe onto my shoulders and followed. We still had another lake to cross after this portage, then it was down a creek to where we were to be picked up in a remote parking lot at the end of a forest road. We would be early, but maybe I could get a cell phone signal and get a call or text to the driver. Or maybe we could hitch a ride with a tourist. Any concerns of being intercepted by authorities has now taken a back seat to getting out of here and away from that thing that for all I knew was making its way south toward us. Since we were closer to an access point, this mile-long portage was well traveled and we made good time. The first half was up a slight incline, then it went down much more steeply to the next lake. We reached the top, and paused for a quick rest. I set the canoe down to catch my breath. The crest of the trail allowed a good view of the valley ahead. It also allowed a good view of two huge, black birds that were circling above the tree tops. The woman was not able to stifle her scream this time, and this prompted the birds to start up with their ominous calls. In the distance we heard another sound. It was a scream, a scream that could have only come from the horror we had seen this morning. While I felt a certain amount of responsibility to the travelers, my concern for them was waning. “You better keep up!” I yelled as hoisted the canoe back onto my shoulders. I headed down the steep trail as fast as I could, and I could hear the travelers behind me, stumbling, but not falling too far behind. With the canoe on my shoulders I couldn’t see if they were carrying the paddles. Didn’t matter, I keep a spare strapped to the supports in the canoe. The steep path made a switchback and was able to see that the man was indeed carrying a paddle and pack, the woman was crying hysterically, carrying nothing. The path here was steep and rough, with many large rocks and roots creating potential tripping hazards. The birds were circling overhead us now, their croaks echoing off the hillside. We heard the distant scream again, although this time it didn’t sound so distant. It was not possible for us to move any faster, but I took care to be sure-footed. I could see we were nearly to the bottom of the hill. Once there it would be level ground to the next lake, which was now only a few hundred yards away. I made it to the bottom of the hill where the well-worn path went through a series of large roots and then turned to dirt. Once to the dirt I flipped the canoe off my shoulders and let it land on the hull. The travelers were coming up fifty yards behind me. I grabbed the bow of the canoe and started dragging it, hoping the man would catch up and grab the stern. I started to yell at the couple to hurry but I was interrupted by another scream from the beast. It was coming from our right and I could now hear branches breaking and what sounded like breathing and snarling. There was no reason to think that the lake would offer refuge from this thing, but it seemed like a better option than facing it here on the path. The man was almost caught up to me, but he stopped to see where his partner was. She had tripped on a root and was now screaming, not sure if it was in pain or terror. Probably more terror, as the Wendigo had broken through the brush along the trail and was now 50 feet behind her. She looked back at it and let out what she meant to be a scream but came out as a yelp. The beast was on her in seconds, and it picked her up over its head and slammed her to the ground. The man dropped to his knees, watching in horror as his partner was torn apart and devoured. wendi 8I resumed dragging the canoe as fast as I could, not looking back. The beast let out another shriek, then there was a scream that I presumed to be from the man. I tried not to think about the snapping and crunching sounds I could hear from behind me. The next lake was now in sight, and even though my entire body wanted to quit I was now running. The shoreline was sandy and I ran right into the water, allowing the canoe to float past me. I hopped in when the back seat was even with me, and in one motion pulled the tag end of the knot that held my spare paddle in place. A few quick strokes and I was twenty yards from shore. The screams of the beast continued, and the black birds that had been watching the bloodbath from treetops now were starting to swoop around me, getting closer with each pass. The Wendigo was now on the shoreline and it let out the loudest scream of all. It stepped in the water to its knees but stopped, gesturing with its long arms and howling at the sky. Not knowing what to do next, I pulled out my revolver. At the end of this lake was the outlet stream that would lead me to a bridge. For the moment I felt safer where I was. The birds were getting ever bolder, and I could feel the wind as one of them swooped in on me from behind my shoulder. It wheeled around over the bow and came right back at me. It reared back at arm’s length with its wings spread and its talons coming right at my face. Taking advantage of a perfect opportunity I pointed the gun barrel at the bird’s center and pulled the trigger. Black feathers flew and the now silenced bird landed in the water and strangely sank out of sight. The other bird flew up high and then quickly descended, coming right at me. I had the gun raised, but the bird did not offer a good target and it flew past my head. Sensing weakness, it circled around and attacked, pecking me on the back of the head with its massive beak. I had to be careful not to tip as I tried to fend it off with the paddle. More determined than ever, the bird came back at me. I fired twice, missing both times. With three rounds left in the gun, I knew I better choose my next shots carefully. The bird came from behind me again, this time it wheeled around quickly, planting its talons on my chest and pecking at my eyes. My attempts to fend it off with a fist were not successful and it got ahold of my eyebrow. I could feel flesh pulling away from my skull, and I pointed the gun right at it and even though I thought the barrel was pressed right into it I still missed. I resorted to using the gun as a bludgeon that I slammed into its neck. This had a noticeable effect, it let out a deep croak and let go its grip. I was not watching the Wendigo at this point, focused on the dark feathered assailant. I could hear it though, as it let out shrieks and screams louder than a siren. The remaining black bird, shook up some from the pistol whipping, flew in a crooked path now, obviously having difficulty maintaining its course. I felt confident I could take it down with one of my remaining rounds. It came straight at me, I let it peck the top of my head as it went by. It circled around again, and once more I let it get me with a good peck to my temple. It made another loop around, and I was ready when it followed the same path of attack. It came right at me, and I was looking down the barrel right at the bird’s head when I pulled the trigger. The raven’s head disintegrated in a cloud of black feathers and blood and the headless body landed at my feet, wings still flapping, talons still grasping. The shrieks of the Wendigo suddenly stopped. It stood motionless, staring out at the lake, not necessarily at me. I set the gun on the seat next to me, there was still one round left. I used the paddle as a shovel to lift the dead bird over the side and into the lake, where it too strangely sank out of sight. The Wendigo, while still a fearsome looking beast with its face and claws covered in blood and flesh, had lost its menacing posture. I pointed the revolver at it, right at its head. I was confident I could hit it, not confident that my one remaining bullet would kill it. For some reason I thought about the old saying, that if carrying a handgun for bear protection you should save the last round for yourself. Pretty sure the old saying applies here. I lowered the gun and watched the beast. With its long bony arms hanging at its sides it turned towards shore and with two big steps it was crashing through the timber, heading away from the lake, away from me, away from my exit point. I sat quietly for a minute, trying to take all of this in. I could no longer hear the sounds of branches breaking. Was the Wendigo gone? Apparently they can’t, or won’t swim. The ravens must act as seers or scouts for the Wendigo, once they were eliminated it was like a switch was flipped. I thought about the hapless travelers. I knew it was pointless to go back to where I had last seen them. What would happen to me when I left the lake? It was now late in the afternoon. I slid the revolver with its one bullet into the back of my jeans, picked up the paddle and headed for the outlet creek.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] In my town, getting good luck means you’re going to die [RESPONSE] I stared down at the D20, tears welling in my eyes. 20. The fourth one I’d rolled. Ishaan and Kayla stared at me. Their eyes were wide, filled with fear. I opened my mouth to say something, but I couldn’t. Saying it would make it real. And I couldn’t— “It could just be a coincidence,” Kayla cut in. “Yeah, just last week I got two eights in a row,” Ishaan said with a nervous laugh. But we all knew what was really happening. I’d gotten lucky. And in this town, getting lucky means you’re going to die. \*\*\* Corey Isenberg was a physics major who lived in an off-campus apartment about a block away from us. Last year—only weeks from graduating—he died in an accident. “Accident.” His death could have been plucked right out of a *Final Destination* movie. On a bright Monday morning in April, he took the elevator downstairs. Unbeknownst to him, a rat had chewed through the elevator cable that night. As soon as he stepped inside it would snap. That’s not what killed him, though. Not even close. He only lived on the second floor. The impact wasn’t bad at all. In fact, he was able to press the help button, call the fire department, and calmly tell them that he needed rescue. They dispatched someone, and everything seemed like it would be fine. But. Apparently, on the way down, the cable whipped around inside the shaft and got wrapped around a pipe. When the firemen got there, a rather heavyset one stepped on the top of the elevator. It rocked back and forth, pulling the cable taught— It started spraying water. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Water meets a live wire, and *crack,* he’s gone. But nope. The electrical wiring was well insulated. No, what happened was that at that very moment, the fireman started axing through the top of the elevator—and his axe got stuck. But he’d made a hole. And the water pouring from the pipe dislodged by the elevator cable chewed by the rat began to leak into the elevator. *Drip, drip, drip.* The fireman tried to retrieve the axe, but it was stuck. One of the firewomen tried to pry the ceiling off the elevator, but it was sealed very, very well. In fact, the whole thing was sealed extremely well. So well… none of the water leaking in could leak out. Corey Isenberg drowned to death inside an elevator. His death came at the end of an incredible stroke of good luck. I remember reading the headlines in the university newspaper—how he’d won ten grand playing the slots in Atlantic City. There were other things, too, like the time he ran into a tech CEO at Starbucks and ended up getting a job offer. Never would’ve been there at the right time if his shower hadn’t broken earlier that morning. But his good luck wasn’t always so obvious. It started small—very small. Like the balance in his checking account being $1234.56. Or breaking the wishbone of a chicken exactly in two. Or the random number generator in a line of code popping out three 100’s in a row. Or… Rolling a die, and getting a natural 20 every time. \*\*\* I stared at my reflection. My phone read 2 AM in big fat letters, but I couldn’t sleep. Corey’s death pounded through my mind. His look of terror as the water level rose. Slamming his fists against the wall of the elevator, screaming for the help that was right on the other side. But he didn’t have a chance. Fate, luck, chance—whatever you call it—had already marked him to die. *Is that what’s going to happen to me?* Corey wasn’t the only one. There were several bizarre deaths like this one, spanning across a few decades. In the ‘90s, Laeta Montgomery burned to death after tripping over a jack-o’-lantern. She’d tripled her wealth at the horse races a week before. In the ‘00s, Jen Lu was attacked by a rabid squirrel while on a hike with her family. She’d just inherited the entire family business, after her brother announced he’d be moving to England with his fiancee (whom he met in a chance meeting.) But they might all just be tall tales. None of these details were public—they were passed down from townspeople, from generation to generation. Even with Corey—from news articles I knew he’d died, and that he’d won at the slots, but all the other stuff about wishbones and code was hearsay. Even the details of him drowning in the elevator weren’t public. Ishaan told me that. I shook my head and turned the water on. Splashed some water on my face. *Just a ghost story,* I thought, rubbing the water on my face. *And I’m going to be twenty next month. Aren’t I a little old for ghost stories?* I reached for the towel, to dry my face— My arm whacked against my phone. It fell onto the tile with a sickening *crack.* “Dammit!” I shouted, diving for it. I snatched it off the floor, praying the screen wasn’t cracked— My heart stopped. The screen was cracked. But it was cracked *perfectly.* One solid line in the glass, running vertically from the bottom to the top. Not a single split or fracture. Cold sweat broke out on my arms. I set the phone down, my hand shaking. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. I don’t know if I have months or years or days. I don’t know if the legend in my town is just a tall tale—snowballing with each generation, as it’s told around smoldering campfires on cold autumn nights. But I don’t like my chances.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My greatest fear came true... [RESPONSE] This story takes place back in my college days. Sophomore year to be specific. I had met my two friends Jin and Raquel in my freshman year in the underclassman dorm, as we all were in the same building. All three of us had been so thrilled when we had now that we had moved into the upperclassman dorms: better food, bigger common room, and we were all going to be neighbors. Jin and I would be roommates and Raquel scored the single directly across the hall. In addition to all that Jin and I had received a bonus perk: a lot more space! Somehow, we had lucked out big time. As it turns out, our room a long time ago belonged to the RA, but has since been converted to host regular students since the RA for our building now resided on the other side of the grassy quad. While our dorm had the more or less same furniture as the other doubles: two beds, two desks and one mini fridge, there were a few bonus features exclusive to our dorm thanks to its history. Although the chimney to it had been sealed, we had a cute little fireplace, which Jin liked to use to display her paintings over the mantle and we would use the little cubby it formed to tuck away this and that. And unlike the other doubles in the building which were just one big room, our dorm split into 2 rooms that were separated by a proper door. This feature was a life saver, and made cohabitation a snap. It was no trouble even though our schedules rarely aligned: one of us would just work in the main room while the other caught up on their z’s in the bedroom. And best of all, while all the other double rooms were capped at two closets, we had a bonus third closet in the main room which at first we had decided to share. I was on a bit of a minimalist streak at the time, so Jin effectively became the sole user of the third closed. Even then, she mostly just stored her suitcase and old moving boxes in there, so the closet was only ever opened when a break was coming up. It had been doozy of a fall semester, so we were all ready to head back to our homes for some well-deserved r & r. Because it was the winter break, the dorms would be officially closed up for the holiday meaning everyone was going home. My finals had wrapped up a little earlier than Jin and Raquel’s so I got to leave a day earlier than they did. After I had gotten home, I tried to remember what day Jin said she was coming back, but all I remembered was that it was sometime after I would return. So, I would have the room all to myself for a bit. After one whirlwind of a winter vacation came and went, it was time for me to head on back to campus. I had arrived in the early evening on Friday. After a full day of running around the airport, I had lugged by bag up the 3 flights of stairs to my room, where I stopped, only to find myself staring at the door with my heart racing. This was my absolute least favorite part of vacations: walking back through your front door. Not only did it mean that your break was done, but I’ve always had this deep-seated fear that someone might have broken into the house and stolen something, or god forbid was still inside. What was even more unnerving this time was that since Jin had left after I did, I would have no way to know if anything had been out of place. I braced myself as I unlocked the door. And when I saw Jin’s desk on the other side of the room my heart stopped because I thought my worst fears had come true. Her desk which was normally covered with papers and knick knacks was bare, and most of her paintings that normally were displayed proudly on the mantle and by the window were gone. I whipped my head around to look at my desk to see if the burglar had done the same with my belongings, only to be confronted with the immense pile of junk and notebooks on my desk, exactly as I had left it. A wave of relief had washed over me, and my pulse eventually returned to a healthy range as I walked around the room double and triple checking that none of my belongings had gone missing. I had assured myself that there was no way a thief passed through the room as my Nintendo DS and DVD collection, the two items with the most recognizable value, had been left entirely untouched. I suspected that Jin must have done some very throughout cleaning and organizing before she left, because not only was her desk bare, but her bed had been completely stripped of sheets and the pillow was nowhere to be seen. I had assumed at the time she could have taken them with her back home, which would have been odd, but not entirely out of the question. By then, dinner was already being served so I made my way down to the dining hall. I had texted Raquel what time she would be getting back to campus, and to my delight it turns out she was already there. So, we headed to dinner together. We chatted about all the fun things that we had done over the break, and on what we should do while we wait for Jin to come back. It was around this point in the conversation that I mentioned how Jin’s bed had been stripped, which Raquel affirmed was very odd. But we decided not to dwell on it and decided we would go shopping early the next day, I had a bunch of coupons that were about to expire, after grabbing a quick brunch. Before bed I had decided to ‘re-organize’ the piles of books on my desk, and then tried to settle in by doing some reading. But I couldn’t get my focus because my eyes kept drifting towards that empty bed beside me, my mind puzzling why the bed would be empty. Eventually all the hustle and bustle of the day sank in and I finally switched off the lights to go to bed. It took maybe two minutes after I had gotten into bed when I heard a thud, and then a cascade of books crashing to the floor. I lay there under the covers still as a statue, ears pricked and eyes glued to the door which I had closed out of habit. After waiting for 5… 10… 20 minutes there was not so much as a peep from the other room. I could have checked, but our mini fridge was notoriously noisy. Every night the fridge would always make some strange thunk, clang or whirring sound. It only would happen for a moment, and for whatever reason always seemed to be after I had gone to bed. As for the fallen books: I was not a good organizer, I had seen too many precarious piles of belongings come crashing down in broad daylight even if no one touched them. Eventually I had settled down enough to go sleep. I had woken up early the next day, a little too early. It was only 7, and the dining halls never opened until 10 on the weekend. This was a normal occurrence for me, a die hard morning person. I investigated the main room, to which all I could find was the fallen books and no other sign of disturbance. I also checked my closet to make sure no one was hiding inside, and I found it was empty. I had considered opening the other 2, but every fiber in my body was telling me not to, and I wrote it off with the excuse of respecting Jin’s Privacy. After all, I was one tiny college student and the only one awake at this hour. If I uncovered something, I would be in far more danger than if I had left it alone. I tried to brush it off and pulled out my laptop to kill some time. On any other weekend I would have slapped on my thick soundproof headphones without a care and binged watched YouTube videos until I could get breakfast. But I couldn’t make myself be at ease in that dorm. I elected instead to use my old earbuds instead, only using one at a time with the volume set as low as it would go, my eyes constantly watched Jin’s closet and the door to the main room while I sat on my bed. Ten AM came without incident, I met Raquel in the hall and we headed to brunch. After we inhaled our meal, we ran to the bus stop. If we had missed it now, we would have to wait a whole other hour before the next one would come. We made it with 3 minutes to spare. While we waited, I checked my purse to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything, but to my surprise I had forgotten the coupons. I quickly retraced my steps in my mind and remembered I left them on my desk in the dorm. I considered running back to go get them, after all the hall entrance was only about 20 feet from the bus stop. I could probably make it, but it would be cutting it close. Not only that, but I had this gnawing feeling in my gut, saying ‘don’t go up to the room’. Raquel checked the bus schedule and saw it was running late. That meant anywhere from a 5 to 15-minute delay. Time was not really a limiting factor anymore but again the intense instinct continued to insist that I stay away from my own dorm room, even though there was definitely nothing wrong with it. We ended up waiting for a total of 20 minutes before the bus came and left for the mall, without the coupons. Either way, we had a great time. In total we had been out of the dorm for about three hours. We had returned and decided to nap and relax in our own rooms until dinner. When I opened my door again, I found the door to the third closet sitting wide open. Other than a few folded up boxes, it was totally empty. And to my surprise, when I ran back into the bedroom, Jin’s bed had magically been completely made. All the sheets and pillow back in their place. The covers slightly ruffled and thrown back as if someone had just been lying down for a nap. While one part of my brain thought Jin must be back, another part of me grew more suspicious. I worked up my nerve, again checking my closet and finally opening Jin’s, both now cleared of suspicion. Some part of me wanted to believe that Jin had in fact returned. After all, she usually was out of the house until 8 or 9 PM anyway, even on weekends. So, I waited until dinner time. After eating with Raquel, we decided to hang out in my dorm until Jin returned so we could spend some time together. And so, we waited. At 7, there was no sign of her. At 8, there was no sign of her. By 9 o’clock, Raquel decided to text her to finally ask where she was, and if she was on campus. To our horror, she replied that she wouldn’t be back for a few more days. She had been hundreds of miles away the whole time. Every thought, every emotion left my body. Raquel was screaming and raving about how it was possible. I replied flatly that I had no idea. I asked her what I should do, and she suggested we call the RA. I quickly made the call and tried to explain the situation as best I could. The RA told me that I should call the police, and asked if I wanted her to be there when I did. To which I said yes eagerly. She arrived more swiftly than I had expected, even if it was her job to be available for such emergencies. The call with the campus police had been brief, at the mention of the break in they told us to wait while they dispatched the officers. While Raquel paced nervously, I sat patiently at my desk. 15 minutes later 2 officers had arrived. With one look at me, stone faced, and a look at Raquel, actively shaking, they turned towards Raquel and asked her to explain what happened. To which she corrected them that she was just the friend from across the hall. The officers looked skeptical, and their confusion only grew as I recounted what had happened earlier that day, namely the re-appearance of the sheets and the opening of the closet. I made no mention of the sounds I heard the night before as I had no evidence there was a connection. The officers questioned if I might have been miss-remembering, but Raquel was quick to support me, as we had discussed the missing sheets the day prior. The police were quite stumped as to how the culprit could have accessed the room, as practically every plausible theory was shot down. Did Jin forget to lock the door? No, it locked automatically whenever you left the room. Did we lose a duplicate key somewhere? No, I had never made a duplicate and I trust Jin when she said she never had either. Did they climb through our window? Unlikely, as they have locks that neither Jin nor I have ever unlatched while we stayed there. Plus it was a 3 floor vertical climb to get up there. A staff member would have the keys, but no motive that easily explains what happened. Regardless, the locks needed to be changed, but it would take two days before it could be done, so for two nights I slept on the floor of Raquel’s room. Every time I went back into my room for something, I did a check of every hiding spot just in case until the locks were changed. And in the end, nothing else really became of that incident. But for those 24 hours, I my greatest fear had become a reality: that while I was away someone had broken into my home and was in all likelihood hiding in my closet.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The "Thing" at Apple Bloom Farm (Part 1) [RESPONSE] Welcome to Mistyville Connecticut! A sleepy little town whose main tourist attraction is a beautiful, 500 acre farm with a scary secret: Apple Bloom Farm. First, some background about myself. My name is Lilly. I'm a 20 year old student who goes to a university just 15 minutes away in the nearest city. I’m studying creative writing with a minor in drama. I applied for a year-round position at this farm to make some extra money while at school and away from home. As you can tell by the name, this farm's main produce item was the many varieties of apples that were grown there: Granny Smith, Golden Delicious, Empire, Honey Crisp; you name it, they got it. Anyway, this farm is well known for its year-round farmers’ market the size of your average grocery store. This was where I would work most of the time, as well as in the pumpkin patch and corn maze. What I didn’t know, however, was how quickly my life would change once I started working there (and not in a good way). Many horrifying things happened to me during my time working on the farm, and I’m writing this post as a warning to those who may want to visit. It all started back in August on my first day… I drove up the winding driveway to the staff parking lot, and saw an older couple, who looked to be in their late-fifties, standing outside of a small cottage-like building. *They must be the owners*, I thought to myself. I got out of my car, and immediately felt an uneasy feeling that I couldn’t place; like someone (or some*thing*) was watching me… Just then I was swiftly greeted by the couple, and the feeling briefly subsided. “Hello, you must be Lilly'', the man said. “That’s me!” I replied, putting on my warmest smile. He smiled back, and held out his hand for me to shake. “My name is Edgar. Edgar Bloom. And this is my wife, Elizabeth.” “It’s so lovely to meet you, dear”, Elizabeth said, warmly shaking my hand. “It’s so nice to meet you both! I can’t wait to get started,” I said “Why don’t you follow us into the staff building so we can get you settled and show you around, hmm?” I nodded in agreement, and I followed up the steps to the staff building. Though, the minute the conversation ended, the uneasy feeling came back. *What the hell is going on?* I thought. I looked around, and this place didn’t look any different from any other family-owned farm. *Maybe I’m just coming down with something…* So I walk into the staff building, and am surprised to walk into a very cozy looking lounge room. “Welcome to Apple Bloom Farm, Lilly!” Edgar exclaimed, standing in the middle of the room with his arms spread out. “I hope you enjoy your time working here, we like to make our employees feel welcomed here. Our family has owned this property for over 50 years, and everyone has enjoyed their time here, no matter how long they’re with us.” Then suddenly, blink and you’ll miss it, Edgar’s face darkened. “That is, if we don’t *scare you away first*.” His face then went back to normal, and he started *laughing*. “Oh, I’m just joking with you!” I laughed half heartedly with him, but the truth is that I nearly jumped out of my skin. I then heard another voice coming in from outside. “Mom? Dad? I’m here!” In came a woman who looked to be in her late-twenties or early-thirties. “Oh, yes. Come here, honey,” Edgar said. “Sofia, meet Lilly. Lilly, this is Sofia; she will be showing you around, and will cover most of your training.” “Hello, Lilly. Great to meet you!” Sofia said cheerfully. I smiled back at her; Sofia didn’t seem to be as mysterious as her parents. “Alright, well I’ll let you ladies get to it. Good luck, Lilly,” Edgar said, turning to go out the front door.” “Thank you, I’ll try,” I replied. I then felt a tug on my arm, and turned to see Elizabeth standing right in my face, her hand closed tightly around my arm. “Be careful out there, my dear. You never know what’s lurking in the fields, especially at dusk.” “O-ok. I will.” I could feel myself shaking with fear. “Mom, stop it! You’re scaring her,” Sofia said. Elizabeth then released my arm, and turned to give Sofia a remorseful look before swiftly leaving the building after her husband. “What the hell was that all about?” I asked once I was able to find my voice, flabbergasted. “They’ve been acting weird since the moment I arrived.” “Sorry about that,” Sofia said. “We had an… incident here a fews years ago, and my parents haven’t been the same since.” “W-what kind of incident?” I asked, hesitant. Sofia looked at me, and I saw her eyes darken. “Well, it all started about 5 years ago, when my parents made some renovations to the corn maze. They received an anonymous donation of this creepy-ass scarecrow that looked like it crawled out of the depths of hell. ‘This’ll scare the willikers out of the guests!’ my dad told me. So he took it out to the middle of the corn maze next to our haunted shack. Once they put it up though, things began to get strange. We would walk past it to put up more decorations, and we would feel like we were being watched. Then, portions of our crops began to rot when they were growing well. My parents decided to ignore the signs, thought, and continued preparing for the season as planned. Then everything seemed fine for a while, and then our Halloween festivities began…” For some reason, as soon as she said that, I felt a shiver run up and down my spine. “We have two different corn maze experiences we offer: a family-friendly one during the day, and a scary one at night. During the scary corn maze is when we realized something wasn’t right. Me and my parents would hear screams coming from the maze. Not the screams of people having fun, but terrifying, blood-curdling screams. Then we would have people running from the maze, and they would scream at my parents that they wouldn’t come back until they got rid of that god awful scarecrow. Eventually the authorities got involved, and my parents had to close off the section of the maze with the scarecrow in it. We still have no idea what’s wrong with that thing; we’re all too scared to go near it.” “Holy crap…” I said softly. “Yeah,” Sofia replied. “Did you ever wonder why there was a position open here?” She asked. I shook my head, unable to make words form. “Well, you’ll find out once you see that scarecrow. You’re sure you still want to work here? You still have time to back out.” I took a deep breath and straightened my back, wanting to prove myself. I nodded confidently. “Yes” She smiled weakly at me. “You’re a brave one. Now, do you want to start the tour?” Sofia asked. I nodded, and she led me out the door to the rest of the farm. She showed me their massive farmers market, the rows and rows of their many varieties of apple trees, and their two separate pumpkin patches; one for small pumpkins and one for large. Our final stop was the corn maze… As we were approaching it, though we were still a few feet away, and began to get chills all over my body. I looked around at the scenery, trying to slow down my heart rate. In the distance I could see it: the dreaded scarecrow. I inhaled sharply. “Is that it?” Sofia nodded next to me. “That’s it” Though I was quite a distance from it, I could still make out some details. I could see a head made out of jack-o-lantern, and the carved-out face looked like something out of a horror movie. Its limbs were all bent in awkward angles, and the straws of hay sticking out of its clothing looked like they were dripping blood (perhaps it actually was, considering Sofia’s story). “Wow. That’s… actually horrifying,” I said, not totally sure what I should be saying. Nothing I could say would have made that moment any less terrifying. “It is,” Sofia replied. “Well, that’s everything,” she said after a brief moment of silence. “I hate to ask you this, but me and my parents are gonna start getting the maze ready for the halloween season tonight. If you want to join us, you can. No pressure, though. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She smiled crookedly at me. I chuckled to myself. “No, I’d be happy to help. If I’m gonna work here for a while, I might as well get familiar with the place; even the scary parts.” “That’s the spirit! Why don’t you join us for dinner, then we can start once the sun goes down?” So I joined the Bloom family for dinner. Elizabeth had made a pumpkin veggie stew using fresh pumpkins from patches. Then after dinner, we headed out to the maze… “Now, Lilly, I need you to be careful with those lights,” Edgar said as we were walking down the hill towards the maze. “They are very old and very thin, and will span in half if you bend them the wrong way.” “Of course, Edgar! I’ll be as careful as I can.” As I walked through the entrance of the maze, the uneasy feeling, again, returned. This time stopping me in tracks. I felt a hand softly touch my back, and I turned to see Elizabeth smiling softly at me. “I know you’re nervous, Lilly, but don’t be. We’ll be close behind you the whole time, and remember: As long as you stay on the path of the orange flags, you won’t get lost.” She gave me one last tap on the shoulder as encouragement. “Good luck, honey.” Then she walked off along with Edgar. I took a deep breath, and walked along the orange path. The flashlight they gave me was luckily very bright, so I had no problem seeing where I was going. After walking for a few minutes, I came across the area where I would be decorating: this must have been where the family-friendly maze was because in front of me was a cute little area with hay bales, and a “Happy Halloween” sign. I smiled to myself, and began hanging up the lights. As I was decorating, a feeling of someone watching me came over me, and a shiver ran up my spine. I hesitantly turned around, dreading what I might see. And as I looked behind me, and about 5 feet ahead of me was the blocked off section of maze with the scarecrow. Curiosity getting the better of me, I left my area of the maze to investigate this scarecrow. I pushed through the corn stalks, and finally came face-to-face with the scarecrow. *It’s even creepier up close*, I thought to myself. I don’t know what came over me, but I felt the need to get closer, and I reached out to touch its arm. As soon I did that, its jack-o-lantern face began to glow; so softly that I thought I imagined it. I suddenly felt a sense of dread come over me, so I quickly turned around to walk back to my decorating area. As I was walking back, I heard a *thump* and some rustling behind me. I turned around to look, and I immediately felt my heart drop into my stomach; *the scarecrow was gone*. I felt myself start to panic, and I turned my flashlight to its fullest brightness. I continued on, and I could still hear rustling behind me. Just then I heard a growl that froze me in my tracks. “Sofia!?” I called out, hoping it was just her or her parents playing a trick on me. “Is that you?” I heard another growl, followed by a deep chuckle like you’d hear at the Haunted Mansion. Just then the rustling got even louder and closer, and, to my horror, I saw something big rise up over the corn stalks. There it was: the scarecrow towering over me, its carved face contorting into an evil scowl, its eyes looking *right at me*. Without skipping a beat, I turned around and ran as fast as I could out of there. I took a quick glance over my shoulder, and I saw the scarecrow charging straight towards me, its bent arms flailing behind it, and its carved face filled with flames. Just then it leaped at my feet, and dragged me to the ground. I felt my eyes well up with tears, thinking this might be the end for me. The scarecrow dug its claws into my legs, and let out its terrifying cackle again. I looked ahead of me, and I saw the exit only a few feet in front of me. Suddenly filled with courage, I shook one of my legs free. “Get your claws off of me you HAY-STUFFED BASTARD!” I shouted. I used my free leg to kick the scarecrow in the face, and it was enough to knock it off of me. I got up off the ground, and ran as fast as lightning towards the exit, not even looking behind me to see if the scarecrow was chasing after me again. Once I made it out, I just continued running, and I ran past Sofia. “Hey, where are you going?” Sofia shouted towards me. “I’m getting the hell out of here!” I shouted back. I continued running until I made it back to my car. I hopped in, turned on the ignition, and drove out of there like a bat out of hell. I looked in my rearview mirror, and I swore I could see the scarecrow at the edge of the field, still looking at me with a face full of flames. Once the farm was out of sight, I let out the breath I had been holding, and continued driving, heading back to my college dorm. I had to make it back somewhere safe; I would deal with Sofia and the Blooms in the morning…<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My Encounters with Evil in my home country of Japan [RESPONSE] This was my first encounter with the darker side of humanity and potentially my first encounter with the paranormal. This is the story of a nightmarish encounter I had as a young boy living in Japan. I was a very quiet child and often kept to myself. That's why I often walked home alone which in hindsight was not the wisest of choices of a boy to do. However, both my parents worked and didn't have time to pick me up. So, to make it easy on everyone I would walk home from school. I was a young boy walking home about maybe 9 or 10 years old. I remember the rain was pouring down hard and not even my raincoat was of use. I was looking up at the light and eagerly awaiting it to turn signaling for me to walk across. It felt like an eternity had past then a woman with a surgical mask walked up to me and shielded me with her umbrella. She asked me if I was okay, and I nodded we crossed together and then she tells me she had a question. She dressed in white and was covered by a long coat and her head was partially obscured by this round hat while her face was partly shielded by a surgical mask which I didn't think anything of at the time. Then she pulled off her mask and asked me "Do you think I'm pretty?" I was mortified her face had horrible scars around the mouth. I was speechless and visibly frightened. This made her angry and she asked again "Do you think I'm pretty?" In fear I shouted "Yes!" hoping this would make stop and leave me alone. It didn't work and she screamed "Liar!" I insisted I wasn't lying but she said, "Well how about I make you pretty just like me?" next thing I know she took out a knife and swung it at me. So, I moved as fast I could dodge and run. The whole time I kept thinking I was going to die. Looking back I probably would have if I hadn't gotten so lucky. I kept running eventually running blindly into the street barely getting hit by a car. I heard thump or something and quickly turned around seeing she had been hit by the car. I froze for a second thinking she was dead but as soon as the driver got out to check on her, she lifted up her head and gave me this crazed look like a rabid animal. I ran once more and didn't stop until I got home. I never found out what happened my parents told me there had been a man hospitalized for multiple stab wounds but a woman matching her description never turned up. After that my parents drove me to and from school, but I would hear similar stories from other kids about a woman approaching them or their parents, neighbors asking them the same question "DO YOU THINK I'M PRETTY?"<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I search for things people are too scared to believe in. [RESPONSE] To give you a quick summary of what it is that I do is kind of complicated. I’m the person that goes searching for things that most are too scared to believe in. Whether they are willing to admit or not. I’ve searched for Wendigos, aswangs, Kikimora, and other things that I’m not sure of. I keep a whole journal filled with everything I have encountered. But nothing compares to the being that I recently encountered. The thing that made me take a step away for a bit. It started with a rumor I heard in a bar in the middle of no where none the less. I had stopped in right after a case of mine that just ended. One involving a supposed jersey devil sighting, but that’s for another time. The reason why I stopped you may ask though is because The sign for the bar a few miles back kept blinking repeatedly. As if something was telling me to stop. The inside was a quaint place, almost like your typical old fashioned movie bar. Hustling and bustling happening all around. One thing did stick out though. A light dimming frequently around a couple patrons. I made my way over and stopped nearby to hear what they were talking about. I only got a couple words before I spoke to the man talking later that night. “Shadowy figure.” Once things died down a bit I decided to approach the man myself. “Hey man I couldn’t help but overhear you saying something about a shadowy figure.” The man looked at me for a long time without saying a thing. To cut the silence I spoke up once again. “Listen, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but this is kinda the stuff I look into. I’m a… investigator of sorts. Take a look.” I opened up my jacket and pulled out a compendium I’ve been working on. Gently setting it on the table I slid it to the man saying, “have a look for yourself.” I then walked to the bartender, ordered two drinks and walked back to the man handing him one. He took it, looked up and said “Alright, I believe ya. But I’m just gonna tell you a few things.” “Do you mind if I record?” He looked sheepishly and finally spoke up, “As long as you don’t use my name or this place's name.” “Works for me.” I said pulling out my audio recorder and loading in a new cassette. AUDIO TRANSCRIPT CASE LOG 26 NAME: JOHN DOE LOCATION: NOT ON FILE. M. “Ready when you are.” J. This… creature, or whatever it is. It’s not like anything here in this book. I know you’ve got a few pages on shadow folk but it’s not like that. The thing was… black. Just pure black.” M. “Pure black? Not like a see through ish black or an almost all black man?” J. “No not at all like that, it was just… black. Like nothing was there. It looked like all black cut out of a man. No features, nothing. Just… darkness. Like nothing I’ve ever seen before.” M. “So you’re saying that you came across something that was just pure black. Where did you find it and what did it do?” The man just sat there for a few minutes looking down as if he was contemplating his next words. Although he looked terrified, sweat started to appear on his brow. M. “Listen man, if it’s too hard to remember or think of, I get it.” J. “It’s not that… I remember everything. I… I wish I didn’t. The things it did and the things it showed me were… I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone. Not even a stranger like you.” M. “What do you mean? What did it do? Where can I find it?” You could tell the eagerness in my voice to learn more. J. “I won’t tell you where it is. But Let’s just say I haven’t not been to this bar everyday for the last few months. It told me things and showed me… oh god the things it showed me…. Everyone is dying, the world is on fire… and…” The man’s head fell into his hands as he began weeping, almost uncontrollably. “God dammit *beep* not again. I think it’s time for you to leave.” The bartender yelled from across the counter. AUDIO TRANSCRIPT CASE LOG 26 OVER After consoling the man and bringing him outside to wait for a taxi he finally told me where it had all happened. It did take a lot of convincing though. For the safety of others I will not disclose the location. But, I wasn’t even sure I’d find it. The place was… interesting, the drive was as well. The man’s instructions were pretty clear, drive here, turn at tree, turn, turn, and boom. It was a small quaint town? Settlement? I don’t know what to call it. Kind of a small commune, three buildings, a post office, a bar, and a rundown church. But neither of those were what I was after. A mile past the ghost town was a farm. Or what was left of one. The barn collapsed, broken fences, and my target. The rundown house. The sun was setting as I finished my way down the long driveway. As I parked my truck I got an unsettling feeling and flashes of one of my cases came to mind. It dealt with an old farmhouse like this, the family inside was all over the place to say the least. Inside the living room was what seemed to be a man on his knees. But as I entered the room it turned around bearing its teeth. It wasn’t a man, but a wechuge. It charged at me, throwing me to the side and running out the door. I didn’t see it again. But that family… what happened to them. Always stuck. Seeing that really made me contemplate leaving and saying fuck this. But I needed to know what would drive a man to breakdown to that point. Cautiously I walked up the steps peering in the windows to make sure no one was inside. Thankfully the place was empty. I turned on my flashlight and reached for the doorknob until I heard “Don’t” very quietly. I shot around to see nothing. Thinking it was all in my head I turned the knob and went in. As soon as I entered the house I fell. I fell for what seemed to be minutes, sliding down this pitch black hole heading screaming and feeling hands grab and scratch at me. Feeling their nails rip and tear at my flesh, the warm blood running across my skin before finally hitting the ground. I awoke sitting on a chair and something standing across from me. Waiting for my vision to come into focus. I was in what looked like a root cellar with a few lights barely on around the room. Trying to gain my composure I finally heard something speak. “You came seeking answers and now you are here.” “Where are you?” “I am right in-front of you.” I looked up to see… I’m not sure what. It wasn’t just black. It was as if there was nothing there. A cutout of a man was standing in front of me. It was like the absence of light. No features or anything could be seen. The light from my flashlight didn’t even appear on him. The dread resonating off of him made me want to scratch my eyes out to not not feel it anymore. I quickly pulled out my recorder and pressed record before the being finally spoke up once again. AUDIO TRANSCRIPT CASE LOG 26 NAME: ENTITY. LOCATION: CELLAR? E. “I am the absence of light, the absence of good. I am only darkness.” M. “So you’re the devil?” E. “No, you fucking idiot. I am the embodiment of evil.” M. “Sounds a lot like the devil to me.” E. *sighs* “You’re Christian beliefs are not real. Every religion is wrong. When you die, there is no light, there is no heaven, no hell. Only darkness. You become a part of me. Before there was anything, there was me. And when everything ends, I will be all that remains. You are an insignificant speck in the infinite, always dying universe. Let me show you.” The being reached what seemed to be a hand at me and I quickly scooted back avoiding his grasp. M. “What if I don’t want to see?” E. “That’s a first. Every being, person or thing I have met has never rejected me. Never rejected the truth. All those that have searched have never turned away.” M. “But how am I supposed to believe you? You could just be lying. I saw what you did to *beep*. He was a mess after running into you. I mean you did also say you’re the embodiment of evil.” E. “What’s more evil? Lying to you about what’s really out there. Or showing you the truth of everything.” M. “But what is this so-called truth of yours? What will I see?” E. “What you see depends on who you are. Some see good things, some see bad. It depends on the person.” M. “That doesn’t really make sense.” E. “Do you want to see or not?” M. “Fine. Fuck it. I’m in.” AUDIO TRANSCRIPT CASE LOG 26 END With that, the being placed his hand on my head and the most immeasurable things happened. It was as though I was seeing the past, present and future all at once. The creation of everything, every universe, person and plant. Then the destruction of it all. I felt a thousand deaths and heard thousands of pleas. But I somehow focused on one thing. One of my first encounters with something. One of the dominoes that made the rest fall. It was Saturday June 22nd, 1996. I was barely a boy, only six years old. My father just came home from work as my mom was finishing up supper. As we were eating a loud screech came from outside shattering the windows of our house. My father quickly got up and grabbed a knife before a beautiful woman with black hair stopped him. She wore a tattered dress, looked malnourished, and was covered in cuts. My father stood still almost in a trance and was unable to move. The woman inched closer, grabbing his head and turning it to the side. My mother whaling and telling me to look away before the woman spoke. “I’m sorry you have to see this.” With that the woman got close to his ear screaming in it as blood came out of his eyes and ears. Not only were my mom's ears bleeding too but so were my own. I passed out soon after and woke up in the hospital. Just to be told I was an orphan. More flashes came and went, I soon was in the deepest parts of what could have only been hell. Feeling whips hit my back and creatures digging their nails deep into my calves and pulling down. Only for it to reset and happen again and again. Then being nailed to a wall and all my nails pulled off. These were some sadistic fuckers I though as the last nail got ripped off. Only for them to all grow back again. I awoke in my bed gasping for air as I shot up. “Are you ok? What happened?” I heard my wife say while hugging me. “Just another nightmare. I think my medication is messing with me.” I replied getting up. “I’m gonna go make some coffee and get a little work done. Go back to bed.” I said before kissing her head and heading to the kitchen. It was seven in the morning and the sun was just beginning to rise. I started a pot of coffee and grabbed my laptop to do my annual reports that were due next week. I was finally happy and living the life I wanted. It took years of therapy after my parents death in that accident, but it was worth it. I finally had the woman of my dreams and two beautiful kids. Life was good. I awoke all of them to chocolate chip pancakes before going out and getting some groceries. While at the grocery store I felt something watching me but anytime I looked around nothing was there. Until finally in the corner of my eye I saw the silhouette of a person. Almost like the cutout of a person. My head started ringing and my vision was getting blurry before the next thing I know I’m waking up gasping for air again. This time not waking my wife. The worst thing was, I felt my body take control and grab a pillow. I could do anything but scream in my mind as the pillow was placed over her head and I watched her fight until she became limp. It happened over and over until I finally realized what’s happening. I was punishing myself. I lost her long ago, but she’s not dead. She just didn’t want to be a part of what I was doing. Something was pulling my strings. Flashes of lights and hand gripping my head tighter before waking up in a forest. Slowly getting up I notice that I’m clad in armor. Hearing screams I look up and watch as a vicious beast tears apart people wearing both the same and different colors than me. A werewolf, but that’s not possible… They've been extinct since the dark ages. Then I remember where I’m at and what I’m wearing. “Fuck.” I say as I look up and meet a hand of bloody claws right in my face. Falling down I feel my jaw slack and see my ear on the ground. Trying to get up I feel the beast slash my achilles before feeling its mouth close on the back of my neck. I wake on the floor panting for breath not knowing what’s happening or what reality I’m in. AUDIO TRANSCRIPT CASE LOG 26 NAME: ENTITY. LOCATION: CELLAR? E. “Have you had enough. Are you now willing to accept that what you do is for nothing?” M. “Why is it for nothing though.” E. “Because in all realities and timelines, you die a horrible death. You will never live a happy life. Only a life covered in darkness. Meeting me solidifies that.” M. “Caught ya.” E. “What did you say?” M. “If you were a being that was here at the beginning and end. Then how would you know we would meet?” E. “We will always meet. I have been guiding your hand this whole way. I have put all the pieces in motion. I am the one you meet before or after death. What don’t you understand?” M. “How you supposedly know everything, when you don’t.” E. “Well then I will have to show you everything once more.” For the first time I could see facial features in the entity. Sunken in eyes and a mouth full of sharp white teeth as it bore its hand towards me. It seemed ecstatic in the thought of torturing me more. But what it saw as torture, I saw as learning it. Everything has A weakness. I just need to find it. M. “Try your best.” AUDIO TRANSCRIPT CASE LOG 26 END<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm in detention and the teacher has just suggested a new game... [RESPONSE] Detention… again.  Same story, different day. I was in detention about once a week for tardiness. I wonder if they’d still be so eager to dole out punishment if they knew it was because my dad had left last year for cigarettes and then had never came back. Or the fact that my mother was an alcoholic, leaving me to fend for myself and find my own way to and from school on most days.  But I guess everyone had a sad story to tell. These days, misfortune was a regularity, and any blips of happiness were few and far in-between. I sat quietly as the other high school students filtered in. A couple of jocks in letterman jackets took seats in the back close to two popular girls that had never looked my way before. They cackled wildly as the flirting and jokes began. They probably didn’t even notice that I existed, breathing the same oxygen in the room as them. I was more like a coat rack in the corner than a person.  I pulled up my hood and tugged at the drawstrings, retreating into my shell, and just hoped for the next two hours to go by as quickly as possible.  After another minute the bell rang. A mass exodus of kids passed by the windows on their way to the buses out front. A couple of them stopped to point and laugh at us. Brad, one of the jocks, gave them the finger causing them to scurry off to the parking lot.  After a few more minutes of the kids in the back talking about the game on Friday, Mr. Matheson finally strolled in. He stomped to the front desk and slammed a stack of folders on its surface with a loud smack, effectively silencing the chatter.  He looked at each of us, his eyes were wild and bloodshot. He looked rather disheveled, not like his normal put together self. Mr. Matheson was the 11th grade history teacher. He was ex-military and typically very no-nonsense and straight to business. He definitely didn’t appear to be his normal self today.  “Alright kiddos, today is going to be a little different. We’re going to have a little *fun* in detention this time, is that alright with everyone?” His grin was borderline wicked, I didn’t like where this was going.  “Sure, Mr. Matheson, I love fun.” Brad joked, causing the others to giggle.  “Shut your mouth Peterson. You smartass. You know I’ve seen you in detention more than any other kid in this school. If it were up to me you’d have been out of here a long time ago. But you just keep scoring those touchdowns don’t you?” The teacher beamed a dry erase marker right at Brad, which he caught just before it struck his face.  “See. Those hands keep the town happy. But let’s see if you can continue to be lucky huh?”  Mr. Matheson pulled a revolver from his waistband and slapped it on the desk. The entire room gasped and then fell silent. My heart thundered in my chest and my legs tingled with the urge to run.  “You see guys, the feds found my safehouse. The collection of guns and an entire hill of Columbian bam-bam. It’s hard to make it in this economy with a teacher’s salary, so I reverted to some business practices I saw in my time with the military.” He locked the door and paced the front of the room like a shark circling its prey.  “I bet they’ll be here any minute to pick me up.” Mr. Matheson loosened his tie and tossed it on the floor.  “It’s life for me boys. I got some priors I’m not proud of, hid them from the school board of course. No chance of parole, no siree, not me.” He cackled manically then, causing us all to jump.  “So, we’re going to go out with a bang. Let’s have a little fun. This is something I picked up back in Nam. You ever heard of Russian Roulette?” He eyed each of us hungrily, none of us dared to utter a sound.  “I’m sure you have, and we’re going to play it. Peterson, you’re up first. I’ve been dying to shut up that mouth of yours.” He strode to the desk and emptied all the bullets from the cylinder except one.  “Come on up Peterson.” He said as he spun the cylinder and cocked back the hammer.  “Suh-sir… please.” Brad stammered.  “Now come on, don’t be shy, it’s your time to shine.” Brad didn’t move. Mr. Matheson stomped to the back of the room and held the gun up to his head.  “Okay, I’ll do it for you this turn.”  “No no no! Please sir!”  *Click.*  “Oooo, your luck continues Peterson. Who’s next?” He eyed each of us, almost salivating with glee.  Brad broke down and wept at his desk.  “Oh fine, you bunch of babies. I’ll go next.” He put the barrel in his mouth and winked at us before pulling the trigger.  *Click.*  “And the teacher lives! Woooo! What a rush!” He jumped up and down giddy with joy.  It was sick, and I wanted to vomit.  “How about you Ms. Newman? You’ve got yourself a big mouth as well. Come on up here prom queen.”  Jessica Newman shook her head feverishly, closing her eyes as if to wish what was happening away.  “Oh, come now, let’s show a little gumption ladies. You’re all made so soft these days. It’s really such a travesty.”  She started to cry, erupting little panicked squeaks from her lips.  “No?... Okay I’ll do it for you as well then.” He sighed and came to stand next to her, pressing the barrel of the gun against her blonde hair.  “Ready?”  She wailed loudly as he pulled the trigger.  *Click.*  “Oooooo, hahahaha. We’re getting close now boys! I can feel it. Only three more chances and one has to be the bullet.” Jessica’s head fell to her desk with a thud. She had fainted in terror.  Mr. Matheson danced around the desks for a moment to a silent song in his head. His arms drifted from side to side as he leapt and twisted like a figure skater.  My mouth was dry, I was so afraid. I kept my eye on the gun, the chrome glinted in the light, threatening death.  “Three students left. Can I get a volunteer? Who’s going to step up, huh?” He scanned the room, pointing with his index finger.  Suddenly, through the horror somehow, I came up with an plan. “I’ll… I’ll go.” I croaked.  “Well I’ll be! Mr. Johnson! Who would have thought? You know, it’s always the quiet ones. Come on up my boy!”  I slowly stood from my desk and walked to the front of the classroom on shaky legs. The room spun as bile rose in my throat. I forced it down and came to face the deranged teacher.  “I’m proud of you son.” He slapped my shoulder heartily and shoved the revolver into my hand.  The cold steel felt alien in my grasp, it felt wrong, I hated it.  “Go ahead.” He ushered me eagerly.  I cocked back the hammer and brought it to my mouth. The barrel tasted like pennies against my tongue.  Mr. Matheson nodded his head, urging me to pull the trigger as a twisted smile curled across his face.  I put my finger on the trigger but at the last second enacted my plan.  I pulled the gun from my mouth and pointed it right between his eyes. He didn’t have time to react before I fired.  A deafening bang filled my ears as smoke and gun powder stung my eyes. Mr. Matheson dropped to the floor in a heap as the other students screamed.  His forehead had been canoed from the impact of the round, brain matter and blood trickled down the chalkboard behind where he had stood just a moment ago.  I dropped the gun and fell to my knees. I was too numb to cry, but I wanted to.  Brad made a dash for the door but just before he got there men in body armor crashed through it.  An entire team in black with FBI patches swarmed the room.  A man in a suit approached me and went to one knee, placing an arm on my shoulder. “It’s alright son, you’re safe now.” I broke down and wept in his arms as he helped me to an ambulance outside. We all gave our accounts to the authorities. It was all over the news for a week. We’d been excused from the rest of the school year, allowed to do our homework, and testing remotely from home.  The parents sued the schools for negligence in the background check they performed on Mr. Matheson and won a huge settlement. Jessica moved to another state, and Brad was never heard from again. Something about getting his G.E.D. and going to work at the family business.  My mother felt so guilty that she gave up drinking. She’s been sober for three months now and I couldn’t be more proud.  I still had PTSD. Sometimes I’d dream about the taste of that gun in my mouth, and sometimes when I dreamed I had pulled the trigger on myself.  Therapy was helping. But sometimes… sometimes I wish I’d have done it. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] She pulls at my mind like a thread [RESPONSE] *“There’s a lady inside of my head,* *who comes out when I am in bed.* *She dresses in white,* *she keeps out of sight.* *And pulls at my mind like a thread.”* It was the first thing I said that morning. It was just something that popped up. Sammie, still half-asleep, turned to face me. She clutched the covers tight, her brown hair tussled with the ergonomic pillow. Saturday mornings would be far less beautiful without her. “What… what did you say?” she asked. “Huh? What?” “The rhyme. Why’d you say that?” “Must’ve picked it up somewhere,” I sighed. “Some Netflix show, maybe?” “Creepy.” She rolled away, hogging the covers. I’d only slept for five hours, but I was still wide awake. I’d found Sammie’s old diary the previous day, and we’d spent the night reading it together. But for some reason that rhyme stuck with me. “A lady inside of my head”. As I went to work that day, I had that rhyme on repeat in the back of my mind. It played tricks on me. I mistook background chatter in the cafeteria as someone whispering to me. A sheet hanging off a clothesline looked like a white dress. And every now and then, I felt this surge of tiredness get the drop on me, making me nod off in front of my keyboard. At first, I thought I was getting sick. This wasn’t like me at all. Still, I powered through, and did my best to just forget about it. And yet, I couldn’t help but to think that I’d heard that rhyme before. Over the next couple of days, things were getting progressively worse. I forgot to pick up Sammie after work. I nodded off at the red light in traffic. I woke up, every morning, repeating that same rhyme. She dresses in white. That line kept coming back to me. Anything white would cause me to twitch, to look the other way. It was always at the edge of my vision; inches away from the corner of my eye. She keeps out of sight. A few days passed, and I met my mom for lunch at a café downtown. She was always out to set me up with her friends’ daughters; she never really liked Sammie. I forget why, but it was something small and insignificant that happened a few years ago. The moment I sat down, she was on me. Despite having the thickest glasses in the Midwest my mom has more in common with a hawk than an old woman. “Are you sleeping well?” she asked. “Sort of,” I groaned. “Been having strange dreams. And mornings.” “You need a good woman to wear you out.” “Classy, mom,” I sighed. “You know I’m with Sammie.” She sighed and looked for her coffee order. It’d be another few minutes. “So what’s so strange about your mornings?” I tried explaining as best as I could without sounding like a madman. I told her about sleeping no more than 5 hours at night and waking up with that strange rhyme on my mind. I was about to tell her about my problems at work when she suddenly left to get her coffee. When she came back, she didn’t skip a beat. “The rhyme?” she asked. “The rhyme about the white lady?” I hadn’t said anything about what was *in* the rhyme. How the hell did she know? I froze. “The lady in white, who comes out at night. You mean that rhyme?” She said it so casually, carefully sipping her coffee. I just nodded. “Yeah,” I scoffed. “Yeah, that.” “You still on about that?” “What do you mean ‘still’, mom?” “I’ve heard this a thousand times. We’ve talked about this. You used to say it at the breakfast table when you were still in middle school.” “No I didn’t.” “So it’s *another* rhyme? It’s not about the lady in white?” “No, well… I mean…” She just shook her head, sipping her coffee. As the seconds passed, she knew she’d won. “This is why you need a woman.” The more I thought about it, the more I remembered. I made that rhyme up years ago, for some reason. It was a sort of reminder of something that was important to me back in the day. I’d been a troubled teenager. I ran with a bad crowd, and one of my closest “friends” was a nasty abuser. The kind of person who could drive people to make bad choices. While not part of my life anymore, I had a few old names from those days left on my socials. The kind of people who never really stepped out of my life. The kind of people you’re happy to see that they’re doing well, but you’d never actually engage in conversation with them. As I picked up Sammie from work that day, I noticed her looking at me. She usually played games on her old phone or sketched something in her notebook; staring was unusual. I gave her a glance back, as if to ask what’s up. “I’m just worried,” she said as she touched my arm. “You’ve been trying to put all of that behind you. Wouldn’t it be better to just move forward?” “I’m just curious,” I shrugged. “You do what you think is best, hon’.” I put the right turn signal on and checked both ways. There were a few cars coming my way, but they were pretty far off, so I turned. But there was something there. In the back seat. Just inches out of sight, I caught the corner of something white. And there, in the harsh sunlight coming in from the rear-view mirror, I saw a shimmer of something reflective. A thin strand, reaching from my temple into the back of the car. A thread. Completely losing my focus, I turned my head around, taking my hands off the wheel. Sammie shrieked and covered her face as the car spun out of control, making us face the wrong way. The cars in the distance swerved out of lane to avoid us, throwing themselves on the horn as they screamed past. I just sat there. Sammie took out her inhaler and tried to calm down. She gulped for air. As the seconds passed, I turned the car back around, and Sammie caught her breath. Of course, there was nothing in the back seat. Sammie and I didn’t talk for a while. She was uncomfortable about this whole thing, and didn’t want me to pursue it. I didn’t see the big deal; I just needed a reminder. I got in touch with my old buddy, Clark. We hadn’t talked for a few years, but from all the people in the crowd I used to hang out with, Clark was by far the most humane. He was the kind of person who always seemed interested in others, no matter what their interests and lives actually were. Years later, and he was still the same guy. I asked him about the rhyme. I tried to play it off as something funny, but he picked up on it right away. “Yeah, I remember.” he wrote to me. “You mumbled it when you fell asleep in class. Doodled a statue of her in your notebooks.” That night, I went out like a light. I had that kind of dreamless sleep that just makes you feel like the power went out in your head. Off, then suddenly back on. Except I didn’t wake up in the morning. I woke up in the middle of the night, staring into the ceiling. *“There’s a lady inside of my head,”* I muttered. *“Who comes out when I am in bed.”* There was a mild pressure at the side of my head, like someone gently pulling a hair. A part of me knew that if I just quickly turned to look, I’d see something terrible. I could feel a radiating cold, like an open window. A promise of pain. *“She dresses in white, she keeps out of sight.”* I just looked straight ahead, at Sammie. Watched her shoulders rise and fall in comfort. Meanwhile, I could feel my heart rising in my chest. An ache building in my stomach. And all the while, a little pull at the side of my head. I had to turn. To face my fear. I had to. *“And pulls at my mind like a thread.”* I burst into action and stood up. I could hear Sammie stirring. Again, there was nothing there. Just a white t-shirt on top of a dresser. “You have to stop,” groaned Sammie. “You’re hurting yourself.” Over the next few days, I tried to make sense of it. Turns out, this was a rhyme I’d made up back in middle school, and I’d repeated it every now and then ever since. Sometimes I’d stop for several years, and other times I’d just say it over and over. Still, I couldn’t *remember* ever saying it. It was as alien to me as it is to you reading this. But I’d feel that little pull on the side of my head. When standing in line at the store, while waiting in traffic, when taking out the trash. Every now and then, whenever I wasn’t paying enough attention, there was something pulling at me. Something just out of sight, dressed in white. Just a little thread. A little pressure. Like a knife slowly being pushed into my heart. One day, as I was coming home from work, I drove by my mom’s place. She’d asked me to pick up some groceries. Nothing much, just some butter, sandwiches, jam, and such. I was feeling a little tense, like something was standing right behind me. Like something was lurking at the edge of my vision. Her. But seeing my mom and her ridiculous glasses helped. It always did. I helped her put away the groceries as we made small talk in the kitchen. After her usual tirades, she stopped to look at me for a moment. I saw something in her face; something apologetic. Like she knew I was suffering. “I think we should go for a drive,” she said. “You look like you need some air.” She made some sandwiches, and we were on our way. We made our way out of town to a small countryside church. I remember being there a few times as a kid. Mostly for funerals, but also a few weddings. Coming back there felt like getting a whiff of your least favorite food. We parked, and my mom took me down a path on the far-left side. Rows of old tombstones, lined with withered tulips, roses and sunflowers. Mostly blue. We stopped by a stone I hadn’t thought about in years. My dad’s. “Remember the last time you saw him?” she asked. “You’ve told me you can’t remember his voice.” “Still can’t,” I sighed. We stood there for a moment as she placed some wildflowers on the dirt. “You stopped coming,” she continued. “You sort of… forgot.” “Kids cope,” I nodded. “We don’t know how to deal with… this.” She held my arm, and we stood there in silence. As we left, we walked by some of the graves of richer people. Tall obsidian monoliths, cherub statues, elaborate crosses with golden text. And by the exit, the statue of a beautiful woman made out of shining pearl marble. “You were always fascinated by that one,” mom said. “Always.” I had such a vivid memory of it. There were many things about this church I couldn’t remember; not even my dad’s tombstone, but this statue was burned into my head. “The lady in white,” I muttered. “That’s her.” “I suppose it is,” mom sighed. Flowing black hair covering unblinking eyes. An elaborate white dress, slick from the rain. Terrifying. That night, as I got home, Sammie wasn’t there. I figured she was out with her friends. We weren’t really talking right now, but I still texted her to make sure she was okay. I laid awake in bed, thinking. The woman in white. I had a better memory of her than my own dad. I remembered thinking about her over the years. It was a comfort, of sorts. Someone who listened when I was alone. Whenever I came to that church, I didn’t say my prayers to God; I spoke to the white lady, telling her about all the pains and problems of my world. That’s how it started. Over the years, I talked to her more and more. Whenever I was sad, or hurting, I dreamt of telling her all about it. After a while I didn’t even need to see her; I could just think about her. And after a while, she came to me no matter what. That rhyme was my way of remembering her; a call to her, and to have her comfort me. But no, that wasn’t that. That wasn’t all of it. A shiver went up my spine. A horrifying thought. That pull at the side of my head grew cold, as I reached for Sammie’s diary. I turned to the last page, as I felt the chill of a presence entering the room. Her presence. “It’s not… no, I-…” There it was, clear as day. My own handwriting, dated four years ago. “I miss you, Sammie. I miss you every day.” A text on my phone. My message couldn’t be delivered. Number out of service. The thread getting pulled out of my head snapped, and for a moment, my head was filled with memories. The asthma attack that’d killed Sammie. The funeral at the very same church where my dad was laid to rest. The memory of her had been forgotten; taken. That’s why I still thought she was around. I’d forgotten she wasn’t. The diary had brought the white lady back. Whenever I was in pain, whenever I was hurting, she’d come to take it all away. To pull the memories out of my head like a thread. To make me blissfully empty and spin herself a longer dress. The pressure kept getting stronger, as I heard myself saying it. *“There’s a lady inside of my head,* *who comes out when I am in bed.* *She dresses in white,* *she keeps out of sight.* *And pulls at my mind-.”* I held the final words on my tongue, as I slowly turned around. A whisper tickled my ears. “*…like a thread*.” It wasn’t my voice. It was crushed glass, arranged into words. A knife’s edge being whispered into my soul. She was here, and it was no longer a comfort. She was standing by the side of the bed. An elaborate white dress, woven from memories I’d prayed to forget. Everything from embarrassing teenage nonsense to searing emotional anguish. All of it woven into this beautiful dress; a touch of which would bring it all back. She wasn’t running away. She wasn’t hiding anymore. She was here, in front of my eyes. An unmoving, unblinking face. Sculpted black hair, unmoved by wind. Spinning a thread between her fingers, reaching all the way to my soul. She touched my arm. I felt the weight of my pain in her. A being that’d come to life from an image, a rhyme, and ceaseless sorrow. She was still pulling threads out of me. I could feel black spots forming in my memory. Not just painful things, but what I had for dinner last night. The last time I was at a bachelor party, the name of my friends’ dog. It was all being stripped out of me, and she was going faster and faster. By the time I realized what she was doing, the threads spinning around her fingers were so many that they formed a braid. I rolled out of bed, feeling my head being pulled back. I struggled to get away, forcing myself into the hallway. “*Like a thread*,” she whispered. Where did I work? What was my favorite food? I stumbled through the kitchen and out through the front door. I could hear her. She was trying to pull it all out of me. All of it. I couldn’t remember my birthday, and my chest ached. Oh God. I barely felt the gravel under my feet, I had to get away. Whatever it took. I was forgetting the past few minutes. I forgot why I was running. I ran headfirst through traffic, feeling the wind of passing cars. Screeching tires, last-second horns blaring as I tumbled over the railing at the other side. Flashes of consciousness. Falling down a hill, scratching my knee on a fallen tree. Hands brushing tall grass. And there, at the edge of a lake, I forgot how to run. The pull was so strong. I knew that she’d reach the bottom of my mind, and soon. Like pulling the roots of a weed. She moved behind me, ethereal and unreal. She was making herself corporeal, taking all that is me and turning it into her. Maybe everyone would forget about me, the way I’d forgotten about the world. Flashes of panic washed over me, as I realized what I was about to lose. I was dying, in so many ways. I got to my feet, as I felt the words fall out of me; slowly being forgotten. *“There’s a lady inside of my head,”* I cried. I stepped forward, pulled by her marble hands. She was greedy. Hungry. Excited to turn to flesh. *“Who comes out… when I am in bed.”* Her eyes were moving, turning into a vivid green. My vision blurred. *“She dresses in white,”* I said, watching her beautiful dress. *“She keeps out of sight.”* A last ditch-effort. I didn’t even know why I did it. “*And pulls at my mind…*” I fell forward. I could hear her draw her first breath, as my own chest closed. My body was shutting down, my mind and soul being unraveled like a loose thread. Her presence turned warm, as her body felt that first pulse of life. But as I fell, my hands touched that white dress, and it all came rushing back. It absorbed into me. Into my hands, my face, my chest. Decades of unbearable loss coming back to me all at once. Anxieties I’d pushed away seeped into the cracks in my mind. Anxiety and sorrow, burning like a hot iron. I just laid there, screaming. Begging for someone, anyone, to kill me. For the white lady to end it, to take me away. But no, she was gone. I’d forgotten the rhyme. This was a couple of years ago. I’ve been to therapy three times a week since then. Doctor Bogan tells me I’m in steady recovery. I’m coming to terms with all that I’ve tried to forget and accepting the things I’ve chosen to leave behind. She’s the first doctor that didn’t just dismiss me as having a breakdown or calling it all a coping mechanism. This was too complicated. While she doesn’t tell me she believes that the lady in white was truly physically real, she has no doubt in her mind that I was on the edge of disappearing; in one way or another. But then there was that time a few weeks ago. I’d taken a number at the bank and was waiting for my turn. The lady in front of me had probably been there for half an hour. She’d fallen asleep in her chair, clutching her number. “Number four!” the clerk called out. As the lady slowly came to, I heard her mumble. *“…like a thread.”* Then she smiled, put her number away, and walked off. Maybe the white lady found a new victim, trying to make herself real again. Maybe she just wanted to remind me that she’s out there. Or maybe she’s back, and I have no way to know what I’m missing.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I think I'm in love with the man my husband kidnapped [RESPONSE] My life has always been unconventional. I lost my entire family at a young age. My brother and myself being the only survivors of a terrible car accident. Our only relative that was not in the accident, our mother's sister, refused to take us in and basically disowned us. We were sent to a state-run facility - not a foster family. I was separated from my brother and never saw him again. I never again felt the comfort of a loving home or a supportive shoulder to cry on. I lived in the facility until I was 18. They constantly put us down; made us feel like we were nothing, and I believed it. i was already very plain looking and didn't have much to offer anyone. Because of my trauma, I was very much a doormat in life and allowed people to walk all over me. I didn't have much luck in love until a man named John came into my life. He was a lawyer and very wealthy. He said he also grew up in the facility I did, also an orphan. I believed him. He proposed awfully quick, and even though I wasn't sure how I felt about him, I was never one to use the word "No" with anyone. We didn't even have a wedding, not that two orphans would have anyone to invite to one, anyway. We moved into a large condo and I had everything a girl could want, I guess. But John was never home. He was always working, always coming home late at night and leaving before I woke up. He didn't like it when I went out alone and we had enough money that I didn't need to work, but I was starting to get very bored. We had a cook and a maid, so there wasn't much for me to do at home. I began to wonder if he was having an affair, if he only married me to appear as if he was a "family man" for his job, but secretly wanted to sleep around. He must be sleeping with somebody, because he certainly wasn't doing it with me. Is this what marriage is like for other girls? I never had a mother or friends to share stories with, to compare my life to. I only had TV and the media's idea of what a happy marriage should be. And mine didn't look like that, either. One day, the maid screamed from downstairs and came storming out of a very small broom closet. She was cursing and speaking in a mixture of English and her first language, so I couldn't understand everything. But she was very upset and scared. She marched right outside the door and never came back. I asked John about it when he finally came home that night but he just said she had an emergency. The next day, we had a new maid. Now, this started to really bother me. I went in and out of that broom closet multiple times the next day. It was very tiny and there was nothing inside, just cleaning supplies. I was just starting to think that maybe she took her phone calls in here for privacy or to not get in trouble for talking on the phone during work when I spotted something. Hinges. On the wall. Why would a wall need hinges? I began feeling around them and there was a small space between the wall and the adjacent wall. This wasn't a wall, this was a door. I began running my hands over every inch of the wall, looking for some sort of handle. When I could not find one, I began banging and pushing. Sure enough, it was a door. It popped open when I applied pressure in just the right spot. I was staring down a small staircase, only about 5 or 6 stairs, that led into a much larger room. I clicked the light on and began making my way down. I didn't even hesitate. The smell that hit me as I descended was overwhelming. What greeted me was a large room filled with cages, large cages. They looked like prison cells and they were bare. As I was staring in horror at this bizarre room I had no idea was below my home, I heard movement. Before I could react, a figure stood up from inside one of the cages. He had disheveled long hair and an unkempt beard. His eyes were wide and crazy, and his shirt was long and covered in filth. He screamed. I gasped and turned around to run back up the stairs, close that wall, back to my normal boring home and never think about this place again when his words made me stop in my tracks. "Please! Don't run! I need help!" I stopped and swore at myself and my inability to say "No,". "Please! I don't think that other lady is coming back!" I turned around. "What other lady?" I asked, but I knew the answer, of course. "The other lady who found me yesterday. She accidentally found me and she promised she would go to the police! But he probably killed her, too." "What do you mean 'killed her *too*'?" I practically screeched. "That man, he's crazy! He took my wife and I months ago. He tortured us, he barely feeds us." "W-wife?" I asked, looking around and seeing all the other cages were empty. "He killed her, right at the start. She couldn't take the beatings. She was too loud. Please, please! My name is Mark, I am probably on the news. I don't know how you found me but you better get to the police before he finds you! He will kill you, too!" "I-I don't- I mean, I can't." "Why not?!" "Because that man....is my husband." A silence fell over the room. At first, he shrunk back, away from the bars and cowered. As if I was going to hurt him, as well. "Oh, no! I'm not in on ... whatever this is! I had no idea! I thought he was being a man-whore not doing ... whatever this is! Oh man, this is really bad! What do I do?' It was as if the severity of the situation finally hit me. My husband wasn't cheating, he was a serial killer. He was keeping innocent people underneath our home and doing God knows what to them before ending their lives. "You have to call the police! You won't get in trouble if you weren't involved! I can vouch for you! I've never seen you down here before, you've never used the stick." "The stick?! Oh, no, I don't want to know! Listen, that lady is now gone because she found you. I'll be 'gone' too if I run to the police. Trust me, I do not condone what my husband is doing. I will get you out of here, but I need time to plan and do it right. If I make a mistake, we're both dead, understand? If he was capable of all this right under my nose, then I'm not sure what else he would do. What he would do to me." "But-' "It's Mark, right? Mark. I promise I will get you out. We will go together. In the meantime, I will bring you some food and-and a towel! Some ... comforts. Whatever I can before he gets home. But before I can safely get us out, we both pretend this never happened. Got it?" "Please, I can't do another night in here! What's your name?" "Molly. Please, trust me. I need to think first. I'll be back." I turned to go and I could hear his desperate pleas. "Wait-wait-wait! Molly, please, wait!" I shut the wall of the broom closet behind me and took some deep breaths. This was so much to process! Am I just as bad if I don't get him out right now? Am I abiding a criminal? How could I have not realized I was married to a psycho? I went to make food for Mark and grab some things that might make his time in that ... cage, be more bearable. I didn't want the new maid seeing me go into the broom closet and I cerainly didn't want John to see me. Although, he would never come home this early. I carefully retreated back into the room. Mark was relieved I came back but also still begging for me to let him out now. I almost broke, but I realized I didn't have a key. John must have it. I assured Mark I would get the key from John and the second I did, we were out of here. Both of us. I started looking for the key and trying to act perfectly normal during the few hours I actually saw John. We did spend Sundays together, if by "together" you mean we sit in the same room doing separate things. But, this Sunday, for the first time since we married, I did not mind it at all. I began spending my days with Mark as the weeks went by. I had been so lonely, that I loved having someone to talk to. As I kept bringing him food and other necessities, he began to trust me and open up to me. He told me about his life, and his wife. He started telling me stories and interesting facts he knew. After a while, I could almost forget he was a prisoner in my husband's twisted human zoo. That he could be up for slaughter any day. I tried to block that part out. But just when I was starting to have some very confusing feelings about Mark, he began to beg for his freedom again. I felt bad, I had been so happy to have someone to talk to, that I almost forgot to look for the key. But, if I let Mark go, I might not ever see him again. Let alone get to spend time with him. I think he realized something was up when my expression fell when he reminded me to get the key. "You are upset about helping me?" "No, no! I just- I just really enjoy talking with you. I was just thinking that I'll probably never get to talk to you again after we leave." "why not?" "Well, I - I just assumed - Wait, what are you saying?" "I'm saying, Molly, we're not going to stop talking. Unless you want to. But I thought leaving here is the beginning. Of our new lives together." I was beaming. There were butterflies in my stomach. Was this what love felt like? "I will get that key tonight." I promised. When John came home I began to take a closer look at him. I had searched the entire condo, top to bottom. And no key. I watched him come in, put his car keys on the table, and head to the bedroom to get changed. The key was not on his regular key set, I had already checked. He must keep it on him at all times. To get what I wanted, I had to give him something he'd never asked me for. I had never initiated sex with John and he never brought it up or tried with me, either. Not even on our wedding night. But, I crept into the bedroom as he was changing and began rubbing his back. "W-what are you doing, Molly?!" He asked, blushing and shocked. "You must've had a hard day at work, shouldn't a wife help her husband relax?" "You don't have to-" "But I WANT to!" I shouted and attempted to seduce my husband for the first time, and hopefully the last. I felt nothing for this man that never took an interest in me, that never took me anywhere, that never even asked me anything about myself. Talking to Mark made me realize what love could feel like, and it was not settling. I wanted to be with Mark. I loved him even as a scraggily man locked in a cage, I would love him as anything, anywhere! john passed out right away after and it hadn't taken very long. I had hoped my first time would be with Mark, but this was a small price to pay for freedom. I found a set of keys in a secret pocket in his pants. I hurried downstairs as quietly as I could, trying to hold back my excitement. I came running into the room Mark was locked in. He shot up quickly when he saw me come in so late. "Did you get them?" He asked, hopeful. I nodded and went to open his cage when I heard my name being screamed and shouted upstairs. "Oh, no!" I said. "Give me a moment!" "No! He probably found out!" Mark reached his hand out. "Give me the keys and I'll get help! I trusted you when you asked me, can't you trust me back?" "Umm..." I thought for a moment, scared if he had the power instead of me that he might not wait for me. He might not go with me. But, I guess that's the risk, that's how I'll know. If he comes back for me or waits, then he really does love me, as well. "Okay. Here. But, before you go, I love you, Mark. Please don't leave me here with him." "Never." He grinned at me. So I gave him the keys and then went running back upstairs. Upstairs where my husband was frantically looking for me. "I'm right here!" I said, peering back into the bedroom. "Did you take my keys?!" He demanded. "What keys?" I asked. There was a pause and a terrifying moment where he just stared into my eyes, like he was trying to scan my face for information. Or burn it out of me with his stare. "Molly..." He began. "What do you know?" "Nothing." I said at first. There was a loud clang of metal coming from downstairs and I realized, in my haste, I hadn't shut the wall to the secret room. "the jig is up, isn't it?" He asked. Finally, with the confidence I didn't know I had, I smiled back at him. "It is." I said, finally. "Molly!" He shouted, not with anger, but pure fear. "You don't know what you've done!" "I know my husband has been lying to me and murders people! So I think I know exactly what I'm doing! How could you, John? How could you have people locked under our house?" "He's a criminal, Molly!" Dead silence. "What?" I finally said, meekly. "I'm not what you think I am! Look!" He pulls his wallet up and opens up to a badge and an ID card. FBI. Undercover. "What? I don't...I don't understand." "I'm sorry, Molly. Our marriage was a sham. I needed someone to be my wife while I was in deep cover- I am on a case, Molly! I'm not a lawyer, that's my cover story. I'm trying to solve some of the most horrific murders this area has ever seen. Mark is my suspect, I had him here trying to get answers. He has committed some of the worst atrocities I have ever seen in my life. I'm sorry I lied to you, Molly. I was going to come clean and start over with you. I was told not to get attached, but I was actually falling in love with you, Molls. I promise, I could never murder anyone!" "But uh, what about his wife? He said you tortured them and killed her!" "What wife? Mark isn't married. He killed his girlfriend and his unborn child still inside of her." "Oh, God." I felt dizzy. I was going to throw up. "It's ok, Molls. Just give me back the keys. Then I can explain everything. I have all the case files. We can start over! Molly? Molly ... Molly, why are you looking at me life that? Where- where are the keys, Molly? Where are the keys?!" He began to panic. And so did I. Before I had a chance to respond or react, I saw Mark. Through the mirror above the dresser. He was grinning, ear to ear. And holding a gun. "I promised I wouldn't leave without you, a promise is a promise!" I always knew I was going to die of a broken heart.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My son grew from a pumpkin. I wish he had stayed in the ground. (PART 2) [RESPONSE] Link to Part One: JJ had Vader in a chokehold, his legs kicking as he attempted to break free. He was cramming a kitchen knife down the dogs throat, twisting it around as blood pooled in his mouth and poured out the sides. As he retracted the knife, Vader spat blood across the kitchen floor as he attempted to bark, the life fading from him. “OH, MY GOD! JJ!” I bellowed in terror before he could plunge the knife back in. His head whipped around towards me, the dog still in his clutch and the bloodied knife in his grip. I wanted to run over, grab the knife and smack him to the ground. But I couldn’t, I couldn’t move as if I was locked to the ground. I just couldn’t believe what I was seeing. “What?! What happ— Oh, my god!” My husband cried as he barreled downstairs. He rushed past me, ripped the knife from his hands, slammed it on the counter, and then lifted the dog into his arms. He looked down, tears welling in his eyes as Vader attempted to whimper, his wriggling slowing. He lifted his head, shifting his gaze towards JJ. His eyes ignited as if he was about to tear our son to pieces. “… WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! WHAT IS *WRONG* WITH YOU?!” JJ’s head darted back and forth between us, before he took his notepad and pencil out of his pocket. “He wouldn’t stop talking.” My husband and I turned to each other, terror in my eyes and fury in his. We locked JJ in his room and told him not to move till we got back. We flew to the vet, hoping that they could do something to save him. When we got there, it was too late. The doctors told us the incisions and internal bleeding were too bad, and his lungs were filling with blood. The only option was to mercifully put him down. There wasn’t even much time to say goodbye. The ride home was dead silent, and I knew this feeling all too well. I felt like I did back in that moment, after I heard the word that changed everything. Back in that waiting room, that limbo. I just couldn’t make any sense of it. We never exposed him to any violence. I thought maybe that’s why, maybe we made him inhumane by shielding him from the outside world. Maybe he was just inherently psychopathic, that he emerged from the ground as evil. I had no idea. All I knew was that this was still our son, and we had to do something about it. When we arrived back home, my husband slammed the front door behind him and stomped upstairs, not a word said. I already knew it was up to me to talk to JJ about this. I entered JJ’s room. He was tucked under his blanket, patiently waiting. His head lifted as I walked in, my cheeks stained with tears. I slowly walked over and sat down; I didn’t even know how to describe what he had done. Suddenly, he grabbed his notepad and began writing. “Where is Vader?” I held back more tears, the knot in my throat tightening. “Vader… isn’t coming back.” He continued to write. “Why? Where did he go?” I thought of ways to make this an easy blow. I knew of parents that would describe death to their kids as “they’re in a better place now.” And I wanted to do that, but this was beyond explanation or discipline. This was beyond a smack or a bite. “You… You hurt him. You hurt him very badly. And… because of that… he’s no longer with us.” He began writing again. “Where did he go? I want to say sorry. Why can’t he come back?” I had to turn away, a tear streaming down my face. *Because you killed him. You fucking killed him.* I quickly wiped the tear and turned back around. “I’m sorry, bug. But he’s never coming back, he can’t. He’s gone forever.” He lowered his head, the notepad and pencil loose in his grip. Then, he nodded, but I don’t think he actually understood. “Alright, it’s time for bed.” Suddenly, another tear snuck out of my ducts, and JJ leaned forward and wiped it away with his little thumb. I smiled, looking down as I let out a mix of a giggle and a cry. I wiped the rest away myself, sniffled, and then kissed his forehead. “Goodnight, bug.” I turned off the light on the way out. As I made my way upstairs, I heard the faint sound of yanking zippers. As I opened our bedroom door, I saw my husband packing a suitcase. He didn’t even think to stop upon hearing me enter. “What are you doing… ?” “I have to go.” “Wh- What? Go? Go *where?*” “I don’t know. My parents, my sisters’, I- I don’t know. All I know is, I have to go.” He began cramming stuff into a duffel bag. “What the fuck are you talking about? Are you *leaving me?* Is this it?” He didn’t answer, didn’t even look up at me, just continued packing. “Scott, look at me.” He continued to ignore me. “LOOK AT ME!” “What— No, no! I’m not leaving you! I’m leaving *him!*” “Him-… JJ?” His silence was the answer. “I- I get that was scary, but we-“ “We *what,* Jen?! What else is there to do?! That is not a *child!* That isn’t *our* child!” “Don’t say that… yes he is!” I shook my head, tears welling again. “Open your fucking eyes, Jen!” He pleaded, rushing over to me and meeting me eye-to-eye. “I don’t feel safe here! He murdered our fucking dog!” “He didn’t know-“ “Do you really believe that? Honestly, do you believe that? He bites, he smacks, and he kills. This is textbook fucking serial killer— a person is next!” “Jesus, Scott! He’s not going to kill somebody!” “And how do you know that?” He asked sternly, his gaze piercing into mine. I swallowed roughly, tears streaming down my cheeks. “Exactly… exactly.” He returned to the bed and continued packing. “So, what? You’re just gonna run off? Abandon me?” “No, I’ll come back— once he’s gone.” “That’s not fair…” “Not *fair?!* What’s not fair is this— this *prison* you’ve locked me in!” “Prison?!” “Yes! This house has been a fucking prison ever since that… abomination came into our lives!” “He’s not a—“ “My *God,* would you stop defending him! He can do no wrong in your eyes! And—…” “And what, Scott? Just say it…” He turned to me, a blend of scorn and despair in his eyes. “… And that’s probably how he ended up this way.” For a moment, I could do nothing but stare back, tears streaming down my face. “… You’re gonna put all of this on me? As if you were a great fucking example?” “I *TRIED!*” “I DID, TOO!” My face crumbled with tears, my knees buckling beneath me. We both broke into sobs, standing across the room from each other. “I DIDN’T WANT THIS! I NEVER WANTED THIS!” I bellowed. He rushed over and took me in his arms, my head on his shoulder as he caressed the back of my head. “I just wanted a baby… I wanted that life with you…” “I know… I know…” “Please… don’t go… I need you…” I pleaded with a whimper, tears soaking into his shirt. He fell silent as I gripped him tighter. “Please…” “… Okay. Okay, I won’t go.” I pulled away, our teary eyes meeting. “… But something has to change.” I nodded, wiping away the tears. “I know… I know…” “This is—… This is our son. And he needs help.” A part of my aching heart warmed to hear him finally say it. “But what do we do?” “We’ll figure it out, okay? We always do.” I nodded again, laying my head against his chest. “I love you so much, I hope you know that. I never wanted to leave.” “I know…” Later that night, after he fell asleep, I wanted to do some research. I had left my laptop downstairs, but on the way out, I yelped as I suddenly saw JJ standing down the hallway. “Jesus… ! What are you still doing up, bug? It’s way past your bedtime!” But he just stood there and stared, leaving an unnerved feeling under my skin. “C’mon, let’s get back to bed.” I put my hand on his back and walked him downstairs. I wondered how long he was there and if he had heard anything. As I was tucking him into bed, he suddenly grabbed his notepad and began writing. I thought he was going to say goodnight or something, until he turned it around. “What’s an abomenayshun?” Fuck. He heard. I thought to myself. “… Nothing, JJ. It’s nothing. You have to go to bed now.” He began writing again, but this time I took the pad and paper from his hands and placed them on his nightstand. “I said bedtime. Now.” He stared at me for a moment, as he had never really heard this tone from me. He then laid down and turned over, facing the wall away from me. My instincts wanted to say sorry and hold him tight, but maybe my husband was right. Maybe a part of this is my fault. Before going back up, I grabbed my laptop and made my way upstairs. My husband was already asleep, so I gently crawled into bed and opened up the computer. As the typing cursor flashed on the browser, my fingers trembled above the keys. “How do I know if my child is a psychopath?” Upon hitting enter, dozens of articles popped up about early signs of psychopathy. I sunk my teeth into a handful, trying to see if I could match up traits to JJ. He lined up with symptoms of violence, but he was honest and remoreseful. He wanted to apologize for what he had done to Vader. My brain was cramped as I tried to put him in a box. I thought maybe “sociopath,” but that didn’t fully line up either. I pinched and rubbed my temples as I mind-numbigly scrolled from article to article. Eventually, I needed to stop or else I would’ve thrown up at the sight. Everything seemed to point at therapy, to nip it in the bud while you can. I just didn’t know how to explain him to a therapist, we’d have to lie. But it needed to be done, I had to figure it out. The next day, I talked with my husband and we agreed to start searching for child therapists. We needed the right one to help with JJ’s violent tendencies. We thought maybe we could tell them that the pumpkin is a mask and he prefers to keep it on; something weird that kids would do. As we searched, it was nearing Halloween again. On the eve, I was up in the morning with my husband as he was getting ready for work. “They said they’re gonna keep me late tonight, I might not be back till tomorrow,” he said as he fastened his tie. “What? But our tradition, babe.” I frowned. “I know… They really need me at the office.” I stood up and hung my arms around his neck as he stood in the mirror. “I’m gonna miss you.” “I’m gonna miss you, too.” He brushed down the wrinkles of his shirt. “Alright, I gotta run. Love you,” he turned and kissed me. “Love you, too.” I watched with a weak smile as he flew out the door. I then walked downstairs and saw JJ at the kitchen table doodling. “Hey, bug. Didn’t think you’d be up so early.” He looked up at me before putting the crayons down and picking up his notepad. “Breakfast.” “You want breakfast? Sure, bud. Pancakes or waffles?” “Waffles.” “Good choice.” I smiled. I popped the waffles in the toaster and poured him a glass of orange juice while he waited. As I placed it down in front of him, I peeked at what he was drawing. I smiled warmly as I saw he was drawing our family. “Me,” “Mommy,” and… “Scott.” My brows furrowed as I turned to him. “No, JJ, that’s Dad. You call him Daddy.” I tapped on the paper. He looked at me before turning back to the paper and scribbling it out, writing “Daddy” underneath instead. I smiled before stepping away, the waffles had already popped out of the toaster. Later that day, I was in the garage digging through dusty boxes to find our Halloween decorations. As I pilfered around, JJ appeared in the doorway. “Hey, bug. Wanna help me pick out Halloween decorations?” He nodded and trotted over, wrapping his hands around the edges of the box as he peeked into it. “We have these creepy spiders, these skulls, and— oh, look!” I lifted a fake pumpkin. “It’s you!” He stomped his feet in excitement, wagging his hands. “You wanna put this one out?” He nodded. “Okay, you got it.” I smiled. He’s been good recently, life’s been good. The incident with Vader still left a restlessness in our souls, but we could only move forward. I believed he was going to get better, I needed to. That night, to celebrate the eve, I bought a bag of candy corn and told JJ we could watch a movie. I wanted to avoid anything with violence, so I chose “Casper,” a childhood favorite of mine. As we watched the movie, I watched him toss the candy corn into the void of his mouth. I still didn’t fully know if he could eat or if he merely wanted to mimic, but either way, he enjoyed it and that was enough for me. After the movie ended, I tucked him into bed and gave him a kiss. I turned towards the clock and realized it was past 12. “Goodnight, bug. Happy Halloween.” He snuggled under the covers as I turned the light out, closing the door behind me. The next morning, I woke up with an internal sigh as I saw our bed was still empty. I usually never sleep alone, so the gap next to me felt like a void. I figured he’d be back in the middle of the night; it was odd that they kept him till the next morning. Must’ve been important, I thought. I yawned as I dragged my tired feed downstairs, JJ still seemingly asleep. I brewed a cup of coffee that I wanted to inject directly into my veins before I crashed onto the couch and turned the TV on. My husband's long absence irked me, so I lifted my phone and began typing. “Hey. They really got you locked up on Halloween?” After a few minutes, no reply. I pursed my lips, tapping my nails against my phone. I was sure he was probably fine, but it was still an itch I couldn’t scratch. They’ve never kept him this long. I waited a few more minutes, but still no reply. I decided to call but was met with his voicemail. I thought maybe he was still driving home— bad Halloween traffic or something. Later, JJ eventually woke up, and he emerged from his room with no pajamas on, just his underwear. “Good morning, happy Halloween! Is that your costume?” I giggled. He paused for a moment before nodding. “Did you stain your pj’s? It’s okay if you did, I can throw them in the wash.” He took another pause before nodding again. “Okay. You want breakfast?” He nodded faster this time. I groaned as I stood up and made my way to the kitchen. Before I opened the fridge, I noticed a post-it note stuck to the door. “Went out to my sister’s. Be back soon. Love you.” I furrowed my brows as I read it. *His sister’s? When has he gone to his sister’s for Halloween?* I brushed it off, assuming that she probably needed help with putting decorations on the roof. Until I noticed the handwriting. I unstuck the note and held it closer, analyzing the words. It looked like my husband's handwriting… almost. As if somebody who had seen him write before attempted to forge it. But he probably came home late into the AM, got no sleep, and wrote the note quickly. I didn’t think it was anything to look too deeply into. I turned back to JJ, who I realized was staring at me. “… Sorry, bug. I’ll get started on your breakfast.” I opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs, a puzzled expression still on my face. After making JJ’s breakfast, I grabbed my phone off the coffee table and texted my sister-in-law. “Hey, Gina. Is Scott still there? He left a note but I haven’t been able to get in touch.” I anxiously tapped my screen till I saw the responding text bubble. “I’m sorry? Scott wasn’t here. Did he say he was?” Suddenly, everything felt like it had gone mute. I stared at the text over and over again to make sure I was reading it correctly. My first thought was that he was cheating on me. Our sex life has been practically extinct since my diagnosis, I wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up looking somewhere else to “fulfill his needs.” But why lie and say you’re at your sister’s? He had to have known I’d ask. He’s not stupid enough for such a flimsy alibi. Then, I looked up at JJ, who was still shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth. I thought… No, it couldn’t be. My husband was a grown man and JJ was a child, it wasn’t possible. He wouldn’t hurt his own father… Right? I didn’t know what to think or how to feel, so I waited. As the sun began to set, the trick-or-treaters were out like a tidal wave. And I was growing anxious by the minute, to the point that I was ready to call the police. I stood by the window, chewing apart my fingernails as I waited to see him pull up, walk through the door and apologize for being so late. Suddenly, JJ appeared next to me, putting his hands on the window. He began pointing at the trick-or-treaters. “I’m sorry, bug. You can join them when you’re older.” He turned to me and cupped his hands. “… You wanna hand out candy again?” He nodded pleadingly. I thought about it for a moment, and how it went last time. But to my own fault, I wasn’t supervising him. “Okay… You can hand out candy— but, I’m gonna sit outside with you and you’re going to behave. Okay?” He nodded excitedly. “Alright, wait here for a minute. I have to go grab the bucket from the garage.” Suddenly, as I went to step away, he grabbed onto the back of my shirt. “What’s up? Do you need something?” He didn’t grab his notepad, just stared up at me. “Are you hungry?” He nodded quickly. “Alright, I’ll whip you something up. Let me just grab the bucket first, okay?” Then, he gripped tighter as I tried to walk away. “You’re not starving, bug,” I laughed. “I promise I’ll make you something, Mommy just needs to do this real quick.” But he wouldn’t let go. “JJ, stop. This isn’t funny.” He refused to budge. I ripped my shirt from his grip and walked away, confusion painting my expression. As I opened the garage door, the confusion on my face began to twist. My husbands car was in the garage. He… came home? As I got closer to the car, I peeked through the backseat window. My eyes widened as my blood ran cold; there was a bloodied hacksaw laying on the backseat— it was from my husbands tool rack. Then, I shifted my gaze toward the driver's seat, realizing he was there. I could see the shoulder of his shirt, but not much else. “Scott… ?” I slowly walked over as my body tremored. Then, I backed away till I hit the wall, clamping my mouth to contain the scream of terror as I saw his headless body in the driver's seat. “Oh, my… God!” I squeezed out of my tightened throat. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, I nearly fainted. Suddenly, I turned my head and saw JJ had entered the garage. I stared at him in horror, like the abomination my husband had said he was. “… WHAT DID YOU *DO?!* WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?!” I trembled as I watched him take out his notepad and begin writing. “You asked for help with decorating. Now Daddy isn’t frowning anymore.” Then, I heard gasps of awe from outside. I ran past JJ and towards the front door. “Oh, my god!” “It looks so real!” I heard from out on the porch. I swung the door open, seeing my neighbor and her two kids kneeled, staring at something. “Wow, Jen! You really went all out this year! How much did this cost?!” I walked out and had to contain my horror as I saw my husband's decapitated head on our front porch. His eyes were gouged out, his nose sliced off in favor of a triangular hole, and a jagged smile cut from ear to ear. JJ had turned him into a Jack-O-Lantern. “I- Uh- Yeah, it was definitely a dent,” I laughed awkwardly. “Scott really wanted it, though. Thought it’d be hilarious.” My nerves fried as they leaned closely— I was terrified they’d realize it was actually him. “I’m sorry about the candy, I was… just getting the bucket.” Suddenly, JJ appeared in the doorway holding a bucket of candy. “And who’s this little cutie?!” “… My nephew, JJ! My sister-in-law just dropped him off, I have this little monster for the day.” I laughed painfully again. “Well, aren’t you the cutest little pumpkin!” He stared blankly back at her, the bucket still in his hands. “He’s not much of a talker,” I whispered. “Ah, well, I hope you two have a good Halloween!” “Don’t forget your candy!” I exclaimed, looking down at JJ who extended the bowl toward them. The two kids dipped their hands into the bucket and dropped a handful into their bags. “And what do we say?” “Thank you,” they said simultaneously. “Happy Halloween!” As they trotted off, my smile fell and my stomach churned. JJ walked towards the step and sat down, the bucket still in his hand. He turned his head to me and patted the empty spot next to him. I stared at him for a moment, I could tell there was fear in my eyes. Yet I sat next to him anyway. I set next to him and handed out candy for the rest of the night because a part of me still loved my son. A part of me that I just couldn’t seem to lose. When the night ended, I threw up in the kitchen sink, tears pouring down my face. All I could think was that he was right, my husband was right the entire time. And he had to pay for it because I refused to believe. I loved my son, and now I had to kill him. After I finished puking my guts out, I wiped my lips and washed my hands. Then, I turned around, jolting where I stood as I realized JJ was behind me. He lifted his notepad and began writing. “What’s wrong?” I almost laughed at the question. Everything was wrong, and I needed to end it. I smiled weakly as I slowly approached him. I kneeled down, getting one last look at his face. All I wanted was a child, and now I’m going to lose mine. Or maybe I already had. “… Nothing’s wrong, bug. It’s bedtime.” Then, I slowly lifted my trembling hands and wrapped them around his throat. I squeezed tightly, the notepad slipping from his grip as he reached to desperately grab at my arms, his legs flailing. “It’s bedtime…” I cried with a breathless whimper. I continued to tighten my grip, his skin blushing red. My face crumbled as tears soaked my cheeks. But it needed to be done. After what felt like an eternity, his flailing slowed to a stop, and he went limp in my grasp. I instantly let out a bloodcurdling wail, taking him into my arms and holding him tight. “My JJ… My bug…” I sobbed. My husband was gone, JJ was gone, and I felt unwhole again. I looked down at his lifeless body in my arms and thought of what my husband had said— that he was pitch-black inside. And if I wanted any form of closure… I had to know. I had to know what exactly my son was, because I didn’t know who he was anymore. I wondered if I ever did. So I stood up, laid his body on the ground, and went to the kitchen. I opened the drawer and grabbed a knife, watching it shake in my grip. I hovered over his body with hesitance, but I needed to know. I kneeled down and rested his head on my thigh. As I raised the blade, I held my breath, before sinking it into his head. I let out trembling breaths as I sawed the knife through, cutting a circle around the stem. When I finished, I retracted it and dropped it next to me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, before pinching the stem and pulling it off. I leaned over and looked inside. And there was… nothing. It was like a normal pumpkin, filled with stringy orange bits and seeds. No eyes, no throat— *nothing.* Then, I began to laugh. At first, giggling slipped past my lips before I dissolved into psychotic laughter. I dropped my back to the floor and rolled around, my gut cramping as I couldn’t stop. I knew it was real, it was all real-- yet I still felt like I had lost my mind. It was too much to process. At that moment, it felt like I did on the drive home. As if I hadn’t ever left the doctor's office. That I was still in that waiting room. That limbo.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I live on a farm that is still very much in touch with its pagan origins, and I'd like to share some of my stories (Part 4) [RESPONSE] The anniversary is over. The place where Maybe Uncle Pete is buried has, over the years, sprouted a rich crop of white clover that is more luxuriant than anywhere else on the farm. Out of interest, I googled the Language of Flowers, and it told me that white clover meant "Think of me". I was relieved to find that out. I could think of many things Maybe Pete might have tried to convey through wildflowers on his grave, so if all he is asking for is remembrance that is comforting. What shall I tell you next? Maybe about the copse. The copse is a patch of trees clumped in a compact huddle on the landscape, right on the edge of the land before it bleeds into the next property. It is longer than it is wide, and whilst it might have seemed like a good place for children to play, it has never been friendly. The trees are too close together, their bark too gnarled, and their branches intertwine overhead in a way that blocks out natural light. Even though it is theoretically possible to cross the breadth of the copse in minutes at a good pace, people who have gone in there have reported getting lost. I never went too close to it when I was little. My brother told me wolves lived in there, and I believed him so implicitly I often claimed I spotted large, shaggy bodies moving in between the tree trunks. It's possible I actually did see that. I was maybe 10 or 11 when I had my only run in with the copse. I had friends over, which now seems like a miracle. I think maybe they had a crush on my brother and that was the only reason they came over. It wasn't that I was unpopular, but the farm was. Nobody wanted to come here. We had been doing girl stuff. Talking about makeup and boys. But if you know anything about girls that age, you will know that they can be strange. Country girls even more so. Growing up on a farm exposes you to the grim realities of life and death from an early age. You see the bull being taken to the cows and know it means calves eventually. You see a mother cow eating grass and feeding her calf whilst her back legs are drenched in blood. You see horses being gelded, and cattle being culled, and dogs shot for worrying the cattle. Farm life is unforgiving and I witnessed many things I only barely understood whilst also believing I understood them completely. But that's just me. As we know, where I lived was different. Not every farm child has seen the Shuck. So maybe I was stranger than most little girls. All I know is that talk eventually turned to my friend Sasha's crush, an unremarkable boy named Liam. We discussed his hair and his clothes and the way his nose wrinkled when he was confused - all the things Sasha believed were unique to him. It was my other friend Louise who brought up the idea of making a love potion. We were making it up as we went along. We had no idea what rituals or ingredients might be needed, but Louise spoke with such authority that we believed her. She made up some bullshit about apple peels and candles and mirrors, and ad-libbed some stuff about wild mushrooms and tree bark that made me think she was bullshitting further, but Sasha was so enamoured by the commonplace Liam that she was willing to try anything, and the upshot was that we all ended up roaming the farm grounds looking for fungi. I might have asked my mother to confirm what we were doing. I feel like she would have known. But my real fear was that she might have told us what was actually needed, and we may have ended up casting the spell for real. Also, she might have told my father about my sudden interest in Boys, and I didn't want to have that talk. We found all the mushrooms we needed, although Louise seemed indiscriminate about what type they should be. As long as they sprouted from the ground and we're vaguely fungal, she gave us the go ahead. We crawled through damp grass, muddying our knees and soaking our clothes, until Louise deemed that we had enough fungi. After that, it was only the tree bark we needed. There were plenty of trees around the farm, but Louise insisted we needed a special type - the type that could only be found in the copse. And of course they looked to me then. Their logic was flawed, but they said that if they went into the copse it would be trespassing, whereas if I did it, it would be fine. It made a stupid kind of sense, and one that I couldn't deny. I didn't consider that they might be scared. I knew I was. I no longer believed that wolves roamed there, and honestly if I thought there were wolves I would have braved the copse long before. I loved wolves. They might have been enough reason to enter that strange, dense space. But without the possibility of wolves, I was fearful. I didn't want to lose face in front of the only friends that would come to my house, so I agreed to go despite my misgivings. They accompanied me right to the edge of the copse, stopping a few paces away and waiting expectantly. It was still daylight but all I could see was darkness ahead. I asked Louise what kind of tree I should take bark from, and she told me that any bark from the copse would be acceptable. There was an odd tone to her voice, one of horrified fascination that suggested she was more eager to see what might happen than for me to bring her bark. I gathered my courage for a moment, asking myself if I was really going to do this, and fixed my eyes on a tree right up ahead. It was a few feet further in than the trees on the very edge of the copse and I thought it would be acceptable. I thought it would show my bravery whilst allowing me an easy escape. The first sensory messages I got when I went into the copse were from my legs. The ground was uncomfortably soft and spongy beneath my feet, and for a moment it felt fleshy. I thought of my nightmare from all those years ago, of the huge entity with antlers that had crashed through these trees, and imagined I was walking on some part of it as it slumbered beneath the soil. I trod carefully, for fear of waking it. I was submerged into a twilight level of darkness only a few steps in. The contrast was startling. The tree I had targeted was merely a dim outline up ahead, whereas it had been vivid enough from the outside, and it seemed further away than I had first thought. I could hear Sasha and Louise talking behind me, their voices hushed but normal, but when I took another step away from them that changed. They sounded muffled, as though I was hearing them through cotton balls stuffed in my ears. Another few steps took me level with the first of the outskirting trees. I did not want to look at them. I had a feeling that it would be upsetting - that there would be faces moulded into the bark of the trunks. Unpleasant ones. It was like being underwater. Deep down. The pressure grew heavier the further I went, pressing on on all sides. It was harder to walk, my legs moving more slowly, battling resistance. I'm aware all of this could be psychological. The copse had always been significant, and being in it could very well have caused psychosomatic responses, but it's hard to describe how real these feelings were at the time. I panicked at one point, feeling lost, and turned around to make sure my friends were still there. They were, but much further away. I wanted to berate them for backing off, but closer observation showed me they hadn't moved. Their feet were still right on the verge of where grass became woodland, their toes just touching the brown treeline. It was me who had gone further. I'd only taken a dozen steps, by my reckoning, but still it seemed like I was looking at them through the wrong end of a telescope. I said their names but they didn't react, and I wondered if my voice sounded as muffled as theirs did to me. I pressed on though, through some misplaced bravado. Turned myself around and made my stifled way towards my tree of choice. I could hear noises, despite the cushioning in my ears, sharp sounds that I wouldn't have heard in the real world. Branches breaking. A low, subaudible hum that swelled the further I went. The copse was full of twisted life and I imagined zombie squirrels leering down at me from crooked branches, lopsided rabbits burrowing beneath my feet, their tunnels linking and spreading in a weird and powerful sigil drawn beneath the dirt. I reached the tree I had been approaching, pulled out the little paring knife I'd stolen from my mother's kitchen. It was small and old, but its blade was thin and curved from decades of use. Louise hadn't specified how much bark was needed, so I hacked into the tree trunk with clumsy haste, not caring about the quantity as long as I could get out of there. Sap began to bleed out immediately, far thicker and faster than anything I'd expected, staining my fingers. It was a rusty shade - not blood, although that's how it might sound. The smell that came from the sap was meaty rather than metallic, and had an acrid, almost singed aspect to it too. I wiped it off on my jeans, but a film of it still clung to my skin. Days later, my fingers would be red and sore, with little blisters that burst and scabbed. For now, there was merely an unpleasant tingle. The forest sounds pressing into my ears grew loader. There was a groan that could have been the creaking of tree trunks grinding together, and the tightly packed branches overhead squeaked and shuddered. I was doing something terrible, something blasphemous. I tore the rough chunk of bark away, getting splinters beneath my fingernails that I didn't feel at the time. I was unsteady on my feet because of the pressure in my ears, so as I turned away from the wounded tree I stumbled a little. At least, that could be what had happened. The other alternative was that whatever slumbered beneath my feet had stirred, disturbed by the voices of the trees. It felt like the ground rolled. I have never experienced an earthquake but I imagined this was what it felt like. I could see my friends up ahead - miles and miles away! - and struck out towards them. Their faces were masks of horror. They were clinging to each other like Scooby Doo and Shaggy upon seeing a ghost. I could see their mouths moving, but I couldn't hear what they were saying. It was drowned out by the sighing of the earth, the heartbeat of the trees, the internal scream I couldn't emit. If you have ever tried to run in a nightmare, you will know how sluggishly my legs moved. I focused on my friends. Their eyes and mouths were wide then, frantic and gaping, and some vast passage of air seemed to press against my back propelling me forward. I ran forever, but it was mere moments before I felt their hands on my arms, pulling me from the confines of the copse and dragging me away half on my knees. The second I was on the natural grass of the farm, all my senses returned in a rush that made me swoon, overwhelmed by the sensory impact. Louise and Sasha were jabbering at me in high pitched voices, and I became aware of the pain in my hands, the weakness of my limbs. I passed out a little then - probably for mere seconds, although it seemed like eternity - but my last action before I fell was to thrust my bark prize at Louise. We never ended up making the love potion. Louise put our ingredients in her pencil case, including the scrap of hard earned bark, and we buried it by the barn with a certain amount of ceremony and never spoke of it again. They did not come to my house again either, although I was still welcome at theirs. During one such visit - a sleepover at Sasha's - we talked about what had happened in hushed tones as we lay in our sleeping bags with the lights out. My memory of events was exactly what I have told you, but they had more details to add. They told me they had screamed because they had seen something behind me as I ran from the copse. They were unable to describe what they had seen in any coherent fashion and they both disagreed on the sighting, but both confirmed that something had been right behind me. Sasha said it looked like the trees were chasing me, as if they had pulled up their roots and become mobile. Louise said that what Sasha had seen had in fact been an immense limb pushing up from the earth, swatting blindly at the air as I passed. Both descriptions seem plausible. Maybe both had happened. I did go back to the copse a week later, once my hands had healed. They no longer hurt, but the skin on my fingers had died and sloughed off, and I was still picking at bits of dead skin as I walked up the hill. I had no intention of going into the copse. I wasn't stupid. But I wanted to see if there was any evidence of my intrusion. The tree I had targeted was exactly where it had stood before, and from the edge of the thicket I could see a raw patch where I'd torn the bark away. The exposed area was pale, streaked with the rusty sap, and the irregular shape I had hacked almost looked like a face. Almost. That was the closest I ever got to the copse after that. I had never felt myself in such danger as I had in there. Even taking into account everything else that has happened on the farm, that experience remains unique in that respect. My hands have become sore again writing this. A memory, perhaps. So I will stop writing now. Next time I update, I will tell you about the Shuck. I know you must be eager to hear.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I Heard Crying In The Coconino Forests Of Arizona & I Regret Finding Out Why [RESPONSE] I am scared. I am confused even. My hands are trembling as I write this story, but it is important that people know what's going on. The crying is getting louder, less distant now. My life was doomed the second I stepped foot into the Coconino Forests. If you live in Arizona and especially near the Coconino National Forest, PLEASE LISTEN TO ME and for the love of god, if you hear a distant crying coming from the forest, IGNORE IT. Let me start from the very beginning, or should I say, the first mistake. I formerly lived in New York as I was attending university there. After graduating, I had gotten a job as an accountant for a private bank. To be honest, it was a waste of my talent and the four years I had spent earning a degree from university. But, I had no choice but to take it. Mainly because the pay was decent and I had student loans to repay. So, after taking the job and training under them for 6 months, I was to move to Arizona and join their Arizona branch to start working. It wasn't very difficult for me to move, primarily because my parents were back in Minnesota. All in all, I was on my own. After I moved to Arizona, I lived in a cheap dusty motel and started looking for a place to rent. I still had about a week to get my affairs straight before joining and from the day I finished my training to moving to Arizona, I had already burned about 4 days. Now I had less than 3 days to find a place to live. I found a decent place with cheap rent near a trailer park just outside the Coconino National Forest, which is very famous in Arizona, as the locals have told me. It is also locally infamous for the number of people who have disappeared while hiking in the Coconino Forests. Judging by the crying that is getting closer every second I spend writing this document, I think I know the reason for their vanishing. After settling into my new home, life went on as usual. The daily routine was simply to wake up, go to work, come home, watch some TV with a cold beer and go to bed, doing it all over again the next day. It was just like a typical night when the unfortunate fate of my life was sealed. I cracked open a cold one and turned on the TV and was a watching a Seinfield rerun when I heard a very faint sound. Now, the trailer park was about 2 miles opposite to my house so I ignored the sound, thinking it was coming from the people living in the trailer park. The crying has changed into screeching and I can now hear faint tapping coming from downstairs. I have locked myself in my room. Now I realize that maybe I should have ignored that sound that day. As the night became quieter, the sound became more clearer. I could now make out that the sound was of a women crying. I had not taken a sip of my beer till that point, so me hallucinating this out of a drunken haze was clearly out of the question. I was really concerned, but at the same time, really questioning my next step. It was almost midnight at this point and I had a mental conflict of either calling the police or going to investigate myself. I decided to atleast see what was going on before calling the police. The tapping has turned into violent bangs, screeching has intensified to the point where I can't hear my thoughts I picked up my flashlight and went out into the outskirts of the forest. Seeing that it was almost 1am now and for the fear of any wild animals, I made it a point to not go near or too deep into the forest. Flashing the flash light around I picked up a very strange object which was lying near the door of my backyard. Upon picking it up, I saw that it was a small box. Alarm bells were already going off in my head. But, as is human nature, I rationalized it thinking it was something I had missed while moving into this new house. She has broken in as I heard the sound of the door breaking. The screeching and banging have stopped entirely. It is just silence. I can now see how disturbing pin-drop silence can be As I opened the box, I saw a small silver coin in it. Upon feeling it I felt an engraving on it, as if something was written on it. I went back into my house to get a better look. I didn't realize it back the, dismissing it for a prank, but it was actually my death sentence. It was my doomed fate. The head portion of the coin had "UR" engraved on to it, with the tail portion having "NEXT" engraved on to it. It wasn't long before I put two and two together and made out the sentence. "YOU ARE NEXT" My blood ran cold. This has to be a sick joke. This is a silly prank. I can now hear her breathing and the creaks of her coming upstairs. I don't have much time left. The moment I made out the sentence, I heard a women's crying. This time, dangerously close. I dropped the coin and looked around. I couldn't find anyone and anything, but the sound persisted. Now my heart was racing and that anxiety growing. Then I saw her. The hideous face of a woman, with dark red eyes and overflowing black hair, just breathing down near my backyard door's window. I don't know how my brain reacted as the next thing I know, I was in my bedroom with the door locked. The crying continued and with this we come to the present moment. She just knocked on my door, her breathing sound making it difficult to continue writing this supposed last will. I am scared I am confused even The coin, the woman breathing outside my door, everything has started to become a big blur Then I hear her speak "THE COIN NEVER LIES AND IT CHOSE YOU" "YOU ARE NEXT" Just when she said these harrowing words, I hear a coin clip and the wooden door shatter into splinters and through the gap I see her deathly gaze, confirmation that I am about to meet my maker soon. If anyone finds this document, then please mark my words Stay away from Coconino National Forest If you hear a woman's cries coming from the Coconino Forest PLEASE IGNORE IT If I don't update on my situation in the near future, you all know what happened to me<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The payback rates on some loans are gruesome. [RESPONSE] Growing up, we didn’t have much. My mother tried her best to feed three kids with no money. When I got older and when she got sick and couldn’t afford the medical bills, I had a choice to make. I felt like it was my responsibility as the eldest to take care of her after she worked so hard for us. I started to work as a bouncer in a strip club that was connected to a local gang due to being unable to land any other job. I’ve seen my fair share of illegal activities, however stayed out it for the most part. My mother started to get sicker and I got on the verge of asking around about any other kinds of jobs to do. The more illegal ones. Then I learned I could earn some fast cash when I found out about the Loan System. Oddly enough, the crime network of our large city offered loans. You had the option of applying for, two grand, five grand or ten grand. However, you can ask for more but those aren’t given out often. The ten grand plus my savings would cover the medical cost and I quickly found out where I could apply. The application processes had all the normal questions, but more personal ones added in. In order to even be considered you must list things such as your favorite food or date idea. The questions threw me for a loop at first, but I filled them all out regardless. They also take photos of you face at different angles and body measurements. When all the questions are answered and photos on file, they decided in a few days if you are worthy for the loan or not. If you are accepted, it’s not as simple as just paying it back at the high interest rates. In fact, they don’t even care about the money. Accepting the Loan System means putting your body as collateral. If you are able to pay off the loan, you are in the clear. If you still owe money, even by a few dollars, they still have the right to take you. At any point while you still owe money, you could disappear never to be seen again. People disappearing because of the loans didn’t happen very often and there were so many rumors on who was behind all of this and why. Surely there’s an easier way to traffic people so no one ever guessed the true nature behind the loans. I didn’t care about myself. I just wanted to take care of my mother. With bills paid off and her on the mend, I started taking extra shifts to pay back what I owed. I got along well with some of the girls that worked at the strip club. I walked them to their cars if needed and sometimes got them home safe by the end of the night if they had no other options. When Candi asked me to guide her along the parking lot, I didn’t question it. I should have noticed how she acted and that it was still in the middle of her shift. I just assumed she wasn’t feeling well and wanted to head home for the night. I kept my eye on two men lurking near a set of cars in the dark. When they started to move, I quickly placed a hand on her small waist to guide her back to the club. More men I didn’t see before came out; guns raised. I shielded her with my body regretting I didn’t carry a gun. “Only you.” One spoke, motioning with the weapon for me to stand aside. “I'm so sorry.” Candi whispered distraught. I clued in these men were collecting for the Loan System. They wanted nothing to do with her and asked Candi to lure me out into the dark. I gave her a reassuring smile. I didn’t blame her for part in this. I was only glad she was fine and they weren’t going to hurt her. I refused to move until she was safe back inside the club. Rough hands dragged me over to a car. With a gun at my back, I didn’t fight the blindfold coming over my eyes. They could have more than one weapon and I didn’t like the idea of getting hit with a stun gun. I was outnumbered and good as dead if I resisted. This was what I signed up for when I took the loan, I knew the risk, but still was terrified over what was going to happen to me. In the very least I did what I wanted and took care of my mother. With my hands bound behind my back; I got shoved inside a car for a long ride. They put on some low music from a mix tape of random songs from different yearly top ten lists. The never-ending list of songs made it hard to keep track of how many ended and how long we drove for. When we finally parked, it was not to drop me off but rather grab another person. I waited in silent car with two men sitting on either side. They were smart enough not to leave me alone. Soon another person was jammed in the backseat of the van. He was sobbing and begging not to be taken. Anything he could think of to get away, he tried it. From kicking at the seats and windows until they grabbed a hold of him to throwing out offers for our captors to spare him. When nothing worked, he settled into a heaving crying fit. I really didn’t think of him any less of a person for his reaction. It should be a normal response for this kind of situation. At some point I’d carefully got the blindfold lose and he got his off without the other men caring. After he had no more tears left, he noticed me. With me being so calm, he assumed I was with the kidnappers at first. “How are you not fighting this?” He whispered over a bit too loud. “I’ve done what I wanted to do in life. This is fine.” I replied trying to hold back my own emotions. I didn’t want to die. But... There wasn’t much for me to stick around for. Shifting my head slightly, I knew the other man sat behind me but didn’t know who else was inside the van. Inside far too dark to really see clearly with half my blindfold over my eyes. “I’ll do what I can for you.” I whispered hoping only he heard. It wasn’t right someone like him got caught up in all of this. If I could get him free, I would try my best. No one reacted to my statement because they thought I didn’t have any power to help. When the van stopped, we were guided out. The man trying to struggle again as I just walked on slightly shaking legs. The blindfolds stayed on. The men adjusting it back over my eyes the moment we were out of the van. With some issues, they got me up a flight of stone steps that echoed as we walked. I heard that they ended up having to carry the other man kicking and screaming. Finally, we were led to a room and told to get on our knees. The blindfolds came off and I looked around to see where we were brought. A line of heavily armed men stood in the back of the dark room in front of the doors making it impossible to escape. On each side of myself was a person on their knees with their hands tied behind their backs. Three women, and three men including myself. The one from the van started sobbing again. The others looking too scared to do so. The other side of the room so dark we couldn’t see anything beyond a certain point. But we heard it. Something walked closer. Something large. Heavy steps came from the dark with deep breathes. A wispy laughter came. The sound making my body feel like ice. My heart over worked itself as my mind thought of countless ideas of what could be coming towards us. I was the only one who stayed on my knees. Some tried to get up and run but the armed men came over and forced them in one spot again. Sobbing came from the others as the thing got closer until I thought I saw a vague outline of a great beast pacing in the dark. I blinked, then a man replaced the image of the massive monster in the dark. He looked fairly handsome, but in a fake sort of way, with neatly styled black hair. Grey eyes looked us over and he smiled. A mouth with teeth too sharp looking over the six terrifying kidnapped prey. “What a nice assortment this time around. It's a shame I can only pick one tonight.” The man said in a voice so endearing it made me ill. The others quickly found hope, begging to either be let go or for him to pick someone else. Saying how better looking the girls were than themselves. The men pleading for one of the girls to be taken and that caused the three women to turn on them. Not even the armed men could keep them silent. Soon they added into the noise making the room fill with a verbal chaos. The man staring at us with eyes of a hunter was pleased by the outcome. “Take me.” I said, my voice cutting through the noise. Everyone shut up, shocked by the offer. The man with the grey eyes hid a smile behind the back of his hand. Taking one step closer, I saw he was doing his best to clean spots of drool from the corners of his mouth. I felt scared to death. Whatever he wanted to do wasn’t going to be natural. I still didn’t regret speaking up. I kept my gaze on the ground unable to watch the man get closer and I heard his polished shoes tap on the cold floor right in front of myself. I stared at the reflective leather until he got down on his knees. Dress pants creasing. His head ducking low to catch my line of sight. His smile so wide it shouldn’t be possible. Teeth pointed and for a second, I thought I was looking as a creature’s face. Something between a wolf and a rat. Grabbing the side of my face, he lifted my head up so he could look down on me while he sat on his knees. Both hands tugged at my short hair, forcing my head up. His eyes no longer a grey but almost glowing silver. “Now you, are an interesting one. I would be glad to eat you all up.” His voice dripping with excitement. For a moment. I thought he was going to press his mouth filled with pointed teeth over my own but he stopped himself. Pulling back, he forced us to keep eye contact. “Say it again. Say that you’ll give yourself over. Not just your life, but everything you are. If you do that, I won’t touch any of the people in this room.” His voice sweet making my skin crawl. I wanted to refuse him. My stomach twisting and body trembling. I would rather die instead of whatever he had planned. At first, I felt so scared I nearly refused. As I stared into his silver eyes, something strange happened. Everything else around is disappeared. All the remained was that deep silver color. My mind unable to focus on anything else as my fears eased. The longer I stared into his eyes, the more I understood about him. He was ancient. Countless years old. Older than our world. He came from somewhere else, a place humans would never understand. And he’d gotten bored. Taking a person to completely twist their mind the closest thing to entertainment he could find. His face got closer to my own and I felt myself changing against my will. To my horror, I wanted him to take me. To eat me down to the bone. As much as I resisted him, the more he mentally pulled. I would be killed, but he promised it would be a better experience that any human should ever be able to have. A single word pulled me from the trace and broke whatever power the man held over me. I pulled back breathing hard nearly getting sick as he let go. One of the armed men was disgusted seeing two men looking at each other in such a way. He muttered a very rude insult under his breathe unaware that everyone in the room could hear him. A dark expression came across the man’s face for a second. He leaned over, his mouth right beside my ear. “Maybe next time.” His words caused the back of my neck to prickle. In a blink of an eye, the space in front of me was empty. Startled voices came next. I turned my head to see what was going on. Everyone who been kidnapped suddenly free. Each of their binds mysteriously snapping at the same time. Some tried for the door as the armed men froze in shock from what they were seeing. The man who wanted to devour me took a hold of the one who insulted him. Whispering something that made his prey turned pale, the monster’s terrible face bright with joy. Mouth impossibly wide, he brought it down on the tender exposed neck to rip part of it away. People screamed and fled. I was the only one who stayed to watch. The black-haired man’s body twisted and turned into something so removed from logic my brain refused to fully process it. A silver creature with a long powerful snout that ripped into his victim's stomach. Somehow, the man remained alive. Blood pouring from his mouth as he watched his own organs being torn and eaten. Instead of looking to be in pain, the man looked as if he greatly enjoyed it. My head felt light watching that man’s expression whole being torn apart. This creature was making his meal enjoy the pain and his death. This very nearly happened to myself and a flood of emotions came with that fact. I watched the gory scene; a terrible feeling came bubbling up. I felt a little jealous and that made me sick. A pair of hands pulled me from the ground and out the door. I assumed it was the crying man from the van coming back to get me. We call spilled outside, frantic and mentally scarred from the night. Getting home just a blur. I thought the other guy meekly thanked me for offering myself but I wasn’t certain. All I could think about how close I’d been to death that night and the terror that came from how I truly felt about it. Weeks passed as I fell back into my regular life. I pretended as if the dark urge plaguing my brain wasn’t there. That I made it out safe. I was fine and wasn’t in any danger. I went to pay down my loan, only to find out the ones taken as a choice to be eaten had their loans cleared in exchange for their silence. I no longer had the threat of being snatched up at any point or had any reason to ever come across that creature again. If it was anyone else, they would be happy about it. That night tainted my mind in a way I couldn’t fight. I finally broke, and took out another loan. Already being in the system made the process faster. The ones in the office I went to weren't even surprised I doubted I was the first person to do this. Now it’s just a waiting game. Every moment torture as I thought about seeing that creature again to be ripped apart. At any time, someone would come for me. Until then, I took care of my mother and spent time with my family. I never told them how death hovered over my every waking second or how I felt about it. I just to make some pleasant memories with my family before I disappeared forever. I honestly hope they never find out about what I saw that night and how it changed me. And if anyone hears about the Loan System then maybe they’ll think twice about signing up. There is something worse than death. Something like living with the fear of dying and yet being unable to control yourself eagerly going towards it...<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Our first pregnancy [RESPONSE] We were fortunate to get Dr. Singh. She came very highly recommended. She asked if we wanted to know if the baby was a girl or boy. I kind of wanted to know but Casey didn’t. The doctor wrote the name on a piece of paper and put it in an envelope. That way, we could look when we were ready. After she gave Casey the note, she asked if we wanted a boy or a girl. What response did she expect? "I just want it to be unhealthy," I thought and almost said out loud. They wouldn’t have thought it was funny. I’d obviously be joking. Damn them for their hypothetical judgments. Doctor Singh started talking about her children. All girls who’s problems she can better relate to. She was clearly appealing to Casey, accurately recognizing her as the alpha in the relationship. As we were walking out she said, “it’s good to know. You can better prepare.” We continued walking but when I looked back, she gave me a strange look. Something about the doctor seemed strange. Over the next t few days, I tried to convince Casey to look. I wanted to know so badly. It doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl. I just want to know! It’ll make coming up with a name easier. We’ll know what kinds of clothes to buy. I’m just not good with stuff like that. Curiosity always gets the better of me. Casey wouldn’t budge, though. She wanted to be surprised on the day she gave birth. She won’t let me peek because she knows that I can’t keep a secret. At least I wouldn’t have to try and talk her out of a goofy gender reveal party or something like that. Days went by and I stopped thinking about it so much. Casey is the boss and she’s always been one to stick to her guns. I would have given up on it completely if Dr. Singh never called the house. I answered the phone. I was concerned because she hadn’t called the house before and I’m prone to panic. “Hello, doctor. Is everything okay?!” “Yes, I’m just calling to check in. How is Casey feeling?” “Not too bad. A little nauseous. Do you want to talk to her?” I asked. “Oh are you home? I thought you’d be at work,” she said. “No, I took a little time off. Casey’s just in the other room if you wanna talk to her.” “No. I just.. Just checking in.. I guess you guys still don’t want to know the sex of the baby?” “I do, but she wants to wait so that’s what we’re doing.” “Oh.. Well as a doctor, I think that’s a bad idea..” “What? Why?” I asked. The doctor acted very weird on the phone. Why did she care if I was at work? Why does she care so much about us knowing the sex of the baby? Before she responded again, I heard Casey scream. I ran to the bedroom to find Casey in the fetal position screaming in pain. “What’s going on?!” I yelled. “It hurts!” Casey screamed. Doctor Singh was still on the phone. “Doctor, something’s wrong!” “I… I shouldn’t have called.” Doctor Singh started coughing into the phone before she hung up. Moments after she hung up, Casey started to calm down. “What happened?” I asked her. “I don’t know.. I just had this horrible pain in my gut. It was like the worst cramp ever, then it just stopped. I feel okay now.” I struggled to process everything that had just happened. I sat on the bed silently for a moment trying to calm myself down. “I’m gonna get a glass of water,” Casey said. She got up and walked out to the kitchen. As I caught my breath, I noticed the envelope on her night stand. Curiosity got the best of me and I grabbed it. I got another empty envelope out of the drawer and replaced the real one. She came back moments later. I excused myself and went into the bathroom. I locked the door and opened the envelope. I unfolded the note inside. When I saw what the doctor had written, it sent shivers up my spine.. Just two words.. “Kill it”. Moments later, I heard a banging sound out in the hallway. I walked out of the bathroom and saw Casey standing in the doorway to the nursery. She had a large kitchen knife in her hand and was repeatedly stabbing it into the door frame and the drywall. I just stared at her, stunned. She had a smile on her face so wide that it looked painful. It was maniacal. She wasn’t blinking, just staring intensely at me as she continued jabbing the knife into the wall next to her. “What are you doing?!” I screamed. She started slowly walking toward me, stabbing holes along the wall as she moved through the hallway. As she was about midway through the hallway, she stopped and looked down at her stomach. She rubbed her hand around it a few times then lightly slid the knife across her belly. She looked back up at me, still smiling in a manner that was utterly chilling. Then she spoke.. It wasn’t her, though. She spoke in a raspy, awful, guttural sounding voice.. “You shouldn’t have peeked.. I wanted it to be a surprise.” I’ve locked myself in the bathroom again. I’m writing this for whoever finds it or to whom it may concern. I’m not sure, but this may concern everyone.. She hasn’t broken through the door yet, but she will. She started charging into the door moments after I locked myself in. She’s been repeatedly slamming herself into it. On one of her last attempts, I think I heard a bone snap. It didn’t deter her at all. It didn’t even slow her down. She just keeps ramming her shoulder into the door. It isn’t her.. It isn’t Casey.. I could fight back, but I won't. No matter the circumstances, I couldn't possibly do anything to hurt her.. And I certainly would never harm my own child.. Casey, if you are reading this, please take care of our child and protect them.. Something tells me they’re destined for great things... <|startoftext|>[WP] Molly [RESPONSE] To make a little extra money while in college, I took a job at a very old, privately-owned two-story, restaurant in a small town on the outskirts of a major New England city. For this story, I will not name the city or the real name of the establishment. It has been called many things over the years, but today, its current moniker is Ye Olde Forge Inn and Tavern. For the sake of storytelling, let’s call it “The Forge”. The Forge was the oldest building in town, dating back to 1782. It originally stood by itself and began its life as an inn and tavern for travelers, but as time went on, more establishments were built nearby. Eventually the area became its own little unincorporated town, complete with a quaint wooden sign. I was hired on the spot and asked to start the following day after picking up the necessary clothes to meet the dress code. I was about to leave, when something in the corner of my eye caught my attention while passing the base of the staircase. I looked up and saw a young woman wearing an old-fashioned blue and white housekeeping dress with a white bonnet. She was pretty, a little older than me, maybe in her mid to late 20s, but what really captivated me were her ice blue eyes. She just stood there, looking down at me. Her arms hung casually in front of her with her fingers interlaced, like she was waiting for something. I habitually raised my hand, giving her a shy wave and an awkward smile. She seemed to move in slow motion. She formed a very small sad smile and slowly raised her hand to wave back. Not thinking much of it, I left to go buy my new clothes. After a few weeks of working as a busboy, I was promoted to waiter. The money was really good. Our clientele consisted of the usual locals and a lot of tourists. One night, while walking from the dining room to the kitchen to grab an order, I took a quick glance at the top of the stairs. There she was. Just the same as when I had seen her the first time. I wanted to walk up the stairs to say hello, but I had orders to deliver. She stood eerily still, but her blue eyes were fixed right on me. I greeted her with a quiet “Hello” from the bottom of the stairs. The same sad, shy smile formed on her lips. I considered going up the stairs. Things had been moving smoothly and the food could wait a few seconds. The moment my foot touched the first stair, she turned and slowly moved into the upstairs hallway, out of view. I walked up the stairs to follow her. I made it to the upstairs hallway, but she was nowhere to be seen. Disappointed, I retreated back downstairs to deliver my order. Later that night, after things had slowed down. I returned to the upstairs hallway to look again. Still, she was not there. I walked out to the balcony to check, but she was not there either. While I was out there, I decided to smoke a much-needed cigarette. I flicked a match to light the cigarette when a gust of wind blew it out. I tried again, different match, same result. After the third match blew out, I blamed it on the wind and gave up. I needed to head back downstairs anyway. When I approached the top of the stairs, I suddenly heard a very quiet squeaking sound. I paused to listen, and it stopped. I froze in place to see if it happened again. Sure enough, the squeaking resumed. It was coming from one of the far inn rooms. I turned down the hallway to investigate. I moved very slowly, hoping it would continue. I was able to locate the source. It was a doorknob, specifically it was coming from the knob on the door to an unused room. The doorknob was turning very slowly. The old metal workings caused an ominous squeak that echoed through the hallway. Now I was alarmed, this room was kept locked at all times for reasons not disclosed to me; the only key was downstairs with the owner. Now it seemed someone was inside. Something compelled me to touch the doorknob, so I drew my hand up and reached forward. My hand hovered around the doorknob, but I had yet to touch it. I could feel cold air blowing through the keyhole, chilling my fingers to the point of pain. I took a deep breath and grasped the knob. The squeaking stopped suddenly, as did the cold air blowing through the keyhole. I began to feel the muscles in my arm start to shake. The doorknob felt like ice. I let go of the doorknob and stepped back. I waited for a moment to see if it would start again, but nothing happened. I decided to return to the dining room and finish my evening. The events left me shaken and I did not sleep well that night. The next day, I worked up the courage to talk to the owner about my experience the night before. He was lurking in the dining room office where he usually could be found. He told me I had formally met “Molly”, the most active ghost of the Forge. I was flabbergasted. I had my suspicions, considering the age and history of the place, but to have it confirmed to me by the owner required some time to process. He told me the previous owner informed him about Molly when he took ownership. Fascinated by the concept of owning a haunted building, he told me he did some research on Molly. He found some information in the 1850 census showing a “Molly” who lived at the local tavern as a housekeeper. In the winter of 1857, Molly’s frozen body was found beneath the wreckage of an overturned wagon in a roadside stream north of town. It is believed her horse became spooked by something and started running. Unable to calm the horse, Molly lost control of the wagon, which crashed and tumbled into the stream. He suspects the locked, unused room upstairs belonged to Molly in life, and he keeps it locked because the room is always inexplicably cold, even in the summertime. Guests who stayed in the room would complain of the cold and demand another room, so he locked it up. Considering how she died, the cold made sense to him. He opened his office desk and pulled out an old newspaper clipping. In 1989, the local newspaper interviewed him as part of a “Haunted History” article for Halloween which featured The Forge. Molly was the star of the segment. When referring to her, the article reads: “Molly is a quiet spirit. She wears a blue and white dress and keeps her red hair pulled tightly into a bun hidden beneath a white bonnet. When she appears, Molly is most often seen standing at the top of the staircase. Her footsteps can be heard ascending and descending the staircase at all hours. She is occasionally seen drifting from the dining room to the kitchen. Some nights, she has been sighted looking out of one of the upstairs inn room windows, her face seemingly lit by soft candlelight. She has given some inn guests a fright by tucking them into bed in the middle of the night. Some guests have reported their clothing being laid out on the bed when returning after being away; clothing that had been previously packed or put away, as if to suggest what they should wear for the evening.” Strangely, the article made no mention of her piercing, blue eyes. Over time, I gradually made peace with the idea of working in a haunted restaurant. A part of me may have even felt excited. But I soon learned that Molly wasn't the only spirit to call the Forge their home. There was an old fisherman named George, who enjoyed sitting at one of the corner dining room tables. We could tell he was there because he would light the oil lamp at the table on his own, well before any other lamps had been lit. George would also light his lamp after all the lamps in the dining room had been extinguished for closing time. Sometimes, you could see him sitting there, but only his reflection in the window adjacent to the table; his bearded face and his newsboy hat illuminated by the lamp. He enjoyed smoking an old pipe, the embers of which could also be seen glowing in the window’s reflection. Some nights, you could smell it. There is no smoking allowed in the restaurant, and sometimes guests would complain of the smell. We typically told them that it must be coming from somewhere outside. Then there was Charlie, who we thought was a bartender for the tavern in the 1800s. Charlie was a prankster; he regularly liked to rearrange the glasses and spirits at the bar. While I never saw him, some guests and staff claimed to have seen him standing at the bar, waiting for someone to come and request a stiff drink, only to vanish when approached. He appears dressed in period clothing: a white shirt, black bowtie, suspenders, and black sleeve garters. His hair is combed to the side and he sports a rather fashionable handlebar mustache. According to those who claim to have seen Charlie, he always had a slight, content smile. There was also Agnes, who supposedly frequented The Forge in the 1940s, but very little else was known about her. She was our resident “Lady in Blue.” She appeared to be a middle-aged socialite with a strong, rose-scented perfume that emanated throughout the entire restaurant. She had been sighted sitting at the bar as well as standing next to the piano in the dining room. Lastly, there was a young-looking, rarely-seen British soldier in a classic redcoat uniform, named “Larry” by the staff. He was often blamed, yet not always responsible for objects being knocked off of walls, shelves, and the fireplace mantel. It wasn’t uncommon to hear the kitchen staff yell “Dammit Larry!” after pots, pans, plates, or anything else that makes loud, obnoxious crashing sounds in kitchens fell over. When seen, Larry prefered to stand vigil next to the fireplace in the dining room, musket in tow. I periodically spotted Molly on the stairs and in the hallway, but never again gave chase. I would simply offer her a soft smile, which she would return, and I would continue on with my shifts. As stupid as this may sound. I credit Molly with helping me quit smoking. I felt like Molly did not approve of my smoking habit. As before, when I first looked for her, I was unable to light cigarettes while at The Forge. Nothing worked; matches, lighters, even coworkers lighting them for me resulted in the ember either falling off or going out completely. About a year after being promoted to Dining Room Manager, I was in the office going through the night’s profits, making sure the busboys were getting their cut of tips. I was enjoying a local brew with Thomas, my newly assigned Assistance Dining Room Manager. Carl, our Head Chef, came in to report that the kitchen was clear and that he was heading home. I could tell Thomas was exhausted as it had only been his second or third week as a manager, and it was a very busy night, so I told him I would finish up and he could head home. Thomas hadn’t been gone five minutes before I felt like I was being watched. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and the room grew cold. I leaned back in the office chair which gave me a clear view of the dining room. I looked for George’s lamp. Nothing. I looked toward the fireplace, expecting to see Larry glaring at me for letting the kitchen staff blame him yet again for their clumsiness. Still nothing. I shrugged it off and went back to the ledger. I couldn't shake the eerie feeling, so I decided to investigate. I started with the barroom. Everything seemed normal, so I checked the kitchen and storage hallway. Again, nothing was out of place. I listened intently for anything, the only sounds present were the hum of the clunky furnace and the rain outside pounding on the windows. I decided to check upstairs. Nothing seemed amiss and no overnight guests were scheduled that evening. I began making my way back downstairs. I was stopped in my tracks. I suddenly heard the distinctive chime of the cash drawer from the old-fashioned register in the barroom. I ran down the stairs, thinking that perhaps a thief had broken in. Unfortunately for said would-be thief, the cash drawer had been emptied earlier in the evening. Expecting to catch the criminal in the act, I darted into the barroom and saw…nothing behind the counter, nothing among the bar stools and small tables. It was just as I had left it. The room is fairly small and provides no hiding places. I walked behind the counter to inspect the drawer. It stood wide open. I cautiously closed it and walked back to the hallway to continue my search. As soon as I stepped foot into the hallway, I heard the drawer chime again. I froze. No one could have been able to re-enter the barroom without being seen. I slowly turned around and glanced across the room once again. Everything was in place. I walked behind the bar and found the drawer back in its open position. I slid the drawer shut again, then paused. “Ok, Charlie! Very funny!” I stated, thinking that maybe the spectral prankster may be responsible. Relieved, I left the barroom and headed back to my office to finish the ledger. I had made it about halfway across the dining room when I suddenly felt a cold spot. I stopped again and listened. After what felt like an eternity, a voice whispered in my ear. “...Stay…” it said softly. My blood ran cold. This was new, there had never been voices before. “Stay?” I asked, “What do you mean stay?” With a very breathy respone, it whispered again. “...Staaaaaaaay…” This time, the voice seemed to emanate from inside my head entirely. I tried rubbing my ears to see if I possibly could have been hearing things. The only sounds our ghosts had ever made were footsteps. “STAAAAAAAAY!” the voice demanded, this time I could tell the voice belonged to a woman. Could it be Agnes, Molly, or possibly a new spirit? I couldn't stop shaking. I was beginning to get cold sweats. By this point, I was fairly used to the activity, but this was extremely unnerving. I looked around. “Molly? Agnes?” I called. I walked back to the barroom and began to smell the air for Agnes’ perfume, but there was nothing. Suddenly, I saw movement in the corner of my eye. A shadow moved through the hallway, heading towards the kitchen. I felt compelled to follow. When the kitchen door came into sight, it was gently swinging back and forth, as if someone had just entered. I peered through the small circular window, but saw nothing. I felt like it wanted me to follow, or it wanted to show me something. I cautiously opened the kitchen door. The door’s normally squeaky hinges made my already cold blood run colder in the already quiet hallway. I hesitated. What if…I was being lured? What if this was a new spirit? Something harmful, malicious. I began to feel sick to my stomach. I fumbled in my jacket for my cell phone. Maybe the owner had experienced something like this before? He claimed to have seen shadows, but never said anything about being beckoned by a disembodied voice. No signal. Dammit! All of a sudden, there came a faint orange glow on the walls. I could see my own shadow amongst the glow. I quickly turned around. To my horror, all four gas stove burners had been turned on to the highest setting. The normal blue flames instead were orange and flickering. I approached the stove to turn off the burners. As soon as I touched the first knob, the flames shot up like jets, forming large blazing pillars. They roared loudly and nearly reached the ceiling. I reeled back from the intense heat, but found the courage to cover my face with my jacket and reach for the knobs. I felt the first knob and turned it to the off position, then the second, and the third, and finally the fourth. When I lowered my jacket, the flames were gone. The metal stands creaked as they cooled. I breathed a sigh of relief, and decided that I had had enough excitement for one evening. I turned towards the kitchen door to leave. I pushed on the door like I had every night, but it stood fast. I nearly slammed my face into it. I checked to see if the never-used lock had somehow been engaged, but it had not. This door had always been left unlocked. There was no reason to lock it. This door's only purpose was to keep guests from being able to see into the kitchen. Frustrated, I drew my arms above my head to slam my fists into the door. As my fists contacted the door, I yelled “Come on! I’m tired, and I don’t want to play games!” The door gave way and swung open. There came a bloodcurdling shriek echoing through the entire building. It was a woman’s shriek, loud and intense. This was a cry of panicked mourning, the kind you could expect from a woman discovering a deceased child. That was it. It was time to go. I hurried myself into the dining room again and headed directly to my office, and grabbed my bag. “You can’t leave!” The voice cried again; it sounded demanding. “What do you mean I can’t leave?” I shouted. “This isn’t funny!” “You…can’t…LEEEEAAAVE!!” The voice shrieked again intensely. The extinguished logs in the fireplace erupted into massive blue flames. The piano keys began playing randomly, completely devoid of melody. The lights flickered and the dining room chandelier began swaying back and forth.The walls of the building began to groan like it was going to collapse at any moment. My legs took over; I felt myself running for the front door. I didn’t care that I was parked out back, I wanted out, and I wanted out now. My hand contacted the knob of the front door and I began to turn it, but it would not move. Something on the opposite side of the door's glass window caught my attention. It was a pair of bluish-white eyes, staring back at me through the window. I knew those eyes. It was Molly, but she didn’t look like the Molly I knew. She was paler than usual, veins were visible through her paper-like, translucent skin, her lips were blue, and her eyes were sunken in. Her bonnet was missing, and her red hair was a curly, wild mess. She didn’t look sad, she looked angry and desperate. I stood in shock as Molly spoke to me directly for the very first time. “You can not leave.” Her voice sounded more like an echo, and the words didn’t sync with her lips. Her dead eyes wide with the look of absolute horror. I was petrified. I tried to pull my hand from the doorknob. It was stuck. It’s like the muscles in my hand had seized and now had the doorknob in a death grip. I pulled harder and harder to no avail. I looked back at Molly. She had now placed her hands to the door window, her black-tipped fingers were more like claws as she scratched at the window. Frost began to form one the glass where her fingers touched the window. I felt like she wanted to hurt me, to strangle me, or worse. One last time, she screamed “YOU CAN’T LEAVE!” It was the most horrifying shriek yet. I felt it echo through my soul. Her face morphed as the words left her mouth; her eyes vanished into deep dark voids, her nose disappeared, revealing a skeletal pit. The skin on her hands shriveled and tore, until only bone remained. Her teeth instantly decayed as they curled over her frozen lips, and her red hair became a sickly shade of gray. Without warning, my hand slipped free of the doorknob and I fell backwards to the floor. I looked to the door towards Molly, but she was gone. All that was left was frost. I ran to the rear of the building. I prayed that I could get out. As I ran, I felt all my pockets for my keys. Right jacket pocket, thank God! Screw the bag, I’ll get it later. I made it past the kitchen, to the storage hallway, and finally out to the loading dock. The rear door flung open. I slammed it, fumbled for my keys, and barely managed to lock it without snapping off the key in the lock. It was pouring rain. I ran to my car and threw open the door. I was drenched from head to foot. I started the engine, and peeled out of the parking lot, kicking gravel all over the place. The rocks bounced loudly off the undercarriage like bullets. I drove like a madman and wanted to get as far away from The Forge as possible. The trees were one single mass of green, blurred by my speed and the rain. It was raining so hard that my windshield wipers couldn’t keep up. I could barely see anything at all, but I didn’t care. I was almost home when Molly suddenly appeared again in the middle of the road in front of me. I instinctively slammed on the brakes and turned the wheel hard to the right. I began to skid out of control. Time seemed to move in slow motion. I closed my eyes tightly and braced for impact into one of the numerous trees. Suddenly, everything went black. That was it. I was dead, I just knew it. Molly had killed me. What had I done to upset her? Was she lonely and wanted me to pass over to keep her company for eternity? Was she really an evil spirit bent on taking my soul? I was roused by a bright light. Deliriously, I believed it to be the passage to the afterlife. But then I started to hear someone talking and my vision slowly came into focus. The light was not some spiritual tunnel, it was the beam of a flashlight. A sheriff's deputy wasaging his flashlight on my face and asking if I was ok. I realized I wasn’t dead after all and was still in my car seat. I heard the deputy tell me not to move and that paramedics were coming. My head was throbbing, but I needed to get out of the car. Despite the protests from the deputy, I exited the vehicle and looked around. My car had drifted to the side of the road and rested against a tree, but there didn't appear to be any damage to the tree, or my car. It was as if the car simply rolled to a stop against the tree. I could hear the siren of the approaching ambulance. The deputy walked over to me, again asking if I was ok. After I nodded, he said I was lucky, to which I agreed. I could have hit one of the many trees along the road, but somehow my car glided to a safe stop. He shook his head. “No, it's lucky you spun out here, if you can believe it.” the deputy said. “About three-hundred feet up the road, the bridge is out. Washed away by the rain. Must have happened in the last twenty or thirty minutes. We only got the call a few minutes ago and just now closed off the road. It would have been really hard to see in this rain. You could have been washed away and never seen alive again, if at all.” I took a deep breath and leaned against the deputy’s truck. The paramedics arrived and tended to me. For the most part, I was uninjured, save for my headache and some whiplash. While my mind was racing, I had a revelation. Molly wouldn't let me leave because she knew I wouldn't have been able to see the road until the rain had stopped. Maybe, had the timing been right, I could have even been on the bridge when it was washed away. Lost in thought, I heard the voice again…Molly's voice. This time, it was soft, solemn, and calming, unlike the voice I had heard earlier. Though I had never heard Molly speak before that night, something inside told me that this voice was the real Molly. She simply said…”I’m sorry.” I continued working at The Forge for another two years, but I never saw or heard Molly again after that night. I’ve since moved on to a new life, far away from that charming New England town. I do check in every now and then. Thomas and Carl keep me updated. The Forge is doing well these days, but I often wonder if Molly is still there. I honestly believe she was trying to keep me safe. Maybe, she still is. Sometimes, I still find it impossible to light a cigarette.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] If you've heard of "The Ghost's Name", don't you ever play it. This is how I found out not to. [RESPONSE] Everyone’s seen or heard of vague, fantastical rituals, and how most of them end up having terrible, terrible consequences for all those involved. There’s something that these games have in common with each other; you make a deal with an otherworldly being, either explicitly or implicitly, and either get a reward or consequences for how well you play according to the rules set in place. More than likely, all these games are just variations of something incredibly base–a contract with the supernatural, where the devil is, quite literally, in the details. I don’t know what this original “game” –for lack of a better descriptor–could be, and I’m not brave enough to find out, either. No sane man would want to delve into a search for something that will kill them after they’ve already had a precarious encounter. There is that saying; once bitten, twice shy. Thirty years ago, I played The Ghost’s Name, and I lived. Yes, the title is incredibly short, and not very catchy. Thankfully, I didn’t name it, so I can be absolved of the embarrassment. That is, perhaps, the only lighthearted aspect of it, looking back on everything; we shouldn’t have played it to begin with, but it should not have been treated with the levity with which we played it. Thirty years ago, I was a sophomore in a college, pursuing my degree in communications, and would often spend my free time with my friends, who mostly were either of the same major, or majored in business. We were not particularly popular. There were five of us, and Alex was often the one to propose we did strange things to get a thrill for the day, while the rest of us were mostly content with watching television reruns or playing cards. Looking back on it, this was evidently the main factor for the lack of popularity. I don’t remember Alex’s main reasons for suggesting we play the game–he had probably heard it from a classmate of his, and I don’t know why we agreed, but as it happened, we asked for him to tell us more about the rules, and so he did. First, we were to go into a room without windows and any doors but the one that we had come through–since we were in Alex’s apartment, the only room meeting these qualifications was his bedroom. Secondly, we had to bring a number of things with us–three blank pieces of paper, two markers of differing colors, an obituary almanac, and a flashlight. Third, we would play The Ghost’s Name, and when we came back out, we needed to leave everything in the room, turn the lights out, close the door, and wait for three minutes to open the door again. The Ghost’s Name is essentially a guessing game. When you bring in the three pieces of paper, the markers, the almanac, and the torch, you are bringing them into a room to communicate with a ghost. The three pieces of paper were for three separate things, the first for summoning the ghost–we didn’t do this by sounding out fancy Latin words. It was like a kid’s game, rather–you wrote a greeting on the paper in large letters three times after turning the lights off, set the paper down, and you waited with your eyes closed until you could hear the sounds of something writing on the paper. When it stopped, you could open your eyes. You would then invite it to write down three clues about its life and how it died–so six in total–on another sheet of paper, and close your eyes until it stopped writing. You would then have to guess the name of the ghost, and only got one try. The time given to you to do that was an hour at most. (Since Alex’s room had a clock, we didn’t bring any timers in.) After that, you would write the ghost’s name on the third piece of paper. If it was ripped into pieces, you guessed wrong. If the paper was flipped over, you guessed right, and the ghost could move on into the afterlife peacefully. No matter the outcome, that was when you would come out. When Alex explained the rules to us, we all laughed. None of us believed in that sort of stuff! But upon his insistence, we decided to give it a shot (after having some shots of our own) and ripped some pages out of our notebooks. Theresa went into her apartment to acquire two versions of the same 10-kilogram 1992 state almanac, and we all pushed a wide-eyed Dean, giggling, into Alex’s bedroom at one in the morning. The rest of us then busied ourselves with… watching television reruns or playing cards. Theresa was particularly interested in playing Bluff with Cathy. This went on for twenty minutes. At half an hour, I had another beer. We all started getting antsy at fifty minutes in, and Alex was about to open the door to the bedroom when the entire apartment’s power went out. Here is some insight as to how Alex’s apartment was structured; it was a shoebox, so there was one large open living space, and one bedroom. The bathrooms were shared by the entire floor of the building, and since the apartment was between two others, there were no windows to speak of, either. It was a very cheap space, but now he was paying a much steeper price for it. Remember how, at the very start, I specified the room must have no windows and only doors that could be used as entryways? It turned out that the entire apartment fit those qualifications. We only figured this out after ten minutes of painstakingly trying to turn the power back on, or leaving the apartment. The door was locked–almost welded shut, and even I couldn’t manage to turn the knob open. Something in the game had gone very, very wrong when Dean had played it. Theresa was the first one to have something written on her paper–she turned her flashlight on and screamed. None of us had written any greetings at that point, but since Dean had already invited the ghost in, that step had been skipped. She held up the pieces of paper for us all to see: one of them said “NO TALKING. GUESS MY NAME.” The other had six “clues” written on it; the ghost had drowned–not in a pool–and was young while doing so. When it had been alive, it had a pet dog, blonde hair, and glasses. I don’t particularly want to think about how hellish those minutes were; how it was pitch black throughout the apartment–darker than that, really, and even when we turned our flashlights on, it was as though the light kept on getting reduced over time. It was as though the darkness was eating through it, centimeter by centimeter. The rustling of the papers as they flipped–over and over, for each of us. The eerie silence, only punctuated by gasps as we all tried to breathe normally and flipped through the shared almanac, which one of us had managed to push through the center. I couldn’t tell how much time had passed before I heard more scribbling of a marker, and then a whimper. The darkness seemed to grow blacker than before–almost like a warning. This happened more and more, and soon four hands on the book became three, then two. I kept on shaking. As I flipped through description after description of people drowning, I kept on crying silently. Eventually, I found someone–a tiny blonde girl, who had fallen into a tide off the coast while going on surfing lessons with her older brother. I wrote down the name while squinting at the paper as best as I could, because the light of my flashlight had been whittled down to maybe an inch of yellow. Then, remembering the rules, I closed my eyes and hoped against hope that I would not hear a ripping sound. Of course, I didn’t–that’s how I am here, writing this now. I remember hearing the paper flip, and then not so much a sound as though a vacuum *pop,* not unlike when an airplane takes off and begins to accelerate very fast. When I came to and opened my eyes, it was just me and Cathy in the apartment. We checked every nook, every cranny–Alex was gone. Theresa was gone. Dean was gone. There was no blood. No signs of struggle. Shaking, screaming, we made our way out of the apartment and to the police station, and told them everything that we could. It’s honestly a miracle we even managed to file missing person complaints due to how incoherent we were. We were–are– terrified. To this day, no one knows where our three friends are. People just don’t remember them. Alex’s parents still insist they only have one daughter every time I call them, and I still can’t sleep well at night unless I’m in a fully lit room. Even then, I find it hard to sleep, knowing they have a fate worse than death. I wish I could find them, but I have a horrible hunch that the only way to do so would be to play the game again, and I just can’t bring myself to do it. Cathy’s the same way. For thirty years, she’s been mourning the loss of Theresa. They were best friends, and she’s just never been able to move on–got institutionalized briefly for it, too. I don’t know, to this day, how I still manage to pull myself through a career, or how I got lucky enough to have a family. My daughter’s my age, now. And I worry for her. She’s been talking about some concerning things, lately, and it’s made me think about this a lot more than I should now. I’m old, and I’m still scared to death. In a way, the ghosts never left us. So this is all just a big, grand word of caution–I’ve already told my daughter this story, but I want to warn all you thrill-seeking college graduates out there, too–don’t play any fucking games. They’re not worth it, ever.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I worked at a 24 hour gas station, and had some unsettling encounters [RESPONSE] I was there for three years. The station had an auto shop attached but was rarely needed at night, so I typically just dealt with people coming for gas. Occasionally, I’d be asked to work on a car overnight from the day shift. One time, I found several bags of heroin leaking out from the driver seat. I was nervous the owners would know I saw it, so I stuffed the bags back in. The station was out on a country road, so the types of customers I generally served were truckers or farmers or the random couple driving home from a date. However there were the anomalies. The car accidents. The drunk driver that killed a small family in the intersection out front. There was a vicious, blazing inferno coming out of that minivan. The dad made it out, but he was on fire and died in the middle of the road. One time I served gas to someone who was being chased by the police. Of course, I didn’t know that at the time. I just thought the driver was in a hurry. I was robbed at gunpoint, twice. It was the same two ski-masked guys too. They just took turns speaking between the two incidents. Then there was the time an old guy drove up, got out of his car, and died of a heart attack two steps later. Those incidents were normal. Or at least understandable. Explainable. But there was one night something unexplainable happened. It was shortly after 3am. Headlights drove in carrying a 1966 Pontiac Bonneville two-door coupe. A thin trail of smoke was coming from under the hood. The inside of the windows were all fogged up, so I couldn’t really see the interior of the car or the occupants. The car drove past the gas station and right into the auto shop. The lights weren’t even on inside the shop, but the headlights lit it up. I went to greet the driver and flipped on the overhead lights of the shop. But they came on weak and dim. The driver side door opened as I approached and I was immediately hit with a stench of old, damp cloth and dust. A middle-aged man got out uneasily, like his knees were made of twigs. He wore one of those black quaker hats with dark hair spiking from under it and a greying goatee. The man’s face was covered in lines and wrinkles and his eyes sunk back into his head. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “Check the oil. Check the engine,” he choked out and walked past me, fumbling out an old box of matches. The passenger door closed and a middle-aged woman stood there. She had thick, dark hair that looked like it was greased through with gel and matted to her head. An uneven set of bangs cut across her forehead. The woman carried the same, sunken in eyes as the man. But her face was covered in days old make-up. Rosy cheeks, blue eyeliner, red lipstick. Even through the smearing, you could tell it was applied with heavy exaggeration. Then the woman smiled at me. I wish she hadn’t. Her teeth were dirty orange and speckled with black dots. Her gums were dark gray. I noticed she only had the front six teeth on her upper and lower jaws. She didn’t appear to have any molars. Which I shouldn’t know, but she couldn’t stop smiling to reveal that. The moment the woman saw me, her lips had stretched into a wide-mouthed grin that curved downward like a catfish. It was a strange and frightening smile. Like it was pulled and stretched over a screaming face. The woman began speaking to me, but she spoke so softly I couldn’t hear her. I kept leaning forward, trying to get a better ear. But the closer I got, the further her voice sounded. Then I realized we were inches from each other’s faces. Her breath was rancid as she spoke. And I finally heard what she was saying. “Don’t go in the car.” The woman pulled back and I saw the scream behind the smile in her eyes. She was terrified. “Joan.” The driver was already outside the auto shop, lighting up a dirty looking home-rolled cigarette. The woman, Joan, followed him. She looked back, continuing to smile, but her eyes told a story of desperation and horror. They gave me chills and I was happy the two were going to wait outside. I watched the strange couple walk down to the edge of the gas station where it made up the corner of a quiet, country intersection. I turned to the car, not really sure what to do. After I couldn’t get under the hood, I figured there was a release latch under the steering wheel. I went to the driver side door and saw the window was down. I leaned in through the window and searched and fumbled until I found the latch. I flicked it open and saw the hood pop up. As I was pulling myself out, a thought struck me - the window was up when the man drove in. It was up when he walked off. How did it get down? Then my eyes caught the rearview mirror. And what was in the backseat. There was a little boy staring at me. He sat calmly in the middle seat with his seatbelt still on. He had a strange, swirling facial scar that reminded me of a boy I went to grade school with named Johnny Walkens. He’d been attacked by a dog when he was little and large portions of his face were horrendously scarred. That’s what this boy looked like. And he had something that looked like mud and dirt smeared around his mouth and chin. The same smears were on his hands and wrists. The boy wore old, dirty overalls and a flannel shirt underneath. His eyes were locked on me. They carried an accusatory glare, like he was catching me stealing. I quickly blurted out, “Hey buddy, just checking out the engine, then we’ll get you and your parents on their way.” The boy stared back, his brow furrowed down at the centre, angrily. “They’re not my parents,” he croaked out. Then he started to make a strange sound. I couldn’t tell what it was at first, but then it became clear. The boy was laughing in his own, odd way. It was like his breath was hitching up repeatedly during the inhale. I didn’t know what to do or say, so I pulled myself out of the window and made my way to the hood. I looked out and saw Joan and the man were still at the corner, smoking and arguing. I popped the hood up and was greeted with a cloud of smoke. I figured it was a motor oil spill or leak at first. Then I stared down at the engine and I had no idea what to make of it. It looked foreign but also homemade. It was all connected and had metal plates fastened around it, protecting parts of the wiring and cables so it was next to impossible to see what was wrong. I honestly didn’t know what the hell I was looking at. But I managed to find what looked like a small handle for a dipstick, and I twisted and pulled it out. It *was* for the oil. I cleaned it, put it back in and pulled it to inspect. Basically dry. The little oil at the end felt gritty. It needed a change. The car was parked over our lift, so I didn’t have to get in to move it. But I couldn’t leave the kid in there. He had to get out. Safety precautions and all. I went to the driver side window, but the window was up again. I tried to open the door, but it was locked. I went over to the passenger side and found it locked too. I peered in through the dirty windows to try to signal to the boy to open the door… But the backseat was empty. The car was empty. He was gone. The only explanation I could come up with was that the backseats of the car pulled down and allowed access to the trunk. So I checked the trunk, but it was also locked. I knocked on it, trying to get the boy’s attention if he was inside. But nothing came back. I looked outside but couldn’t see Joan or the man. I was confused and nervous and all I could think to do was explain that our lift wasn’t working, so they’d need to get their oil changed at another shop in the next few days. Then I’d send them on their way. A loud clunk made me jump. On the other side of the garage, a loose wrench was on the ground. I walked over to it and picked it up. It had a small, child-sized muddy handprint on it. And suddenly, that odd laugh echoed out from somewhere in the garage. I raised the wrench to swing, but there was nothing to swing at. The loud, metal rattling of the front, retracting door slamming shut made me yell. I went over to inspect the now shut door, but as I did, the retracting metal doors at the back slammed shut as well. At this point I figured the kid was messing with me, so I called out to him, telling him playtime was over and to come on out. Then the power went out. The garage was completely black. Not a single window could be seen. I tried to open the front metal gate, but it wouldn’t budge. Like it was welded shut. More metal tools clanged against the ground. One slammed against the metal door, right beside my head. And another. The boy’s hitched laughter croaked out from somewhere in the dark of the shop. I couldn’t see anything, but knew the layout of the garage inside out and backwards. There was a flashlight on the far end of the wall to my right. There were shelves along the wall and a wide workbench I could follow. I moved along the metal door to the wall and found the edge of the bench. The boy’s laughter got louder, echoing through the garage. It stopped sounding human though. It was more hyena-like. And the source of the laughter was getting closer to me. With it, I felt a hot, rotten breath assaulting my nostrils. It followed me along the bench and towards the end of the wall. Through laughing, the boy quietly repeated, “I’m gonna find ya, I’m gonna find ya.” My foot hit what felt like a ratchet wrench, which loudly skittered across the metal grating on the floor. “Was that you,” the boy squealed out. Realizing I still had the wrench in my hands I first picked up, I threw it across the garage, hoping to hit the back wall and cause a distraction. It left my hand… but it never landed. “There you are,” the voice called out through laughs. Something shuffled behind me. I hit the end of the bench and reached up, knocking over multiple tools and causing a series of loud crashes. But I didn’t care. I felt the flashlight grip and turned it on, spinning and pointing the light behind me. I wished I hadn’t. The boy was two feet from me. I only saw his face for a moment, but that was enough. The boy’s facial scar had unravelled, like layers of extra skin in some strange face scarf covering. Only the fleshy layers were actually attached to him, and contained rows of needle-like teeth on the inside. When the skin flap opened, it tripled the original diameter of his mouth. I screamed and fell backward. I expected to hit the ground and immediately have the boy’s frightening mouth biting down on my face or neck. I hit the pavement outside the garage instead. The lights of the gas station poured over me. I looked back into the garage from my back. The lights were on. The metal door was open. The Bonneville was still and silent. Windows closed and clear. Footsteps approached from behind me. I scrambled up and turned to see Joan and the man had returned. He flicked his cigarette butt and approached me and mumbled- “How much?” I couldn’t speak. My lower jaw moved but all I could stammer out was, “don’t worry about it.” The man shrugged and walked back to the car. I turned and found Joan there, staring up at me. She was whispering something quickly and repeatedly. I leaned in and heard it clearly. “You shoulda listened, you shoulda listened, you shoulda listened.” The man called out from the car, snapping Joan back to him. Still smiling, Joan shook her head at me, tears rolling down her cheeks in dark smears. She walked back to the car and got in. The Bonneville started up and drove past me. The windows were no longer blurred by fog, so I could see inside clearly. I saw the man staring straight ahead. Joan, sitting passenger beside him, smiled out at me with worried eyes. Then I saw the backseat. It was empty. The boy was gone. I was so afraid, I locked the garage and the gas station, checked my car, then got in and drove for an hour before stopping. I called my boss and told him I was violently ill and had to lock up early. He was less than impressed, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t go back there. And I didn’t. I gave my two weeks and called in sick for each shift. I never went back to the garage and try to avoid gas stations at night now. But it’s not just that. Now, whenever I hear someone laugh, I hear the boy’s laugh. That same odd upward hitch. No matter the person, every giggle or cackle comes out the same. And sometimes it turns into that higher-pitched hyena cackle. It’s been happening more and more. It feels like one of those flu’s that start slow and take their time weakening your immune system before levelling you. Then tonight happened. I came home and there was a small, muddy handprint on the door handle of my apartment. There was one on the inside too.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I learnt about home security the hard way [RESPONSE] I would say I was truly independent when I got my first job as an accountant, and moved into a flat in a small village where my office was located. Compact and open-plan, it was my private slice of heaven for a while. My front door bordered a busy walkway which connected two parts of the village centre. That door was in the left-most corner of my kitchen and living room area, and further down was my bedroom. I always left my bedroom door open and let the light of the bathroom spill in to save energy, and because I liked the softer light. Having that door open meant that I heard the teenagers who gathered outside the public library opposite, more often than I would have liked. I wish the agency had told me that I was directly adjacent a popular youth meetup spot, but then again I probably still would have moved in. Sometimes they were loud. A few times they knocked on my door and ran away. I just got used to it. I tried to listen from my side of the door, to check if they were there or not when it was late and I wanted to get some chocolate from the shops. After a few months, I was very good at knowing when and when not to go out. However, one afternoon, they got me. I was walking back from the shops with some snacks in my backpack, and one of the guys in the group made some snarky comment which I fail to remember now. Then, a few days later, I walked out of my front door to see my two bins toppled over. Someone had written, "C\*nt" on the side of one with permanent marker. Yeah, real funny. But I wasn't angry. I was scared. I was scared it would get worse, that their abuse would only escalate, and they'd see how helpless and defenceless I actually was here in my lonely five-hundred-a-month fortress. Scared I'd eventually have to leave this slice of heaven I had carved for myself. I was in my early twenties, it's not like I could go out there wagging my finger like a senile old man and call them all whipper snappers or something. Neither could I reason with them. I know how careless and obnoxious I was as a kid. Being a kid is like being in freefall from a catapult of whose direction you never asked to go. It's not like they could help it, but it was horrible. The police were never an option. I know how slow and incapable they are with such trivial matters. Also, who knew what they were capable of? I called them teenagers, but some of them were pretty tall, pretty stocky. If I contacted the authorities, they might retaliate and the situation could get worse. So, I just dealt with it my own way: I continued to avoid them as best I could. Not much happened for a while after that, but I worried nonetheless. Their aggravated noises beyond the walls could ruin my whole night, even though they had nothing to do with me probably. It took time, but eventually I began to relax again and actually enjoy my private time. That was, until one night. My bedroom layout had my bed at one end and the door to the left. On the opposite side was my desk and a translucent window that I never bothered to add curtains to. I had tested the visibility of that window with my aunt when I first moved, and knew that it was impossible to see any detail through it, just outlines. The translucent window bordered an alleyway that allowed access to a few front doors of adjacent flats and such. It was barely used compared to the walkway at the other end of my flat. However, while laying in my bed one night and staring through that window, I saw shadows of people gather by the single lamp post that lit the path in an orange glow. I soon realised they were muttering in hushed tones. Barely audible, I couldn't make out a word. They stayed their for a long time, until my paranoia went into overdrive, and I slumped into my duvet leaving only the top of my head so I could peek through. At some point, one of the shadows walked closer to the window and stood there for a while. Then, it pressed its face right against the glass, revealing a pair of eyeballs which scanned the room. That's when I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. It must have been ten minutes until I opened them again; every minute imagining those same eyes watching me. However, when I finally lifted my eyelids, the shadows were gone. Proceeding days passed uneventfully, but I kept thinking about the shadows. Who were they? And why did they want to look through my window? Was it the teenagers? Had they seen my computer? Did they know it was worth over two-thousand pounds? Perhaps that was worth breaking my window for? I didn't sleep well after that. I spoke to my online friend about my situation, and he said I might have been blowing it out of proportion a little. "It is possible they were just being nosy little buggers." He tried to reassure me. But I was convinced otherwise. And I was right; although, I still have no idea how the events connect, or how what I'm about to tell you is even possible. It was another night, and I was in my bedroom, on my computer. My earphones were in, but I wasn't listening to anything yet, when I could have swore I heard a rustling in the kitchen. I wondered whether it may have been my letterbox, but it was approaching early morning so this didn't make sense. Nevertheless, the noise had spooked me enough to investigate. I walked into the kitchen and living room area, flipping on the light and squinting into the emptiness, until my eyes fixed on the letterbox. As the flap slowly rose, my blood ran cold. I found myself frozen on the spot as the flap subtly twitched up and down, like a small animal was trapped within, trying to escape. I still struggle to believe what happened next. Four pale and bony fingers emerged under the flap, followed shortly by a pale-pinkish thumb. Then came an arm, so thin you could make out the bones beneath the skin. It slithered silently through the bristles like a hunting snake. It hung motionless for a second like a dead tail, and I could feel my heart ringing in my chest like a cathedral bell. Then, it began patting the inside of the door. Clumsily at first, but it soon found its bearings. Realising what it was trying to do, I yelled. "Hey!" My forced aggression, hiding terror, was swallowed instantaneously by the silence. The bony arm was barely perturbed and kept reaching, until its slick, dirty fingers alighted on my keys. I freaked out, leaping instinctively to snatch them from it, which I managed to do, thank God. The arm hung still again for a moment, its fingers drooping downward as if expressing sadness, then its palm pointed towards me. Its fingers stretched into a claw, and I heard hissing sounds from outside, followed by youthful laughter. Then, slowly, it shuffled its way back through the bristles. Keys in hand, I rushed to my front window. Unfortunately, my front door was a blind spot and I couldn't see anything but the library and benches opposite. "Who are you?" I called from behind the glass. "Is this a prank?" But I never got an answer. I *had* to call the police after that. They arrived at my house the next day to survey the area and take the details of the event. They took my concerns seriously at first, until I mentioned the hand, and from then on their patience ran thin, as did mine. The culprits were never found. I don't think they ever looked into it. I decided then that I would move and find a new job and place to live, but before I did, I spoke to my neighbour who lived above me. Like me, he also had a window that bordered the walkway and according to my observations had it open most nights. Surely he too had found their noise pollution and nightly activities disturbing? Confronted them at one point? I knew he had a daughter. At least for her sake? So, just before I left, I knocked on his door and asked him. When he looked confused and claimed never to have heard anything, I was of course thrown off guard. I spoke to him for a few minutes more, fighting desperately for a morsel of confirmation, which I didn't get. And in the final nights I spent in that flat, I listened to the ruckus of activity outside, wondering if I was going mad. For the time being, I moved back in with my aunt and uncle. They wouldn't let me remove the keys from their front door, so I crept down in the middle of the night when they were asleep. There was one time recently, a few days ago, when, just before I reached the bottom step, I could have sworn I sore a pale hand creeping back through the letterbox.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I think I'm the victim of a cruel prank [RESPONSE] I had been living in a crappy overcrowded apartment for the past 8 years because it was my first time living without my parents and money wasn’t exactly abondent when I was a student. After working the chain of a cleaning service company as an administrator then as a manager, and saving a considerable amount I jumped on the opportunity when I saw a spacious apartment in a condo right outside the city had become available. The price looked a bit too good to be true so I called the real estate agent listed and booked a visit. There most likely would be a trick because apartments this size go for at least a quarter more than listed. My best guess was that there was so much work to be done I’d end up spending more than I would for the normal price. Or maybe a cockroach infestation. Who knows? My roommate Vanessa seemed exstatic when I told her I might move. I know she was proud of me since we knew each other when we were broke college students, but she was also excited about the prospect of living alone and bringing who she wants at any time. She’s a clean and nice roommate but she never liked change and didn’t seem like she was going to move out any time soon. I got myself ready that morning trying to not be too excited because if something in life seems too good it might as well be. The drive was pretty quiet and I had avoided traffic which was one of the reasons for my chipper mood. Things did seem to be going my way this morning. The real estate agent seemed like a nice lady who wouldn’t lie to her clients, « but don’t they all » I thought. She was a short lady with a plump frame and a reassuring smile, although her eyes showed tiredness and a longing for this day to be over. We started the visit with the lower level where the yard and pool were located. The yard was neatly kept in the front of the building where passer-bys could see it but it seemed a bit outgrown and abandonned in the back. The pool was an interior one and was unoccupied but to be fair it was mid-september in the middle of the day so people would most likely be busy. The pool was quite frankly creepy. It wasn’t dirty in the slightest and had obviously been given a scrub recently, but the air was just so heavy and humid. The entire room - ceilling included - was covered in white tiles and so was the pool. There was nothing wrong with it per say but it just looked so uncanny. There were no windows and the room got its only light from heavy fluorescent lights that looked like they belonged in a warehouse. The ventilation system seemed old and rusted. Standing next to the pool I didn’t feel like I was looking at a relaxing and fun part of the building, it felt like I was looking at an old zoo’s habitat for an aquatic creature. I was a bit disappointed by the looks of the « spacious and refreshing pool » I had read about in the ad, but kept a smile on my face. I’m not one to not enjoy themselves because the pool doesn’t look fun enough, how ridiculous does that sound frankly? We took the elevator to the seventh floor and the doors opened on a very long narrow hallway. We walked to its end and the agent opened apartment 709. I had been holding my breath the entire time worried it wouldn’t live up to my expectation but the apartment took my breath away. It was everything I was hoping for and more, spacious, and luminous. The walls, floors and ceilings were clean and free of damage, the windows were in perfect condition, and the view was on the nice front yard so that was a nice addition. Fast forward to last week, I took it, and moved in. The apartment was semi-furnished which was nice to not live in a completely empty appartment. For now I just got myself sheets,blankets, pillows, and takeout. Don’t need much more to survive the first night in my opinion. I fell asleep with a full stomach and content mind to have made the most grownup purchase of my life. I heard a noise. It started at around midnight. Foot steps, soft and discreet. I put my head back on the pillow and I fell asleep right away. I heard another noise at around 1. Footsteps again but running, fast and clumsy, like someone kept body slamming themselves against the walls. I was surprised anyone would act this loud and rude at night but rationalized that since there had been no moving truck yet, most of the neighbors might not know of my presence, and maybe other appartements on the seventh floor weren’t entirely full. I closed my eyes again, and fell asleep a bit annoyed. I heard one last noise at around 3. Metal scraping. It sounded like it was far away enough around the elevator. There were long strident sounds like someone was slowly running their keys against the elevator doors. It was very irritating but stopped after about a minute. I fell asleep again and didn’t wake up until morning, very cranky. I was very curious as to who acted this obnoxious in the middle of the night. I decided to find a neighbor so they would learn of my presence and hopefully spread the word that acting like the hallways were a gym at night wasn’t the best idea. I found myself in front of door 708 and knocked. No one answered. Walked to 707. Empty. 706. Repeat. When I got to 701 I didn’t expect much but was pleasantly surprised to hear the door hinges creak. An old man who seemed to be just as cranky as I had been this morning opened the door. He was quite lanky with a head that was bald at the crown but had stringy unruly white hair to his shoulders. He was of average height but looked a bit shorter due to his slight hunch. “What.” Charming. "Hi I just moved in 709, I don’t want to be a bother but have you noticed the loud noises at night? You’re right next to the elevator so you probably heard it even more. Do you know what that’s about?” There, simple, concise and not accusing. “I don’t know anything.” And he shut the door. What a good start that was. Technically it can’t get much worse than that.I headed back to my apartment and made arrangements with my workplace and who would replace me while I moved. The neighbors were really quiet during the day and I would see a few of them pass in the yard from my window. The vast majority of people were elderly, a handful of middle aged couples, and one little girl that I spotted running around with a soccer ball. I spent a bit of time shopping for appliances and filled the old fridge to not have to order takeout every other night. By the time I got home it must’ve been around 7pm and people were already inside their homes. I headed towards the elevator when I heard running. The brown-haired little girl I had seen around was joyfully skipping with what seemed to be an old pink my little pony figurine. She had bouncy curls, tan skin and a crooked smile that was missing its two top teeth. Her face beamed when she noticed me and she showed how little she knew about being shy when she tried having a conversation right away. “You’re that lady from above right?” “Yeah it’s nice meeting you.” “You’re gonna stay here now?” I barely had time to answer yes that she had already bombarded me with questions about my age, my clothing choices, if I had an interest in soccer and what my taste was regarding pink ponies. I had been a bit disappointed so far from the noise and the rude neighbor so seeing this little girl so full of energy and childlike kindness was uplifting. The elevator stopped at the 6th floor and she skipped towards the end of the hallway shouting back: “Goodnight watch out!” What an odd thing to say. But hey kids, they’re something else. The elevator went up and I headed towards my apartment for the night. I had hoped the old man had told someone about my presence and that the night would be silent but he didn’t seem like the type to socialize and gossip with neighbors. If he didn’t say anything the little girl definitely would tell her parents. She seemed like the type who could talk a dead man awake. Tiredness quickly washed over me, I headed to bed after chewing down ramen and taking a shower, and fell asleep like a log. Then the noise came around midnight, like clockwork. The footsteps were so light I wasn’t sure why they woke me up, so I went back to sleep without much fuss. Then it came again at 1. Very loud like someone was trying to break through the wall with their entire body. I shoved my blankets off my body very angry and ready to yell at whoever was this inconsiderate. It wouldn’t look good as a new neighbor, but I didn’t care in that moment. As I was about to put my hand on the front door handle and be face to face with the person responsible for the noise, I felt a crinkle under my foot. I had stepped on a piece pf paper that I knew for sure I didn’t leave there, so someone had to have pushed it under the door. By the time I had bent over to pick up the paper the noise had stopped completely, and I felt too nervous to open it now that the surprise had washed some of the anger away.I went back to my room, turned on the lights and sat on my bed to see what the paper could be about. “Hi neighbor! We are so very pleased to finally have a new addition to our community. We were very sad to see the prior owner leave us so soon. Herbert informed us of your presence and we’re glad we were able to send you the rules before anything happened. We had no idea that you had moved in, that’s our bad, but we’re glad we’ll get to put this behind us and explain exactly what’s going on. As you noticed, the hallways can be quite loud at night, and you’ll be safe! As long as you take our community guidelines seriously. 1 DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR FOR ANYONE AND ANY REASON FROM MIDNIGHT TO 4AM 2. Stalking Sally is the first to go through the hallways at midnight. She is just looking for a friend. When she passes you will hear very soft footsteps. Do not make a noise and do not talk to her. She might call your name and try to get you to talk to her. Ignore her and you’ll be fine. If you make a noise and she starts rattling the door handle, simply put both hands on the door to keep it as still as possible. She will stop after about 10 seconds. 3. The runner is next at around 1. He is extremely loud and hard to ignore but do your best to do so. His stature is very impressive and he takes most of the frame in the hallway causing him to bump against the walls. It is a huge inconvenience but the sooner you go back to sleep the quicker it’ll be over. If you make a noise he will slam himself against your door. Start running back and forth in your apartment, it will encourage him to start running again. Do so quick as he won’t need many tries to break your door down. Do not try to take a peak as his appearance is quite off putting.  4. The cripple isn’t your concern as he is stuck on the 4th floor at 2. 5. Mom comes at 3. She leaves fairly quickly, only making sure everyone is in their bed and she’s the last to come up to the 7th floor. She usually stays in the elevator if she sees the hallway is empty, but please try your best to not make a noise. She is unpredictable and we weren’t able to ever set a strict set of rules to fit her in case someone attracts her attention. Just know it never ends well. Be in your room and stay quiet, and you’ll be fine. 6. If you ever were to find yourself outside beyond the midnight-4am time frame, sleep at a friend’s or at a hotel. Do not attempt to go through the hallways it will not end well. 7. No food around the pool. Hope we can all get along!" What.The.Fuck. You guys are all caught up with what’s been happening. I’m sitting on my bed, it is almost 3 and I think my neighbors are pulling a massive cruel prank on me.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Property Up North [RESPONSE] I sat up quickly and looked around. Phoebe and Gretchen were crouched down next to me. "It sounds like a car or something," said Phoebe. Bright lights appeared from the trail, and then a four-wheel utility vehicle drove past us. "It looked like there were at least five people on that thing," said Gretchen. "They're headed the same way we were going," I said. "Let's see where they are going." We waited until it was a safe distance away before following it. Staying far behind, we continued on the path until we couldn't hear the vehicle any longer. We slowed down before a big curve in the path and carefully peered around it. The vehicle was parked off to the side of the trail. It was empty. We cautiously walked over to it and noticed another fire far back into the woods. "The keys are in it," said Phoebe. "Do you think it would be safe to take it?" "I think so," I said. "It will get us to the front of the park much faster, and it doesn't look like anyone is close by." We climbed on the four-wheeler, and I started it up. It was noisy, and I was afraid the people that were on it would start running back to it. I stepped on the gas and took us rapidly down the trail. After driving for a while, it looked like we were getting near the front of the park. The trail widened ahead, and it looked like there was a big open area. I slowed down and brought us to a stop, shutting off the engine so we could hear if anyone was around. "I think someone's coming," said Gretchen. We exited the vehicle and ran into the woods. Then we watched as a group of people came down the path and looked over the vehicle. While they were busy, we made our way out of the woods to the clearing. There were a couple buildings and signs for the trailheads. The sky was getting brighter with the sun beginning to rise. "There's the park office. Let's go check it out," I said. We went inside and looked around. There were brochures for sightseeing in the U.P., along with maps of the park laid out on the counter. "It smells awful in here," said Gretchen. "Maybe it is coming from back there." She pointed to an open doorway behind the front desk. We leaned in through the doorway and quickly found the source of the smell. There was a dead body lying on the floor. The chest was caved in, and a fuzzy growth covered it. There was no power in the building, and there was no dial tone when I picked up the phone. We didn't see anything useful in the building, so we went back outside. "Hey! Over here," a woman's voice shouted. She was standing at the entrance to another building. We ran over and followed her inside. She closed the door behind us. "I'm so glad to see some normal people again," she said. "My name is Amanda." She was wearing a gray shirt with a patch on the side that stated, 'Michigan Conservation Officer.' "I'm Phoebe, and this is Gretchen and Brian," said Phoebe. "Do you know what is happening to everyone?" "All I know is that it started with this weird fungus we found in the woods," said Amanda. It was about a week ago when one of my coworkers found it while going for a hike. He brought it back to look under the microscope when it burst in his face. The next day he brought some people with him to work but didn't say who they were. They were all acting strange, so I stayed away. Before I knew it, the whole staff was acting strange. I hid away from them and watched as they planted these weird things in the ground and went out for long hikes in the woods." "Didn't you call the police or someone for help?" I asked. "I did, but they never showed up. I'm afraid this may be happening in more areas than just here," said Amanda. "Why didn't you leave?" asked Gretchen. "I tried to, but the cars were covered with the fungus," said Amanda. "Same thing happened with our car," said Phoebe. We told Amanda what happened to us, including how they made duplicates of our friends and the fires they were making to spread the spores into the air. "This is crazy," Amanda said. "I wonder where this stuff even came from." "Do you think we could take that utility vehicle out of here?" I asked. "I don't know," said Amanda. "It is pretty loud and only goes up to twenty-five miles per hour. It might be worth a try since I don't know what else we could do." "I wonder how much gas is left in it," I said. "We've got full gas cans in the maintenance shed," said Amanda. "We can pick up more fertilizer, and we should be able to find something to defend ourselves with." "What is the fertilizer for?" Phoebe asked. "I found fungicide in there yesterday and was able to kill one of them with it," said Amanda. "It took a few minutes for it to react, but then it stopped him pretty quick." "We found that antibacterial cream worked on the things that grew out of the spores," I said. "Good to know," said Amanda. "There may be a first aid kit we can grab too." "Do you want a mask?" I asked. "We're thinking it might help protect us from breathing in the spores." "Yes, I'll take one. That's a smart idea," said Amanda. After putting on the mask I handed her, she went to the door and peered outside. "It looks safe to run over to the maintenance building," she said. We all went outside, with Amanda leading the way to the maintenance building. There were shelves full of various supplies and cleaning agents, along with shovels, rakes, and other outdoor tools. Amanda picked up some fungicide and brought it by the door. "Let's put everything we think we'll need here, and then we can swing by with the vehicle to load up whatever we can't carry," she said. We grabbed a couple shovels and a small tool bag to put by the door. There was also a gas-powered backpack leaf blower that I found and set by the other supplies. "Maybe it can help keep the dust off us," I said. The vehicle was still where we had left it near the beginning of the trail. We couldn't see it from here, but I hoped we could make it without being seen. Amanda looked out the door and said, "Hold on. Some people are coming." "How many are there?" asked Gretchen. "There's seven of them," said Amanda. "They are walking over by the main office. We'll have to wait until they go somewhere else." Phoebe reached over and grabbed my hand. "Do you think we're going to be able to get out of here?" she asked. "I hope so," I said. "I'd like to spend more time with you…it was a lot of fun at the cabin until this all happened." She smiled and squeezed my hand. "They went inside. Let's go," said Amanda. We quickly grabbed all we could carry, leaving behind the leaf blower, fungicide, and a few other things, and ran toward the trail. "Their fires must be getting bigger," said Gretchen. "The smell of the burning trees is strong." We made it to the trail entrance and then ran to the utility vehicle. We loaded everything in the back and climbed in. Gretchen was right about the smell. But it didn't just smell like burning wood. It had a weird scent mixed in with it. The smell must have been powerful without the masks. Amanda got in the driver's seat and started it up while the rest of us climbed in. She immediately stepped on the gas and drove us to the maintenance building. The door to the main office opened, and a group of people ran outside. I jumped out of the vehicle when she slowed down near our supplies. They were only about fifty feet from me when I quickly tossed the rest of our things in the back. "Go, go, go!" I shouted as I jumped onto the back of the vehicle. I nearly lost my grip when we started moving but was able to hold on as Gretchen helped me in. "They're going to catch up to us!" shouted Phoebe. Gretchen grabbed a bag of the fungicide and shook it out behind us, sending the granules and a puff of dust into the crowd behind us. We started pulling away from the group when Amanda got us up to full speed. They kept running toward us for a while and then eventually began slowing down. I watched a few of them fall over before they were out of sight. "The fertilizer worked!" shouted Phoebe. We went down a winding road for a while and then came to a stop. "Why'd you stop?" asked Gretchen. "Do you smell that?" asked Amanda. I could still smell the burning wood we had been noticing for a while. "I don't smell anything different," said Phoebe. "Just the same fire smell that has been in the air for a while." "No. It is different," said Amanda. "It smells really good!" She shut off the vehicle. Then she removed her mask and dropped it on the ground before climbing out. "Come on! I think it is over here!" she yelled as she began walking down the trail toward the entrance. I looked at Phoebe and Gretchen and saw the confused expression that was likely plastered on my face as well. "What is she talking about?" "You should put your mask back on!" shouted Phoebe. Amanda kept walking until she was out of sight. "Should we go after her?" I asked. "Maybe we should get out of here," said Gretchen. Before we could decide, Amanda came running back toward us. "What am I doing?" she asked. "I need my mask…no, I need to go into the woods." "I think we need to go," said Phoebe. She climbed into the driver's seat and started the vehicle back up. Amanda was just standing there on the trail in front of us, not moving. Then she put her head in her hands and yelled, "Fine! I'll do it!" She looked up at us and smiled before breaking into a run toward us. Phoebe went in reverse as fast as it would go. I grabbed the leaf blower and found the primer, pumping it a few times before pulling on the starter cord. After a few pulls, it roared to life. The vehicle spun around, nearly toppling me over the side of it. Amanda was right behind us, and a gurgling noise came out of her mouth before she threw up a cloud of dust. I had the leaf blower on full power and aimed it at her face while we took off away from her. She fell backward from the strong point-blank blast of air. "Turn back around!" yelled Gretchen. "We have to go past her to the front of the park!" Phoebe turned it around as quickly as she could, and I got the leaf blower ready again. Amanda had gotten up and was in the center of the road. I blasted her with air again as we drove around her, sending more dust or spores or whatever she was spewing away from us. We continued on through the tree-lined road and eventually came to a small building on our left that must have been the check-in area. I looked in it as we went by and saw that it was empty. "Hey, are those flashing lights up ahead?" Gretchen asked. Phoebe slowed down a little, and I noticed it too. It was coming from around the next corner. We went around the turn slowly and came to an abrupt stop when we saw multiple police cars and fire trucks blocking the way out. "They're empty," said Phoebe. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I swear I didn’t try to kill my wife and son, it was the Sneaks [RESPONSE] They are going to send me away for a long time for a crime I did not commit, I am too soft for prison, I am 5ft ‘6, come from an upper middle-class family and work as a graphic designer, they will eat me alive in there. They said I tried to murder my wife and son, but I was setup by them, things. I would never hurt anyone; I was trying to protect them, and have been for a long time. For now, I am out on bail, but the trial is coming up soon; I was offered a deal, 5 to 10 if I plead guilty, my lawyer advised me to take it, or I am facing minimum of 20 years. Apparently I haven't a leg to stand on since my wife (Sarah) and son (Jake) are testifying against me. I tried to tell him it wasn’t me; it was those things, but he didn’t believe me. Not the best of options, I don’t want to admit to something I didn’t do just to get less time, I shouldn’t have to, I’m innocent. But if I don’t, I am going to jail for sure and everyone will think I'm guilty anyways. I could run, go to some corner of the world where no one knows me in hopes of a better life, but I can’t live my life like that, besides if the cops didn’t find me the Sneaks would. I call them Sneaks because of the way they move; slowly creeping around, just out of view as if they are waiting for their chance to pounce. They don’t like to be seen, and they definitely don’t like to be talked about. That’s what got me in this mess in the first place, but what have I got to lose now, they already took everything from me, so fuck um. Did you ever get a really strong feeling you are being watched as you walk past a mirror, and then see something move out of the corner of your eye, well that was probably a Sneak. They’re everywhere, it’s just most people are oblivious to them; I know I was, until one day I came across this post on a paranormal forum with username 147catman. He explained how he believed that creatures lived in reflections and how he trained himself to use his peripheral vision to see them. There was a photo to go with it, but it was blurred and really didn’t look like anything apart from a smudge on the lens. At the time I was sure he was just another nutjob and didn’t give it a second thought, until later that night. I was relaxing on the couch watching an old horror movie, the door to my left that led to the hallway was opened, where there was a 6ft antique mirror, the only light was coming from the tv. Halfway through the movie I got a chill down my spine and a weird feeling that I was being watched, so I kept looking between the tv and the mirror. I tried to convince myself it was just the movie making me paranoid and tried to ignore it, but it didn’t work I kept seeing something poking out of the corner of the mirror. I was frozen in fear, too afraid to even look in that direction in case there was actually something there. I tried my best not to look, but I couldn’t help myself, my curiosity got the better of me, and I slowly turned my head. Thankfully there was nothing there. Then I remembered what 147catman said about using your peripheral vision, so I waited to see if it happened again, and it did. I don’t know why I didn’t call it a night and go to bed I was terrified, I guess that’s why they say curiosity killed the cat. This time I was ready and tried to concentrate as hard as I could to look in that direction, without actually moving my eyes, which is not easy, your eyes really want to look in that direction. For a few seconds I watched it slowly moving across the mirror, before my eyes almost went twisted and I had to look, but it was gone. Most people would have said it was a trick of the light or paranoia, since I was watching a horror movie at the time. But I thought there was more to it than that and started to train myself to use my peripheral vision from watching YouTube videos, after a while I became really good at it. The problem was, I didn’t see any of the sneaks, I thought it was because we hadn't enough reflected surfaces in the house. So, I started buying old mirrors and hanging them up around the house, but my wife was not happy about it, she said it didn’t go with the decor and ordered me to get rid of them. Instead, I put them in one of the spare rooms, along with a couch and a tv, my wife wasn’t happy about that either, she used the word insane a lot in that conversation. I must have spent almost every night for the next 3-weeks in that room adjusting mirrors, hoping to get a glimpse of them. I tried everything but nothing seemed to be working, then it came to me the only thing that was different was the movie, so I put it on and hoped for the best. I am usually not that bad with horror movies, but this one really creeped me out. I think it was the fact that it was about a haunted house, and I was sitting alone in a dark room by myself, with the light off. The more I got into the movie, the more creeped out I got, and soon I started to get that feeling of being watched again. Then I saw something moving in a small mirror that was standing on the table at the far side of the couch. I casually started moving my head to the opposite side of the room in a way that looked natural, so they didn’t know I was looking at them and they followed me jumping from mirror to mirror, staying at the edge of my vision. For about 10-minutes I watched them move over and back, before they disappeared completely. I learned two things that night, firstly, I knew without a doubt that the Sneaks did in fact exist, and secondly, fear attracts them. I was so excited and wanted to share my news with someone, but the only person that would know what I was talking about was 147catman. So, I went online and posted my findings on his board and waited for a reply. After that my experiments saw real results, I started seeing the Sneaks every night. Eventually I got so used of them I stopped being scared, but they didn’t stop coming, I think they were just as curious about me at that stage. I was happy that they trusted me enough to visit me every night and thought we had some sort of mutual bond. Then they started showing their true colours after I got a message from 147catman he said, “if you care about your family, stop what you're doing now and forget you ever saw them.” I thought he was threatening me and told him to fuck off, but then the Sneaks started getting more intense. They began to follow me everywhere, even by day, I often saw them at work creeping up behind me on my computer monitor. Then one night before bed I was brushing my teeth and they showed themselves to me, not that it made much of a difference. My eyes couldn’t focus on their features, only the background, like I was looking straight through them in a daze. It was horrible, for hours after I had this disturbing feeling, like they had taken something from me, I really don’t think they were meant to be seen by mortal eyes. Everything changed after that, they didn’t care if I saw them or not anymore in fact, they wanted me to see them. I tried to stop them by throwing out all the mirrors, but it wasn’t enough they wanted something from me, and it didn’t take long to figure out what that was. It wasn’t me they were after anymore; it was my family. I began to see them sneaking up behind Sarah and Jake through reflections like they were going to grab them. At first, I didn’t think they could harm anyone, since I was the only one that could see them, and they only seemed to try and scare me. That all changed when me and Jake went swimming one afternoon. I was sitting at the edge of the swimming pool watching Jake swimming over and back in the shallow end, when I saw the reflection of a dark figure leaning down towards Jake at the other end of the pool. Suddenly I saw Jake splashing around as if he was drowning, which didn’t make sense, as he is such a good swimmer, and the water was only 2 feet high. lucky I got over there and pulled him out before it was too late, for the rest of the day Jake was a bit off, he wouldn’t tell me at first but then I finally got it out of him, he said he felt someone was holding him under. I'm convinced he thought it was me because there was no one else around him at the time, but after a visit to the toy store he soon forgot about it. I felt so helpless, my family was in danger, and there was nothing I could do about it. I started to think that 147catman wasn’t threatening me, maybe he was warning me so that night when I got home, I sent him another message in hopes he knew how to stop them. This is what he said, “It’s too late now, they won’t stop. If you want to protect your family don’t look at them. Your family is only a weapon to them, they won’t lay a finger on their head unless they know you are watching. Cover all reflective surfaces and don’t go out unless completely necessary, or better still move far away and hope they don’t follow you. Straight away I got rid of every mirror in the house but that wasn’t enough, there was still too many reflective surfaces, so I started keeping the blinds down and the lights off as much as possible, but that only seemed to make them angry. One morning as I was walking downstairs behind my wife, I could see Sarah locking her phone from over her shoulder. On her screen I could see a shadow grabbing her from behind and she started to wobble, thank God I caught her arm before she fell. I’m sure she thought I pushed her, she didn’t say anything about it, but I could see it in her eyes. After that my wife became weary of me and was always watching me. To make it worse I had become extremely paranoid and only went out when absolutely necessary, even when I did, I put on a pair of work goggles that I spray painted black with the bottom section left clear, so I could see where I was walking. She thought I lost the plot, but I convinced her I had been to the doctor and he said I had Photophobia, and the light was giving me migraine. I had stopped going to work by then, I gave my boss the same excuse that I had told my wife and took a month off work. I don’t think Sarah or Jake was so happy about me being around all the time, since I wouldn’t let them use their phones or watch tv when I was there. Everything went downhill for me and Sarah after that she said I had become too controlling. I wanted to tell her the truth so she would understand that I was only trying to help, but I was afraid she would think I was a psycho and run away with Jake, and I wouldn’t be able to protect them anymore. I knew we needed to get out of the house before we ended up killing each other, so one day I made my wife drive us to the one place I was sure would have no mirrors; the forest. Sarah was extremely suspicious and kept asking me to go to the park instead, I suppose I wouldn’t blame her; she knew I hated places like that. I was never an outdoor kind of guy even as a child while my friends were out playing football, I was at home reading books or messing around on my computer. With that and the way I was acting lately she had a good reason not to trust me taking them out to the middle of a forest out of the blue like that, to make it worse I made them leave their phones at home. As we were walking, I found a new appreciation for the great outdoors, it was so peaceful, no noise apart from the birds singing and the rustling leaves. Best of all there were no reflective surfaces for monsters to creep out of, I was finally at peace. We spend hours wondering around in there Jake and I loved it, but Sarah was still nervous she barely said a word all that day apart from, when are we going home. When it was time to go we followed what I thought was the trail back to the car, it was dusk by the time I realized that we were lost. Sarah and Jake wanted to turn around and go back the way we came, but I wouldn’t let them. Even though we were on the wrong trail, I had a strange feeling that we were supposed to go that way. Besides we would never have found the right trail in the dark. About 20 minutes later we came to an old dirt road and followed it until we reached a crossroad, to our left we could see a log cabin with the porch light on. I was so relieved I thought we were never going to get out of there. Here is the weird part; at the end of the driveway there was a mailbox, when I read the address, I nearly died, it said, 147catman view. I just stood there in shock, while my wife and son ran up to the cabin. By the time I snapped out of it and go to the cabin the door was open and Jake was standing outside, he said, “come on dad there’s no one home, mom is looking for a phone inside.” I hesitated for a moment, “ok just wait right there, I am going to check out back.” when I got to the back of the house things got even stranger the garden was full of sculptures made from old broken mirrors. Then suddenly the door opened, and my wife walked out, “I can’t find a phone we are going to have to stay here for the night.” “No way” I replied angerly, “there is something not right about this place. We have to go NOW!” She smirked at me, “I thought you would be happy here since you clearly have the same taste in decor” and she walked back into the house. I didn’t know what she meant at first until I followed her inside, and there was mirrors everywhere, so I ran back out the door. I tried to tell them to get out of there, but they wouldn’t listen, so I had no choice but to go back inside. I put my head down and tried not to look at the mirrors, but it didn’t work I could see the Sneaks moving around from the corner of my eye. Then I heard my wife scream in the other room, so I rushed in, but my wife was lying on the floor, and I ended up hitting her on the head with the door. At the same time Jake happened to be walking in the other door, I will never forget that look on his face, it still haunts me. I tried to tell him it wasn’t me that hurt her, but he just ran away crying. As I lifted Sarah over to the couch, I saw one of those things standing right in front of me in the mirror. I than heard Jake call out, “please stop” then a bang, I ran to the kitchen to find Jake lying face down on the floor struggling to breathe. I picked him up and turned him around, but when he saw my face, he screamed and started kicking me, so I let him go. I than heard my wife calling my name, when I turned around, she was standing there with a baseball bat. The next thing I remember it was morning and there were two cops standing over me. I tried to tell them it wasn’t me, I even told them about 147catman, which they did look into. It turns out that the account was registered in my name and that’s not all, the cabin was rented out using my credit card. The more I thought about it, the more I started to doubt myself, maybe I did do all those horrible things, it would explain how I was seeing all those weird creatures. I was about to confess until a few days ago I got an email from someone claiming to be 147catman, it had a link, when I clicked on it, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was a live feed to my wife's computer that she kept in our bedroom, she was in bed with Jake they were both sleeping. In the doorway I could see someone standing up waving at the camera. I was about to ring the cops when I got another email, it said, “yours or theirs? ” Underneath it had a photo of a family, “Choose now” I didn’t know what else to do so I replied, “theirs.” Seconds later I got a reply with only an address on it, straight away I went to there and the sneaks showed me exactly what to do. I don’t regret anything; I would do anything to protect my family. But I don’t feel so bad about taking the deal, I am not so innocent anymore.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Arctica [RESPONSE] Ice. Most people don't know much about it, except that they like it in their drinks on a hot summer day. It can be described as water at zero C. Or for any Americans that are reading this, anything below Thirty-two F. I came with a research group that was supposed to sample ice cores and observe the surrounding conditions. A group by the same name as the company and the ice shelf where my Scott's Polar was pitched 45 degrees west of the sun. If they hadn't been paying me big bucks, there'd be no way in hell that I'd be here. It wasn't about the science, it wasn't even about being right, I love the science and I've always hated losing an argument. It's the Fucking Cold. It's so cold that even getting angry about it feels distant. As there's nothing more important than getting warm. Even on a record day with the sun overhead, boiling water turns into mist when it is tossed into the air. Land? The frozen tundra is hundreds of meters below. I. am. an. ant. on an ice cube. Perhaps even smaller. On this day, the Ross research foundation had sent me and two other employees 20 kilometers across the shelf to get some cores. They were in a hurry because they couldn't wait for the expedition crew to return. For what reason? I have no idea. It made sense for Chloe to be here, she was the glaciologist. London? Maybe. Out of everyone on this continent, he had the most Arctic experience. A whole lot of good that will do him as Antarctica is a different beast. And I was a structural engineer, mainly responsible for raising and lowering equipment. A glorified camper to be honest. I wouldn't be much help in an actual crisis. Which made me wonder why the company was breaking its own policies by sending us out today. NO DEAD WEIGHT. was rule #3. And yet here we were, a couple of saddlebags around one horse. "This is completely fucked." The cabin rattled into my ear, "We shouldn't be here!" Chloe shouted at me, "100 meters out," as she held up her hands. "We should have waited until Dave and Simon got back!" Chloe shook her head. I couldn't tell if that meant she couldn't hear me or if she didn't know what the company was thinking either. "I love you," I shouted at her. She only smiled, then nodded when the crawler hit boulders of ice in our path. The front tires lurched over a particularly rough patch and the sun visors came crashing down, swinging its arm into my face. I winced and grabbed at my eye, the plastic had split the brittle skin on my brow. The warm blood instantly drying before it can blur my vision. It's so cold here that there's little humidity. The entire place is one big sponge that is gasping for even a drop of water. I can taste ice crystals in my throat when I try to swallow. They prickle the inside of my mouth, and the back of my tongue - the part where it can make a grown man gag. Causing me to cough as I tried to cry out in pain. Instinctively I start to take off my gloves, but London reaches over and smacks my hands away from each other. He points to the thermal gauge on the screen. It's cold in here. So cold that if I took off my gloves and managed to get them wet, unprotected in these temperatures. My fingers would start to turn bright red as if they were on fire, as the cells in my skin would start to die. And in a few minutes under the right conditions, the tissue in my fingers would collapse, and I wouldn't be able to use my hand anymore. Amputation would be the only course of action. Chloe pulls the med bag out from beneath her. The company was in charge of every detail in our missions. Even down to who sat where. London and I were expendable, that much was clear, for we sat on either side of Chloe, as two human meat shields. She pulls open a bandage and breaks a heating pad behind it before pressing it against my head; squeezing the frozen crust shut, causing it to bleed momentarily as it reopened. She pinches the edges along the cut, and I can feel the yellow fat lining the inside of my skin - bulge out as her fingers tuck me in like a stuck zipper. The freezing cold sealing my wound shut as if it had been welded. "We'll have to stitch it when we get back," Chloe mouthed. I nodded and waved a thanks just as London poured on the brakes. The tires skipped across the surface until we finally came to a halt. The engine shut off, causing the recirculating heat pump to sputter to a dead silence. "We're here!" "What?" "I said this is the spot!" "We're here?" London nodded and pointed to a round disc on the ground. It was the size of a car in the shape of a manhole with an orange and green light blinking from a small antennae attached to the top. London started grabbing the equipment in the cabin as he motioned for me to open the door. I pulled the lever and pushed against the steel frame. The cold hit me fresh in the mouth. It felt like a metal needle on an exposed nerve, its hypodermic fang seeping lead into my body. I climbed out onto one of the custom tires, the rubber on these things were taller than my knee. From the roof rack I began unloading footlockers filled with telescopic bits. The wind had grown stale, but it could pick up at any moment, so I moved quickly in case a freak blizzard sent giant bolts of ice raining down from the sky. There was an expedition in 2002, where one of the researchers ran into an ice storm to retrieve a data set for the Larsen B Ice Shelf before its collapse. The data would have been the last chance for us to understand the geological impacts of the area surrounding Cape Horn, where the Atlantic Ocean and the Pacific meet before it disappeared. She was found several weeks after the storm had let up, less than 30 meters from her base, in a forest of icicles that stuck out from the Earth as quills on a porcupine, some thicker than a telephone pole. The data set folded across her chest, her legs still in the air as if running, with a spear of ice plunged between her shoulder blades and exiting her abdomen like a butterfly pinned in a book. Removing her would have cost a fortune, and leaving her served as a stark reminder of the dangers out here, but also as a symbol to the importance of our work. So they left her there, for better or for worse. With many lovingly referring to her as the Snow Angel, whenever they passed. By the time I got around, London had already pulled the Dowler off the back of our crawler. The Dowler is the love child of Dr. Kelsie Grant, one of the lead engineers on the team. It stood about 15 feet tall when unfolded and was the only device that could dig into the Pixie Tubes. See, the problem with ice core samples had been that it would sometimes take years to drill deep enough, and if the drill were ever to stop, then the hole would either collapse or fill with ice in a matter of days. The Ross Research Foundation commissioned Dr. Grant years ago to solve this problem. She inserted braided pipes called Pixie Tubes down drilled holes and capped them on either side. So that when a new group needed samples, all they would have to do is pop off the top of the old one, drop the bit down the empty shaft and drill through the other side at the bottom in order to continue where the last group left off. Imagine a flexy straw suspended by ice down below. "I got the first rounds," London exploded the canisters found at the ends of each leg, causing the stakes built within the Dowler into the ice. He lifted the tab on the last leg, and pulled the hard yellow ring, the C02 exploded and punched an arm worth of steel down. He slapped the back of the Dowler, "This thing isn't going anywhere." I hauled over the disconnected drill bits to him, "Let's make it quick. The north face doesn't look steady." "There's never anything quick about drilling," he shouted as the Dowler sits over the exposed metal cap in the ground. "The data says we're stable," Chloe pulled her Canada Goose closer, "Bet you wish we were back at base." "Any chance of us cracking through the tubes? Or worse! Splitting the ice and lopping off a part of the Shelf," I asked. "It's bad luck to talk about the ice mate," London positions the drill over it until the cap begins to disintegrate. "We're through," he shouted as he turned to Chloe, "We can start on your mark." "Remember! No faster than 2 meters per minute. Anything more and we could accidently rupture the braided lines without knowing it. And cause a pincer below our feet," she yells. A pincer is a type of crevasse. A moving one. And it is one of my worst nightmares. Imagine standing on solid ice and then the ground suddenly disappears. Falling ten, twenty, hundreds of feet, hoping to be lucky enough to die on impact; instead of being trapped between two vertical ice sheets that are shifting to fill the void. The walls drift on sheer weight alone. It reminds me of early scuba divers who traveled too deep and were crushed alive. The water pushing in from every side and the air is squeezed out of their lungs before it all comes rushing back in through their mouths, gorging their bellies full of salt water until their bodies are equalized with the pressure. "Wouldn't want that," London pulled his goggles over his eyes. Chloe's watch beeped as the Dowler screamed its head into the ice. I watched the thing kick back fine grains of ice powder as it broke through the upper membrane that had been trapped inside. Flecks of ice shavings landed everywhere. The kind that was thin enough to melt from what little body heat could be found out here. If I didn't know better, I would think that this was the ice's way of protecting itself, fighting against us, in order to keep its secrets. See, getting wet out here is a different kind of danger unto itself. Even sweating spelled a certain death wish. I looked up at the sun, it may as well have been a light bulb in the refrigerator. All it did was cause me to squint as I stared into the endless rows of ice ridges in the distance. Nothing could live here, things could pass by, they could cross, but this was truly the edge of the world. "We're past the bottom cap," London shouted. Waking me from my daydream. I checked the line feeding through the top of the Dowler, "We're still good," watching it feed up and over and then down, down below. Chloe looked up from her laptop and confirmed, "The ice is steady." London nodded briefly before grabbing the bars beneath the Dowler. "Lowering stands by 5 feet." The legs collapsed around the hole, reminding me of a king crab if it could squat. "Pushing through the end cap." I could almost hear it pop as the drill pierced into the ice on the other side. The three of us looked at each other. I didn't know I had been holding my breath until Chloe broke the silence, "Here's to going where no one's been in over a million years," she shouted. I couldn't help but smile. She held up two fingers at me, "2 meters." I nodded. "Ice, ice, baby," London recanted. I watched as the bits continued to disappear down the hole. "How far did they want us to go," I asked. "Company says we need another 20 meters." "Twenty?" Chloe nodded at him, "Yeah. We'll be here for awhile." "Any idea what it is they're looking for out here," London asked. Bits of snow were already crusting the goggles on his face. "Same thing as always. I'm guessing." "Do they think it's unstable?" Chloe shrugs, "Maybe they found something in the ice cores from before." She must have saw the look on my face because she laughed, "Come on, don't be that gullible. I'm sure it's nothing more than some atmospheric data that they need to feed into some machine." She hadn't finished her words when a sudden snap cracks through the air. I didn't have time to process what was happening before I see the bits plummeting over the Dowler and down into the hole. "Shit!" I tightened the clamp around them, sparks flew as the brakes bite into the steel. "London!" I pulled the handle on the feeder to try and slow it down. It's no use, ice has coated the rods and it was slipping! I looked up in time to see one of the legs on the Dowler collapse from the force of the drill falling, a gust of snow rose like smoke and traps London beneath the legs. I can see the horror on his face as he looks back at me. Almost see the fear in his eyes behind the reflective amber on his lenses before he disappears from view. Chloe rushes to the cruiser and starts to pull out a tent. It's standard company policy, and a courtesy everyone in the south knows about. The few seconds of warmth here could save a life, even some limbs. As there was nothing else she or I could do except to wait for the debris to clear. "London," I shouted again as I am finally able to reel the bits to a halt. I rush forward but Chloe grabs my arm. Parts of the tent still in her hands, "The glacier might not be steady," she yells at me. "Here." She tosses me a Kevlar infused rope as we huddle around the remnants of the Dowler. "In case it opens up. So we don't get separated." I hear a groan as the steel moves. My feet back up instantly and I almost plow Chloe to the ground. She's grabbing onto my arm, her feet skittering beneath her as we try to get away. I can hear something splintering below me, it is a worse sound than any bone that I've ever broken. Almost like someone is chewing on teeth until they crack, right in my ear. I try to mouth the words "Fuck," as the two of us scramble away. The Dowler collapses another leg. I think I hear someone screaming. I don't know if it is me. But when I look up, I can see a split in the ice, it ran from where the Dowler had stood to between my legs. I looked behind me and saw it stretched for over 10 meters before disappearing beneath the snow. I was too terrified to move a muscle. Chloe's hand on my elbow felt the same way. I don't know how long we sat there, petrified. But when the clouds of snow had settled, we could see parts of the Dowler still above the surface. The cracks leading away from it weren't that deep, considering how thick the ice was. "I think it looks worse than it actually is," Chloe whispered. I could still hear the hum of the Dowler as the electronics onboard hadn't shut off. "London," she called out. "London," it seemed as if I suddenly remembered. I slowly got to my feet and edged toward the Dowler. A part of me wanted Chloe to stop me, but she let me go. As I edged closer I could see a bright red jacket poking out from under the snow. "I think I see him," I shouted back at her. "Is he okay?" I get on my hands and knees, until I am flat on my stomach and crawl toward him. My hand grabbing a sleeve as I start to pull. He didn't look to be breathing. I knew that the ice was thick, and we needed to move quickly. But we also thought it was thick before we started drilling. So I moved with purpose and slowly slid him forward. When it looked as if I he were finally coming loose, I felt something snatch. I tugged on his jacket again and he wouldn't budge. It was then that I realized that he was twisted around, his knee must have broken in the accident. Creating an abnormal wedge in the snow. I turned him over with great effort, and was then finally able to pull him free. His body still limp by the time I got him over to Chloe. She immediately started tending to him, sticking hot pads into his jacket, under his arm pits and between his groin. I brushed off as much snow on him as I could, and with Chloe's help, I got him into the tent. Once inside we stripped him completely naked, drying any parts that we could find. He was wet down his back and all over his trousers. I could smell the urine on him as we worked quickly to stabilize his condition. Putting on a set of new clothes to warm him. I don't know how long we worked for, but eventually color began returning to his face. The manual resuscitator was removed from his mouth as he started breathing again on his own. The two of us fell backwards on our asses as we watched him breath for awhile. "Shit." "Shit is right," I told her. "We have to start heading back." I nodded, "I've got to get the equipment first." For a second she looked at me as if I were joking, but she knew as well as I did that this was the only Dowler on our side of the camp. The other two had went with an earlier expedition that wouldn't return for 2 more months. Which means that without it, there was nothing we could do out here. A waste of everyone's time. I left the tent and observed the area around the Pixie Tube. The Dowler laid on its side like a fallen monument. Its yellow frame frosting over as the wind began to pick up speed. I inched closer to the Dowler until I was able to grab the handle. I looked down the hole and saw the bits mainly intact. The ice beneath us seemed to have stabilized. Experience told me that it must have somehow shifted below. Causing the bit to go into a freefall as it was drilling. The force of the bits being fed overhead at speed was too great for the legs, and it collapsed under the weight. It was a miracle that the ground didn't open up from under us. Even more of a miracle if the drill weren't stuck right now. Pinched between two adjoining sheets of ice. I wondered if it was stuck, and I moved it, would it cause a ripple effect over the shelf? No time to think. The temperatures were already dropping and I could hear the wind speed flapping against the tent behind me. We had to move and get out of here fast. Off the ice shelf and back to the interim. I reversed the lever and prayed when it began churning. The bits below crinkled as it began to come back up. I was glad that it wasn't stuck. I started collapsing and loading the spit out pieces back into the footlockers one by one. Everything was going better than expected as the bits started coming up. I must have gotten through 200 meters before I saw the steam rising from the Pixie Tube. "What the fuck?" I whirled around and saw London hobbling towards me. "You should be resting." "That's what I said," Chloe chimed from behind him. "But he said it's safer and faster if the three of us did it together." London nodded, "It's procedure. And plus. I'm feeling better." "Can't feel better with a broken leg," I looked down at the aluminum cast strapped to his thigh. "The painkillers are working for now. I can't promise that in another hour." He grabbed one of the bits, staring at the smoke coming up from the hole. "And I'd like to be back at camp before then." "What do you reckon it is," I asked. The three of us looked on, not a word exchanged between us as the bits kept coming out. Watching the steam grow thicker with each tug, until the end was exposed, clearing the hole and clipping itself into the Dowler like a guillotine. We stood there in silence as our brains tried to make sense of what we were seeing. "It's not mine," London said. Chloe crept toward it, the steam still rising upwards. The drill head that had been covered in metal teeth like a worm being pulled inside out was now covered in blood. I watched it drip off the steel and onto the ice. It was red but thicker than any human blood I have ever seen, and it was still wet. I don't know how long I had been holding my breath, but when my lungs couldn't bear the pain anymore, I inhaled and nearly choked on a lung. "Do you hear that," London broke away. He leaned closer toward the hole. "Shh," he motioned at me. "Listen." I tried to hold back my cough, straining my ears towards the hole. Hearing the whistling sound, a scraping sound, carving and gorging from down below. "What is that," Chloe asked. "Sounds like something spinning," I told her. "Yeah," London nodded. "Yeah. Like a stuck bit down there that's still spinning. Except we got the whole thing out," he glanced at the drill head resting beneath the Dowler. Moving underneath the device until his head was nearly in the manhole. The drill pointed at his back like an arrow. "Hello?" The sound of his voice traveled down the tube. After a few minutes I could hear it echo back at him. "Damn that things deep," he looked up at us. Almost satisfied as he got off his hands and knees. "Alright. Let's get this thing back to camp to get some samples. Maybe we hit a new species or something. I don't know." "What about that noise," Chloe asked. London scratched at his chin, "When I was up in the Artic. We had nothing but a lot of free time. And firearms. Sometimes we would shoot at the ice. If we shot it at just the right angle, the bullet would spin like a top. It almost sounds like that. So I'm guessing. Maybe one of the cannisters fell down there and it went off. Likely still spinning from the force. It should be nothing. Now come on," he grabbed a footlocker, "Help me get this thing back to the crawler." He hadn't finished his little speech before we all heard it. It was soft at first, but then it happened again. "Hello," came a mimicry from deep below the ice. It traveled up the tube and froze us in our steps. The sound was unlike any human noise I have ever heard. It was thicker and harsh, like two flaps coming from the throat. It was almost like a parrot, like something pretending to speak. I could feel my lower lip trembling as I looked behind us. "Hello. Hello. Hello hello hello hello helllohellohellohello," it came. Mimicking the speed of the drill as it repeated the last thing it had heard. I didn't even have enough time to move before we started hearing scraping and rattling come from below the pipe. Something was climbing up. London fell as he tried running toward the crawler. Chloe had already yanked on the door handle and was rummaging through the cabin for the keys when I caught up with her. "Chloe," I shouted at her. Grabbing her with both hands. "Chloe!" "We have to get out of here," she screamed at me. "We have to go! Now!" I shook her, "We have to seal the tube." She looked at me for a second. I could see the fear in her eyes. Before she nodded, "Seal the tube. Seal the tube," she repeated. I reached into the overhead compartment and pulled out the disc that had been attached above the seats. It was solid and nearly a hundred kilos. It was all I could do to push it out of the cruiser and watch it fall onto the ice with a thick thud. "What are you doing," London shouted at me. He had managed to climb up the bumper, righting himself. "We have to go!" I shook my head, "We have to seal it!" London looked at the tube. It shook. "Fuck!" He pointed at me to drag the thing closer, "I'll help you lift it when you're near," he shouted as he limped toward the opening. I ran over to the cap, turned it so that the explosive welders on the back weren't being scraped on the ground as I dragged it toward the Pixie Tube. I could feel the sweat beading from my armpits, but there wasn't any time to worry about that now. I looked up when London started shouting at me to hurry. His mouth was open as a hand rested on the lip of the tube as he looked into the hole, it was now shaking so badly that it vibrated his entire body. The Dowler shifted and suddenly the drill bit came loose. It plunged downward, into the hole. Taking London with it. I stared in horror as he disappeared. Nearly slipping on the drops of blood that had been on the ground from earlier. I abandoned the sealing cap knowing that I couldn't do it alone, and ran as fast as I could back to the crawler. Chloe was standing stiffly next to the vehicle when I pushed her inside. Her body was in shock as I started it up. The heat pump blasting us with frigid air as the crawler groaned as it came alive. I turned us around, the tires biting into the snow, driving as fast as I could toward camp. The entire ride back I couldn't even face Chloe. Neither of us had spoken a word. Not even when we saw our few tents come into view, they stood in a makeshift order around one another. Their sides empty, indicating that the rest of our team weren't back yet. A part of me wanted to drive right past it and head back to McMurdo, the station. Where there were others, but I could feel the exhaustion creeping onto my shoulders. And knew that we needed rest and supplies, if we had any chance of making it back alone. When I pulled to a stop and got Chloe into her tent. She finally broke the silence. I wished she hadn't. "I saw something climb out." She grabbed my arm, "What if it was London? And we left him?" I shook my head. Knowing that the drill had fallen on him, plunged him deep down that pipe. Knew that if something did come out, whatever it was, wasn't human. Even if it did bleed red. I tore off my boots and saw the blood on them. It still hasn't dried. "Get some rest," I told her. "We're going to need it." <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] On a hunting trip with my Grandad, deep in the forest, we made a haunting discovery. There's something wrong with the animals. [RESPONSE] Drizzle taps lightly on the leaves all around us, the smell of pine rich in the air as we creep through the undergrowth, my Grandad and I. I run my tongue along my teeth, focusing. I raise the rifle a little higher. A *Nosler*. A way higher quality weapon than I should be using, the thing is wasted on me. I’m an appalling hunter. …I’m not even sure if I agree with it, to be honest. Hunting, I mean. Ethically speaking. I mean, my Grandad and I eat basically everything we kill and, to be honest, I don’t kill a whole lot. I send many of my shots deliberately wide. I just do this to hang out with him, really. He’s a fascinating man, and the guy likes taking me out into the woods, so. I just go along with it, it’s fine. It’s good quality-time that I’m lucky to have. But we’re stalking a pair of deer right now. Big things as well. I’m pretty sure the creatures know we’re here, but, you can get surprising close provided you don’t actually give off any sign that you’re tryna shoot them. “Stay low Robbie”, he murmurs through the side of his mouth. “Move to your right past the bush, then it’s a clean shot. Take it when ready”. I like my name. Named after the man beside me, as it happens. Robert. He being Robert I, and me of course, Robert II. I nod and creep into position, taking careful aim as instructed. I see a thumbs up in the corner of my eye, and I shoot. …I miss. The sound ricochets around the forest and birds burst from a nearby tree, shooting up towards the sky. The deer wheel round in a panic and make to leave. “Godammnit” my Grandad mutters and raises up from behind the bush, bringing his rifle with him and firing off a quick shot. My ego is somewhat relieved by the fact that he misses too, and we both watch as the deer disappear into the undergrowth and shadow of the forest. The man lowers his weapon and looks at me. I do the same and give him a shrug. We hold eye contact for a second, then, he breaks with a chuckle, shaking his head. “Damnit Robbie, every time I think I’ve taught you something you manage to pull off some magnificent blunder just like that”. “Hey, well, you know what they say- you shouldn’t judge a fish on its ability to climb a tree”. “I ain’t judging you on your tree-climbing ability. You’re *my* Grandson. I’m judging you on your ability to swim, fishie”. I point to the shattered branch my Grandad caused when he fired his shot. “I truly am learning from the best”. “Bastard”, he snorts with a laugh, thumping me on the chest. “Come on, let’s track ‘em. Plenty daylight left”. We push around the bush and head through the little clearing, stepping over a fallen log and making to follow the route the deer both took, but my Grandad suddenly stops and holds up his hand with his head cocked to the side. I pause likewise, waiting, holding my breath and listening intently. My ears hone in on the sound of rustling foliage and snapping twigs. It grows louder, heading towards us, in the exact direction the deer were running from. “Jesus”, my Grandad grunts, “they’re coming back this way. They’ll have seen a-” but he is cut off by the sudden emergence of the deer through the bushes ahead. Rushing right at us from the green, gloomy shade. “Shit!” I shout out loud in a panic. The deer make no attempt to run around us in the slightest and run instead directly towards our position. I raise the rifle and take rapid, shaky aim. “Damnit Steve, DOWN!” Grandad shouts, grabbing me by the sleeve and hauling me to the forest floor, back behind the log. *…Steve?* The air escapes me as I crash with my Grandad down to the ground, and the deer jump right over us. My Grandad instantly takes position, cocking and aiming his own rifle over the top of the log, deathly focused. “Something will have made ‘em run like that. They’ll have seen a wolf, or a bear”. “A wolf? *A bear?”* “I’d be surprised to see either, at this time of day. But as I said. Something made them run”. My Grandad remains cool and composed, the barrel of the rifle fixed on the damaged woodland ahead and along the deer’s path. I stick close, watching out in all directions in case we are approached from the side, gun cocked and heart pounding. … …But.. nothing comes. We wait for a tension-laden minute, then another, muscles aching with the stress of simply holding ourselves in pre-emptive positions, but as I said, nothing else comes towards us. My Grandad cautiously gets to his feet. “Weird”, he mutters. “We’d better move on out of here. Come on, stay alert, but let’s go”. I nod in reply and together we make a swift but carefully exit from the little grove, heading back through the woods and retracing our steps. After what I hope is something of a safe distance, I ask my Grandad a question. “Why’d you call me Steve, back then?” “Eh?” “When the deer were coming at me, you called me Steve. You said ‘Steve get down’”. “Huh, is that so”, my Grandad asks, scratching his chin. “I don’t know. You know Steve though, right? Old friend of mine. I swear I’ve mentioned him before”. I consider. “Uh… yeah, maybe. Once or twice”. Grandad shakes his head. “I’ve definitely talked about him more than that. You probably weren’t listening”. He sighs. “It was just the moment, I suppose. The way you were standing, the deer coming right at you, raising your gun… What would have happened if you’d shot one, eh? It would have gone right down and knocked you out with it”. “I don’t know, it wasn’t all that big-” “It was bigger than you’re giving it credit for. And at that speed? Would have flattened you. It’s what I told Steve, all those years ago, he did the exact same thing, the idiot”. “What’s he up to these days?” My Grandad does not reply. He only looks out into the depths of the forest. We’re atop a high hill, and the trees give way to a view across a deep, green valley. The sky is gray overhead. The man tuts and shakes his head. “Steve… Steve isn’t around much anymore”. “Oh, sorry. He’s not… he’s not dead, is he?” My Grandad grimaces. “I don’t know, exactly”. “You don’t know?” “Look, just drop it kid. A story for another day. Let’s just get back to the campsite. Cook that rabbit we caught earlier”. He pauses, putting out a hand, and I stop at once, following his line of sight. I hadn’t even spotted it, but it chills my blood to see it now. Gives me the shivers even remembering. We stand only a few feet away from a deer. It’s one of the same deer as before, I’m sure of it. Neither of us had spotted it because the thing is standing entirely still. Like a statue. A taxidermy, almost. “The hell?” Grandad whispers, staring at the creature in surprise. He squints and then leans over to me. “It’s breathin’ though only barely. Look down there at its chest”. I do so, taking the spectacle in. The deer has one hooved foot placed against the trunk of a tree, which in itself is quite curious already… but the animal does not move, even slightly. It does not blink. “Hey”, my Grandad barks, then louder: “Hey!” he claps his hands, but the deer does not react. Then, in time with a sudden flurry of water from the rain-soaked leaves above us, the deer slowly turns its head. All the way around, until it is staring at my Grandad and myself, one eye on each. My stomach drops, though I am unsure as to why. The deer is… I don’t know. Something is wrong. “The thing must be sick”, my Grandad murmurs. “We’ll take a different route back, go wide of this creature. We’re too close already as it is” “Yeah”, I mumble, and the two of us edge away and through the undergrowth, taking a new direction as the deer watches us go, deathly-silent. I shiver as it at last passes out of sight, lost behind us to the watery green shadows of the forest. \* Later that night, after returning to camp and preparing and eating our catch, I bid my Grandad goodnight and crawl into my tent, zipping the flaps up after me. I fumble round in the near-darkness for a while, my lamp casting intense, black shadows out in all directions as I shift it from place to place, trying to work my way into my sleeping bag. It doesn’t feel particularly cold at the moment, but, the temperature has the potential to suddenly drop at any given minute, and I don’t want to wake up frozen solid at 3am. … …As it happens, I don’t. I awaken at 3:15; not frozen, but slick with sweat. Roused from a dreamless slumber, my ears prick up at the sound of rustling and snuffling outside. Right by my tent. I hold my breath and grit my teeth. It’s this fear of the unknown that gets me. It’s *probably* just a rabbit, or a hare. …But the possibility that it could be something larger, something more dangerous, is impossible to ignore. For some reason my mind does not go to an image of a bear, or a mountain lion, or anything like that. It goes to the deer. Frozen in place. Eyes unblinking, head turning as it watches my Grandad and I pass by. Something presses up against the tent, right by my head. I wince and stare at the bulging material through the darkness. I try not to think about the fact that I am separated by the beasts of the forest by a pair of what are effectively thin, flimsy sheets of fabric. *Just ignore it,* I tell myself. *Ignore it and it’ll go away.* I quietly roll over and scrunch up my eyes, determined to be a man and to not get frightened by the presence of some raccoon or squirrel. The creature sniffles some more. Rustling about in the grass, in the dark. My heart rate increases as I hear the thing *pawing* against the tent’s outer lining. …And then, for a second, it stops entirely, and to my horror I hear my Grandad’s voice. *“It’s breathin’ though only barely”.* The sentence comes crisp and sharp through the general murmur and backing breeze of the forest. The sentence is entirely devoid of cadence. As if read from a book by someone who has never known English. “*Look down there at its chest*”, says the voice. *Fuck.* *FUCK.* Panicking now, I do not know what I am supposed to do. It’s my Grandad outside, playing a prank on me. It has to be. It MUST be, because there is literally no other explanation that makes sense. Regardless of the fact that this is entirely out of character. Regardless of the fact that I have never heard the man speak in such a way, even in humor, in his entire life. … He must be sleep-walking. That’s it. My explosive heartrate cools just a little. That’s it. It’s the only possible explanation that makes sense. And if that’s the case, then, I can’t just leave him to wander around outside. Despite my fear, I gently ease my way out of my sleeping bag. You might think me an idiot, but, if my Grandad is wondering around in the woods in a daze he could get lost, or seriously hurt. So I push aside my irrational terror, and with a shaking hand I reach for the zip, pulling it open with a noise that is far too loud for comfort. Fuck it. In for a penny, in for a pound. I yank the zip open, and then the next, and push my head out into the night, the cool air washing across my face as I raise the lantern to cast away the darkness. …What I see, is nothing. I jump outside of the tent, staring, lifting the lantern as the light falls across the long grasses and the nearby trees. We’re still on the ridge of the valley, but the valley itself is shrouded in darkness. A small section of visible moon illuminates the very tips of the trees in silver, but I am too pre-occupied to properly appreciate the natural beauty for now. I pace around the tent in a circle and see no evidence of my grandfather. “Grandad?” I hiss out into the night, turning and raising the lantern up high. … …Still, nothing. Something chirps softly from between the branches of the deep woods. I turn to face it with throat dry, but the trees give away no secrets. I cross the grass and crouch down by my Grandad’s tent. The zip remains closed. “Grandad?” I whisper, to no response. I try again, a little louder. “*Grandad?*” I hear a groan and a grumble from inside. “Huh?” I hear him mutter, then, “the hell?” “Grandad are you good?” “Of course I’m good, what’s the matter with you?” “Alright… Uh, nothing. See you tomorrow”. He murmurs something under his breath and I hear the rustle of his sleeping bag as he rolls over. I stand up straight and stare out into the night. For a second time, that chirping sound rings out from the branches, and I make a hasty return to my tent, zipping the thing up tight and secure, shivering as I try to force myself back to sleep. It takes a long time, and I do not recall drifting off. My dreams are disturbing, and are largely comprised of the discovery that something crept into my tent, dream-distorted and warped into an impossible size. My dream-self scrambles around from place to place as a nightmare slithers and swims through the shadows like water. It is a welcome relief when I awake safe and sound, to the faded glare of tent-filtered, morning sunlight shining into my face. “Ugh”, I mutter, sitting up straight and groggily rubbing my eyes. For a second or two the reality of last night blurs into the dreams, but as I remember the truth, that bitterly familiar anxiety settles back in. I clamber out of the tent into the warming morning air to find my Grandad washing his face in a pot of water. “Mornin’” he grunts. “How you feel this morning?” “Not great, to be honest”, I reply. “You were sleep-walking last night”. “Eh?” Grandad glances up at me but continues with his routine. “No, I don’t sleepwalk”. “You were mumbling nonsense and bashing into my tent at like 3am”, I tell him. “I came to check on you but you… you must have just gone back to bed”. My Grandad pauses and looks right at me. “So that did happen then. Your disturbing me. Thought I might have dreamt it”. He stands up and scratches his jaw. “Tell me exactly what happened”. I relay the story, and my Grandad remains silent until its end. Slightly paled he looks around at our surroundings, and down into the valley. “I fuckin’ knew it”, he mutters, almost imperceptibly. “It’s the same place. The exact same place”. “What?” I ask him. “What do you mean?” “I came here with- with Steve, once. I knew I’d been here before. I thought I’d picked the location pretty randomly, but, I guess my subconscious had other ideas”. “Grandad I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about”. He stares out over the valley and I follow his gaze. We watch as a small flock of dark birds flutters around in a circle above the trees. Again… and again… and again… Around and around they go. He turns to look straight at me, his expression grim. Perhaps even… *afraid*, a little. And this unsettles me deeply. Nothing is supposed to scare that man. “Pack up, Robbie. Make it good, and be quick. We’re out of here”. In another atmosphere I might have questioned him, but the vibe is clear. I do as he says at once and in silence, we quickly pack away our gear, loading up our backpacks with constant furtive glances to the trees. The forest has dried somewhat since yesterday’s rain, but the sky overhead is still a swirl of gray. We set out beneath its gloom, all trace of our modest campsite thoroughly erased. My Grandad’s pace is a little faster than normal. Bracken and pine needles are crunched underfoot as he strides through the woodlands. He clenches his rifle a little tighter, too. I break the tension. “Grandad what the hell is going on? What aren’t you telling me?” “I was an idiot once before”, Grandad replies, as a breeze whistles its way through the boughs of the trees. “And I lost a good friend. I won’t let the same thing happen to you”. We push through the bushes and pass by a large pond, surrounded by thick, tangled weeds. I glance over to the water. The water is a grim gray-green and covered in a curious, floating moss. The surface is broken by the heads of three deer, standing perfectly still. The entirety of their bodies below the necks are submerged, and they stare at us as we pass them by. On another day I might have found the sight quite comical, but right now I feel nothing but cold, biting fear. One of the deer rises up from the water, rippling it quietly, rearing up onto its hind legs, and my Grandad grabs my sleeve and hauls me along. “Don’t stop moving. We’re getting out of here. Just keep going, Robbie”. Our steps become faster, our breathing a little more labored. The trees rush by, branches scratch at my arms and my face. We push out into a clearing, and my Grandad skids to an immediate halt. “What is it?” I ask, panting. Something moves in the shadows of the trees, shifting between the branches at the clearing’s opposite side. The hair at the back of my neck bristles and I instinctively raise the rifle. The sounds of the birds and the breeze fade away, and the air itself seems to darken as the shifting shadow ahead draws closer. It is difficult, near-impossible to make out its exact shape through the layers of branch and foliage… But I swear I can see a rough, vaguely humanoid silhouette amongst the shadows and the dark, green-blown blur. “*Did you come back for me, Robert?*” whispers a voice. My muscles tense up in reaction to my name. *Is it my name it speaks... or, my Grandad’s?* My Grandad sucks some air in through his teeth. He begins to carefully sidestep his way round the clearing, and I copy his movements. “*You wouldn’t leave me behind again… would you?”* The voice is not dissimilar to the one I heard last night. It is different, sure, but the cadence, or lack thereof, is much the same. My Grandad raises the rifle, cocks it… but he does not fire. “Keep going around kid”, he says to me. “To the left, pass through that part of the clearing there, I’ll be right behind you”. I start to edge my way round the clearing, never taking my eye off the shadow in the trees just ahead. I’m trying so hard to focus on it… To understand what it is that I am seeing, but I can’t. The very branches themselves seem to be moving, cracking and rippling in the shade. The figure takes a sudden step forward. “RUN!” my Grandad shouts, raising the rifle and firing a loud shot up into the air. Unprepared for such a sudden noise my ears ring as I scramble and stumble through the forest, along a natural path of sorts between the trees, though I stumble to a halt when I realize my Grandad is not behind me. He told me to run, but, do I go back for him? … …I have to. It’s a no-brainer. So I swivel around and prepare to charge back to the clearing when the man himself staggers out through the bushes towards me, face white as a sheet. “Get that damned thing out of my face, ya idiot”, he grunts as she shoves away the barrel of my rifle, and together we race through the forest. My Grandad dumps his backpack and I do likewise, leaving the equipment behind as we tear through the undergrowth, way back to where we parked the truck the other day. When at last we see it, waiting for us on the edge of a dirt-track road, we throw ourselves inside, and my Grandad stuffs in the key and turns it with a clank, the engine revving into life. The wheels spin and away we go, back through the wilds down the long back roads of the woodlands. … I summon the courage, after a while and once the air has cooled, to ask my Grandad what he saw. What happened after he fired the rifle. “Thing tried to speak to me again. The deep woods, Robbie. I’m sorry for taking you there. They can screw with a man’s mind, these places. Real, real bad”. “There was something there though, wasn’t there. Something real”. “Yes. I think so”. “Was it… “ I falter. “Who was it, Grandad?” “A nightmare. That’s all. Something that shouldn’t exist, by all the laws of nature”. “Its voice… Did you, recognize the voice?” “You said you heard something outside your tent last night. Right?” I nod. “It sounded like me?” “Yeah”, I reply. “But it wasn’t me, was it.” “…No”, I reply. “No, it wasn’t”. “Sometimes we hear voices. Don’t mean they belong to anyone”. “So why didn’t you shoot it?” “What?” his hands flex and clench around the wheel. “You fired the rifle, but you aimed up into the air. Not at the shadow. Why did you do that?” To this my Grandad has no answer. He only reaches briefly across to pat my shoulder, and as the clouds swirl overhead, we spend the rest of the long drive home in a contemplative silence. Silence, with the occasional glance to the thickets of trees that pass us by.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I was Hired as a Journalist for PixiePages. There are some Strange Rules, (Part 10) [RESPONSE] I had an interesting time in Egypt. "You are the journalist, yes? I am Amir, and this is Eli." The two men shook my hand in turns. "Josh, with PixiePages. Don't mind the outfit." I did my best to hide my embarrassment. *Why did he have to dress me like Indiana Jones?* "There are no vampires. Do not bite them." Amir began, unamused. "Do not read the hieroglyphics aloud," Eli added, making a throat cutting gesture with one hand. The two then spoke in unison, stating "do **not** dance like an Egyptian!" "Got it, got it. Let's just get this over with. One thing though, what about the vampires?" I probed. *Another mindfuck rule?* "There are none. Do you listen?" Amir scoffed, shaking his head. Eli shook his too. Without another word, they threw me a lantern, then made for the excavation site. Down the steady descent we went, until the uneven sand leveled off to smooth sandstone. It was too smooth, slick almost. Just as we made it four or five steps, the ground shook. Chunks of ceiling fell, nearly splattering us. Diving forwards with a yelp, I thought we were in the clear. That relief was short lived. "Aldampires!" Eli cried. "Run!" Amir shouted, nearly leaving me in the dust. "I can't see!" I cried, stumbling as I tried to keep up. Within that second, something clamped onto my wrist. My feet left the ground as I was ragdolled like a flag through the air. **SPP! SOOP!** Wet projectiles zipped at us. I winced as something pierced my calf. "Huh?!" I grunted, a strange throbbing sensation spreading from where I had been hit. "Amir, remove it." Eli ordered, steadying me. Sharp metal carved around where I'd been hit, removing whatever had latched on, plus some flesh around it. "Ow!" I yelped. "What the hell guys?" "Explain later. Keep your lantern off. Don't die." Amir huffed, a dim purple glow flashing with each breath. **CRUICK! crRRR!** To the left, the wall began to crumble. "Excellent work Amir!" Eli cheered, clearly more aware of what was going on than I was. "Eli, I'm hit!" Amir cried. The grip on my arm promptly loosened, as I was pitched like a frisbee. I am not ashamed to admit I screamed the whole way. I bounced once. I bounced twice. Then I skid on the ground until finally coming to a stop. "Impressive vocals, Josh. Now would you please shut up." Amir growled, pulling me to my feet and shutting me up. "How can you see?" I demanded, tired of being in the dark. *Pun unintended.* "Cursed blood. Is that really your concern right now?" Eli prodded, flicking me in the forehead. "Gah fine, what now? Where are we?" I pressed, changing the subject. "It seems to be some sort of intersection. We have three options. Pharaohs were buried in the west, though, so that's our best bet." Amir offered. Heavy footfalls disappeared off to the left. "You heard the man," Eli snorted, striding off after Amir. "Still can't see!" I called, holding my arms out to feel through the chamber. I chased after the quickly fading footsteps, eager not to lose my way. Just as I thought I was catching up, I tripped. Throwing my hands forwards to catch myself, I never landed. "Ahh… there's no chance you're friendly?" I squeaked, holding my breath. Dry, raspy laughter croaked in tesponse. Hundreds, no thousands of needles pierced my lower leg, turning it into an acupuncture pin cushion. "A swell sacrifice, yes." The enthusiastic acupuncturist giggled. The giggle was so agonizingly rough and gravely, I cringed. "Help!" I screamed, praying to be rescued. "How cute…" the acupuncturist jeered, stabbing needles through my other leg. I clawed at the ground, desperately trying to escape. The smooth surface provided no purchase. I couldn't get away. **PUOOH!** A brilliant, royal crimson flame erupted out of nowhere. The acupuncturist lit up instantly, for the first time showing me my assailant. And I saw my savior. "Joshie, Joshie Joshie. What shall we do with you?" The masked corpse tisked, snapping once and summoning dozens of arms. An arm crushed the throat of the paper-thin thing that had attacked me. A dozen hands went to work plucking the pricks from my legs. I bit my lip beyond the point of bloody, unable to find an escape. "As for your punishment… this will do…" Mephistopheles snickered maniacally, washing a flame over my swiss cheese legs. "No screaming, either." He placed one rotten finger over my lips, leaning close to my face. Nearly passing out from the cauterization of my leg wounds, I fought to maintain consciousness. "Now, ask your questions. I have something to deal with-" Mephistopheles hissed, as two hulking figures lunged out from the darkness. I watched in awestruck horror as slash after slash removed chunks from the demon. Flame burst out in small spurts, turning the reddish-brown sandstone to glass on contact. Purplish goop shot from the brutes whenever Mephistopheles landed a scratch. The purple stuff sizzled wherever it landed. "Job, Josh." Mephisto growled. Through the chaos, I approached the paper person. "Hello… What are you?" I asked, improvising some questions. "A mighty demidemon!" The acupuncturist boasted, flame climbing its legs. "No you're not," I snorted, enjoying the rule of disagreeing for the first time. I did not enjoy how it responded. A fresh wave of needles pierced from head to toe, sending me numbly to the ground. "Idiot!" Three voices shouted, followed by more hands sprouting and plucking the needles from me. "Why are you here?" I asked, quickly scrawling the answer as it came. "We require sacrifices!" The paper person cried, desperately attempting to put out the fire. Lastly, I asked "Are you dying?" No answer came. The flames had taken the creature's life, leaving only ashes. **"ENOUGH!"** Mephistopheles roared, tossing the two, who I realized were Eli and Amir, against the walls. Arms sprouted from behind them, imprisoning them where they landed. Purple smog escaped their inflated forms, returning them to their normal sizes. "As for you" Mephistopheles approached, with measured, thunderous steps. I whimpered, gritting my teeth as orange, curious flames danced around me. "I know, I'll be taking these." Mephistopheles peeled back the flesh from his index finger, then swiped across my eyes. In a single heartbeat, my eyelids were severed. I could not close my eyes anymore. "Now… Lift. My. Mask." My heart pounded against my chest, not sure I could survive this. *Just what lay behind his mask. I did not want to know.* "Here, I'll help you…" a rotten arm worked my own like a puppet, pushing the scaly purple mask upwards. Tears welled at the corners of my eyes, dreading the hell I was about to enter. — A bustling city sprawled before me. I watched from the sky, an invisible specter overlooking the peaceful happenings. Horse-drawn carriages hauled goods and people alike through well-worn grooves in the cobble roads. One and two story huts lined the streets. Small as they were, they were homely, cozy things. A happy civilization, though prosperous and warm, had an ominous air to it. I held my breath, waiting for the inevitable. The inevitable came. **WAUOOH-POOOOOM!** black smoke billowed to the heavens, blotting out the sun. Ash rained like snow. The city was sent scrambling, though to little effect. It was all in vain. Volcanic rock sprinkled down in destructive fury, decimating the city. Men and women and children alike had no hope, yet still they fled. Through the screams and chaos, I saw something peculiar. Something that gave me the strength to hold on. Among the fires and carnage, I saw people do all they could. Not only for themselves, but for each other. I saw compassion in that hell. "No! No! **NO!**" Mephistopheles boomed, sounding increasingly unhinged. "How do you find hope in this hell!" "I couldn't tell ya, honestly I wish I could obey and go quietly. Something inside of me just won't accept it" I sobbed, searching for absent answers. "You killed Azazel, yet you continue to blabber about hope? How **DARE** you!" He screamed, backhanding me so hard my teeth chipped and my jaw shattered. Blood gushed from my mouth, leaving me unable to speak. I curled into the fetal position, readying myself for another death. — I will spare you the details of hundreds of decomposing arms pulling me apart, and skip ahead to when I woke up. — "Whoo, what happened to you?" Sean nudged me from my spot on the ground. I was alive, laying outside of our office. Through swollen lids I opened my eyes, looking up to Sean. It might have been my imagination or the numerous concussions, but he almost looked concerned. "Heyyy" I wheezed, jaw still throbbing. "What happened to you-your face?!" Sean stifled a laugh, sounding unusually genuine. "Sorry." He apologized, crouching at my side. "Mephist-" I started, only to be cut off. "Oh, yup. Got it. What's with those-huh?!" He gasped, stumbling backwards onto his ass. "What are those what?" I groaned, too exhausted to raise a single limb. "He cursed you-" his voice broke, abject dread on his face. I forced myself upright, ignoring the pains and aches of my body. "I've gotta go back to hell." "You look like you've been through one already… er I guess a second one." Sean sighed, rubbing his temples. "You have no idea…"<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I’m a landlord who needs advice. Found this note in an abandoned unit [RESPONSE] Newport Beach, CA. It’s 10:53pm. The door to my bedroom is locked but it won’t make a difference. **Something is wrong with my child.** What’s happened to you, Ziya? She’s not even two-years-old. Her father – may his cursed soul rot in hell – abandoned us before Ziya was born. Disappeared into the night when I was six months pregnant. They never even found the yellow taxi he drove. Now, I hear Ziya laughing. Outside. In the hallway. Her giggles make my stomach empty itself, and the knife slips from my fingers, into the bile. She’s a beautiful girl with almond-shaped eyes that sparkle like gemstones. A knowing smile that makes you feel sugary as a date fruit. The life of a refugee is not easy. Ziya has been my companion throughout. \*\* One week ago: Ziya finally spoke her first words. The pediatrician had said not to worry. That Ziya would speak when she’s ready. It was a sunlit morning, and I’d taken Ziya in her stroller to Seabridge Park, where we wandered by the water and sat on the benches. I’d never admit it, but I enjoyed the smell of cigarettes that accompanied matches at the public chess boards. Ziya’s Dada was a smoker. I found comfort in the familiar. I’d brought along a novel that was taking far too long to finish. As I flipped the pages, bored, Ziya whispered from her carriage. “Mama?” she cooed. “Ziya?” I couldn’t believe it. This was her first word! “Ziya?” I repeated in delight. “Dada. He misses you.” I put down the book… “W – what did you say?” “Dada,” she gazed at me, wide-eyed. “**Dada is here**.” Before today? The girl hadn’t spoken a peep. How was she speaking full sentences? “He’s with us now, Mama. And he won’t leave again. You must forgive him. **You** **must**.” “Ziya!” I stood, aghast. My heart filling with dread. “**Dada is here**,” she repeated, smiling from ear-to-ear. She pointed to a patch of grass under the shade of a nearby tree. “Look,” her hand trembled with excitement. “**LOOK, MAMA.**” Following the line of her finger: I was startled to see an egg had fallen from its nest. The half-formed, decomposing body of a dead chick spilled onto the grass. Pulpy beak and blind eyes shrouded by buzzing flies. Smothered by ants and wriggling maggots that feasted on what flesh remained. “Ughh!” I covered my mouth. “**PICK HIM UP!**” “No! Stop it, Ziya!” “**BUT HE LOVES US, MAMA!**” A passerby turned to stare, so I tossed the book in the stroller, adjusted my hijab and made our way back to the car. Ziya said nothing, but I could hear her burble under her breath. \*\* When we arrived home, I witnessed the strangest thing. As I pushed Ziya through the front door, the old microwave atop the counter turned on, humming with light. *BEEP…* This microwave had come with our subsidized townhome. Days after it stopped working, my husband vanished from our lives. Before he went missing: he’d promised to repair it. *BEEP…* Following his disappearance, I bought a replacement. Yet I couldn’t throw the old one away. Some irrational part of me clinging to the hope that he would return to fix it. ***BEEEEEEEEEP***. The microwave went dark. Ziya grunted with anticipation. Her feet shifted restlessly as I approached the counter. But, when I opened the microwave? There was nothing inside… Ziya chuckled mischievously. “**Dada is here**.” \*\* I remember the feeling of panic that seized me for the next few days. When I tried to talk with Ziya, she was like a mute. Her beige pools watched carefully – but she wouldn’t speak – not even when I offered golden raisins. Eventually, I convinced myself that the inexplicable episode was brought on by my struggles with melancholy. Our minds become unpredictable when faced with loss. I discovered as much when Ziya’s Dada abandoned us. As refugees: all we had was each other. I’d persuaded myself that I knew my husband and – sooner or later – he would return home and make our family whole. Late one night? I’d see his yellow taxi pulling into the driveway. He would **honk twice**, playfully, letting me know to boil the cardamom chai and prepare a tray of snacks. But he never came home. He never came back for us. For months, I felt such loneliness, until finally? My sorrow turned to resentment. \*\* Things felt different in the days after Ziya’s outburst. When I inquired about her bout of prattle from the park (keeping hidden the words she’d spoken), our pediatrician told me not to worry. Silence is oftentimes borne of choice with toddlers, the doctor advised. Even so… the bubbly girl had become stilted and withdrawn. Ziya refused to play, and she barely ate. This made two of us. Rather, she would sit on the couch in the living room, peering into the yard. Watching our neighbors – Patrick and Vanessa – trim the bushes. At times? I’ve caught Ziya glaring as I go about my household chores. Brows furrowed. No trace of affection in her eyes. I find myself keeping distant and avoiding her stare, which triggers feelings of devastating guilt. \*\* Following a week of unease, I resolved it was necessary to set aside my anxieties and move towards normalcy. This was yesterday. Ziya sat on the couch, gazing out the window while Saturday morning cartoons played quietly on the television. I could see Patrick and Vanessa with their clippers working on the yard. This was a bi-monthly routine. Tomorrow: they’d bring the woodchipper. Inspired by the nice weather, I resolved to make my daughter Tukhum Bonjan, or scrambled eggs with tomatoes. It’s a traditional Afghan breakfast, and this dish has always been one of Ziya’s favorites. As was habit nowadays, my mind swirled with memories as I stood at the counter, chopping onions which I browned in cooking oil over medium heat. Then, I cracked three fresh eggs into a mixing bowl. One after another. “Ready for breakfast, Ziya?” The girl refused to answer. Unsurprisingly, I was thinking about my husband. The life we shared together. Before he left me to raise a daughter, alone. Where was he now, I wondered? Was he still driving that yellow taxi? And what sin of mine had caused him such anger? That he chose to leave his pregnant wife? My painful reveries splintered when the third egg was cracked over the mixing bowl. “**OH!**” I shrank in horror. Rather than golden yolk: this shell was filled by some viscous mixture of **blood and pus**. Floating within the clotted soup, I saw stringy chunks of flesh and tiny black feathers. The skeleton of a chick. It was the same… **The one from the park!** Crying out, I knocked the blood-steeped batter away from the counter – into the sink – and flicked the switch for the disposal. The kitchen filled with **crunching** as the bones were ground to powder. “Ziya!” I was afraid. Only then did I notice how the weather had changed. The sun streaming into kitchen was gone. Dark clouds shrouded the sky, opening to deposit sheets of rain onto the earth. Ziya had moved from the couch and was sitting on the carpet in front of the television. Rhythmic flashes shone through the windows as my daughter pressed the remote control. On the screen was a bizarre image: a single white egg sitting on a pretty blue plate. “You spend too much time wondering,” Ziya’s gaze fixed on the screen. “About Dada. But I can tell you.” She chuckled. “I can tell you what happened to him. Wouldn’t you like that, Mama? **Wouldn’t you like to know?**” “About Dada?” I hesitated. “Precisely,” Ziya scowled. “The truth is: **Dada was murdered in cold blood**. He’s never coming back.” My legs were trembling. “Dada was on his way home that night,” Ziya continued. “He decided to pick up one last fare. Near East Bluff. The man had a gun, and he asked for money. Dada tried to fight. So the man killed him.” Ziya snorted. “**And the best part?** He only had twenty bucks! The man took his money and parked Dada’s taxi in the corporate center. The one on Bristol Street. All this time, it’s been sitting there.” I felt the urge to vomit. “Go check in the morning. You’ll find it. Dada was a good person, Mama. He loved you very much.” The egg on the screen was cracking. “Ziya?” I mumbled. “Is that… true?” “Is that… true?” Ziya mocked. “I wish it was that simple. A nice, tidy murder… **What happened to Dada is worse!**” Boiling fear swelled through my gut. “Dada was on his way home that night. Heading down Carlson Avenue. Near the marsh.” Her voice echoed. “Dada saw an older couple. Standing on the side of the road. **They appeared from nowhere!**” My heart was going to burst. “They were like us, Mama… Refugees. Pashtuns who’d fled the war. What laughs they shared in the taxi as Dada drove!” Ziya rocked in front of the television as the cracks in the shell deepened. “But they were not nice people, Mama. **They needed his body.**” “His b – b – body?” “**YES**. When Dada dropped them off: they said their bags were heavy. Dada was glad to help. But as soon as he’d entered the front door? **Their six children were waiting**. They made Dada sleepy… And, when he woke up? He was trapped in the box in the basement. I really shouldn’t describe what they did to him after that, Mama. It will only upset you.” “**What did they do to him?**” “They needed him, Mama! They wanted something terrible for themselves… but, to have that gift? Dada needed to suffer. And, now: Dada has returned from that ugly place where he rested for so long. **But he’s going to take us back there… with him… tomorrow!**” “You’re lying!” I gasped. “Hmm… Maybe nothing’s ever so bad? **That it couldn’t get worse?**” Ziya sighed. “Remember Caroline? From social services?” It was difficult to concentrate on Ziya’s words with the image of the egg unfurling on the TV. Was there… was there something **poking** **out** from the shell? “Caroline was the case worker assigned to our family. I’m sorry to say it, Mama, but Caroline and Dada are in love.” *BEEP…* The microwave! “Dada was tired of your dependence. Ever since you came to this country? Pathetic and needy… Like a mouse!” Ziya scoffed. “Dada and Caroline live in Oregon. She’s pregnant with their second. He’s staying off the books, Mama. **Hoping you’ll never find him**. Believe me… Dada still drives the yellow taxi.” *BEEP…* Ziya was a liar! “Liar?” Ziya smirked, reading my mind. “The truth is: **you’ll never know**. Maybe Dada was killed for twenty bucks. Or turned into a monster! Perhaps he ran away with that pretty American?” Atop the counter, the microwave rumbled. “What if none of this is really happening, Mama? What if I’m not even speaking? **That would make sense**. I’m not speaking, just like there’s no egg sitting on a pretty blue plate. That old microwave has been broken for years.” Ziya hissed at me. “**There’s nothing inside!** You’re making it up because you’re unwell, Mama. **You’re sick!** And, tomorrow? Once the sun sets? **You’re gonna get us into some real trouble.**” ***BEEEEEEEEEP***. Open and look! Inside the microwave was a pretty blue plate. It was such a beautiful color… Like the deepest ocean. I felt I had seen this plate somewhere before. Like a dream from childhood. I held up the plate to the spluttering kitchen light. Observing the distorted contours of my face in the glossy sheen of its surface. Ziya was giggling. On the screen: the egg finally opened to reveal its contents. But I was exhausted and didn’t bother to look. \*\* Sleep came for me, eventually. I remember being stirred awake the next day by the **guzzling sounds** of the woodchipper. I was curled in a fetal position under the table. My stomach was cramping; my tongue tasted of iron. I pulled myself onto a chair, rubbing my temples and wiping drool from my lips. It’s fair to say that I was feeling especially irritable today… The buzzing from next door was cultivating a splitting headache. After a minute, I went to make tea. I could tell from the angel of the sun streaming into the kitchen that it was mid-to-late morning. Ziya was sitting on the sofa. Watching me. My daughter flashed **the most** **unnerving grin** as I approached the window to observe our neighbors. **Milky eyes bulging**. As if they wished to escape the sockets of her skull. Her jaw was weirdly off-center, **stuffed with teeth** that looked bigger than I recalled. “Good morning, Mama.” I took a sip of lukewarm chai. Her ugly smile grew wider. “Stop it, Ziya. I’m tired!” “Don’t worry,” Ziya reassured me. “There’s no reason to be afraid.” She returned her gaze to our neighbors. “**Dada is here**. And he’ll make everything better. Just like before he went away.” The colors in the room around us were changing. Lights flickered on and off. “Dada hated the woodchipper. But he’s going to take care of us forever… **LOOK, MAMA.**” Outside, Vanessa was taking bundles of branches that Patrick passed to her and was packing them into the woodchipper. The machine **chugged hungrily** as it chewed bark before spitting out muddy dust. Suddenly: bulbous clouds rolled overhead, and without warning came an **unnatural surge** **of wind**. The gust cascaded down our street, bending palm trees until it crashed against our cul-de-sac. **Making the kitchen tremble.** “Hey!” Vanessa exclaimed. “Careful!” Patrick called out. The squall took Patrick’s cap from his head and left his wife teetering on one leg. The winds grew more violent, battering the couple with intensity. Wobbly – nearly tripping over – Vanessa dropped the stack of wood as Patrick went to retrieve his cap. Struggling to balance: Vanessa’s long blonde hair got tangled in woodchipper. “**LOOK, MAMA,**” Ziya crooned. **Shrieking in pain**, the woman’s neck twisted roughly to the side as the machine **slurped her ponytail** with perverse gluttony, drawing her head towards its greedy, spinning blades. “**HELP ME!!!**” But it was too late. Vanessa was yanked sideways. Her torso dunked forward. There was **squelching** as the machine juddered. A hot spring of crimson confetti – **bloody blonde tresses, macerated scalp and brain** – erupted from the far end of the woodchipper and coated the perfectly manicured lawn. “**VANESSA!!!**” Patrick sprang to action, lunging towards the homicidal machine. He grabbed Vanessa’s khakis, heaving as blood and bone were ejected in arching, multicolored streams. **“VANESSA!!!** **VANESSA!!!”** My legs buckled as I watched… Praying for Vanessa. But her body became limp… The husband fell to his knees; our screams blended together in a way that’s hard to describe. **Like the moans of twisted metal distorting at the highest temperature.** Ziya beamed, clapping cheerily as I crawled to the corner of the kitchen and fell asleep. \*\* Now, it’s nighttime. The police are gone, although I could hear Patrick baying from the townhome next door. These were horrible, aching howls. Sitting at the table, my nose detected hints of decay. Bloody dew hung in the air around us. I felt the moisture on my flesh, reminding me of hot summer mornings in Jalalabad. Perched atop the couch: **Ziya stared eagerly**. A toothy grin stretched from ear-to-ear. The girl was smiling **much too widely**. And she wasn’t blinking. *BEEP…* The old microwave? I decided to remain sitting at the table. Nudging the pepper shaker with my pinky. *BEEP…* In a trance: **I heard the rumble of a car outside the townhome**. Orange headlights cast long, peculiar shadows across my living room. **Someone was pulling into our driveway**. And then – precisely on cue – the vehicle in the driveway honked twice. Playfully. I felt dizzy… ***BEEEEEEEEEP***. Next to me… without anyone touching it… the microwave door swung open. “**Dada is here**.” Inside the microwave was a pretty blue plate. It was such a beautiful color… Like the deepest ocean. I felt I had seen this plate somewhere before. Like a dream from childhood. Sitting atop the plate was a single white egg. I remained motionless as the shell began to crack. Just like the image on the TV… But, then? I saw something… **Oily black feathers poked out from inside the shell**. It was the tip of a wing. I couldn’t believe it… **There were human fingers.** **Sticking out from the egg.** **I saw them with my own eyes.** **A tiny, growing forearm** was emerging from the shell, grasping desperately in my direction. Within seconds: **the microwave was stuffed full with shiny feathers and pallid flesh.** The car in the driveway **honked wildly** as the elongating hand slipped from the microwave and slunk along the counter towards me. **Its veins bulged and throbbed.** The sharpened nails on its skittering fingers pulled the arm forward, causing the microwave to topple. “**ZIYA!**” I cried, the fear absolute. Every instinct bade me to flee. “**RUN AND HIDE!**” I gripped the microwave’s frame as razor fingernails caressed my body parts. Rivulets of blood poured onto the floor. I hurled the appliance through the living room window. The glass exploded like a movie. **And there was his yellow taxi…** Parked in the driveway as the full moon beamed overhead. Time stopped as I realized my desires had come true. How long I had waited for this… How long I had waited… When I peered into the taxi: I saw **Vanessa’s headless corpse** sitting in the driver’s seat. Her stiff arm gripped the steering wheel as the other pressed frantically on the horn. What was left of her amputated stump **gushed dark red blood** onto the dashboard. I began to scream. On the grass near the taxi… **A second pale hand burst from the microwave**. Followed by a twin black wing. The fetid muscles on this new arm became swollen and enlarged. Bubbling with pulsations: the flesh seemed putrefied. The grotesque wings began to flap together, causing immense gusts of wind which practically destroyed our neighborhood. Mailboxes were uprooted. Car alarms blared furiously. The force of this gale shattered what remained of our living room window. Roaring winds swirled as I raced to find Ziya, but the girl had disappeared. And I looked everywhere! Under the table… In the bathroom… “Ziya! Where are you?” **Ten freakish fingers** dragged the unspeakable nightmare that existed within the microwave towards my front door. Each hair-covered knuckle snapping as it scrabbled forward. **IT WAS COMING FOR ME**. Wailing in dread: I swiped a knife from the drawer, raced up the stairs and locked myself in the bedroom. Sobbing miserably. Now, I hear Ziya laughing. Outside. In the hallway. Her giggles make my stomach empty itself, and the knife slips from my fingers, into the bile. Books lining my dresser topple onto the rug as I beg for mercy. Cherished family photos detach from the walls. Everything is shaking! **Knock.** **Knock.** The front door… **KNOCK.** **KNOCK.** This can’t be… This can’t be happening! And yet – despite every doubt, every misgiving – I know it’s him. It’s my husband… I can feel it in the pit of my hammering intestines. **DADA IS HERE.** Some part of me knows for certain that to answer the door is death. Perhaps worse. And yet… Fearful longing intoxicates my heart. **KNOCK.** **KNOCK.** **KNOCK.** Ziya’s laughter slinks into the bedroom. I don’t recognize the dialect she is singing in. ***KNOCK.*** ***KNOCK.*** ***KNOCK.*** The vulgar knocks and flapping of the bird are everywhere. Its undulating wings – reeking of cigarette smoke – saturate the room with density. Flooding the air with acridity. I choke, suffocating as I collapse on the bed. Inky-black sweat drips from my forearms, seeping onto the snowy Egyptian cotton. Suddenly: **I know what must be done.** To end this suffering. I think I’ve known all along. I retrieve the carving knife from the vomit-stained rug… My heart has become still. The fear is gone. We’ll be together soon. **It’s time to go downstairs and answer the door.** “Ziya,” I speak calmly. “Yes, Mama?” All is quiet… All is still. There’s no knocking. No flapping of wings. All is as it should be. **My family will be reunited.** “I’m coming down now.” “I’m waiting, Mama.” **Our daughter deserves love.** And, in some way? In some *terrible* way…? **This must be what I want.**<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] See You Soon [RESPONSE] *“See you soon.”* That’s what my fiancée Mandy said before she left for work that Tuesday morning. I never saw her alive again. I didn’t know that it was even *possible* for a twenty-seven-year-old woman to have a heart attack, but the doctors told me that 1 in 5 cardiac events happen to people under the age of forty. If only Mandy had been walking down a busier street instead of the shady alley she took to work…if only she’d been able to get her phone out of her pocket to call for help… *If only.* The words felt tattooed on my brain. We’d been planning to open a bakery in November, but I couldn’t manage it without her–and besides, like most things that reminded me of Mandy, our business idea now left a bitter taste in my mouth. Without really realizing it, I transformed my apartment into a sort of shrine to our relationship. I spent my days working grueling ten-hour shifts as a package handler, and when I returned home, I wallowed in Mandy’s photos, clothing, books, and records. I’d watch her favorite movies with a tall drink in hand, sipping until my mind drifted off far away and granted me a sort of ecstasy through oblivion. Two years of my life passed by that way, like booze poured into a bottomless pit. It wasn’t until I met Kristina that things began to change. For starters, she got me out of my apartment…and away from the bottle. She understood that I had a drinking problem long before I did, and it wasn’t until the fourth or fifth time I saw that I realized our “dates” (for lack of a better word) *never* involved alcohol. We’d go to a carnival by the beach, a picnic in the hills, an old video game arcade…Kristina was full of ideas. Of course, even two years later, I felt like I was doing something wrong by faling for someone else…*someone who wasn’t Mandy.* It was almost eerie how well Kristina understood me. She knew I needed time, and took things slowly. She didn’t even hold my hand until our second month of going on “excursions” together. One morning, Kristina came over without calling: she’d brought sturdy black trash bags and cleaning supplies. When I saw her standing on my doormat with that determined expression, I knew it was time. My apartment got its first deep-clean in two years, and Kristina helped me to get rid of the remembrances that I just didn’t have the strength to throw away, myself. In the end, I only kept one picture of Mandy: an image of her baking bread with me in the kitchen, her black clothes covered in flour, a wide smile on her face. I felt a little guilty keeping it, and for a time, I forgot about it altogether. It was like I could *breathe* again. Like I’d woken up from a nightmare-ridden nap. The first breath of air when I woke up tasted fresher somehow, and I felt blessed that Kristina had seen me for who I could become instead of the depressed alcoholic I’d been when we’d met. Not long after we moved in together, Kristina took me to a candlelit concert and a romantic dinner. When I asked what we were celebrating, she made a toast to the health of my future business. Even after all I’d been through, she knew I still dreamed of being an entrepreneur–and that night was her way of pledging to support me while I set out on what would probably be a rough and uncertain road. Without Kristina’s help, I never would have reached out to my old contacts in the business world or attended so many startup conventions. Somehow, other entrepreneurs and investors seemed to take me so much more seriously with Kristina by my side. With two others, I eventually launched a small IT consulting firm. It was a far cry from the bakery I’d once imagined, but I was finally my own boss. Every year brought more success–and I knew I had Kristina to thank for it. Her bright green eyes and warm smile were all I could think about as I stood in front of the jeweler’s stand, trying to decide on an engagement ring. Something with emeralds, I thought. To match her eyes. My phone rang. The number was “unknown,” but as a consultant, I was used to getting calls from strangers. At first, I heard only the sound of roaring winds, as though the speaker was calling from inside a sandstorm. They kept repeating the same phrase over and over, but I couldn’t understand it, not at first; maybe I didn’t *want* to understand it. Because I knew those words…and that voice: *“See you soon.”* Mandy’s voice grew louder and louder until it felt like her lips were less than an inch away, screaming into my ear. *“See you soon seeyousoonSEEYOUSOO–”* I flung my phone away like it burned me. When I retrieved it from the carpet, the mysterious call had ended. Throughout the rainy drive home, I wondered who would play such a cruel trick. An old bully from high school? a dissatisfied client? It didn’t make sense. In the end, I settled on two simple golden bands, purchased from a different jeweler. After that strange call, the other shop seemed tainted somehow; just driving past it gave me shivers. Kristina said yes, as I knew she would, and everything went fine right up until the moment we got ready to cut the wedding cake. Words appeared in the white frosting, as though traced by an invisible finger: *S-E-E Y-O-U S-O-* Acting on instinct, I grabbed a fistful of the icing-letters and pressed it over Kristina’s mouth, to laughter and applause. Maybe it was a bad move. After all, Kristina’s *one request* for our wedding experience was that *‘we NOT do the cake thing.’* But I didn’t think that justified the look of pure disgust and hate she gave me in that moment. I’d *never* seen Kristina so angry. *Was Mandy trying to wreck my relationship from beyond the grave?* Kristina forced herself to sigh and smile–and give me a taste of my own medicine. The cloying sweetness of cake on my lips forced the insane thought out of my mind, the band began to play, and the night went on without any further…*incidents.* Kristina and I signed our documents, filled out our life insurance forms, got listed on each others’ bank accounts, and set out for our honeymoon. Yet Mandy’s messages (if that’s what they were) didn’t stop. They showed up in the shower-steamed mirror. In my alphabet breakfast cereal. Even the magnets on the refrigerator. It was unexplainable: there was no doubt about that. But once I got over the initial shock of seeing those fateful words, I realized that they could be *ignored* as well. After all, they were just words. I had moved on, and needed to as well–ghost or not. A few weeks after Kristina and I returned to California from our honeymoon in Italy, I had my first near-death experience. That morning, I was scheduled to meet a client at a restaurant along Highway One: a beautiful but dangerous route that skirts the stormy, cliff-lined coast. Maybe it was a trick of the mist, but as I was turning out of our neighborhood, I’d swear I saw someone standing in the middle of the road. It was only a black shape in the white fog, but it looked familiar– It looked like *Mandy.* I slammed on my brakes–or tried to. No matter how hard I pressed on the pedal, nothing happened. rolled to a stop in a suburban yard and looked nervously out of the window with my emergency flashers blaring– There was nothing outside but mist. Later, the mechanics would tell me that my brake line had been set up to fail. The phone calls and inexplicable writing had been one thing; now, however, it seemed that Mandy’s vengeful ghost was actually trying to kill me. Kristina could tell that something was wrong; there was concern in her eyes when I got home that night. She did her best to cheer me up with red wine, a romantic evening by the fireplace, and a steak dinner, but I was too exhausted to enjoy it. I supposed it was the accumulated stress of the *haunting* (for that was what it was; I no longer had any doubts) that caused me to drift off to sleep so quickly after dinner. When I did, I dreamed about Mandy. We were back in the rundown hardwood apartment that we’d shared back when I was still working on opening the bakery. It was a beautiful spring morning; golden light shone through the open balcony doors. I turned over in the rumpled sheets, and even in my dream I felt my blood run cold as I recognized Mandy’s naked back beside me: her messy dark brown hair, the rose tattoo on her spine, the scar on her shoulder from a bike accident. At the foot of the bed, the closet door creaked open just a crack. I scrambled backwards in bed; the closet door opened wider, and the morning light seemed to dim. The darkness inside the closet seemed hungry; a pair of green eyes stared hatefully out at me from its depths. Beside me, Mandy pointed out the balcony window. She held a finger to her lips: *“See you soon.”* The closet door opened wide; something enormous skittered forward. The hairy black legs of an enormous spider, its hideous bulk hungrily toward me. The spider had Kristina’s face. I woke up slumped in the passenger seat of the rental car the mechanic had given me. I was in the garage with the door shut and the motor running. My head ached from the fumes; I turned off the ignition, opened the garage door, and staggered into the house. *If Mandy could manipulate my dreams…could she also move my body in my sleep?!* Kristina slipped an arm under my shoulder and helped me to the kitchen table before disappearing to prepare some tea and call emergency services. Alone with my thoughts, I realized that I had to tell my wife what I was going through. Kristina placed a warm cup of tea in front of me and I took a small sip, willing my foggy brain to put the words together in a way that wouldn’t sound completely insane. Suddenly, my arm exploded in pain: Bloody letters appeared, carved into my skin by an unseen force: *SEE YOU SOON*. Where was emergency services? Hadn’t Kristina called them? My brain was too addled by the fumes; I couldn’t think straight. *And why was Kristina holding a knife?* As the bloody words had appeared on my arm, my hand had flailed wildly, knocking over the teacup. A faint scent of bitter almonds rose from the spilled liquid, and I finally realized the truth: It wasn’t Mandy who’d tampered with my brakes. It wasn’t Mandy who’d fed me sleeping pills with wine before placing me inside a running car in a sealed garage. It wasn’t Mandy who’d put arsenic in my tea. Kristina advanced on me, a razor sharp knife in her hand and an insane smile on her lips: “You’re tired,” she cooed. “Your head hurts. Don’t fight it…it will all be over soon.” I stood woozily, knocking over the plates and dishes that had been my parents’ wedding gift to Kristina and I. They shattered on the floor as I staggered toward the door. Mandy’s voice screamed into my left ear with such force that I dropped, clutching my head– And barely missed the shining edge of Kristina’s knife as it sliced through the air. My phone began to ring in the pocket of my denim jacket. *Jacket.* *Phone.* I had no doubt that it was that unknown number again…or that my only hope was to call emergency services, get out in public, and try to stop my wife’s knife with the thick jacket cloth until help could arrive. As it turned out, the nightmare was over as soon as I made it out the door with the phone in my hand. My neighbor Taylor was out for a walk with his Labrador and two toddlers; the moment he saw me practically falling off of my porch with terror in his eyes, he knew something was wrong–and Kristina knew that there would be witnesses. Kristina didn’t resist when the police came for her. She just stared into space with a vacant expression, a hollow look that explained it all: helping me start my career, marrying me, taking out a high-paying life insurance policy that I’d barely looked at before signing–it was all part of her plan to profit from my death. *Mandy had been trying to warn me.* I didn’t hear from Mandy for years after Kristina’s arrest. There were no more dark figures in the fog or gruesome words scrawled on the walls. In a strange way, I almost missed them. They were a reminder that someone was waiting for me on the other side–that somehow, the strongest human emotions carry on, even through the veil of death... A few days ago, I went to my doctor for a routine check-up. As he came through the door with an armload of paperwork, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket: I’d received a text. “We’ve got the results of your blood work back,” my doctor began. There was a helpless look on his weathered face that I didn’t understand. “To be honest, it doesn’t look good. You might want to sit down…” My eyes were already drifting to the message from an unknown number that glowed on the screen of my phone: *see you soon.* <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] One of my old friends from summer camp said he saw a ghost in our cabin one night. Now I realize what he really saw that night. [RESPONSE] When I was a kid I used to love going to summer camp every year. Even if I wouldn't go with my school friends I was still happy to make new ones. I've never been shy or socially awkward, I've always been popular, never cocky or rude though like you may think. I tried my best to be nice to everybody. I always have. One summer, probably my second time at summer camp, when I was 8, I was put in a cabin with kids that were super shy and reserved, who never spoke and just kept to themselves. The boy who I shared a bunk with, was about my age so I tried to make conversation with him over the first week. I eventually found out his name was Norman. He seemed almost hesitant to talk to me over that week, but after he started speaking to me I realized he was a great kid, and funny too. He would never shut up when he was talking to me and we did everything together. He was loud and crazy. Then, he just...stopped. Out of nowhere, he just stopped talking. Like he wouldn't speak to me or anyone else for that matter. I asked him, "Hey buddy, what's the matter?" and he would just shake his head and walk away. I was disappointed that I had lost my friend, but I thought that it's best not to dwell on it, and just try and make new friends, if he doesn't want to talk who am I to force him? I got along pretty much fine without Norman and things seemed to be going ok. One night, I woke up in the middle of the night, like around 4 in the morning. Unable to get myself back to sleep, I got up to grab some candy I had hidden in my bag, It was dark and couldn't see anything properly. I thought they must have slipped to the bottom of the bag and there was no point searching so I gave up. I turned around to see a figure sitting upright in Normans bed. Startled, I jumped back in fear and took out my flashlight, I don't think I will ever forget the look on his face. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was hyperventilating. I climbed up onto his bed and asked him if he was alright. "I saw something, I see it every night. It won't leave me alone. It's going to kill me harry." My little sister would wake up crying most nights, but they were nightmares, so I hugged him and told him it was probably a dream and he'd be fine. This became a routine where he would wake up every night saying a person was in the cabin staring at him with a knife, and that they would get closer every night. He would usually wake us all with his hysterical crying, and nobody in that cabin got a good night's rest. When camp was finally over, Norman left to go home, and nobody ever saw him back there again. I forgot about this story because it seemed stupid and it was just about a troubled kid with nightmares, I wish I knew what was happening sooner. My husband is a huge fan of crime related stuff, He watches a certain documentary with discusses a murderer from each time period, and the episode he was watching was about a 1980's killer. I was bored so I sat down to watch it with him, when I saw a picture of a little boy, he was ginger and smiley, I'd recognize that face anywhere. It was Norman, the narrator went on to discuss how he first encountered this murderer at his summer camp, and it would come to him every night. A month after he left, he was found dead in his bedroom. Stabbed. One of the camp leaders was sent to jail about 13 years later for stalking and murder.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I broke up with my girlfriend after what we found in the woods [RESPONSE] Before this happened, I would’ve said Bess was perfect. She was funny, ambitious, smart, and yes, attractive, too. But the biggest thing, is that she calmed and quieted my anxious and noisy mind – just being with her made the world a bit less overwhelming. I’m a nervous person, so of course I was nervous to meet her family – especially since we’d only been dating a month, but she was insistent. She’d actually started asking just a week after our first date, said her family was so important to her, and became more and more upset each time when I didn’t say yes. Eventually, I got the feeling that if I said no again, that’d be the end of our relationship, so I finally agreed. She was from this small town about five of hours away, so not only was I meeting her family for the first time, it was also our first time traveling together, too. We decided to make a trip out of it and gave ourselves a few days before the day we planned to meet up with them. The trip started out really well. We got to spend a lot of time outdoors, and she seemed happier than I’d ever seen her. Bess never seemed to love the city with all its lights, noise, and people. She was certainly in her element out there where trees vastly outnumbered people. In fact, I rarely even saw another person besides a few employees at the motel and grocery store. And then, the day came to meet them. We were supposed to meet them at 9:00 at night, which I thought was a bit late for dinner, but agreed to. The thing that really threw a wrench into the whole thing, was when Bess told me in the late afternoon on the day of, that she wanted to go for one last hike before we met them. I wasn’t super enthused over the idea – I was already close to an anxiety attack over meeting everyone (she said her family was pretty big), I didn’t want to be sweaty and exhausted on top of that, but she looked so miserable when she said she needed just a bit more fresh air before we went back. She said it was a short hike, so I agreed. Once we started, I had to hand it to her, it was amazing at the beginning. The trees were tall and densely packed so they and cast a cool shadow over us and many of the leaves had already begun to turn yellow in the crisp autumn air; those that had already fallen crunched under our feet. A small, clear, stream meandered back and forth near the trail, lazily splashing along the water-worn stones It was a fairly easy hike for the most part. She had a map that she had printed at the motel and flashed at me to show the trail went in a big loop and was only a few miles long. Even though it was beautiful, I couldn’t fully enjoy it – I kept checking my watch anxiously since we only had a few hours to spare. She said she’d timed everything and didn’t seem concerned, but she wasn’t exactly the most punctual person herself. At one point, Bess’ eyes lit up – she grabbed my hand and told me that she wanted to see something. She led us into the thicker trees off the trail, but I wasn’t too worried about our detour at first since we had the map. As we went on, there were wear marks through the grass and dirt along that path that snaked between trees. We also encountered assorted debris that indicated that even if it wasn’t part of the trail, we weren’t the first people to come this way. It was odd though in that instead of trash, we instead came across items of actual value strewn throughout the woods. Every so often we’d come across trekking poles, boots, or bits of tarp that littered the ground. I’d even seen some pricey jackets shredded and tossed carelessly into high branches of the trees, casting odd shadows below. The gear varied in age, but some of the stuff so carelessly tossed aside looked brand new. We went on longer than expected and despite heavily hinting that I was ready to go back, she continued forward, kept insisting that the we’d hit it the trail any moment now. I was worried that we’d be late to dinner with her family, and I really didn’t want to make a bad first impression. As the terrain became harder to navigate, I was so focused on my feet and the trail that I lost track of time and only really realized how much time had passed when the sun began to sink below the horizon, vastly reducing the light around us. Everything around us seemed to hazily blend together in the low light and I had lost track of where we were about three sharp detours ago, so I desperately hoped she was right. So, my stomach dropped a bit when she looked around, a thinly veiled look of concern on her face, and confessed that she’d accidentally left the map in the car. She still said she was certain it looped back around, we just needed to go a bit further. And then, it was 7:45 already. The further we went, the more a thick silence settled around us. Eventually, I couldn’t hear anything besides our own footsteps. The silence had a palpable presence to it. I had the feeling that wild things were still moving and calling out around us in the fading light, it was moreso as if the sound had been stripped away. As we went on, despite Bess there with me, I felt strangely alone. She was usually always smiling, joking, laughing, but like the woods themselves, she too had fallen silent some time ago. I was never really afraid of the woods at night before, but with the creeping darkness and knowledge that we were utterly and completely lost, the trees seemed to take on an ominous cast as the last of the light began to fade. Every now and then I thought I saw something glide lithely through the spaces between the trees, but whenever I turned to look there was nothing there. A hint of earthy decay mixed with something metallic smelling wafted through the gnarled trees ahead, which most certainly did not improve the ambiance. The creek we walked along gradually lost all of its charm as it became wider, deeper. The further into the woods we went, it became a sinister shade of nearly black, and gave off an awful odor. I have this inexplicable fear of deep or dark water – anything where I can’t see the bottom, so walking alongside it did not help my growing sense of dread. Bess no longer followed any pretense of a trail and didn’t seen even remotely concerned about being late or even lost, for that matter. She led me through thick vines, steep drop offs, and uneven ground. She stared straight ahead with a singular and unbreakable focus, only turning around every so often, emotionlessly, to make sure I was still behind her. I could feel pressure in my ears the further we went into the dense woods. At one point, as she slid sideways between trees and dropped out of my sight entirely, and into the darkness. I had a bad feeling and a brief moment of panic, but was able to catch up with her. “I think we should just turn back”, I panted, the long hike and rough terrain wearing on me, but she didn’t seem to hear me, or pretended not to. She navigated so effortlessly, with steps that seemed almost practiced. In contrast, my clothes and skin were getting snagged on thorny branches, and despite using my flashlight I found myself tripping over roots, rocks, and the occasional object left behind by people that walked this path before us – one time I nearly fell on my face tripping over an old, stained hiking boot. Still, she continued on. I was worried since the temperature had been dropping quickly ever since darkness had enveloped us, and we weren’t prepared to spend the night out here in the woods. I couldn’t help but continue to shoot uneasy glances at the gaping blackness of the creek, as if I expected something to crawl out and drag me in. I saw something bobbing in the water that startled me and made me do a double take – it looked like a person was floating face down. I inhaled sharply and hesitantly stepped over some fallen branches and headed to take a closer look. I flashed my phone light towards the water and to my immense relief, it was just one of those big camping backpacks. I couldn’t help but notice though, that area had a strange feel to it – a mournfulness, and took one last look. When I turned back around, Bess was directly behind me, blending in with the shadows. I hadn’t even heard her approach. She was only inches away and stared at me in the near darkness, her eyes narrowed at me. As we stood and she studied me, I became intimately aware of how close my feet were to the sharp embankment, and gave an involuntary shudder. “Something feels wrong about this place. Do you feel it too?”, I asked quietly. She thought for a moment before nodding solemnly. I asked her if we could turn back, but she told me we were almost there. I’d lost confidence in her navigational skills hours ago, but I didn’t want to leave her alone in the woods (or be alone in the woods myself to be honest), so I followed her despite my incredible unease. As we continued on, I could see the outlines of more odd objects, which turned out being more camping gear and clothes in various state of ruin and decay – in the creek and strewn upon the banks. There were some crumpled tents, even what looked to have once been a very expensive mountain bike. There lingered a sort of despair in this part of the woods that weighted me down the further we went. After a while longer, I decided I’d had enough and stopped. It was 8:50. It had been several hours, and I really hoped that she’d told her family where we were going beforehand so at least someone knew where to look for us when we didn’t show up at their place. I was frustrated and upset by this point – she’d made such a big deal about me meeting everyone but seemed to sabotage the chance of them actually liking me by taking us on this seemingly endless trek through the woods and being too stubborn to turn back. She’d become cold and acted strange the more lost we became, which wasn’t helping. “I’m going to head back!”, I called out, since she’d gone so far ahead of me. I hoped that would convince her. Not only were we totally going to miss dinner with her family, but we had spent hours off trail, in the darkness. She stopped and just stared at me, making it clear that she wasn’t moving, and waited for me to approach her instead. She smirked at me as I did, and I noticed that her face looked odd in the shadows – her eyes seemed… longer somehow… and they had taken on an odd sheen. In the moonlight, it looked as if something was rippling just under the surface of her skin. “You promised you’d meet my family. Don’t you want to meet them?” she asked, as she leaned closely to me. Her voice was soft but strange. I looked at my watch pointedly and stared at her, thinking she was losing it. I shined my light around us to demonstrate that we were clearly in the middle of nowhere, and noticed that clothes, gear, and shoes littered much more of the ground here. The smell of earthy decay had intensified to the point where I could almost taste it – I tried not to gag. I suddenly felt an odd pressure in my head. Perhaps if not for the shroud of silence, I would’ve heard the twigs snapping in the distance, or the branches moving high in the trees. I did eventually see them, though. The silhouetted forms just beyond where we stood. There were so many of them. The pressure grew so intense that my ears popped and I felt a sharp stabbing pain my head, worse even than anything I had felt before. I felt myself drop to my knees, trying to stay aware and conscious through the pain. I tried reaching around blindly for Bess but couldn’t find her. When I managed to focus again, I could see there were people encircling us from the shadows. No. Not people. Looking more closely, even in that scant light, I could tell that the faces were wrong – they were too long, too slender. The bodies weren’t right either, but the eyes were the worst part. Multitudes of teeth glinted at me in the moonlight. I frantically looked around for Bess, only to see that she was a part of the circle that had formed around me, and stared at me with a predatory sort of look I’d never seen on her face before. She started to shudder and twitch as her skin rippled, as if something was trapped underneath and aching to come out. Whatever it was, I knew I didn’t want to meet it. While she was in that prone state, I ran straight towards her, and shouldered past her, taking her by surprise. Sharp nails from her neighbors in the circle grasped at me aggressively as I slid past, slashing the back of my backpack. I quickly realized that they were far more agile than I was and even worse, when I turned around, I saw that my ruined bag was leaving a trail of items in my wake. I was forced to toss it off to the side as I stumbled through the darkness, hoping that’d maybe throw them off and buy me some time. I knew they’d have no problem catching up with me, that plus the growing number of clothes I was forced to dodge, some with rotting pieces of the original wearers still inside, made me doubt I’d ever make it home again. I eyed the opaque black water of the creek, and yes I did seriously debate if I’d rather be torn to pieces, or face my irrational but intense fear. At the lack of sound and as pressure in my ears intensified again, I could tell I didn’t have much time. I ran to the steep bank, and slid into the brackish creek. I tried to obscure myself under the backpacks, tents, clothes and did my best to keep silent which was difficult after finding clumps of hair and other things I’d rather not describe, floating in that stinking water. I frantically wondered if they’d come in the water after me – did they hunt there too? Or had the remains of their victims just been carelessly tossed here? I feared I’d feel the objects covering me lifted away at any moment and be dragged out forcefully. Since I couldn’t hear them, despite knowing they were up in the trees and searching along the ground, I tried to keep covered and moved only when the pressure in my ears subsided. At one point, I heard Bess, in her strange voice, calling out to me, on the bank just next to me. It took me hours to get away because I feared that if I moved too fast, they’d come for me. I spent most of that time coated with the remains of hikers and campers, and others likely brought to ‘meet the family’, that were long gone from this world, but I finally made it back to my car safely. I made the five hours’ drive home without going back to the hotel for my stuff. I didn’t stop even once and bolted my door from the inside when I got home. I moved out of that apartment not long after and tried to avoid any place I knew Bess to frequent. I did eventually see her again though, she was beaming at another guy my age, her hand intertwined with his. Looking back, I wish I’d thought of a way to warn him, but instead I just froze as they walked by and she smiled at me. I just hope he didn’t agree to meet her family.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Violet Red [RESPONSE] Hi. I'm still having a hard time comprehending what happened to me. I've just stolen a guy's laptop (as you do), guessed the password and am typing this. So, for context, my name is Eliza and I'm homeless. I ran away from home at age 10 because my father had started becoming... attracted to me. Let's leave it at that. I don't want to get into details. I've been kind of wandering from town to town since for the past 2 years. Until I got to this little town named Blackthorne. My first night there, I was looking for a place to sleep when I met a woman named Carolyn Adeena. Bumped into her on the street. She was pretty. I remember that. Almost too pretty. Perfect red hair in waves, perfect teeth and skin and *everything...* almost fake. Like an exaggerated Madelaine Petsch, now I look back on it. At the time, though, her beauty seemed comforting and inviting. She saw me sitting on the side of the road and threw me some money. "Hi!" she exclaimed happily. "What's your name?" "Eliza." I answered. "Eliza!" she exclaimed back. "Such a beautiful name! But I see you don't have a place to stay, is that correct?" I nodded. "Well, come back to my house then!" she said. "You can stay there for a while!" "No." I said. I knew better than to trust those kinds of offers. She frowned. "I know what you're thinking." she said. "I'm not one of those types. I swear. It honestly kind of stings you think of me like that. We just met and already you assume I'm going to kidnap you? No wonder no one gave you money before me if you treat them all like that. Not everyone's a bad guy." I sighed. "Fine." I said. "But you gotta show me around your house. I'm still..." I shut up, already ashamed of what I had said to her. "Fine." she said, taking my hand and pulling me along with her. "My name's Carolyn, by the way. And I promise I'll give you a better life." ....... I met Carolyn's mother, Polly. A homebound woman in her late 70s who was in a wheelchair and could barely talk. Her teeth were black and she couldn't even go to the bathroom by herself. It was a bit sad being in her proximity. But Carolyn was always so cheerful. And true to her word, she never once tried any funny business on me. She gave me a trundle bed in her room, we had movie nights, I had enough to eat for once... For about a week, things were good. ....... Until the day I woke up locked in my room, the door locked from the outside. There was no window, so I was trapped. I could hear voices outside. A sense of dread filled me. I pressed my ear to the door, but only heard little snippets of conversation. "-suitable friend-" "-Thelma deserves the best-" "-no one will notice-" "-homeless kid-" I started mildly panicking, wondering what they were going to do to me. And then the door opened and a woman walked in. She was plump and grey-haired, with a double chin. She wore a purple headband and a red robe with a gold braided belt. She looked at me and said, "I'm going to get you out of here. This can't continue." "What?" I said. "What can't continue?" "Carolyn didn't want to help you." she said. "She only wants another friend for... her." "Who's her?" "Something that used to be my best friend." "Stop talking in riddles!" I whisper-yelled. "Get that girl in here already!" yelled Carolyn's voice from the next room. "Are you getting slower as you get fatter?" And then a laugh. "Just let me play with her first!" came another woman's voice. At that point, I think I fainted. When I came to, I was tied to a chair with what looked like an altar in front of me. A ring of red candles, on a red table cloth, and in the center, a picture of a freckled little girl with orange pigtails and glasses. The little girl was smiling, but even though it was a picture, something seemed... off about the smile. It didn't feel genuine at all. Carolyn, now dressed in a dark bluish-black robe with pictures of stars and moons all over it, stood and smiled at me. A smile not too dissimilar from the girl in the picture. She held a dagger, with intricate pictures of stars and moons all over it. She gently poked my throat with it, but even that was enough to draw blood. We appeared to be in a basement of some kind, with six other people standing in a circle around us, including the woman from earlier. "I said I would give you a better life, Eliza." said Carolyn, wiping the blood off my throat with her finger and licking it off her finger. "And now, I will." "Can I play with her?" asked another woman in the circle, a brunette with pigtails. "When she's dead, Eve." promised Carolyn. She was about to fully drive the dagger through my throat when... The grey haired woman from earlier knocked three candles off the table. The tablecloth quickly caught on fire, and spread to the carpet, and everyone started panicking. I tried to wriggle out of my bonds, and the grey haired woman untied me when everyone else was panicking. She nodded to me and I flew up the stairs, breaking a window and running out, leaving the others to their fates. But I know they aren't dead. Or at least I know the grey haired one isn't dead. Because I saw her yesterday. In the woods, just when I was about to leave that horrible town. We stared at each other in silent acknowledgement. But just before I left, I asked her a question. "Hey, uh..." I said. "I never got your name." "It's Violet." she said. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My family did a bonfire ritual last Halloween. Now they’re all dead. [RESPONSE] It was my father’s idea. He’d always been into the holidays, especially Christmas and Halloween, and he loved finding weird activities for us to spice up our normal festivities. He’d scour the internet for obscure customs for eggs at Easter or a homemade recipe for eggnog that took hours to make and tasted like ass. Or, as he did last year, a Halloween bonfire ritual. He didn’t tell us much about it ahead of time, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. Me and Mom had been around long enough to be used to his bullshit—we knew it was better just to ride it out with as few questions as possible, as questioning or complaining never did anything but slow the whole process down. As for the twins, they were only ten and thought pretty much everything Dad did was awesome. That had nothing to do with the fact that he spoiled them constantly, while the main thing he gave me, his only son, was a hard time. No, nothing at all. Still, I couldn’t bitch too much about the bonfire thing. Bonfires were cool, and as far as his holiday bullshit went, it didn’t take too much effort. We just had to light a big bonfire on Halloween night, and when the fire was out the next morning, we spread the ashes into a circle. Once the circle was made, we each picked a rock and put it inside the circle near the edge. Dad told us that we’d come back the next day and check on the rocks. That’s where the details of it all got a bit more fuzzy. When Mom asked *why* we were doing any of this, he just shrugged. Said he’d been skimming through different Halloween customs online, and this one was something about telling your fortune over the next year. He’d laughed. Said his main goal had been to have a bonfire on Halloween, but if we wanted, he could always track down exactly what the stones were supposed to mean. I shot Mom a look and we both started shaking our heads. She smiled at him. “No, that’s okay, honey. The bonfire was fun either way.” That seemed to satisfy Dad at the time, and it wasn’t until the next afternoon that he came in from the yard, his expression worried and tense. The rest of us were all in the living room watching some dumb show on t.v. at the time, and when he walked in and turned off the show, the twins started to do their spoiled baby whine. He shot them a hard look and told them to be quiet, and I sat up. Whatever this was, it was serious. “What’s the matter?” My mother tried to keep her voice light, but she still sounded concerned. My father gave her a slight smile and a shrug. “Nothing, it’s nothing.Just...who took the stones from the bonfire circle?” He glanced at each of us in turn as he spoke, his face drawn and pale. “What stones? Oh, you mean the ones…” He cut her off, his tone harsher now. “Yes, Martha, the stones we put in yesterday morning. I just thought about it, and when I went to go check, they were all gone. So I want to know who took them.” My mother frowned at him. “Why would anyone take those rocks? Couldn’t they have just rolled away or gotten moved away by the wind?” Dad was already shaking his head. “We built that fire on a level spot, and there hasn’t been much wind the last few days. Definitely not enough to blow our rocks out of the ash circle.” He turned his gaze back to me. “So who moved the rocks?” I met and held his gaze, though I could hear blood thrumming in my ears. “Not me. I thought it was dumb to begin with. I mean, the bonfire was cool, but I never knew what the point of the rocks even was.” Staring at me a moment longer, he finally shifted to the twins. “Girls? Did you take the rocks we put out there?” “No, Daddy,” they said in unison. “John, what’s this about? What’s the big deal?” “Martha, did you take them?” Mom rolled her eyes. “No, of course not. But what does it matter? Why are you upset about some rocks anyway?” He seemed on the edge of some decision then. Perhaps an internal weighing of whether he should say more or let it drop. After a couple of seconds, he forced another small smile. “Nah, it’s nothing. Just dumb Halloween stuff, right? What do we want for dinner?” **** That was the last we talked about it as a family, and after a couple of days I forgot about it. The next few months were a pretty good time for all of us, and that following summer I was busy getting everything ready for moving into a college dorm for the first time. I was going to miss being close to my family and high school friends sure, but there was also this nervous excitement when I looked into the unknowable future that lay before me. I was online looking at places I might want to get a job near the campus when my father called me. I could barely make out anything he was saying because he was crying so hard. Mom had been carrying the girls to dance class when they got t-boned by a logging truck. They were all dead before the first sirens got there. I almost deferred on school. Told Dad I could start a semester later without it being a big deal if he wanted me to stay around a few more months. He told me no in that hollow way he always spoke now, words echoing out like musical notes from a mechanical organ with no hand or heart to guide them. Even then, as I wracked my brain for some way to make things better, I never thought about the bonfire or the stones. Not until my Dad begged me to come home this past weekend. He’d been growing more anxious and strange the last couple of times we talked on the phone, and I’d been planning on going home for my fall break in a few days anyway, so I didn’t seem the harm in skipping my last couple of classes and heading back early. I knew something was wrong as soon as I pulled into the driveway. The grass was overgrown and there was trash piled up on the side porch. And when I tried to get in the front door, my key still worked, but the door wouldn’t budge. Knocking and calling for him to open up, I heard him undo three more locks before he cracked the door and peered out at me with red-rimmed eyes. I could smell alcohol on his breath, and when he swung the door wide and swept me up in a bear hug, the stale sweat stink of him nearly took my breath away. Hugging him back at first, I finally pulled away and walked past him inside. The house was not filthy, but it was messy and cluttered with filled trash bags. Walking further in, I saw several empty beer cans in the living room and harder stuff on the half of the kitchen table I could make out from there. Dad seemed to pick up on my worried look as he patted my shoulder. “Sorry. Been meaning to clean up more. I thought you were coming on Saturday.” I frowned at him. “Dad, it is Saturday. How…have you been going to work? Going out at all?” He gave me a wan smile and shrugged. “I have, sure. Just less lately. I can do a lot of my work from here, and they understand…bereavement leave they call it.” I nodded. “Okay, I mean that’s good. But…you don’t look so hot.” He’d turned and relocked the front door. A chain and two more deadbolts on top of what had already been there. Keeping his back turned, I saw his shoulders slump. “I know how it looks. I’ve just been going through a real hard time. I…I feel like I’m somehow responsible for what happened to your Mom and the girls.” When he finally did turn, his face looked haunted. “And lately, the more I think about it, the more afraid I am that the same kind of thing is going to happen to me and you, crazy as that sounds.” Sitting my bag down, I stared at him. “Dad, that *is* fucking crazy. That was the stupid truck driver’s fault. Not yours. What’re you talking about?” Tears springing to his eyes, he looked up at the ceiling. “That bonfire. That damned bonfire game with the rocks and all. Me and my stupid bullshit. I didn’t think there was anything to it, of course. Half forgot about it after we did the rocks.” His lip began to tremble. “But when I did remember and I went out and looked…when the rocks had all disappeared…I looked it up again, right there in the yard before I came inside. Remember me coming in and asking you all about the rocks being missing?” I nodded slowly, my stomach beginning to twist in on itself. “Yeah, sure. I do. But listen, I…” “Well, I looked back up what that whole thing was. I’d been wrong. It wasn’t just a way to seeing your future for the year. It was…oh God…It was supposed to warn you if you were going to die in the next year.” “Dad, just let…” He raised his hand and kept going. “No, I’ve kept this a secret for a year, and it’s been eating me up, especially since…this summer. I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want you to hate me or think I was crazy, but I have to say it. The…the website said that it was an old ritual, and that if a person’s stone was damaged or disappeared by the next day, that meant they’d die before the next Halloween. And…” Dad buried his face in his hands as he began to slide down the wall to the floor. “And I don’t know if it just predicted it or if it *caused* it, but they died! And if it did cause it, then *I* caused it, didn’t I?” He snuffled wetly into his palm. “And if that’s true, what’s to keep it from taking you or me?” The hall felt like it was spinning, and my knees were shaky and weak as I knelt down next to him. “Dad, that’s not the way the world works. It was just some silly superstition. And the stones didn’t just disappear. It was my fault.” He looked up at me, eyes still streaming. “What’re you saying? You’re just lying to make me feel better. I appreciate it, but it doesn’t…” I grabbed his arm and gave it a squeeze as I softly interrupted him. “No. Come out back and I’ll... I’ll see if I can show you.” Helping him to his feet, I took him out the back and across the yard to the toolshed. Heart in my throat, I looked between the back of the shed and the small propane tank that fed gas to the heater and oven in the house. At first I thought it was gone, but then I saw it, tucked further back in the shadows underneath the tank, but still there. Sucking in a breath, I reached in and pulled out a small shoebox that had once held Jenna or Jasmine’s ice skates. Turning toward my father, I opened it up and showed him the stones inside. “I took them. I did it later the same day we put them out. At the time I thought it was going to be a funny prank or something, but then when you came in and acted mad about it…I guess I got scared. I played dumb, and then I forgot about it after. I…” I felt tears springing to my eyes. “Jesus, I’m so sorry. I had no idea you’d been obsessing about this the entire time.” Dad looked in the box and then up to me. “This…this isn’t right.” I shook my head. “It is. There’s no magic. Just bad fucking luck and a kid who was too dumb to see what his Dad was going through. I’m so sorry.” He looked at the stones again. “No, we’re still not safe. Not until we can find…” Sighing, I pushed past him. I needed to end this now, and maybe reversing what I did was the only way to really convince him that everything was…well, if not okay, at least not going to get any worse. “Fine then. I’ll put them back where I found them, okay?” I could still see the sooty edge of the ring of ash in spots, even after all this time. Was that strange? Wouldn’t it have washed away a long time ago? Or the grass grown back there already? No, I was letting him infect me with his weird crazy grief. This needed to be over. “You’re not listening to me. That’s…” Stepping over into the circle, I dumped the stones back out onto the ground. As I looked back up, I tried to keep the frustration out of my voice. This was all my fault, after all. “See? They’re back. We’re fine. And they’re just rocks anyway. None of this actually means…” “There’s only four.” He wasn’t looking at me now, but down at my feet, and as I followed his gaze, I felt my tongue grow thick. He was right. I hadn’t noticed it before, but there had been five stones when I took them. One for each of us. Now one of them was missing. Forcing a smile, I looked back up at him. “Dad, it still doesn’t…” The day split in two as a thunderclap sent me hurtling twenty feet back until I finally slid to a stop on the far side of the ash circle. Eyes watering and ears ringing, I looked around for what had happened. That’s when I saw my father, somehow still standing. What was left of him, at least. When the propane tank blew, a foot-long shard of metal had cut him nearly in half between his neck and right shoulder before missing me and burying itself deep into a far garden wall. He stood there staring at me as he peeled apart like a wilting flower, and then he just toppled over dead onto the ground. I wanted to scream, but my chest hurt too much. Gasping and coughing, I slowly got my breath back enough to let out a small wheezing wail as I crawled my way forward. I stretched out one trembling hand and grasped one of the rocks I’d dumped out so casually before, gripping it now as though my life depended on it. It was a pointed chunk of dark granite, and I remembered picking it as my rock the year before clearly. Letting out a weak sob, I crawled to put my rock in the center of the ash circle, far away from the uncertainty that lay beyond its edge and nestled close to where the bonfire’s light had once lived. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] What Remains of Dr Ashley [RESPONSE] I knew a man once by the name of Dr. Ford Ashley. He was a brilliant biochemist and my mentor for the better part of 3 years. When I met Dr. Ashley in June of 2005 he was a character to behold. He stood at 6 feet even but was as thin as a pencil. He had very pale skin and a very slight but consistent cough. He greeted me in his lab with a smile and a weak handshake before coughing into a white handkerchief that seemed to always be in his hand. By this point I had completed most of my schooling and was looking for an expert to help hone the skills and start my own lab someday and do my own research. Ford as I had come to call him was at first, very introverted. He told me about the things he was getting paid to work on and taught me various techniques to make things faster and easier. It wasn’t until around November of 2005 that I started to learn more about him and his personal goals. Whenever there was free time in the lab he would be searching for cures to various degenerative respiratory diseases. He was a visionary when it came to this, always knowing the outcome before asking the question it seemed. Around the anniversary of when I started working with Ford I began to learn his true motivation. Up until this point it seemed Ford had spent nearly all of his time at the lab. I would sometimes leave late into the night and return early the next morning only to find Ford toiling away. He never seemed to need sleep either. It was July of 2006 where that slight cough got significantly worse, to the point that it began leaving red and black splotches on that handkerchief. I asked him about it one day and he would only say it was a bad cold or some other common ailment. I walked into the lab one morning in late July and noticed that Ford wasn’t there. This had never happened before, I’d always either meet him there or more commonly, find him already working. I called his name and no answer came. I didn’t think much of it so I started getting ready for the day, checking the equipment and whatnot when I noticed the door to the office next to the lab was slightly ajar. I went to the door and called out for Ford once more as I opened the door. I saw the crumpled form of Dr. Ashley lay on the floor, blood and black ooze pooling beneath his head. I rushed to him and propped him up in a chair and thankfully, he awoke. I asked what had happened and he asked for a glass of water. I saw I would get no further with questions at this time so I got him some water and went out to get us breakfast across the street. To my surprise, the day carried on as normal. When we were getting ready to lock up the lab for the night, Ford explained the details of his condition. Since he was a kid, Ford was near constantly sick. Never anything major, he never went to the doctor. It was always just a slight, dull ill feeling he described it as. The most notable symptom was an ever so slight cough. Near imperceptible if you weren’t looking. Steadily this ailment worsened, not extremely just taking more physical form. When he was about 20 the cough became more prominent and his skin became a sickly pale shade. He said it felt like his bones became frailer as well though he never wanted to test it. These worsening conditions fueled Ford’s interest in the medical field. He went to school for years studying anything and everything he could. He went to doctors though none of them saw anything specifically wrong with him. Dr. Ashley became cynical to the outside world, starting a life of seclusion and deciding he would be the only one who could save himself. That was, I suppose, until he met me. After learning this we both took some time off. We came back to the lab in August of 2006 though I suspect Ford had been there long before I came back. Very soon after we got back into the swing of things, Ford clued me in on his plan. What I am about to say sounds like some nonsensical science fiction, but Ford somehow had made a working prototype. His plan was to counteract his body’s weakness, which he found out was more rapid cell decay than normal, by absorbing the essence of other living things. Ford rolled back his sleeves to show me what he had done. Tubes now ran line veins down his arms. He took off his shirt to reveal that the tubes ran out of his back and they plugged into a sort of grinder like device. This device could be handheld and it had a large enough opening to fit a coconut. At first, Ford would leave it on a desk somewhere and whenever he was feeling particularly ill, he would plug in and feed it a houseplant or two. I was terrified of the machine for some reason. It somehow felt cold and distant not just because it was an inanimate machine, but in a way that only a severely depraved human could be cold and distant. A bit of time passed on like this and I got used to the machine. It was now April of 2007 and Ford seemed healthier than ever. He got rid of the handkerchief and even started going for walks at the local park whenever he had a chance to get away from the lab. He seemed happy for a change. Then all of a sudden, his condition rapidly started deteriorating. He ended up worse than he started, skin began to dry up in patches and fall off completely, he was coughing near constantly and half of the time blood was coming out. He could barely stand. Here is where I did the first of a few bad things to come. Ford collapsed once again and his breathing was ragged. I could tell he would die if I didn’t do something soon. I plugged him into the machine and threw some plants into it. It did nothing. My mind raced and all of a sudden, my feet carried me out of the lab and down the hall. There was another lab that tested beauty products in the same building. I went to that lab, grabbed a rat, and came back. I don’t know how I did what I did next so easily but I threw the rat into the jaws of that awful machine. Ford perked up moments later first thanking me profusely, then consoling me. He said it was a ‘necessary evil’ and at the time, I believed him. We got back to work for a few days when for the first time ever, Dr. Ashley actually wasn’t there. I searched around for him but didn’t see him. Everything was locked up properly and I noticed the machine was gone. Ford did not show up at all that day but I got a decent amount of work done. The next day Ford apologized for his absence and said there was a family emergency he had to tend to. I didn’t think anything of it. Midway through the day, Ford asked if I wanted to go on a walk in the local park, he said he had found a pretty spot overlooking a large field. I said yes though I said we’d probably be gone the rest of the day as the park is a very large nature preserve. Ford was adamant and said we would take the rest of the day off. So off we went, into the woods of the park and began to climb up a mountain. I hadn’t had too much time to explore this place as a kid so I was following every twist and turn Ford took to a t. It started to get late when I noticed that Ford wasn’t carrying the machine. I don’t know how I hadn’t noticed but I assumed it was at his house or something. Slowly, day became night, just as we got to the mouth of a cave. I was very uneasy at this point but Ford somehow convinced me that we were lost, and should spend the night in the cave. It was a fairly tight squeeze to get in, the entrance was maybe 3 feet tall and it was decently well hidden behind some hanging moss. I wondered how Ford had been able to spot it. The mouth of the cave looked unstable too, like any sudden force with any sort of weight behind it could collapse the whole thing. My eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness and I saw horrors I could not believe. I saw bloodied and torn up bones, hunks of flesh strewn about and blood spatters and hand prints on the walls. I tried to let out a scream but my mouth would not open. “Why are you so scared?” a crazed voice echoed through the darkness, “Can’t you see this is progress? You helped to make me everything I had ever wanted. This is all because of you!” I ran for the exit as I heard the saws of the machine hum to life. I looked back to find Ford already upon me. I managed to dodge out of the way enough so that his attack only grazed my leg. It still sawed a chunk clean off. I pushed or punched him, maybe a few times, it's hard to remember but I managed to make some distance. I sprinted for the cave entrance and jumped out into the cold night air. I slammed on the top of the mouth as I heard the whirring of gears come closer at a rapid pace. Finally, rocks began to fall and sealed off the tunnel with piles and piles of loose earth. The device Ford had wielded shifted from a brilliant man’s magnum opus, his font of life, to a hungering steel maw, devoid of any emotion or prejudice. I don’t know for sure how many people he had killed. Ford had been overtaken by lunacy. He had become nothing more than an animal whose only goal was survival. I sometimes pity the man to this day, even after all he did, as he did fail in the end. The maw became too hungry, and when I unsealed the cave I had trapped him in days later, the machine had eaten most of his body. It was either wholly gone or shredded beyond recognition. No one knew who Dr. Ashley was or that he had even died, until now I suppose.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] A God in the woods feasts on strange meals. [RESPONSE] (TW for drug mentions) My life didn’t start out easy. I was handicapped by addicted parents and then into the foster system until I aged out. With being at rock bottom before I could control any aspect of my surroundings made it understandable that I wouldn’t turn into a productive member of society. Only to continue with the cycle I’d been burdened with. For a very long time I assumed my choice of friends, couch hopping and addictions could be blamed on everything but myself. When I was nineteen, I already moved around to great deal of different couches and on the verge of being homeless. I’d also gotten into some pretty heavy drugs for about six months at that point. The place I found myself staying at was a party house. The entire place trashed and not fit for humans to live inside. Yet so many of us passed out after taking our vice of choice to wake up and do the same thing. I guess that wasn’t really living. A new girl showed up one night. I’ve never seen her before and thought she looked too, well, shiny to be around us. She almost had a light coming off of her. I didn’t talk with her and I didn’t know who she came with. I quickly drowned in my own vices and blacked out for most of the night. I woke up to see her on the couch, face far too pale. I got up, and turned her over on reflex. I suddenly felt very sober when I saw fluid coming from her mouth. I didn’t think it was possible for someone like me to act in the proper way in such a dire situation. Somehow, we got her help at the right time. She lived and needed her stomach pumped. I never even learned what her full name was. After the ambulance left with her, it all hit me at once. Sure, I grew up in terrible conditions, but she clearly didn’t. She nearly died by going down the same path. She made the same choice I did. But she never should have been there long enough to make that choice. We all knew better. I felt as if I nearly killed her along with the person she bought the booze and drugs off of that night. We all had choices. Sure, at first things may have started out terrible but I made the choice to not try and improve my life. I’d gotten to this point because of my own. I couldn't keep blaming everything else on things I couldn’t control. After that night I got away from that group of people and did everything possible to become a better person. I never wanted to almost the reason why someone died, or keep pinning my problems on anything else. Sure, crap happens but you can always do something to improve, even in the slightest. The first year was rough. Really rough. I nearly died from withdrawals, or at least it felt like it. I worked hard not to fall for the same vices, feeling the need down to my bones. An ache always there wanting and needing the poison I refuse to give my body. Id’ hoped this feeling wouldn’t always be with me. Some days I might not even notice it, and other I almost couldn’t get out of bed due to it. For over five years I stayed clean. No drinking, only cigarettes to calm my nerves. Even when weed became legal I didn’t touch it. My life looked great for how I started out. Then, the world came around and pulled the rug from under me. I lost my job for no fault of my own. The pandemic really did a number on my company and they needed to cut back on employees. I needed a job and went so far to take a few fast-food shifts to keep my apartment. With the work hours not coming in, and bills piling up I sunk down to a bad mindset. That feeling of wanting something to take the edge off nearly over taking everything else. I was at my fast-food job, about to clock out for the night. Everything cleaned up and I had another co-worker with me. He'd gone out to take out the trash ten minutes ago. The dumpster just five steps outside the door and I got worried a bag ripped and he needed helped cleaning it up. I opened the back door, smelling the reason why my teenaged co-worker was taking his damn time. I went around the dumpster to find him and two other people huddled away from the cameras. The cameras weren’t pointed at the door, only at the dumpster to prove the trash got taken out, and no homeless men got trapped inside overnight. The company didn’t care to see if anyone went back inside so that’s how he got away with smoking. At this angle the camera didn’t see them if they crouched down. “Dude, couldn’t you do this after our shift? Just come in and clock out and came back outside.” I said, feeling pretty annoyed he was getting high outback and not helping me with the end of shift cleaning. “Holy shit, Noah? I thought you died or something.” One of the older guys said between coughs. I looked at him long and hard. The lines of his face making him look ten years older than he should. His teeth half missing and fingers stained from smoking. He was one of the guys I hung around with and the other one with him was my dealer back in the day. I got acid reflex just looking at these two. Sure, I was working at a crappy fast-food place but I could have ended up missing most of my teeth and huddling in the back of a dumpster getting high at one AM. Clinton, my old dealer laughed at seeing me after all these years. His laugh turned into a long loud cough that did not sound good. “You two look like you died ten years ago. Come on.” I grabbed my coworker by the arm and lifted him up. He protested but let himself get dragged inside. I pushed him in and closed the door so I could face the two from my past. I hated the smell of them mixed in with the rotten food in the dumpster. Dylan stood up, careful to be out of the way of the cameras as if he knew where they were. Hell, I bet these two provided for half the people working here. I crossed my arms trying to look tougher than I was. They were pretty thin and worn down from continuing on with the life I abandoned but I knew they could kick my ass if it came to it. “You got a girlfriend these days?” Dylan asked shuffling over. The smell of him made me want to puke. But that ache came back. This still lit joint in his hand reminding my body of what I've been refusing for so many years. I shook my head wanting to get myself back on track. These two needed to piss off and never come back. I didn’t want my co-worker hanging around them. They always led people down the wrong path by promising such little things to start with. “You two-” I started and got cut off. They both got close and I was forced against the door. I refused to let the fear of them show on my face. For a second I thought they might get violent but for what reason? I didn’t think I left owing them money and stealing my co-worker away didn’t matter. If they were going to do a deal, it would have been finished ten minutes ago. “If you need money, we have the Shack going again. You should bring a girlfriend over. We pay pretty good.” Dylan said, his voice low. Clinton looked around nervous. He kept scratching at his arms and clearly wanted to leave. A cold wave came over my entire body. I heard about the Shack but never confirmed if what went on in there really happened. If even half of the terrible stories were true, I needed to bring the full force of the law down on whoever was running it, and fast. I’ve went to the Shack once to deliver a package but didn’t go inside. I just handed off what was needed and left. I only got asked because I was trustworthy enough to know the location. After leaving that life behind, I forgot all about it until Dylan brought up all those memories. I shook my head but he kept talking. “Just think about it. We can pay you in other stuff too. I can tell you need it.” The dealer said and his friend laughed a bit too loudly. My hands were trembling. I gripped my arms tighter trying to hide that fact. I hated what he said held a little truth. I wanted to forget about my bills and stress for just one night. Or at least for a few hours. At the end of hard shifts, I found myself wondering if just one night would really hurt in the long run. “Get fucked.” I turned on my heel, opened the door and it hit Dylan in the face with it. I slammed the door before he could attack me for hitting him. They came around the front to bang on the glass once and left. They knew there were cameras at the front and in the parking lot because we’ve had people smash the windows before. My co-worker asked me what that was about but I went into a lecture about him hanging around those guys. I may have told some tall tales to scare him enough to never want to see them again. Each story was based in truth so I didn’t feel bad about sorta lying. I got him safely home because I didn’t trust him getting on the bus properly. Once he was inside his place, I drove off, just making a long loop of the city the thoughts of the night eating away at me. I didn’t know if Dylan was messing with me mentioning the Shack. I debated on calling the cops to check it out. But if they found nothing that would tip off Dylan and Clinton. Plus, anyone else running it. They would know who called and that risked my life. I didn’t want what I heard about to keep going on but I also didn’t want to be kidnapped and killed for reporting it. That made me feel selfish. I had to do something. I decided on going to the Shack myself and checking it out. If I gathered some evidence that led to the right people getting arrested it might work out. it also might get me killed spying on them and secretly filming what went on around the Shack. And who knows, maybe Dylan was just messing with me and the old rotten place fell down years ago. I didn’t work the next day and got ready for my new mission. I put on some boots for hiking, a water bottle and my cellphone an external battery for it. After all these years I still remembered the location in the middle of the woods only after going to it once. That was my one useless talent. I could remember to go anywhere, even in the dark, after going there a single time. That talent really didn’t come in handy very often. I arrived to the woods in the middle of the day. It didn’t look like it though. Grey clouds overhead and the trees bare. It wasn’t overly cold for the season but I still zipped up my jacket. I parked my car a block away and started to walk down the dirt road that led into the woods. I quickly went off the path at the tree marked with read spray paint, faded with age. It wasn’t a very long walk from the road to the small run-down shack in the middle of the woods. I don’t even know why it was ever built out there. Maybe a hunter did it for when he spent time in the woods and other people just took it over in time. Every step caused dead leaves or twigs to crunch under my feet. A sharp breeze blew, making me stop for a second and get the dirt from my eyes the wind picked up. When I opened my eyes again. I was met by a baseball bat in mid-swing a second away from impacting my head. I could only stand and take the hit, unable to move out of the way in time. The hit knocked me over, but not out. The other two swings of the bat took care of that. I’d been so stupid. A pair of guys that had burned out their brain cells for most of their life out smarted me. I couldn’t forgive myself for falling for such and obvious trap. When my eyes opened, being awake came with throbbing headache. I jumped; my body tied down to a chair so I didn’t get very far. I glanced around trying to figure out how bad of a situation I landed myself in. I was inside the Shack, that much was clear. The floor made of packed down dirt, and faint light showing through the cracks in the wooden boards for walls. The single window dirty and covered in spider webs. Clinton waited for me to wake up. He smiled and called out for Dylan who apparently took a few steps outside to use the washroom because I took so long to wake back up. A red light made me focus on a camera mounted in the small space and hidden behind Clinton for a second. “Oh, good you woke up. I thought we would need to dump some water on you or something.” Dylan said when he came back inside. If they hadn’t pout duct tape over my mouth, I would have told him off. He ordered Clinton to get the camera set up outside saying that the Shack was too small for what they needed to do. Countless horrible mental images ran through my head of what these two had planned. They dragged me in the chair outside, the sun starting to set to show how long I’d been out for. A camera on a tri-pod sitting outside hooked up to a laptop. Why would these two record this? Wouldn’t that bite them in the ass? They made sure I was in frame and from the looks of things, the camera was recording the entire time. My stomach sank when I assumed right that this was being livestreamed. Dylan saw my expression and smiled. He loved being in a position of power over someone who saw him worth less than a cockroach. “We are livestreaming this. We get paid pretty good for these shows. But lately we’ve run through most of our connections to use so thank God we came across you. We always knew you thought you were too good for us. We had a bet if you called the cops or came by on your own. The outcome would have been the same. We would put on a show, but if it was with the cops, we would need to find a new place to hold the shows.” What was he, a Saturday cartoon villain? Why bother telling me any of this? I already felt more terrified than I ever had in my life. Telling me details of what was going to happen wouldn’t add to that. I soon realized the reason why he went on talking for as long as he did. Neither him or Clinton were going to be the ones to put on the show. They were just the one to lure others in a run the camera. No, the main star still in the woods. When it came into view, I knew my previous statement been false. I could feel even more fear. My body shook and I screamed through the duct tape. Standing between two trees came a massive creature. One that should be impossible to get to this size. I’ve never seen one in person but knew right away what I looked at. A wild boar. The features mostly what all boars had. A long line of bristled fur ran along its back. Two massive and stained tusks came from the side of its mouth. The thing came closer and I swear Dylan’s head didn’t reach the boars shoulders. How the hell did this damn thing get so big? I stared directly into the boar’s eyes, seeing how unnatural they looked. Another breeze came and it blew away leaves from the clearing we all stood in. The dirt once hidden under the leaves a dark red color that twisted my stomach. I had no trouble figuring out what the next few minutes held. The boar getting ever closer, the rancid breath overpowering my senses. For a brief second, the eyes of the creature glowed a bright white. Then the thing came down on me with all its weight. I felt the teeth rip into me down to my bones. I screamed a muffled sound, my entire mind only feeling pain. I wasn’t even aware the chair broke apart and my bindings came undone. If I was being eaten alive, then what was the point of knowing that? Those teeth weren't sharp and I wished they were. They ground against my bones, eating and pulling something out off of them. And then pulled at something from so deep within myself. The pain went beyond my physical body and into a part I never knew was there until those teeth found it. Piece by piece, it tore out from me. I didn’t think anyone should feel this much pain and still be alive. I begged for death only to have my mind finally shut down. After everything I fully expected to be dead, or in pieces in front of the Shack barely alive. I opened my eyes to sounds of people shouting. Sitting up, my body oddly was whole. My chest felt light though. Too light. I was missing something I didn’t have a name for. I screamed when I saw the boar nearby. The camera and laptop crushed under massive hooves. A choking scented came over us and I found the source. Instead of tearing me apart, the boar had made a messy meal of Dylan and Clinton. I got sick and heard the shouting again. In the distance I noticed flashlights in the dark trees. “They shall take your freedom. Come along with me.” A voice spoke and it took me a few seconds to figure out it came from the boar. The words deep and they rolled over the dead leaves. The voice much like what I assumed a king might have. I looked again at the humans making their way over and knew right away they were cops. If they saw me standing in the middle of, well, Dylan and Clinton, questions I did not have the answers for were bound to come up. The boar that caused me so much pain and I hesitated going over to it. The thing nearly left me behind. With some issues, I climbed up on the wide back and we were off running through the trees, far away from the bloody scene. The powerful beast ran like the wind. I kept a tight grip on the fur, my body feeling so light the fast pace making it almost impossible to stay on for too long. We finally stopped, the boar tossing me off. I landed painfully at the base of a tree but at least I was still alive. I rubbed my sore back, swearing. “What the fuck just-” My angry word cut off seeing a new sigh in front of me. A man stood in front of me instead of the boar from a few seconds ago. I looked around for the monster wondering how the hell it left so fast. I then focused on the person who replaced it, my mind working slowly. He was tall, and very large. But large in a way professional weight lifters are. Most people think of a guy with muscles on muscles for that profession but those are body builders. In my experience the guys who could lift a bus had a gut and not a six pack. He wasn’t wearing a shirt so it made it easy to see his big arms almost as thick as a tree. He thankfully wore some sweat pants and oddly enough, a cloth hanging over his face. Seeing the long-bristled hair going down his back made me put the two pieces together. “Seriously, what the fuck.” I asked feeling exhausted. The man laughed, making the cloth in his face move. He shifted his arms into a stretch but thankfully went into explaining things soon after a small warm up. “I am a God. I made a deal with those two that I’ll eat the ones they bring me and they can film if for their little side project.” He explained. “A... Pig God?” I asked slowly. “Boar.” He corrected but didn’t sound angry. “We live to eat and I rarely find things I haven’t tasted before. Those two were running out of suitable meals so I ate them ready to move on. But they did bring me you. What I ate out of your bones one of my better meals of late, and I do hope to have it again.” I backed up against the tree as far as possible. He confirmed he ate something from me but I didn’t know what it was. I paused to self-reflect trying to see what was different. All my memories seemed intact. All my feelings, then what was it? I still knew my name and age. The answer finally came when I noticed his light I felt and how my hands were only shaking from fear. “You... ate my addictions.” I said slowly trying to wrap my head around the idea. The God laughed so loudly it shook the bare trees. I winched at the sound and because he took a step closer. His hands open wide and I thought he either wanted to hug me to eat me. “The taste of it rotting away your bones and soul just so sweet! I wished I had more of it! You went without vices for years, making it wear you down and get so rooted into yourself that it would have made you collapse from the inside. I love it! Those two nothing compared to that taste! But that addiction craving is going to come back. In a year, or two, or ten. You did well holding it back. And you’ll do well when it returns. I’ll leave you be for now, but I shall check in on you to see if you have created a meal for me in the future.” He said, and his words gave me chills. I shook my head but he refused my answer. With a large hand on my shoulder, he started to guide me along and I figured the way out of the woods. I looked up at him trying to think of a way to avoid the pain I felt a second time. Was it worth going through all that so I didn’t have my cravings for a few years? “The police...” I started. “Do not worry about that. They shall think an escaped feral pig or two ate the ones we left behind. They’ll find some and shoot them.” He said without a care in the world. “But they didn’t eat them. Are you going to let two pigs take the fall for your crime?” I pressed. “I am a God. They live to eat and be eaten. And to serve whenever I ask.” He really sounded as if he didn’t care sacrificing two lives just to leave this whole thing all neatly wrapped up. I looked up at the cloth over his face realizing I may never fully understand his reasoning or agree with it. “What’s with the cloth?” I asked finally. He stopped, not expecting the question. He thought about it for a minute and shrugged his large shoulders. “I have no decided on a face yet. I should the next time we meet.” I hated the fact that I needed to see this creature again. He was a God and I held no power to stop him from coming by again to eat away something that is going to rot me from the inside in the future. “Do you have a name? Or is it just Boar God?” I asked him. I expected him to think about this for longer than the answer about is face. He came up with a name rather quick which surprised me a little. “Brawn shall be fine.” He put his hands on his hips, almost expecting me to praise him for picking out a name so quickly. I didn’t acknowledge it and he awkwardly started to walk again. I started to hear sounds from the road making it clear how close we were from reaching society. I stopped to look up at Brawn about to ask him if he was going to keep following me or not, of if I was free to go. “I think I am going to look around where you humans live for now. I may find a meal just as good as the one you gave me tonight. I am going to return to you. In five years, or ten. Not matter the time frame, I am going to be back to eat the rot from your bones. You forced that desired down and I expect you’re able to do it again. You did a good job for these five years little human.” The God spoke, his voice a bit softer than before. I wasn’t expecting those words to really mean anything. The first part I got nervous over but I realized I didn’t have a single person give me any praise for staying clean for as long as I did. I went to meetings and heard empty words from the people there, but no one really meant it. They just said it so I repeated the same thing back to them. I’d fought for years by myself and never thought much of it because I assumed other people dealt with much worst. I didn’t want to go through the same pain of having that part of me ripped out again. I knew if I gave in to avoid Brawn coming around again, I would lose everything I tried so hard to achieve. I looked back on my current life, suddenly not feeling as much dread and stress as before. I still had my apartment and a job. I wasn’t homeless yet and had options compared to before. If I got through my childhood, I could handle everything right now. “I guess I’ll see you in about five to ten years. Thanks for saving my life and well... taking care of my other problem.” I told him, a smile on my face even with my head hurting as much as it did. “You really should be more careful and not let drug dealers outsmart you like this. But I do not believe solved the rot within yourself. It’ll come back. You kept it down all on your own and need to do it again. I only gave you a small break.” For a big scary boar God, Brawn could sound pretty nice. I still didn’t want to hang out with him. The cloth covering his face and the unknown behind it really creeped me out. I started walking again leaving the tall man behind. I glanced over my shoulder a few times expecting him to follow but Brawn disappeared after the second glance. I knew it wasn’t the last time I would see him. I came out on a road near where I parked my car unsure if that was by chance or not. My head throbbed and it was a miracle I didn’t get any lasting damage from the baseball bat to the face. I went into work the next day as if everything was normal and got a few questions about my bruised forehead. I lied saying I fell down my apartment steps. The co-worker who I dragged away from Dylan and Clinton started looking at me strangely. After those two didn’t show up again he assumed I got into a fight with them and won to scare them away from the place. I got a little bit of respect for that. Sure, most of them bought from those two but wouldn’t have if they knew what kind of people they were. It all came out after the feral pig story. For a week no one at work talked about anything else between our duties. Slowly, things started to even out. I got regular hours, bills paid and plans made. After a few months a familiar ache started to creep back into my core. I knew I just needed to put up with it. I could do this. That rot wasn’t going to drag me down after I put so much into the life I wanted. It’s not much. I’m never going to change the world or cure cancer, but I'm happy with what I’ve worked towards.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] It's been 13 days since the Teen Purge started, an annual event where the 18 year old's in my town go crazy. I chose to run away from my fate. [RESPONSE] 13 days since the 2022 Teen Purge. October 1st, I had hopes and dreams and the naive thought that I would actually escape this town with a smile on my face. That I would start fresh in college, and I'd never have to think about Littlewood again.  I'm writing this from the ruins of our old diner. This will be my last post.  …  …  … When the bus came to an abrupt stop suddenly, I pressed my head against the window and peered out, hyper alert of my surroundings. I was seeing a large glass building which reminded me of a school, or maybe a hospital. It looked far more modern than anything in Littlewood. It hit me that this was the Halfway House we had been promised solace ever since we were kids. I vaguely remembered our class being told about the curse and quickly following that up with, “But we’ll keep you safe. Like we do every year, we send our seniors to a place of healing to prepare them for the outside world after going through such trauma where they can mend.” When in actuality, I knew exactly what it was. The whispering in my head had revealed the Halfway House’s true meaning. Inside that building we were going to burn. We were going to fucking burn and nobody was coming to save us. Not our parents or the town. Leaning back in my chair, my gaze flicked to the front where two armed guards were beginning to escort my classmates off of the bus. I had already made my decision when I grabbed Kenji’s sleeve and yanked him under the seat in front of us. He let out a sharp gasp, almost a sound of protest. “Bee, what are you—” Slamming my hand over his mouth, I pressed myself into a ball, pulling him further under the seat. The thud, thud, thud, of the guards' boots sent slithers of fear creeping up and down my spine.  They passed us. I could hear their breaths, their muttering to each other. The guards already knew our game. I sensed them checking under each seat—which motivated me to shuffle myself further under until I couldn’t breathe. Kenji didn’t move, his breaths sharp and heavy into the flesh of my palm. After a moment which seemed to go on forever, thudding boots retreated back towards the front of the bus. I squeezed my eyes shut when the engines started up once again. Gripping Kenji for dear life, I settled on taking deep breaths. We were going to get out, I thought. We were going to escape. “Can you get off me?" Kenji tried to squirm from my grip, but I tightened my hold on him.  “Shh.” I said under my breath. “Don’t make a sound, okay?” Once the bus started to move, keeping a firm grip on Kenji’s sleeve, I pulled us from our hiding place and lifted my head, scanning for somewhere better. The back was our best bet. When I started towards it, dragging Kenji with me, however, I spotted two familiar faces already in hiding. Jonas and Mira. Kenji let out a low grumble, and part of me couldn't belive he was still salty about Jonas in this situation.  Without speaking, we joined them, with Jonas shuffling back so I could join him, pulling a reluctant Kenji with me. It was an uncomfortable squeeze but we were safe. I allowed myself to breathe when the bus fell into a steady drive. But I didn’t have time to relax. I was considering asking Jonas in low whispers why he had chosen to hide, when once again the bus came to a jolting stop. “Forty six?” The bus driver all but squeaked from the front.  “What are you talking about?” Shit. Shooting the other’s a panicked look, I weighed our options. Four against one.  We could easily get past him. “No. No, we did a sweep of the bus! There’s nobody on here." Jonas twisted around, shooting me a questioning look. What the fuck is wrong with him? He mouthed. I pressed my index over my lips in response.  The bus driver’s voice was eerily shaky. I could hear every tremble in his tone. “Check? Yes! Uh, yes, I’ll check now. Don’t worry, alright? There’s no more kids on this bus.” When the driver started down the aisle in a bumbling stumble and ducking under each seat,  I attempted to hide. I mean there was nowhere to hide, though I at least tried to shove myself uncomfortably further under the damn seat until we were squashed like sardines. “Hey!” The driver’s steps quickened towards us and I felt my body catapult into fight or flight. “What are you kids still doing here?” When I lifted  my head to meet his eyes, I expected anger. There was no anger, however. I was seeing frustration and fear, trickles of pain blooming in wide cartoon-like eyes. The guy was keeping his distance from us, I noticed. Like we were teeming with the plague. It was a curse, not a contagious virus. "What do we do?" Jonas murmured.  "We stay here." I hissed back.  "But he's looking directly at us."  Before I could stop him, Jonas was awkwardly dislodging himself from the gap underneath the seats. He jumped to his feet and raised his arms in mocking surrender. His smile was bright, but there was an underlying darkness in his eyes, and I had no doubt he wouldn’t resort to violence. “Yeah, I’m not a fan of the whole half-way house thing,” he said. “I’d rather just ride back into town and go and see my pops.” His lip curled. “I need to see if he’s okay. I need to check if he had a break in." “No.” The driver’s eyes filled with tears. “No…” he shook his head rapidly, his arms trembling at his sides. “You're not. ” "What, so I get possessed by the dead souls of my ancestors and now I don't have basic human rights?" Jonas rolled his eyes with a scoff. "You're legally inclined to let me go. I don't want to go to some weird halfway house and pretend I didn't gut my best friend's mother, alright? I'm going home, asshole." The driver didn't move. "I'm telling you to… to stay back." He moaned. "Please. I have a wife. I have a wife and two children."  A look of hurt sparked in the boy's eyes, and his lip curled. “The curse is over, Jackass. I'm not going to kill you." Jonas cocked his head. "Are you…crying?"  I chose to stand at that point. Kenji followed hesitantly. The driver stiffened, backing away. “I said stay back!" He hissed out. “Do you hear me?” His shaky hand went into his jacket, his eyes squeezing shut like he was expecting something. Pulling out a phone, the man's fingers nervously tapped the screen. He didn't take his eyes off us. “I’m taking you kids back to the Halfway House, alright?" He nodded at us like we would agree if he looked as pathetic as possible. And he did. The guy looked like he was ready to drop to his knees and beg. “Just… stay there.”  I caught the exact moment he dropped the notion of an authority figure. His lips twisted when Jonas ignored his instructions and took a casual step towards him. If this guy had a gun, I knew he would use it. Instead, he stumbled back with a cry. “Don’t fucking move! I mean it!” Jonas smirked. “Like this?” Another step. This time, the man let out a shriek. “Jonas.” Kenji said. “Dude, stop. You're scaring him." "Scaring him? What's to be scared of?" "I don't know," Kenji whispered, "but don't get too close, okay? He looks freaked." “Why?” Jonas twisted around to look at him. “This guy’s got fucking problems.” I caught a glimmer of that maniacal glitter left over from overnight. “Let me guess,” Jonas laughed. “Do you see dead people?” In three strides, he was face to face with the guy. Nose to nose. The driver was petrified to the spot, like Jonas was inhuman. "You look like you're about to shit yourself over a bunch of teenagers, my guy. Kind of pathetic, don't you think?" "I…" The man's bottom lip trembled. His breaths were heavy, his mouth twisting and turning and trying to speak. I would have felt sorry for him, if it wasn't for him being responsible for bringing my class to the slaughter. He couldn't even get words out, wide eyes pinpointed on Jonas and Kenji like they were ghosts. Something was building in my head, a pressure harsh enough to make my nose bleed. I found myself staring out of the window. I had initially caught the movement of a lamppost swaying back and forth. But there was no wind. When I squinted, I noticed more things which didn't make sense; a patch of flowers which had been planted outside the Halfway House were… drooping. No, not just drooping. They were blackening, rotting away into their soil, petals being whisked into the air  and coming apart.  It was 10:30 in the morning, and the sky was darkening.  Kenji started forwards and grabbed Jonas’s wrist, and with the two of them so close, the man let out a childish whine which only confused Jonas further. Outside, a tree I was so sure had been standing tall and proud, crashed onto the ground suddenly, the force of the impact rattling the bus. I fought to hold on. The pressure was building in my brain, and suddenly I couldn’t… I couldn’t breathe. “Hey!” Jonas yelled in the driver's frozen face. “What did I say, huh? The curse is over! You don’t have to be scared of us anymore, so how about you—” Bubble-gum. It sounded like bursting bubble-gum. I didn’t hear the latter half of what he’d said because the bus windows were suddenly bright red, dripping red. The floor was red, the seats, and the ceiling. Jonas was red, and I could feel splatters of it on my cheeks and speckled on my chin. The others had gotten the worst of it, but it was still painting me. The red was warm and wet, like I had bathed in it. It was at my feet, pooling and spilling and spattering every colour from existence. I felt like I was back in on the school corridor being suffocated by a wet rag pressed over my mouth, horrifying images projecting into my hand from the fumes. But these weren't delusions. This was real. It was happening.  There was a dizzying moment when I thought it was raining blood before my brain found reality and I blinked at the spot where the driver had stood in front of us—and it began to dawn on me. I hadn’t been looking at the man when he popped out of existence. I was watching the leaves on the trees outside start to brown and then blacken into nothing. Like there was an invisible force decaying everything in its path. Jonas, who looked like he was starring in Cannibal Holocaust, twisted around to face me with wide, almost unseeing eyes. He looked like he might say something before the bus shook, and I forced myself to move, to find the window.  Outside, the ground had started to crack apart, zigzagging raptures spreading like fire across the sidewalk. Kenji grabbed my arm and pulled me off the bus, Jonas diving off first, Mira on his heel. The world was crumbling around us, I realised. I could see it in flocks of birds flying across the sky in a panic. When we found solid ground, Jonas started hyperventilating. I was half listening to him mutter obscenities to himself, eyeing the growing sinkhole eating up everything in front of us. A woman jumped into her car and attempted to drive straight ahead before another tree collapsed, crushing her car. “This is the curse.” Jonas said shakily. The four of us teetered on a safe piece of sidewalk. “It’s got to be, right? But why would they still be mad?" Mira wasn’t speaking. I think she was frozen. Traumatised. I could barely see her through the red. “Nope.” Kenji murmured. He swiped blood from his eyes with his sleeve. “It’s because we’re refusing to save the world.” “What?” Jonas spluttered. The ground started to split in front of me and I staggered back, my stomach galloping into my throat. “He’s brainwashed.” I found myself gritting out. “Kenji’s convinced we’re saving the world.” “Like… like The Avengers?” Jonas grabbed his arm with a laugh. “Dude, did you hit your head?” “No.” “Then what are you talking about?” “Didn’t I make it clear I didn’t want to talk to you?” “Well, you might as well! Since the fuckin’ world is ending!” He paused. "If this about me and Wendy--" "Is this really the time?!" "Yes! I swing both ways, man. It's 2022. So take that as you will." Kenji laughed. "You're telling me this now?!" “Stop.” Mira cut in, her cry breaking into a sob. “Just shut up. Shut up! I can't think!" Their back and forth was barely a whisper in the back of my mind while I watched chaos unfold in front of me. Have you ever heard a human being explode? It kind of sounds like bubble gum bursting. I glimpsed a running man hand in hand with a little kid before both of them went “Poof!” against the store window, painting it in a whole new colour. Like a domino effect, the town's people started rupturing like the ground beneath us. I was staring at an old woman struggling to hobble through a panicking crowd when the mayor announced himself via megaphone across a particularly large crack in splintered concrete. Armed guards surrounded him and I wondered if whatever this was would spare him. “Stay exactly where you are!” “Do you understand me? Do not move!” When they risked coming closer, part of me revelled in seeing fear prickle in their eyes. Behind the mayor, was our principal. His face beet red. The guy was seething. “Can you kids understand what you have done?” Uh, yeah. I think we had accidentally caused the death of Littlewood. I didn’t say that, though. I wanted answers and Kenji and Jonas seemed in their own world, watching our town crumble around us. “The curse.” I said shakily when they were close enough to hear us. The bookshop I’d frequented my whole life started to crumble behind me, windows splintering with the force of the quake. But It barely fazed me. Neither did the little girl screaming for her exploding mother showering her in scarlet. “Who really started it?” The mayor dropped his megaphone. “If I tell you, will you hand yourselves over?”  Even his voice was shaking. I nodded. “Of course.” His lips twisted. “No fighting? No more questions?” “Sure.” I said, gesturing to the world around us. “You should hurry up though. Unless you want to turn into brain soup.”  If the phenomenon happening around us wanted to take the three of us, we would already be dead. It wasn’t targeting us, however. It was killing everyone except us. Which spoke volumes. “Uh, no,” Jonas hissed, tugging on my sleeve. “We should run. Like, right fucking now.” “Let him explain.” “Bee, are you serious?” “Very.” I told him, before directing my words at the mayor. “I want to know why you made Noah Sharpe kill my mother eleven years ago." The mayor looked like he might argue or even attempt to capture us right there and then. But he didn’t give the order. Instead, he pasted on a strict smile. “Two hundred years ago in the year 1799, the elders of this town made a grave mistake,” He cleared his throat, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “Littlewood was on the brink of collapse. Woman were unfortunately barren, and nothing they tried would work. We had no other option and were forced to make a terrible choice. Our elders prayed to an entity and asked for good luck and prosperity to help us through trying times.” “Prayed?” Kenji frowned. “Like… to a God?” “You could say that.” The mayor smiled proudly. "No, you said…  you said there was a fire," Jonas whispered. He was already in denial. "That's what you told us! You told us there was a fire which killed a bunch of kids…and we’re punished because you didn’t help them. Because you let them burn.” The mayor was doing a good job of skirting around actual conversation. He nodded gravely. “That was the story we told you, yes. However, that would cause panic. The truth is our ancestors sacrificed fifty teenagers in the year 1799. They were a gift to this entity in control of our beloved town. As you already know, human sacrifice was practised in those days. Some say it was normal. Human blood and life force was seen as the greatest gift Littlewood's bearers could accept— as well as souls from an elder.” He folded his arms. “However, what they did not know is that those sacrifices were… impure. They had engaged in certain activities which would be deemed… unsanitary, or maybe that's not the word for it. They, ahh–" “They fucked.” Jonas cut him off with an eye-roll.  "We get it." The mayor’s gaze found the ground. “Indeed.” He said. “Angered, the entity demanded more than the town could give it, and when town’s people started to notice rotting food and animals disappearing, rumours of a beast lurking in the trees beginning to circulate, they struck a deal. Every year following, the eighteen year olds, with fifty being the minimum, would be sacrificed as our punishment.” “Burned.” I corrected in a scoff.  The man found my gaze. “In those times, yes. Burned at the stake. However, throughout the years we have found a far more humane way to complete the ritual.” Yeah. Incineration. “I’m not a virgin.” Jonas said dryly. “That doesn’t matter.” The mayor said. “Virginal or not, fifty sacrifices were demanded to make up for the towns sins. If the debt wasn’t paid, however, the entity threatened a wrath greater than hell on earth to strike our town and then the world.” This time he lifted his gaze and looked me directly in the eye like I was supposed to feel guilty. “What we call The Teen Purge would be child’s play in comparison to what they have planned for us,” he continued. “If the correct number of sacrifices are not made, Littlewood will fall, which will cause a domino effect. Destruction will spread to neighbouring towns and then cities, followed by countries across the world, killing billions of people.” The mayor gestured around us as spattered red. “As you can see, we are already seeing the start of it.” “So… two hundred years ago, you idiots prayed to an inhuman entity and actually expected them to give you what you wanted?” Mira whispered. Then she laughed to my surprise. “You killed fifty kids because a faceless presence told you to?” “Like I said, Mira,” The mayor’s tone grew cold. “Human sacrifice was considered normal in those days. I’m not saying what our ancestors did was right, but they were starving. Their women could not bear children.” “What does that have to do with turning us into psychopaths?” I found myself asking, my voice was trembling. “Why did Noah kill my mom?” This time, the man wore the slightest of smiles. “Do you really think parents would agree to us murdering their children if we didn’t make them fear them? If we didn’t plant the idea in their head that it was their twisted child’s life or innocent towns people? Your parents were as in the dark as you. In their eyes, you were cursed. Killers. You had to be taken away.” “You’re kidding.” Jonas looked frantic, his eyes darting around, searching for an escape, “Do you seriously think I’ll die for a town which has ostracized us since were five years old? Who made us think we were fucking monsters?” “Mr Lockhart, the sole reason why this town is crumbling around us is because you are still breathing.” The Mayor told him. “Right now, forty six seniors have been… gifted as part of our yearly ritual. That is not enough to stop them from destroying us. We need exactly fifty sacrifices.” “Well, good luck finding them.” Jonas said in a choked laugh. “I’m sorry, but no. If you think I’m going to willingly sacrifice myself, you’re deluded!” “Jonas.” The principle at least tried to be sympathetic. “I know you don’t want to do this, but which would you prefer? A world which is no longer recognisable, one which you wouldn’t be able to survive anyway, or a peaceful euthanasian? Your father is still alive. You will be saving him.” “I don’t care!” He sputtered. “You think I give a fuck about anyone in this town? You’re an elder,” He accused. “Why not give yourself to them, huh?” “That’s…” The Mayor looked taken aback for a moment. “Mr Lockhart, that is incredibly disrespectful.” "So is murdeding our entire senior class! " He gasped out, his body trembling. Jonas backed away, grabbing Kenji’s hand, and then mine. I held on, but Kenji wrenched away from his grasp, his eyes far too empty for me to bear.  “The girl who told me she had a siren in her head,” He said softly. “She said I was going to save billions of lives, and this is what she meant.” Jonas let out a sound of distain, and Mira laughed again. Her laughter was hysterical. There was a content smile on Kenji’s face and I realised with a pang in my chest, that I preferred it to the agony twisting his expression when I’d found him. I wanted him to be happy, to be at peace. But not like this. I wanted to run away with him, with Jonas and Mira, even if this twisted fate demanded otherwise. Kenji strode over to the guards, with two out of four spontaneously combusting in their helmets before the remainder grabbed and restrained him. For a moment, Jonas looked like he might join him. I saw it in his expression, in his eyes filling with tears.  He took a shaky step forward like he would abandon self-preservation for a boy he had confusing feelings for, a boy who was locked into a fantasy nobody could pull him out of. Before he turned on his heel and ran. I watched him go, concrete splintering under his every clumsy step, as he pushed himself into a sprint. I respected that Jonas had chosen himself over the town. His own life over 7 billion people. He didn’t owe Littlewood anything. “Mr Lockhart!” The mayor yelled, a look of panic twisting his expression. “Go after him! We need fifty sacrifices!” The guards hesitated. They were scared to get near any of us.  “Go!” After hesitating, they were stumbling after him, but Jonas was already out of sight.  He nodded to the remaining guards holding Kenji. “Take him to the halfway house. They’re waiting for him." At his words, I found myself backing away, and an almost childlike look of pain crossed his face. “Bee.” The mayor stamped the ground like a child, like he was having a tantrum. “Did you not hear him?” He shook Kenji like a doll, his smile widening into a grin. “You’re going to save the world!” No. I laughed at him. In his fucking face. He had to be kidding! He’d taken away my mom, and Noah— now Kenji. My entire fucking class. To make up for a mistake THEY had made. We were being punished for what they had done.  For 200 years, we had suffered. Because of them. And he expected me to give myself up? One look at Kenji told me he would never follow me. He had already made his choice. Still though, I smiled at him. And he smiled back. Not a Wonderland Smile, a real smile. “You’re insane.” I found myself spluttering. “You actually want to die.” Kenji rolled his eyes. “Die?” He said. “Who wants to die? No, Bee. I don’t want to die.” My friend laughed, and the guard holding him flinched, as if a single movement or expression would trigger him to combust like the others. “What did I tell you? I want to go visit my dad before Christmas. I want to move across the country and start fresh in a new college. I want to…” he pulled a face. “I want to eat New York pizza and kiss a stranger, make mistakes that I learn from. Maybe I want to go skinny dipping in mid-December, drive through late night traffic with my head stuck out of the window singing to cheesy pop. Barf all over myself after too much drinking, and then do it all over again the next night because I have zero self-control.” The more he was speaking, the more I realised I was losing him. No, I’d lost him. Kenji was speaking in goodbye, and there was nothing I could do to stop him. Because, if he had made his choice to give in to his fate, then what business did I have trying to save him? He would only hate me. He was doing a bad job of acting like goodbye didn’t matter to him though, swiping at sore eyes. “The list goes on, Bee! Of course I want to live, idiot,” he laughed again, though it was more of a sob. I thought I was getting through to him. I knew deep, deep down, he didn’t want this either. But Kenji was a good person.   He stepped out of the guards restraint , and into my arms. He was warm, and I held onto that. “Nobody ever wants to die,” He mumbled into my shoulder. I squeezed him tighter. “even on the edge of life, even with that storm cloud over their head, the suffocating pressure in their chest. All of that anxiety and pain knotting up their gut telling them they’re not worth it. That they should give up. They all still want to live. They want that reason to keep going.”  I knew exactly what he was talking about. Why I couldn't step in front of traffic or cut open my wrists. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe not all of Kenji was gone. His eyes were far too sad for me to call them empty. Brainwashed. “But,” he stumbled over his words, pulling away so abruptly, I felt like all the air in my lungs had been sucked away. “How is it fair that I live while everyone else dies? Our whole class, Bee. How could I stay breathing while they sacrificed themselves for us every year prior?” “They didn’t have a choice!” I said through gritted teeth. “Do you really think they willingly walked in there? They didn’t want to die, Kenji!”   Kenji’s eyes flickered to the guards in front of him, and for a moment it looked like I was getting through to him. He made the slightest of movements, his hand grasping hold of my wrist, fingernails digging into my flesh. I felt that desperation to live. Even if he insisted it was the opposite, I knew he was putting on a brave face. But then our Principal was gone, and more red was spattering my face. Kenji let go of my wrist and stepped away from me for the final time, allowing the dwindling guards to grab him. I finally understood what the mayor meant. The longer we were breathing, others were suffering and the town was falling apart. Except I couldn’t bring myself to have sympathy for them. Would you? “Kenji.” I was fighting, then. Fighting to hold myself together when I was splintering apart. “What I heard… in my head,” I sputtered. “They weren’t voices. They didn’t speak to me.” I could feel my knees buckling. “They were screaming! They didn’t want to die! And… and why should we?” I turned to glare at the mayor who was still standing. “Why should we die for them, huh?” I demanded. “Give me one good reason why we should die. So they can kill the seniors next year? Why should we be the ones they sacrifice? Prisoners exist! Child murderers! Why can’t it be them?” “That is something we considered.” The mayor started to say, but I cut him off. “Shut up.” I gritted through a mouthful of tears. “You don’t get to speak."  The mayor looked like he might argue but decided against it.  Kenji shrugged. “It’s either us or the planet.” “This isn’t a movie,” I said, “Do you really think you’re doing some heroic gesture and the whole town is going to cheer you on?” I was seething, I couldn’t control my words, control my breathing. “No. They see you as a sacrifice and nothing else. I don’t see them putting up a fucking memorial. Did they for the others? Did they care, Kenji? The girl who put all this in your head. Did the town remember her?" It took two single strides to grab him.  Shake him.  "Did. The. Town. Care? About any of them? Noah? Tommy? The girl who filled your head with all this crap? Did Littlewood remember them?" He held my gaze. “She said I was going to save billions. They don't have to care." “So?” I shrieked. “I choose myself any day! And you should too!"  I expected him to call me selfish, but that wasn’t Kenji. “So, run.”  I let go of him. “Kenji, I swear to God–" “I’m not saying goodbye,” Kenji said in a strained voice. “I’m going to turn around and walk away. And you’re not going to look back, okay?"  “What?” If Littlewood hadn't been decaying around us, I would have held onto him.  Mira was grabbed before she could follow Jonas, and I was so close to following Kenji. I was so fucking close to giving myself up, as long as I got to be with him and the others. When one of the guards took a hesitant step towards me, however, I found myself backing away. No. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to fucking die, and if that made me selfish, so be it. I felt myself moving step my step. One last look at Kenji. He wasn’t smiling, his head bowed as a guard pinned his wrists behind his back. When he lifted his head, his eyes were on the horizon. He looked content. And knowing that he was happy—he was at peace with his fate, I ran. And behind me, just as I turned around, the mayor was staring at me, a look of immense disgust on his face. I stared back. I wanted him to explode. I wanted his body to shower the street in red and prove to me that this so-called entity didn’t just take innocents. It took those in power too. And yet he stood there, not a smear on his perfectly pressed suit. I took pleasure in quickening my pace into a sprint. It’s been 12 days since I last saw Kenji. On October 3rd, the trees started to blossom again. Outside my hiding place, the remnants of the diner, a rose bush bloomed out of nowhere, followed by daisies. Amongst the chaos, the endless shower of red every time another towns person was claimed, there it was. Life. Sitting in a battlefield of death. Kenji. Number forty seven. I want to believe it wasn’t him, that he got away, that he got some sense knocked into him. But it was hard to ignore the suffocating presence squeezing the breath from our town lift—even if it was only slightly. I lit a candle for him. Well, I couldn’t find any candles, so I set my neighbour’s yard alight instead. October 5th, the ground stopped cracking apart and the town's people were spared. Number forty eight. Jonas. It was fast, and I knew by the way the wind knocked into me threatening to throw me off my bike when I was scoping the ruins of my neighbourhood, a powerful gust blowing my hair from my face, that it was him. I sensed his anger and frustration, but no pain. I think he liked being part of the wind. Jonas had done the opposite of what I thought he would. Instead of running away from his fate, he’d given up. Maybe he didn’t have anyone left. He should have ran. Maybe there might be far more destruction if he did. Kenji and Jonas totalled the number of sacrifices to forty eight. I wondered if it was enough to make Kenji’s wish come true. Did my fallen classmates really save the world? Following them was Mira. I knew by the pace the leaves started to flower on trees, like the town was mending itself, that she was gone. With her combined with the boys, I think it was enough to stop the destruction, at least for a little while. Mira had fought until her last breath. She didn’t want to die, and that was evident in her lingering presence causing more decay than life before she seemingly found some kind of peace. Birds started to sing again, and the last person who exploded was, ironically, her mother. Sucks to be her. I think I’m allowed to laugh in this situation, right? Maybe Mira had a hand in it.  And I did laugh. I laughed until I cried. Until the remaining town’s people power washed her off the sidewalk with everyone else. October 13th, and the sun is shining. The town are attempting to rebuild a broken Littlewood, and I sit here hoping me still existing and breathing will bring their downfall. I don’t have to hide anymore. Nobody will come near me. I’m like a plague, which works for me.   I’m skipping town soon, but first I want to stay behind to see the fireworks. I want to know if Littlewood has truly been spared or they’re just taking their time.  I like to think my classmates are still here. I mean, they are. I see them in spring flowers coming to life in Fall. I hear them in the wind blowing my hair back. Some call me a coward for running away, while others beg me to keep going. And I will. I’m just… waiting. I’m waiting for Littlewood to fall. Because I am the 50th sacrifice. While I breathe, their debt is not paid. My town’s clock is ticking, and I can’t wait for a wrath to finally be bestowed on the ignorant. I know this “entity” won’t rest until we’ve all been gifted to them. I can see that in rotting animal carcases appearing in the road and on the sidewalk. The town try to hide it.  They’re trying to hide the sudden appearance of maggot like insects festering on every street corner and a mysterious flu which has taken hold of the kindergarten. Like I said, I should sympathise with their dead. I don’t think our parents knew about any of this. We were just monsters to them; monsters they decided to let go. I am thinking about playing the pied piper and taking the little kids of the town with me. I can still save them, right? They don't have to die too.  I saw a junior girl yesterday. Lanie Matthews. I used to sit with her in the cafeteria sometimes. She was handing out flyers in an attempt to send away Littlewood’s juniors to a safe place so the curse doesn’t get them next year. I want to tell her that her fate will follow Noah Sharpe and Jonas Lockhart. Mira Jane. Kenji Sato. Did their sacrifices really make a difference?  Who knows? Maybe this “entity” will take our world before October 1st, 2023. I think they’re waiting for me. They’re waiting for me to give in too. At some point, I almost caved. It was the screaming I couldn’t bear. Mother’s crying for their children in despair, and vice versa. But then I got a hold of myself. If I want to bring down Littlewood, then I have to survive. I wonder if the world will follow… Are you worth saving? In my opinion, no. You're not worth Kenji and Jonas and Mira, as well as generations of our town burning them alive. Why should I sacrifice myself for a planet which is already killing itself? I’m going to ask you that same question again. If this was your choice. What would you do? Would you surrender yourself to a fate which will save billions of lives… or run? I choose to run.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My son grew from a pumpkin. I wish he had stayed in the ground. [RESPONSE] Attempting to conceive a child was a rough period in my life. My husband and I tried again, and again, and again; More times than I can count on a crowd of hands. Dozens of at-home ovulation tests, pregnancy tests, lots of negatives, and buckets of tears. For so long, I dodged the idea of seeing a doctor; I kept telling my husband it would work one day, that we just needed to keep trying. That something couldn’t be wrong. Finally, after the umpteenth negative test, I broke. I agreed to see a fertility specialist. And I heard it. I heard the word that kept me from that grey waiting room for so long, the one that felt like limbo. “Infertile.” The car ride home was dead silent, aside from my muffled sobs that I failed to hide as I stared out the window. My husband kept silent as he watched the road, but I could tell he was heartbroken, too. The worst part, a piece of me couldn’t help but feel like I had *failed* somehow. That I failed myself, my husband, and my life. I’m an only child, the only one to be able to give grandchildren. But that didn’t matter— I *wanted* a child. I was so ready to be a mother. I ran my life through my head over and over again, wondering if I caused this. Wondering if it was that extra glass of wine, that last cigarette I smoked before I quit— *anything.* I don’t know why, but I couldn’t shake off the feeling that I had caused this, that I was broken without it. The next few days weren’t much easier, but they were better. I felt like I needed something else to keep my mind on, a hobby of sorts. I wanted to take care of something and give myself some responsibility aside from work. I tried a few things but ultimately settled on gardening. Having something living to care for filled a bit of that hole in my heart. Gardening and my husband are what I credit for getting me through that era of my life. Every year for Halloween, my husband and I go pumpkin picking; it was the first date he took me on. Now, it’s our pre-Halloween date every year. This time around, I wanted to start growing our own pumpkins. I had never done it before but thought it’d be fun to watch them grow and harvest it ourselves. And it was another thing I could grow myself, for once. I planted them a few months beforehand, watching them slowly sprout and grow over time, watering them each day. As Halloween neared, they began to reach the end of their development— right on time. Except for one of them. One of the pumpkins’ growth seemed to be stunted. It wasn’t dead and wasn’t rotting, but it didn’t seem to grow past the size of my palm. Every time I’d pass it, a strange, solemn feeling would overtake me. Every stupid little thing reminded me of babies and that I couldn’t have one. Sometimes, I’d cry while watering it, my tears soaking into the dirt. When I cut their stems, I did them one by one down the row. When I finally reached the tiny one, I snipped its stem, my body pulling back as the pumpkin shook. I furrowed my brows, slowly wrapping my hand around the stem. As I tugged at it, it felt like it was stuck in the ground, like I was pulling up more than just the pumpkin. I thought maybe some animal burrowed and was chewing on it. Until the dirt around it began to shift. “Babe! I think we might have gophers!” I called to my husband from the garden. “Alright, one second!” He shouted back, finishing up a chore in the house. I grew impatient, so I wrapped my other hand around it and yanked with one final tug. I nearly fell back as dirt flew around, coating my shirt and some of my face. As I unclenched my eyes, they quickly widened. The wriggling body of a baby was attached to it, flailing his infant arms and legs as I dangled him in the air. I stared, blinking rapidly to see if I could wipe away what I thought was a hallucination. But it was real. “Is it still… there…” My husband said as he opened the back door, his words dissolving to silence as he saw me holding the pumpkin baby. I snapped out of my daze and cradled him in my arms, so many emotions rushing over me. I had a baby, just not in the way I expected. The next few months after that, we raised him as our own. We couldn’t take him to the doctors; they’d either think we shoved a pumpkin on an infant’s head and call CPS or take him for inhumane experiments. But he didn’t seem to have many needs, with no desire to eat or drink; or any openings to do so. He didn’t seem to be able to make noise or breath, but he was alive. He crawled, made grabbing motions when he wanted attention— normal baby things. We knew we couldn’t tell our families either. They knew of my infertility, but this would obviously be unexplainable for more reasons than that. We named him JJ. And with time, he learned to walk, too. Then, we wanted to see if he was able to learn more complex skills. We tried reading and writing, but this proved what we assumed the whole time: he couldn’t see. I had him attached to my hip for a while, so we never really saw his navigation skills. I was petrified to let him explore the house independently, and we didn’t think leaving would ever be possible. He bumped into a doorframe at the first attempt, so we wondered if there was another option. As he got older, we noticed he’d scratch at his face a lot. I’d grab his hands away as he’d claw, leaving minor indents with his little fingernails. Then, we realized he was scratching at where his eyes would be. We pondered the idea of carving his eyes like a Jack-O-Lantern, but we didn’t know if that would hurt him. But he always seemed uncomfortable, like he’d cry if he could. So one day, we sat him down in his highchair and grabbed a knife. I wanted to do it myself but nearly cried in the process, so I handed it to my husband and watched through the splits of my fingers. I winced when he sank the blade’s tip in, but JJ didn’t budge. I lowered my hands and fiddled with my thumbs, watching as he gently sliced out triangular eyes. Since that went so well, he also carved a nose and a mouth— our little Jack-O-Lantern. From then on, he seemed to be able to see. He waddled around on his own and looked up at us when he wanted to be picked up. From this moment on, I could feel a bit of a disconnect from my husband. One night, in bed, he asked to talk about something. He expressed to me that he felt “unnerved” at our son’s facial features and how it seemed pitch black inside. I told him to check if it bothered him so badly. “Just use a flashlight. I don’t know what else to tell you.” He shrugged and rolled his eyes back to his book. I glared at him with furrowed brows before turning off the lamp and sleeping with my back to him. From the start, I had this itch under my skin that this was *my* child, not *ours.* I knew how weird it all was, I couldn’t deny that, but I just wanted him to try. We were blessed with a miracle; at times, I wondered if it was my tears that brought him to life. As a few more years passed, JJ grew bigger. We’d mark his height on the doorframe, celebrating every centimeter. But even then, it always felt like my husband was watching from a million miles away. He clapped like a ghost on birthdays and ate silent dinners. I felt abandoned. “… What’s been up with you? Do you even want this?” I started one night while he was washing dishes. “What? Want what?” *“This.”* I motioned to everything around us. He stopped scrubbing; his head hung as the sink ran. “Look… I get it. This isn’t what we thought it was gonna be. But is that so bad?! He’s seven now! We’re parents! We’ve *been* parents! You know that, right?” He continued his silence, gathering his thoughts. “Are you gonna say something? Anything?” “... A part of me…” He paused with a breath. ”… A part of me just wishes he was ours.” “He *is* ours.” “Don’t do that… You know what I mean.” “Don’t do *what?* See our son as our son?” “He’s not-...” He decompressed before saying something stupid. “He’s not *what?*” I paused, my throat knotting. “... You know how hard it was for me.” “For *you? Just you?*” He finally turned around. “You know it *crushed* me, too!” “So then why isn’t this enough?! Why isn’t he enough?!” “I never said he wasn’t!” “You don’t need to! It fucking… oozes out of you! I can read it on your face every time you look at him! You smile like you’re fighting a frown!” He pinched the bridge of his nose, clenching his eyes. “Exactly,” I scoffed. “I’m… I’m not gonna apologize because this is easier for you than me.” “It’s been seven years… Is it ever gonna get easier?” “... I don’t know.” He couldn’t even meet my gaze as he said it. I looked away, pursing my lips as tears continued to well. I felt like I was being cruel and selfish. But I felt so alone, like I was losing him with each passing day. I felt like I was back in that waiting room, that limbo. Suddenly, through my watery vision, I saw JJ peeking from around the doorframe. I quickly wiped the tears and rushed over as my husband turned back to the dishes. “Hey, bud… Why are you awake?” I asked softly as I lifted him, taking him back to bed. I didn’t even know if he was able to hear. But at that moment, I hoped he couldn’t. I hoped he could never hear a thought of being unwanted, unloved, unseen. As I tucked him into bed, I stared at him for a moment. I thought about what my husband said, about his pitch-black eyes. I wondered if he was sleeping right now— if he even could. Ever since we carved his features, he seemed to do normal human things. When we ate dinner, he’d lift the food to his “mouth” and drop it in. I never thought to question where it was going, if he functioned the way ordinary people do. But my husband always seemed to lose his appetite upon seeing it. I felt my phone in my pocket and considered turning on the flashlight to take a quick peek. Ultimately, I decided against it. I felt no need to, but I was also scared of seeing something I wouldn’t like. Scared of seeing what my husband saw. As months passed, he needed a form of communication. Even with a mouth, he didn’t seem to be able to talk. So we taught him reading and writing, using notepads when he wanted to speak. I nearly cried when he wrote his first word, “Mommy.” My husband weakly smiled beside me. As he got better, we began to be able to have conversations with him. He finally had a personality, which seemed to ease some of my husband’s discomfort. Suddenly, he was interested in being involved. He’d feed him Star Wars movies and all kinds of nerdy entertainment that he grew up on. And JJ seemed to enjoy it; I even caught him doodling Darth Vader in his notepad, which I proudly stuck to the fridge with a magnet. Even if it was late, I’m glad my husband came around at all. It took nearly nine years to make our house feel like a home. When JJ turned ten, he found out about Halloween. I remember seeing his face pressed against the window, watching the trick-or-treaters skip down the sidewalks with buckets brimming with candy. “You see them out there? They’re celebrating Halloween,” I explained. He lifted his notepad and began writing. “They look like me. I want to go.” I was stunned for a moment. I honestly didn’t think JJ would ever be able to leave the house. I didn’t think this was a decision I could make alone, so I spoke with my husband about it. “He was going to get curious eventually. We can’t keep him cooped up forever.” “So, what? He’s gonna go out? Make friends? Go to school?” “Okay, slow down. I’m just talking about a night out on Halloween. The kids will just think he’s wearing a mask!” “I don’t know, Jen…” Deep down, I agreed. Letting him go past that front door felt like bugs under my skin. I wanted him to live and die in my arms; I couldn’t let the cruel world hurt him. But I wanted him to be happy, I didn’t want to hurt him either. So we agreed to a compromise. Next Halloween, we let him sit outside with the candy bucket as “decoration.” I told him he’d be able to play with the kids one day, just not this year. I didn’t even know if that was true. But for once, I needed to trust him. He was ten now and couldn’t be latched to my hip anymore. So I let him stay outside alone, periodically checking up on him. It usually wasn’t longer than ten minutes as I still couldn’t bear it, but I tried. As I was draped across the couch watching a movie, I suddenly heard a high-pitched scream from outside. I shot up, my eyes darting around. Until I remembered that JJ couldn’t talk, so it couldn’t be him. I assumed that maybe he wanted to have some fun and scared one of the kids, a harmless Halloween prank. Until I heard an incessant pounding on the door that didn’t stop till I opened it. I was met with a very angry-looking mother, accompanied by her tear-soaked child. “The buckets right there.” I smiled softly. “Yeah, we know. Is that thing even for kids?! Could’ve at least put a warning!” I stared at her, puzzled, waiting for her to explain. “These are *children—* why would you get one that *bites?!* You’re lucky I don’t sue!” *Bites… ?* I thought to myself. I looked down, noticing two red teeth marks around the little girl’s index finger. I shifted my eyes towards JJ, who sat as still as a mannequin, then back at her. “I’m… so sorry. It must’ve been a malfunction. It’s, uh… not supposed to do that. I hope your daughter’s okay.” “You better hope so,” she sneered before storming off. I didn’t even care about her nasty attitude— I couldn’t stop staring at JJ, who still didn’t move a muscle. “Can I talk to you? In private?” I asked my husband, motioning with my eyes that I wanted to do it away from the front door. We shuffled to the kitchen as I tried to muster up the words. “JJ bit a kid.” His face scrunched with confusion. “He-... bit somebody? With what teeth?” “I don’t… know. This mother ripped me a new one because I ‘got one that bites.’ Referring to him.” His gaped mouth opened and closed as he tried to find the right words. “... Why?” “I don’t know. I figured I’d wait till the end of the night to talk to him.” “What, so he has more time to chomp somebody else?” “I didn’t think he was gonna fucking bite a kid!” I hissed with a whisper. “I didn’t know what to do!” “I want him inside, now.” “What? Why?” “So he doesn’t get the cops called on us.” He made his way towards the door. “Wait— Slow down. He’s not gonna do it again!” “Yeah, and how do you know that?” He whipped around, his stare piercing. The truth is, I didn’t know. I wished I did, but I didn’t. So I swallowed roughly, looking away. He scoffed under his breath and threw the door open. “JJ, come on. Inside, now.” But he didn’t budge. “JJ, I said *inside. Now.*” “You don’t need to be so nasty,” I interjected. “*Jen—...*” He turned to me before turning back to him. “Halloween’s over. Come back inside before I make you.” He refused to move a muscle. “Alright, have it your way.” He stepped outside and tried to take the bucket from JJ’s grip but he tugged back. “JJ… Let it go.” I watched nervously, crossing my arms as I could see my husband’s temper boiling. “*Let. It. Go.*” He tugged again, but JJ refused. He didn’t want to yank it from his hands, but he kept an iron-clad grip on it. “... JJ, give the bucket to your father and come inside,” I muttered sternly. And just like that, JJ released his grip, hopped up, and trotted inside. I watched as he ran past me towards his room, my husband still kneeling for a moment. Then, he stood up and approached me. He looked at me with tired eyes before letting out a weak scoff, then dragged his feet to our bedroom. I tailed behind him, words running up our throats like vomit as I closed the door. “What was *that?*” “You tell me.” He threw the blanket over and began crawling into bed. “I said I’d *talk* to him.” “Yeah, well, it seems like you’re the only one he’s willing to talk to, anyway.” I almost laughed, looking away for a second. “Why do you think?! You didn’t *want* him! You think he can’t sense that?!” “This isn’t about that! He bit a fucking kid! He hurt somebody! And then disobeyed me! But when Mommy calls—” “*YOU. DIDN’T. WANT. HIM.*” “AND I STILL DON’T!” His roar sucked the air out of the room, my expression gaping. “Wow… Okay.” I turned and walked out of the room. “Jen… Wait—” But I had already shut the door behind me. I walked to JJ’s room and knocked on his creaked-open door. “Hey, bug. I need to talk to you.” Upon hearing me, he perked his head up; he seemed to have been staring off. I sat down, looking down at my lap as I searched for the right words. “... Did you bite that little girl?” He stared blankly at me for a moment, my husband’s “pitch-black” comment running through my head again. Then, he slowly nodded. I pursed my lips, searching for more words as if they were all lost at sea. I didn’t anticipate a part of parenting to be moments like this. “Why did you bite her? You can’t hurt people, JJ. It’s not good to hurt people. Do you understand?” Again, he stared at me for a moment. Then, he grabbed his notepad and pencil and began writing. I patiently waited till he finished, and my blood ran cold as he flipped the page around. “She got too close. Now she won’t do it again.” I looked him up and down, swallowing the knot in my throat. “... It’s time for bed. I’ll tuck you in.” After turning off the light and going upstairs to crawl into bed, my husband was already fast asleep, but I was stuck awake, staring at the ceiling. I thought that maybe it was wrong not to socialize him, that only keeping him around us skewered his brain development. But what else was I supposed to do? As much as I loved him, he was an anomaly. I couldn’t disguise him as fully human. I wanted to be a parent so badly; I didn’t think I’d be doing it so wrong. The next day, I had a more thorough conversation with JJ about how to handle social situations. I told him that hurting them wasn’t the answer if he wanted somebody out of his personal space. He nodded as I spoke, but I could only hope he understood. I then sat my husband down. I apologized for being so lax, and he apologized for being so callous. We shared a few tears and promised to do better for each other and JJ; it’s all we wanted. As months passed, I saw my husband warm up to him again, and I tried to be a little tougher. JJ wasn’t normal, but he was still my child, and it’s my responsibility to parent him, not baby him, to the best of my ability. We agreed we had to teach him how to treat a living thing on his level, so we decided to get a puppy. We adopted a golden retriever that was small, gentle, and could grow with him. When we brought him home, JJ seemed confused initially, which we expected. The dog would jump around him, letting out high-pitched barks, but JJ would stare blankly. We were patient, showing him that you can pet the dog and throw toys to play with him, which JJ grew to enjoy. Then, we told JJ he could name him. Of course, he chose “Darth Vader,” and we called him “Vader” for short. Vader brought a lot more life and light into the house while also helping us teach JJ etiquette without being seen by other people. They’d chase each other in the garden and sleep together; it warmed our hearts to see it. As he grew bigger, he’d tackle JJ and suffocate him with kisses, sometimes sinking his teeth into JJ’s head, which he had to train him to stop doing. But he was a good dog. Loving and obedient— he was exactly what we needed. One afternoon, JJ was in a bad mood. Nothing, in particular, seemed to have set him off; he just wasn’t in the mood to play with Vader, who had a lot of energy that day. He’d whimper, bark, and jump around, but JJ wouldn’t budge. He just wanted to play with his toys. Vader, still in the process of being trained, tended to nip a lot. He’d chomp our fingers when giving him treats and chew at our legs when he wanted attention, but nothing intentionally violent. Except for this afternoon, when JJ reached his limit. JJ was messily scribbling in his coloring book when Vader, desperate for attention, chomped his leg. JJ quickly dropped the pencil and smacked him upside the head, *hard.* Hard enough that he backed away with a whimper. “JJ! Jesus Christ…” I sighed, pulling off my soapy gloves. I kneeled next to him; he wouldn’t look me in the eye. “What did I say about hurting people?” He switched to his notepad and began writing. “He’s not people.” I pursed my lips, looking away for a moment as I tried to figure out how to explain this to him. “You’re right, Vader isn’t a person, but he’s still alive. And he loves you, we don’t hurt the people we love. Okay?” He paused for a moment before writing again. “If he can bite, why can’t I?” “He’s an animal, he doesn’t know any better. Animals aren’t as smart as us. But I promise he won’t bite again.” He took another pause to process and understand before nodding. “Okay… I love you so much, bug.” I kissed his head. He hugged me, prompting a warm smile on my face. After tucking him in later that night, I crawled into bed with my husband. My lips parted as I was about to tell him what happened, until I cemented them back shut. I don’t know why, but my instinct was to bite my tongue. I think I feared it’d set us back; we had made so much progress, I couldn’t go back. *We* couldn’t go back. Vader was especially rowdy that night. My husband is a heavy sleeper, but I tossed and turned as the dog barked all night. Suddenly, I shot up as the barking halted to a stop with a screeching whimper. I turned to my husband to wake him up, but pulled back my hand and decided to investigate it alone. I stepped out of the room and scanned the dark hallway. “Vader!” I whisper-shouted, puckering my lips and making noises to try and call for him. “Vader! C’mere, baby!” But still, no response. As I slowly walked downstairs, my brows furrowed as I heard the distant sound of gargling; like somebody was choking on liquid. As I got closer, it sounded like it was coming from the kitchen. There was a sound of metal scraping, followed by more gurgling and choking. “Vader… ? JJ… ?” I confusedly called out. Then, as I turned the corner to the kitchen, my face gaped open as screams of terror caught in my throat. Link to Part Two: <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Rampage Of A Jackknife Maniac [RESPONSE] >*"While my account is entirely factual, I have altered several details to protect those who survived their encounter with Jazz Mercedes on Tuesday, October 12th, 1999. I do not recommend casual reading for immature readers, as many of the facts of this were horrifying and disturbing. It took me almost a quarter of a century to go back to that day; I am still trembling with fear at the recollection of what happened. Instead of trying to share my experience, as I am not a professional writer, I have instead asked D. L. Schindler to recreate the events of that day in a fictional representation. I hope that by sharing my experience I might find some kind of peace."* > >\-Ariel W. Blackmoss *Smooth* by Santana was playing on all four stations on my car's radio. I was smiling playfully as I flipped from one to the next, each at a different part of the song. My daughter was singing the words, after-synced and I was singing with her. "Let's just forget, same esteemed emotion, under the ocean, under the moon, give me your heart, so smooth." I sang along to four broadcasts of *Smooth*. Mariah Carrey's *Heartbreaker* came on next. I will always associate those two songs with the horrors that followed. "Gimme your luv!" The rain has a special feeling in Washington. It is like a mist, a hushed-grayness that permeates both sight and sound. Semitrucks share the road with courtesy, hardly ever a problem. Washington drivers have always proven to be the most courteous and considerate. I've never heard anyone honk at anyone else or shout anything angrily. Just good drivers, unironically, from good people. Rainbows and sunrays through the clouds accompany our dark gray skies. Everything is always green and lush. People smile and greet each other, hold doors open and allow other drivers to go. That's what it's like to drive in Washington State. For me, everything slowed down and became surreal. I had never experienced a vehicular accident, never felt any stress while driving. My little girl was shrieking in terror. I saw her hand and the back of my car going away from me. I was airborne and upside down. One moment we were on the road, together, and then we were not. I looked up, wisps of smoke from the airbags hung in flat smoke rings all around. The front of my car was imbedded in the soft shoulder of the road and upright. I staggered out through the missing driver's side door after untangling myself from my seatbelt. There was blood all over me from a tiny cut on my forehead, I was struggling to breathe, a massive dark bruise later formed on my neck and chin. I had cracked ribs and my stomach was ruptured and I had a concussion. I couldn't tell how much damage my body had sustained. I don't recall feeling very much pain, at first. I just walked around, blinking and gasping and quietly calling for my daughter, expecting her to come running up to me. I looked around for my daughter and saw her nowhere. My car was in two places and she was gone. I shrugged, in shock, and decided I must be mistaken. She wasn't with me, was she? My mind assured me she was with her father. I hadn't picked her up from his place yet. Reassured she was fine, I discarded my initial panic and looked around at the interstate. The apocalypse I witnessed brought me to my knees. I wept at the carnage and columns of black smoke that were rising. I saw a dead body for the first time in my life. From the look of the remains, it was obviously a corpse.  I wandered the carnage, noticing that the northbound had stopped as they passed the devastation. I could hear sirens. I also could hear more destruction as it was happening some distance along the road. WASP vehicles wove through the warzone to pursue the rogue semitruck. They had to leave the dead and dying to the first responders and try to stop further destruction. It was over and my eyes closed. Then it wasn't over and my eyes opened. It will never be over and I will never be unable to see what I saw that day. True horror is a kind of unwanted freedom; being free from knowing that we are so mortal. I was displaced for a moment, from myself. I became untethered from the reality I've always known. I never really came back. What happened years later and what happened in that moment, in my memory, are the same thing. Time only moves in sequence for those who are unaware that it truly does not. I will say what happened next, and then I will say what happened before. That is how I remember it all. Over the years I learned a lot about that day. Jazz Mercedes was the driver of the semitruck. He was high on drugs and doubly employed by an Eritrean shipping company. The investigation, into their trafficking of kidnapped American children to be sold as sex slaves in Africa, needed his cooperation.  The Eritrean family that had bought asylum in the United States was accused of stealing relief money from Ethiopia. They happened to have a fortune equal to the missing relief money. Political asylum and citizenship was granted and their purchases of houses and shipping containers and vehicles were their first step. Later, they were being extensively investigated by the FBI for trafficking.  Jazz Mercedes was questioned and continued to operate anyway. He had a shipping container, mostly full of girls between ten and thirteen, followed by the FBI. When he had realized he was being followed he went crazy. Special Agent Caprice, Stubborn, told me everything, in exchange for the last detail that I had refused to admit. I had heard what Jazz said before it was all over. I could not repeat his words, not until I knew the truth. Why had they allowed my daughter to die? I was standing there, questioning deeply with thoughts that I had not yet had. Some part of my consciousness had known true love. Some part of me was still alive inside, while the rest of me died in the flames and rain. I was numb and displaced, but only for the span of a single breath. Terror washed over me, a physical sensation like I was somehow weightless. It felt like I was falling. I was screaming and crying. I knew my daughter was missing. "Please. Please, God. I will go to church and pray to Jesus. Anything. Please just let her be okay." I was praying out-loud to a god I suddenly believed in. There was a kind of horrible silence, a kind of fear-dripping moment when everything was deathly still. I stood in the middle of the wrecks and fires and the pieces of drivers all around me. Then I slowly began to raise my eyes and look up. He was coming back! I just stood there, my feet unresponsive to the danger hurtling towards me. The headlights were in my eyes and I could feel its approach through the vibration of the road. Behind the death truck was a swarm of howling and flashing WASPs. A helicopter arrived with a police sniper hanging out the side with a very big gun. They hovered while the entourage slowed and let the truck continue alone. There was a flash from the helicopter and then a clap. The windshield of the semitruck became a spider's web, catching the driver, stopping him. Except they had missed. I stood there as the truck zoomed past me, feeling the wind and almost knocked into a stagger from it, reeling. I could have reached out and touched it as it passed. I didn't even flinch, none of it was registering as reality. The truck stopped when more shots obliterated the trailer's tires and the semitruck's engine began to pour smoke from under the hood. The cab filled with smoke and Jazz Mercedes got out. He had deliberately maneuvered the rig to swing the load back and forth, sweeping everyone else off the road in spectacular demolition. Most semitruck drivers avoid jackknifing, the term for a semitruck with a light load that has lost traction and begun to pendulum and fold against the cab. The sudden stop of the cab can also cause the same thing to happen; always with horrifying results against smaller, nearby vehicles. Jazz Mercedes had done it on-purpose. The trailer hung at an angle so that the back hatch was angled down towards the road. Something dripped from it. Jazz walked over to it while I slowly limped towards him. He looked up at me and said with cruel casualness: "Just got to check the merchandise." With effort he pulled up the lever and the doors swung open as he quickly stepped back. A heap tumbled out onto the road, battered and bleeding. For one split second all I saw was a huge pile of crimson laundry. Then I stared at the pile of dead and dying little girls, blood soaked and tangled in a pile on the road. Horror held me there, staring. I felt my fear become numb as my mind rejected the minutes. I was still in my car driving and singing with my daughter. None of it could be real. It was not possible. "The shipment is ruined." Jazz frowned. He kicked the face of a China doll with his boots and caved it in. "Where is my daughter?" I shivered, the panic rising back up inside me. She was with me when the accident had happened. It was an accident, I decided. A freeway accident and help would arrive any moment. She would be fine. Everything was going to be fine. I feared otherwise. Jazz looked at me with the undilated eyes of a shark. He rolled his head around as he did so, adding to the inhuman and predatory gaze. He laughed at me and then he told me what Special Agent Caprice wanted me to tell him: "Djibouti? Give them a call to Al-Njiri. Tell them the Dream Lion wants to know and they will locate any product for you. It's the least I can do. I had a mother too." Jazz grinned with teeth that never stopped being replaced by sharp new ones. A pelagic predator, entirely reptilian, piscine, inhuman. I did not believe that he had a mother. "Dream Lion?" I sighed. I realized, in sinking horror, that I was looking at a monster and its handiwork. He just nodded and flipped out an actual jackknife. I thought he might use it to murder me, and I felt both mortal dread and relief, comingled strangely in my helpless mind. Like creamer poured into coffee: the two feelings swirled and mixed and became one. Fear of death assured me I yet lived. Then Jazz took his own life, somehow having the willpower to stab himself in the neck and cut through it until he collapsed and bled out on the road. All around me the WASPs and police and emergency vehicles arrived. The FBI found me and it was the peculiar Special Agent Caprice that gently questioned me until he learned I would divulge vital clues if he would do the same for me. It wasn't our only intimate exchange; I am not sure what compelled me to get so close to him. He trusted me and told me the rest of what was happening. Or he didn't trust me, with that man there really isn't such a thing as trust or honesty. Merely different shades of deception. One day, years later, he contacted me and asked me to come meet him in the Old Park. We sat together and my body recalled his warmth and tenderness, even while my spirit reviled and despised him. I shuddered in his presence from those conflicting feelings and he hesitated and said: "I only meant to comfort you." He apologized for a moment from so long ago. "We both know what it meant." I spoke without regard for his feelings. I didn't think he had any. "I am not the kind of investigator that accepts that certain people are untouchable, and I am not the sort that finds any manner of conflict with one form of evil in order to ruin a greater one." He described himself to me, wishing I would see him. I looked away. "You do not trust me, Ariel, but I trust you. You have nothing to lose by being real and nothing to gain from lying. I've never met anyone I could trust. I love you." Stubborn claimed. I sighed. I hated the fact that he loved me, but it was obvious by the way he looked at me after not seeing me for so many years. "You're crazy." I told him. "Tell me whatever you brought me here for." "I am trying." He took a deep breath. "We knew who was behind the man who was behind the wheel. You helped me prove it, but they were out-of-reach. So, I took matters into my own hands." Stubborn tried to explain himself. "You wiped them out?" I had heard him saying, between the lines. "Not myself. I found a way to have it done." I stood to go. I realized I was not going to keep his secrets, I wasn't going to keep any of it to myself. As I left him there in Old Park, I knew I would have to tell my story. I heard his truth as I walked away and the tears on my cheeks were my ''Amen': "Love lives; dies. Dies and lives forever." I sat for a long time and upon my corpse a new thing grew. It blossomed and reached out. It found a way to sing again. In one way I felt like it was all over. That part of my life was gone, I had become someone else. As a survivor I held the memories of my past and carried them forth into the future. After sharing my story, I was able to again reside in the present. I was able to feel alive and to begin to heal. I am as a flower upon a grave, I am as the dew, the lullaby and the wings that carry it to a better world that this.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Something Else Entirely [RESPONSE] I first heard the humming when I was 5. It was so lighthearted and upbeat. It felt almost calming, if not for the fact that it was outside my door at 2 in the morning. My room was pitch black and I was drowsy. At first I was sure I had dreamt it. The room was silent. Feeling unnerved and rattled, I attempted to turn over and go back to sleep. After a few moments, I was overwhelmed with a sense of dread, as the humming continued from outside my door. The wind picked up outside and I was sure I was hearing things. Until I could hear my doorknob turn ever so slightly as the door creaked to life. I turned over, to see my door cracked as the humming grew louder. I felt ill as I listen in silence, my heart racing as the humming continued outside my door. After another few moments, the humming ceased once more. A sigh of relief, hoping it would be gone for good, but I was left with this feeling of uncertainty and terror. I waited and watched the door, sure that something could happen at any moment. My mind began wandering, fearful of what could lay in wait outside. Moments past as I sat in silence, sure by now, if the humming would return, it should have been back already. As I began to loosen the grip I had on my sheets, the humming had returned, now carrying itself up and down the hallway. I was in disbelief that my parents weren’t hearing this. Terrified, I started to shift the covers over my head, but in doing so, I bumped the nightlight on my dresser. As the light shifted, the humming stopped abruptly. I was sure it was coming to get me. Suddenly, a screech from the neighboring room was quickly silenced. As though a cry for help was interrupted by the removal of vocal chords. The following hour I spent in agony, listening to the sounds of bones crunching and meat being torn from its flesh. I awoke the next morning to the sound of my mothers screams of horror and agony. I came in to find her lying on the floor crying and screaming in agony. I continued past her to find my baby sister or what was left of her in tiny pieces scattered around her crib. From what I remember, there was nothing left to identify her. She wasn’t even old enough to have her first tooth. My mom did her best to hold herself together for my dad and me, but it wasn’t long before she took her own life. I found her in the bathtub, wrists split so deep, you could see bone. I don’t know if she intended for me to find her, but I always felt like she blamed me for what happened. It was until I was twelve, that it came again… The Humming. This time, more somber and low. Whatever this was, I felt like it was reaching out to me. I was mortified to think what would happen if I let it. I remember my door creaking to life once more as my dog, Oscar poked his head up at the end of the bed. I began calling and signaling to Oscar to stay put. I knew the fate that would befall him if he left the room. His ears perked up and I pleaded for him to come to me. The humming grew closer as I continued begging my dog to stay put. As a last effort to save my dog, I reached down the bed to grab his collar before he bolted through the door. I started to give chase before I heard the humming stop in the doorway above me. I froze in terror, unable to look up. I heard my dog begin to bark as it quickly turned to yelping as a crunch silenced him entirely. I backed away slowly as the sounds of my dog being ripped apart from the other side of the door commenced. I crawled back to my bed, hiding under my covers and weeping softly to myself until morning. My dad never believed me. Since then I’ve been in and out mental hospitals, but apart from the trauma of losing everyone but my dad, I’m perfectly fine. I’m 32 now and have a wife and 2 children. It’s been a while since I’ve heard the humming, but if it comes back, I have to decide who I’m going to feed it first.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I've ordered a "Surprise box" on Internet, it surprised me in all the wrong ways [RESPONSE] “Receive a chilling experience with our surprise box. Five items that will make shivers crawl down your spine and reveal your hidden fears! 14 days money back guarantee…” - the page said. But I’m getting ahead of myself. It all started when I discovered the thing called “mystery boxes”. If you don’t know what that is - you pay something around 20 to 40 Euros and receive a box filled with different themed stuff. It’s quite a popular thing, so I bet you’ve heard of it. That evening I was browsing aimlessly and some ad reminded me that this thing exists. So I googled a bit and the search returned a bunch of links and brief descriptions. Most of the themes were frankly aimed for children entertainment with Harry Potter, Paw Patrol & some other cartoon and family friendly universes. Some interesting ones popped up too - Classic Slashers, It Came from Outer Space and Morbid Creatures. Examining the “previous months” section (which actually revealed what was sent out prior to current one) I saw bunch of mini-figures, posters, some branded mugs and other crap. But I was looking for something different, so I modified the search to “mature surprise box + horror + scary”. And it returned another pile of links, with the topmost being the one I’ve opened just recently. And indeed, the store that was selling all those Harry Potter & Star Wars junk had a section called “Pure Nightmare Material”. I even had to select and confirm my age to be able to view the page. Surprisingly - it had no previous monthly drops displayed and the statement said it was an experimental thing they just launched. Exciting! So I grabbed my credit card and filled in the info instantly. The description said something about revealing the nightmares you never even knew existed and that the assembly and delivery will take around 5-10 business days. The whole thing was like 24.99 or something. The long wait resulted in postal notification two weeks later and that day I came back home with a box. It wasn’t large - about 30x30x30cm or so, and when I removed the packaging - it came out even smaller. A cardboard of black color with silver letters printed atop, reading: “Pure Nightmare Material. Issue 1”. Wow! The guys out there really knew how to make an impression. And so, with raising excitement I took the box cutter and carefully cut the plastic seal to reveal the insides. There were 5 smaller boxes made of the same black cardboard stacked next to each other and every one of them had a separate writing atop. Left to right, in same silver letters they read: Obsession, Sympathy, Life, Desperation and finally - Tranquility. Boy, oh boy! I jumped in my chair just like a kid on Christmas. This was quite something. So, I made myself some tea, took a deep breath to calm down my impatience and reached for the first box named “Obsession”. What could it be? No clue whatsoever. Inside there was a plastic bag with a zipper containing a pair of… How would I say it correctly? A pair of ladie’s panties. I’m not an expert of any sort, but it seemed to me that those were worn previously. A pair of blue thongs with some white and yellow flowers pattern. I’ve checked the box thoroughly - but nothing else was there. I expected a note at least, saying that these are “haunted underwear of a prostitute killed by maniac” or something like that, but nope. Just the awkward bag and the thongs in it. Suddenly the door lock clicked - my girlfriend was back from work. “Hey, honey! Before you ask anything - don’t freak out. There’s something I need to show you” - I said greeting her in the hall. “I’ve ordered a surprise box, and well… It came with a surprise indeed. Those were inside, and before you ask anything - I have no idea what it means. Just didn’t want you to find it tossed in trash and get the wrong impression” - I said. She kept silent for a moment and then suddenly her lower lip started to tremble, as the tears poured down her cheeks. “Give me a moment, I’ll be right back” - she said covering her mouth with a palm of her hand, making her way to the bathroom. I didn’t expect a reaction like that. Diana had a great sense of humor, so maybe a pun or two - but this was something completely different. I stood there in the room, listening to sobs and flowing water from the bathroom. Finally, she came out with her face all red and swollen, make-up poorly washed, leaving some traces on her cheekbones. “Jake, I can’t… I don’t know how you found out and if you even did, but I can’t keep it anymore… Do you remember my birthday party two years ago? The one where you received a call from work and had to leave because of urgent problems with your stupid project? I got drunk that night. I didn’t go to sleepover with Pam, no. There was a guy in the restaurant and I was so angry at you and so drunk… Jake, I cheated on you. And those” - she pointed at the panties lying on the table - “I think I forgot them at his place. I’m so sorry. I’ll give you some space, okay? I don’t know if you can forgive me…”. We argued for 20 more minutes and finally she left. She said she’ll stay at her mother’s place, so I could think if I still have feelings for her after what she did. I got drunk that night. And no, I won’t whine how bad it was or anything. You don’t need that in your life. This event kicked the chair from beneath my feet and for couple of days I never came back to the box. And I didn’t see any connection back then, as you know - coincidences can strike quite unexpectedly. But as my rage and sad thoughts started to fade away - one evening I was bored and recalled I still have something to impress me. So I took out the second box entitled “Sympathy” to reveal another zip bag with a heart shaped pendant and a note this time. The pendant was a cheap one - just like those you could get at fairs for dirt cheap and I had a vague feeling I saw it before somewhere. The note said just this: “Ask Kirk about it”. Well, it was strange, yet I knew exactly what to do. You see - Kirk is my best friend’s name. We were indivisible since early childhood and up to the point where adult life separated us. He was a married man, had couple of kids and lived on the opposite side of the city. We still called each other regularly and played some video games online from time to time. I have no idea how those folks found out about him - probably they took their business seriously, and tracked my Facebook page to get these details. I remember clicking through some “personal data consent” and “allowing cookies”, but hey, every site nowadays does that. So as it was quite an intriguing development - I jumped into the car and went straight to him, luckily it was a half hour ride. “Yo, Kirk. I have bought this thing…” - I explained to him, as we greeted each other. “And, well, this piece was inside. Does it resemble anything?” - I asked - “I know, it’s stupid. But I was just curious. “Nope. Not a clue, Jake. Sorry, mate. Would you like a beer or two, since you made all the way here?” - he said in response. “Nah, I have to work tomorrow, but thanks for asking and say ”hi“ to Liz.” - I replied. Something in his voice caught my attention, I’m not sure what it was. I swear, there was something odd, but I didn't give it a second thought. Anyways, I got home and double checked the page of that company. Yet indeed - a small text (of course, it’s the small text) said that the Company requires consent on using personal data of the buyer to come up with best experience possible, such as checking through Social Media pages for details and such and such. I’ve heard stories about evil corporations stealing data, but I’m a kind of guy that has nothing to hide, so… I took out the third box with the word “Life” imprinted on the top. As the second item came back a disappointment - I had quite high expectations for this one. I’ve revealed the contents and became an owner of not just one, but three weird things this time. I got a small pillow case with teddy bears and stars with stripes, which I guess resembled comets and a pair of massive pink plastic earring, just like the ones you could see in the 80’s movies. I sat there for 15 minutes straight trying to realize the connection between items, as suddenly a distant memory from my childhood surfaced - I was not quite sure, but I guess my Mom used to wear the exact same pair when she was younger, or? So I decided to FaceTime her and ask for help solving this case. “Hi-i-i, sweetheart. How’s it going? Your dad and I got worried, since it’s been couple of weeks you called last time. Everything fine?” - my Mom greeted me. “Hi! Yes, everything’s alright, just been a bit busy lately. No worries…” - I replied and we talked on various topics, up to a point where I showed her the earrings - “… do you recognize those? I think you had just the exact pair back in the days.” I held them in front of the camera, twisting around so she could take a better look. “No, sweetie. I have no memory of those. Where did you get it?” - she asked, so I briefly explained her a concept of a “surprise box” and said that this one is more of a game-type, where you are sent clues and have to figure them out. “This was inside too. Maybe this will ring a bell?” - I showed her the pillow case, making sure she sees the pattern clearly - “It has teddy bears and comets on it. Any ideas?”. She took a pause, looking carefully and then replied, swallowing saliva: “No, Jake. I’m sorry, I don’t recall anything of those. Hope I didn’t ruin your… game”. I said it was okay and we talked a bit more and then hang up. Strange, a shocking coincidence in the first box and absolutely nothing in the following. I guess that’s what you get for 24.99 - they try to come up with something and sometimes it works, sometimes - it doesn’t. Oh well, I had stuff to do, so I totally switched to household tasks and working on the next project, up to a point where I felt it was quite late and headed to bed. A telephone call woke me up in the middle of the night. It was my mother. Being afraid that something horrible happened, as both of my parents weren’t that young anymore - I quickly grabbed my phone: “Yes, hello. What happened, Mom?”. “Jake, I want you to listen to me and please don’t interrupt before I finish…” - the voice in the speaker said. She sounded like she was drinking - her speech was slurring. “When we just got you… Me and your dad. We were young and foolish. We thought that we could do anything together and that we were ready to be a family. But… But that was hard. When I got you - it was really painful, Jake. We didn’t have money, and having a kid is a tough chore. We.. We lived in a rented apartment and barely could… find money to feed ourselves. I was depressed. I was not thinking straight back then. And you were crying all the time. It drove me mad… So one day…” - she stopped for a second and I heard sobbing. “…one day when your father went to work, I couldn’t bear it anymore. You were causing so much trouble. I just couldn’t. I…” - she continued - “I decided that you were a mistake, so I took the pillow… and… and…” - she went crying and weeping. “Jake, I killed your sister and wouldn’t stop there, if it wasn’t your father who forgot his wallet” - that phrase fired like a gunshot in a silence. “I killed her with the very same pillow you showed me today. We never told anyone about it. Everybody thinks she just… Oh god… I don’t know if you would ever forgive me, Jake” - the weeping continued. I just hanged up, sitting there in darkness of my own bedroom. Silent. As if something broke down within me. My own mother… I couldn’t believe it. No way. She was so caring and sweet for all the time that I’ve known her. Always treating me with love and care… Suddenly a phone buzzed and I checked it automatically with my thoughts still being somewhere far from this world. It was an email from my best friend. And the notification read: “Hey Jake, there’s something I need to tell you. Do you remember Becky? The…”. I don’t know what forced me to open it but the following message put the final blow to my collapsing mind. “Do you remember Becky? The one you’ve dated when we were in the high school? Of course you do, you said she was the love of your life. I remember how devastated you were when she committed suicide. Jake, truth is - she never did it. I did. I killed her and set up everything to look like it was a suicide. Why? Because I was young and stupid. I couldn’t make her mine, as she was in love with you. I couldn’t understand what she found in you and why I was cast aside. So I killed her with my own two hands. That pendant you showed me - she was wearing it that day. Her pale still chest and a cheap heart pendant - this image is burned onto my eyelids, so I see it every time I close my eyes. I’m sorry, Jake. There’s nothing that could excuse me. I don’t hope you’ll understand. I just want to confess. I remember about my guilt every single day, and you…Showing at my door with exact same thing… I can’t take it anymore. I’m turning myself down. I’m sorry…“. That was too much. I snapped. I cried and rushed around like a wild animal, breaking stuff, hurting myself. But that didn’t matter. Some time after I was taken away by ambulance, accompanied by police, whom somebody from my neighbors called, as I believe I’ve thrown quite a freakish show back there. I was released from hospital couple of days later and came back to my broken apartment. Swiped the glass, moped the floors. Left alone, broken and miserable. The box was still there on my desk with two secrets left. I have no intention of opening those. I think I will burn them. Ignorance is bliss. But that was not the end. It seems that I did not just buy the box itself, but paid for subscription, as I got notification that the package awaits for me. I don’t know what I fear the most - reveal what’s inside, or live among the monsters without realizing it…<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My new neighbor isn't allowed to go outside, and I just found out why. [RESPONSE] I’m not sure what wakes me. Maybe it’s the low thrum of the diesel engine vibrating the walls, or the cold cone of light that spills across my ceiling at two in the morning. Whatever it is, it pulls me toward the window, groggy-eyed and yawning. I part the blinds, expecting to see some grumbling semi driver clunking another mobile home into place, some down on their luck family kicking at the red trailer-park dirt as their moving truck arrives but instead, I see *her.* She climbs from the truck gingerly—toeing the ground like it’s a thin sheet of ice, first one foot, then the other—easing from the seat with a quick glance up at the streetlight. Her eyes are encased in a heart-shaped face, her features delicate with an upturned nose centered over a chin that looks carved from glass. Something about her reminds me of the porcelain dolls Mom keeps stashed on the top shelf of her closet, the ones trimmed in lace with the skin glazed and shining. A heavy *thunk!* pulls my gaze to the driver’s side door. A man stands there, huge, with a pair of meat-slab arms and a bald head glittering with sweat. He stares at the trailer for a long moment, then spits and works toward the back of the truck to retrieve a blanket, one he spreads carefully above the girl like he thinks the streetlight will give her a sunburn before shoving her roughly toward the door. A slow-rising heat fills my chest. I know his type: the kind of guy who posts up on the porch with a forty and a fat wad of chew stuffed in his lower lip, ready to have a go at his kids or his wife just for looking at him wrong. *Light his fuse and watch him explode*. Dad was that kind of guy before he abandoned me and Mom to the trailer park. It never took much. I watch them disappear into the trailer with my breath fogging the glass. Something about the girl bothers me. The slack expression and the downcast eyes, the way she wrapped her arms around her chest like maybe even breathing was too much work. It made me want to rush outside and give her a hug, to tell her everything would be okay. *And that’s what it is*, I decide, identifying the thing bothering me: *I’ve never seen someone so sad before*. \# I’m up early the next morning and catch her dad, or whoever he is, hanging blackout curtains in the windows. A thick beard crawls up his neck, one I imagine to be teeming with cockroaches and beetles and various other sorts of shelled insects. His eyes are crooked, buried too close to the bridge of his nose, and his cheeks are lumpy, like maybe whatever god put him together had a few too many drinks beforehand. His gaze twitches up and down as he works—glazed, one eyelid stretched wider than the other. When I grow tired of watching him, I close the blinds and wander into the kitchen for breakfast. Mom is humming and swaying in front of a frying pan, eggs sizzling, wearing the threadbare purple robe Dad gave her two Christmases ago, her hair up in curlers. I sit down and trace my finger over an ancient syrup stain on the checkered tablecloth. “We have new neighbors.” “Oh, yeah? Who’s that?” “Some girl and her dad.” She spins around. “A girl, huh? Your age?” “I think so.” She arches an eyebrow and gives me a half-smile. “What?” I ask, feigning confusion. Valley Acres isn’t exactly teeming with teenagers, especially girls. Mostly it’s a bunch of elementary kids playing in the dirt until their parents can afford a better school district. “Well, then,” she says, “we better make them some cookies, don’t you think?” \# I carry the tin over around noon, waving at our nosy neighbor, Mrs. Amblin, as I cross the street. She waves back from her lawn chair, a vodka tonic already sprouting from her sun-damaged hand. She treats the trailer park like it’s a soap opera (which, to be fair, it mostly is), hoping to catch a neighborhood argument or two, or an affair if she’s lucky, anything she can use to pass the time and fill her gossip jar. I can feel her gaze crawling over the back of my neck as I amble up the steps of the girl’s trailer, hesitating for a moment when I spot the light fixture. It’s been blacked out, glazed in a thick coat of paint, a few hasty splotches splattered and dripped down the door frame. I stare at the mess, confused, then knock once, twice, three times before the bolt clicks, and the door inches open. “What’cha want?” a voice says with all the warmth of a growl. “Hi, I, uh . . . my name’s Kyle. I brought you guys these.” I raise the cookies. “Welcome to the neighborhood.” My smile comes out as a quick twitch of the lips before the door widens and the man steps out. He’s even bigger up close, his gut leaking over a pair of worn jean shorts, a greasy handprint smeared across the thigh. He says nothing, only stares down at me with his mud-colored eyes and his arms crossed. I think he’s going to tell me to screw off, to beat it, but instead, he reaches out with a meaty palm to snatch the tin. “You live around here, kid?” “Just across the street,” I say, my gaze drifting behind him into the dim interior. I see her there, the girl, buried in a pool of shadow. Her hand flutters up in a wave, and I raise my hand to return the gesture, but the man steps back inside with a half-mumbled *thanks,* and slams the door shut before I can. “Hah!” Mrs. Amblin calls from across the street. “Guess they won’t be coming to any neighborhood barbeques!” I roll my eyes at her, annoyed but hopeful, because I’m pretty sure the girl smiled at me before the door closed. \# A few nights later, I sneak back across the street with a handful of pebbles and toss one at the window I think is hers. I’m coiled behind the hedgerow, ready to run if it’s not, but on my fourth try, the curtains part, and I exhale as she peeks through. I stand and raise a hand, feeling stupid, like I’m in one of Mom’s cheesy romantic comedies, the idiot kid waving up at the girl from the lawn—except in this version I’m pretty sure the girl’s dad would kill me. She cracks her window, her face framed by an oil slick of dark hair. “What are you doing?” “I um, never got your name. From the other day.” Her eyes narrow. “I never gave it.” “Yeah. Sorry . . . it’s just—” “Winter.” “Huh?” “My name is Winter.” *Winter.* Beautiful. It fits. “I’m Kyle.” “I know. I heard.” “Oh . . . right.” *Idiot.* The corners of her lips curl higher, and I can’t help but notice her skin is the color of moonlight. “So,” I say, trying to recover, “me and some friends are heading up to the lake in the morning. You wanna tag along and meet a few of the other kids around here?” She blinks, her smile wilting. “I…can’t.” “Why not?” “My Dad-he won’t—” A pair of headlights flash over my shoulder and send her scurrying into the black of her room. She reappears a moment after they pass, her face tight, her gaze ticking over the road behind me. “I just can’t. I gotta go. My dad might hear us. Thanks for the cookies, though.” “Wait. You maybe want to talk again sometime? Like this?” Her forehead tightens, and she pulls a slice of cheek between her teeth with a tentative nod. “Sure, I’d like that. Tomorrow. But wait until eleven, okay? My dad is usually passed out by then.” With that, she disappears, and I float back to my trailer helium-happy, struggling to focus on anything other than my rapidly beating heart. \# The day passes like quicksand. I skip the lake and help Mom patch a hole in the drywall the size of Dad’s fist, another memory of him sanded away. *Good riddance*. If only it were always so easy—a bit of sandpaper and some elbow grease, so she could forget him forever. But I know she can’t. His shadow is buried in the curve of her once-broken nose and the way she flinches at sudden sounds, like he might leap out of the closet at any minute, fists bared. *Bastard.* I hope he stays gone forever. If he doesn’t, I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t like to think about it. All I know is I’ll never let him hurt Mom again. Ever. \# After dinner, I kill a few hours playing some Atari and then tick off the rest watching the hour hand circle the clock in my room. When it hits eleven, I slip through the living room past Mom, who’s snoring away in front of some late-night talk show, and make my way outside and across the street. Winter is waiting for me this time, her window sliding open at my approach. “Hey,” she says softly. “Hi,” I reply, my palms already sweating. “So, we—” I nod toward her Dad’s room. “Are we uh, good?” She tucks a glossy lock of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. He’s asleep.” A warm buzz runs through me. *We have time...* “So, where you from?” I ask. The answer is Stockbridge, Massachusetts, her fifth move in the last four years. She likes Indie music and fried pickles and wants to travel to Alaska someday to see the glaciers and the humpbacks. I tell her a little about myself. How I can’t wait to graduate and move to Austin to start a career in computer programming, do anything other than work in the oil fields like Dad did before he left. I talk about him a little, too, the next night. Tell her how he chased some greasy-haired waitress to Houston and how me and Mom are better off with him gone. Stuff I would never tell anyone else, but for some reason just seems to slip out around her. She does the same, fills me in on how her mom died of cancer when she was five and how she inherited her mother’s allergy to the sun. It has something to do with ultraviolet light; it’s the reason her dad won’t let her out of the trailer because she’ll burn in seconds. She says he cares, that he always does what’s best for her, but the way her mouth tightens when she talks about him gives me doubts. On the fourth night, she waves me closer with a playful flip of her wrist. “Hey, you wanna see something cool?” I nod and edge through the shrubs toward her window, my skin buzzing when I draw close. She fades into her room and swirls back after flipping on a small lamp near her bed. Scarlet light bleeds through the lampshade, painting the walls in a mix of crimson-pink tones. Her room is bare, save a few posters tacked here and there, one of a mare tossing its mane, and another of Yosemite’s Half Dome at sunrise. “Watch this,” she says, raising her hands. She laces her fingers together, and a shadow spreads over her door. It’s a bird, something a kindergartner would draw in art class. But then she flutters her fingers and the shadow grows, transforming into a lush set of wings followed by a bloom of tailfeathers and a beak. She curves her arms, hands flapping, and the shadow flies—*actually flies*—across her ceiling, the motion so fluid, so *lifelike,* I almost expect it to burst through her window. Then, without warning, the shadow rips down over her wall straight toward me. I stumble back and trip over a row of flowerpots at my feet. Several crash to the rocks. Winter flashes me an *Oh, God* look, her eyes snapping wide as a door smacks open down the hall. “Go,” she hisses, whipping the curtains shut. I dive into the hedges instead. I don’t have time to run, her old man would hear me for sure. He barrels into her room, his voice angry and dripping sleep. “The hell’s going on in here? Why’s the window open?” Winter says nothing, and I imagine his concrete gaze surveying the walls, the floor, looking for something off, something not quite right. I hear her curtains tear open a second later, and I try to still my breathing despite the swarm of mosquitoes ravaging my neck. I twitch as one bites, and I’m sure he’s seen me, is about to jump over the windowsill and snap my neck, when Winter speaks. “I was hot. I needed some air.” Silence. Then: “And the pots?” “I heard a cat. It—” She’s cut off by the unmistakable sound of a slap, flesh-on-flesh, followed by a sharp cry. I cringe and ball my fists in my lap. Hard. *Asshole.* “You’re lying,” he says, fury creeping into his voice. “Don’t you lie to me.” “No, no. I promise. It was—” “It’s that boy, ain’t it? The one that came by the other day. Don’t think I didn’t catch the way you were lookin’ at him.” “N-no Dad. I-I swear I wasn’t— “Bullshit.” The window slams down, and all I can do is sit there trembling with rage, thinking, *I will kill you if you touch her again. I will kill you, I will kill you*, *I will kill you.* \# He boards up her window in the morning. The sharp tack of nails in plywood wakes me, and I slump over to the blinds with my scalp prickling, wondering what the hell is going on. He’s out there banging away as if what he’s doing is as normal as picking weeds. I widen the blinds to get a better view, and the hammer stops mid-stroke, hangs there. When he turns, his eyes are flat and black, like those of a trout’s. A toothpick juts from the corner of his mouth. He stares at me, unflinching, until a wave of nausea twists through my gut. I glance down, unable to hold his gaze. When I look back again, he’s gone. \# “She’s in trouble,” I tell Mom at breakfast. “Who?” “The girl. Winter. Her dad’s not right.” She pushes back from the table and reaches for the crumpled pack of Camel Lights on the counter, shakes one loose and plants it between her lips. Lights it. “Hmm. How so?” “He boarded her window. We need to do something.” She takes a deep drag, the tip burning cherry red. “Now, Kyle, you know we can’t do that.” “Why not?” “‘Cause it’s none of our business, is it?” She grabs her plate and stands, apparently done with the conversation. “Now help me clean up.” And there it is—the broken piece of her—the piece that kept Dad around long after she should have cut him loose. I grab my plate and toss it in the sink, my fork clattering to the floor. She spins on me, voice sharp. “Kyle, what’s gotten into…” But I’m already gone, storming back to my room. \# It doesn’t take long to figure out his pattern. Out of the trailer at seven-thirty, dressed in his faded-orange construction gear, tool belt strapped tight beneath his gut. Home by five. I watch him for a couple days to make sure—gone at seven-thirty, home by five—before I decide to go over. The guy is punctual, if nothing else. Outside, the sky is cloudy, the air so thick with moisture, it feels like I’m walking through a bowl of chowder soup. Mrs. Amblin is already stretched out on her lawn chair, wearing a massive floppy sunhat and reading an old *People* magazine, a set of over-sized sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She pulls them down as I pass, flashing me her red lipstick smile, the one that says: *I’m watching...always watching.* I wave at her—*nothing to see here*—and bound up Winter’s steps. She answers on the fourth knock, the door cracking open with a stale whiff of air. “Hey,” she says, toeing a fringe of the orange shag spilling over the threshold. “Hi, you maybe want to—” The words die on my tongue when I spot the swamp of purple devouring her eye. “He did this?” She nods. “Winter...” Her eyes harden. “He was right to. There are things about me…us…you don’t know.” “I know a father shouldn’t hit his daughter.” I say it with more force than I intend, the anger in my voice setting her back a step. She eyes me like she sees something new, like maybe I’d hit her too, if she makes me mad enough*.* “Look...I gotta go, Kyle,” she says, moving to close the door. “I’m sorry I scared you.” “Wait,” I say, planting a hand against the wood, “Are you talking about the bird? Because that was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.” I’m not lying. It’s all I’ve thought about the last few days, how the hell she did it—the rush of feathers and that liquid-smooth motion as it flew across the wall. Her face lights up, a pale sunrise, like that first warm glow of the day when everything is bursting with promise. I take a chance and grab her hand—the first time I’ve touched her, her palm cool against mine—and tug her toward the door. “What are you doing?” she asks, not really resisting. “Let’s go to the park for a bit. It’s right down the street.” She looks skyward with a hard swallow. “I can’t. The sun, it—” “Won’t do anything.” I swing up the umbrella I brought, Mom’s white and yellow-striped one. “And besides, it’s cloudy today. No sun, see?” I step aside for her to look out, which she does with a quick glance up at the bank of clouds foaming overhead. “I don’t know...” “C’mon,” I plead, “when’s the last time you had some fun?” “It’s been...a while.” I give her my best puppy-dog eyes and curl my hands over my chest like a set of paws. “P-p-please.” She giggles and blows at her bangs with a sigh. “Yeah, okay. But only for a few minutes.” \# The park is busier than I’ve seen in ages, the playground buzzing with kids. Moms fringe the sides and chat in clusters of twos and threes. Dogs wheel over the grass, chasing after brightly colored frisbees. A group of knobby-kneed sixth-graders enthusiastically smash into each other, playing flag football. I lead Winter away from all the chaos, and we sit on a bench nestled next to a birch tree. It takes a good five minutes for her shoulders to unclench and five more before she stops glancing up at the sky like she half-expects to catch fire. Then she’s staring at me with those dazzling blue eyes of hers. They’re, clearer out here in the light, brighter, with little flecks of green that swim through her irises like glitter. “Thanks,” she says. “I needed this.” Her hand slips into mine and my heart beats a little faster. “I figured.” We stay like that, hand-in-hand, quiet, listening to the leaves rustle with the breeze, while I work up the courage to ask her the question that’s been bothering me since she moved in. When I finally do, my voice nearly cracks. “Are you...okay? I mean, with your Dad and all?” She blinks, sighs. “He means well. He’s a little overprotective after what happened to Mom.” “With the cancer?” Her eyebrows arch like she doesn’t know what I’m talking about, then settle quickly back into place. “Cancer? Yeah-I mean, sort of, but it’s more than that, it’s...” She rubs her arms and glances around like she just realized she was outside “I-I can’t talk about it. I…should go. I’m sorry, Kyle, this was a mistake. I’m not safe for you.” My mouth unhinges. *Not safe for you?* I’m about to apologize and tell her I overstepped when a football thumps down near the bench. A boy runs up to retrieve it, his cheeks puffing red beneath a pile of rice-colored hair. “Sorry,” he says, bending to grab it. “We were just...” He trails off, his eyes flicking first at Winter, then at me, his mouth agape. “Wh-what is that?” he asks, pointing at Winter’s feet. It takes me a moment to see what he does: Winter’s shadow rippling in the grass, moving like the surface of a pond disturbed by a rock. I blink at it and rub my eyes. It’s still there when I open them, wavering, expanding across the turf like an anorexic version of Winter. The arms are unnaturally long, the fingertips wire-thin and quivering. She gasps and stumbles back, tripping as she does. The umbrella flies from her hand and her shadow writhes in the sudden spray of light, the umbra boiling as tongues of flame spark around its edges. It’s then I realize the sun has burned through the clouds. The shadow’s arm slithers through the grass toward the boy and wraps around his ankle. A flurry of thin-bone fingers curl over his shin and slide up his thigh. His mouth peels open in a shriek a second before he rips past me backward through the grass toward the shadow’s jaw. “Help me! *Help me!*” I dive for his hand and seize a handful of his shirt instead. He jerks to a stop, and I struggle to hold on as my forearm rivers with veins. The boy’s eyes bulge, the stitches of his sleeve tearing one by one, *snick, snick, snick,* and then he’s gone, catapulting across the turf toward the thing’s mouth. His feet dissolve first, followed by his legs and waist. I lie in the grass stupefied, watching his DNA unravel, strand by strand, until all that’s left of him is a vertically splayed hand sinking lower, turning to a fine carbon mist. “Run, Kyle! *Run*!” Winter’s voice cuts through the fog in my brain like an electric current. I jerk upright and lurch forward a step, slamming back down again as searing heat bleeds through my ankle I roll over to see Winter scrambling for the umbrella, but she can’t gain any traction, the shadow somehow anchoring her in place. My hands tear out chunks of grass as the shadow drags me closer, my fingers digging desperate trenches through the soil, slivers of dirt carving beneath my fingernails, panic surging up my throat. My foot nears its maw and plunges in. The pain is incredible, like being dunked into a pot of boiling water so hot it feels cold. Sparks flicker through vision, and I almost pass out. A blur of motion cuts in front of me toward Winter, a figure with tree-trunk arms carrying a blanket. His eyes are close-set, his bald head shining in the sun The pressure in my calf releases, and I look down to...nothing, no foot, no shin, just a pile of charred, oozing flesh and bits of ash drifting higher, spinning toward a quickly blurring sky. \# The police question me in the hospital a week after I wake. They grill me until a nurse orders them out with a snide, “That’s enough. He’s in no shape for this.” It isn’t until I’m discharged that they drag me downtown for a second round: *No, officer, I don’t know what happened to the girl or her father. No, sorry, I have no clue as to their last name—I wish I did. Yes, the boy dissolved into a shadow, same as my leg...* In the end, I guess they have too many corresponding witness accounts, too many strange descriptions of what happened, to charge me with the boy’s disappearance, or anyone else for that matter. All they have are a bunch of nonsensical statements, and a grief-stricken mother in search of answers that will never come. I know because I want them myself. The letter arrives six months later. I’m out on the porch, sipping a tall glass of lemonade, when the mailman spots me. He glances at my stub knee, then the envelope in his hand, and brings it up the steps. “I think this is for you,” he says, handing it to me with a look I’ve grown accustomed to: a blend of pity and relief. Pity for me. Relief it isn’t him. I hold the letter in my hands as he shambles away, the envelope wrinkled, the address—*Kyle Carrington, 11080 Swallow Way*—smudged in spots, like whoever had written it had been crying. I carefully slit the crease with trembling fingers and pull out the piece of paper folded inside. *Kyle,* *It’s hard for me to write this. After what I did to you, to that boy...there are no words. Nothing I can say or do will fix things.* *All I know is you made me happy, and all I did was hurt you.* *It’s all I’ve ever done, really...hurt the people I love.* *My mom. My dad. You...* *He saved you, you know, my dad did. He brought you to the hospital after that old woman across the street told him where we'd gone.* I read the rest of it, my eyes pouring over every word, every letter, my stomach sinking, and then go to my bedroom and pull the blinds shut. A foul shiver swims up my arms and stitches back down my spine. Winter’s letter swims through my brain. That...*thing* in the park changed me. I’ve suspected it for a while now, the way my shadow wavers and curls in the sun, the motion unnatural, like it’s moving on its own. And indoors, how it slides over the walls like a flicker of smoke when touched by the lamplight. I close my eyes and let the last line crash through my head like a thunderstorm. *Kyle, I’m so sorry, but whatever you do, you must never, ever go outside.*<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I've had a stalker for two months. He just told me my boyfriend isn't who I think he is - pt 2 [RESPONSE] Part one - \--- I stared at my stalker for a few seconds, wondering whether or not he was joking. “What do you mean, Jacob isn’t Jacob anymore?” I asked as he took his hand from my mouth and let my arms down. “He hasn’t been Jacob for a while. Is there somewhere else we could go to discuss this? Talking about this out in the open, especially so close to your apartment… It’s dangerous,” he whispered back to me. He looked nervous, his head on a swivel watching both exits from the alley way he pulled me in. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I mean, you’ve been stalking me for months, maybe longer. How do I know this isn’t some freaky elaborate ploy to get me to go somewhere alone with you? Why should I trust you at all?” Weirdly enough, he looked offended by my lack of trust in him, as if he didn’t give me every reason to be weary of his existence. A normal person wouldn’t drag someone into an empty alley to warn them about their boyfriend. Curiosity got the better of me, though, and I decided to let my guard down. “I’ll go with you to talk, but only in public. We can go to that coffee shop on 16th.” He shook his head in agreement, still double checking the alley exits to make sure we were still alone. About a minute into our walk towards the coffee shop, I finally gathered some courage to ask him a question. “What’s your name?” “Uh, my name’s Chris. Why do you need to know that?” “Well I figured since you knew mine that it would only be fair to ask yours.” “Oh yea, fair enough.” After that, we walked the rest of the five minute walk in silence. He seemed uncomfortable and jumpy, like he was expecting someone to pop out from the shadows and drag him away. When we finally arrived at the shop, I ordered my iced chai, and him an americano. For some reason, this didn’t really surprise me. Jacob had a fondness for americanos too. Maybe it’s a guy thing. “So,” I started as we found two rusty chairs to sit outside. “Why do you think there’s something wrong with my boyfriend?” He sighed and took a sip of his americano. “I don’t think,” he responded as he poured some half and half into his drink. “I know. Have you heard of whitelighters?” “Um, yea. The supernatural healers from that witch show? What does that have to do with any of this?” I asked, skeptical of where this was going. “Yes, they are supernatural healers, like guardian angels,” he paused, taking another sip of his americano. “Do you believe in guardian angels, Lily?” “I mean, I guess. I’m a pretty firm believer in the supernatural so I don’t know why I wouldn’t believe in them.” *No way is this man about to insinuate that my boyfriend is a guardian angel*, I thought to myself. “Good. Your boyfriend, Jacob, was one. He was yours, up until about two months ago, when you first met me.” I stared at him over the top of my iced chai, expecting him to start laughing or give some sort of sign that he was just messing with me. He didn’t. “Jacob is my guardian angel. That’s what you’re trying to tell me?” “No, not is. *Was.* Do you see this scar on my neck?” he asked as he pointed to the jagged mark under his jaw line. I nodded as I took a sip of my own drink. “Lily, do you know what a darklighter is?” “Uh, I would assume the opposite of a whitelighter,” I guessed. “You would be right. Darklighters are like demonic stalkers, both on regular humans like yourself and on whitelighters. Their main goal is to take out whitelighters like myself, which is why I have this scar.” Although I was listening, I could barely believe what I was hearing. “Jacob was your whitelighter at first. He was sent to protect you, and the best way he could do that was to be by your side, by being your boyfriend. But being a guardian angel creates a big target on one’s back.” “Wait a second,” I said as I snapped back into reality. “You really want me to believe that my boyfriend was a guardian angel, and that *you* are a guardian angel?” I had to stifle a laugh as he shook his head, staring me down with a serious intensity in his eyes. “Lily, have you noticed Jacob acting weird? Any new scars or bruises or bumps on his skin? Late nights out with some odd explanations?” Honestly, I had noticed that Jacob had been acting odd recently, ever since I told him about the first time I saw Chris. He never got angry with me, but he’d get increasingly stressed when I went places without him, I assumed out of worry for my safety. But what if that wasn’t what he was worried about? “I guess I have, ever since I first noticed you…” “Exactly. Your boyfriend is the reason I have this fucked up scar on my neck in the first place.” I noticed a twinge of anger in his statement, and I really couldn’t blame him. I’d be angry if someone scarred me too. “So, why did he attack you then?” I asked. My skepticism was still strong, but for some reason I had a feeling I could trust Chris, seeing his scar and now noticing Jacob’s weird behavioral patterns in the last couple of months. “I’ll explain it to you in the simplest way I can. Like I said earlier, guardian angels have huge targets on their backs for darklighters. Some of them want whitelighters killed, plain and simple. Others,” he looked over his shoulder, lowering his volume to barely a whisper. “Others see what some whitelighters have to offer. When they’re turned to the dark side, however they get them to turn, they use those strengths that whitelighters have for their own reasons. Basically, it’s good versus evil. Your boyfriend just couldn’t defeat whatever darklighter targeted him, and I guess Jacob had some redeeming qualities, otherwise he’d be dead. You wouldn’t be far away from him.” “So, basically this whole time, you’ve been stalking me to make sure Jacob didn’t… kill me?” “No. We’ve been stalking Jacob. Sometimes I would make sure that you were safe on your own, yes, but the main focus is him. He’s… corrupted, but he doesn’t have to stay that way. To be honest, we weren’t even sure if you guys were still dating when we found out he turned.” “Is that why you asked me for my number that day, to see whether or not we were still together?” “Yep, basically. We didn’t want to follow you around unnecessarily, and because he was no longer a whitelighter, we had no way to track him. You were kind of our connection back to him.” Everything I was being told started to hit at once, and I could tell that Chris noticed I was overwhelmed. It sounded ridiculous and basically unbelievable, but something in me believed Chris. I had every reason to doubt him and tell him to fuck off, that my boyfriend wasn’t some supernatural evil being, but how could I believe in that stuff and not believe that my boyfriend could be a part of it? My brain was on overload and I tried to process everything, one thing at a time, but it was brought to a halt when my phone started dinging. Chris stared at me, waiting for me to see who was texting. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and felt my chest tighten. “It’s Jacob.” *Are you with someone? It’s been half an hour.* *Don’t ignore me. I know where you are.* *I can find you whenever I want.*<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Soothing gel [RESPONSE] I rummaged through the dumpster, looking for anything that could be useful back at tent camp below the underpass. Leaky milk cartons. Wet cardboard boxes. Moldy bread. Dirty diapers. Another wasted effort through the discarded crap. Until I spotted something rather unusual. A jar with a label on it. *Soothing Gel: Apply To Your Skin To Ease The Pain Of Being You* My nineteen-year-old body felt like it was sixty. Achy joints. The shakes. Sleep deprivation. All the joys of homelessness wrapped in a bow-tied life of misery and day-to-day survival. High school dropout, the only thing on my resume. No drug addiction or alcohol dependency though, so at least I had that going for me. My parents knew I was a loser. They kicked me to the curb as soon as I was of legal age. Told me to hold down a job for more than a week before visiting them again. But no company keeps you around when you steal from them. A habit of mine with no end in sight. Whether it was slipping a twenty in my pocket from the cashier drawer or grabbing my tent neighbor’s sandwich when he was sleeping, my refusal to follow the law kept me in my place on the concrete. I sat cross-legged in my tent and opened the jar. Dug my fingers into the clear sanitizer-like gel and applied it liberally to my shoulders. That feeling you got when you were a kid and jumped into a ball pit. The overwhelming joy and bliss and ecstasy. That feeling coursed through me. I took another handful of the gel and rubbed it along my arms and legs and even on my face. Coated in euphoria, my eyes shut and soaked it in. All my worries just a distant memory of the past. When I opened my eyes, I felt rested, re-energized, and at peace with who I was. But an intense feeling of hunger developed, causing me to jolt up and dig through my plastic bags for food. I downed the scraps, but the cravings remained. The gel slid down my forehead and stretched across my eyes like a piece of gum. I floundered around trying to remove it, but it solidified over eyes, sealing them in darkness. The gel made its way into my mouth and wrapped around my tongue like a blanket. I chomped down on my fingers, biting into the bone, slurping up my human skin like it was a spaghetti noodle. A neighbor heard me thrashing around and opened my tent, screaming at the top of his lungs at my appearance. My entire body in a cocoon of gel. I continued to stuff my mouth with myself, peeling skin and swallowing it down. The neighbor tried to wrestle off the gel, but I pulled him forward and took a chunk of his nose. He stormed out, yelling for help. When I woke up in the hospital, forty percent of the skin on my body had been removed, digested. A well-dressed man walked into my room at one point and took a sample of the gel, placing it in a small canister. With a sly smirk, he assured me he would get to the bottom of this and find out what happened. My parents moved me back in with them. They’ve been keeping me fed, but the hunger never goes away. I need more than they can provide. I need more of me.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Help! I’m Receiving Text Messages from Dead People [RESPONSE] My new phone works great! No problems there. Holding it, feeling its limitless possibilities within my fingertips is simply sublime. You know the feeling, right? That new phone feeling. I’d be the envy of my friends, if I had any. Keeping my old phone as backup was a terrible mistake. You see, both my parents died last year. It was tragic. A couple months later my best (and only) friend David dropped dead while jogging. Heart attack. He was thirty-six and strong as an ox. Strange times indeed. I became numb. Buying a shiny new phone seemed a healthy distraction from the drudgeries of everyday life. I spent day and night setting it up, discovering its seemingly limitless possibilities. For the first time in years, it felt good to be alive. Life was getting back to normal. Until my old phone started receiving text messages from the dead. DING. My old phone lit up suddenly: MESSAGE ARRIVED. “That’s impassible.” The SIM card was removed. The phone was disengaged. Yet, like a ghost in a graveyard, my father’s number appeared. I read his text aloud. I wish I hadn’t. C U SOON DANNY BOY! The room chilled. Drops of ice dripped down my spine. My father never used his cell phone, even when he was alive. This was literally his first text. And he’s dead. My fingers quivered across the screen, searching for a response that never came. “Must be a scam,” I said boorishly, shaking my head in bewilderment. The phone returned to the junk drawer, and I went about my Sunday business. Except, my mind kept returning to the phone. Clearly, it was hacked. Someone was phishing me. But how? If only David was here, he’d know what to do. I was flooded with grief. My family was gone, and I was all alone. Yes, I had some ‘work friends’, but outside of work they were merely acquaintances. DING. My heart fell to the floor, my mouth desert-dry. MESSAGE ARRIVED. I read the message, expecting my deceased father to be announcing his arrival. Except, that’s not what happened. Still, his message shocked me to the core: U R DEAD. Those words danced like daggers around my brain. Reality shattered. Paranoia nestled in nicely. A sickly feeling was stirring in the pit of my stomach. I was shaking profusely. Reluctantly, I dropped the phone and retreated to the basement, where I binge-watched Peaky Blinders, and drank copious amounts of alcohol. Now, I know what you’re thinking: Why didn’t I throw out the stupid phone? And that’s a fair question. But logic rarely arrives under duress. I’ve cherished that old phone for years, letting go wasn’t easy. Besides, texts from dead people are creepy, but they can’t hurt me, right? Friday arrived like a bad habit. The hectic work week stole most of my attention; there was little-to-no time left worrying about haunted text messages from my dead father. I tried my best to ignore it. The following Sunday left me fatally exhausted and unprepared for what would come next. DING. DING. DING. I could hear the phone buzzing from the basement, which was odd, since it was on silent mode. Not only that, but its batteries were as dead as my parents. There’s no way that phone should be receiving texts. SIM card or no SIM card. Like a soon-to-be-dead-person in a horror flick marching toward their inevitable demise, I crept across the creaking floors toward the junk drawer, and retrieved the wretched old phone. With eyes like razor blades, I read the newly-arrived messages. They were all from one source: My dead mother. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I read her messages: DANNY IS THAT U? POPS IS SIK PLEEZ HELLP “This can’t be happening,” I cried. “This can’t be real.” Except it was. Real as rain, as my mother would say. Only my immediate family called my father Pops. This had to be real. That night I cried myself into a coma, until the darkness washed over me, and I succumbed to sleep. Sometime in the middle of the night I was jolted awake: DING. I screamed bloody murder. Beside me, beaming from my bedside table, was my old phone, which was odd considering I don’t remember leaving it there. MESSAGE ARRIVED. Pops’ number appeared. I tapped the serrated screen, and his newly-arrived message appeared: EREH NWOD DAED LLA ERA EW I shook my head, rubbing my weary eyes. The words were jumbled, making no sense whatsoever. I said a silent prayer, longing for the return of my sanity. Then I spied the message via the bedside mirror, and cringed. Those wicked words came to life: WE ARE ALL DEAD DOWN HERE I stared at my phone for what seemed an eternity, feeling sick all over. DING. My heart exploded. Was this nightmare ever going to end? C U SOON DANNY BOY ;-) Anger came swiftly. Something inside me snapped. I jumped out of bed and stomped the phone into a million pieces, reveling in its destruction. Then I tossed its shattered remains into the trash bin. Good riddance to bad rubbish, as my mother would say. My life has been cursed ever since. The next day, my alarm failed to wake me up, and I was late for work. Later that week I got a flat tire, and was again late for work. The entire week was teeming with catastrophes. I couldn’t focus. My stress level was through the roof. My sanity was hanging off a cliff. Work put me on probation. One more mishap and I’d be unemployed. Sunday was a Me Day. A day of relaxation. Beer and baseball, pizza and chicken wings. Just like old times. The beer was refreshing, and went down easy. The couch was a reliable friend, and welcomed me with seated cushions. Better yet, the Blue Jays were whooping the Yanks into oblivion. Things were looking up for the first time in weeks. Then came a knock at the door. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. I live in a remote suburban neighborhood, with a ‘No Soliciting’ sign parked out front. Nobody comes to the door. Not since my loved ones passed away. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. “Hold yer friggin’ horses!” I shouted, loud enough to be heard. As I inched toward the door, my legs felt like weighted stones, dragging me into the depths of hell. Something bad was lurking outside my front door. I just knew it. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. I couldn’t believe it. Who would be so rude? From downstairs, the announcers were throwing a tantrum. The Yankees hit a grand slam. Tie game. The door swung open. My hands crunched into fists. Nobody was there. I swore like a trucker on amphetamines. Someone was screwing with me. Someone, or something. And I didn’t appreciate it. On my way inside, I spotted something poking out of the mailbox: My old phone. Suddenly, the world stopped moving. The air turned thick and stale. Was someone watching me? Probably, yes. I imagined myself being part of some unholy prank, committed by God-who-knows, for reasons I don’t understand. By now I was submerged in a dreadful mix of loneliness and paranoia. Oh, how I pined for my loved ones. Someone to confide in. Cautiously, I reached into the mailbox. My old phone was haphazardly glued together, like the phone of Frankenstein. Gretel, my nosy neighbor, strolled by, walking her dog. She was giving me a cynical look. I was about to ask if she’d seen anyone prowling about, when her measly mutt spotted a squirrel, and shot off like a firecracker, and she disappeared down the sidewalk, without a second glance. Soon I was back on the couch, cold beer in my hand, watching the Blue Jays spoil their lead. Damn Yankees. I drank. The alcohol was keeping me cool. For the time being, at least. All the while, my eyes kept darting toward the old phone, daring it to ding. I didn’t wait long. DING. My mother’s name appeared. DANNY PLEEEZ HELLP!!! Grief swept through me like a river of despair. I was completely unhinged. If I had a pistol, I’d put it in my mouth, and all this would be over. As the final score appeared on the TV, 8-7 Yankees win, an idea sprung to mind. It was stupid and dangerous, but that never stopped me before. Besides, it just might work. I clicked reply: Hi Mom. How are you? For an eternity, I stared at the screen, afraid of what would come next. DING. Her response was disturbingly brief: BEWARE. A bomb went off inside my brain. I lost all control. I began bawling my eyes out, not even realizing it. Treacherously, I typed: Beware what? DING. DEATH. She was saying everything and nothing at all. Time to change gears. How is Pops? Sorrow as deep as a well seeped into my soul. Nothing could’ve prepared me for what came next. DING. It’s not everyday your dead mother sends warnings from beyond the grave. But I was skeptical. You see, my parents died in a horrific car crash. While I was driving. Although I left the scene unscathed, my parents perished. Watching my father’s head roll onto the snow-crusted highway, only to be run over by a transport truck, still haunts my dreams. I can’t rid myself of that awful image, no matter how hard I try. My mother died next to me, blood leaking from every orifice of her battered body. POPS IS MAAAD AT YOU. With shaky movements, I quickly responded: Tell Pops I’m sorry. All night I waited for her response. Eventually, after finishing off two six packs of Coors Banquet, I slept, only to have my bazaar of broken dreams come grinding to a halt, sometime in the dead of night. DING. Wearily, I crawled toward the old phone, whimpering like a dirty dog. JOIN US. My mother’s maligned message put me over the edge; two words that stole my breath, shaking the very foundations of my soul. I wanted to weep, but the river of tears was dry. I wanted to smash the disconsolate device into a million pieces, but I’d already done that. I was at a crossroads. Oh, how I longed for David. He’d know what to do. “Then why don’t you call him?” My heart stopped. Where did that voice come from? Maybe it came from me. Or maybe my house was haunted. This would certainly explain a lot. Either way, the voice was right, and I knew it. Using the battered old phone, I called David, not sure what, if anything, would happen. It went straight to his voicemail. I leaned in, not wanting to miss a word: “I can’t come to the phone right now,” David said somberly. “I’m dead. Danny, if that’s you, hang pictures of your parents around the house. And give them offerings. You MUST make offerings to the dead. Once a day.” Click. David’s voice lingered long in my mind’s eye. Offerings of what? DING. David’s follow-up text appeared without words, just emojis of food and drink, hearts and flowers. Too scared to reply, I said a silent prayer, thanking him, then I retrieved a box of family photos from the storage bin in the garage, and placed them strategically throughout my home, putting one in each room. These were my mother’s pictures. She’d kept every photograph, test, trophy – you name it – from my childhood. The following week was spent collecting food and flowers for my offerings. I left them close to their respected pictures each night before bed. I even left some for David, whom I owed a lifetime of gratitude. It worked. Unfortunately, my laziness knows no bounds. It wasn’t long before my offerings became less frequent. Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. My dead parents were not impressed. Apparently, the dead are irascible. … My dead mother’s latest text arrived like a bad dream: JOIN US DANNY. U R ALREADY DEAD. I’ve stopped fighting her. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am dead. Maybe I died in the accident, after all. What exactly is death anyway? Does anyone know? Asking for a friend. Surely, I’m not the only person receiving messages from dead loved ones. (I shudder at the thought.) Anyone out there with similar experiences? I’d like to hear them. We can swap stories. The dead are relentless in their quest at being heard. I’ve learned this. And they will stop at nothing to get what they want. And what do they want, you ask? To be heard. And for us to join them in the Great Beyond. So I keep my old phone with me at all times. My dead parents told me to, and I’m afraid of disobeying them. What will become of that insidious device? Only time will tell. Or should I say: Only time will text. DING.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm a veteran demon hunter. yesterday I encountered my first class 5. [RESPONSE] So. Demons. They’re real. And no, they are definitely not the big red guys with the long horns and the goat hooves. Most of the time. I’ve been in the demon-killing business for the last 15 or so years, and that makes me practically ancient by the standards of the industry. I’m what we in the know call an “industry professional,” and I’m the one they send out to handle the ones that are too big for the new people but too small to call in the task forces. I’m sort of the middle management of demon murdering. Which, for the average woman in her thirties might be a little weird, but I make it work. They aren’t particularly picky about who decides to work for them when all is said and done. They mostly just need a few warm bodies to keep the demon population in check. “Who’s they?” you might be asking. Well, they’re a little like the occult version of the police. They have a bunch of agents that mostly sit around in an office filling out paperwork and occasionally go off to kill a bunch of nasty little denizens of hell. And yes, they are from hell. We asked them, and they were pretty vocal about it. At least the ones that can speak. That’s what demons are, by the way. Creatures from hell that typically have a nasty craving for human flesh, brains, or any other part of the human body that their type happens to be fond of. The flesh crawlers, for example, are partial to human skin, and the heart-wrenchers are fond of hearts, believe it or not. All of them within the category look different, but they always prefer one part of the human body more than anything. Except for the exceptions. The exceptions are the class 6’s and up, who eat pretty much anything and everything, including souls, in case they needed to be more terrifying. But most demons are nowhere near that powerful, so it’s a more minor issue than you might think. I mostly deal with class 3’s with the very occasional class 4. That’s what I thought I was dealing with yesterday. A class 4. They’re incredibly rare, with maybe one or two roaming the continental united states at any one time. What makes them a class 4 is the system that the OODL (that being the group i work for, the Occult Operations and Demonic Liason department, normally shortened to oodle), uses to classify its demons. Size, intelligence, and abilities. A class 1 might be as big as a dog and as smart as your average potato, but the jump in each class is staggering. A class 2 might be as big as a bison if it’s not particularly smart. Class 4 is when the demonic abilities start showing up. I got a call at my desk at around midnight (and yes, we work at night. That’s the time when demons show up, ok? It’s not our fault.) I was filing a report about a recent flesh ripper i’d had the pleasure of dealing with when my phone rang. I picked up the phone and heard the monotone voice of the receptionist on the other end, which probably meant she was one of the taken. That certainly didn’t bode well. “Have I reached agent swallow?” she asked. “You have” I replied, while internally cursing my call sign. They gave it to me because I was the only woman in the local office. I remembered to find Alex and kick him a few times because of it. Not that he’d been responsible or anything, but he certainly enjoyed making fun of me for it, which was reason enough for him to receive a good kicking. “There is a report of a class 4 approximately 30 miles from your location,” she said in the same eerie monotone. “You must eliminate it,” that last bit was punctuated by the more than a little abrupt ending of the call. The Taken call operators rarely waited for any sort of confirmation from the agents they spoke to, and there was a bit of a superstition around the local office that they only ever called when they were sending you to your death. Otherwise, they would have given you a human operator instead. I was a little worried at the idea of facing a class four, especially one nearby, without my partner here with me. Alex was a rat bastard, but he was one of the most competent and experienced agents in our branch, and when there was a class 4 nearby we normally worked on it together. Alex was nowhere to be found today, and most of us at the office assumed he’d had one too many drinks the night before and decided to skip work for the day. That meant that I’d have to deal with a class 4 by myself for the first time. I moved down to the ground floor before heading out. The office of the more experienced workers like myself was on the third floor of the building, with the first two floors being made up of fresh workers straight off their first or second job. Which was necessary given the incredibly high turnover rate at most OODL locations. The basement of the building was blocked off from the elevator and wasn’t available to anyone except the task forces and the branch’s manager. It was left for the holding cells and their occupants which were mostly the friendlier demons who wanted somewhere to stay, and a few speaking varieties who the head office felt were “important” (read: they could torture for information on locations for high-class demons). At our branch, we also had a singular named demon. Those were the guys that the head office thought were so dangerous that they needed a code name and specific restraint conditions. Ours was called “Horse Rider”. I had no clue why and I was nowhere near high enough on the chain of command to find out. I made my way out of the building to my company-designated car, an old Toyota that I sometimes thought was more dangerous than the demons I hunted with it. It was covered in dents and scratches from all the action it had seen, including a recent confrontation with a class 3 sight-taker that left it without its left mirror. It was also possible that some of the red paint wasn’t strictly *paint* by the general definition. It was hard to tell, though so I could get away with it. No one wanted to visit the cleaners. A shiver down my spine was enough to confirm that notion. Inside the car was a screen I’d use to find the demon which marked its current location, category, and class. It was a black iPad-looking thing that was just behind the gear shift, and it made the whole car look not unlike a taxi, or an uber. Displayed on the screen will always be a map of the surrounding location, the demons class, and category, as well any special abilities in the case of class 4’s and above. One look at the screen and my heart fell. It had the class alright, and even the category. A class 4 bone gnawer was a bad day in anyone's books. They almost always had harpoon-like hooks with claws that could make even a butcher jealous. They were easily one of the most dreaded categories to deal with. Only Vampires (no, not literal vampires, they just like blood) and builders are more colloquially hated (the builders liked to take people's fingers and toenails, often while the victim was still alive. Nails, like the construction kind. Hence the name) While the category and class were bad, it was what wasn’t on there that really topped it off for me. In the section labeled “special ability,” there was absolutely nothing. This meant that either the creature didn’t have an ability at all, which would make it so obscenely massive and smart that it seemed unlikely, or that the ability hadn’t yet been discovered. That meant that I was probably a scouting agent. It would be my job to go in there, get a good look at the ability and send that information to HQ, and then die horribly while the demon removes and then eats my bones. Hooray. It wasn’t a long drive to get there, at least by the standards of the job, but it was one made in silence. Taking on a class four alone wasn’t likely to go too well and I knew it. Especially if I was just sent there to die. The location pulled me up to an abandoned farm just outside of town. It was so cliche that I was tempted to believe this might be some elaborate plot by some crackpot at the head office if it weren't for the silence. You see, there’s almost always some noise out there. Wind, crickets, birds, anything like that. But there was nothing. Not a single peep. The air was so still it felt stale, and it cast a stillness onto the grass and overgrown fields with it. It’s so subtly unnerving, to see grass so still. It’s an unconscious sort of thing, I figured. It makes it look fake. Dead. It also meant there was a demon around. It’s one of the signs of demonic manifestation we’re taught to recognize in order to properly perform our duty. Inside my head, I went through the checklist just to be sure. No sulfur smell, that could be bad. The air was a little hot. Bad. my mind wasn’t clouded at least, so thats good. The sky was a little tinged with red. That was pretty bad. All the signs pointed to a class four, and a pretty bad one at that. It probably meant that it had manifested its ability and would probably start seeking out humans within the next few days. I let out a long and somber sigh. I was probably going to die, but first, the part that every Oodle agent hates more than anything. Looking for the damn thing. death would come in good time, but finding the damn thing came first. I had its general location, and it was more than likely on the farm somewhere, but it could still be almost anywhere. hopefully, there was a barn nearby. I started off by gathering my equipment in full. Since I was a little on the small side, that mostly included guns. Handguns, shotguns, even a rifle just in case. All of them were loaded with the requisite holy ammunition that you needed when taking on a demon. Additionally, I had some holy water and a few holy “artifacts”. All of this holy stuff was just anything that Oodle could get blessed by a “member of the faith.” Technically speaking that could be any faith at all, and it often included those who were not, strictly speaking, ‘real’ religious believers. So it was that I held in my hands a handgun with bullets blessed by Frank, the local subway worker and faithful member of the sect of the Great Sandwich. I figured that the most likely place the demon would have gone would be a barn. It wasn’t a strict rule of demons that they would always be found in the most dramatically appropriate place in the area, but it held true more often than any agent wanted to admit. This was especially the case in regards to the higher class demons, who were smart enough to seek out sheltered and dark areas to do all of their evil demon shit. Like eating human skin. Or bones, in this case. I almost felt lighter thinking of some poor class 4 demon wandering aimlessly in a completely open field without anywhere to enact its blood rituals. Still, my sympathy for the creatures didn’t extend far enough for that. And, honestly, I was still a little upset that I was probably going to die. It was something that every agent was prepared for, but few scouts ever actually realized they were scouts. Oodle normally sent out the fresh agents to this sort of thing, but in the case of a class 4, it seemed like they weren’t sure a newbie would survive long enough. I’d have applauded the practicality of it if I weren’t nearly pissing myself with fear. You might think I’d be used to being this damn scared, 15 years isn’t a short amount of time, after all. But I’ll let you in on a little secret. Consciously going to fight the denizens of hell, who you know for a fact will be attempting to eat your bones in the next 10-15 minutes, never quite loses its impact. Especially on the bladder. Instead of following that blessed instinct, I followed the more learned thoughts given to me by over a decade of experience. Every knife, gun, and religious relic I had on hand was within easy and convenient reach. I went through my mental checklist once more before finally heading toward the shape I assumed to be the barn. It stood tall among the fields and cloaked all of its surroundings in even more complete darkness than the night provided. The moon's brightness didn’t penetrate into the domain of the demon. Even mother nature had little sway in the face of a creature of hell. I was more conscious of my footsteps as I finally reached the barn. it loomed higher and wider with my approach (were barns seriously that big?). Once I was close enough to finally make out the iconic rust-red paint of the damn thing it felt like I would go deaf every time one of my feet made contact with the ground. I was hyper-aware of my breathing because that old, irrational fear that somehow, someway, the demon would hear it and claw me down on the spot was too ingrained to overcome. Add that to the stillness of the surroundings and it felt like a miracle the demon hadn’t come out to rip me open and relieve my skeleton of the burden of my flesh. Where the thick darkness created by the shadows of the barn’s shape was undeniably dark, the gaping maw that was the barn's entrance looked to be an entrance to hell itself. It was a darkness so complete that even my torch wouldn’t have gained any purchase. It was like looking into a pool of ink, and it felt like if I were to take a single step into it, I would be swallowed. So with one last goodbye to my ever-fleeting will to live, I stepped inside the demon’s lair. I was right. It *was* the demon's lair. It was fairly easy to tell, despite the darkness. Even without my eyesight, I could *smell* blood. It was like when crossing the threshold I was hit by a wave of metallic-smelling death. This was the final, and most important, confirmation of a demon’s presence. Whatever is inside their domain is theirs to control. Only so long as I had the religious relics on my person was I immune to that effect. That meant it could conceal the smell of blood outside of the barn, and in theory, it could have instantly removed my skeleton as well. I remembered to thank Frank and his holy sandwich-related wisdom if I lived to see tomorrow. The darkness was still the most immediate threat for the time being. The smell was an important confirmation, and given the absence of rot, it likely meant that the demon had only set up shop recently. I shuffled around in the hay-encrusted floors of the barn for a few seconds while I tried in vain to get my bearings. I had hoped my eyesight might adjust enough to start making out shapes once I got inside, but I couldn’t even see my hand inches from my face. That meant I would continue penguin-waddling myself toward my general approximation of the center of the building. I did my best to follow the smell of blood since I hoped the smell might be strongest where the demon had made its home, but it was equally as pervasive in every direction. As I waddled through the hay I could practically feel my nerves reaching their limit. Something about being unable to see any attacks that might be coming, the thought of being torn apart at any second by a demon that I can’t *see*, fills me with dread. Every time I shuffle my feet through the hay I pause again. Was that a sound? It felt like every step carried me closer and closer to a painful and meandering death. I kept shuffling along. I finally heard it after a few minutes. A few agonizing minutes that I felt would never end. The metallic smell of blood was no more strong there than anywhere else in the barn, so far as I could tell, but the sound of my boots hitting something wet was unmistakable. It was only a light nasally breathing coming from somewhere to my right. That was all. The creature's shape was still blessedly absent from my view, and I counted it as a small blessing. For that small time, the demon was only light breathing to my right. It wasn't a demon yet. Just breathing. It couldn’t last, of course, but it was still nice to imagine. After all, if I was right, this might be the last good thought I might have. That revelation certainly soured the experience for me. The next few moments were the bane of every demon hunter on the planet. Sneaking up on the beast was always the simplest part of the operation. Of the few things that remained constant to demons, poor awareness was one of them. It was the only thing that gave me any hope as I reached for my flashlight. My hands shook slightly as I reached for the pack tied at my waist and pulled out the metal cylinder. I was terrified. More viscerally than I’d ever been in my life. Without Alex here to confront the demon, with the knowledge that I was completely alone, I felt so scared. It was a feeling reminiscent of being a little girl again. It was the feeling of hiding under the covers until my parents came and told me it would be alright again. It was a feeling I hated. The anger at being afraid bolstered me as it always did in moments like these. While I shook and fumbled to turn on the flashlight, the seething rage at the demon for causing me this fear carried me. I wanted to kill that damned demon at that moment, and it was the anger that made it possible. *Click* Blindness followed immediately. The darkness made way for an all-consuming flash of light. It tore away the inky blackness like the parting of the red sea. In the center of that bright light, as soon as I could make out its shape, all of my fears were made manifest. Scaled red skin met matted black fur in a quadrupedal body. Hooks extended from each digit on its long, bony hands. The demon reminded me of a diseased dog as it released a screeching cry. It tore its gaze away from the light and I saw its eyes for the first time. My anger faded in an instant. In my hand, the gun I had reached for fell out of limp fingers. It wasn’t quite the demon's ability, as would have been the preferred case. It was the acknowledgment of the inarguable fact that I was going to die in the next few seconds. Oh, I knew I was going to die. It was almost an inevitability when I realized I was going to be the scouting agent. But this was different. Those matte black eyes would mean nothing to anyone less experienced or knowledgeable than I was. In fact, they would have meant nothing except to those who had been accepted to the specialty training seminars given to prospective members of the demon elimination task forces. They meant that the demon I faced was a class 5 or 6. As I felt my gun fall out of my hand it mattered little to me which it was going to be. I was dead either way. In taking on a class 4 alone I was still the smallest bit hopeful. I still believed that maybe, just maybe, I might live through to the end of the night. As the demon finally turned to face my torch, and I looked at its maw of lacerated teeth, I gave up on that notion immediately. My death was coming swiftly. I had half a mind to close my eyes and accept it immediately, but that same fear of not seeing my attack coming stopped me from doing so. It felt so childish to wait for the demon to eat me, staring into its eyes because I was too afraid to blink, but it was all I could do. It snarled at me before opening its jaws, and I got another long look at its pointed teeth. Before I could scream my final scream, I was silenced as the demon spoke, for the first time. “Human” it snarled in a bestial voice. I froze up even completely. It had spoken. That was much, much worse than any immediate death would have been. If it’s smart enough to speak, is it smart enough to enjoy inflicting pain? I’d heard that some of the higher-class demons would torture surviving task force members for days before finally finishing them off. And a bone-gnawer? Those hooks would tear into flesh like butter. “Human!” it repeated. The angry voice snapped me back into the situation. The demon's face was twisted into a snarl, and I could almost feel the sweat falling off of me as it stared me down. I fumbled for a response. Something. Anything. “Demon” Anything but that. Anything, any single conceivable phrase, but that. “You dare mock me human?” it questioned. Its snarl didn’t even falter as it said it. I felt its gaze on me like a deer facing down the headlights of a truck. I was too stunned at my own idiocy to even speak, and I defaulted to the only thing I could think of. “And you dare sit there covered in blood, and talk to me like I’m the one in the wrong here!” Fuck. “Puny human. You dare-” “And not only that. You probably already thought of killing me, didn’t you? And you want to talk to me about *daring* to do anything!” Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. “Hold on a second you mortal *filth.* You dare address m-” “How about *you* hold on a second you dick! I’m not the one sitting in some creepy-ass barn waiting for people to show up so I can eat their bones!” ImSoDead ImSoDead ImSoDead ImSoDead “And what the hell is all this ‘human filth’ crap about!? You’re literally *covered* in blood” The demon hesitated. It looked down to see it was, indeed, covered in dried blood. I was mostly still thinking through all of the seventeen ways I was probably going to be gruesomely murdered and eaten. Not necessarily in that order. That was until the demon started laughing. Which was an incredibly odd sound coming from the vocal cords of a wolf-ish creature. More disconcerting was whatever the demon found so funny. It occurred to me to try and find my gun to shoot it while it laughed, I reasoned it wouldn’t do all that much to a class 5 or 6 anyways. it would have been far more likely that I would draw my gun just to find my neck being gently removed from my spine. “Umm. do you feel like clueing me in on what’s so damn funny?” *Yep. those will be my last words. “Samantha Goodall- she died as she lived. A sarcastic bitch”* “Never. Not once in my thousands of years of being- not once- has a human spoken to me with such guile” the wolf demon wheezed out between fits of laughter. *“We are gathered here today, in remembrance of Samantha Goodall” I wonder if they’ll actually say that at the funeral?* “Well, I didn’t know what to say!” I shouted back to the demon, to which it only laughed louder. “Well, I suppose you wouldn’t, little human.” the demon wheezed between chuckles. Once again I'm struck by how abnormal the laughter sounds from a *demon* of all creatures. Who knew they could even laugh? “Who the hell are you calling little!” I shouted indignantly. The corners of his mouth turned up into an expression mimicking a smile, and even I could see the demon was holding back a laugh. I frowned at the wolf thing. “My humblest apologies Mrs…?” “Samantha” The wolf-demons lips twitched again. “My humblest apologies Mrs. Samantha. It has been many centuries since my last expedition into the human realm. You must excuse me if my manners are a little… lacking.” Did a demon just apologize to me? I think I’ve had too much to drink. “Better than having my bones eaten I suppose,” I said as flatly as I could manage. “But now you know who I am, who the hell are you?” Did I ask a demon their name? Yes. yes, I did. Looking back, it wasn’t my smartest move. “My name? It is an old and powerful name. It is far beyond a mortal such as you” the demon said in a haughty tone. “Sure it is. I bet it’s steve or something. Or maybe dave. Oh! Maybe it’s Mr. Fluffles!” As far as ‘final words spoken to a wolf demon in a blood-covered barn’ goes, Mr. Fluffles isn’t too bad. And I do have to admit, without the scaly-looking skin and the hooks for claws, he does look quite fluffy. “You dare! You refer to the mighty Leonard! Bringer of the dammed, architect of the cruel and dark, bringer of dea-” “Did you just say Leonard?” why in God's name did I decide to make fun of its name? Do I want to die? I don’t remember having a death wish, but at this point, I’m already convinced it’s over either way. “My name is ancient and powerful, puny human!” … … … … The conversation went on for another hour before I had to make my report to Oodle. It turned out my first class 5 wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Although I’m fairly sure Leonard tried to eat my soul at some point. I’m pretty sure it was after I told him about Air Bud.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Who Else Wants To Know The Mystery Behind DEADLY GRUESOME MONSTER? Read This Controversial Article And Find Out More About DEADLY GRUESOME MONSTER [RESPONSE] "Who doesn't hate clickbait? It was bad enough when it was just online, but now it follows us in the real world as well. Print media now on its deathbed tries to emulate online media by being as obnoxious as possible." This was the first thought that popped into my mind the first time I saw that accursed newspaper. The Orcus Tribune, I think it was called. You see, I live in a city and take the underground to work every day. People sometimes take a newspaper with them on the tube, pretend to read it, and then promptly get back to scrolling on Instagram like everybody else. As a result, dozens of newspapers lay about abandoned. It was a very weird newspaper. Firstly, it was written in a Gothic font, like it was from pre-WWII Germany, or something. Then it had no photos to speak of, only hand-drawn black and white pictures. Curiosity got the best of me, and I picked it up. Not being used to the typeface, I had a hard time reading it, but after a while I was able to decipher headlines such as: * The Death Of DEADLY GRUESOME MONSTER And How To Avoid It * Does DEADLY GRUESOME MONSTER Sometimes Make You Feel Stupid? * Warning: These 9 Mistakes Will Destroy Your DEADLY GRUESOME MONSTER * Using 7 DEADLY GRUESOME MONSTER Strategies Like The Pros * Marriage And DEADLY GRUESOME MONSTER Have More In Common Than You Think "Must be a hard rock band," I thought. "They always have edgy, nonsensical names. But then again, DEADLY GRUESOME MONSTER could also be a euphemism for someone's private parts." I chuckled at the thought that someone would be so immature. So, I put the paper down and took my phone out. I had forgotten all about the bizarre newspaper until I found the following edition the next week. Same silly headlines. "Don't they have anything else to talk about?" I thought. Then it occurred to me that it could be some sort of far right paper. "It all fits: the Gothic script, the low-budget, the cryptic language, everything. The Monster could even be whoever it is they don't like. Wait. Can't be though. They always talk positively about this Monster. Must be the authoritarian leader they'd like to see installed in power." A few weeks in a row I'd find the same newspaper in the train. Always similar headlines. Always about something called DEADLY GRUESOME MONSTER. Then no more Tribune for a few months, until last Friday. One of the articles was titled: "How To Start DEADLY GRUESOME MONSTER With Less Than $100". This time I read the whole article. I was thoroughly amused. It was about some old lady selling her Monster for 69 bucks. "It's got to be sexual," I said to myself. "Why else would she ask for **that** sum?" At the end of the article, there was even her phone number. I decided to prank the old woman, so I called the number. An old woman with a coarse voice and harsh tone answered. I asked about the Monster. "What Monster?" "Well, the one you advertised in the Tribune." "Yes, my old Degrumo. It's just weird hearing you call it that. For a moment I was worried you were an outsider, but since you're a subscriber to the Tribune, I guess you're okay." "It is my term of endearment for them," I lied after an uncomfortably long pause. "I sometimes forget I am the only one who calls them that." I cringed at my own pathetic attempt at deceit. Only now did I realize why she called it a Degrumo. I needed an excuse now for why I changed my mind about buying whatever it is she's selling. "I'm afraid the price is a bit too steep." "What are you talking about? Are you drunk?" She shouted in the phone. "Listen here, young man," she said after calming down a bit, "you know very well the price is symbolic. I don't need your damn money. I'll send it to you tomorrow morning." "But, but …" "Look, it's a pure-bred, a direct descendant of Cerberus. You'll have it by tomorrow." She hung up. What? It's a stupid dog she's selling? Good thing she didn't ask me for my address. By the time the old crow realizes, it'll be too late. Not that I would've given her my address anyway. Then I remembered **I** was the one who was supposed to prank her, not the other way around. I guess I'm not as good at pranks as I thought. The next morning, about two hours before sunrise, way before my alarm sounded, someone knocked at my apartment door. I woke up, looked, but didn't see anybody. Cautiously, I opened the door. Before my door, there was a large cage. The cage was covered with some cloth. Something inside was starting to growl. I hurried and dragged the cage inside and took the cloth off. The most horrible creature was inside. A two-headed dog with additional snake heads dangling from random parts of its body. Then I remembered my conversation with the old witch the other day. A Degrumo, descendant of Cerberus. I guess it resembles its ancestor. Only it's missing one head. Maybe not as pure-bred as the witch claimed. It's been two days since I have the monster. I'm at least thankful, that it sleeps 20 hours a day. The 4 hours between midnight and 4 AM it spends hunting people on the street. It comes home in the morning with a human leg or arm. I tried to lock the fiend, but it always gets out. I tried to kill it, but it's incredibly tough, I guess supernaturally so. So, my question is: Does anybody want a DEADLY GRUESOME MONSTER? Please DM me.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Creep [RESPONSE] I didn’t notice him right away. How long had he been watching me for? I was on campus walking back to my dorm room when I spotted him. He seemed to linger in the shadows, just close enough to see him in my peripheral vision, yet too far away to discern any recognizable facial features. He wore a hoodie. That’s all I saw at first. His presence unsettled me. The rain poured down in buckets as I fast-walked, soaking wet, into the safety of my dormitory. The warmth from the heater gave me goosebumps as I slipped into pajamas and brewed a hot cup of cocoa. The downpour outside was horrendous, the copious amounts of raindrops smeared my window. Yet I still saw him… The creep. Outside in the parking lot. His face was obscured by his hoodie, as if he was looking at his shoes. Unease jolted my stomach. My fingers trembled against my mug as I hurriedly shut my blinds. I sat there, anxious, hoping he would leave. For an hour, I listened to the incessant raindrops and occasional thunder crashes. Time seemed to grind to a halt. Eventually, as the sun began to set, and the gray storm clouds outside darkened into blackness, I nestled up the courage to sneak a peak. Nothing. Thank god. Relived, I entered my bathroom and took a long, indulgent shower, allowing my stress and tension to dissolve with every bead of hot, steamy water. My muscles relaxed and I was able to breathe again. Finally, I stepped out and dried off with a towel, eagerly anticipating some much needed sleep. I yawned as I stomped off to my bedroom. I parted my blinds once again, still seeing nothing. Convinced I was safe to sleep, I left the blinds parted, allowing moonlight to illuminate my bedroom. I walked over to the bed and pulled back my covers. *The creep.* *From outside.* He looked at me, his white blob of a face smiled at me. His hands were nestled under his chin like a child. The eyes were a solid, demonic black. I backed away instinctly, but failed to scream. My throat was frozen, locked in the most primal, intense fear I have ever experienced. His eyes stared upwards, looking at the ceiling. A flash of lightning illuminated the room. He sat up in one fluid motion, as if doing a crunch. Its legs were still tucked underneath my bedsheets. It was at this moment that I realized, to my utmost horror, that whatever was in my bed… *Wasn’t human.* It slowly turned its head until the eyes locked onto me. It moved like an… Alien. In my retreat, I bumped my hip into my dresser, the crash sudden and emphatic. The sound caused it to stop smiling. I was close to my door now. I felt for the knob, found it, and turned it. The knob let out an agonizingly loud squeak. The thing in my bed opened its mouth, wider than humanly possible, and folded over itself. Grotesque displays of flesh pulsated where it’s head used to be. I screamed, finally unfrozen from my terror-induced trance, and ran down the hall, in an attempt to wake up the other girls in the dorm. One girl poked her head out her door and asked me what was going on. In a panting, desperate plea, I told her there was a man in my dorm I didn’t know. She called campus security for me. They found nothing of interest in the dorm and seemed annoyed at me for wasting their time. I couldn’t bear to go back into that dorm. But I had to. I slowly crept back inside, and found it empty. Well, except for the hoodie resting on my bedsheets. It didn’t belong to me.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Alone on an Old Country Road [RESPONSE] I always look forward to the drive home because of the solitude. It’s so early in the morning, there are no cars; there’s no reason for anyone to walk down that old country road, especially in the dark. So, when I saw the figure stumbling by the roadside, I knew something was wrong. There’s no service out there, or I would’ve called in a tip and been on my way. As it was, I slowed, and as I drew closer, I realized it was an old woman. No jacket, her arms clutched around her middle to keep warm. No shoes. I wouldn’t have stopped for anyone else. But an old woman, alone and in trouble? I couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d driven off. She looked surprised when I rolled down the window and invited her in. She climbed into the passenger’s seat slowly, as if her joints ached. I glanced at her feet, then away. They were filthy and bloody, her toes blue. “You okay?” I asked. She didn’t reply, staring forward like a sleepwalker. “Where are you headed?” No answer. I wondered if she had dementia. Maybe wandered away from a farmhouse somewhere. I tried to study her surreptitiously. She *did* look familiar, but I couldn’t quite place her. “My house is still a ways away,” I said. “I’ll call someone once we get there, okay?” She may have nodded—or perhaps she was just drifting off. We drove in silence. I kept glancing at her, trying not to be too obvious. Why did she look so familiar? The longer the question dragged, the more anxious I felt. Maybe picking her up was a mistake. After all, I’d have to call someone, and I wasn’t keen on having authorities sniffing around my place. I could drop her off somewhere, but what if someone else found her? She wasn’t responsive now, but what if she told someone about me? It wasn’t worth the risk. I should’ve never picked her up. What had compelled me to do such a stupid thing? Cursing myself, I forced a smile. “I have to make a stop real quick,” I said. “I’ll just be a minute.” She said nothing as the car slowed, even though we were stopping in the middle of nowhere. I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the door, the cabin light flickering on. As I put one foot out, she spoke. “Do you know the fate of sinners?” she asked. I stared, mouth agape. In the light, she looked *so* familiar—the straight lines of her eyebrows, the downturn of her mouth. She reminded me of my grandmother—and yet not. But I knew her. “Who are you?” I demanded. “After they die, they walk the earth,” she said, as though she hadn’t heard me. “Walk the earth for all eternity.” “Tell me who you are!” The old woman turned slowly. Wrinkles blossomed from the corners of her sad eyes, her skin sagging like dripping wax. “You already know, Mara,” she said. I did. And it terrified me. I slammed the car door and stalked to the trunk, wrenching it open with more force than necessary. Muttering to myself, I grabbed the tire iron, ignoring the sticky residue coating the metal. The black garbage bags sat undisturbed, though I could smell their contents, like a thousand copper pennies. I’d have to deep clean the trunk after I dumped them. Adjusting my grip on the tire iron, I stalked to the passenger’s door and wrenched it open, pulling back my arm for a devastating swing. There was no one there. I looked for tracks along the road but found none. After half an hour of stumbling around in the dark, I returned to the car. Let the old woman rot! Tomorrow, I’d wake up to reports a senile old lady died of exposure, and I’d be glad to hear it. With I sigh, I climbed behind the wheel. Glancing over, I froze, door still ajar. Under the pale yellow cabin light, the floor mat was immaculate. There was no blood from worn, broken feet. No dirt from the miles trod. No sign, in fact, that anyone had been there at .<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The things you do for money [RESPONSE] You ever see those ads online, sometimes on craigslist, sometimes in the newspaper, where you can sign up for college psychology experiments? Of course, they aren't as common anymore; laws, rules, or whatever don't seem to allow them as much, but they still happen if you keep your eye out. And you can still even get paid for some. Sometimes even as much as $500.00. So when I was down on cash and saw the ad for just that amount, I figured it was worth a shot rather than donating plasma. My eyes read the bold letters blaring at the top of the post. THINK YOU CAN RESIST USING A PHONE? I chuckled at the thought of such a strange experiment. Maybe something about how we can't avoid distractions in modern times. When I called, they told me I would be sitting in a plain room, with only a telephone in front of me, one of those old landline-style phones. They said I would hear noises from the other room and all I would have to do was sit there. Ignore the sounds. I could do anything I wanted to; I just couldn't use the telephone. Seemed easy enough. So not even an hour later, there I was, standing in front of a plain white building, the type you see temporary stores and businesses go into, with a white sheet of paper taped to the door. Excorio Clinic - Appointment Only. I walked toward the door and pulled briefly, but nothing happened. Locked. I pressed my hands against the glass and stared inside the dim interior, only to see a man staring back at me. I jumped back, startled as I heard the door unlock. "Sorry, Sir, did I scare you?" "Just surprised, is all; I didn't expect to see a face that close to the glass." "Sure. Sure. We have to keep all the prying eyes out, you understand. Only serious applicants only." "Makes sense to me." He waved his hand, beckoning me to follow, and we entered the clinic, walking toward a table with a line of clipboards set up, papers on each. He handed me one without saying anything, and I glanced down and saw a typical information sheet. I grabbed a pen attached to the board, wrote away my name, address, and other contact information, waived some rights, and was ready to go. Another man walked up that almost looked identical to the first, not quite twins, but close enough you could practically mix them up from a distance. They glanced at each other and smiled, and the new man held out a Ziploc bag. "What's that for?" "We need all of your belongings in the bag, please. Nothing can interrupt the experiment." I shrugged and dropped my phone and wallet in there. Not that they were of much value anyway. One man disappeared with the bag, and the other led me toward a room at the end of a hall. There was another door not much further down from it. We entered the first, and I saw a small empty room, plain white, with a table in the middle and a chair just to the side. A red telephone was on the table. The man gestured to me, and I entered and sat down, hearing the door click behind me. I sat there for several moments as nothing happened, just a simple, quiet room. I was already bored sitting there staring at the wall when I heard strange mechanical clicking. Part of the wall slid away, and I could see a glass pane between the rooms, a man and woman sitting at a similar table. They each had a plate in front of them and were slowly eating and chatting, but I couldn't hear anything. Sound crackled above my head, and I glanced up, realizing a dome camera and microphone were on the ceiling. Not only had they not mentioned I would see what was going on, but they also forgot to mention any recording devices. I didn't mind the recording, but I did mind them withholding information about the extent of the experiment. I shook my head and decided to focus, and started to listen to the conversation that was taking place. "...Jane left the folder in the copy room, and the business that shares an office with us took it. Can you believe it!" "mmhmm." "And they did nothing to her like usual, just let her get away with making mistakes. So do you think they are ever going to fire her?" "...who knows…" A typical, even stereotypical, conversation between a man and woman, though the man seemed to be paying even less attention than usual. It was clear the experiment would lead to an argument. The woman's face was red, and only seemed to be getting redder as it was clear she was upset. The man was completely oblivious. Suddenly she was standing and screaming at him. "YOU NEVER PAY ANY ATTENTION TO ME; WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU? ISN'T MY LIFE IMPORTANT TO YOU?" The man had a startled look on his face and almost fell out of his chair as he stared at her. She continued to scream into his face as she moved closer and closer. "YOU DON'T APPRECIATE ME, DON'T APPRECIATE WHAT I DO FOR US, THE SACRIFICES I MAKE!" I felt myself jump when she struck the man in the face, knocking him unconscious with a single blow. That didn't stop her rage, however. She repeatedly attacked him, punching his face, flecks of red liquid flying freely in the air as the bruising darkened. I ran over toward the glass and banged on it. "Hey…HEY…" The woman didn't seem to hear me and pushed the unconscious man onto the ground, kicking him in the stomach. There was no way this was part of the experiment; it was too real. She was trying to hurt him. Maybe even kill him. I ran toward the door at the exit and pulled on the knob, only to find it locked. My head shot back toward the glass as I realized the room was silent. I momentarily froze when I saw the female holding a knife and walking toward the man, who was still unconscious on the ground. A wide, twisted smile stretched across her face, and I could swear I heard a chuckling laugh escape her bent lips. She grabbed his arm and began to drag the blade across it. His screams forced me to cover my ears as she cut deeper, digging the knife around. She almost seemed to turn her head toward me, smiling through the glass as if she wanted me to watch. She wanted me to react. Well, wish granted. I ran over and grabbed the phone, quickly dialing 911 when I heard a strange tone coming through the glass. A ringing phone on the other side, now blaring as the woman dropped the man's arm and went to answer it. She smiled as she breathed into the receiver on her end until finally, I broke and spoke. "...stop...stop it. Stop...alright...I give up. You win. I used the phone." She smiled as she spoke back to me, still staring through the glass. A red tongue trailed out and licked her lips like a lizard. "Alright, dear. Just remember, you did this." She set the phone down, and I could hear her heels clicking as she walked back toward the man, both through the phone and the sounds output into the room. She looked at me before slowly pushing the knife through his neck. His screams echoed between the phone and the room, and I dropped the receiver, covering my ears, closing my eyes, and trying to look away. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I could hear the thumping in my ears as I pressed harder, trying to muffle the screams. And then silence. I opened my eyes, peeked out, and saw that the wall was closed again. Something turned the sounds off, and I was alone. I dashed toward the exit and found that They had now unlocked it. It felt like I nearly ripped the door off the hinges as I sped through, heading down the hall. I froze as I saw the two men who had greeted me at the entrance blocking my path. They said nothing, only held out my bag of belongings, with a check sitting inside the bag. They moved aside, and I grabbed the bag. I ran as fast as possible, glancing back only after I was free from the building. The two men stood shoulder to shoulder, smiling and waving at me as I left the parking lot. My first thought was to call the police, my phone already in my hand when I froze. I had put down my address on the information sheet for the experiment. I had no idea what I was dealing with, what the police could do, and if it would mean I was safe. There was nothing I could do except leave. They must have known that; it's why I was allowed to leave in the first place. I just wanted to get these thoughts out of my head, forget the experiment and move on. But they wouldn't let me forget. I knew they wouldn't let me forget. My hands were shaking as I stared at the letter in my hand almost a week later. It was addressed to me from the Excorio Clinic, bold words filling up most of the page. WE ARE EXCITED ABOUT YOUR SECOND VISIT TO OUR CLINIC, WHERE WE CAN DOCUMENT THE RESULTS OF OUR STUDY. YOUR APPOINTMENT IS SCHEDULED FOR OCTOBER 13TH; <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Don't Scope the Black Deer [RESPONSE] My blind embossed in autumn leaves and tall, brown tinted grass, smothered by rope and a wooden base with a camo sleeping bag slung about it for comfort. I breathe deeply, implanting the stock of my bolt action rifle to my shoulder, tucking it in the way my old man had taught me. I have been here for hours, watching the rising sun now fade behind a curtain of grey, darkening puffs of cloud in the sky. The smell of pursuing rain swirls my nose. The buzzing of my black watch blares loud enough to steal me from the hypnosis of nature. It is almost time to pack it in. I take one last look through the scope, gliding the crosshairs over ferns, pines, brushes, and the skittering of black, grey, and brown squirrels up and down the thick brown bark of all matter of trees. My site zips past something odd nearly two hundred yards off. I steady my scope and work backwards till I see movement on a hill, rustling through the brush. I see it. It's gangly, sickly, mane of mange. A tall, thin black deer with ribs protruding from its sides. Hip bones that shot out against its flesh, as if trying to rip free. Above all its decrepit, grotesque features. The eyes were by far the worst. A putrid white and yellow puss that oozed from its sockets, and blank white eyes with no iris. Just disturbingly white. Not like a cataract eye where the pupil is fogged by a green and grey tinge, it was all white. The way its chest moved was even perverse in nature. Each shambling breath was followed by a puff of thin visible air, as if it was below freezing out here, out here in the dry heat of summer. Its head perched up, neck sounding like each bone brittle, cracking and snapping from the movement. How could I hear it from this far out? Then it hit me. Nothing else out here was making a sound. As if every other animal, critter or being was stuck in a panicked state of paralysis, devoid of the ability to move or speak, devolved into silent husks trapped in the horror that this being’s presence had created. I wanted to rip that scope from my eye and run, do something, anything! All I could do was witness as two blotches of yellow rolled down from its eyelids and into where its iris and cornea should be. It’s staring at me. How? How could it possibly see me? How can it see anything? I try to pull the trigger but nothing. I can’t move. It stands up on its hind legs, while the front legs droop to the side as if it were a bipedal being. That gaze locked onto mine, and it screams a terrible scream. A blood curdling, high pitched cry as if it was being murdered. My stomach turns to knots. I want to vomit but my entire body has betrayed me. It walks towards me. Still on its back legs it slowly saunters towards me, taking its time as if it knows that I cannot move an inch. I can see its fur is caked with blood, pus, and God knows what else. It’s smiling? It approaches me, the smell is horrifying. Rotted eggs, burning flesh and the smell of body odor, like an intense, palpable stench of someone that has never bathed. A blend of the sourest of smells that overwhelms me. I woke up. Three years later, and a hundred miles from home.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My best friend is eating herself, and I have no way to prove it (Pt. 2) [RESPONSE] Goodmorning everyone, first of all, I want to thank you all for the suggestions. Really, thank you for trying. Please stop telling me to leave her alone. Please stop telling me to send this to her; she's smart enough to figure out who 'C' is. I am at her house right now. Her mom is stuffing me full of chicken noodle soup and wrapping unsolicited blankets around me because she said I look sick, which I do. I haven't slept well since I posted that; I'm always getting woken up by that vague red screen. So I am, quite literally, worried sick. Anyway, I have to get this out quickly. I can't 'text my mom' forever. But I wouldn't be posting this if there weren't any updates. C looked healthy last night and was just as concerned as her mother about my health. I wanted to scream at her and hit her, telling her it's not my health we should all be worried about. I wanted to hug her and beg her to keep herself whole. I want the luxury of just being able to call the police and whisper about it frantically over the dinner table, reveling in such a scandal; I want detachment. But this is C. My C. So when her boyfriend came over last night to celebrate C and her weight loss, I watched him like a hawk. Although, of course, my sleep-deprived brain probably twisted every move he made into something much worse. I think the proper word for it is demonization. God, I'm all over the place. You see this. You know. I'm sorry. God, I have no idea what to do. God, it's funny how little You have to do with this situation. I remember how her boyfriend, X, looked at her. Not with love, pride, desire, or even just appreciation, contrary to what he came here to do, but he was examining her. Please keep in mind what I said earlier. But I still don't think that that's normal, the way he was scanning her, how his brows were furrowed. When he would wrap his arms around her, padding at her sides and the small of her back, it was as if he was appraising a fruit. Someone on the last post said he might have been the one who gave her the pouch, which I dismissed-- he is so, so sweet. And charming. But all that warmth he held for her earlier, whatever I'd been seeing, had evaporated. Or maybe he was never warm, and I just never noticed. Maybe it's because I've never seen what lust looks like on someone, and maybe that was lust. I couldn't sleep last night. All I could hear was the sound of her bedsprings creaking and the heavy fabric of her duvet rustling as she tossed and turned. She never spoke in her sleep before, but last night she was moaning and grunting. Occasionally, she would whimper and mumble, "I don't have anymore. Please," over and over. I know now that I'm awake with a good amount of food in my system and a steady head, that I should've woken her up. Any other time she's had a nightmare, I've woken her up and let her talk out her nightmares so we could find out what they were about. But this might've been the only way I could've gotten information from her, spying on the rumblings of her subconscious mind. Here's what I think: I think the pouch of her fat with that weird sigil is a sacrifice. To who or to what, I have no clue. And I think now that she has her dream body, she both cannot give up her remaining fat nor wants to give up her remaining fat. I've learned in my health class last year what a very low body fat percentage does to a human body. From what I remember, it makes it hard to walk. I'll have to look it up later. This hypothesis, or theory, what have you, is only supported by the fact that in one of her "I don't have anymore. Please," cycles, she suddenly burst out, "She has more!" and then stillness. Then a slow creak as she sits up, another as she shifts her weight to the edge of the bed, and the small whines of the floor as she makes her way over to me. In case you were wondering, yes I use she/her pronouns. Yes, I'm tubby. I lay frozen by her feet, scarcely daring to breathe. I do not want to be involved in this, I do not want the attention of whatever deity that has her. I want to help her, though. You may think this is stupid, but I lie there, still, waiting for teeth. All that comes is her soft, incoherent murmuring. Occasionally, I am able to catch a few words: "I can't ... Not her ... " which was also repeated over and over. At that moment she had turned into a sort of presence or energy. I don't know the fancy spiritual terms for it. It was like a cloud of heat gathered over me, a predator lying in wait. I felt more than heard her retreat to her bed, then shortly after continued tossing and turning. Thankfully, she did not go to the bathroom. The entire night, it was just the creaking and rustling, until she grew still and just woke up. What bothers me the most is that she acted completely normal. She's glowing as if she slept restfully, and fretting over me as if I am the one who's... doing whatever she's doing. I don't know what to do anymore. How can she, this girl who flushes whenever she lies, act so normal after an 8-hour-long nightmare like that? Is she even aware of it? Is she possessed at night, and all of it is a demonic sort of sleepwalking? Am I completely insane? I think I should burn the pouch. But I've watched enough horror movies and seen enough posts from 'witches' saying that there is a proper way to dispose of spiritually loaded things. I'm afraid that if I do just burn it, it'll simply reappear and target me next. Is there anyone out there who is a witch, or knows someone who is a witch? How would I get rid of something like this? Also, someone on my last post asked me what the sigil looked like, and it was just 2 circles inside each other (one obviously smaller), with a bunch of spokes running through it. The spokes had lines crossing them and had tails facing outward (of the circle) with tails that look like the greek symbol psi. That's as much as I can remember, though. I haven't seen it for like a week. If you know of anyone who can perform an exorcism, preferably one that's more in depth than the Christian ones they do in movies, or any way I could dispose of the pouch without endangering her, please let me know. Preferably I would like to carefully disentangle C from whatever entity she's dealing with without getting myself personally involved. Thank you all for the help. I want this to end as quickly as possible. In the meantime, I'll finish this bowl of soup and actually text my mom.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Don't follow the faces in the mist [RESPONSE] Don’t follow the faces in the mist. It was a throwaway line, but one I should have listened to. We had finished up a block of training and our instructor, a wiry man everyone called Buck, invited us out for drinks. Most of the group joined, but few stayed long. A lot of them were locals and had places to be. I was happy to have the company. As the night wore on, Buck’s stern exterior came down. It is common enough to almost be a rule that sternness comes from a place of care and concern. Though sometimes misplaced, it was not so with Buck. His job was to prepare us for what we would face out in the field. Provide us with the tools to execute our jobs as Rangers. And he took it seriously. I was happy to have him as a teacher and at the end of the night, as we said our goodbyes, I told him so. He slapped down a hand on my shoulder and took in a breath. He lifted his head and his drooping eyelids and looked at me with a sustained intensity that shook clear the clouds of a drunken mind. He said, The Smoky Mountains are a remarkable place. But promise me one thing. Do not follow the faces in the mist. It took five years before I discovered why. The call came through in the early afternoon. A kid had wandered off from the campsite a few miles down the road from the Ranger Station. The situation is common enough, someone had wandered off and couldn’t find their way back or had managed to get themselves stuck. The majority of these calls resolve themselves the same day, we find the person and issue stern warnings. Hell, sometimes it is all over by the time we get there. But not always. And no one in our Station needed any reminding. Posted on the noticeboard beside the front door is a picture of Jessica. Her photo has been there the entire five years I have worked the Station. She went missing the summer before I started. She is still there because we never found her. Jessica’s father insisted the photo stay until she either walked back out of the forest, or the alternative no one wanted to give voice to. I know that photo better than any photo of my family or friends. Six-year-old Jessica with blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. Fingertips poking out the sleeves of a red puffer jacket one size too big. A pair of bright yellow boots pushing up over faded denim jeans. A big toothy open-mouthed smile. Her family took the photo the day they arrived at the campsite. When the sun set on the search, her father had a copy printed and plastered them all over the surrounding towns. They were the clothes she had been wearing when she wandered off during the hike the family took up to the waterfall. The copy hanging on our notice board is the only one left. We pulled up to the campsite in our truck. A woman with a bright red beanie pushed down over dark hair was upon us as soon as we got out. She had her phone pressed to her ear and stuffed it in her pocket absent-mindedly when she saw us. Adrenaline made her voice shrill and pushed her words together. Kyle nodded and added a few calm words to get her on track. His voice and manner are perfect for these situations. He didn’t interrupt, he didn’t raise his voice, he only slipped in enough words to get the information we needed. Her name was Polly. She was six years old. She had been wearing a red beanie like her mother’s and a faded brown jacket that had been passed down through the family. She had dark hair and brown eyes. And where was she last seen? They had hiked up to the waterfall in the morning and planned to picnic up there. When they made it to the top the mist had come in so thick they couldn’t see anything of the view. That combined with the chill in the air convinced them to come back down. The four had walked together, mother, father, older brother Will, and Polly. She had been there with them when they made it down, on that point both mother and father agreed. Will had shrugged his shoulders. At the campsite the air was clear and the fall sun warmed our shoulders. Up the mountain could very well be a different story. It is like that around here. Had they left Polly behind during the walk back? We got a vehement No. She came down off the mountain. Somehow in the time between coming back and setting up the picnic at the fold-out table beside the camper, Polly had wandered off. It wasn’t like her. She was a good girl. As we listened a small crowd circled us at a distance. Being the middle of the day most of the campers were off walking a trail or sightseeing in one of the nearby towns. The ones that were around, elderly couples on retirement and families on holiday, picked themselves up off their deck chairs and came to see about the commotion. No one had seen little Polly. Kyle split us into two teams. The first was to search down around the campsite. This was the most likely place she would be. At the back of the campsite a tree-lined creek meandered down the mountain. Beyond, the terrain was rough, grass covered hills and gullies filled with thick bushes. If she had ventured out there, a slip could send her tumbling into a stack of reeds and no one would see her. The second team was to go back up the trail. Retrace the steps the family had taken to come down. It was unlikely, but sometimes people had what Kyle called a ‘McAllister moment’. This is when a parent is sure their child is, or isn’t with them, and they are wrong. It is the sort of thing that leads to parents leaving their children in cars on hot days, and, famously, a family named McAllister leaving their child home alone to stave off some would-be thieves at Christmas time. Mark and I ended up on the team heading up the trail. I’ll admit I was a little disappointed. Like Kyle I was sure Polly was somewhere around the campsite. It is a selfish thought, but on a search you always wanted to be the one who finds the person. I was sure now that it wouldn’t be me. We started up the trail leaving the campsite and the search effort behind. Before we left, the mother had shown us a photo of Polly taken up at the waterfall. I kept the picture in my head as we walked. I hoped we wouldn’t be adding it to the noticeboard. The trail was eerily quiet. I had walked it many times and always come across people powering up or coming back down. Not today. The trees surrounded us on all sides and the world went silent. We walked slowly, scanning through the forest either side and calling out her name. We hadn’t gone far when the mist came in. Thicker and faster than usual. When you live up this way you get used to it. There’s a reason they call it the Smokies. Before long visibility was down to only a few yards. I stopped and looked back down the trail. It was no better than the visibility ahead. It almost seemed unnatural how quickly and completely the mist had arrived. I was about to say I had never seen anything like it when Mark took the words out of my mouth. It was comforting that it wasn’t just me. No wonder the family had turned back. The ferocity of the mist gave rise to a terrible thought. Polly may be up here in the forest somewhere. It would be easy for a child to wander off, or even to stop to fumble with a stray shoelace for long enough to get separated from her family. The parents had been sure she made it down, but then there was the McAllister effect. I called ahead to Mark who had walked on ahead. When I received no response I skipped a few paces to catch up. As an adult and knowing the area as well as I did, there was still a moment where fear at being alone spiked in my stomach. I could only imagine what Polly was going through if she was up here all alone. Mark had stalled on the trail up ahead. He turned as he heard my footsteps. He pointed out to the right. He thought he heard something. I squinted through the mist. Nothing moved. He couldn’t give any other details, only that something had caught in the corner of his eye and was gone as soon as he turned his head. I stepped into the trees and called after Polly. A few steps more and I stopped and listened. Nothing. Back on the trail Mark was fixed in place. His face had gone pale. “It moved,” he said. “What did?” “The mist.” I turned behind and then back to Mark. I waited for a punchline or for him to break into a smile, but none came. Let’s keep going. I found myself on edge. The mist enclosing us had a sudden menace to it. As we climbed it only grew thicker. I buttoned up my coat against the cold. It was like being high in the air and inside a cloud. We walked in silence. I called out after Polly half-heartedly. When I noticed Mark was no longer by my shoulder I stopped and turned. I strode back down until I found him, stood as a statue. He shook his head at me. He wanted to go down. I grabbed his arm and told him we had to keep going. It was our job and if Polly was up here she was relying on us to come find her. Mark is a big guy, but in that moment he looked small and fragile. He looked up to the sky and then back to me. He nodded and we continued. Up ahead the trail turned to the left. As we approached the bend shapes started to appear in the mist. At first I took them to be the outline of branches leaning over the trail. But as we came closer the outlines stretched and deformed like a cloud changing shape under high wind. The shape coalesced into something that vaguely resembled the outline of a small child. I blinked my eyes and refocused and it was still there. The outline of a child running away from us, around the bend in the trail. I broke into a run and rounded the bend, chasing after the shape in the mist. On the other side there was nothing. Only a blank wall of mist like before. Had I imagined it? Was my mind playing tricks? I turned to Mark to check if he had seen it, but Mark was not there. I ran back to the bend and rounded it again in the other direction. “Mark?” I ran a few more steps and still nothing. “Mark?” I called out again and again and only silence. He was just here. He had been beside me when the bend came into view, I was sure of it. Or had he? We had walked in silence. Had he flaked, turned back and left me alone. Surely not. Mark was a reliable guy, he wouldn’t do that to me. Maybe I’d had a McAllister moment. But then where was he? “Mark?” I called again and again. I ran fifty yards back down the trail and nothing. I stood with my hands on my hips unsure what to do next. I didn’t want to walk back down to the campground without Mark. I also didn’t want to hike further up the trail alone. A pocket of warm air washed over the back of my neck. It was as if someone pushed their mouth right up against my skin and exhaled. I snapped my head around and no one was there. I almost called out again for Mark and thought better of it. I took a few steps back up the trail towards the bend where I had seen the shapes in the mist. On my left the rustle of leaves and a sharp crack of a twig snapping. I stopped and peered through the mist and the trees. Something in there moved. I leaned forward. A few feet above the base of a tree a small pocket of mist turned in a circle. As I neared it coalesced into a face. The face of a child, a small girl. Polly. I jumped forwards and the face pulled back further into the forest. I called after the girl. I followed her into the forest. If she was up here I had to look. I had to be sure. Soon trees surrounded me on all sides. The mist hung as heavy in among the trees as it had done out on the trail. I looked left and right searching for the face I had seen, or thought I had seen. No, it had been there. There again, up ahead the vague outline of a small girl. I put the picture of Polly back into my head so that I would know her. Red beanie. Faded brown jacket. Dark hair and brown eyes. But as much as I tried to picture Polly, it was the other girl, Jessica from the photo on the noticeboard that I saw. The blonde hair and red puffer jacket and that big smile. I couldn’t shake the image. I followed the face of the girl in the mist. I skipped a few steps to catch up and all at once she disappeared. I stood panting a little and called out. And there she was. Direct ahead, standing in a small clearing. Red puffer jacket and blonde hair. Six-year-old Jessica. Six year old Jessica who disappeared five years ago and was now here, still six years old. I squeezed shut my eyes and shook my head. When I opened them she was still there, smiling up at me with that big, goofy grin. I trembled. This shouldn’t be, it was Polly I was searching for. Dark hair and red beanie. I’m looking for Polly, I said and immediately felt foolish. The child looked up at me confused, the smile gone. She turned a circle on the spot and when her face came back into view her face was different. And not only her face. Her hair was dark and she manifested a red beanie. It was Polly now where it had been Jessica a moment ago. “Polly?” I said. She made the same goofy smile as Jessica had in her photo. I shook my head and almost yelled at her. “You are not real. This can’t be real.” The grin faded again and her mouth twisted into a grotesque snarl. Her mouth opened wide and then wider still, unnaturally so, and her crooked child’s teeth morphed into razor sharp fangs. In the moment before I turned to run I locked eyes with the creature, yellow and menacing. I raced through the trees desperately seeking the trail. I swung my head around and in the mist a wall of faces closed in from behind. I gave an involuntary yelp and forced myself to look away. When I finally found the trail I turned and ran at full speed down and towards the campsite. Mark be damned, I didn’t want anything to do with whatever was hiding in the forest. I turned back and before I could process anything I hit a wall on the trail and tumbled to the ground. It was Mark. I scrambled to my feet. Mark stared up at me with eyes filled with terror. “Did you see it?” I didn’t answer him. I grabbed him by the arm and started us down the trail. We had to get down. Mark made a noise, a half-laugh, half-cry and I turned and followed his outstretched hand. There in among the trees was Polly. But it wasn’t Polly. She stood and watched and held out an arm and beckoned us into the forest. “Don’t look at it.” I fixed my eyes on the trail ahead trying to give myself tunnel vision. In my imagination the faces sprung up again on each side. I covered my head and yelled at them to stop. And then, as if someone flicked a switch, I felt the warmth of the sun on my face. I looked up and saw the blue of the sky. We were out of it. We slowed to a walk. When we came back to the campground Kyle asked us if we were ok. He could see we were shaken. I didn’t know how to explain what we had seen and so I told him simply that we did not find Polly. The team at the base had not found her either. I am convinced of two things. That Polly went missing up on that trail somewhere in the mist and that whatever we saw was not her. There is a second photo hanging on our noticeboard. Polly has joined Jessica. Two girls taken by something lurking in the mist. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My sisters and I have been locked in the attic for almost 24 hours [RESPONSE] When I woke up this morning, I found myself laying on the attic floor, among all the old furniture and clothing that had been forgotten about months ago. My neck hurt from being propped up against an old desk and my throat felt dry like the inside had been scrubbed with sandpaper. Once I sat up and stretched, the confusion set in. Why was I in the attic? I had no memory of coming up here, and I clearly remembered having fallen asleep in my own bed the night before. I stood up and saw that I wasn’t alone; my sisters were just waking up as well. “What the hell?” Ingrid asked. She was the middle child, and frequently the most annoying. She lay on the floor in the middle of the attic and rubbed her eyes. She was missing a sock. I glanced over at our older sister Tessa, who was still sleeping. She lay on her side with her arm bent under her head. She looked comfortable, despite the fact that she was laying on an old rolled-up rug. “Jo? What are you doing here?” Ingrid asked me. I walked over and sat on the floor next to her. “I don’t know,” I replied. Ingrid sat up and looked around the room, spotting Tessa. “What’s going on?” She asked. I shrugged and watched her as she stood up and walked over to the attic door, which had been closed. She pounded on the door and then grabbed hold of the ladder and shook it, causing the entire door to rattle. “Mom!” She shouted. She continued to shake the ladder aggressively as she shouted. “Mom! We’re stuck!” “What’s going on, why are you being so loud?” I looked over to see Tessa waking up. She yawned as she pushed herself up into a seated position and looked around the room. Once she realized where we were, she stood up and walked over to us. “Why are we in the attic?” Tessa asked me. I shook my head. “I don’t know.” “Mom! MOM!” Ingrid shouted. “I’m here.” We froze and Ingrid let go of the ladder, sighing in relief at the sound of our mother’s voice. “We’re stuck. I don’t know how we got up here. Can you open the door, please? I really have to pee,” Ingrid said. There was silence for a few seconds while we waited for the door to open. But it never did. “I can’t,” my mother said. “I can’t let you out.” We looked at each other. “What do you mean? Is everything okay?” Tessa asked, scooting closer to the door. “No, everything is not okay,” our mother replied. Her voice sounded sad, and it caught my attention as I began to wonder what was going on. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” I asked. “I am,” she replied. “But you girls aren’t.” I looked over at Tessa, who looked confused as she turned and mouthed something to Ingrid. “What do you mean? What’s going on? Just tell us!” Ingrid snapped. “You’re going to kill me!” My mother cried. “One of you is going to kill me!” “What are you talking about mom? We don’t want to kill you!” I replied. “Maybe not *you*, but *it* does.” Ingrid froze for a second and turned to look from me to Tessa. “What do you mean ‘it’?” “The evil thing! The evil thing that possessed one of you! I know that it did, I know it’s waiting for me to let my guard down so it can take control and kill me. I can’t let you out! I won’t do it until you can prove to me that it’s gone.” My mother cried. I could hear her hyperventilating. She sounded scared, terrified. “Mom we’re not possessed. You just need to open the door okay? Just open the door please…” Ingrid pleaded, trying to reason with her. “No. I’ll let you out when you’ve gotten rid of it.” My mother replied in a firm voice. I could hear her footsteps retreating to a different area of the house, headed towards the front door. I walked over to the side of the attic and peered through the small opening in the wall. I watched as my mother hurried down the driveway and got in her car, driving off. “FUCK!” Ingrid screamed, kicking a box of sweaters. I looked back to see her wipe away her tears in frustration as she paced around the attic. “Ingrid, it’s going to be okay. She can’t leave us up here all day. She’s going to come back and when she does we’ll make something up. We’ll tell her that we got rid of that thing she’s so afraid of, and then she’ll let us out,” Tessa said, trying to calm her down. We sat in silence for a while, waiting for our mother to come back. It was hard to tell how much time had passed. None of us had our phones, and it’s not like we kept a clock in the attic. Tessa stood up after a while and walked over to the pile of boxes in the corner. I watched as she opened one and rummaged through it. “Do you guys wanna play Monopoly?” She asked, pulling the game out of the box. “There’s a bunch of pieces missing,” Ingrid replied. “So?” Tessa asked. “Come on, it’ll help pass the time.” I nodded as I moved over and sat on the floor. Tessa followed, opening the box and unfolding the board. I waited for her to set it up and after a while, Ingrid crawled over to us. We spent the next few minutes playing Monopoly. Tessa was right, it did help to pass the time, even if Ingrid kept complaining every five minutes about having to pee. “Just pee in that vase over there,” I suggested, pointing to an old ceramic vase that lay on the ground near the boxes. “Ewwww,” Ingrid said. “I’m not going to pee in a vase Jo, that’s disgusting.” I shrugged. “Fine, but stop complaining then.” Ingrid stared at the vase for a few seconds. “Fine. But don’t look!” She snapped. Tessa and I turned around so our backs were to her. I could tell that Tessa was getting anxious. She didn’t like being stuck indoors for long periods of time because it made her anxiety act up. I watched as she folded her fingers over her palm and then used her thumb to crack her knuckles. Once she was done with her pinky, she started up again, pressing down on her index finger even though it didn’t pop a second time. I could hear her taking deep breaths to try to calm herself down, but I knew that it wasn’t working. We had been up here for too long. “Okay, I’m done. Ew,” Ingrid said. “Don’t come over here.” I turned around as she came over to sit by us. “Do you think mom will be back soon?” She asked. I shrugged and looked over at Tessa. Her eyes were closed and she was whispering to herself. I knew she was trying to recite bible verses from memory. She once told me that she found the bible to be an incredibly boring read, and had realized that it took a lot of concentration for her to both read it and remember passages from it. Apparently, concentrating that hard on something helped to calm her anxiety. Ingrid glanced at Tessa too and then bit her lip. I could tell she was starting to get antsy as well, which meant that it wasn’t long until she started to get mean. We sat in silence and I listened to the silence of the house. After a while, I got up to look out into the driveway again, but the car was still missing. I was starting to get very hungry, and the dryness in my throat had turned to pain. “Can you shut the fuck up?” Ingrid snapped. I glanced back to see her glaring at Tessa. “Ingrid relax, she’s just anxious,” I said. “Yeah well, she’s making me anxious will all her mumbling. She’s freaking me out.” I watched Tessa roll her eyes as she wiped a tear from her face and continued whispering to herself. “Shut up Tessa! I swear to God you’re so annoying! Can you just be quiet?!” Ingrid shouted. “Stop yelling at me!” Tessa shouted. Her voice cracked as she started crying harder, gasping for air. Ingrid stood up and walked to the other side of the attic. I walked over to Tessa and held her hand as I tried to calm her down. “It’s okay, just breathe. It’s going to be fine.” Tessa yanked her hands away from me and stood up. “No, it’s not! You don’t know that. We’re stuck up here and no one knows where we are and mom is gone! I want to get out!” She walked over to the attic door and started shaking the ladder and she sobbed. “I need to get out of here. LET ME OUT!! SOMEBODY LET ME OUT!” She shouted at the top of her lungs. I got up slowly but Ingrid rushed over and tackled Tessa to the ground. I watched as they wrestled around a bit until Ingrid managed to pin her down. Tessa kept crying and yelling at Ingrid to let her go. After a while, Tessa stopped struggling for a second, and Ingrid got off of her. Tessa leaned over to the side and vomited as she continued to cry. Ingrid grabbed her under the arms and dragged her across the attic. “Ingrid what are you doing? Just leave her alone you’re making it worse,” I snapped. She ignored me and dragged her over to an old chair, sitting her on it. Tessa had stopped sobbing and was just taking deep breaths now and occasionally sniffling. I thought it was over, but then Ingrid came back with some rope and masking tape and began tying Tessa down to the chair. “Ingrid stop, I’m fine now I just had a panic attack,” Tessa whimpered. Ingrid kept wrapping the tape around Tessa’s wrists and then her ankles as Tessa began to struggle. “Ingrid stop, that’s mean. You’re just going to make it worse,” I said, walking over to stop her. “Fuck off Jo,” she snapped, turning around and pointing a pocket knife at me. I froze. “Where the fuck did you get that?” “I found it while I peeing,” She replied as she kept tying Tessa down. Tessa started to freak out again upon seeing the knife. She wiggled around in the chair, trying to get out but Ingrid had made sure she was secured. Once she was done, Ingrid stood up and walked over to me. I took a few steps back. “I figured out a way to get rid of it,” she said. “What?” I asked. “The thing that mom was afraid of. I know how to get rid of it.” She smiled and I watched as she walked over to Tessa and kneeled in front of her. “What are you doing?” Tessa asked through tears. Ingrid lifted her hand and plunged the knife into Tessa’s side. “Ow! What the fuck Ingrid?! That fucking hurts what is wrong with you!?” Tessa screamed. Ingrid stood up and I watched Tessa cry and scream out in pain. “You stabbed me you fucking bitch!” Ingrid wiped the blade on her shirt. “There. Now if the spirit or whatever was inside of her, it’ll be gone.” “What is wrong with you?” I asked her. She ignored me and I walked over to Tessa who was once again struggling to get out of the chair. She rocked the chair back and forth as she cried. I looked back at Ingrid, making sure she wasn’t to go for me next. She stood still, the knife down at her side, as she stared at us. I looked back at Tessa just as she managed to tip the chair over on its side. She yelped as she started to go down and I tried to reach out to stop the chair from falling but I was too slow. The next thing I knew, the chair had tipped over all the way and Tessa had fallen to the floor along with it, but not before hitting her head against the old desk. The loud *thud* filled the attic and Tessa lay still on the floor, blood oozing from underneath her head. “Oh my God…” I gasped. Ingrid didn’t react. We stood in silence for a few seconds. I turned around, not wanting to see Tessa’s face. “This is your fault,” I hissed. Ingrid stared at me but still said nothing. I walked over and sat in the corner away from her. It was silent for a while, still no sign of our mother. After a while, Ingrid spoke. “We should make sure that we’re clear too.” “What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked. “If the spirit was inside of Tessa, it’s out now but it’s probably inside one of us.” I backed away from her. “You’re fucking crazy. You’re losing it, Ingrid. Spirits aren’t real.” Ingrid moved towards me. “Yes, they are. That’s why mom was so freaked. Don’t you see? There *is* something evil here.” “No,” I shook my head. “Mom needs help. And so do you. So did Tessa…” “It’s the only way, Jo. We have to do it. I’ll even go first.” I watched as she took a deep breath and plunged the knife down into her thigh, grunting in pain as she lifted it back out. She whimpered for a few seconds, crying as the blood rushed over her leg. “Fuck! That hurt, oh my God,” she panted. She wiped her blood off of the knife and then slid it over to me. I stared at it. “If you won’t do it, I will.” She said. We lunged for the knife at the same time but she grabbed onto it first, throwing herself at me. I tried to push her off by kicking her away but she pushed herself up and dodged my kicks. I tried to get away but she managed to crawl on top of me and stab me in the arm. I shoved her off as I screamed in pain. I knew that getting stabbed would hurt, but I never imagined just how much it would. I pulled the knife out of my arm and threw up as the pain set it. As I sat there, vomiting from the pain, Ingrid approached me and started to tie a piece of fabric around my wound. I must have passed out at some point because the next thing I remember was waking up in the attic again. The sun had started to set, and my stomach wouldn’t stop growling in hunger. My throat was hoarse and it hurt to swallow. As I got up, I could feel the pain in my arm and I looked around the room. Ingrid was watching me as she sat propped up against the wall. There was a piece of bloody cloth wrapped around her leg. “I need to check your wound,” she said. I said nothing as she dragged herself over to me. I let her pull the cloth away from my arm and look at the stab wound. Next, she began to unwrap her leg. I watched as she removed her makeshift bandage. Her leg was fine. It was completely fine. There was no sign that she had ever stabbed herself. “What?” She gasped. I backed away from her. “What happened to your stab wound, Ingrid?” I asked. She shook her head as she scooted away from me. “I don’t know, I-” She trailed off, looking for something. She had started crying. “It’s inside me. Oh my God, it’s inside me!” I didn’t know how to react so I sat there and I watched as she found what she had been looking for; the knife. “I have to get it out, I have to get it OUT!” She shouted. She lifted the knife and I watched, unable to look away, as she stabbed herself in the face over and over as she repeated the same words. “Get out! Get out! Get out!” I moved away from her, hiding behind an old table as she continued to stab herself and apologize, although I didn’t know who she was apologizing to. I covered my ears and closed my eyes for a while, not wanting to hear Ingrid’s cries. After a while, it was silent. For a third time, I woke up in the attic. It was dark now, and I could barely see anything. There was some light coming in from the streetlights and the moon outside, but it was not enough to see clearly. As I sat up I heard whispering and I peered out from behind the table. I saw Ingrid and Tessa sitting a few feet away, whispering to one another with their backs toward me. For a second, I thought that everything that had happened in the past four hours had been a dream, but then they turned around. Ingrid’s face was disfigured from all the stab marks, and Tessa’s hair was caked in blood. “How are you alive?” I asked. “We aren’t alive. We’re dead, Jo. And we want you to join us.” Tessa replied. Ingrid nodded. “It’s fun this way. This is what mom wanted, don’t you see?” Ingrid slurs. “You’re fucking crazy.” “Come on Jo, we could help you die if you want,” Tessa offered. I ran towards the attic door, rattling it and jumping up and down, trying to get it to open but it wouldn’t budge. “HELP!” I shouted. But there was no one around to hear me. Ingrid and Tessa got up suddenly, and they threw themselves at me, tackling me down. I fell, landing on one of the steps on the ladder which sent a piercing pain through my ribs. We all fell then, and suddenly, I was falling again. This time, I fell all the way down into the hallway. Our weight had somehow caused the attic door to loosen and the ladder had unfolded, causing us to tumble down into the house. I groaned as I got up. Ingrid and Tessa lay unmoving. I stood up and wandered around the house. I headed towards my room and grabbed my phone from under my pillow and then headed back down the hall. As I passed by my mother’s room, something caught my eye. I pushed the door all the way open and came face to face with my mother’s body. She lay face up in bed in her pajamas. On the floor next to her was an empty bottle of pills. Her head was tilted, facing the door and her eyes were wide open. I stared for a second. She had to have been dead since last night. But then, who had we been talking to earlier? And why did it sound like our mother? Why did it look like her when I watched her leave? I ran back out of the room, noticing that Tessa and Ingrid were now gone. I ran out of the house, and down the street. “Jo….?” I heard Ingrid call. I jumped over someone’s fence and kept going, hiding behind trees and fences. “Jo…where are you?” Tessa sang out into the night. I could hear them approaching and I crouched down behind a children’s playground slide in one of the backyards. “Mr. Riley, have you seen Jo?” I heard Ingrid ask. As I glanced around the yard, I realized that I was in the Riley’s yard now, and I wondered what they were doing up so late. “No, is she the only one left?” He asked. I held my breath. “Yeah, she’s the only one,” Tessa replied. “We’ll keep an eye out for her,” He reassured them. “Good. She doesn’t seem to want to join us. We just want to help her out,” Ingrid replied. I waited for them to leave before I kept running. It seems like everyone in our neighborhood is looking for me. I managed to make it to my friend Molly’s house. Her basement door was unlocked and I snuck in here. I haven’t moved in a while, because I’m not sure how many people are in on this now. Molly lives about five minutes away, so I thought I would be safe here. About two minutes ago, however, I heard her and her family talking about me. Her dad said they got a call from my sisters, and that they need to find me and get me to join them. Molly keeps calling me every few minutes, and I don’t know how much longer I can hide out down here.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] How my favorite cafe, turned into the scariest memory of my life [RESPONSE] This happened around a year ago or so. I was a freshman in college and frequently visited a cafe near my apartment to get school work done. I enjoyed going there because of the good coffee, plus there wasn’t anything distracting me from getting my work done on my computer. One day, I was getting ready for work as I had to cover a coworker’s shift pretty suddenly. It turned out to be a false alarm however, as they said they didn’t need me to cover for them at the last minute. I was a little bit annoyed as I had already gotten ready and had even canceled plans with a friend for today, but I decided I may as well make the most of my time. So I went to the usual cafe I went to, which opened at 7 am and it was around 7:30 at that time. At this time in the morning, I figured it would be pretty dead there, so I could get lots of work done since most people would be at work. I headed into the cafe, and sat down at the spot I usually took. A small table towards the back, with a nice view outside at the park nearby. It was my favorite spot and I took it almost every time I was there. It was just a super relaxed, calm setting which was perfect for getting some work done. After about 30 minutes of sitting there, almost nobody else had entered the building and it was as quiet as ever. I decided to take this opportunity to quickly use the restroom since it was near my seat. Regrettably, I left my laptop sitting there open for anybody to see or take, but since there wasn’t anybody else there I figured a quick bathroom break wouldn’t hurt. I got up and headed to the restroom, then quickly got out of there once I was finished. I hurried back to my seat to get back to work, only to realize my laptop was no longer on the table. However, my backpack was still sitting beside my seat like before, so I thought maybe I had put it away and forgot. I looked through my backpack over and over but it wasn’t in there. Somebody had stolen my laptop when I had gotten up to use the restroom. There hadn’t been anybody else around, so I went up front to ask the employee there if they had seen anybody. It was some new guy I'd never seen before, who's name tag said Troy I believe. He looked to be around my age, and was leaning forward on the desk on his phone when I walked up to him. He didn’t seem overly friendly either as he didn’t even look up whenever I asked him if anybody else had come into the cafe in the last 5 minutes. He just shrugged and continued doing whatever he was doing on his phone. I looked back towards where my seat was and noticed that it was kind of hard to see my seat from the front desk. It was sort of a blind spot so I understood if he hadn’t seen anybody over there. I then asked him if there were any cameras around that could help find out who took my laptop but he seemed utterly disinterested. He finally looked up at me and I could tell how annoyed he was getting, he simply shook his head and said that the only cameras that worked were outside. He said the ones inside were fake and were used to intimidate rather than record anything. That's ridiculous, I thought to myself. Now, pretty annoyed myself, I thanked him and left the building. I thought that whoever had stolen my laptop couldn’t have gotten far, maybe I would see somebody carrying it away from the building. Unfortunately I didn’t but that didn’t stop me from trying. Eventually I gave up and decided to just head home. On my way home I went to the local police station and filed a report about the incident which took a lot longer than I thought it would. All this time had been wasted and they told me they would look into it, whatever that meant. I drove home and started thinking about what I was going to do. All my school work was on that computer, as well as some personal info about me too. Whoever stole it could probably track down my address and maybe even access my bank account. As I was lost in thought worrying about what might happen, there was a loud knock on my door. I almost jumped from shock, and walked over slowly to look out the peephole. Nobody was there, which freaked me out a little, but I thought maybe it was some prank like kids playing ding dong ditch. That’s when I remembered that I no longer lived in an actual house with my parents, this was an apartment complex. You see, back when I lived with my parents before college, occasionally some of the local teenagers would run around ringing doorbells or knocking on doors before running away. Sometimes a house or two would have eggs thrown at it. But now that I had moved out, this shouldn’t have been the case anymore. The doors were inside, not out on the street, so some random stranger couldn’t have just been playing a prank like that. After some consideration, I slowly opened the door just a bit to peek outside. The hallway was empty left and right with dozens of closed doors on either side. I then noticed something on the door. There was a small sticky note on the front of my door that said “I know everything about you. I can’t wait to meet you in person next” with a smiley face. Shivers went down my spine as I ripped the sticky note off the door and quickly shut it before locking it. My heart was racing and I didn’t know what to do. I decided to call the non-emergency police number about what had happened. They said they would send a patrol car over to talk with me which they did. After speaking to the officers, they told me they would get in touch with the owner of the apartment and see if they can get the camera footage from today. They also said that they would patrol the area around the apartment after they left, which made me feel safer. I stayed in my apartment the rest of the day and eventually fell asleep that night on my couch due to my exhaustion after being so worried and scared that whole day. Later in the night, I was awoken to a noise. It sounded like some loud banging noise. Then another one and another one. They were growing louder as I was trying to pinpoint where exactly they were coming from in my disoriented state. Suddenly they stopped, and I realized they were coming from inside my apartment. My heart started racing and I felt like I was going to throw up from how terrified I was. Now let me paint a clearer picture of my apartment. So when you walk in, there’s a tiny foyer area at the door, which leads into the living room where I had been asleep on the couch. To the right of the living room is the kitchen and to the left of the living room is my bedroom and beside that is the bathroom. The bathroom has two entrances, you can enter it straight from the living room, or you can use the door connected to my bedroom. I slowly got off the couch and crawled across the floor to the kitchen to grab a kitchen knife. The banging sounded like it had come from the bathroom so I made my way over there. I quietly crawled towards my bedroom door. Even in the darkness, I could barely make out that the door was slightly open. I looked at the bathroom door and saw that it was closed. I decided to enter my bedroom as it was already open a bit, but first I got out my phone. I called 911 and as it was ringing, I shined my phone light on my bedroom door. I’ll never forget what I saw next. Through the small crack in the door, I saw somebody’s eye looking out at me. I jumped back and screamed as loud as I could, then quickly went into the bathroom and locked both doors. The dispatcher was trying to calm me down and ask what was happening, and I suddenly heard my bedroom door quickly open and slam shut. I heard loud footsteps running through my apartment and moving some things around, then they opened the door and left. I still didn’t feel safe, so I stayed locked in the bathroom until the police arrived after I was finally able to calm down enough to explain what had happened. To my disbelief, when the police got there, they had been called by another person there who had also called them on the same person trying to break into their apartment. It turned out to be some middle aged man with a dirty beard and long unkempt hair. He was still trying to break into the apartment when they got there. They quickly detained the guy and put him in cuffs then placed him in a police car. Some officers then searched my apartment just in case he had an accomplice who might have been inside still, but turned up nothing. I decided to stay over at a friend’s house that night, in fear of being alone. The next day when I got back to my apartment, I was frozen in fear when I entered my bedroom. My laptop that had been stolen before, was now sitting neatly on my bed as if it had been there all along. I later got a call from the police saying that they went through the footage and were able to identify the man who broke into my apartment as having been the one who placed the note on my door. That sent shivers through my whole body, even if I fully expected that to be the case. As for my laptop, I’m still not sure how exactly it ended up back in my apartment. Maybe the man had left it there when he broke in that night, but then, wouldn’t the police or I have noticed it? Or maybe, just maybe, somebody came back later that night when I was gone and returned it. Thinking about what could have happened still scares me and I’ve since gotten that laptop completely reset as I don’t know what could have been done to it while it was stolen.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I Can’t Stop Thinking About It… [RESPONSE] I like the quiet, rainy nights the most. On those nights, there’s this wonderful atmosphere to the house, and I don’t know exactly what to call it, but it sorta makes me feel at peace. Not too long ago, while reading one of those clickbait articles, I came across the word: Chrysalism. It describes the tranquility that you feel while sitting inside during a thunderstorm. Chrysalism. What a beautiful word for a beautiful sensation. It’s the only word I have to describe that indescribable sense of comfort I get while sitting in my kitchen, wrapped in a nice warm hoodie and drinking a cup of hot chocolate with Star curled up at my feet. Although I guess the whole experience isn’t quite as much fun for Star, who despite being a big tough bulldog, regards the rain with nothing less than complete and total terror. Every time she hears the pitter patter of water against the glass, she goes into a panic, clinging to my legs, panting nonstop, and whining. I’ve done just about everything I can to help her relax in the past, and the only solution I’ve found that seems to genuinely help is wrapping her in my old University hoodies. When I put a hoodie on her, she still clings to my side but she doesn’t whimper or pant as much and seems just a little bit calmer. So when I saw the rain starting again the other night, I just sat in the kitchen boiling the kettle and waiting for her to come running to my side. It didn’t take long, and when she came she was dragging the grey school hoodie I always gave her along with her… The sight of it kinda made my heart melt a little. I reached down to scoop her up immediately, put the hoodie on her, and wrapped her up in a big warm hug, kissing her on her little fluffy head to remind her that everything was okay, and that I loved her. Her tail wagged frantically as she tried to lick my face. When the kettle finally boiled, I made myself some hot chocolate and took it over to the little table by the window. Star followed me, curling up right on top of my feet as I sat down to look out at the rain. I don’t think that her intention was to keep my toes nice and warm, but it was certainly an added benefit that turned this into a mutually beneficial arrangement. It wasn’t quite night yet, and the sky had a strange, surreal hue to it. It was beautiful and ominous at the same time. I could see the autumn-hued leaves of the trees outside rustling in the breeze and the cars on the street being baptized by the rain. I blew on my steaming mug before taking a tentative sip. The warmth of it spread right through me in the best way possible. I let myself relax, my mind drifting as I focused on the rain and enjoyed the passive beauty of the world outside my window. I loved this feeling… This groundedness. It made me feel so whole. Like for a little while, the world was quiet and I had no real problems. No school, no work, no drama, nothing at all. I took another sip of my hot chocolate and smiled a little as I noticed the condensation on my window. Star looked up at me expectantly and I blew a kiss at her, before reaching over to draw a little star in the condensation. “A little star, for Star…” I said in a sing song voice. Just hearing her name made her tail wag, like she was thinking: *“Star? Yes! I am Star! Mommy are you talking about me? I am Star, yes I am!”* “You’re such a sweet girl, yes you are.” I crooned as I reached down to scratch her behind the ears. Then I put a little B + S inside the star. Brittany and Star. Best friends forever. Star was looking up at me with big, adoring eyes, her tail sweeping back and forth and I smiled down at her. She lifted her head so I could pet her and I happily accepted the invitation. Has there ever been a more perfect moment? Star's head jerked to the side suddenly before she stood up and let out one of those little un-barks dogs sometimes give. Not a bark, but a muted little *‘Boof.’* Then she was up and walking towards the kitchen door. *“Boof.”* “What’s wrong?” I asked. Her tail wasn’t wagging anymore. On the contrary, she seemed concerned… More concerned than usual. Star took off down the hall, her nails clicking against the wooden floor and I got up to follow her. She’d headed into the living room and out towards the back door. “You want to go outside?” I asked. Star just looked at me. This wasn’t a: *‘Yes I want to go outside!’* look. This was a *‘Something is out there and I don’t like it!’* look. I stared out through the window, past the rain, and into the backyard. Between the low light and the heavy rain, it was kinda hard to see what poor Star was so bothered by. But eventually, I did see it. There was a naked man perched on my fence. Not sitting on my fence… Perched, like some sort of oversized, ridiculous bird. And he was staring right at me. The moment I noticed him, my heart skipped a beat and I took a step back. What the heck was this? Who the heck was this? I didn’t think I’d ever seen this guy in my life! At least… He didn’t look familiar. I squinted my eyes, staring at him and trying to see if I recognized him… No… No I definitely hadn’t seen him before. And the more I looked at him, the more I realized that whoever this guy was, he absolutely was not okay. His body was dirty and looked gaunt. I was sure I could see his bones jutting out against his skin. His eyes also seemed a little too big, although that could’ve just been because they were so sunken into his skull. He stared at me, and I stared right back at him, feeling a looming anxiety rising in my stomach. Call me crazy, but creepy staring naked guys hanging out in your backyard usually aren’t a good thing. This guy must have been on some sort of drug or something to be naked out in this kind of weather. Judging by his pale, dirty, emaciated physique, he clearly wasn’t in the best of health, which probably meant that if he was on drugs, he’d been on them for a while. Beside me, Star let out a tough little growl. My anxious girl is not a tough or even an aggressive dog, but she clearly did not like the smell of this man. “It’s alright, baby…” I whispered to her, before reaching down to pet her. I checked to make sure the back door was locked, although doing that didn’t make me feel any safer. The door was still glass. It would be pretty easy to break. I looked back up at the man in my backyard and let out a yelp of surprise. He’d moved and now, he was a heck of a lot closer than he’d been before! I took a step back, and looked down at Star again. Her teeth were bared as she let out an aggressive growl that I’d never heard from her before. I turned and stepped out of the living room, running back to the kitchen to grab a knife. Maybe if this whackadoodle saw I was armed, he’d get the heck away from my door! I didn’t like the notion of threatening somebody… But if I had to, I would! When I made it back to my back door, the man was even closer. Now, he was right up against the glass, pressing his body against it. I felt fear rising in my stomach and I gripped the knife tighter. I could see his shiny eyes reflected in the light from my house. His breath formed condensation against the glass. I held the knife up, just so he could see that I had it, but he didn’t even seem to notice… He just stared at me, and I can almost swear that he was salivating like I was a piece of meat… My hands were shaking. Star had backed up a few steps and glanced back at me. I could see that she was just as terrified as I was and I couldn’t blame her. The man stared at us. I saw his hand move toward the doorknob and I heard it jiggle. I wanted to scream something. To yell at him… But my voice caught in my throat. When the door didn’t open, he seemed to grimace, baring his teeth at me in rage. And that was when the power went out. As darkness enshrouded me, I screamed. Through the glass, all I could see was the shadow of the naked man looking in at me, and I remained frozen in place, my heart pounding a thousand miles a minute in my chest and tears threatening to run down my cheeks as my mind ran wild with a thousand different horrible things this man would do to me when he finally decided to break the glass… For a few moments, the only sound was the heavy rain against the window. Then… After a while, I saw the man's head move. It jerked violently to the side as if he’d heard something. He took a step back, still looking in another direction. Then he was gone. He took off at a sprint, vanishing from sight. Star stood defensively in front of the back door for a moment, then she retreated back to my side, panting anxiously the whole time. I still kept the knife clutched in my hand and I watched the back door for a moment before finally heading back to the kitchen where I’d left my phone on the counter. Like an idiot, it hadn’t even occurred to me to call the police during the whole encounter with that strange man, but once he’d left I couldn’t think about anything else. I immediately dialed 911, and Star followed me as I ran upstairs to the safety of my bedroom and locked the door behind me. The power came back on within the next ten minutes, and the Police were at my door shortly afterward. I told them everything I’d seen. I described the man to them and everything. They agreed to leave an officer parked outside my house since I didn’t feel safe. The rain carried on through the night and I didn’t sleep a wink. I just lay in bed, under the covers with Star curled up beside me, waiting for the sound of shattering glass from downstairs. It never came. It was the next day that I saw an ambulance a few doors down. I watched them remove four bodybags on a stretcher and wheel them out onto a coroner's truck. I asked the police what happened. They wouldn’t tell me at the time… But I read all about it on the local news that night. Someone came in through their back door that night… And it had killed them all. The couple who lived in that house, their two sons, even their dog… It had ripped them apart… And there was apparently even evidence that they’d been partially eaten… Jesus… And I’d heard nothing… No screams. No sound at all. The Officer outside of my house hadn’t seen anything… Nobody did. I can’t help but think that it could’ve just as easily been me who died that night… I can’t stop thinking about it. Every time I go to sleep, I have nightmares now. I dream about the man breaking through the glass of my back door. I dream about him running for me, grabbing me, and killing me in the most horrible ways possible… I can’t stop thinking about it… This all happened just a few weeks ago. I told the Police everything I know, but they haven’t found anything yet. I don’t know if they will. I’ve started looking for new places to live. I don’t feel safe in this neighborhood anymore. I think that Star and I might be happier in an <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The mouse gets his cheese [RESPONSE] I pulled into the children’s rat casino with a gift nicely wrapped up for my godson’s fourth birthday party. It was a wwe ring that included several wrestlers from the attitude era plus some newer guys I didn’t know. I walked in the place and found my best friend, Lucas. He showed me where to drop off the gift when his son/my godson came up. “Uncle Jake” he squealed. “Hey Nelson. Man you’ve gotten big. How old are you now, three”?, I teased. “Four”, he shouted as he showed me four fingers on his hand. I snuck away and got $20 worth of tokens for him to slide in his arcade cup when he was rummaging in the play structure with his little friends. What can I say? I love that kid. I found Lucas and caught up with him and we talked about old times, girls, sports, movies, really everything. Nelson and his friends were having a good time playing the arcade games, rubbing pizza on the carpet, playing in the ball pit. There were other parties going on and I watched as the animatronic band played happy birthday and sung some other lame songs. Except the mouse. While all the other animals hung their head and darkened, he peered his head side to side. Some workers rushed the stage and pulled a curtain. There was some clambering and banging, but when they opened it again, the band all looked should be. They must have had an electrical fault. One of Nelson’s friends was stuck in the structure and his mom begged me to get him out. I figured why not, maybe I could make a move on her after. That play structure reeked. It smelt like moldy pizza, feet, urine, and it was extremely sticky. I was able to find the frightened child and push him down the slide where his mother embraced him. I came down behind and she thanked me. I chatted with her a few minutes when Lucas grabbed us to come sing happy birthday to Nelson. He lit his candles and we began singing, along with the animatronic band. When we stopped, the band did....except for the mouse. His head began to bounce on his shoulders and we heard a chuckle. Staff rushed the stage, but they tripped on the chairs and tables left askew by some haphazardly kids. The mouse began to sing. “Happy birthday to you. Happy birth.....day to you. Happy birthday......tasty children. Happy birthday to you”. Along with a manic chuckle. The lights flickered off and the room went dark. “Make a wish Nelson he he he he” and then the lights came on. The mouse was no longer on the stage. You could hear a pin drop in that room it was so quiet and then out of nowhere, the noise came. Children screaming, tables flipping. The mouse running amidst the crowd. He set eyes on Nelson and charged him. Lucas jumped in the way only to get shoulder checked into a table. It killed enough time for Nelson to go up the play structure to seek safety. I immediately chased after him and the mouse. Navigating the cramped tunnels was difficult and scary hearing the mouse laugh, but I found Nelson and drug him to a slide. I pushed him down and immediately was to follow when something gripped my arm. The mouse. He laughed and bit me. As I struggled watching my blood splatter all over the yellow walls, I got away, missing three fingers. The mouse was sliding after me, but I scooped Nelson and ran outside. Lucas had seen us and pursuits us as well. We loaded up in a van and drove to the hospital as the mouse took off into the woods behind the place. I’m in the hospital now, playing with Nelson’s toys that the staff gathered. An employee is coming by later to talk to me about this mouse.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I sailed alone, and I think I really screwed up this time... [RESPONSE] My parents always told me to never sail alone. They were always adamant about it and made it the only rule to follow as kids... We saw it as a "oh my god' moment whenever they would bring it up. We live on a rich island in the middle of the pacific and sailing is very common here. I got my boating license the day I turned sixteen and received a million dollar sail boat as a gift from my parents. There hasn't been a weekend where I haven't taken the boat out since. I am currently 22, which means that I have been sailing for six years. I would say this makes me a very experienced sailor and so, occasionally, I defy my parents orders and take the boat out alone. I know, I know... Pretty stupid decision. Nothing had ever happened until this past weekend. Laying in my dark room, a sudden buzz awoke me. I reached over to my nightstand and grabbed my phone, turning it on and killing the darkness in my room. My eyes adjusted and I saw a text from my friend Matt. He lives in California and told me that there is a party on an island around 50 miles away, and so I decided to go. I told my parents I was going to head to a party and they told me to get a friend or two to sail with. I told them that my friends were on their way but in reality I brushed them off and headed to the dock behind our house. ***The First Hour:*** I made the proper preparations and started sailing away. I turned on the engine in my sailboat to get me going out on the open water before continuing. I then sat in my cockpit and started watching Netflix. The bad thing about being on the open water is lack of communication with the outside world, however I was able to install a Starlink Maritime router in my boat which gave me access to the internet anywhere in the ocean. I left my dock at around 4:00 and was expecting to get to the island anywhere between 7:00 or 8:00. Around one hour into my trip I noticed a grouping of clouds that looked less than friendly. I didn't think that was possible as I checked the conditions before I left and they were completely clear, but this certainly wasn't out of the ordinary, and these types of tiny storms would come and go very frequently where we lived. ***The Second Hour:*** During the second hour I went to my boat's kitchen to grab a snack and when I returned my GPS seemed to not be showing the right location, hell it wasn't showing any location at all. When I zoomed out this thing had my location right atop the Midway Atoll in the Pacific Ocean. I mean this couldn't be possible, I was some two thousand nautical miles from it... I assumed my GPS just needed to be reset but no matter how many times I reset it, it didn't move my little red arrow off of the Midway Atoll. I decided to check my phone, and when I searched up "Current Location" in the search bar, it returned "Results not found for: "Current Location", try a different query or search again." This instantly gave me an extreme feeling of unease... How could google not give me a current location? I was connected to the internet... I decided to carry on because I was nearly half way there, and knew I'd have to get my GPS checked out before I left that island. ***The Third Hour:*** The third hour, my last hour and I was nearly there. I kept travelling South West, but then things headed south, again I noticed a grouping of clouds that didn't seem to be there no less than five minutes ago. Then my compass started acting funny... That couldn't be possible, this was a $5,000 compass, it wasn't some cheap compass, but the dial was spinning in all sorts of directions. The clouds started closing in, and slowly the rain started and I decided to stop sailing and text my friend that I wasn't going to be able to make it and decided to cook myself dinner and go to sleep. I turned on some YouTube in my bedroom and started to close my eyes. ***The Fifth Hour:*** *My room was dark. A sudden thump awoke me.* I jolted up in my bed in a cold sweat and searched around for my phone. I grabbed it and flashed the light around the room. Nothing, nothing was out of the ordinary. I reached for the light but to my surprise nothing happened when I flipped the switch. *\*click\** The lights did not go on... I got up and went to my engine room and that's when I instantly felt sick to my stomach. The breaker door was open, there was no way the door could open without human interaction, and as I got closer I realize the breaker was manually turned off. My legs started going numb as I thought of all of the possibilities. I flicked the breaker on and ran back to my room and grabbed my handgun. You're probably wondering why I have a handgun, because although rare, pirates are still somewhat prevalent in the area, and it's better to be safe than sorry. I started a search around my boat, clearing every cabinet and hiding spot. ***The Sixth Hour:*** After long I was back in my room, still disgruntled at the fact that my breaker had been turned off. I mean, I was trying to tell myself that the breaker had somehow turned itself off, but I knew in reality no matter how I tried to reassure myself, it wasn't possible for it to turn off like that. I sat there, handgun in hand waiting for anything, anything out of the ordinary. ***The Seventh Hour:*** After some time I started to calm down and went back to watching YouTube in an attempt to keep myself calm, and that's when it happened. When it first happened I was so scared I couldn't even write in words the fear I experienced. The boat shook with an extreme jolt and the lights started to flicker. I knew that someone or something had crashed into me, but in reality it was a lot worse. As I climbed onto the deck of the boat, I nearly had a heart attack, along with the blaring horn coming from my boats speakers, I realized I was staring at a massive military boat. But this boat seemed off, the boat was rusted, and I mean as if it was constructed solely of rusted metals... I started hearing an alarm and ran to my cockpit to see this message flashing in bright red: **"Collision detected on bow side. Water detected in hull. Please use the evacuation plan and evacuate the ship. A Mayday message has been sent to the nearest coast guard and harbor."** I grabbed a radio and emergency supplies, and stuffed them into a backpack, and I thought that the boat I had crashed into was my only hope. I saw a ladder that I could easily jump onto that lead right into the boat's deck, and so with all of my might I jumped onto the ladder and climbed onto the boat. By the time I reached the deck I was out of breath. *"There goes a million dollars."* I thought. ***The Eighth Hour:*** I started exploring the boat, and realized this thing was OLD. It was probably used sometime around World War two. The rooms were extremely dark and cobwebs and old decorations lined the rooms, most had fallen at this point and littered the floor, making it uneven to walk on and made me trip a few times. Again something about this boat made me feel weird. How could there be a boat here that has been abandoned for so long... Surely it had to be a missing boat from World War One or Two that was never recovered. As I walked through the halls I thought I was hallucinating... Was I... Was I hearing singing? *"And here's to all good fellows on land and sea, singing the battle song of liberty. Here's to our banner of red, white and blue."* I started walking, slowly and calculated, towards the sound of the singing. *"So get Old Glory, we'll make 'em sorry that they ever dreamed of this fight. We're on our way with a Hip! Hooray!. Just to do what we know to be right. So here's to Uncle Sammy, faithful and true."* It was American voices I was hearing. This eased the tension, maybe this ship wasn't abandoned after all... *"It's the roar and rattle of freedom's battle that's calling us over the sea, where mighty foe has challenged us, boys, it's up to you and me"* It was a bit weird that a boat that wasn't abandoned didn't have it's masthead, sidelights or stern lights on. I started walking a bit faster towards the sound with a bit of anger in my step, as I was going to confront this crew for crashing into me, but that's when things took an unexpected turn...<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Murdered Coming Back To Murder [RESPONSE] It was around 11pm on a Saturday night and I had just come home from an exhausting party. Clouds were plentiful and thunder was rumbling- I had just missed a storm. I turned on the living room lights and say down in the worn leather armchair I had gotten for free at a garage sale. It had a funny odour and had unrecognizable marks and scratches all over the back, but apart from that it seemed fine. I instantly pulled my phone out of my pocket and saw three new messages from my friend Kai. He was incredibly close to me but the love always stayed platonic- thank goodness for that, or my fiancè Caspien would've never wanted me with him. I opened up my chats and saw three photographs captioned with "the night was lit!". The images were incredibly full, with every corner containing a person singing, dancing, eating or flirting. It looked perfectly normal- until I zoomed up on myself, and noticed something very strange. There was a small figure behind me, no bigger than a small bird. It appeared to be floating beside my shoulder, peering intently at the camera. I hesitantly looked closer, and saw that the creature had a yellow tinge to it's skin and sunken holes of darkness for eyes Thick black ink was pouring down what could've been deciphered as the face. There was no nose, just a miniscule piercing through the faces with a smooth metal rod with sharp, pointed edges on both sides put through the hole. The figures smile was the most frightening though. An extremely wide, gaping smile reaching the end of the left and right sides of the face, with long, dagger like teeth jam packed together and a slit tongue like that of a snake. The creature was almost bald, with few tufts of grey hair sticking up all over its head. It had no limbs, just a floating torso. Horrified, I looked through all the pictures, and there it was, slowly turning to face me until it was staring right through my soul. My heart was beating faster and faster and I turned my head over and over, searching for the demon supposedly beside me. I prayed it was a sick prank from Kai. I finally plucked up the courage to look in the mirror to se if it was there. I shuffled across the cold tiles and flicked on the whirring bathroom lights. I worriedly gazed at my reflections, and to my worst nightmares, there it was, its head tilted and staring me down to death. Adrenaline rushed through my body as I tried to grab the demon, tried to murder this eerie creep. I banged my shoulders against the ceramic sink, hoping I would hit the creature as I did so. Instead, it went through the sink and once it realised what I was trying to do, it's smile faded and long arms with talons spurted from what should've been shoulder sockets. These arms clutched my throat and even though I gasped and let out a blood curdling scream with all the air left in my throat, the figure continued choking and slowly killing me, showing no traces of mercy. Of course, I wouldn't expect it from such a monster. I tried ripping his hands off my neck, but even just a touch sent his talons sliding down my arm, slicing it in half. Crimson blood poured out from my arm and splattered the bathroom tiles, but the sticky mess was the last thing on my mind. As I vigorously shook my head, attempting to pry the demon off, I could only think of why such a creature would be so determined to brutally murder me, and why it was following me. Then I remembered. A few months ago, Caspien and I tried for a child. I had a stock of pregnancy tests and took one every day, hoping I'd be able to start a family like I'd always dreamt of. At last, after several weeks of torture, I tested positive. There was a huge celebration, and Caspien and I were over the moon to be able to be parents in 9 months. The joy didn't last long enough for my liking. On the 4th month of my pregnancy, I had a miscarriage. I was depressed. My child was gone and to put insult to injury, the doctors came to the conclusion that I was unfit for a child, and would most likely never be able to get pregnant. I cried that night, and Caspien refused to. He was upset too, though. But not even close to my range of frustration. Once I had cooled down and recieved therapeutic treatment, our lives had gone back to normal. Caspien proposed to me on a restaurant date, and I was back to my joyful self. It only went downhill today, right now. Because not only was I about to die, but I had figured something out. The only reasonable answer to this would've been that the demon was my unborn, undeveloped baby coming back to haunt me for ending it's life too early. I couldn't believe it. As the sharp talons dug farther into my throat, I knew my time was up. I shut my eyes and accepted my fate. Then I heard the opening of a front door, "Tanya? Tanya..?", a bone rattling, eardrum bursting, high pitched screech and I collapsed on to the blood stained floor, inhaling as much air as possible, desperate to fill up my lungs. Caspien then entered the bathroom and saw me frail, pale and attacked, lying in a pool of my own blood. His eyes widened to the size of saucers and he questioned it all. I couldn't tell him. I simply couldn't. All I did was make him promise to always stay with me, no matter what. If the demon fled when Caspien arrived, then my fiancè must be my only protector. He promised and he rushed me to the emergency room. I'm all ok now, but I'm just so relieved that I'll never be able to get pregnant again.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] good night sweetie... [RESPONSE] This happened to me a when very young like 2 or 3 years old. My family lived in a 2 bedroom house, but my dad was still finishing college and he would only come to our house on the weekends which would cause arguing at my house. During the arguing, I saw a girl in a dirty white dress. The girl had no eyes and her mouth was sewn up but I still heard her distorted laugh. While laughing she said,"It's okay, come play with me." in a deep, dark voice. When ever she came it felt like the arguing seemed to stop. It was like the world was gone, like I was away from everything, well, everything real, until it stopped. The stopping was so abrupt that when it stopped everything hurt and my ears rung on top of the arguing. I felt like my ears were bleeding. Everything was so loud and I wished it wasn't so loud. That night I went to bed. When I woke up I went to my mom's room to make me breakfast, everything was great for that brief moment. I opened my my mom's room but I stood there with the door knob in hand, I knew something was off, but I persisted. The door creaked when I went in but there was my mom in her bed. I immediately went to my mom, but when I stood over her it was the girl in white with her distorted voice saying,"Come play with me" When she said that I sprinted out of that room were I was transported back into bed, but I could not move, talk, or do anything besides using eyes to look around. I was looking around with my eyes where I saw the girl cry in a man arms; she was sobbing and in between sobs she was saying,"he's not letting me play with him!" The man was wearing a singed suit, and fedora. He looked tortured, he had many cuts and gashes in his side and face. He also had a deeper voice than the girl and he said,"I know sweetie your brother is not playing with you. I know your brother has not joined us yet, but I will make sure he will come around. This shook me, why was he saying that I was her brother, was I dead, was I dreaming. I had to be dreaming there was no way this was real. I kept on saying, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up; but nothing came out. Until it stopped again. This was the second time I woke up abruptly that I was screaming and crying for my mom. That night I begged my mom not to send me to bed but she did it anyway. I begged her not to send me to the man. Then she paused,"what man?" When my mom {who is not religious, but spiritual} heard this she immediately called a mediator. The mediator was skeptical at first because she knew that children are good liars, but she did test in our house. The mediator looked shocked, she said that there was people in our walls, dead. She said that they were tortured by the wife of the man at a dinner party, and that the house was burned down with all the people in it. The last time I saw the girl she was with a woman, that woman had burns on her body and she said in a sweet voice,"Goodnight, Sweetie."<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My encounter in the fields [RESPONSE] To begin with, I used to live in a small semi-rural town in the Midwest with lots of forest and lots of corn fields. As a kid, I was always terrified of the dark, to an irrational degree. So much so that it wasn’t until I was 13 that I started sleeping with the lights off. To deal with that, I forced myself to go on walks at night. As time passed and my fear of the dark subsided, it became something I enjoyed. I walked all over the place, everywhere I could so that I would have a better idea of my surroundings. Once neighborhoods got boring, I wanted to try my hand at exploring the farmer’s fields and the woods. I remember it was one winter night that I finally decided to give it a go. I was probably like 16 or 17. It had to be night, I felt like it wouldn’t count if it were daytime. It was cold, probably in the upper thirties and there was a light breeze along with a full moon. Before I left my house that night I made sure I had a pocket knife, pepper spray, and my phone. I entered by walking along the outskirts of a cornfield, depending on the moonlight to not trip and get covered in mud. As it turns out the terrain of a farming field isn’t exactly even. Multiple times I nearly tripped and my foot was constantly moving at a weird angle. I kept moving and soon enough I got to the treeline and stepped in. The forest floor wasn’t exactly clean or even, but it was better than the field. I made my way in, and after about 20 minutes of walking it turned out that the patch of the forest I went through had another field on the other side. This particular field was quite expansive, and was kinda what I wanted to see, nobody and nothing around. I had to wonder, how many people had ever actually seen this location? People drive past this place every day, but how many of them had been in here? I felt like I had to walk into this field and see what was even further out. The wind seemed to guide me, pushing me in the right direction and I continued onward. I walked on a slight diagonal straight through the field so I could stand in the middle. When I was almost there, I stopped and for a second I didn’t know why I did. Then, another feeling welled up inside me with no warning. It was a feeling of dread so intense that I felt like I could drop dead any second. It was the kind of feeling that reminds someone of their mortality. At the same time, the wind shifted and it blew hard against me. I took a deep breath, and as I did I could smell a disgusting and pungent odor. It smelled like a dead animal of some kind. Realistically, I knew that there was probably just a dead deer somewhere in front of me. But even then, I felt I couldn’t continue in that direction. I just stood there staring into the dark treeline, with the wind on my face. I don’t think I even blinked. Eventually, I turned to my left, and the feeling of dread subsided in turn as if it weren’t even there before. I decided this would be as far out as I’d go, and I’d loop around to my left so that I didn’t feel like a complete pansy. Once I was a couple of hundred feet away from the tree line, I saw the outline of a person stepping towards the field from the tree line. Immediately I stopped and ducked down into the dirt. I was pretty confident that they shouldn’t be able to see me so long as I was flat on the ground. From the distance, they were still very much shadowy figure. The person must have been looking in my direction, but they gave no indication that they saw me. If I wasn’t scared from the smell and feeling earlier I might not have been able to react so quickly. The person just stood there for a minute, and then they walked back into the trees. But it didn’t even look like they turned around. Was this fucking guy walking backward? At this point, I was thinking, “What the fuck? Why would there even be anyone else out here?” Even if this was the landowner, it seemed unlikely they’d be walking around this random bit of woods and fields at night in winter on a random day. This left me thinking this person was either homeless, a weirdo, or perhaps both. Considering the way he was walking, I was leaning toward the weirdo part. I waited a minute and as I did the wind seemed to dissipate and a feeling of stillness and almost complete silence came over the world. All I could hear was my pounding heart. Looking back, I don’t know why I followed this person into those trees. There was no thought behind it, at that moment it felt as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Once I was a few feet in I started hearing what sounded like very indistinct voices in the distance. I wanted to hear them, so I kept going. That was all I was thinking. I don’t know how long I was walking but the voices gradually became more distinct. I couldn’t actually understand the words being said and it almost seemed as if they were coming from every direction. It sounded like some kind of chant in a dead language. I didn’t even think there was anything odd about this. It just felt like the type of thing that would naturally happen. It was almost comforting. The last thing I remember from this time was walking into a clearing and seeing what must have been a person sitting on a log. The moon was shining down on him, but strangely he seemed darker than he should be. Like the moonlight didn’t have an effect on him or something. The next thing I know I’m standing with my hands at my sides, staring up at the moon and whistling. I was just confused. I was struggling to even form thoughts like my mind was foggy and I couldn’t think properly. The only thing I was able to realize was that some animal was limping toward me like it was injured. Just looking at this thing seemed to trigger my fight or flight response but I couldn’t move. As it got closer, I realized it looked like a wolf or a really big coyote. It was covered in some type of black liquid, and our eyes locked as it drew closer. My brain was working overtime trying to comprehend this situation, there was something so unnatural about its eyes. Once it was almost three feet away from me, I suddenly regained control of my body. My mind was still sluggish but I knew I had to get away from that animal, and this place. I must have run faster than I ever had in my entire life. I stumbled and fell multiple times, but I always got up and I never looked back. If I looked back, I felt like I would see that coyote or whatever it was right behind me. I made it back out onto the road in what was probably like 8 minutes but it felt like I was running for hours. The woods and fields just seemed like they would never end. I felt a lot safer once I was out of there but I still ran all the way back to my house as quickly as I could. Before I did anything else, I made sure every door was locked and that all the blinds were closed. Then I went into my room and locked myself inside and checked my phone to see what time it was. It was about 3:45 am. This was shocking to me since I had left around midnight and I probably hadn’t even spent that much more than half an hour before I got to that second field with the smell. This meant I had over three hours of unaccounted time. I just kinda sat there for a minute. What was I even doing during that time? I checked my pants pockets for my knife and pepper spray, but I couldn’t find them. They were gone, I must have lost them or they were taken from me at some point. I kept my phone in a pocket on the inside of my coat, so that was probably the only reason I still had it. Disturbingly, there was a very small and thin bone where my knife should have been. It kind of looked like it was a finger bone or something, but I don’t think it was from a human. The tip of one side looked like it had been bleached by the sun, it was almost pure white. The majority of the rest was yellow, brown, and even black in some places like it was decades old. When I started changing into some clean clothes I noticed I had three small circular bruises evenly spaced on my lower chest. I touched them, and the most intense pain I’d ever experienced ran through me at that moment. In fact, I think I must have passed out from it because the next morning I woke up on my floor half-dressed. The bruises lasted a week, and I noticed that the bone seems to match the circles. It was like someone had pressed the bone into my chest in order to mark me. Out of fear of the pain I never had the courage to actually press the bone into one of the bruises. I never told anybody what happened since it seemed too unbelievable. After about three months I finally worked up the courage to return to those fields. I came back during the day, and with a friend that I managed to convince with the argument, “Just trust me, man, it’s going to be cool.” I looked around but I didn’t find anything. I couldn’t even find that little clearing where that person was sitting. I threw that bone into some random bushes though, I felt like it was bad luck to keep it. I hope some animal trampled it into dust. I’m 26 now and I’m still no closer to understanding what happened that night. But ever since then, my luck seems to have taken a turn for the worse. I’m prone to sickness and other health issues seem to crop up all the time. I struggle to maintain relationships and I can’t even really hold a job. I ended up dropping out of college too. I feel like this has something to do with what happened to me that night. Sometimes I’ll wake up in the middle of the night, and feel like I was just whistling. This is especially common on full moons. Before that night I didn’t even know how to whistle. I don’t like to go out at night anymore. I did a little research and it turns out that whistling at night is said to attract spirits and bad luck. Whoever that person or thing was, I think they marked me for misfortune. Even all these years later, I still find my chest aching. I often wonder if that person is still out there, and I still dream about that coyote.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I am a survivor and my old friend just sent me a letter. [RESPONSE] I am a survivor and my old friend just sent me a letter. Let me explain it all. My name is Eric I was only 15 years of age when my whole life changed. Ten years ago my mother and father sent me to a bible camp where we learn all the basics of the bible and get "saved". I went there mainly due to my friends being there every year but my BEST friend was there every year. His name was Billy and we were inseparable. We ate, played, and slept in the same bunk bed. Well, that year he and I were talking when a couple of other kids who were "popular" asked for us to join them on a camping trip. "What do you mean," I said with a confused look on my face. They replied "Oh don't be a baby! There's just this abandoned bus only a mile from camp and it's like a tradition to stay the night in it for one night at the most." Billy looked at me and I looked at him and we nodded "We'll do it! We're not scared!" The biggest kid there who was only a year older than me said "Well come get you at midnight so be ready." They all began to separate and Billy and I continued to do things around the camp, like fishing and playing games. A few hours passed and it was getting dark we decided to go to the bunks and pretended to sleep. Just enough for when the camp consolers come by the cabins and checked on us that we all looked asleep. He checked the bunks and like usual, he left without suspecting a thing. Billy and I slowly stood up and did the old pillow trick to make sure the coast is clear then leaped outside of the window. Billy and I agreed to meet the other kids at the canteen since it never gets patrolled. Once we got there the other kids started to speak to us in a hushed tone "You guys ready? We got to hurry". Billy and I nodded and we all quickly and quietly ran to the woods behind the canteen. After a short distance, our group came across a barbed wire fence however the largest kid of the group came with wire cutters. With a few snips, we were past it. While we were walking to the bus in the woods some of the kids whose "Done this before" Started to talk about a legend of how the bus got there. "Legend says that the bus was once filled with children and the bus driver drove here to drop kids off at the camp. However, he drove into the woods just before getting to the camp. It was said that then the driver stood up and locked the doors, pulled a large machete out, and began slaughtering the kids. Apparently, only one kid survived and this kid became mute and never spoke again." We all collectively gasped. I started to physically shake... I was never brave it was the opposite. I always have done the safe thing and followed my gut although it did make me "soft". However, I have been trying to get better over time and I saw this as a prime opportunity to stop being such a pussy and do something new. I think Billy saw me shaking and he put his hands on my shoulder and asked. "Hey bro... Are you good? You never do well in these situations." Billy knew me and my idiosyncrasies and he's always been a great friend. He's the only one I've ever trusted in my life. After about 30 minutes of walking, we saw it. A large rusty bus with broken windows and a door that is barely on its hinges. We all froze once we got to the clearing that held the bus. Seems like everyone was waiting to see if we still do this or not. It wasn't long until I stepped forward holding Billy's hand. Doing this inspired the other kids to follow suit and soon enough we were right Infront of it. The outside of the bus was rusty and old but the inside was still rather clean. There wasn't even graffiti on the bus. I mean the legend was old, like really old. It was dated around when my grandpa was a child. Anyways the bus on the inside had classic green seats that were rough and old but somehow still comfy to lie on. My friend and I chose the back two seats to hang out in. The other kids started telling short ghost stories mainly talking about how spooky the previous camp was. Before it was a church camp that is. "I heard before the incident that kids kept disappearing in the area every day and no one knows where they went!" One kid said. "I heard the bus driver was giant and mean. My dad told me that his dad told him that the bus driver was getting fired and went on the rampage once he found out." One kid said "I heard he wore a pig mask and ate some of the kids and the cops never found him ever again... My brother says he still walks these woods today looking for kids .... TO EAT!" Everyone gasped in fear and shock. I kept quiet and started to shiver with every gruesome story that was told. One kid said a couple of years ago a group of kids just like us came here and all disappeared and no one questioned it. As if the whole town just forgot about it. Billy noticed I was scared and came to my seat to rub my back. I always had a secret crush on Billy but being a scaredy cat AND being Bi was ground to be bullied the rest of my school life. "Hey man... Calm down. They are just stories and nothing is out there haha" Billy chuckled a little and so did I. "Like how ridiculous would it be if like 10 kids go missing and no one goes looking at all?" Billy said before laughing more. I laughed too because at the time it did seem absurd. Billy and I fell asleep within an hour. That night I had a strange dream, not a normal scary dream but... disturbing. It seemed like I was floating in a sea of blood and viscera. The air was warm and thick like a warm humid summer's day. There was a smell of death floating I gagged but nothing but insects and blood came out. I could feel the texture of the slurry as it came up and out of my nose. Minutes felt like years in this space. I kept floating trying to scream for help while crying but to no avail. I was alone... At least I thought It was. After a few hours of floating around in silence, I started to hear the sound of the liquid slurry rustling around. It kept moving under the surface until it looked like a torrent of blood and teeth. Within a moment the slurry came still and a tall figure rose from the blood. A tall, pale, humanoid shape stood on the thick crimson liquid staring at me and smiling. It had no eyes but I can feel as if it was peeling away at my soul... reading me.. consuming me... not consuming my story... I kept screaming and screaming and only one thing came to mind. One name... The void... It spoke to me when it seemed it had its fill. "hahaha. Your story is sweet and soft like a ripe fruit. mmmm I had a great meal though... Go spread my word and have everyone know who I am... I am the end, I am the great dying. I AM THE VOID... Beware, child, god has abandoned you... abandoned us... For I have walked the halls of heaven and I have seen the throne of God and it was ... empty" It was then I was drug into the crimson liquid. I couldn't breathe and I kept going deeper and deeper more and more blood and fluids filled my lungs and I could feel my heart pounding. I felt like I was dying... I thought to myself "Is this what dying feels like? Am I going to drown?" And when I reached the bottom of the sea I was sprung awake. It was Billy he woke me and he looked nervous. "Eric... I saw something... Someone in a pig mask walking around the bus." My ears started to ring and my heart sank... with that one of the kids started to scream as they saw someone walk onto the bus carrying the wire cutters and laughing... I started... I started to cry and admittedly I pissed myself... Billy stood Infront of me as I cried .. to protect me. "It will all be ok," He said looking back with a smile on his face. All the other kids started... to laugh... It was then one of them said "LOOK ERIC PEED HIMSELF" My face grew hot out of embarrassment. The biggest kid took his mask off and laughed at me pointing at me and making crying noises to mock me... Billy grew angry and swung at the kid knocking him down which angered the big kid's friends who we about to gang up on him when suddenly... A large man must've been 7ft tall walked on the bus... The whole bus started to scream as he slowly walked forward down the aisle... Each step he took felt like the whole bus shook... He then saw the big kid getting up "What are yall screaming for it's just me.." Before he could finish what he was saying the large man in a pig mask swung a hammer down on his head... nearly splitting it in half... The loud crack and squelching of blood made the bus go silent as the largest kid died in front of us. Some kids were jumping over the seats but it was all a futile effort... All the exits were locked and he had us cornered... One by one we mangled the other 8 children eventually coming to a stop at us... Something about Billy looking at him with no fear made the man not strike him down... Instead, the man laughed and laughed... He grabbed Billy and tossed him then he reached down and grabbed me by the hair... Billy charged him with the wire cutters digging deep into his waist... I can hear Billy opening and closing the cutters. With each clip, I can hear the large man scream in pain... The man lifted the hammer high over his head and brought it down on Billy's head caving it in a little and before he could swing again I leaped into action. I am not sure why since I was terrified but seeing Billy hurt forced my body to move... faster than ever before. I ripped the wire cutter out of his belly causing him to wince in pain... With just enough opening I was able to shove the tool directly into his throat and I cut his neck... I kept cutting and cutting and cutting... Until his head hung off his body by a single strand of muscle... I rushed toward Billy crying and screaming as he was unresponsive. He looked at me wanting to say something... "I love you..." He let out weakly... "You'll make it man... you will." I started to drag him to the camp where the consolers were looking all over for us... I know this because I only got halfway through the woods before three of them showed up with flashlights... one almost fainted and the other two instantly tried providing first aid. I saw Billy leave the camp in an ambulance and the police went to speak to me. "Son... What happened back there?" I looked at them and said what I saw.... all of it... The cop went down on one knee to look me in the eye "Son, there was no man in that bus. There was only you and Billy... Which one of you did this?" I looked in shock as I swore a man came on the bus and killed all the kids "I cut his neck with a pair of wire cutters... I felt his blood squirt all over me.." He looked back at the other cop. He sighs and spoke slowly "Son, Billy has a cut on his neck. He's barely alive. Are you telling me that Billy did this?" It was then it hit me... Billy... was the killer... My mind blocked the idea of that being the case but Billy protected me by killing the other kids... The cop stood up and told the other police to keep an eye on the kid. I saw Billy in the ambulance laughing... laughing as he did on the bus... Come to find out the town I lived in covered this story up to keep the press from making it an infamous town. Families of the children were paid heavy hush money and I never got over this incident... It took years of therapy to get the sound of the children being butchered out of my head. Many nights went by as I dreamt of the whole event over and over and over. Like a never-ending Rolodex. Just a week ago I noticed something.. Billy never was put in prison since he was a minor but he did get put into a psych ward. I got a letter in the mail today from an old friend... It says as follows Dear Eric, I have had some time to process what happened that night. I never stopped thinking of you and wanted you only to be happy and smile... I am getting out soon and I will visit. I want to play some of the old games like hiding and seek or tic tac toe. Eric, I miss you more than anything in the world. Love Billy The scary thing is I moved twice since the Incident...<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Dog Wood Mysteries: Speed Law Part Two [RESPONSE] Catch up on The drive to Pruit’s house was a long one. It being on the other end of town gave me a bit of time to get the lay of the land. Even better through the lens of one of its longtime residents. “So, what’s the deal with all the spooky shit in this town?” I asked Graves. “Haha, you're gonna have to be more specific.” “Well let’s start with the townsfolk. Do they actually know about all the weird shit that goes on around here? Like that building and the road?” “Hmm, I’ll put it to you like this. Most everyone knows this town is a strange place. Growing up here you’re bound to run into something that just can’t be explained. There are some people that choose to look the other way. A type of willful ignorance you could say. Out of respect for those few and really everyone’s sanity, we have an unspoken rule about what can and should be said pertaining to the oddities of this town. Especially to strangers like yourself.” “I’m guessing the town's residents aren’t going to be very welcoming with information.” I said. “Not exactly. See, most everyone here doesn’t want to see others hurt, die or even worse. So, most will steer you in the right direction away from danger and the like. However, they most likely won’t say it outright. Kinda like we do with the road. Like a nudge in the right direction. Just… if someone that lives here gives you a piece of advice, it’s best you leave the grain of salt out of it.” “Most really dangerous places we have blocked off. Like that building you wandered into. Others, we try to just help people avoid them all together. If we can’t do that well, we just try to minimize the damage.” “What the hell do you mean minimize the damage?” I asked. “You’ll come to find out that some stuff you just can’t fight. We’re only human after all, Sol.” Graves sighed and I could see the hurt in his eyes in that last sentence. Maybe he was a man that didn’t like to lose? Upset with his own limitations to battle the forces that surrounded this very town. I couldn’t really see that though. Maybe he just didn’t like to lose people? Maybe, he felt guilty about the ones he’d already lost. That's a sentiment that I think we both share. “So, what do you know about this Pruit kid?” I asked, trying to change the subject. “Pruit Hively, son of the famed Ciel Hively and heir to the Hively estate.” Graves reported. “That name supposed to carry weight around here?” I asked. “Just look around Sol. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed that damn near everything in this town has the name Hively stamped on it somewhere or another. They own almost every establishment in town and the ones that they don’t own outright they fund behind closed doors. Everything from mayoral campaigns to a bucket of fried chicken they have a hand in.” “Alright, alright. So, they pull a lot of water into the town, great. Doesn't mean we go easy on ‘em. There's still a kid missing out there.” I said. “I get you Sol, but you gotta remember where you're at. This ain’t the big city man. It’s best not to stir things up too much. Shitting in the pot on your first case isn’t gonna be good for anyone.” Graves said. Before I knew it, we were already pulled up and parked. This side of town looked exceptionally maintained compared to the slum we had just come from. The streets were laid with red brick and not a stone was out of place. The streetlights were of an older fashion with bulbs hanging lazily from their posts like lit oil lanterns. The houses were huge. Spotless on the outside and I could only assume that the same was true for the interiors as well. Pruit’s house was no exception, though it had a slight flair that the others didn’t. With a mix of Victorian Gothic and modern designs it had the feel of a modern-day ghost house. Just without the cobwebs and organ playing in the background. I knocked on the door and it creaked open at the first touch. I looked over at Graves and he just shrugged and pointed to the doorbell. I rang it to no response. I rang it again and same thing. “Well, it seems like they're not here.” Graves said. “Yeah, but leaving without even closing the door all the way?” I questioned. “Look around Sol. This isn’t really the type of neighborhood that people really have to. Or maybe they were just leaving earl-” Our conversation was interrupted by glass shattering somewhere inside the house. I pulled my gun and looked over to Graves who had already unholstered his and was radioing it into dispatch. He was quick, I give him that. “Possible 10-62 on 3489 S Maple Lane. Calling for backup units to our location. Detective Night and I are entering the home now.” “10-62 on 3489 S Maple Lane calling all available units.” The dispatcher chirped back. I readied my service pistol and slowly opened the door. The foyer was dimly lit. The only light source being a candle lit chandelier overhead. Its light casting a long dark shadow over the room. “Police! Is everything alright!” I yelled into the seemingly empty house. The only response being a hollow echo of my own voice. I stepped into the foyer and Graves followed close behind. I scanned the room for any signs of a disturbance or really anyone. There weren’t any clear signs, so we pressed on into the living room directly ahead. Upon entering we found what had been broken. It was another chandelier, this one made of a clear crystal. It lay on the floor in pieces with some kind of liquid oozing out of it. I bent down to inspect it further. It was light blue in color and there were small white specks that glowed inside of it. They were mesmerizing. A collage of bright yellows and deep purples poured into my eyes as I stared into the moving liquid. “What the hell is that stuff?” Graves said. “It’s beautiful.” I said. I suddenly had the overwhelming urge to grab it. To let the liquid ooze and flow all over my body. I wanted so badly to become one with it. I reached out to grab a handful of the liquid but was stopped short by a very strong hand grasping my wrist. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” A slightly British voice said from just beside me. I turned to see a very well-dressed man looking down at me. He was tall, much taller than me and Graves and he had this look about him. He looked like he was an annoyed parent telling his kid no for the fourth time in a row. The smug look he had plastered on his face told me everything I needed to know about this bastard. I raised up from my crouched position, but he kept his hand on my wrist. “Just who the hell are you to tell me what to do!” I yelled. “The caretaker of the home in which you now stand, Sir.” The man's voice was even and calm. “This is official police business, and I won't have some jackass interfering!” I cursed back. “Sir, I-” I cut him off. “Back the fuck away now or I will be forced to arrest you!” I was screaming now. My voice echoing through the halls and bouncing off the ceiling. “Sol, geeze man calm down.” Graves said. His words didn’t even register. I tried pulling my hand away to free my wrist from his gloved clutches, but he didn’t so much as flinch. This bastard thought he was stronger than me! This is assault on an officer! This mother fucker is gonna learn to respect my authority! My word is the god damn law! “Stop resisting!” I belted out. I felt the firm bite of cold steel whip across my face, just above my chin. I fell to the floor and thought I had blacked out. I reached for my service pistol but found nothing. I looked up and saw that the caretaker was handing it to Graves. “How the hell…” I said groggily. I looked over at the caretaker and felt my anger subside. What the hell had I been so pissed about anyway? I got up to my feet and was surprised to see that Graves had his gun trained on me. “What the hell you doing Graves?” I asked. “What the hell yourself Sol!” He shot back. “You were clear as day about to shoot this man! I had to do something!” He shouted. “And what the hell was that about your word being the law?! We’re supposed to be partners, ya know, like a team!” He belted out. I hadn’t even realized I had said all that out loud. I could just make out a spot of crimson just on top of the receiver of Graves’ gun. I touched the bottom of my lip and felt a familiar warm trickle run down my hand. Seems like Graves was much quicker than I had given him credit for. “Don’t worry about it, officers. It’s all my fault really. That chandelier is quite old, and it really did need to be replaced. I’m sure Detective Night only acted out of the stress of the situation. I can’t say I would have done any different. Please follow me to the study and we can discuss the matter at hand.” He said. Graves shot me a glance and I nodded and wiped away the rest of the blood on my lip. Graves handed me my gun back and holstered his. He canceled the 10-62 and we followed Mr. Withers to the study. “Who are you?” I asked. “As I said before, I am the caretaker of the Hively estate and guardian to Master Pruit.” “And your name?” I asked. “Michaelis.” “So, what the hell was that liquid back there?” I asked. “Angry, apparently.” Michealis said. “The hell does that mean?” I asked. “Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to discuss the objects that may or may not reside in the Hively estate. I’m sure you understand.” “Well, where is the father?” Graves asked. “On holiday, visiting relatives in Europe.” “And he didn’t think to bring his son along too.” Graves said. “Master Pruit did not want to go with his father.” “Why not?” I asked. “You can ask him yourself.” Michaelis said. Michaelis opened a huge red wooden door and motioned us to move forward. The room we were in looked more like a full-on library than an actual study. Two complete floors with books and scrolls lining almost every wall. Where there were no books, hardy red wood stood in its place. Instead of a chandelier, the lights were recessed into the ceiling and had a slight flicker to them like they were candles. The dim lights only added to the overall uber-rich gothic esthetic the entire house gave off. A set of steps spiraled up into the second floor where I could see a boy, of about 16, lounging on a sofa and reading. He had black hair and wore a bandana across his head. It was a clear juxtaposition to the classically styled black suit he wore. We all climbed the staircase and Michaelis took a position beside Pruit, who continued to read his book. “Hello, Pruit I am Detective Night, and this is Officer Graves. We’d like to ask you a few questions about your friend Eric Halter.” I said as we flashed our badges. The damn kid didn’t so much as look up at us. He only sipped a cup of what I assumed was tea and turned to the next page of his book. “The young master would require the utmost respect when being addressed by an **uninvited** guest.” Michaelis put a lot of emphasis on the uninvited part. “Look kid, I don’t know who you thi-” I was cut off by Graves. “Our apologies Mr. Hively. We were under the impression that someone had broken into your fine estate, and we only entered to apprehend the suspect. If you would be so kind as to allow us to ask you a few questions about the disappearance of a young boy named Eric Halter, we would be very grateful.” Graves said. I shot a look at Graves, and he gave me one right back. I had forgotten what he had told me in the car. “Seems at least one of you dogs has some kind of manners. Perhaps they gave the title of detective to the wrong person.” Pruit spoke. “Excuse the detective, he isn’t from around here.” Graves said. “Yes, I’m well aware. Mr. Night had a very exciting run in with that building on the edge of town. I’m surprised you ended up making it out, as dim witted as you are. I guess they taught you more than just running and gunning in Chicago.” Pruit said. “The hell do you know about it.” I shot back. “My family has eyes and ears everywhere, never forget that. Yes, I know all about the circumstances of your little transfer to our humble town.” Pruit smirked. “You don’t know a damn thing boy.” I spat out. “Ohh? Is that so? Well, regardless of what everyone else may believe, I think you did the world a favor. I know at least justice will be served swiftly by our new resident judge, jury, and executioner.” Pruit said, smiling. I was shocked. How the hell could he have known about that. We covered the whole thing up perfectly. I stood there in silence as Graves tried to bring the conversation back on track. “A-about Eric. The boy is missing.” “I am very well aware that he has gone missing. Unfortunately, the boy has decided that a mere fairy tale was worth his life.” Pruit sipped his tea. “If you know anything, please you have to tell us so we can try and find him.” Graves said. “Unfortunately for us, the boy has been lost forever. I blame myself really. I should have never given him that damn journal.” “What journal?” Graves asked. “Well, young Eric was very interested in the strange happenings around town. I found out about his snooping and took an interest in him. He had some, let's say very out of the box ideas and plans. Some I agreed with, but most I just didn’t.” “I told him that some of those ideas of his would get him in trouble, that you just couldn’t save everybody. Seems like he didn’t listen. His mere interest quickly spiraled into an obsession with the occult and paranormal. The boy was a gifted investigator, I’ll give him that. He just didn’t know when to cut his losses.” “Eric was especially interested in the disappearances on Grabe road. That’s what initially interested me in him. He had made some serious gains of knowledge on the road and how it worked. He was only missing a single piece of the puzzle. A piece in which I foolishly gave him.” “It was a journal that described a very detailed experience from the only person ever to return from Grabe road. The accounts are harrowing to say the least however, they didn’t have anything within them that would be of use to anyone. I guess Eric saw something there that I didn’t, because right after he read it, he said that he had to go down that road. *To unsheathe the realities that bind* as he put it.” “We need any and everything that you and Pruit were working on pertaining to that road. Including the journal and any other writings he may have left behind.” Graves said. “Naturally, Michaelis has them ready for you now.” Pruit said. Michaelis had somehow already gathered up a briefcase full of materials and was handing them to me. How the hell could he have moved that fast? There wasn’t anything around here before? “We’ll be in touch. Please don’t leave town until this matter is resolved.” I said. “Oh, I’m sure. I’ll have my eye on you Detective as well. I expect you’ll be most interesting.” Pruit said as he buried his head inside his book again.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] It's been 12 days since the 2022 Teen Purge started in my town. I thought my class and every class before us were murderers. Oh, how wrong I was. [RESPONSE] …Am I a coward? Do I deserve to follow in my classmate’s footsteps? This will be my final post split into two. I’ll be posting one today, and another tomorrow. I’m skipping town in a few days, so tomorrow will be my last. …  Dearest [BLANK] I don’t want to say your name because then I will feel the need to say so much more and I’ll end up writing far too much. Names are hard for me. You lost yours a while ago, at least in my mind. I stopped calling you [BLANK]. You were just a monster. A murderer. I know you won’t read this but I’m putting this out there anyway. I want to talk to you.  I guess this is my way of… apologising. You’re the first in a long list of people I want to say goodbye to. I feel like you were the one who started this. You were the one who opened my eyes to Littlewood’s curse. I’ve been so angry for so many years. I have felt so much fucking pain. Agony. The kind I can’t even explain. It’s like drowning, [BLANK]. I’ve wanted to kill you so many times, often dreaming about it the older I became. You stopped having an identity in my nightmares and became a faceless shadow suffocating my chest. I never thought I would be writing this because you have always been a monster to me. I never thought I'd have to apologise to a monster. You and your class—and every class in the past, and present, and future. Monsters. Even my own presently. 2022.  Ironically enough, [BLANK], we’re actually the worst ones. That’s right. The class of 2022 really outdid all of you. I finally understand what it might have been like for you. I understand that craving you felt—to kill. To destroy. And that nothing would get in our way. We would kill parents, strangers, and children, until sunrise—until the curse was lifted and we were given back our souls, only to be hollow inside. Broken. I know what it feels like to be alone and abandoned by the ones you thought you could trust.  I never knew where you had gone after you ripped our town apart. But I didn’t care. I wanted you gone, [BLANK], so I didn’t have to see your stupid face.  Now I know the truth, I can only wish you some kind of peace. I know it's impossible to think, even when part of me knows your fate, but I hope you got away from here.  I hope part of you is still planning to come visit me. Lastly, I hope you can forgive me for hating you for so long. I wish you told me. I know I was a little kid, but you could have told me what was going to happen to you. To you, Luce and Poppy. If you had, maybe mom might be here. …Who am I kidding? If you didn’t kill her eleven years ago, I probably would have this year. After all, it’s always loved ones. Is that why you killed her, [BLANK]? Did she mean something to you? Did I? Anyway. Thank you for being there when I was a kid. Thank you for making me laugh and spew milk out of my nose. Thank you for killing my mother before I did it myself and surrendered the last dregs of my humanity. I’ll remember you, [BLANK]. Not just the flashes I saw of you—the ones you put inside my head. The times that mattered. Love, Bee. <3 - Was I having an aneurysm? Pressing my forehead against the cool brick of a crumbling wall, I revelled in the stink of burning which was thankfully blocking out the horrific taste of skin slithering back up my throat as I heaved up the contents of my stomach. I was used to the stink of charred human flesh. After all, the town was burning and its victims were our feast. Our prizes. I  chose not to look around me or take in my surroundings. I didn’t want to look at a town which we had ripped apart once again. I didn’t want to see bodies littering the roads and sidewalk, chunks of flesh and torso’s lying in unsuspecting places.  So many thoughts were alive inside my head, an endless hurricane of both nothing and everything colliding into a vicious void I couldn’t explain, couldn’t understand, couldn’t stop—and yet that thought in particular was the one which reigned dominant. It had to be an aneurism, right? I didn’t feel like I’d cracked my head or something had seriously gone wrong inside my brain. I was burning. I remembered googling the term in middle school when I had a shitty headache, and my aunt had dropped the word in conversation with the doctor. "What if it is an aneurysm?"  He had chuckled in reply. "It's just a pressure headache, Miss Levi."  Suffice to say, once I knew what an aneurysm was, I closed down my aunt’s laptop and crawled under my bed. Like I could hide from something like that. I remember reading it up on Web MD. Not exactly the best place to check your symptoms, but eleven year old me just wanted answers to the pounding pain which felt like someone slamming a rock onto the back of my head and temples.  Nausea and vomiting? Yep. I felt like my insides were attempting to projectile vomit my organs. Stiff neck? Sort of. I felt stiff all over, my whole body aching like I’d just been through a meat grinder. Blurred or double vision? My vision wasn’t mine. I was seeing things I shouldn’t—a world which wasn’t from my perspective. Sensitivity to light? The sunrise was pretty harsh on my eyes. I wasn’t ready to see broad daylight and what exactly my class had done to our town. I never saw burning as a symptom. I never saw a never ending fucking inferno inside your brain, eating you from the inside, as a symptom.  I wouldn’t call it an aneurysm, but it definitely was something. I don’t know how to explain the immense pressure in my head, like something alive was bleeding inside my brain and latching onto me. Burning. I was… I was burning. Everything inside me was fucking burning, and I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t put this ferocious blaze out because it was inside my skull. Despite being in denial, I didn’t feel like myself anymore. Like my soul had been forced back inside a body which didn’t belong to me; a body which had been twisted and purged of everything she was, and turned into a monster, pupiteered by the curse. I was still running on adrenaline, a senseless and mindless craving ripping through all logic. It was still alive inside me, gritting my teeth together in a Wonderland Smile which I couldn’t stop, which was stretched so wide across my face my jaw felt like it was going to concave. I remembered flashes of my before. Before I woke up. Before Littlewood gave me my mind back. I had brutally killed a woman and her husband, carving their eyes out and teasing them with their last breaths with the hope of survival, only to rip away their life before that hope could blossom inside them. It was hope suffocated by a despair which was so agonising that it bled inside me once my eyes were open and I was staring down at my own fists, at the woman’s eyeball’s squished between my blood spattered knuckles while the rest of her painted me like I was her canvas. I had danced in her husbands remains, twirling to a song only I could hear.  All of that made sense. It made sense that I had been turned into a monster like the rest of my class and it made a sick kind of sense that I had been the one to hollow out a man’s body with my own hands. I had been part of 2022’s Teen Purge, a fate I knew I couldn’t and wouldn’t ever escape. There were still so many questions I wanted answering. I wanted to know why the curse was triggered by a man-made substance we had been subjected to, and why Kenji had been able to coherently text me before sunrise. Kenji.  I had to… find him. Before he did something he would regret. No, I thought dizzily. Before he came to terms with what he had done under the influence. That thought was driving me crazy, but it was being pushed back, overwhelmed by something else entirely which was taking over me, enveloping me. At some point, I dropped my phone and smashed the screen. I didn’t know when exactly that was. Time was going so slowly. One minute I had been pushing myself into a stumbled run towards Littlewood’s scrapyard, motivated by Kenji’s cryptic text before something inside me… snapped. I had a destination, an escape which was slowly building into a coherent plan—before I was… nothing. I was nameless, a shadow teetering between life and death while my body and brain were burned alive. It was in my blood, my bones, my thoughts. Burning. I couldn’t control myself as I screamed into the air choked with smoke. Did it come from inside my head? No. No, it was a fire which had been set across the road from me. My thoughts were tangled and confusing, and after a while—they weren’t even mine. The longer I burned, the longer I screamed into nothing, the physical presence which had forced its way inside my head started to multiply. How am I supposed to describe this sensation accurately? How can I tell you this without sounding fucking insane? It was… the feeling of being drowned inside my own mind, in bleeding memories entangled together which weren’t mine creating a storm inside my head. Whispering voices fighting to make themselves heard. The unyielding force of dozens of thoughts and feelings taking over me one by one. Initially, I fought against them. I tried to push them out, because while they were seeping inside my thought process, parasites crawling into my brain, I was growing numb. My own thoughts were turning obsolete, everything I was fading as my body became theirs. It happened slowly. I felt myself drop to the ground, still burning, the inferno in my brain and body growing brighter and brighter, numbed only slightly by my senses being snatched from me. I hit the ground, but I didn’t feel impact. Instead, the whispering grew less incoherent until there were voices. Real voices screaming inside my head.  “Mother!” A girl’s cry rang inside my skull. It wasn’t the cry of a child, no. It was a teenager. “You don’t have to do this to us!” She was my age. Her wail was enough to stop my attempts at prying away the voices, and I let go. I let each of them in. I let them bleed into me until I was nothing, and they were… something. The force of her rattled me until I couldn’t breathe, until I couldn’t force my body into a sitting position. Lying faced down on singed grass with no choice but to listen to them, a sea of tangled thoughts plunging me further into the dark, a wave of ice cold water enveloping my own sense of being. As the nameless girl took over, spiderwebbing inside me, my senses became entangled with her. I wasn’t just hearing her. I was… I was feeling her.  And within a single breath choked from my hijacked mouth, I was her. Her cry was mine, strangled and twisted, ripping from my own lips.  This stranger. I could feel her writhing body pressed against something harsh digging into our back, aching arms pinned above us. The smell of smoulder scratched the back of our nose, a panicking feeling turning our gut. In front of us was darkness speckled with blurred orange. Shadows with no faces. The girl wasn’t alone. Next to her were squirming silhouettes, and I felt a raging agony and frustration ripping her apart. She wasn’t alone. Those were her thoughts, and while she was terrified of her fate, part of her felt like she could die. As long as it was with them. Glimpsing a figure striding through the dark, a figure carrying a burning torch, I waited for her to talk. I waited for her to cry out, for some kind of explanation for what I was seeing. Before I could, however, the girl and her memory was being ripped away—and I heard her fighting back, trying to reach out, trying to leach back onto me. Her prying fingers failed to grasp hold, only for a second mind to find its way inside me, harsher. Recent. The girl wasn’t the only one to try and use my mouth to scream. Littlewood High’s gymnasium blossomed into my mind, followed by sharp clarity. This kid was far more hesitant to reveal to me who they were. They held back a little, only choosing to show me their point of view of tipping their head back as a wave of water came down, drenching them and the rest of their class. Blood. That’s what I had thought.  I thought it was blood drenching my face and clothes, gluing my hair to my head and pasting my eyes shut. It was blood that had been spilled and had already been spilled; the blood of my mother when I watched her gutted by Noah Sharpe. Somehow, that colourless substance which had purposely drenched us had forced that one thought into our heads. We were covered in it. That, combined with the images in our heads of smouldering flame enveloping flesh and hair, an inferno setting our bodies alight, was enough to drive even the strongest minds to pure insanity. And I was seeing it. I was seeing each experience. I was seeing the faces of loved ones driving them crazier. I felt their attempts to regain control of their mind, but the damage was already done.  They slipped to their knees, their screams joining a symphony orchestra of cries around them-- and saw exactly what I did. Burning. Charred flesh and singed hair. Agonizing wails rattling their skulls until they were forced to join. Their hands were in their hair, gripping and pulling and tearing at their scalp—bloody fingernails raking down their face and a smile beginning to split their lips in half. The Wonderland Smile, chasing away logical fear and pain previously grounding them in a reality they believed in. A craving was coming alive inside of them, a hunger to rid themselves of that pain—all of that blood. By making others feel the despair which had taken an unyielding hold.  It was getting harder to differentiate whose memory from who. This time they were stronger. I saw sterile flooring and running feet. Everything was blinding white. I heard his gasps for breath, a nightmarish fear eating him up from the inside pushing him to run faster. I recognised him. Not his psychotic laugher when he had kidnapped me a year earlier, but his struggle to keep breathing. Keep sucking in precious oxygen which felt so far away. Just like the others before him, while his being seeped inside me, I had found myself once again plunged inside a memory. This time it was someone I recognised. Not a stranger from past years, but a classmate just below me.  Tommy Nolan had an asthma attack in junior year. Second period math, he’d jumped up with a panicked look on his face, clutching his chest. I remember thinking his breathing sounded wrong, like it was a car-engine trying and failing to start. His face had been pale, trembling hands clutching at his chest. Tommy wasn’t the kind of guy who would intentionally attract attention to himself. He was an introvert through and through. However, this was the type of thing he couldn’t hide away from or push people away. “I can’t breathe.” He’d managed to gasp out, before the teacher had escorted him out of the class and to the nurse’s office. What I felt wasn’t an asthma attack gripping his chest. It was pure panic and fear squeezing the air from his lungs and stumbling his already clumsy steps. Tommy reached a corner and threw himself into a run which was cut short by rough hands grabbing hold of him and yanking him back. I didn’t see the rest of Tommy Nolan’s memory. At least, I didn’t see an escape or anything which hinted at where he was. I just saw the same. A coffin-like enveloping darkness. Restrained hands. Raging fire. I don’t know if it was Tommy’s splintered mind which had catapulted me from my own mind, or maybe he didn’t want me to see everything. Before I could grasp onto his memory, he let go. The whispering voices let me go, and I found myself pressed against grass wet with dew, an intense pressure in my nose and crawling around the back of head, blood pooling down my chin. I took a moment to gather myself. The sky was still half dark and half-light, pink and orange streaks taking over pooling black. Across the street, Lili Marriot was standing with the town preacher’s severed head clumsily forced onto a make-shift pike.  The man's eyes were still open, wide with horror.  She wasn’t moving, her scarlet hands still grasping the weapon for dear life. I got to my feet slowly, ignoring my own blood spattered hands. I didn’t think about the woman I had murdered, or her husband, as I hopped onto a trashed bike which had been abandoned on the side of the road. It was still usable. Sure, it had bits of skin stuck in the wheels, but it would work. I pushed myself into a smooth pace which was normal. It felt normal, like every other morning when Kenji and I biked to school. Instead of taking in the apocalyptic landscape around me, I focused on the road and finding my friend. That morning, I saw a mix. I saw kids who were waking up and finding themselves painted in their victims. I saw them crying. Screaming. I saw one girl slice open her own throat over the corpse of her little brother. But I was also seeing kids still entangled in their own undoing, still tearing Littlewood apart. Under the last splinters of night, I saw my classmates around me.  But I chose to be ignorant. I needed to find Kenji and saving the town's people who had been brought to the brink of despair was the last thing on my mind. Still though, I watched. I couldn’t help it. There was a sort of morbid curiosity inside me once I had been freed from the curse, and then watching the rest of my class still in its iron grip. The varsity boys dragged an old man by his neck down the road, chanting the school anthem. One of them was wearing someone’s skull which had been ripped of its flesh, the remnants of a bulging eye still glued inside the socket. They wore their football jerseys, and somehow that made them even more terrifying. They were the perfect depiction of Noah Sharpe. Gen Z version. Littlewood's golden boy turned psycho. Eleven years later, it had taken them too. “REDHAWKS!” Their war cries bled into the dull sunrise, stamping their feet to a beat only they could hear. The old man was struggling, his face beet red, prying wrinkly fingers attempting to tug the tough rope cinched around his limp neck. But they weren’t letting go, only laughing when he let out a pained cry, begging them to let him die, begging to let him asphyxiate. “REDHAWKS!” They ignored him, pulling his limp body across the road. “REDHAWKS!” STAMP. STAMP. STAMP. “REDHAWKS!” I could still hear their phantom yelling when I neared the scrapyard. Passing the diner, which was nothing but a blur of vivid orange, I saw a group of girl’s shrieking those horrific hyena laughs, diving into the flames and dancing in the smoke, entangling themselves in licking flames. Laughter twisted into screams and cries of agony mixed with a pleasure, a euphoria, I didn’t even think existed. I had felt it writhing in every soul which had bled inside me. The craving to die. When I squeezed the handlebars tighter, I felt something shift inside me once the stink of smoke had travelled into my nose and was choking the back of my throat. Looking down at my palms, my skin had started to catch alight. No, I wasn’t seeing things. I could feel it, flames crawling up my arms, licking across my flesh and melting through my sweater sleeve. I opened my mouth to cry out, and in the blink of an eye I was back inside that coffin-like tunnel drowning Tommy Nolan’s memory. He didn’t want me to see it, had pulled away before I could glimpse what exactly was in there. This time, though, it wasn’t Tommy Nolan strapped to a metal slab. It was me. I was closed in, suffocating on my own sobs, on curling smoke already dancing in the back of my mind. All I could see was fiery orange and red engulfing me, filling the tunnel. The thought hit me when my own body was writhing, dancing in vivid orange getting brighter and brighter, licking across my flesh in sharp rivulets, singing my hair from my scalp. I was in an incinerator. No… no not just me. We. Tommy Nolan, and the nameless girl’s whose screams had rattled my skull. All of us. We were in an incinerator. The shock of the vision, as well as all of our pain entwining into one pulled me back to uncertain reality. I didn’t even realise I’d let go of the bike handlebars before I was crashing down on rough concrete, smacking my head on the curb. Stars exploded in the backs of my eyes. But the fire was gone. Like it had never fucking existed. Except I knew it did. It had in Tommy Nolan’s memory, as well as my future. An endless fire which had ripped away our flesh and sent us plunging into the dark. It made me wonder about that first memory. The girl tied to the tree in front of blurred orange. Was that how all of this had started? Did I see the first glimpses of Littlewood’s curse?  When I pushed the bike off of me and checked my arms and legs for burns or signs of smoulder, there was nothing there. Fuck. Whatever had taken over my mind and crawled into my brain wasn’t letting go, but I found myself hanging onto them. My head hit the ground and I stared at the sky, at red and orange clouds which almost resembled the end of the world.  The sky, just like the ground below, had been set alight. Maybe it was the end of the world, I thought.   Maybe Littlewood was really falling this time.  I don’t know how long I lay there trying to catch my breath, trying to force my maple syrup thoughts into fruition. I was trying to shake my head of possible concussion, dislodging my brain from the puddle of fog it had fallen into, when I heard running footsteps. Bare feet slapping against gravel. I knew what this was. I’d heard it as a kid, an animal-like herd of kids which had congregated into their own tribe. I had heard them running past my house every year, and each time I thought they would catch me. I thought they’d crawl through my window like Noah Sharpe and his gang. But this was my class.  These were the kids I had been going to school with for years. The sound of their whooping and laughter brought me out of it, just a little. Twisting to my side, I glimpsed them suddenly. White canisters. The ones I’d seen in the school, the ones I’d seen being put into the sprinkler system. They were everywhere, dotted across the road, turned over on their head and leaking that same colourless substance onto cement and into the air. I wondered if they had been purposely placed. “Help me! Oh god, please help me!” Just ahead of me, a woman in her thirties was sprinting. Her expression was wild with fright, dark hair flying behind her in a whirlwind. I recognised the look on her face. It was exactly what I’d felt a year prior when I escaped Tommy Nolan and his gang with an inch of my life. The girl caught my eye for a fleeting moment and it looked like she might have found solace in me. Her mouth opened in a silent plea, her trembling hands raising above her head. Before she realised what I was. I had been so focused on looking at her face, I’d failed to see the mess of startling red painting the front of her shirt. She was screaming, sobbing into the wind. There was something wrapped around her left wrist, the entrails of some poor souls guts fashioned into makeshift restraints. Twisting around, the girl dropped to her knees and buried her head in the ground. “Don’t!” she screamed. “Please! Don’t!” She wasn’t running, I thought. Why wasn’t she running? When the hysterical girl started to crawl across the ground, they appeared like animals, like they had been staying back, teasing her with the hope of survival. There were eight of them. All of them carrying lead pipes. The look on their faces was feral. Blood stained grins and empty eyes only seeing prey—only seeing another victim they could tear apart. I started to get up, started to plan my escape which was just to run and never stop fucking running until I was away from them. When more war cries rang out. This time from the other side of the road. Two separate tribes of kids advancing towards her. The second group were faster, and I recognised a face enveloped in the disgusting stain of red which painted them. Kenji. He didn’t look like Kenji anymore. I could hardly even see his face through a coating of red smearing his cheeks and eyes which he must have done himself.  War paint. Wielding a long thread of wire wrapped around his left wrist and trailing on the ground, my best friend joined the mass of kids closing in on the girl. His eyes were vacant and dark, empty of anything human. It was Noah all over again, except this time I wasn’t a frightened six year old. I could stop it.  I remember getting to my feet. Movement. Several heads whipped around.  I’d already caught their attention but their gazes barely strayed on me before going back to the girl. With my attention on him, I moved towards him, taking my steps slowly. Another kid crawled out of their hiding place behind a dumpster. This time they looked younger. I didn’t even want to guess how old. When half of the kids jumped the little kid while the others took care of the girl, I forced my legs to keep going, keep moving. But I stopped when the woman dived to her feet and made a run for it, pushing herself into a sprint. I watched Kenji pursue her like a lion chasing after a deer. While her steps were stumbled and clumsy, his were calculated. I couldn’t move when he dived onto her back and brought her to the ground, her face smacking against cement with a meaty smack. She squirmed, fighting to get away, but he was already forcing the metal wire into her throat, wrapping it around and around until her face was turning red, and then blue, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. The wire sliced cleanly into her flesh and red began to swim from her, startling pooling red I will never forget which stained his hands. I knew what he was doing. Squeezing tighter. Kenji’s weapon wasn’t to asphyxiate and strangle. It was a garotte. And his prize was progressively more inevitable the more he forced the cutting wire through layers of skin until it met bone. “Kenji!” I was yelling his name before I knew what I was doing. I don’t know how I got to him without breaking down, but when my face was buried into his back and I was sobbing his name, everything felt…. Right. Even if it was just for a little while. Because, like a fairy-tale narrating the clock striking twelve and a magic spell wearing off, a dazzling sunrise broke through the clouds and the woman’s gurgling stopped. Just like the jerking movements of Kenji’s hands as they struggled to cut through bone I wasn’t paying attention to Kenji when he woke up. I was staring at a little girl who had walked out of her house clutching a stuffed teddy bear and seeing the body of her mother on the ground. A numbness started to take over me, a heavy weight on my chest. I remember his arms were suddenly around me, and they were tight, so tight, almost suffocating the breath from my lungs. Kenji’s body felt strange against mine, a trembling, rattling mass as he screamed into my shoulder. I had never heard him scream before. Kenji had always hidden behind a bright smile which had finally crumbled under the curse. “Did I…” His words collapsed into a sob. “Did I… do this, Bee?" The metal wire was still attached to him, coiled around his wrist.  It marked him as a member of that tribe. “No.” I whispered into the damp material of his shirt." "No, none of this was you." He laughed, sputtering on a sob. “You’re okay.” I said. “You’re okay. Just breathe."  An icy shiver ripped its way down my spine when his lips found my ear. “Do you… really want to outrun the asteroid?” He whispered, choking on a hysterical laugh. “Do you think we are worthy, Bee?” His tone darkened. “Is our suffering worthy?” Kenji was hysterical, clinging onto me. I was still thinking about his words when footsteps startled me. Kenji’s phone hit the ground, followed by the curve of a heel splintering the screen. When I looked up, Ms Hawkins, our drama teacher, was looming over us holding a gun. It didn’t look like the usual gun I saw my neighbours use on wildlife. This one had a red coloured butt and fit perfectly into her hand. She shot Kenji first. The bullet hit his arm and he dropped to the ground. Ms Hawkins kicked Kenji onto his side and I caught sight of a tiny dart-like needle sticking from below his elbow.  When her gun zeroed in on me I almost wished it was a real one. I remember her pulling the trigger, but it wasn’t just aimed at me. it was aimed at every other soul which had entangled itself with me. This had happened to every year prior to us—and I had a sickening feeling I knew what was coming next. I woke to a nauseating feeling of movement to find my head uncomfortably pressed against a bus window. Outside, a long stretch of dead road leading to nowhere. There were no signs, no civilization. Nothing. It took me a disorienting moment to figure out I was on a school bus. The same school bus I had seen in thousands of other memories. Next to me, Kenji poked me in the shoulder. He was awake and seemed with-it enough to talk. Though there was a strange smile on his face which was twisting my gut. I turned around to face him and blinked rapidly, because my friend’s face morphed and blurred, twisting into hundreds of others. First, girls and boys in strange clothing like they were from the dark ages, and the distant sound of horseback—a carriage being dragged. I could smell wildflowers mixed with the stink of rot and excrement, hear the sound of birds and chains rattling around jiggling wrists. Then I was seeing strangers, each of them bearing clothes from different eras. I saw Tommy Nolan, and then Chrissy Lackey. Robin Chase.  Faces from previous years. All blood spattered. All wide eyed, a haunting, hollow look on their faces.  Until Noah. Until I saw his face twisted with anger and pain and frustration.  His hands went to his hair in a silent cry, and he was slamming bloodied fists into his temples. Over and over again. “Fuck!” He gritted out.  “Get me off this bus! I don’t want to be here... I want to go home. I want to go back!” “Hey! Hey, calm down!” The voice was Poppy. Her shriek echoed in my brain, as the bus they were on collapsed into panic and Noah was diving from his seat, before being grabbed and restrained by guards, and shoved back next to Poppy. I felt her gentle hand on his shoulder. Poppy’s arms were around him, and Noah was relaxing into her embrace. “We’re going to the Halfway House, Noah.” Her soothing murmur inside my head was cut short when I sensed the coffin-like tunnel once again. Flames. Getting closer and closer. And his screams. Ringing so loud in my head, horrifying wails of agony cracking my skull open. I felt my own clammy palms press against my ears, the force of his cry becoming my own. “Bee?” I was sweating and shaking, choking on stale vomit in my mouth, when Kenji waved a wary hand in front of my face, and I found reality once again. When my gaze found his, Kenji had that smile again. He sat back with a sigh, pressing his head against the seat. “You got it, huh?” He chuckled. “Damn, I wish I did.” I found my breath, swallowing whatever the fuck I'd eaten in the last twelve hours. “Got what?” He shrugged. “Do you remember when I asked you if you would give your life to destroy an asteroid?” I had to think back to that conversation which didn’t seem relevant until now. “Kenji—” He cut me off, his smile fading a little. “I really did want to see my dad,” He whispered. As he spoke, I found my gaze wandering and finding our classmates who were either asleep or staring into an oblivion only they could see. Kenji sighed. “I imagined all of these scenarios in my head. That we would all come to the halfway house and heal and get better like all the other kids before us, and I’d jump on a plane and go and visit dad in Hokkaido.” I noticed his hands were trembling in his lap. “But I’m a fucking idiot. I'm naïve.” He turned to me. “We’re just kids, right? What do we know?" I was losing my patience with his cryptic words. “What are you talking about?” “I was kidnapped like you,” He said through a sigh. “Last year, the night of the Teen Purge, I forgot to close our gate so I rushed out to lock it up before I brought attention to our house. But I was too late. They were waiting for me outside. The bastards knocked me out with a bat, and I woke up on the roof of the school.” He dug his hands in his lap, choking out a hiss. “I was the only one left, Bee. When I woke up, I was staring at the people she had pushed to their deaths. My hands were tied behind my back so I couldn’t move, or try to get away and this girl…” He trailed off, his gaze going to a stray raindrop on the window, “this girl was dangling me over the edge. Like I was bait over a shark tank. It was fucking freezing and I was only in my pyjamas, and I remember wondering if I was actually going to die.”  The bus went over a bump, and I grabbed onto his hand, squeezing it as tight as I could. “I waited for it,” Kenji whispered. “I waited for her to kill me, but she wrenched me back. And her eyes... her eyes were pitch black. Hollow.” His eyes filled with tears. “She was smiling. Smiling like it would thrill her to watch me fall like the ones before me. And she would have no fucking mercy.” As if his words were a narration, I was seeing the vision for myself, like somewhere inside my head, the girl lingered. I could see it. I could see pooling darkness, a long way down. Kenji, his arms tied behind his back, a single strip of duct tape over his mouth— while arms were wrapped around his waist, dangling him teasingly as he twisted and struggled in her arms. Like I was seeing it through her POV, I glimpsed tangled blonde curls in front of my face, a carving knife slick red clenched in my fist. She held him tight, squeezing the breath from him. “Long way down, huh?” Her voice was a cackle clanging in my skull. “Mmpphh!”  I could see his wide eyes, petrified as she pushed him closer and closer to the edge. Kenji continued in a low murmur. “But… this girl didn’t push me. She didn't kill me. Instead, she… she pulled me close. I could… I could smell her rotting breath. But through all the black, whatever had possessed her... I could see that there was still something there. It was weak, but still alive. Before I knew it, I was on my knees and she was in front of me like she could see right through me. Like she could reach into my head and pull out every memory I've ever had." His voice trembled. "She asked me a question. And I’ll never forget it, Bee. Because it was what changed my way of thinking. Instead of being scared to die, I felt like I could finally embrace it.” His words sent my gut galloping into my throat. I saw it. I saw her yanking him back onto his knees and pulling him close. “What?” I whispered, shaking away the vision. The girl was insistent on shoving her memory onto me.   Kenji’s eyes found mine, and for the first time in the 17 years of the Teen Purge, I saw the Wonderland Smile in broad daylight. I saw insanity brewing in eyes which had been darkened far before Littlewood’s curse had snatched his mind. It had been hours since the curse had let us go, and there it was, splitting my best friend’s mouth apart into a cheshire cat grin. It was exactly what I’d seen on Noah Sharpe’s face before he sliced my mother’s throat open and gutted her. But while Noah's expression had been a blank slate, a monster, I only saw tragic hope lighting up my best friend's eyes. But it wasn’t real hope. Real hope was wanting to survive. It was forcing yourself to keep going no matter what. What I saw was that craving I’d felt when I’d woken up covered in blood, the one emitting from every voice inside my head. The overwhelming pleasure which came with the thought of dying—giving yourself up. "She asked me if I wanted to save the world.” He said, his eyes twinkling. “How cool is that?” I was losing him. “What did you say?” I asked.  He smiled. “I said yes. What else could I say? She got this weird look on her face, this smile, which was both maniacal and yet unbelievably sad, it made me feel like I would feel it too. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.” Kenji turned towards the window, this time, like he was refusing to admit it to my face. “She told me I will. Just like her, and the kids before her. That’s what the siren inside her head said. At that point I hoped I’d be able to save the world, and then visit my dad. I really thought it was as easy as that.” His lips twisted, eyes lighting up.  “But… then I understood what she meant. I finally understood, and I wasn’t scared anymore. How could I fear my own fate?  She didn’t mean me saving the world, Bee. She meant me, and you, all of us in the past and present and future giving our lives for seven billion others.” He turned to me with almost cartoon-like eyes. “You can hear them,” he murmured. “the girl had that exact same look in her eyes.” Swallowing hard, I fought to breathe. “What do you mean?” “Haunted.” Kenji said. “They’re telling you exactly what happened to them, and you can’t stop it. You want to pull them out of your head, but you can’t. They’re like a parasite taking over.” I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. “Can you tell me?” His voice was small. “How does this end? How do we save the world?” Lying on a metal slab and staring at pooling black while flames licked across my flesh and set my hair alight, my body smouldering. Burning bright. That was how it was going to end. Like Noah and every year before us, we were going to burn. And it made sense… right? Why wouldn’t a town permanently get rid of their youth tainted by a curse? But it still felt like I was missing something.  And that something was getting closer as we approached the Halfway House.  "Bee?" Kenji murmured. "Are you okay?"  Instead of responding, I pressed my face into his shoulder and sobbed until my eyes were raw, until my chest was heaving. Outside, Fall was taking over nature, and for the first time in a while I took a moment to take it in, breathing in the smell of wet mildew and crushed leaves drifting through the window and marvelling beautiful decay.  It's crazy how much you start to notice about the world around you when you know your time is running out. I don't think I'll ever look at a tree the same again. In my cotton candy thoughts still half asleep from the tranquilliser, though, I was slowly conducting a plan to get the fuck out of there. I refused to burn.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I've had a stalker for two months. He just told me my boyfriend isn't who I think he is. [RESPONSE] The first time I noticed him was at a local coffee shop I go to often. I was standing in line, ready to order my iced chai latte, when I saw him staring in my direction from a table outside. I didn’t assume he was staring at me at first - there were multiple other women in the cafe that he could’ve been ogling. Proving me wrong with a ballsy move, he asked me for my number as I walked through the front door. “Iced chai, I see. Good choice,” he commented as he stood up from his chair. “I’ve noticed you a few times when I’ve been in the neighborhood. Could I get your number?” “Oh, no, I actually have a boyfriend.” Hoping this would get him to back off, especially because it was the truth, I smiled and started walking around him to get to my parking spot a few yards down the walkway. “Relax, honey,” he said as he stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “He doesn’t have to know.” I felt a shiver of pure disgust as he paired that statement with a wink. “Look, I know cheating on your partner is like a big thing right now, but I’m not into it. Leave me alone.” He backed away from me, hands in the air and a dumb smirk on his face. I gave him one final glare before making my way towards the car, his eyes on me every step I took. When I got back to the apartment I shared with my boyfriend, Jacob, I told him all about it. Normally he would get upset about it but move on if I told him there was nothing to worry about, and at first, that was his reaction. “What the fuck? Did you recognize him at all?” “Not even a little. He said he’s seen me a few times but I’ve never seen him.” That was the part that bothered me the most. He’s been undetectable multiple times while watching me. Where else had he seen me? “What did he look like?” “Uh, like every other guy here. Brown hair, taller than me, probably 6’ something. He did have a scar on his neck…” For some reason, that caught Jacob’s attention. “A scar? Was it fresh?” “I mean, not really. I don’t know what a fully healed scar would look like but it wasn’t red or bleeding or anything. Why?” “... Don’t know. Just a good identifier if he bothers you again, I guess.” He looked a little more disturbed after I mentioned the scar, but I didn’t drill him about it. It wasn’t something I really wanted to discuss further anyway. That first encounter with him was about two months ago. Since then, I’ve noticed him everywhere - the coffee shop, book stores, the supermarket. I couldn’t go anywhere without seeing him, especially when I went anywhere with my boyfriend. I felt like I was going crazy - every time I’d see him, I’d try to discreetly point him out to my boyfriend. “Jacob, he’s near the pasta,” I whispered. He would always try to be natural, just so he wouldn’t scare him away, but every time he would look he wasn’t there. It’s like he just vanished into thin air. I could tell Jacob was sympathetic about the situation - he probably thought I was being overly paranoid and imagining I was seeing him - but there wasn’t anything he could do if he didn’t see him in time. After these two months, I started growing tired of myself and my imagination. Jacob hadn’t seen him any time I pointed him out, and honestly I never saw him enter or leave my line of sight. It’s like he would just appear, stare me down for a little bit, and he’d be gone. I had to do something to clear my mind. “Hey, I’m going on a run,” I yelled to Jacob as I was lacing up my tennis shoes. “Don’t you think that’s… not the best idea?” Jacob asked, clearly a little worried about me going on a run by myself. “Well I have to do something. Maybe all I need is a little time to myself to recollect my thoughts and my head. This might just all be manifestations from stress. Plus,” I added, finishing up the laces on my left shoe, “it’s day time and my path is pretty busy. I’ll be ok.” “Are you sure? I mean, I can go with you…” I gave him a kiss, hopefully to calm his nerves but mostly to get him to shut up. “No. I need alone time. You have my location and I have my pepper spray. I’ll be fine. Love you.” I knew he still wasn’t fond of the idea of me being out alone, but there wasn’t really much he could do as I closed the apartment door and headed down the complex stairs. Not even thirty seconds after I got outside and started my run, I felt something tug my left arm, hard enough for it to pop. I didn’t have enough time to react as I felt my arms pinned up against brick and my mouth covered with leather. I tried everything I knew from my self defense classes I took years ago - biting, kicking, screaming. Deep down, I knew nothing would work against a 6’ man with a heavy weight advantage. It didn’t take me long to recognize the hair and the scar either. “Lily, keep quiet,” he whispered as he struggled to keep me pinned to the wall. “I’m trying to help you.” “Help me?” I said, my words muffled by his gloves as I was still trying to free myself from his grasp. No progress, and I started to feel weaker as I struggled, ready to accept whatever would happen to me in this empty alleyway. “Yes, help you! Stop struggling so I can tell you what’s going on.” I didn’t want to stop struggling - I wanted to keep kicking and moving to make it harder on him - but I knew in the end, it wouldn’t work out for me. “Are you going to listen?” I shook my head, his glove still pressed against my mouth. Despite living in fear because of this guy for two months, I felt nothing but curiosity in that moment. “Lily, I need you to listen carefully and take what I’m about to say seriously, ok?” How the fuck does he know my name? “The man you’re dating, Jacob,” he paused, rolling his eyes as if he was trying to figure out how to word what was coming next. “He’s… he’s not Jacob. Not anymore.”<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I thought we were the top of the foodchain, I was so wrong [RESPONSE] Hey, my name is Levi, I've never done this before, but people need to know what's out there. It's likely that you've heard of such monsters as skinwalkers, wendigo, bigfoot, but you choose to believe that creatures of that kind could never roam the earth, that humans are the top of the food chain, that we rule this planet.  Though comforting, this mindset will not save you when you come face to face with a nightmare, when you realize how weak and helpless you truly are, it will be too late.  My long distance girlfriend Tay, who is studying on the other side of the country, was visiting her parents in my town, it was my first time meeting them, and it went the way everyone wants it to go, I don't mean to brag but they loved me, and they were really nice, when it got late and I was getting ready to go home, Tays mom offered for me to stay while Tay was in town so that we could spend as much time as possible together until she has to go back to school Tay looked at me excitedly, and I asked "Are you sure? I don't want to be a burden" "Nonsense Levi", Tays mom says "we think you and Tay are perfect together and we know how much she misses you when she's gone, make the most of each other" Tay hugs her mom and then pulls me and her dad into the hug. It was a beautiful moment, but I can't look at it now without it being tainted by the events that followed.  The next few days were perfect, I spent more time with Tay than I ever had before, it was hard with her being so far away most of the time. FaceTime can only do so much to quench the emptiness I felt without her.  But for these few days life felt complete, I hung out with her family, we played card games for hours, I helped her dad fix his motorbike, well, I say helped, I mostly just held the flashlight and handed him tools, but I think I won him over that day, he probably would've gave me his blessing in marriage if i had asked.  That night we were all sat around the TV watching the new lightyear movie, which was surprisingly good, I'd be lying if i said i didn't shed a few tears, around 11:18pm when the movie finished, Tays parents said goodnight and headed off to bed and a couple of Tays friends who had been visiting said goodbye and drove home, I got up to get some water from the kitchen, and as I walked back I stood in the doorway that separated the kitchen from the living room, which was dark, only lit by the TV, allowing me to see Tay frozen, staring towards the window which was out of my direct line of sight.  confused, I peaked my head out of the doorway and looked toward the window. I froze and dropped my glass, luckily it landed on the carpet and didn't make much of a noise, and the giant pale creature standing an inch from the window didn't notice.  The creature was fowl, a gaunt lanky humanoid, well at least the head and torso was humanoid, it had no legs, the torso ended in a stump, the body was being held up by four arms, each one probably 2 meters long, the creature's whole body was covered in gray skin stretched tightly over its abnormally long bones, the thing had no hair, anywhere, it's mouth was strangely wide, stretching around to where it's ears would be if it had them, and it's eyes were just sunken inky black pits in its head, but I could tell it was just staring at Tay, who had tears rolling down her face, she slowly turned her head to look at me, she was shaking and breathing quickly.  “...Levi…” she whimpered “help…” I had never felt so powerless, I'm a 6’2, lean but muscular 20 year old guy. I was supposed to protect her, I always thought I could, and I would die to protect her but I had no idea how to protect her from whatever this thing was.  Then I had an idea, I looked to the light switch panel to my left, I knew one of them was the porch light, but there were three others, the living room light, the kitchen light and the hall light, if I press the wrong light, I don't know what the thing will do, but I had to try, I had to remember, which light did I see Tays dad use to turn the porch light on when he went out last night.  I reached for the light second from the bottom, and flicked the switch.  The hall light turned on, luckily, the hall is on the opposite side of the kitchen to where the living room is, and it is out of view for the creature at the window.  But I can't mess up again, if the kitchen light turns on, the creature will see me, and if the living room light turns on, it might cause it to attack Tay.  I looked back to the creature, which was reaching using one of its hands to scratch the window, I had to do something.  I reached for the bottom light switch and flicked it, the porch light turned on, the creature spun around to face it and let out a screech that will haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life, I ran to Tay and grabbed her, dragging her off the side of the couch where there was about a meter gap between the armrest of the couch and the wall, and i held her, what else could i do? I can’t fight the thing, we can’t outrun it, does tay know how scared i am? Can she feel my heart running laps in my chest? I want her to feel safe, like nothing can hurt her when I'm there, but that’s clearly not true. The sound of the window smashing fills the house and Tay cries into my shoulder, I hold her tightly, I kiss the top of her head and I wait quietly. I can't see anything, it's pitch darkness besides the slight blue glare from the TV on the wall above us, but I can hear raspy breathing and bones cracking as the thing searches the living room, I hear it sniffing the couch where Tay was sitting. and I hear it make its way closer to the end of the couch, one of its hands pressed on the wall above us, the closer it gets, the less scared i become, all that fear is replaced by anger, this thing wants to hurt the person i love with all of my heart, it wants to take the one thing that makes me happy, i would die for this girl, and i will die for this girl. I kiss her one more time and get myself into a defensive position so that i can easily tackle it before it reaches Tay, and as I see the silhouette of its head begin to peak over the side of the couch, suddenly the light turns on and Tays dad yells as he sees us from the kitchen while he's holding a shotgun, the creature runs at him but falls to the ground as one of its arms is obliterated at the shoulder after Tays dad fires a shot, the creature shakes around on the ground like a fly without wings, before it grabs the TV in one of its hands and flings it effortlessly at Tays dad sending him flying into the kitchen counter behind him, the creature quickly sprints out of the window and unleashes a final screech as it disappears into the tree-line behind the house.  And here we are, I'm sitting at the hospital with Tay and her family, her dad has a broken jaw, two a broken collar bones, 6 cracked ribs, two broken vertebrae in his back and a broken pelvis, he's sleeping right now due to the meds he's on, but he's supposed to recover, though he likely won't be able to walk for a while, if ever again.  This whole thing happened around 5 hours ago, it's 4:38am as I'm writing this, the police left a while ago after telling us we can't go back to the house for a while, I don't know what that thing was, but it's safe to say, we are not the dominant species in this world, there are things bigger than us, stronger than us, things you couldn't dream of, you think you can protect yourself? You're family? The only difference between you and a rabbit being hunted by a wolf, is that the rabbit knows that it's in danger... And the rabbit is running for its life.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I deliver mail to cryptids. I took a sick day. [RESPONSE] (First: Previous: It might have been from the stress of finding out my apartment building had been haunted, but I woke up sick the day after the failed sleepover with Max. I took some cold pills thinking I could push through it to finish my shift. Maybe I could go to the sorting room and do something a bit easier until I felt better. I walked a few blocks to get to the door that led me into work, and in those few blocks I got much worst. I zipped my uniform jacket as far as it would go and buried half my face in the collar. Chills shook my body and my head heavy from illness. I was met by the normal sight. A single empty room with a small fold out table but with Max and one of his sisters already inside. I opened my mouth to greet them and a cough came out instead. I stopped in front of the desk ready to get the day finished. The receptionist, a sister I yet to meet, stood up and came around to get a better look at my flushed face. “Are you not feeling well?” Max asked and he also got in close. “I’ll survive.” I replied in a small rough voice. “No, you might not depending on what creatures you’ll come across. You’re taking a day off. I’ll call your doctor to come over when he’s available for a home visit. Go back home until you recover.” She told me and started to look through forms on her desk to fill out. “I get sick days?” I asked, shocked. She looked at me as if I wasn’t the brightest bulb. The pay for this job was good, but I didn’t know I also had sick days. I should ask if I also got vacation days. While I wasn’t paying attention. Max got right next to me. He pulled down my jacket collar and to my shock, licked the entire side of my face. I let out a disgusted sound from suddenly having a wet cheek and his sister grabbed him before he could do it a second time. “Ugh, Max why?!” I demanded offended and betrayed. I rubbed my cheek with the back of my jacket sleeve to get the dog slobber off. I’m sure he had a good reason for the gross lick, but he should have warned me first so I could try to dodge it. “Whenever my sisters are feeling sick, I lick their faces until they feel better. It’s a sure cure and I find sixty-six licks work the best.” He said very proudly. “Your licking doesn’t cure anything. We just say it works so you stop licking us.” His sister admitted disgusted. Max looked distraught having a childhood truth be revealed as a lie. I really didn’t want to have a mental image of a child Max pining down one of his poor sisters to lick their cheek. Creatures sure had a weird mindset when it came to things. I let out a terrible sounding cough and both Max and his sister took a few steps back, holding each other. They looked pretty worried about catching whatever I had even though I was positive a human illness stood no chance trying to infect a creature. I still kept away from them just in case. My face starting to flush from a fever. The sister of the day was nice enough to create a door back to my apartment to get me home and out of their hair faster. Max cheerfully waved before I left saying he would think of something to make me feel better. Honestly just having him seem worried was good enough. Besides my father, I didn’t have any family. I really didn’t keep any friends either. I was nice enough with my co-workers but rarely, if ever spent that much time with them outside work. I felt nice to have someone who cared. That feeling got over taken by my fever. I took off my uniform jacket, body starting to shake and aches creeping into my joints. I crawled into bed wanting to sleep the whole ordeal off. Looking back on it, I should have gotten someone over to keep an eye on me. I assumed I just had the flu and sleeping it off would cure it. I really didn’t know what kind of illness I caught. When I woke up my throat felt so raw, I couldn’t swallow my own spit. I needed a drink of water. When I sat up, my head became so dizzy I collapsed back into bed. My entire body shaking from a fever and body hurting only in the way flu pains could make you feel. I didn’t remember that last time I ever gotten this bad. I felt so damn warm and yet I shook as if I had chills. I needed to get something to drink no matter how much it hurt. All of these were signs I had a fever so high I needed to get to the hospital. I risked frying my brain if my temperate didn’t break. Being alone for my entire adult life made it so I didn’t even think to call someone to help. With a great deal of effort, I got out of bed, nearly falling over. I needed to use my bed side table for support and then my bed. I moved so slowly, every step a small victory. I got to the bathroom with a great deal of effort. In my fever haze I considered having a shower to either cool me down, or warm me up. I really didn’t know what I was feeling. My head hot but my body cold and painful from each shake. First, I wanted a drink of water. I bent over drinking right from the tap, my head swimming for a few seconds. The water stayed down just long enough for me to collapse to the bathroom floor and cough it back up. My throat hurt too damn much and my stomach protested having anything inside it. Soon I was puking up bile and the last remains of the cold meds from earlier that day. I curled up on the bathroom floor, making an effort to clean up my mess but only had the strength to place a towel over top of the wet spot. My face stayed on the cool tiles, body hurting from the flu and from shaking so damn much. While barely awake and on the floor, I stared through the open door down the short hallway. I squinted when I thought I saw a shape move in the darkness of the other doorway. I made a weak attempt to raise my head and to call out, my throat burning and only ended up making a raspy noise. That figure noticed me. At first, I hoped it was Max coming by to check in on me. The shape came into view and I weakly got up halfway. My brain frantic with fear along with the fever messing with my thought process. What I looked at wasn’t Max or anyone I knew. I didn’t know if it was even a someone. They were so tall they needed to bend their neck to stand in the hallway. Head crooked and pale white eyes staring at me through dark tangled hair. The fingers all twisted and disjointed. The figured dressed in layer of torn fabrics stained with dark spots that looked a lot like mold. I couldn’t move in my state. I could only sit on my bathroom floor helplessly watching the creature take long steps at a time down my hallway. I grabbed onto the sink, pulling myself up. I wondered what I had to protect myself. My foot slipped and I fell backwards, a set of rough hands catching my fall. I made another noise that hurt my irritated throat. The creature made it inside the bathroom and easily caught me. I moved a hand to try and push the monster away only to have the thing wrap its greasy hair around me, binding my arms to my chest. I always assumed I would die at my new job and not in my apartment. “Oh, look at how tasty you look. So nice and warm. I’ll enjoy this meal very much.” The voice came from under the hair and the eyes scrunched up from a hidden smile. That voice caused my body to shake for a reason besides the fever. It was like nothing I ever heard before. As if ten people with sore, or torn out throats spoke at once. The face got closer to mine and I made the best attempt at a scream my body could handle. To my sheer horror, the hair was pulled back to reveal a long mouth with black lips. Unable to save myself from what was coming, the creature pressed its lips against my own. I kicked and pushed causing me to use up all my strength, my head getting so dizzy I passed out on the spot. Being so close to a monster meant I should have died. I woke up, the memory still fresh causing me to scream awake. I screamed again when a second person in my room and beside my bed got startled by my first scream and shrieked as well. Soon we both were screaming at each other. When my brain could process who was standing nearby, I calmed down a little. My heart beating out of my chest and breathing heavy. “Max?!” I said in a voice hoarse from screaming so much. After I spoke, I noticed my throat was fine. Besides from all the yelling. My body didn’t hurt and I only felt as if I over slept instead of dying like before. Was that monster just a fever dream? I looked at Max wondering how long he’d been there for and if he knew what happened was just a nightmare or not. “I came in to check in on you to see if the Kiss Of Death came by.” He said, face bright and recovered from his small shock. “What.” I said, using such a deadpan voice I’ve never managed before. “Oh, they’re not as bad as they sound! They eat illness. Their name got mixed up years ago. They don’t kiss people and they die. But they kiss sick or dying people to eat away most, if not all their illness. I asked one to come over to take care of you. They can’t eat away big stuff like cancer but a flu is no problem.” Max sounded so cheerful and happy he helped a friend recover. I loved Max, I really did. This was the very rare time when I wanted to strangle him. Instead, I reached over to pull him into a hug. He was confused but very happy. I refused to let go when he pulled back and his confusion grew. “Max... I had a pretty bad fever. I was helpless and then a creepy creature came into my apartment to force me to kiss it. Do you maybe think giving me a heads up might have been a good idea?” I told him, keeping my voice even. “Oh? You thought The Kiss Of Death was creepy? I think they're pretty nice. Wait, were you scared?” Max asked, sounding a bit worried and finally cluing into what he did. When I nodded to admit I was scared to death, he let out an upset cry and hugged me back. He promised to never do such a thing again and how sorry he was that he totally forgot my human standards are different then his. What’s cute and nice to Max is a never-ending nightmare to me. I did forgive him pretty quickly and it was nice I wasn’t sick any more. But I would rather go through a flu than deal with a creature like that again. It was only after I researched my symptoms to see what I had I found out I might have been suffering from a fever so high it could have killed me. Max honestly saved my life at the cost of me having a great deal of new nightmares going forwards. My job requested I did stay home for one more extra day and then let me in the sorting room before they would let me go back to delivering. I gladly did the easy job of looking through different packages and envelopes with my very strange, and sometimes downright scary co-workers. That day though, they all kinda seemed to stay away from me. I coughed once and reached for my water bottle and noticed everyone else had stopped working. I paused with them trying to figure out the problem. Then I figured out they all either thought I was still able to infect them with some human illness, or some were concerned I was still sick because they actually cared about my well-being. By the end of the day, they all seemed to be less weary of me. I started to head out ready to go home and rest when I came across Belizas. She heard I’d been sick and apparently knew the same false cure Max did. I didn’t run fast enough to escape her grasp and got put into a headlock, yelling for someone to save me before she licked me. Max came in very soon for a rescue but assumed I got sick again and wanted to call in for another kiss, which I greatly refused. Working with supernatural creatures can be hard. Sometimes I wondered if things would be easier if one of them just ate me.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] All You Need Is A Bucket Of Snails [RESPONSE] It all started with a simple schoolyard rhyme, no one knows the original incarnation, only a fragment of it survived and was circulated amongst our school. “A pail of snails lifts the veil to Blackbart the Frail.” Blackbart became an amalgam of the boogeyman and a wish-granting genie. Lara was the first one to suggest the rhyme as literal instruction, and then it spread amongst the rest of the school children. I don’t know who added the instruction of salting the snails, I don’t know if it was sheer coincidence or implanted in a young mind with sinister intent. It had rained for a week straight the day we brought it home, the first summer rains breaking the month-long dry spell. Sunbaked and water-parched snails had begun to peek out from their shady hiding places at the first sign of moisture and had overtaken our small trailer park. All of us had done our part in bringing them in, My little brother Mark and I used old Tupperware. Others used cups and boxes but we brought them to the same place, a rusty old metal bucket on the outskirts of the nearby forest. Terry had kept watch over the bucket using a stick to push any snails that had tried to slither out back in. Thomas was the one to bring the can of salt and Jeremy had been the one to open the can and salt them. I had seen the way snails had ruptured and spilled out in sudden bubbling agony when salted. But even then I couldn’t have foretold the sight of hundreds writhing in panic, and the frothing fluids that rose to the top of the bucket and spilled out in one long sloshing drool. Lara gagged, some of the boys jeered, Mark pressed close to me and I was entranced by the vileness of it all. Something shifted from within the still-writhing mass and my stomach lurched at the realization that something had peeked out from the liquid. It was a small digit, but it was wrong, looked both frostbitten and semi-translucent. It felt as if the world was falling away as if time was slowing to a crawl, the moments between heartbeats stretched out into an unbearable eternity. With a twitch and vivid motion, a diseased hand reached out from the slop, gripped the side of the bucket, and hauled itself up. Another hand followed by the head and shoulders of what might have once been human or something that had formed itself in the rudimentary shape of a human. Its face was smooth and featureless, only stained splotchy flesh. Everyone witnessing this otherworldly birth was paralyzed by primal fear and forced to watch as the \*thing\* adjusted its hold around the bucket, and tried to find leverage to pull itself out. It had managed to free its torso when the bucket tipped over and spilled the creature out, a naked thing the size of a toddler, the irregular patterns of its malformed flesh repeated throughout its entire form. Its head jerked up to face the group and the skin where its mouth should have been shifted, stretched, and thinned until it tore open, like an amniotic sac, and from within dull white teeth grinned at the group. “Hello, little children,” it croaked out, almost pained. “Blackbart?” Jeremy asked. The creature tilted its head and aimed its eyeless glare at Jeremy and the boy tensed. “Blackbart? Is that the name you know me by?” The silence answered in lieu of any word or movement and Blackbart settled his lipless grin into something more passive. A collectively held breath eased out and some of the others dared to take a step closer. “I know you all have something to ask of me, so get on with it and ask.” Some might wonder how we could ask for something so wicked. Often some kind of greater moral virtue is attributed to children of a young age as if innocence only exists as a harmless wonder. But I’m going to tell you a harsh truth, children are cruel, even in innocence. There was a casualty in our cruelty that would be diagnosed under a myriad of psychological afflictions had it manifested in adulthood. But we also had our reasons, every one of us. Jeremy’s father was an angry drunk and inebriated most days, the bruises faded with time but the memories didn’t. Lara’s parents, like countless others, spent most of their time in a drug-fueled stupor and neglected the basic care for their children. Mark and I had a Ma that ran out on us and a Pa that never wanted us in the first place, and he made sure to let us know. “We want you to get rid of anyone over the age of ten,” Jeremy said. “In the whole town? The world? Or just here?” Blackbart asked “Just here,” Jeremy said. “That’s easy, consider it done. When you greet the sun tomorrow it will be without any of the old folk.” Blackbart said, in that same strained croaking tone. The creature peeled back its lipless mouth to flash one last smile and bounded off into the woods, through the translucent portions of its body something inky squirmed against the prison of its flesh. I gaped at it until Blackbart had disappeared into thick brush. There was excitement in the other kids but I couldn’t help but feel like I was teetering on a thin line suspended over a chasm filled with the horrors of the void and I just had taken the fatal step that would send me tumbling headfirst into its maw. I went home that day with the first taste of existential anxiety, the type that lingers for days and weeks. The screams rang out at midnight, a deafening cacophony of wails sustained for a few seconds and then silence. I lay in bed frozen in fear, unable to will myself to get up and look, and so hours passed before I fell into a sudden and dreamless sleep. I was jolted awake by a knock at the door by an eager Lara. I ran to pa’s room first but it was as empty as it usually was on workdays. Any delusion that the previous day had been a feverish dream was dispelled the moment I opened the door. Lara was holding baby Mikey, his mother was very protective and would never let Lara play with him, let alone carry him around like this. I stepped out, judged by the sun that it was nearing noon, old man Norris should be blasting classic rock by now, but the trailer park was strangely devoid of any sound but the passing breeze and occasional child’s giggle. “They’re all gone?” I asked. “Everyone but us kids.” She led me to the others, they were in the midst of systematically looting the trailers of any food or valuables. Jeremy was leading the largest group, he looked ridiculous with this plastic crown on his head and blanket tied around his neck as a makeshift robe. “He declared himself King early this morning, his friends and some of the other boys sided with him, the rest of us didn’t have much of a choice. His first decree was that all the big kids gather all the food so we can split it, you have to pay for it of course.” “Pay? With what money?” I asked. “Snails, of course, the smaller kids were sent out to find more so we can start a bank.” “And Blackbart?” “I think he disappeared, no one has seen him since he went into the woods but that’s why Jeremy wants snails,” Lara answered. A chill crept through my body at the thought of seeing that thing again. “I need to find Mark,” I said. He was in a dense patch of wood with three other kids his age, they had a few containers with a couple of snails in each. We trekked back to the trailer park where Jeremy had a picnic table piled high with the spoils of his first decree. He said that tonight we would feast in celebration of our first day of freedom. That night was something every kid dreamed of, we gorged ourselves on our savory and simple delights of sweets and sodas and whatever else we desired. After all, what kid hasn’t yearned for a world without the authority of adults, the bliss was short-lived, fading out over a few months. But the first month went along smoothly, snails were kept in terrariums looted from a reptile enthusiast’s trailer. We spent our days in a dream-like haze, moving from one activity to the next, a child's fantasy. No school, no chores, no one to tell us no. There were injuries, of course, Junior burned his hand trying to make a grilled cheese, Corey bruised his leg after falling from a tree, and the list goes on. But there was never any real danger or fear, food, and snails were abundant, and cuts and scrapes faded over the days. For that first month, any doubts I harbored faded to the back of my mind and I was happy. The first trouble came at the beginning of the next month when food had dwindled or spoiled. snails had become a rare sight around the trailer park and woods edge and a mailman had left a pile of bills at the mailboxes just outside the trailer park. King Jeremy called a group meeting and it was decided that we would summon Blackbart. The king's stash of snails was gathered, a bucket was filled, and salt was poured in. As I stared into the violently effervescent sludge and waited for Blackbart to emerge. That same cosmic anxiety crept back in and I wanted nothing more than to run away. Mark pressed in close again and held firm, held me in place, forced me to watch. Blackbart’s hand shot out this time, with enough velocity to fling a long gooey string of slime onto a crowd of screaming children. Shrieks died down as Blackbart found purchase and he hauled himself out in one horrific motion. Seeing him a second time I could better ascertain his form, his skin was translucent, and all the splotchy black and white variegation came from whatever strange liquids sloshed around inside him, it was like someone had filled a clear balloon with muck. Blackbart stood up and swiveled his head around at the crowd, lipless grin ever present. “Hello again little children. What’s the occasion?” it spoke. No one dared move and after a lingering moment of hesitation, Blackbart gestured for an answer aggressively enough that Jeremy took a step forward and spoke. “We ran out of food, we would like some more,” he said. “That can be arranged quite easily. But I won’t do this for free. See I got to eat too, so who will you give me in return?” It said, tapping its nailless finger along its teeth. “We have some more snails.” “The snails are nothing more than a medium for my traversal, for a trade to be made you must give me something much more substantial. Last time you traded everyone but yourselves, what will you give this time?” Blackbart spoke. In the moments of silence that passed each heartbeat came with a thunderous fury, slow and stretched out. When the finger was pointed it was with a cold and impassionate cruelty known only to children. Nathan’s eyes went wild at Jeremy's decision, casting glances at the other children as if asking for them to intervene. When he looked at the savage grin on Blackbart’s face the seven-year-old let out a yelp, a puddle of piss forming around his feet, and sprinted towards the woods. Later, when asked why Jeremy would only say that he found the boy boring, no hint of malice in the answer. Blackbart got down on all fours, limbs twisting and forming themselves into something more bestial and suited for quadrupedal movement. His teeth lengthened and thinned until he had a mouth full of jagged fangs. It nodded at us before he set off full sprint in the same direction Nathan had run, a fiendish cackle trailing it. Mark burst out into tears and tried comforting him as a big sister should, but my eyes and attention were deadlocked on Jeremy. I had seen the look of disdain that had crossed his face the second mark started crying. Lara, still carrying baby Mike, interrupted our bout with a question on everyone’s mind. “What about the food?” “Tomorrow,” was all Jeremy said. Sure enough the next day at the center of our trailer park there was a mountain of groceries and there was some excitement. But as our group had shrunk from thirteen to twelve the dynamic had shifted drastically, many kids had played along with Jeremy’s boy-king act. Now they looked at him in fear, and their act turned to true reverence, everyone but me Mark, and Lara. Occasionally I would catch glances from Jeremy, darker and colder than I had ever known, but I tried to hold my glare whenever possible, with as much resolution as a nine-year-old could muster. That day I started siphoning off my snail supply into a divet in the woods, hid them with a well-placed rock, and would throw in the few snails I could scrounge from trades. At the very least food was no longer a concern as every two weeks a new pile of food appeared in the usual spot. As the days passed we grew dirtier as the numbers that cared to groom themselves dwindled and so did those who cared for a world outside this child’s fantasy. I had started to miss school, to miss faces outside of this trailer park. I wondered why no adults had come to check in on us yet, now with the wisdom of adulthood, I know that we lived in a very economically disparaged area. Any figure of authority that could have intervened before the madness overtook us had likely given up on us long before we stopped going to school. The second month came to a close and no ritual was held but a feast was, one late into the night with lots of whooping and hollering in honor of our king. I sat it out and spent the time cleaning Mark and helping Lara care for Mikey, he spent most of his time crying and had grown sickly pale in color. Lara had long run out of baby formula and was feeding him cow's milk. “He’s just got to get used to it,” she would say, but I knew she had grown sick of caring for Mikey, it was nothing like caring for her dollies. One morning, a few days after the feast, while I was out looking for snails, Lara skipped up to me, a crown of dried flowers upon her head. “Jeremy asked me to be his queen,” she stated unprompted. “He wanted to ask you at first but he said you’re too much of a bitch,” she said then gasped. Looking around as if noticing for the first time that no one was there to reprimand her she started cycling through the list of curses. “Shit, fuck, damn…” and on and on. “Where’s baby Mikey?” I interrupted. “Oh, well when I woke up this morning he wasn’t moving or crying,” she said sheepishly. “What did you do then?” “Well, I tossed him in the ditch. It’s ok though, Jeremy says the next time we see Blackbart we can just ask for him to bring Mikey back, and this time not as whiney.” I bolted off, not letting her finish, across the trailer park to the other side of the woods and towards the ditch. I looked in and started dry heaving at the sight of the bluish rigid body of little Mikey. Unable to purge anything but bile I calmed myself and walked back to my trailer, to Mark. He was unable to get anything out of me, and I could only think back to the time when Pa still brought us to church. The pastor had once said that all sins would be alleviated once confessed, but this was too terrible to confess, not to someone like Mark. I lay about in my trailer catatonic until the afternoon. Jeremy was shouting at the center of our park and I went out to see what the commotion was about. He was holding up a distinctive envelope with big red letters, opening it up he read it out. It was a notice that a man would be sent to shut off our power by the end of the month if the electric bills weren’t paid. “We have a King and Queen, and an evil witch and her henchman,” he said pointing at me and Mark. “But, we're missing something else, an evil empire! In 30 days, the adults will send one of their own to shut our power off and send us back to the old ways. I say we declare war and strike before they take us all away!” The crowd of children erupted into cheers, and I could only watch as their screams reached a fever pitch. I didn’t see who threw the first rock, just felt the ridge of my left eyebrow explode in searing pain. I grabbed Mark and used my back to shield him from the barrage as I ushered us back into our home. A few rocks pelted our door and the kids chanted “stone the witch” but soon enough their interests shifted elsewhere. I should have been scared but with the arrival of the electric man at the end of this month, I saw a light at the end of the tunnel. The third and final month was sheer madness, the other children further devolved into savagery, they could be heard all hours of the day screaming as they trained for \*war.\* I had to barricade myself in my house and block the windows since the kids had taken to throwing stones at me whenever possible, I had earned the moniker “Cassidy the Witch.” Mark and I went hungry often enough and we had subsided off scraps we could steal, the occasional basket of food left at our doorstep, courtesy of Lara. Every other day though the food pile was guarded by Terry and Corey, now wielding broom handles with large kitchen knives duct-taped at the end. Mark had grown distraught as the days went on. “I miss Pa,” he would often say. I could sincerely say the same. Once I had the chance to sneak out late at night, I crept past the trailers with a satchel full of salt and to the edge of the woods. Guided by the light of a full moon I walked past a group of trees with dozens of fresh cuts and stabs towards the divet I had been hiding my snails in. I was devastated when I found that the majority had died, all they had left was their shells. Picking one up I noticed the entrance was sealed by a thin film and realized that they had gone into hibernation. Water would rouse them from their slumber, realizing this I ran back to my trailer to get a cupful. But by the time I was ready to return, Corey and Terry were out on patrol, and my moment to converse with Blackbart was lost. By the time I had my next chance I had lost the nerve, I didn’t want to see that monstrosity again, I didn’t want to feed it another life. The day of the electrician’s arrival was close enough that I had laid my hopes with him. It was early morning when the crunch of gravel awoke the trailer park, an unmarked white van had parked just outside of our little pocket of madness. The man that walked up was middle-aged and scruffy wearing nothing but a simple jumpsuit. Sleepy eyes went wide at the sight of nearly a dozen filthy children gathering to impede his path. I flung the doors open and ran out, calling out to the stranger. “Mister, we need some help!” Pain exploded from my side as a rock bounced off my flesh, another caught my shoulder and the cries of “witch” fell upon the lips of the crowd. “Hey! What the hell are you kids up to? Where are your parents?” the worker interrupted. His eyes locked with mine and I shook my head, he turned his gaze to the shoddily armed crowd, eyes lingering on the broom handles with duck-taped knives. Shaking his head murmured something about needing to make a phone call and turned to head toward his car. The crowd was frozen in place, no one willing to make the first move and for a moment I thought that this man had brought back some “old-world” sanity into this realm ruled by children. Jeremy was the one to make the first bounding step, charging forward with his weapon thrust forward with killing intent. I screamed as loud as I could for the worker to run, to turn around to do anything. The man spun on his heels to face the children, saw the kitchen knife's deadly arc, and moved to dodge but the end still bit into his side, deep, and cut clean through. “Fuck!” he screamed and the crowd of kids should have relented realizing what they had just done but instead some barrier deep within their psyches gave way and the screaming began. They charged and circled and stabbed in all directions, no logic, just fury. Blood rained down on the sun-parched soil, my ears rang with screams and I couldn’t tell whose screams they belonged, maybe all our collective shrieks fusing into a call of the most primeval of sins. As quickly as it had begun it ended and a man lay dead shredded to ribbons. Blood pooled around him, and the children were painted crimson, eyes darker than anything I had ever known. Jeremy pointed his bloody spear at me and screamed “kill the witch” and they charged toward me. I turned and ran back inside and slammed the door shut. I rushed to grab Mark, my satchel of salt, and a bottle of water and ran out the back door. A heard a voice call out, telling the others to come chase after me, Mark was bawling and my lungs were burning, but the edge of the woods was within sight, just a few more yards. Mark's foot caught a stone and sent both of us scrambling to the ground, I sprang back up and tried to haul my little brother up but the kids had already closed the distance. A thrown spear cut deep into my shoulder and I fell back down in pain. They circled Mark the same way they did the worker and were starting to gather around me, thrusting their weapons. I looked up and saw these red dark-eyed devils, sneering and laughing at the havoc they wrecked. I rolled away, hauled myself up, and ran into the woods as Mark’s screams trailed me. I ran until I couldn’t anymore, my body gave out and I fell into shrubbery deep in some shaded corner of the woods. I cried, the tears crawling across my cheeks in a slow and painful procession, and then came the bawling. The hyperventilating kind where every lungful of air is hard-fought but that too eventually faded in a weak keening. I spent hours hidden away in that foliage, waiting for it all to numb, and when it did I arose a different person. It was nearing dark, if the kids had tried finding me they would have surely given up but now. I trekked through the forest with more confidence than I had ever done so with anything in my short life, I knew what I wanted and how I would get it. I fell to my knees when I reached the divet containing the snails, water was dumped in and I made sure to get all of them. I waited a bit for the snails to come back to life and undid my satchel, letting the salt cascade in. I felt no disgust as they writhed and bubbled and died, only fearless anticipation at what they would bring. I waited for it to appear but as the bubbling slowed I saw no sign of his arrival, I got down closer to the vile pit and looked in. Something shot out with incredible speed and gripped my throat tight. I tried pulling away but it was so much stronger than me, and before I could even scream I was pulled into the slop. I shut my eyes and mouth in hopes of preventing any of the liquids from getting in. The darkness I was plunged into felt weightless, no burden of held breath pressured me to try to take a lungful and my descent down felt endless. “Awaken,” a voice said, vast and booming. I fought to keep my eyes closed but I felt the presence of something start seeping, it was all around me, gazing from all angles. “If you wish to bargain with me you must open your eyes.” Slowly I peeled away my eyelids, expecting the slime to rush in and blind me but it was clear like I was suspended underwater. Beyond my immediate vicinity ribbons of darkness encircled me like a cage made of black hair. Streaks of white stained the mixture in long fractal patterns. Within the white something opened up, a space different from the black and white and I squinted to make it out. I screamed when I realized it was eyes, dozens upon dozens within the swirling black and white fluid. I realized then that this amorphous thing must be Blackbarts true form, the thing that had moved within his translucent flesh, and I closed my eyes again to block out the maddening sight. “Keep them open! And ask child, tell me what you desire.” I forced myself to look and said “I want you to take Jeremy and make him pay for the things he’s done, I’ll sacrifice myself for this.” “I’ve had my fill, I do not need more lives, your payment will be something much more substantial. When the time comes, you’ll know. Consider this contract complete.” The liquid surged upwards dragging me with it, we accelerated faster than I had ever experienced and my head rushed with nausea. We crossed some threshold and I was freed from the liquid and launched into the open air. I saw the night stars for a moment before I tumbled onto the forest floor, dry and dazed but unscathed. In front of me, Blackbart had taken a strange serpentine form, dozens of clawed appendages sprouting from its side, it let out a cackle and launched towards the trailer park with dizzying speed. I was on its heels, trailing it all the way, needing to see what he would do. It reached the children before I did, I heard the panicked shrieks and I ran up to see the carnage. Blackbart towered over the screaming children, its limbs held a bawling Jeremy. A hooked claw dug deep into each of his limbs and slowly began pulling him apart. I looked away, let my scream join the others, and shut my eyes tight as the sound of Jeremy’s agony reached a crescendo and ended with the abrupt squelch of rupture. The sound of raining blood and entrails and the soft thud of a life taken coaxed my eyes open and there before me stood a bewildered crowd, Blackbart nowhere in sight. There was a moment of collective confusion but as realization set in their eyes hardened. “It was the witch!” Lara spat. And soon the others joined, makeshift spears in hand as they waved them toward me with the promise of violence. I stood my ground, eyes locked on Jeremy’s discarded plastic crown, the very one that had begun all this. If this was the end of me I was ready to make peace. A child, Corey I think, took a lunging step forward intent on plunging the blade deep into my chest but the flashing of lights and the whoop of a siren jolted everyone to look behind them. A police car, of course, the police would be called for a missing utility worker. Two cops stepped out of the vehicle, one with a blinding flashlight took in the scene. He called for backup while the other, a woman, asked what the hell had happened. It caused it all to come bursting out of me in one horrible bawling confession. “It was me, I brought it here, I let Mark die and I killed Jeremy.” We were all taken away of course and repeated my confession to anyone that would listen. I once heard that to confess one’s sins was to alleviate yourself of their burden but in the years since no relief was found, I think it's because no one listened or believed me. We became wards of the state and were scattered around the country and it was all chalked up to the trauma of abandonment. All blame fell on our absent parents and theories from mass drug-induced psychosis to religious mania as a way to explain their mass abandonment. I’m in my mid-20s now and I don’t want to carry this around anymore, so I’m hoping someone out there will believe me and take some of the guilt away from me. Reflecting on all that happened I think that we became a microcosm of sorts, reflecting something deep within us, something that scares me to this day. One final thing sticks with me, the subject of payment, Blackbart never collected, or so I like to think. I don’t know what happened to the others after we split up, I like to think that his ritual died with our childhood, but in the same way that it crept in and poisoned us, I’ve retold his tale here. Maybe someone out there will read this and get a bucket of snails and a can of salt, and when Blackbart hauls himself back out into the world, I think my debt will finally be paid.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I work for a county Sheriff’s office in Maine - I’m considering quitting… [RESPONSE] Autumn in Maine, the leaves turn from lush green to rustic orange and the late season hikers clear out. At the Sheriff’s office we prepare for the winter, which for the most part means stocking up for emergency management scenarios. We check all the generators, make sure our spare batteries are working and stock up on medical supplies. Ordinarily a sheriff’s office might only handle domestic issues, crimes and disturbances. However my station works closely with park rangers, so much so that I would almost consider my role a duel role. It’s part of my regular job to patrol the state park and help maintain the trails. This is in part because there are so few rangers, and because there is virtually no crime in the small county I work for. Occasional strange occurrences, sure. But actual crimes are very rare. For me this meant that Sheriff Barrett saddled me with all the park work that needed to be done almost as soon as I got back from Oklahoma. I spent my days outside raking leaves, covering over pot holes, checking trail markers and watching my breath steam in the chilled air. Not that I minded, paper work wasn’t for me and I dared not disturb Diane’s delicate arrangement of files, lest she skin me alive. A lot of the time I worked under the supervision of Allison Moore, who was the head park ranger. She was a plump lady, with salt and pepper grey hair styled in an afro. Being only 5’2” you would expect that she would be meek or shy, but she was quite unashamedly the opposite, when she addressed me I could hear it ring clear through the woods. “Charles, it’s time for lunch! You need to get some meat on those bones!” She called with her hands on her hips as if she expected me to have known already. Maybe I should have. She kept me busy all day with endless tasks, but we usually took lunch together at the local diner and she always insisted on paying. Over lunch she talked about her family, they were coming up for the holiday season and she wanted me to meet her daughter. I felt my ears turn red, she must’ve thought I needed help in the dating department and she was probably right, “You’re a handsome man, find yourself a wife!” She would always insist. After lunch I headed back to the station. When I arrived I could hear the Sheriff carrying on. Someone was in trouble, “You two are going to be shovelling the snow off my drive for the next forty years of your lives if you vandalise Mrs Labelle’s gargoyle statue one more time. Do you hear me? You’re lucky I don’t-..” I walked in to see two of our regular trouble makers sat awkwardly in front of his desk. The boys were in their early teens, harmless really, and they looked suitably traumatised. We had seen them in a couple times for other minor issues, but they weren’t bad kids, they just needed some direction. Barrett was probably scaring the life out of them with his eyebrows knitted into a cross of fury like they were. Barrett cut off mid sentence when he spotted me, “Charles! Where have you been? Do you know what time it is?!” He demanded and I scrambled for an answer, “I was having lunch with Mrs Moore, she kept me back to remove some branches from the trail.” I said quickly. The younger of the two boys turned to look at me with wide eyes, “Aww no, please don’t tell Mimi I was here!” He exclaimed. “Well, if you didn’t want her to find out, you shouldn’t have painted the gargoyle.” I answered with a ‘there’s nothing I can do to help you’ shrug. The boy’s name was Deion, and Mrs Moore was his grandmother. “Have you seen the thing? It’s evil.” He grumbled sitting back down with his arms folded. I sympathised with him, the gargoyle that sat atop Mrs Labelle’s letter box *was* terrifying. Nonetheless, Barrett sentenced the boys to a week of picking up trash and general cleaning around the station while I slinked back to my desk, hoping my tardiness would be overlooked. Unfortunately when he was done with the kids his attention returned to me. He didn’t approach my desk, rather he raised his voice to speak across the room at me, “Charles. We’ve been getting reports of some voodoo type stuff that someone’s set up in the woods. East trial. Go dismantle it. It’s a public eye sore and we can’t have people thinking we’ve got a cult in the area.” He instructed sitting back in his chair with his arms folded. I raised an eyebrow, “Do you think it’s ahh.. You know…” I questioned cautiously, already hating myself for even suggesting it. The Sheriff looked distinctly displeased, “What nonsense are you talking about boy? It’s just some kids messing around in the woods to scare tourists.” He said gruffly. “Yeah, that’s probably right.” I agreed quickly, relieved, “Do you want me to get working on it now?” “No Charles, I mentioned it so that you could take it into account and relax for the rest of the afternoon.” He spoke calmly, surprising me with his relaxed attitude. Then he spoke louder, “Of course I want you to go do it now! Take the ATV, and be quick about it.” “Right, yes sir.” I said quickly hurrying to gather my things and go. I thought it was unlike him, I should have known. “Wait up.. if it is ahh.. *Something*, you come right back. I’ll call the specialist.” Barrett added as I was heading out the door. The low concern in his voice was enough to make me nervous. “Got it.” I assured, trying not to betray how unsettled that made me as I headed out. I had worked with the ’specialist’ twice before on cases that took an.. *Unconventional* path to resolution. Both times were at least mildly traumatising. I didn’t mind the man himself, but, the implication that this could be something that we weren’t normally equipped to handle was deeply disturbing. “And keep your radio on!” I heard the Sheriff call after me. I raised my hand to let him know I had heard as I made my way to the ATV’s. There were a few good hours of daylight left but I didn’t want to waste any time. Being out in the woods at night was not something I wanted to be doing and the specified trail was one of the longest. It headed east and up into the mountains and was the path adventurers took when they wanted to do a full day’s trip or an overnight stay. This time of year it was quiet and making my way up the trail on the ATV was peaceful. Small birds darted between bare branches. The ground was damp, small puddles and mushy leaves lined the trail. We had already seen the first snow of the year, though it was little more than dirty slush, and that meant that in a few more weeks the ski season would begin. I wasn’t looking forward to that. The cold wouldn’t be so bad, but it meant that before long overconfident people would be flooding the park infirmary with sprained ankles and broken arms. At the station last year we took turns helping out, this year however, I knew it would be all me. I allowed my thoughts to wander as my vehicle tires squelched on the muddy earth. For a time I thought a lot about how many injuries there would be and about how I would best get people off the mountain. Then my thoughts trailed off.. My sister would be coming around to stay with me soon. My parents live in the same town as myself, though I don’t see them as often as they would like, while my sister lives interstate. She never announces herself, but I knew that one day soon I would finish work to find her sitting on my doorstep with a suitcase, complaining about how long she had to wait in the cold for me to get home. She’s somewhat of a free spirit. Shameless, with high energy and questionable decision making skills, but we get along well and I’m always secretly a little sad to see her go. More often than not she leaves the same way she arrives, spontaneously. Without a word of goodbye I’ll find a hastily scrawled note about how she’s headed out to wherever next and will see me again in ‘a while’. Honestly I don’t know how she manages to take care of herself. I was going to have to make sure to stock up the fridge on my way home though. My thoughts were interrupted when I came across two hikers, I recognised them as locals and they greeted me with familiarity. I could tell by the look on their faces that they were deeply concerned about something and they went on to explain that they had come across some occult ritual in the woods. If I’m honest, they looked quite shaken. I should have known that their inability to accurately describe what they had seen meant it was something bad. I realised quickly that they had been the ones to call in about the ‘voodoo’ in the woods. Apparently it was in a clearing not too far ahead to the right. They had stayed to help guide me to the location, though they were quite anxious to leave the area. I’ll admit this made me feel a little unsettled, they weren’t the kind of people to spook easily which was an ominous sign. Strange things have happened in these woods. People have gone missing under mysterious circumstances, reports of strange animal sightings are common, and of course, there was the May incident that I had personally witnessed. I felt a swell of anxiety in my gut remembering it, most of the time I put it to the back of my mind. In general I try not to think about the things I can’t well explain. I have, unfortunately, seen more unexplainable things than I would like to admit. However, I had never experienced them alone. Each time something unnatural happened, Eric Linnaeus had been there to resolve the issue. He was the specialist Barrett mentioned and I found myself regretting that he hadn’t been called right away as I came across the clearing in question. I found it easily as the nearby trees had been stripped of all low hanging branches. Cautiously I pulled into the clearing and from a distances I could see that the grasses in the area were crushed down in an anticlockwise direction creating a perfectly circular space among the trees. In the centre of this clearing was the still smouldering remains of a fire of some kind. Smoke rose from it slowly in wispy plumes. However, even as I approached, the forest showed no signs of danger. In the trees the birds still sang carelessly and insects still chirped. I couldn’t tell if this was a good sign or not, all the hair on the back of my neck was standing on end. The wildlife might not sense any danger, but I certainly did. Taking a deep breath in I tried to calm my nerves. There was nothing there, no one was around. It was just a space in which someone *had* once been, and they were no longer there I told myself. I entered the area with hesitance and approached the coals. Now that I was closer I could see fragments of bone in the ashes, I’m not an expert in anthropology, but the remains didn’t look to be human to me. Perhaps though, it was a deer? I began to convince myself that this was just some illegal hunters idea of a spooky joke. Maybe even left over Halloween decoration of some kind. I ignored the fact that there was no litter whatsoever in the area and I pretended I didn’t notice the odd way in which everything was directed anticlockwise. As I looked around I noticed that there were small charms hanging in the trees. They were made of sticks and twine with small bones woven into each arrangement. I grimaced to myself, this was undoubtedly what the Sheriff wanted me to take down. I knew he would want me to make the area look ‘normal’ again. I set about my task reluctantly, taking each unusual object down and loading them into a garbage bag. I was relieved to find that they seemed to be made of plastic and common thread. They were props like those you by in Halloween stores and this made me feel immensely better. Of corse I still wasn’t sure what I should do with these things once they were taken down. Obviously I didn’t want to take them back with me, but I also didn’t know what else I was supposed to do with them. Bury them maybe? Probably not, it wouldn’t look good for an officer to litter, I reprimanded myself. Though it didn’t really matter for when I touched the 4th one it pricked me. Surprised I stared at it dumbfounded, I hadn’t realised it had thorns, the others didn’t. Blood ran freely down my hand and arm, it wasn’t a lot, but enough to stain my sleeve. I cursed myself for not being more careful and looked over the object more thoroughly. This one was indeed different from the others. It was made with real wood, blackened with a vine of thorns tangled into the design. In place of twine was what looked like human hair and the bones in it weren’t made of plastic, instead they seemed avian with dried flesh that still clung to them. I recoiled dropping the thing. I couldn’t imagine what kind of person would make something like it and I decided right then that this was more than kids messing around, this thing, was *real*. The atmosphere around me changed then, the forest fell silent and I felt nausea wash over me. My vision blurred and before I knew it I was stumbling back to the ATV. I tried to call over the radio for help, but I couldn’t get through. My fingers slipped off the buttons as I tried to press them in and I struggled to form coherent sentences as I tried to explain what had happened. I received no response. When I reached my vehicle I tried to grab a hold of the handle bars, but they were doubled and I missed repeatedly. It was frustrating. I could see the thing sitting there unmoving, yet I couldn’t get a hold of it. Thinking back, even if I had, I probably wouldn’t have been able to drive it. I realised that the charm must have been poisoned, a trap for anyone who tried to touch it and I was that unfortunate person. I’m not sure when or how I fell over. Gravity seemed to shift and I fell sideways to the ground. It didn’t hurt, but I couldn’t get up. I flailed helplessly on the ground, the dampness sinking into my clothes so that before long I was shivering as well. That’s when I first noticed it.. It was a blackened figure with tattered clothing crawling along the ground toward me. It came from the direction of the clearing and I could see it coming for me through the gap under the ATV. It’s dark shape contrasted unnaturally against the earthy tones of the forest and it seemed horrifically out of place in the daylight. I struggled more then, trying to get up, or at least to just get away but it was useless. Every effort I made was uncoordinated. My limbs wouldn’t move in any useful way and I fell back to the ground again. In desperation I tried to unholster my gun but I couldn’t get the latch to undo, or maybe it was just that I couldn’t remember how to do it. Regardless, I was painfully helpless. I could feel the blood rushing in my ears and adrenaline pumping through me, I felt like I was having a heart attack. I couldn’t breathe. There’s nothing I can say that will describe the terror I felt. My flight or fight response was trying to work but my body was uncooperative, I can’t even say that I was frozen with fear. It was more just that I had no control over anything. The creature was by then upon me. It crawled up the length of my body, it’s nails dug into my skin as it dragged itself up to be eye level with me. I realised then that it looked like a burned woman. She had no eyes and her teeth hung loose from her jaw as she opened her mouth wide over me. A sticky black fluid poured from her mouth over my face, it felt like drowning all over again and I got flashbacks of the Oklahoma incident. I don’t know when I passed out, however when I came too it was dusk and I was alone. The radio on my shoulder crackled to life and Diane’s voice came through loud and clear, ‘Charles, calling Charles. Can you hear me?’ She asked, her tone caught between annoyance and concern as if she had been trying to contact me for a while. ‘I’m here.’ I answered with a groan, my entire body ached. I felt as though I had been hit by a truck and lived, barely. ‘Where have you been? Why didn’t you answer sooner!?’ She demanded now, any concern she may have had evaporating. It took me a moment to recollect what had happened and I sat up fast, a little too fast, causing my head to spin as I remembered the burned woman. Looking around I couldn’t see her, nor any sign that she had been there. There was no trace of black fluid and no footprints in the mud other than my own. For a time I thought I must’ve hallucinated the entire thing. Feeling foolish I didn’t want to tell Diane that I had been passed out on the forest floor for however long, so I lied, ‘Sorry, I was cleaning up the clearing. I didn’t hear the radio.’ ‘Not good enough Charles.’ She scolded but the relief in her voice was obvious, ‘Are you headed back in now? It’s almost dark, Sheriff isn’t happy.’ ‘Yeah, I’m on my way back now.’ I assured. I knew as well as she did that being on the trail at night was a situation to be avoided if at all possible. ‘Good.’ Diane said in a final tone as I clambered back onto the ATV. The way back took some time and it was well and truely dark by the time I arrived. Barrett was, as promised, not very happy with me, “What did you do? Roll in the mud? Don’t stand on the carpets, they were just cleaned.” He said gruffly looking me up and down. I knew I was a mess, dried mud was stuck to my uniform and hair, though at least most of the leaves had blown off me on the way back, “Yes Sheriff.” I agreed easily but I must have sounded more pitiful than I intended because his tone softened. “Take the day off tomorrow, looks like you’ve had a rough day.” He instructed. “No, I’m fine, I can work tomorrow.” I insisted, I knew he wasn’t trying to punish me, but it felt like he was. “I won’t hear a word about it, if you come in tomorrow you’re fired. Take the day to recover.” He reiterated and I realised arguing further was going to be pointless. If I’m honest I did feel, off.. Not sick, just exhausted and sore, all my joints hurt. I sanitised my mouth particularly well that night, and scrubbed my face near raw. By the time I got out of the shower I felt somewhat better, but I wasn’t sure that what I experienced really happened. Where the charm had pricked me I had a small red mark on my hand, but otherwise I was physically unharmed. Psychologically though, maybe I was a tad more shaken than I’m willing to admit. By the end of it all I was more or less just waiting for something *else* to happen. I wanted to call Eric, but I also didn’t want to waste his time. What could I even say? I *think* something supernatural happened to me, ‘please help’? I decided against it. He probably wouldn’t even answer anyway. to me than this and there’s no reason to jump to any unnatural conclusions. I think the charm was laced with hallucinogens, someones idea of a joke I’m sure. Just make sure you’re careful if you go out into the woods. I don’t know if there are more, but I hope there aren’t. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Strange Things are Happening at my Apartment [RESPONSE] I live on the top floor of a five-story apartment. I live alone with my two cats. I work from home full-time and am a bit of a recluse. I even spend extra for grocery drop off so I have very few errands I have to run. I have no real friends or family to hang out with. This apartment was a little odd from the start. When I first moved in the first-floor neighbors were out on their patio and said hi in an attempt at friendliness. I hired professional movers to move my belongings as quickly as possible. Begrudgingly with a cat carrier in each hand I made pleasantries. “Oh, are you just moving in?” “Ya looks to be that way.” We sat for a second awkwardly. I tried to appear as uncomfortable as possible. It was an older woman, probably around fifty or sixty that was talking to me. She looked like she had a rough life, her hair must have once been died pink but it had faded to an awkward color. Her gray roots showed through. She had no teeth and was sucking on her lips as she contemplated what she was going to say next. “It is just you?” My eyes lifted to the tall man who must have been at least three hundred pounds and about six feet. He was tan and covered in tattoos. His head was shaved and he was wearing a white wife beater and sweatpants. “No, I have a brother and a husband” I lied through my teeth. This was a bigger city and not in the best of neighborhoods. Best not to give out any info. “Well, I better go.” I rushed up the stairs before the neighbors could protest. The apartment looked as if it hadn't been updated in years. The concrete steps and paint-peeling walls were not welcoming in the slightest. I heaved a sigh. I hadn't gone to a showing so this was on me. The pictures looked a lot more welcoming. The apartment units were able to be accessed from an outside path. Similar to a motel. Two concrete stairs sat on opposite ends of the complex and went up the five floors with one ‘hallway’ that connected the two. My apartment was 505 so the top floor so five concrete flights of outdoor stairs. And exactly halfway down the hallway to be the topmost middle unit of the complex. The leasing office had given me five keys but weirdly enough my door only had one lock. The deadbolt. I set down the least jumpy cat which was the one in my right hand and tried each key in succession. The two movers were just clearing the fifth staircase with my king mattress when I found the correct key and hastily opened the door. I grabbed the set down Miso who seem unperturbed by the disturbance and headed into the apartment. The inside of the unit was a one bed one bath but was at least recently remodeled. I moved to the bedroom and shut the door behind me enjoying a moment of peace. Today was a lot. The amount of social interaction I had today paired with the stress of the move had rendered me exhausted. I set down each of the cats. Miso and Baby. Baby was aptly named he was a five-year-old maincoon with an orange pattern. He was a nervous cat that liked to be carried like a baby around the house. He was the reason I bought a cat carrier. Of course, it took the purchase of three cat carriers to find one that would hold a twenty-five-pound main coon. Miso was a very independent seven-year-old siamese cat who was leash trained and smarter than any dog I had ever seen. I could hold entire conversations with Miso and he would meow and mew in response. On opening the carriers, Miso ran out of the carrier and started looking around the room quickly jumping onto the window sill. The window in the bedroom pointed out to the outdoor hallway. This was unsettling to me. Why would I want to look out at people going to their apartments? There was nothing to see out that way just a parking complex. Miso started purring and pushed against my arm as I looked out at the concrete sight. I met his head with my hand giving him some ear scratches. And Baby stayed in his crate. He would remain that way till everyone was gone and probably for a few hours after. How I envied the ability to hide in his carrier. There was a polite knock on the door I heaved another heavy sigh and opened it a crack. “Sorry to bother you mam, but you just wanted everything unloaded here in the living room, or did you want us to unload certain boxes in certain rooms?” “Everything in the living room is fine. Thank you.” I shut the door to the bedroom again positioning my back against the door I slid to the ground. Miso ran up to me and I lavished him with pets, sending a symphony of purrs against my hand. I took a closer look at the room I was in. The bedroom was very tiny not large enough for my bed but at least it had a larger closet. The floors were laminated with a fake hardwood pattern and the walls were beige. It was clean at least but you could tell the upgrades were hastily done. The paint covered previous drips and none of the screws on the switch plates matched. It was a landlord fix-up with ‘new floors and paint’ just like most overpriced units in any city. Within an hour the movers were done. I had crept out of the bedroom about twenty minutes in. I had decided to have the bed and ‘bedroom’ be the living room. The apartment was in a bit of a spiral the entrance had a hallway that led into a large living room with a patio with a large screen door. There was a large window to the left of that, both the patio and windows facing west towards a park. Nestled in the far left corner to the northwest was a smaller kitchen. Full fridge, and stove and it had a dishwasher. To the east of the hallway, the entrance was another hallway that led to the single bedroom on the left, and on the right was the bathroom. At the end of the hallway farthest to the north and in between the bedroom and bathroom was another closet with a standing washer and dryer duo. I finished planning out the rest of the apartment. The designated bedroom would be my office. And I had set up my internet while the movers finished up. I tipped the movers a hundred dollars as I know that my stuff was difficult to move and only having two of them couldn’t have been easy. The mover gave me a big grin, said thank you, and went on his way taking his colleague with him. I followed them down the hallway to the entrance and closed the door behind them locking the deadbolt as I did so. Miso was following me the entire way. I looked back at the living room and started slowly moving the largest furniture into the proper spaces. The goal for today getting the office set up and my bed on my bed frame. I moved in my desk and as many bookcases as I could. The bookcases lined every wall with my desk facing the window. My office chair’s back towards the door. The bookcases were empty and Miso took great delight in jumping on every piece of furniture that I moved. It was Saturday so I would have tomorrow to get ready before I had work Monday Morning. I set up my TV on my TV stand at the end of the living room opposite my bed, then I took a small break to order Thai food delivery and eat at my desk. Before I knew it the app said delivered. Having too much to do has a way of passing the time. But what was odd was there was no knock. I looked out through the peephole to see a tied-up plastic bag with the familiar paper take-out boxes inside sitting right outside my door. It was dark outside at this point. Around eight pm. I cracked open my door taking a quick peek left and right and grabbed my food and retreated to the safety of my apartment. I had achieved getting my bed frame set up and let my mattress fall on top of it from its sideways standing position. I set my food on the mattress and took a moment to set up my smart TV. Settling in to eat my Pineapple Curry and binge one of my comfort shows I had seen a million times. This time it was a cartoon that was about accepting everyone with kindness and defeating enemies by talking about their differences. Baby and Miso sat in front of me on the bed eagerly begging. “None for you kitties this is bad for you.” With a look of understanding, Miso settled in on the bed and quickly fell asleep with Baby still begging profusely. I sighed and lay down letting myself experience the feeling of laying down for the first time today. My body ached and I closed my eyes still listening to my comfort show in the background with the brightness set to zero. The apartment groaned and creaked. I shuddered, grabbing my blanket a little tighter and pulling the comforter over my head. The walls were thin. I could hear my upstairs neighbor walking? No, it was more like swaying? The creek of the floor but without the pounding of the steps. Just a back-and-forth rocking of rhythmic squeaks. Then a knock. I looked at my phone and it was 2 am. I don’t invite people over. Maybe they were looking for who lived here before? `Knock Knock Knock` I peeked out of my cover to see Baby had fled the room and Miso was staring at the door. I looked down the hallway following Miso’s gaze. I could see a shadow under the door. Definitely at my door then. I felt the blood leave my hands making them cold and clammy. I turned down my show maybe I had my show on too loud and it was a neighbor? Dread filled me. And I decided to ignore the disruption. Another set of knocks came ringing down the hallway this time faster. And again at an even more rapid pace. The timing between the knocks became more frequent. Anxiety continued through my body causing me to start shaking. I looked at my phone again. 3 am. An entire hour of knocking. I called the cops. “911 what's your emergency” “Yes there is someone outside my new apartment its been a little over an hour and he is still there.” “Is the person doing anything suspicious?” “I mean, he is knocking? Frantically.” “Have they attempted to enter the home in any other way?” “No.” “Can you describe what they look like? “Um yes give me just a moment. “ I tip-toed the bed as quietly as I could. I stayed to the left side of the hallway and let myself lean against the wall for support. I nervously looked out the peephole. There was a pale man at least 6 feet tall. He had on a hoody and baggy cargo pants on. He had on a baseball cap with the hood over the cap. His hands had winter gloves on and his face was shrouded in shadow. He knocked again making me jump. I slid down the wall into a more comforting position and whispered the description to the dispatcher. “And you do not know this man.” “No” “Have you attempted to talk to him?” “No.” “Okay, I have alerted officers in the area. They have to prioritize violent or emergency calls first. So they will be by as soon as they can.” “I understand.” Another string of knocks made me jump slightly. The dispatcher continued; “Please call again if the situation escalates.” And the dispatcher hung up. My heart was pounding. I slowly inched away from the door and went to the bathroom. I opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed my anti-anxiety pills and popped one. I do have some mental issues but they are diagnosed and I am getting help for them. You may have guessed that I have anxiety and you would be right. I also have several phobias. So for this being the first time calling the cops or really anything happening like this, I was mid panic attack. These are a quick-release pill I am supposed to take if I feel an attack oncoming. And I take them as needed along with my other morning medication. I started the shower on hot water and just sat in my bathroom with the door closed breathing in the steam. Focusing on my breaths. In and out. In and out. The bathroom is in the middle of the apartment so no doors or windows to the outside world. In and out. `Scratch Scratch Scratch` I heard a small meow and a black and white paw appeared from under the door. I cracked it and Miso came in quickly weaving in and out of my legs for pets. In and out. I could hear knocking from the front door this time it was more forceful. I checked my phone again at 4 am. I ended up sleeping sitting on the bathroom floor leaning against the wall. I woke with my head at an awkward tilt causing cramping in my neck. Miso had slept in my lap with me and he stretched still on me when I got up. I got up slowly rubbing my neck and gently picking Miso up into my arms. I started walking to the bed putting Miso down and covering him with a bit of blanket. He settled immediately already content. I looked at my phone and it was 11 am. The memory of the night prior flooded me and I was surprised. Normally I can only sleep till 8 am regardless of how long I stay up. Let alone on a bathroom floor. I checked my calls and there were no calls. I cautiously looked out my peephole and nothing.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The House of Attics and Basements [Part 4] [RESPONSE] The Diary of John Lewis, April 16, 1820: *I can tell the end is close now, and God’s truth is that I’d rather the story that follows remain a mystery. But for you, Winston, I feel a father’s duty to describe the curse that is about to befall you. Though the words you are about to read may bend the imagination, I beg you, do not take them as the ramblings of a feeble-minded old man, for I assure you they are His Truth.* *Though I took possession of the family home in Virginia upon my mother’s passing on Christmas, in the year of our Lord 1800, it was several years before I found the Clock. In truth, I suspect, I had spent much of my life trying not to find it, as my mother had made great pains to keep it sealed, paying a premium to a local mason who worked with discretion as he built what might have looked like a chimney to the careless eye.* *Thus the accursed clock may have well stayed if not for an unwelcome visit from the Other Side. Indeed, I returned from a buying trip in town to hear an ungodly racket emanating from above. Then, lantern in hand, I ascended into that dusty place and witnessed a most peculiar site: it was a local boy, Ben Hardy, poking his head through from the wall’s far side.* *Of course, this apparition seemed near impossible, as the wall’s other side consisted of nothing, save thin air.* *“Boy!” I shouted, cease this immediately and state your purpose here, to which he responded that it was I who had hired him to do this very thing! When I assured him he was speaking nonsense, he called me a stingy old bastard, at which point I retreated downstairs to retrieve my musket.* *By the time I returned, Ben was gone, leaving only the hole in the brick and various debris cluttering my attic! Through the hole in the bricks, I saw the clock for the first time. One could not condemn its craftsmanship, for the marvels of its wood inlay put even the Shakers to shame. With the passing years, I have come to identify this artistry as that of the Devil himself.* *Perhaps a wiser man might have restored the bricks to their original condition, but if I am guilty of any sin, it is the Devil’s curiosity. Indeed, I took the next few hours, removing the remaining bricks, and examining the clock, whose craftsmanship even exceeded my first assessment. My next thought, was to sell the clock, both repeating a financial reward and protecting the house from any Witchcraft.* *In town to meet an antique dealer, I ran into no other than Ben Hardy himself, who I grabbed by the ear and demanded an explanation regarding his recent trespass onto my estate. The boy, eyes wide, so vehemently denied any such intrusion that I was apt to believe him, despite what my eyes had seen. I released him, and he scampered away.* *Finding a local antiques dealer, I elicited great interest in my discovery, so much so that he immediately accompanied me back to the house. There, he took great interest in the clock, fawning over its fine woodcraft and steady sound, though puzzled by the fact that both hands pointed permanently at Five. We spent the better part of an hour searching for any sort of door or hinge that may unlock the clock’s mechanical interior but found our efforts thwarted. He promised to return, and departed.* *I might have had him back, except for the dreadful thing that followed.* *I awoke the night to a considerable thumping from above. Musket ready, I ascended to the attic, ready to fire for the first time since the days of King George. But the weapon proved fully unnecessary. What I found above was already dead.* *There, on the attic floor, was a large cloth sack, half-soaked red and brown with drying blood. Inside was Ben, all cut to pieces and neatly stacked within the bag. Body at the bottom, then limbs, and finally head in a sort of pyramid.* *I vomited and retreated downstairs, rousing your mother. Our first instinct, of course, was to alert the constable, but she quickly reminded me of my earlier altercation with Ben, and the suspicion that would be cast on me. Without long before dawn, we agreed to cast the sack and all its contents into a recently dug hole, originally intended as a garden bed.* *I slept not a wink, but found it necessary to return to town on some business in the morning. Imagine my surprise, then, without a wink of sleep, when I came across Ben Hardy at the local pub, half drunk and complaining of my earlier assault to any who would hear!* *Forgetting my business, I made haste for home, where I dug up the dirt I’d hastily thrown upon Ben’s corpse and found the bag very much still full of Ben’s dismembered corpse!* *Then, before I might even make sense of the current situation, I heard a scream escape the house and ran inside to find your mother in hysterics. She pointed up to the attic and begged me to seal the door, for the Devil himself had visited us. You, of course, were but a baby of three months then, but even you ceased your crying as if aware of the dire matter at hand.* *Armed with both gun and the pocket knife given to me by my own dear father, I ascended the stairs to the attic and found two bags. They contained you and your mother, both cut cleanly into pyramids, like Ben before you. Oh, how I howled in torment at the sight, especially at that of you, so small in your tiny, soaking bag.* *Then, I descended, to find your mother, your living mother, screaming uncontrollably, holding your firm to her breast.* *Your mother refused to spend another night in that accursed house. Taking you, she traveled back to Pennsylvania to visit your maternal grandparents at their family estate.* *As for me, I stayed behind. I brought a chair up to the attic and waited to discover the author of my tragedy.* *On the third night, I woke from half-sleep to see a fresh sack thud to the ground, materializing before the Infernal Clock. With it, out stepped a man in grey attire, save for a black mask that covered his visage.* *I reached for my musket, but he was too quick. He crossed the room in seconds, and slashed at my hand with a pocket knife, disarming me. Then, as if reading my mind, he kicked my other hand as I reached for my own knife, sending the weapon skittering across the floor.* Inscrutable\*, he looked down at me, holding my bleeding fingers.\* *“Why have you cursed me, foul spirit?” I demanded.* *He didn’t respond but merely gestured to the bag. Slowly, I crawled to it and pulled at the rope that knotted it closed. The burlap opened to reveal my own corpse.* *“So you are Death himself then?” I inquired. “I say then, fine! Come do your worst! My soul is pure! Take me to My Eternal Lord!”* *But the figure shook its head.* *“You are not ready yet, Five,” said the figure. “You still have too much to lose. But don’t worry. I will return.”* *And with that, he turned back to the clock. Reaching it, he stabbed his knife directly into the center of its face. A blue light filled the room, like that of a full moon. Then he was gone.* *That very night, I burned the whole house to the ground and left for Pennsylvania. As you know, we are settled here now, in the house I built upon my return.* *What you may not know, is that shortly upon completion of the house, I made an unsettling discovery in the attic. There, resting in the corner as if it had been here all along, was the Clock, ticking and tocking its regular rhythm. And there it has stayed ever since.* *Until last night, your wedding night. When I awoke to hear familiar thumps in the attic.* <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My grandfather left behind cassette tapes explaining how he'd been the cause of the three worst natural disasters in his hometown [PART 1] [RESPONSE] It might seem like a cold and cruel thing to admit…but I didn’t cry at my grandfather’s funeral. I mean, I hadn’t seen him in person or spoken to him since I was five years old, and six entire years had passed since then. Now, I’m not trying to make excuses for myself, but isn’t it a bit much to expect a small child to cry over someone they have not seen in over half a decade? To an adult, that might’ve been a negligible amount of time, but to a growing kid like me, even a month seemed like forever. Needless to say, I didn’t attend the main service, as my parents were too embarrassed by me for not shedding a single tear for him. While the adults emptied their eyes out on a small hill, I stayed in my grandparents’ house. I made it a point to explore every one of its corridors before everyone came back for the meal. After a series of bathrooms, bedrooms, libraries, and more bathrooms, bedrooms and libraries, I found myself infected with a stubborn boredom that wouldn’t go away, despite the many interesting things that I did come across. But alas, a young lad such as myself felt no entertainment from reading a first edition copy of “David Copperfield” or awe from gazing upon a vast rifle collection in a room full of stuffed animal heads. Anyhow, I told you this so that you can have some context as to why I found myself sitting in a large old sofa chair in my grandparents’ living room, trying to remember just what the hell I had done with him. I remembered some bits and pieces here and there of a vague old man smiling and handing me things as well as holding my hand while we walked, but nothing really stood out . I kept searching deep into my subconscious, wanting to find a reason to cry…but in the end, I came up empty. I was about to get up and leave to get an early serving of food, but it was at that moment that an old woman walked in out of nowhere. She too was dressed in funeral attire but I just couldn’t remember seeing her anywhere in the crowd of people that clamored over my late grandfather’s casket. The woman, with eyes as bleak and dark as coal, took one look at me, and her entire gaze seemed to brighten in a flash. “David?” she asked, and I realized at that very awkward moment (for me) that I was talking to my grandmother, whom I had also not seen and talked to for over half a decade. I’ll spare you the mandatory pleasantries and the doting, as it is not relevant. What is relevant is the last thing that she ever told and did for me. She beckoned me to her room upstairs and took me to a dark walk-in closet. It felt like an underground mine to me – a spacious room plastered with dress after dress and suit after suit. The next thing that I know, she gives me this old shoe box, the most unremarkable thing you can lay your eyes on. She gave it to me and said that it was my grandfather’s last will, something that he wanted only me to have. I have to say that I didn’t even bother to open it even after me, my older sister, and my parents returned home. Everyone was too caught up in their grief to notice the plain shoe box under my armpit. So, what do you think happened next? Did my curiosity get the best of me and I opened the box, unwittingly unleashing a terrible curse free? Did I take it out back to burn it because of repressed grief? Was I curious about what was inside the box? Nope (to all three). I tossed it to the back of my closet and forgot about it for nearly a decade. Even now, I remember it like it was yesterday. I was packing all my things, preparing to go to the college of my dreams, when I came across the old box shoe box at the back of my closet that I had forgotten about completely. The memories that I wrote above flooded back, and a sense of guilt washed over me, not so much for not having shed a single tear, but more so that I hadn’t honored my grandfather’s wishes. It was because of this that I decided to finally open that old thing, the dust on top of the lid sliding off like frozen sleet when I did that. Inside the box, I found some very interesting contents. There were four tapes in total, and an old (and I do mean old) tape player. I was quite fascinated with what I saw and, not really expecting anything, I connected my more modern headphones to the dilapidated Walkman, put the cassette marked “#0” in, and pressed what I correctly assumed to be the “PLAY” button. The following is a transcript of what was recorded on that Tape.: *\*BACKGROUND NOISE\** *“Hello hello, testing one two one two. Uhh……Hello David \*LOUD COUGHING\* this…this is your grandfather speaking \*SOFT COUGH”. If you have received this, it means that I'm gone. I don’t know when or where you are listening to this.* *I know I do not have long in this world, and this is why you now find yourself in this situation. Before I leave for good and end up in hell where I belong, I \*LONG FIT OF COUGHING\* I-I want to make sure that you, at the very least, become aware of the crimes that I have committed.”* The sound of my chair creaking loudly as I sat back echoed throughout my room, momentarily resonating with my mind and temporarily suspending my thoughts. *What in the hell is he talking about?* My curiosity was now peaked to say the least. I had nothing to do for the rest of the day, as I had finished all of my work, and my parents were off somewhere. I picked up the tape marked “#1” and put it in the Walkman. The name “ROSANNE” was written in bold Sharpie on it. *“In my day, David, things were much more boring than they are now. This was around the summer of 1963. I was barely ten years old, and I never had anything to do. We had a television, but animated cartoons didn’t exist yet, let alone computers or even video games like your generation has now. At most, you’d get a sitcom of sorts, but that always failed to capture my interest. It was too…adult, so to speak. There wasn’t anything explicit like how its common today. The entire American population would’ve crucified the entire network if that happened. It’s just that I could never relate to any of the jokes or situations that would be presented on such shows.* *Newspaper cartoons weren’t any better.* *You had “PEANUTS” which did admittedly hold my interest, but that interest would soon dissipate after a mere two minutes of re-reading it.* *Don’t even get me started on books. There were no children’s books. There were either books that were read to my two-year-old brother, or books that my parents enjoyed to read, and I, meanwhile, enjoyed neither.* *So, what do you think little old me did for entertainment during that age of stone?* *Well, in my home town of Fulkron, Maine, there was only one place I could go.* *It didn’t require money like the comic book store, so I could go there as often as I wanted to.* *Deep in the woods between Fulkron and its neighboring town – Kanterville – there lay a massive reservoir with a small stream that gradually fattened into a decently-sized river. I’d tried to follow the river for fun a few times, but I was never very athletic, so I would already be exhausted after a mere 10 minutes of jogging. Instead, I preferred skipping rocks on the calm and serene surface of that clear, clear lake, and admiring all that it held. It was so clear that you could see all the way to the bottom, and I would gaze down from a tree I’d climb and just admire it until sunset.* *I was an odd child, to say the least.* *I never did swim in it as it was far, far too cold.* *Admiring it from afar was enough for me.* *Sometimes, even my best friend Rosanne would join.* *\*PAUSE\** *She herself was a girl from Kanterville, and she too enjoyed the lake. That is how we met in the first place.* *Now…as I record this…I realize that I had grown to love her.* *Who wouldn’t?* *Ten-year-old me, as much as he had been indoctrinated by his peers to despise girls my age, still fell head-over-heels in love, but I wasn’t smart enough or experienced enough to realize it when I should’ve. Even now I remember how her hair crept down her back and how her laughter gently caressed the surface of the water, and how her presence made my heart flutter like the wings of a butterfly.* *She would always talk about so many interesting things because she was so much smarter than me, and I enjoyed every word of it, even though I never really understood most of it.* *I would have been content with living like that for the rest of the time that God had allotted to me…but alas, that is sadly not the case.* *You see…our sanctuary was breached.* *One day, a group of boys from the sixth grade came to the lake.* *They were loud.* *They were obnoxious.* *And so on.* *They destroyed the peace and tranquility of the place, and that angered me.* *I confronted them, and they beat the living shit of me.* *I was short for my age, and their constitutions had increased from puberty.* *I didn’t stand a damn chance, even though I tried.* *But that’s not why what happened happened.* *No.* *As I lay bleeding on the hard gravel, Rosanne came to my rescue. She stood between me and the bullies and told them off.* *I still remember seeing her standing in front of me like an indomitable superhero.* *But then those bullies showed me that she wasn’t an indomitable superhero.* *Did they rape her?* *Did they kill her?* *Of course not.* *We were just children.* *I realize that now...too late...* *They slapped her around just like they’d slapped me, and soon she too fell on the ground.* *I felt one last surge of adrenaline and charged at the bastards, but the leader, a shit who must’ve weighed about two hundred pounds, slapped me once more, this time with all of his might, and I was out cold.* *When I came too, the sun was setting, and I only woke up because Rosanne was gently shaking me.* *Our injuries were light in hindsight, but they hurt like hell.* *She left, heading back to her house, but I didn’t leave.* *I stood there, in front of that lake, until the sun barely peeked out of the mountains.* *I washed my bloody face,terrified by the thought of what my father would do.* *Each shot of cold water did nothing to quell down the rage I felt in myself..* *In fact...it was like gasoline.* *It fueled the fire inside of me.* *My anger was building up.* *Like the steam in a pressure cooker.* *Or in a nuclear reactor, if I’m being honest.* *It felt like I was paper being crumpled into a ball from the inside.* *It just kept building and building and building.* *I thought I could resist it, fight it, suppress it, but then I remembered how they'd slapped Rosanne and...* *…* *I sneezed.* *I…sneezed…* *Just when I thought my heart would implode or my eyes would cry blood or I’d vomit, I, instead, had the urge to sneeze and sneeze I did.* *I sneezed the most powerful sneeze of my life – a large glob of snot landing right on the surface of the lake.* *And just like that…my anger was gone.* *As thought I had sneezed it out.* *I went home and…I…slept.* *I didn’t have a clue about what the hell I had just done.* *I just slept in my bed, blissfully ignorant of what I had unleashed.* *The next day, I was back up there, but Rosanne was nowhere to be found.* *I feared that she had abandoned me and the lake.* *I remember feeling sad, my face covered in band aids that my mother put on me after I’d lied to her that I’d just hit a particularly sharp branch while coming home.* *She thought he'd done...but said nothing.* *But there I was, back again in that place, and waiting for her to arrive.* *But as I waited, I noticed something peculiar.* *I thought I saw a small wave.* *But in truth, it looked just like the fin of a shark I’d seen in an encyclopedia.* *I rubbed my eyes and honed my gaze, but saw nothing in that perfectly clear water.* *Still, I couldn't help but feel uneasy.* *But I was suddenly interrupted by the rude arrival of those little shits that had beaten me and Rosanne the other day.* *I was angry.* *I wanted to hurt them.* *But again, I was reduced to a pathetic pulp on the ground.* *As I lay there, my face wet with blood, I thought I saw the fin again, just peeking out of the water, like an extension of it, before disappearing again.* *I saw them walking away and laughing on the edge of the lake, and then…it happened in an instant.* *A massive wave sprung up from the serene lake, one that looked exactly like a shark made of water.* *In the brief moment before it collided with them, its liquid maw clamping itself around them wide open, I expected them to be soaked, but instead, the gigantic monster bit down and dragged them into the lake. I crawled near the edge, the gravel below shredding my knees in the process, and I bore witness to everything through the clear water.* *I saw no shark.* *Only them swimming around for dear life, trying to go up, but then an invisible jaw seemed to bite down on them, blood rising up to the surface like chimney smoke. They were all picked off one by one, and I saw the horrifying sight of their bodies – their viscera – collecting in what I assumed was a stomach.* *I ran and I cried all the way back home, and I stayed underneath my covers all day long.* *I just lay there; the memories of those kids being chewed like grapes playing over and over in my mind until I fell asleep.* *Suffice it to say, I did not sleep peacefully.* *The next day, and to this day I’m still not sure how…I found the courage to return.* *There, I found Rosanne, eating a sandwich all by her lonesome.* *She too had a few band-aids on her face just like me, and we locked eyes.* *I don’t think I will ever forget how much her face brightened in that moment…or how red my cheeks became.* *Any fear I had melted away right at that moment.* *I hurriedly told her that there was a shark made out of water in the lake, and to prove it, I took her sandwich and threw it in there.* *In less than a moment, a great watery maw shot up and consumed the wet sandwich in an instant.* *Childhood really is amazing.* *We were facing something as terrifying as can be, and yet all it did was excite us.* *But when I told her about how it had eaten the kids that had done us in so badly, I still vividly remember how her face creased, and her laughter seemed to go away.* *We talked about it, and…somehow…we decided to kill it.* *We went through all of the usual ideas. Harpoons and fishing, mostly, as well as the mandatory holy water, but then Rosanne proposed and idea which, at the time, I thought was absolutely genius.* *She said we should lead the shark so that it would fall into a damn and be shredded to bits by it. I’d once been to a hydrodam, and remembered staring in awe at the water gushing out of it from the reservoir it held behind. In my mind, that monster stood no chance against the countless propellers and turbines inside a dam, and Rosanne agreed.* *I pulled out a piece of paper I had in my pocket along with an old crayon. Rosanne drew a rough map, showing me that the small river that flowed out of the lake led straight to a dam overlooking Kanterville.* *I didn’t need any more convincing.* *None.* *The next day, we were up at the crack of dawn and met at the lake, each with a bucket of chum dangling off our tiny hands.* *We got to work almost immediately, inflating the raft I had brought from home.* *After it had fully inflated, we carried it all the way to the edge of the lake where the river flowed out.* *We each got into the raft, holding onto a nearby branch so that it wouldn't float away.* *I picked a handful of chum and chucked it at the lake.* *Immediately, I saw a small wave approaching, and that is when we both let go of the branch.* *Another handful of chum was all that was needed.* *Soon, it was a game of cat and mouse. I would throw handful after handful out onto the river and the monster gladly followed. We’d try to keep a safe distance, but there were some close calls where we had to throw chum behind it so that it would go back and eat it, giving us enough time to get far enough away.* *We were getting close.* *The water was speeding up.* *I could feel it. Just like we’d planned, the shark was following us steadily.* *It was just too easy.* *Eventually, we were running low on chum, and by the time we saw the edge of waterfall that fed the dam water, we were all out.* *\*LONG PAUSE\** *Our plan was to step on land and continue throwing chum into the water until the shark would fall down the waterfall. We’d reasoned that the falling water would keep it in.* *\*PAUSE\** *Now…we didn’t have any more bait to use.* *The shark started to turn around and…honestly…I wasn’t too bothered by it. My brain still hadn’t fully developed yet, so I couldn’t comprehend just how dangerous that thing was, ergo why I was in such a hurry to find a plan for luring it back.* *I was ready to call it quits, but Rosanne…* *\*LONGEST PAUSE\** *Rosanne…she jumped straight into the water, kicking and screaming to get its attention.* *It worked.* *The shark’s attention diverted to her, just as she fell off the water fall.* *I screamed for Rosanne* *I can only imagine now what she must’ve been thinking, how worried she must’ve been for her friends and family and strangers who could unknowingly walk into the lake.* *She was doing it for them.* *And for me.* *I…was a coward.* *Rosanne had gone over the waterfall and I ran over to the edge of the cliff that overlooked it.* *It was a massive, massive reservoir, at least ten times bigger than the lake, and I saw Rosanne falling down, becoming a small pink speck that went under.* *I was so focused by her that I failed to notice the shark as it launched itself besides me down the waterfall, dropping down much like a nuclear warhead.* *What happened next is…something I will remember for the rest of my life.* *You see…David…We’d made a mistake.* *The dam we’d trapped the shark in wasn’t a hydrodam. It was just a regular dam that only kept water at bay.* *The shark was only trapped.* *At least, that’s what I thought.* *Rosanne had come back up and had moved closer and closer to the dam wall, and I saw a small ladder stuck to it.* *I was ecstatic.* *Rosanne would escape!* *But little did I know that the shark truly wasn’t done yet.* *You see, when it entered the large reservoir of the dam, it started to collect water and grow in size, increasing exponentially as it ascended toward the surface.* *The shark that was once as big as a bus was now as big as a fucking Boeing-747, if not more.* *Its maw could’ve swallowed my house in its entirety, and Rosanne was not match for it.* *But when it engulfed Rosanne, it had such angled momentum that it launched itself into the air like a dolphin.* *It went over the edge of the dam.* *I saw it all from where I stood.* *I saw that gigantic, humongous shark composed entirety of water going over that fucking wall, nearly all the water of the dam gone, being dragged behind it like a long wedding dress.* *But that wasn’t the worst part.* *No, David.* *You want to know what the worst part of it all was?* *It was the realization I had later, when I grew older and remembered this.* *The memory I had suppressed for so long came back.* *I remembered seeing Rosanne floating in its crystal-clear body, and when I remembered this, I fell to my knees.* *I wonder how she felt…* *How did she feel having a front view seat view to the gigantic wave falling down like a tsunami on her hometown of Kanterville?* *\*PAUSE\** *Everyone said that it was a land slide that caused it.* *Can you believe it?* *I had seen it.* *I’d seen that ghastly creature descending upon the small innocent town like a punishment from God, a merciless tsunami that leveled and washed everything away.* *There were people that raved about it, people who had survived, but they had all either gone mad or were dismissed.* *People who deserved no harm, or any such thing had died.* *All gone, like ants washed away with a hose.* *And you know what?* *It was me.* *It was all my fault.* *It’s all my fault that those people and their possible descendants will never walk on this world.* *I am not seeking forgiveness.* *That won’t take away my curse.* *Just closure…however small that might be.* *I just wish I could have told Rosanne how I truly felt when I could've.* *I feel like that would've made me less sad.* *Isn't that selfish, my dear Grandson?* *An entire town wiped out...and all I can think about is a silly old childhood crush...”* *\*RECORDER TURNS OFF\** <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Do NOT give candies to strangers on Halloween, for your own good [RESPONSE] I never really liked this holiday since I was a kid. Don’t you find it kinda controversial? Everybody tells you not to take candies from strangers and then they encourage you to do the exact opposite thing - knock on stranger’s doors for it. And did you know that the rule works both ways, actually?You should never give sweets to unfamiliar kids. It happened last year. I do not usually celebrate the thing, but my wife is quite a sentimental flower, so she was all excited about decorating the place, getting herself a costume and stacking on goodies to give away - I just couldn’t resist. “It’s gonna be fun. I know you will like it” - she said. I couldn’t argue, because why would I? Happy wife - happy life, after all. The Eve itself was not much to mention of: I just opened the door, threw some candies to buckets and sacks, said something about how good the costumes were and watched my wife smiling. Repeat. By the end of the day - we almost ran out of sweets and were, actually, quite tired. Things started to develop rapidly next day. I was minding my business, as somebody knocked on the front door. I went to check it and there was this guy. Just your average Joe waiting at my porch: pair of jeans, brown jacket, brown hair, glasses. I never saw him before around. Before I could ask anything or even say hello he started to speak: “Hello. I believe my son visited your house yesterday for trick or treating, right? And I believe you gave him some candies. Great. Thing is - my son has diabetes and you could potentially kill him yesterday if it was not me and his mother, who interfered and took the sweets from him. What were you thinking in the first place?” And before I could answer with anything or even raise my eyebrows he continued: “If you were so willing to treat my son - you should have given him some sugar-free candies, but that’s not just it. At first I expected to visit you and demand some excuse. But later, it came to me that some of those sweets include peanuts, and my boy is extremely allergic to nuts. I’m not calling police yet, but I’m pretty convinced you have some cruel intentions towards our family. So, I demand a proper excuse. Public one would be sufficient. And some sort of compensation for moral damage. I’ll accept no less that $3000, as you ruined the holiday for Timmy. I’ll buy him some proper treats. Thank you.” I stood there with my jaw opened, completely speechless. Was this guy released from a mental hospital or something? I’ve never seen somebody so impudent in my life and I’ve seen a lot. “Excuse me, what?” - all I could come up with at the moment. “You heard me right, mister. Three thousands and a public excuse. I didn’t come here to bargain” - the man said. “I’m sorry, but are you out of your mind? It’s Halloween, not that I forced your kid to get sugar from me. If you have a child with special needs - you should probably accompany him at times, to make sure things like this didn’t happen, you know? Warn the parents or, I don’t know, give him a note to show or something?” - I replied refusing to believe in seriousness of the whole situation. “Great. Not just shamelessly ignoring your own deeds, but trying to make excuses by giving out parenting lessons. That’s just great” - he raised his voice. “Hey, man. Chill. I can’t take your claims seriously. It’s bullshit. Look, pal, I understand you have a kid with special needs, okay. But it’s not my problem to be honest. So go get some tea, relax and look for some anger management classes. I’m not neither paying you, nor giving any excuses. Have a nice day” - I’ve said intending to slam the door to his nose. He was boiling with rage, as he turned away to leave, and I heard him mumbling: “Oh, we will see about that… We will see…”. “Who was it?” - my wife asked, as I returned to the kitchen, so I briefly retold her about the weird guest. “Haha, what a dork. Maybe it’s the moon cycles or something” - she laughed. “Yeah, just some lunatic and his cuckoo ideas on how to get extra cash, I guess” - I smiled back at her. But the laughs didn’t last that long, as problems started. Next morning I’ve discovered somebody stabbed my tires. All four of them. That was unpleasant, but we live in a crowded neighborhood and you know - shit happens. I thought about the man but didn’t take it seriously, as he didn’t look confident enough to pull something like that. The day after somebody damaged my fuse box, located in the communal building down the street, breaking in and cutting some wires. There was a handwritten note left, saying: “Am I still a joke to you?”. Power was down for 5 hours straight, before the technicians arrived. Not that I had a short temper, but that was enough. I took the note and went to local police station. There, I told the officer on duty everything about the incident with the angry neighbor, about the car and the breaking into substation. I reinforced the statement with a note I found and described the man’s appearance. Did what I could. Both me and my wife woke up in the middle of the night, as our kitchen window shattered with a loud bang. There was a fist-sized stone and another note taped to it: “You shouldn’t have done it”. That was more than enough. Next morning I took my sweetheart to a bus station, so she could spend some time with her parents, and I was about to take care of this mess. No idea how, but I would figure it out, once she was out of danger. Who knows what that psychopath has in mind? I’ve called the police several times, updating my initial complaint with some details and asking how far did they get with it. Unfortunately, there were no clues yet. They asked around about the man, but nobody on the street couldn’t recall seeing him or whatsoever. But all of that was just a child’s play compared to what happened next. Later that day I realized that my wife never called back, as we agreed. She was supposed to do it when she would get to her parents. I dialed the number, but it was out of reach. So I called her Mom and to my surprise - she wasn’t there yet. She wasn’t there yet 6 more hours after. And the next day. My dearest person went missing. I did all I could: filed a missing person report, talked to the bus station personnel, the bus driver himself with little to no result - nobody paid attention to that specific woman and where she went afterwards. CCTV didn’t bring any understanding, as she wasn’t captured on recordings. I knew exactly whom I should blame. Days passed, police was not much of a help and I was getting more and more desperate. She, who was the love of my life disappeared in the light of the day with no trace. I couldn’t sleep or eat, I was devastated. That was too much to bear… Weeks later, as I was sitting in the living room, blankly starting at the wall - a knock on the door shook me up. It was dark outside, close to 23:00. “Who is it?” - I asked, approaching. “Sir, this is Officer Johnson from Local Police Department. We have some details on your case, please open up” - the voice said. With grim heart and dreary thoughts of the worst - I’ve pulled the door open. Next second my eyes were burning as If somebody tossed a torch to my face. I think I got pepper sprayed. And the second after electrical buzzing crackled below my left ear, as my whole body shook in painful convulsions until I blacked out. My consciousness returned, revealing I was still lying in front of my door. The head pounded with ache and they eyes still burned like hell. As I stood up to wash them - a piece of paper, residing on my chest fell down to the floor. It read: “So now you understand what’s it like to almost lose someone you love. NOW we’re even.” - in the same ugly handwriting. Seconds later I found my wife lying on the carpet in the living room. Tied up, pale and exhausted, but alive… They never found the man. I’ve never seen him again. Nobody around ever heard of diabetic Timmy or his parents. If you wonder - he never did anything horrible to my wife. She was kept in a room, tied and blindfolded and couple of times per day was given some food and water. She doesn’t remember how she got there or got back to our place. This crippled me a lot. I’m afraid of strangers now. We moved far away from the city and it’s just now when I can speak about this to others. We don’t celebrate Halloween anymore, but I’m not trying to spoil it for you. Just be careful next time you’ll be handling the candies to the strangers.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm an Animal Control Expert Who Specializes in Cryptids. (Part 2) My First Cryptid Encounter. [RESPONSE] A few days ago, I posted a PSA on this website about in your local area. Well, a few hours after that I checked my inbox and I had about a million questions from a quarter million people. **What kind of van do you drive?** 2003 Dodge Sprinter Van with ‘RAT MAN’ spray painted on the side. **Will my body wash attract a Succubus?** No, but they are intensely attracted to frustrated virgins so you may or may not have a problem there. **Can I come along on one of your jobs?** Absolutely not. I barely make it out alive myself half the time. But the most common question I received was **How’d you get your start in the business?** Now, I’m a busy man, like I said in my last post – Halloween is right around the corner and this is my peak season. Unless y’all want your toddler wandering up to a house where half of the Halloween decorations ain’t actually Halloween decorations, well, then you got to let me work. So in lieu of answering How’d you get your start in the biz? to all y’all individually, I’ll post the story of my first job here to nip any further asking of that question in the bud. In the year 2000 I was 22 years old and just starting out my life in ‘the biz’ as y’all have been putting it. Pulling snakes out of toilets and charging down skunks using a trashcan lid as a shield against its spray. I loved the job. Wasn’t any different than what I did as a kid growing up in Middle Georgia, only now I was getting paid for it. Money wasn’t great, but small town livin’ is cheap and it kept a roof over my head and food on the table. Over time and through word of mouth my little business grew until I was the premier ‘rat man’ in Taliaferro County. Granted, the county population was less than 2k so business wasn’t exactly booming, but hey, I’m proud of it. One day, I’m in my truck (this was before the van) in a Taco Bell drive-thru and I got a call on my cell. Unknown number. I answer – “Taliaferro Rat Man. You need something?” The voice on the other end was frantic, screaming about something stuck in his mudroom, but wouldn’t give specifics. I could tell from the man’s accent and his clear discomfort in the idea of an animal being in his house that he was city folk. You know, a real-life Atlanta dandy. Some of those city folk had 2nd homes on the nearby lakes -Oconee and Clark’s Hill- but I was shocked when he told me his home was in Union County – nearly 130 miles away. I asked him how he got my number and he told me that he had found one of my business cards on his kitchen table. I told him I would be there in 3 hours and hung up. Now here’s the fishy part – I didn’t have any business cards. I still don’t, but I still get calls. Sometimes people call me saying they found my card on the kitchen table, or in their pocket or slipped under the windshield wiper of their car. One lady about 10 years ago said she got out of the shower and my phone number was written right there on the fogged-up bathroom mirror. That woman straight up thought I was the devil until I got that family of Pukwudgies out of her basement (got them jealous by talking loudly on the phone about how much nicer and more expansive a nearby cave system was than this horrible basement). After that, she thought I could walk on water. Truth is, I don’t know what is pushing business my way. I don’t know why I was chosen to do the work I do, but that’s the fact of the matter – I was chosen for it. Well, any who, back to my first job. I pulled up the client’s house, or I guess the better word for it would be compound. The property was completely surrounded by a 7-foot security fence that contained the main house, a small chicken run, a sauna, and a handful of small windowless buildings that dotted the forested property. After speaking to the owner via intercom he remotely opened the gate and greeted me as I pulled up the driveway of the main house. He was a wiry, rat-faced, dead-eyed man who looked, and smelled, like he hadn’t showered in days, maybe weeks. His greasy hair clung to a greasier forehead as he reached his open hand towards me. “Hello, we spoke on the phone. My name is Dave,” his accent betraying him as a foreigner in these parts. “Elmer,” I replied, “Not from around her Dave?” “Oh,” Dave’s face dropped as if he was upset that he had been so easily discovered as an outsider, “oh no, not from the South. This is a vacation house for the family and I. The winters down here are mild compared to up north” I couldn’t believe this guy had a wife smelling like he did. “Where’s the family?” “I’m down here doing some maintenance just for the week. The whole family won’t be down here for another two months or so” “Alright, well, what’s the problem?” Dave stepped close to me. I mean really close, like eskimo kisses close, and asked me, “You deal with this stuff often? Huh? Your card makes it seem so,” thankfully he took a step back, “Honestly, I’m not even sure where I got this card in the first place” “You, uh, got that card on ya Dave?” “Here” He handed the card over to me. It was a plain white business card with black text that read: ELMER “RAT MAN” BOGGS ANIMAL CONTROL AND CRYPTID SPECIALIST HIS PRICES ARE UN-BOO-LIEVABLE The back of the card had a little picture of a ghost along with my phone number. It’s at this point I should tell you, these cards are different every time. I still don’t know where they come from and I’ve stopped caring. Each one has some stupid pun on it. HE’S GOT THE SPIRIT! HALF-PRICE ON APRIL GHOUL’S DAY! I’ve seen one that had a picture of me wearing a French Maid’s outfit with the words PLAGUED BY PARANORMAL EN-TITTIES? CALL ELMER! Splashed across it. I do not like that one and I have no idea where that picture came from so don’t ask. “Yeah, I deal with these kinds of things all the time,” I said, “now show me where the critter’s at” Dave led me down the hill on which the main house stood and out to one of the smaller buildings that punctuated the tree line. “It’s in here,” Dave said as we approached a small shed about 10 feet by 10 feet. A large padlock held the door in place. “I thought you said it was in your mud room?” I asked. “Yes, well I was panicked on the phone I supposed,” Dave explained, “As you can see, we keep chickens here and when the boys are here we like to go hunting. This is where we clean and butcher our animals.” Good enough explanation for me. “Open it up” Dave opened it up and practically ran back towards the main house as I stepped into the room. It was all white. Painted cinderblock walls, florescent lights, laminate flooring with a drain in the middle of the room, a large hook hung from the ceiling to hang a deer carcass. There was a countertop with a sink and a few drawers – probably knives in there, a wall mounted security camera – I’d like to know more about that, but what really demanded my attention was floating on air in the top corner of the room facing the wall. It was a human head. I couldn’t believe it. Nowadays this an average Wednesday, but imagine you’re in my position. Your neighbor calls you over to help get a raccoon out of the attic, then you get there and he’s all “oh wait never mind! It’s a decapitated human head. Oh yeah and it flies around like a helium balloon.” That’s right folks. A floater on my first day. A real trial by fire. I didn’t panic. Not sure how, but I didn’t. I took a step back slowly, but apparently not slow enough as I watched the head turn to face me. It was a woman’s head. Long black hair. Eyes gouged out. Black dried blood caked all over and it had a tail - a few inches of spinal column sticking out the bottom. I stepped out of the shed and slammed the door before it did anything else. Dave called to me. I turned to see his smelly ass calling from an upstairs window of the main house. Fucker was just gunna leave me to die out here. “Can you get rid of it!?” “Oh yeah buddy, I can do that,” I was talking out my ass, “But we need to talk” I told Dave I could get it out, but it would be expensive. Very expensive. I also told him I would need time. A few days. I made up some bullshit about rituals and waiting for the correct phase of the moon, but, in reality, I had no idea what I was going to do and I just needed enough time to look around on the internet to figure out what the hell I was dealing with and how it should be handled. I told him I’d have to go home to get things ready but I’d be back in a few days to fix his floating head problem. He made a counteroffer. He’d give me a cash advance right now to go into town and gather all the necessary supplies for ‘rituals’ and the ‘cleansings’ and I could stay the night on the property so I wouldn’t have to drive the 3 hours home. He’d also give an additional bonus if I could have the cursed noggin removed within the next 24 hours. I asked him if he had internet access. He did. I accepted. I could kill 40,000 rats and still not make the money I was going to make in the next 24 hours if I could pull this off. I took the extremely generous cash advance and zipped out of compound to buy my supplies. I drove the 40 minutes south to Dahlonega, an old gold mining town, and found an electronics store where I bought a laptop computer and mouse. That’s all I really needed, but I couldn’t go back empty handed when I’d promised an elaborate ritual, so I popped into a few of the novelty ‘Gold Mine’ stores and bought some fools gold, a few pretty rocks, a nice hat (that was just for me) and a peacock feather. Then I headed back to the compound. I spent the entire drive back pinching myself. Wondering if I had finally lost my marbles. Questioning my faith. Replaying every single episode of X-Files over and over in my head. I decided it didn’t matter if I was crazy or not, either way, it was happening. I got back to the compound, parked the car, brought my newly bought equipment up to the room I would using on the second floor of the main house, then asked Dave for the key to shed. I wanted one more look at the head. I slowly opened the shed door and peeked inside. The head was still floating in the top corner of the room facing the wall. I stood for a while watching it. It slowly bobbed up and down as if floating in water, I watched what little of the neck was left vibrate as gentle moans emanated from it. I cleared my throat. The head slowly turned towards me. Its expression didn’t change. It didn’t lose any elevation either. It seemingly wasn’t interested in me at all. I took a quarter out of my pocket and tossed it up towards the head where it plinked off its cheek and bounced down to the floor below. The head remained neutral. This thing didn’t give a shit about me. Might as well have called it My Dad. I left the shed, locked the door behind me and headed up to my room to do some research. This was the hardest part when I started this gig. How do you tell the difference between a Gnome and a Leprechaun? A Fairy and an Elf? A Wendigo and a Skinwalker? What happens if you get it wrong? I’ll tell you what happens – you get hurt or you die. 6 years ago, I made the mistake of mis-identifying a band of Nimerigar as Rocky Mountain Hill Dwarves and I lost two fingers and bite-sized chunk of my ass. I’ve learned my lesson the hard way. Research, research, research. It’s the name of the game. And this was a tough case to start with. Floating heads appear all over Native American folklore, especially in the Iroquois and Wyandot histories, but their heads were different. For one, they had wings and talons. The one I was dealing with floated. They’re also like 6 feet tall and this one was just your regular-sized everyday disembodied head that just so happened to take flight. There is also the behavior. The Iroquois version of the head just kinda flew around and terrorized anyone who was unlucky to have stumbled across it, while the Mohawk histories say its out for revenge against those who gave it an undignified death. But the big problem with oral histories is that they change. One day someone can’t remember something so they throw their own wrinkle in there. Its like a centuries long game of telephone that started with “Jessica has great hair” and ends with “Death metal head eats babies.” At least this head didn’t seem to mind my company. It wanted whatever was in the direction of that top corner of the shed it was entombed in and I just couldn’t for the life of me figure out what that was. I had a hunch, but nothing solid yet. I looked at the clock and realized it was nearly midnight. Opened my door to head to the bathroom to piss and wash my face before bed and ran directly into Dave who had seemingly been standing right outside my bedroom door. “Big day tomorrow,” he said “Yessir, big day” “Will you get it done?” “Does the Pope wear a funny hat?” “Amusing,” he didn’t smile. “I’m fixing to wash my face before bed and we’ll be out there bright and early tomorrow morning” “We’ll?” Dave didn’t seem happy to be included in that last sentence. “Yes sir, I’ll need your help with this ritual” I said back to him, “Two-man job.” “This isn’t what I’m paying you for,” He sneered. “Don’t worry you won’t have to do nothing, just need you in the room,” I was talking out my ass again, “Nothing too big, just need you holding a peacock feather is all.” “hmph,” he exhaled from his nose sharply and stared at me with his dead black eyes for a few seconds before marching off, “Good night” I was washing my face in the bathroom and realized I never picked up an extra toothbrush when I was in town. Now, I don’t know about where you’re from, but people I know always have an extra toothbrush laying around. Especially people with families like Dave said he had, so I did a little light snooping through the drawers in the bathroom and you know what I found – it wasn’t a toothbrush. It was a loose panel on base of the bathroom counter. I quietly pulled it back and found stuffed inside, a hammer and a plastic bag. I opened the plastic bag and dumped the contents into my hand. Driver’s licenses. A dozen of them at least. All women. I fingered through them quickly looking at the pictures, names and dates when one of them caught my eye. Misty O’Conner. I recognized her immediately because you never forget the face of the first flying decapitated head you see. You just don’t, I don’t make the rules. This fucking guy, Dave. My hunch was right. The cameras. The multiple ‘deer cleaning’ shacks. The 7-foot security wall - to protect you from what Dave? The extremely high Turkey population of Union County? No way Jose. I knew what I was going to do. The next morning, Dave unlocked the shack and held it shut while I gave him instructions. He was going to stand off to the right side of the shed while I went into the room and tied a blindfold around the head. Once the head was blind, I would signal him to come in and he would place the peacock feather in the head’s mouth. Then, I told him the head would disintegrate in a fireball and he could pay me the rest of my money. It was all bullshit of course, but if brains was made of leather old Davey could hardly saddle a June bug. I took over holding the door from Dave and motioned for him to walk off to the right side of the shed. I felt the pressure on the other side of the door relax as the head floated to the right following its sense of where Dave was. I entered the shed and found the head floating at chest height gnashing its teeth at the wall that protected Dave. “Hey Misty, shhhh, it’s okay,” I told the head in the same voice I use for dogs and cats and sometimes lizards, “I’m on your side, we’re gon’ get this son’a’bitch” I looped a piece of cloth around the head covering the empty sockets where the eyes used to be and held the two loose ends in my hand like a leash, the head pulled gently, as if agreeing to my unspoken plan. My other hand held the piece of Fool’s gold for literally no reason other than convincing shit-for-brains Dave my plan totally legit. “Aight now, Davey come on in,” I shouted towards the open door. The head of Misty O’Conner pulled leash gently, following the path Dave took as he walked the perimeter of the building. Dave then appeared in the doorway looking like a total idiot by holding out his peacock feather towards the head like a priest would hold crucifix towards a vampire. “So, all I have to do is put the feather in its mouth?” Dave asked, his voice cracking and clearly terrified. I fake-strained and sucked in a few short breaths pretending to be fighting for my life holding back this monster, “Just do it already! I can’t hold it for much longer!” Dave shrieked as he shoved the peacock feather into Misty’s mouth. The head slowly pulled the feather in with its lips and teeth and gave a few overexaggerated cow-like chews before swallowing. The mangled feather dropped from the open neck at the bottom of the head and landed on the floor with a wet plop. I stopped straining and started to relax, “Its working! It’s losing energy!” I shouted at Dave in fake exhilaration. “So that’s it?!,” Dave asked catching his breath, “We killed this bitch?” The head tugged on its leash a little harder at that last word. “We got her” I said back. “Then I don’t need you anymore,” Dave said as in one fluid motion he pulled a knife out from behind his back and lunged at me. Everything went according to plan. I released the blindfold/leash and Misty was on Dave like a Pitbull on a preschooler. First, she bit his knife wielding hand off at the wrist, then in his split second of confusion that followed she bit a sizeable chunk out of his neck. Dave collapsed in a bloody heap on the floor, trying to bat his one-time victim with his remaining hand, but she was far to quick for him. By the time he tried to swat her, she was already on the otherside of his body biting off another chunk. Eventually he stopped fighting and that’s when it got really gruesome. He lay on the floor of his kill room, crying and begging for mercy like so many women had done before, and just like those women, he wouldn’t get any. I looked away but the horrible sound of breaking bone made me look back. Misty’s jaw was unhinging, breaking, expanding, then like a boa constrictor she began the tedious process of slowly, almost tenderly swallowing him whole. She started at the feet which were easy enough, but around the thighs she began to flick her chin forward and tilt her head back to help the fresh meat go down. Less snake-like and more Komodo Dragon-like. Dave screamed the entire time. The last thing to go was one of Dave’s outstretched arms which she greedily slurped up like noodle. I’m not going to lie, once she finished it was awkward. We both just kind of looked at each other for what felt like an eternity. Eventually I had to break the silence, it just felt too weird so I said, “Hi, Misty” then I immediately felt like an idiot for saying something so stupid. What am I? Five? After another few seconds Misty erupted into a small fireball and completely vanished. Turns out I was actually right about that part. Felt good to be right. I phoned the police and answered their questions when they showed. Told em’ I was here for an appointment and noticed some weird shit, they searched the property and that was that. They found 2 other girls, 1 of them was still alive. Of course, they think Dave is on the run, but it at least gave some families some closure. Then I walked back to my truck, upset about not getting paid more than the advance which I had already spent, when I felt a weight in my pocket. I reached in and pulled out an envelope of cash. That’s how it works. A lot like the business cards. I have no idea how; it just shows up and I don’t ask questions. I hope this has answered some of your questions. Maybe after Halloween I can answer a few more for y’all or maybe I could tell you about the 2 years I spent traveling. Either way I hope you enjoyed my stories and if you ever need me, you already have my card.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] fear4life.com (Part 3) [RESPONSE] Since it has been a few days since I provided an update, I wanted to fill you all in on what has been happening. I went through every inch of my house the morning after my last post. It is a small one-story house with a basement, so it didn't take long to look through. There was nothing else out of the ordinary except for dirt smudges on the bottom of my bedspread. I shuddered, thinking that someone must have been in my room while I was sleeping the night before. But I am glad that I didn't wake up to see whatever was there. At the suggestion of others, I found my attic access, which was in the ceiling of my closet. I had to get my ladder out of the garage to climb up there. After sliding the wooden cover out of the way, I climbed up and walked carefully along the wood beams, looking around with my flashlight. I didn't find any evidence of someone being up here. As I walked back to the entrance to the attic, I heard my front door closing. I couldn't see much through the square opening, but I heard footsteps coming down the hallway toward my room. This was followed by my bedroom door slamming shut. I crouched down and slid the cover over the opening. I could hear them climbing up the ladder, so I sat down on the cover to hold it in place. Then I felt the cover being pushed. They were able to lift me up a little bit, but luckily I was too heavy. After a few minutes, they stopped, and it got quiet. I was listening for the sound of them stepping down the ladder, but I didn't hear anything. It must have been at least ten minutes I waited without hearing anything. I quietly climbed off the cover and slid it open just a little. I saw part of the ladder but needed to open it more to tell if anyone was on there. When I started moving it more, I felt a big push on the cover, almost sending it out of my hands. Before I got it back into place, I caught a glimpse of what was trying to get up here. It was something different than what was at my door the other night. There were clumps of long brown hair on top of its boney head. Its jaw was jutted out to the left, and the bone was broken and jagged beneath its nose. The thing stared up at me with one eye sunk deep inside the socket and the other dangling out of the socket. I jumped back on the cover, putting all my weight on it. I felt the thing pushing me up again. When it finally stopped, I waited a much longer time before trying to see if it was safe to leave. When I slid it slowly off, I expected a hand to reach out and grab me. But nothing was there. I went down the ladder and closed the attic cover. My phone was sitting on the floor, which wasn't where I had left it. When I picked it up, it felt dusty, and it was covered with smudges like my monitor. I wiped it on my shirt and then called my parents. I really needed to get out of here for a while. They were glad I called and said they would be happy to have me stay with them for a few days. I grabbed a backpack and threw in some clothes and everything else I would need for a few nights' stay. I had ordered a couple of wifi cameras after this all started and spent some time getting them set up. One of them I set up on my front porch and the other in front of my computer screen since those seemed to be the places where most of the weird things were happening. While checking to ensure I had everything, I heard some noises in the basement. I grabbed my keys, wallet, and phone and headed for the door. When I went past the basement door, I heard someone coming up the stairs. I ran outside, locked the door behind me, and got into my car. After making sure my car was empty, I drove to my parent's house. When I got there, I greeted my parents and then brought my things into my old room. I hadn't spent the night at their house in a long time. They were both vaccinated and hadn't been out in a while, so I didn't have to be afraid of getting sick from them. The first couple of nights there were great. I got caught up on my sleep and felt so much more well-rested. I had a couple of notifications from my front porch camera the first few days, but it was just from squirrels or chipmunks running into view of the camera. I took a break from the computer and didn't use my phone that much either during this time. The only phone calls I received were telemarketing or scam calls. Last night, however, things began to change. I got a notification from my front porch camera. I could see someone standing just barely in view of the camera. They stayed still for a while before coming up to the porch. It looked like they were wearing something over their head, but I couldn't tell what it was. I was happy that it wasn't the creepy-eyed skull guy that was there before. Although, this one also made me uncomfortable, especially once it started talking. Later that night, I received a notification from the camera in front of my computer monitor. The screen was blank for a while before it went to the fear4life website. I'm glad I wasn't at my house during these events. But I am a little worried that by staying at my parents' house, they will become involved in this. I think I will at least stay another night here and then try to figure out what to do next. I've included the in case you'd like to see what happened. It is looking pretty nice outside today, so I am going to try to enjoy it before it starts getting colder again. Hopefully, since I'm not at my house or near my computer, I won't have any problems when I go for a walk. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My Wife Thinks There’s Someone in the House [RESPONSE] To give a little background, me and my wife have been together for four years, and married for just a couple of months now. She’s always been jumpy, and it’s funny to get a rise out of her once in a while. She used to refuse to watch horror movies with me, but since I love them she has sat through a good bit of them. We just bought a house far away from any family and friends, and her worrying has gotten worse since then. I don’t want to come off as an asshole, but sometimes it can be a bit much. She will call me in the morning while I’m on way to work and say “I think there’s someone in the house.” Which of course, there never is. But I love her and want her to feel comfortable so I humour her. The home we purchased is a 1940’s colonial styled home, with beautiful crown molding, glass door knobs, and creaky floorboards. When you walk through the house the creaks can be heard everywhere, so it seems like there’s someone in the house. But that’s what happens in an old house, the floors freak. Every day now she will either call me, or yelp from the kitchen that she can hear someone walking up and down the stairs. I go check, no one’s there, rinse and repeat. But last night. Last night something changed. Something happened. I awoke last night to my wife sitting up in bed, eyes wide and shaking my shoulder. “There is someone downstairs walking around, I can hear them.” she said, with a terror in her eyes that I've never seen before. I sat up, wiped the sleep from my eyes, and listened. This time she was right. I could hear what resembled footsteps walking right under our floor, which is where the staircase started. Knowing that there's no way anyone was in here I told her to relax and go back to sleep. She wouldn't budge, and whispered in an angry tone that there's no way in hell she's going back to sleep. I sighed and got up out of bed and creeped over to our door. I bent down knob level and looked through the key hole and out into the hall. Nothing. Too dark. At this point she had actually freaked me out. The footsteps still came from the landing at the bottom of the stairs. It almost sounded like pacing. I looked back at my wife who was sat in the bed with the covers up to her eyes, not saying a word. I looked around the room for a weapon, coming up with a screwdriver I had used earlier in the day. I slowly turned the handle, and looked out into the hall. At first, there was nothing. No one on the stairs, no one in the hallway, nothing. But before I closed the door my eyes locked on the window. Ice ran through my veins. My heart stopped. My t-shirts armpits welled with sweat. In the reflection of the window was a person, standing on our steps. The only thing that showed in the dark hallway was yellow slanted teeth, and bleach white eyes. I could not tell from the short glance whether it was real or not, so I closed the door and walked back into the bedroom. I was too scared to tell her what I saw, worried we’d have to sell the damn place. The footsteps stopped as I stood leaning against the closed door and glanced at my wife. “It’s nothing baby, go back to bed.” Her shoulders loosened, and a long relieved sigh came out of her. We both laid down, and went back to sleep. This morning I woke up and my wife was gone from our bed. I thought that’s funny, she always sleeps later than me, and assumed she went to grab some coffee downstairs. I threw on some shorts and trotted down to the dining room to see there was no sign of my wife, and no smell of coffee. I yelled for her through the house, and nothing. I looked out the window and her car was still here. Her wallet was sitting untouched near the fridge. Even her phone was lying on the floor near the bed. I’m worried something happened to her and it may be my fault. I have no clue what to do.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Something awful happens here downtown [RESPONSE] I don’t know who or what it was, but since that night both my boyfriend and his best friend have gone missing. The Police here think hes just ghosting me and leaving town, accusing me of making it all up. And yet dodgy answers and they way they seemed to already know what I came to report had me on edge. The more I'm looking into things, the less I believe there’s a mistake at all. A string of disappearances have been happening here in Boise. Ill start with what’s happened to me and you can put the rest together, believing what you will. It started as a trip downtown. My boyfriend James and his friend Brad were both off on Friday and planned to hit the town. The two had known each other for ages making quite a pair. My James was beautiful albeit short with a smile that sold you before it even spoke. His friend Brad was a larger man who liked to lift but lacked the social graces to get him anywhere in life. James did most of the talking, and Brad was most of the muscle. The two went on their own adventures often so I was surprised when My boyfriend invited me. “C’mon, It’ll be fun.” He kissed me as he took my phone out my hand. If he wasn’t so attractive, many of his antics I would have found annoying and yet I was all the more smitten by his boldness. “I thought you’d want some time alone with your friend?” I asked with my arms around his shoulders. “Well I want you to, so you coming with?” The smile in his eyes assumed the answer and he was right. “I suppose.” I feigned displeasure with a playful roll of the eyes. To be honest I was bored cooped up in the house and I could use the outing to. “Great.” He stood up the second he got what he wanted and strode to make preparations. A phone call sent for the where’s and when’s and so the plan was made. Brad pulled up in an old Sebring. As he hopped out of the car he had an overnight bag slung across his shoulder. No one asked me if he could crash at our house yet I knew that wasn’t his fault. The man was polite to a fault and I knew he asked James who assumed I’d be fine. I didn’t even mind that he was staying , I just wished they checked with me first. “HI Kayla!” Brad gave me a sheepish wave which I returned. He walked in and set his bag, and we all hopped in James’ SUV to hit the town. Boise is a lot bigger than most would give it credit for, especially these days. Sunset hit the Zion tower as a hundred thousand people set upon a square mile of bars, clubs, restaurants and boutiques. Street performers tuned their instruments and homeless scribbled on cardboard signs. Even they ate well as everyone three shots in would start dropping ones and fives like it was raining money. For the rest of the night, everyone would forget the world and get lost in a crowd of faces for an evening of fun. At least that’s what we thought. As soon as we parked we hit the town. Brad wanted pizza from a place called the Pie Hole which came with a beer for only five dollars. After slurping down a greasy plate of cheese we thought on where to next. “Where else would we go? To the space bar!” James pointed two blocks over. Brad was full and Vibing as I shrugged and went along with them. A couple crosswalks led to a flight of stairs. Underground was a sea of neon lights, retro arcade games and cheap beer. A game room stood full of couples, hipsters and , college kids killing the hours on a fist full of dollars. James and I took turns on a Pac-man machine. He ordered a pair of drinks for us, gulping down his second to order a third. I had a bad feeling watching him drink yet that smile came back and I chose to let it go. As long as he was sober enough to drive by the time we got home it wasn't worth the fight. After an especially large paycheck at his construction job to celebrate with, that looked like it wouldn’t be for a while. “Guys!” Brad popped up with excitement oozing off of him pointing towards a doorway in the back. “You wont believe what I just found!” “The bathroom?” James asked as I choked a laugh in my drink. Brad shook his head none deterred. “No no! You guys got to follow me. You’re never going to believe it!” James ended his round on the game and so we did. The back room did have two bathrooms yet the hall kept going further. He led us onward and the scenery changed from black-lights and paint to the makings of an abandoned warehouse. Bare walls. Peeling plaster. I thought he was pulling our leg until we turned a corner. An old Scandinavian woman stood bent over a giant iron pot, stirring it as she glared with a judgmental eye. Surrounding her was a wooden bar and all sorts of cookery. Flags of various colors adorned its upper rim and so we found what looked like a ramen bar in the middle of nowhere. By far one of the most random encounters I’ve ever had. “Its gets better!” Brad exclaimed at just below a shout, dragging us as the old woman scoured on. To the right of her was a second doorway which showed that her booth was only a part of something bigger. A Pirate theme bar lay before us. All the furniture was driftwood. Sunken ships in bottles adorned the walls. There were Tiki Heads and little bowls of fire. Even a skull full of business cards lay at the end of a bar captained by a man in full regalia. “What in the world?” James looked on exasperated, laughing at where we found ourselves. I couldn’t blame him. After admiring the scenery, we ordered shots and went on our way. It was the tip of the iceberg of everything in town and the night was young. We ordered coffee, watched street performers dance and sing. People cheered at strangers from the balcony’s and everywhere we wandered the party was alive and well. Hours passed and night had come. After turning a corner that night a movement unsettled me as it came from the corner of my eye. It was in the darkness of one of the alleys. Thousands of people were in the revelry yet for the second it was there a silhouette sent a shiver up my spine. I turned to stare down that darkened hole. The air from that decrepit pit held something foul as I could almost see a pair of eyes in the shadows. I jumped as a hand lay on my shoulder. “You alright?” It was only James. His eyes were glassy from the booze and a slur had tilted his speech. In the back of my mind I knew he would be in no shape to drive later yet at the moment I loathed the coming fight. Confrontation was never my strong suit. I opened my mouth to say something yet as I did Brad came stumbling after us. Hands full of a paper tray full of the greasiest cheese steak you had ever seen. He took a bite as the provolone stretched from his mouth with cartoonish ease. The look on his face with the health code violation in his mouth was that of utter satisfaction. “Food!” His exclamation climbed over the chunks still in his mouth, stumbling with his tray outstretched. “Here. Take this for a second, I have to go.” He stumbled off into the the alley that was the source of my unease. I called out to warn him yet he heard not a word. James stood between us as his friend trotted into the dark to do his business. “Is everything alright? You haven’t been having a lot of fun lately.” The question felt more as an accusation than genuine concern. \-Watching you to get plastered isn’t what I call fun.- I thought to myself yet only shrugged. Anything to avoid the fight. He took my silence as compliance and tried to cheer me up. “Lighten up and drink with me, everything going to be fine.” He tried to smile with his seductive warmth yet ten shots in that air about him was gone. It was then we heard a yelp from the darkness. We called after him yet instead of a reply all we heard was a shuffling and a muffled pop in the dark. We stepped closer with caution, peering in. James to his credit stood between me and the unknown. All we saw however was an empty patch of pavement. There it was, nothing but litter, bits of concrete and a slit in the gutter to the sewer system. A crowd of people paraded through town stumbling to the next event on the other side. “Where do you think he went?” I asked, the hair on my neck bristled in my unease. My boyfriend shrugged it off. “He always does this when he’s drunk. Probably found something shiny and wandered off. He’s got a reputation for disappearing like Batman, popping back up with a corn dog or a forty in his hand. Now come on. Let’s go.” He took my hand and dragged us off to Mulligans. A bar and pool hall that served cheap liquor. Seeing the cursive sign above I groaned yet he paid it little mind. He ordered two drinks of vodka and sprite and we played pool, I watching the light leave his eyes as the liquor took hold, nursing my drink knowing I would be driving yet again. We left this bar after an hour and Brad had yet to find us. James was pulling me to another yet I had enough. I pulled my hand away, outstretching it for the keys. “Give me them, you’re in no shape to drive.” “You really want to do this?” His eyes glared with ill intent. The man I loved was gone, leaving a grown child scowling to have been told no. “Your the one who’s doing it.” I had finally stood my ground. I didn’t know how bad this fight was going to get yet something in my stomach told me it was time to leave. “You always try to ruin things for me. Its why I never take you anywhere. You just want to be miserable all the time and I’m sick of it!” The impudence in his voice made it sound like a fit, making him all the less attractive in my eyes. Watching him sway in his folly I wondered how much longer I could keep doing this. Now wasn’t the time for a break up fight. I kept my hand outstretched and tried to placate him with a tempered tone. “Just give me the keys, we’ll go home and we can do something fun tomorrow, alright?” He snorted turning himself away to leave me. “I’m not having it. You want to go so bad, you find your own way home.” He stumbled further, storming off into an alley for the next bar. I could have called a cab. I could have phoned a friend or even my parents but instead I followed after. Something told me we were all in danger and the more I think back on that night , I know I was right. James tumbled onto the asphalt. The excitement upsetting his stomach and the liquor turned sour. Bending over behind a trash can he vomited in the dark. Behind James puking, something moved towards him. A shape like a man but terribly thin. It was gaunt and bent, moving in a strange dance swaying closer and further in the dark. He gyrated like a man lost in a hit of ecstasy playing with the space between them. James simply swore at the man in shadows. “I don’t have any change, go find someone else.” He snarled wiping the bile from his mouth on his hoodies’ sleeve. The thing wobbled there undeterred. Turning the corner I got to see my boyfriend bent over in his booze and puke as some thing there danced above him. Before I could say anything it struck, leaping like a sprung serpent. His arms and legs wrapped around my boyfriend in an instant. James’ cry was muffled by the silhouette of an elongated hand. Swallowing my terror I shouted after them. It stopped in response, turning them both with force to look at me. A car drove behind us and in its light what I saw I couldn’t believe. A pale rake of a man wrapped itself around my boyfriend. Each of his limbs wriggled and writhed enveloping its victims extremities. Even his body wriggled against him in a slow rhythm that witnessing shook me with revulsion. Its face and head twisted long. Jaw slacked in a crooked smile of mischievous glee. It was the most ugly and terrifying thing I had ever seen, writhing in the night air naked save a ragged loincloth. It looked at me in a manner that could only be described as predatory. My skin crawled looking on as my boyfriend started to cry. It was in that moment the car passed and with unnatural strength it rocked them backward, throwing them both behind the dumpster. I yelled after them yet standing there in terror I could not will myself to go in. It was with every ounce of courage I could muster I reached in my pocket. I turned on my phones flashlight, inching towards them in the dark. My shout drew a small crowd behind me yet as I turned the corner neither of them were there. Nothing except that small slot in the gutter, echoing with laughter in the dark.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Always check your kids' Halloween candy [RESPONSE] Everyone knows the horror stories. Razor blades, hallucinogens, rat poison, all disguised in candy just waiting for innocent kids to gobble them up. Its all nonsense of course. Sure there are a few isolated incidents where some sicko does something like that, but the whole "tainted candy" myth is an enormous exaggeration at best. No, the reason I say you should check your kids' candy is very, very different. It was the Halloween of '09, I was only 14. I was on the cusp of being ever so slightly too old for it to be socially acceptable to go trick or treating, so I aimed to make that night the biggest haul yet. My costume was elaborate; a zombie with a full face mask, claw gloves, and a chest piece that would drip fake blood at the push of a button. I'd learned from experience that the more detailed the costume, the more candy you get. I was going to hit every house that I could. I expected to get so much that I even brought one of those big black garbage bags to hold the candy in. I was going to make it a night to remember. It was, but not for the reasons I had hoped. I couldn't tell you which house I got it from, that's something that has always bugged me. My bag was so full and I'd visited so many houses that it was all just a blur. At the end of the night I was sorting my candy into piles. A small mound of chocolate bars, some plastic wrapped gummy candies, dozens of lollipops, and more. As I reached into the central pile of unsorted candy, I found something unusual. It looked like a chocolate bar of some sort, but one I'd never seen before. The wrapper was a greenish yellow in coloration, with a two-armed cartoon worm giving a thumbs up and winking. The label was in some other language, the symbols not corresponding to any Latin letters that I recognized. At first I thought it was maybe in Russian, but the script wasn't quite right, I'd seen what Cyrillic characters looked like from some video games and movies, and this looked a bit different. Raising an eyebrow, I opened the wrapper, curious to see what was inside. It looked like my initial guess was right, it did seem to be a chocolate bar of some sort, with little white orbs embedded in its surface kind of like how some candies had pieces of nuts. I gave it a bite, and was pleasantly surprised to find it was utterly delicious. To this day, I think that it was the best chocolate I've ever had in my entire life. Being a 14 year old, I didn't have the best impulse control. I gobbled the whole thing down in about 30 seconds, tossing the wrapper aside and searching for more in the pile of unsorted candy. I didn't find any more though, and resigned myself to disappointment. I figured I'd ask around at school, bringing the wrapper to see if anyone else had gotten lucky, maybe I could offer some of my less enticing candy as a trade. After finishing my sorting and eating a few more pieces of candy, I finally headed off to sleep, my stomach full and my heart happy. It had been a great day. The next morning I made sure to pack the empty chocolate wrapper so I could ask around at school, and brought some extra candy for trade. During recess and lunch I asked nearly the whole school about the chocolate but I only found three other people who got one, and like me they had immediately eaten the whole thing. I still remember their names. Jeremy, a lanky, bespectacled kid from my chemistry class, Ashley, a girl with dyed blue hair who I'd seen around but never really talked to, and Lee, a track and field athlete who I shared math class with. They all agreed that it was by far the best chocolate they'd ever had, and had also been hoping to find some more. However, it seemed like the trail ended there, none of them remembered which house gave them the chocolate bar either. I was a little sad, but ultimately it wasn't the end of the world for me, it was just some candy after all. It took a few weeks for me to notice anything strange. I had long since forgotten about the candy bar, and now that Halloween had come and gone it was back to the daily routine of school and homework. One morning I woke up to find myself feeling very thirsty. It felt like I had been walking in the desert for days, so I immediately got up to get something to drink. Normally with breakfast I would have milk or orange juice, but that day I decided I would just have a big glass of water. And then another. And another. After three glasses, I was finally satisfied. My mom eyed me with confusion. "Feeling a bit dehydrated honey?" she asked. I nodded, a little embarrassed. "I'm not sure why, I just felt really thirsty this morning" I responded. She smiled and said smugly, "Well, at least its not soda or energy drinks, those things will rot your teeth you know." I rolled my eyes and finished my breakfast, getting ready for school, bringing two bottles of water with me. That day during chemistry class, our teacher announced that Friday there would be a schoolday-long field trip to the local lake, where a fish and wildlife representative would talk about the native ecosystem and the environmental impact of pollution. It wasn't mandatory, but students who went and wrote a paper about it would get extra credit. The teacher said that anyone who wanted to go should raise their hand, and instantly I found myself lifting mine. Jeremy did too, and I detected the faintest hint of confusion on his face. I also felt a little bewildered. I'd never really been particularly interested in environmentalism or anything like that, and its not like I needed the extra credit. But something about the field trip seemed to call to me, like I was meant to go there. The rest of the week passed agonizingly slow. I found myself constantly thinking about the lake, about its cool green waters rippling gently in the breeze. Every morning I would wake up thirstier than the last, until my mom was starting to grow concerned about my water intake. I bought one of those huge water bottles that athletes use, and I noticed that Jeremy and Ashley had as well. Lee already had one, but I noticed him drinking from it more often than normal in math class. Finally Friday came around and the small number of students going to the lake got into the school bus. I couldn't help but notice Lee and Ashley were coming too, but I was quickly distracted by the thought of the lake. I'd never been one for water, it was fun to go to the pool once in a while, sure, but I'd never been obsessed over it. However, all I could think of during the bus ride to the lake was how good it would feel to just dive into its shimmering water, to sink all the way to the bottom and stay there, surrounded by fish. When we finally arrived the fish and wildlife guy had us all sit down on the grass. He told us about pH levels, showed us a preserved frog with too many legs, and passed around photos of some of the garbage he had found on the water's edge. I wasn't paying attention though. I was just staring out at the lake, hypnotized by its gentle waves. I thought about how nice it would feel on my skin, in my mouth. Before I knew what I was doing, I was standing up, walking towards the lake. I could faintly hear the chaperone yelling at me to come back, and some of the other students murmuring in confusion, but I wasn't focused on that, it was just background noise. The sounds of the lake filled my ears. I was vaguely aware that I wasn't alone in my march towards the lake. Jeremy, Ashley, and Lee were all walking with me, similarly fixated. I felt my tennis shoes sink into the cold water as we kept walking onward. As I kept moving, the water went up to my knees, then my thighs, my waist, my chest, my neck. Finally my head was fully submerged, and I looked out into the murky gloom, not even trying to hold my breath as I inhaled the lake water. Then came the sudden realization of what was happening, where I was. It was as if I had been a puppet whose strings were suddenly cut. I was fully aware of the fact I was drowning. Then came the pain. I could feel wriggling under my skin, a burning, itching pain like needles shooting up from inside my flesh. I looked down and saw long pallid worms erupt from out of my skin like moles digging out of the earth. I tried to scream, my mouth once again flooding with water as one of them squirmed out from underneath my eyelid. Dozens of them, maybe hundreds, all came writhing up as they burrowed through my flesh. The pain was unbearable, and my vision started to fade to black as I passed out from a combination of agony, terror and lack of oxygen. I woke up in the hospital, my parents standing over me, their eyes filled with concern. I felt so tired, but thankfully not thirsty at all. When they realized I was awake my mom smothered me with hugs and kisses, while my dad just started sobbing with relief. I asked about the others, the three students who went into lake with me, but they didn't make it. There was only time to rescue one of us. The doctors were at a loss to explain the puncture wounds all over my body, but said that it wasn't anything too severe, and that I should be able to recover with some pain medicine and antibiotics. I didn't tell them about the worms, I knew I wouldn't be believed anyway and I didn't want to end up locked away in some institution. I already had to have therapy sessions and got put on some anti-depressants, apparently the authorities cooked up some story about a suicide pact between Jeremy, Ashley, Lee, and I. I played along with this story to the therapist, talking about feeling overwhelmed at school and whatnot, but it was all nonsense. I wasn't depressed, at least, not before this happened. I did some independent research, trying to figure out what happened to me. What I found was startling. There is a phylum of worm called nematomorpha, also known as horsehair worms. They typically infect insects, growing inside them and controlling their central nervous system to make them jump into water and drown. Once the host leaps into the water, the worm burrows its way out of the host, continuing its life aquatically to find a mate and lay eggs. There are a few cases of accidental infection of humans, but there is no recorded evidence of them ever manipulating a mammal the same way they control insects. I also found something else out. A few weeks after Halloween, every year, like clockwork, there is a spike in child deaths due to drowning. Its not enough to be noticed by most people, but it is obvious once you're looking for it. So I'll say to you again; always check your kids' Halloween candy. If you find a greenish yellow chocolate bar with writing in a language you've never seen before, don't let them eat it, no matter what.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm so grateful I walked in on my husband of three years with his former partner [RESPONSE] It’s funny, you never think you’ll wind up married to a clown. Yet there I was at the age of thirty, catering for some brat’s 8th birthday party, when the mother stood at the far edge of the fancy garden and introduced ‘Mr. Giggles’ to a chorus of cheers. From behind the lunch counter, I watched as my future husband made doves disappear with a flourish of his hands and juggled behind his back. Around him, the children sat in a little semi-circle roaring with laughter. After the performance, Mr. Giggles wandered over to me, introduced himself as Johnny, and asked for a cheeseburger. “That was quite a show,” I said, slipping a beef patty into a bun. I remember thinking he looked kinda cute—you know, beneath the face paint and rainbow wig. “Thanks,” he said, still breathless from the pratfalls. “I’ve been workshopping some new material. I used to have this bit with an angry hand puppet, but kids these days hate hand puppets. Go figure.” Johnny, unlike his character, came across all shy and soft-spoken. Every so often, kids hopped up on fizzy drinks and chocolate cake stormed over and asked for an encore, and each time Mr. Giggles sprung to life, pulling coins out of ears or squirting water from the flower on his lapel. That infectious enthusiasm is what warmed my heart, I think. Fast forward six years and the entire groom party (all professional clowns) pulled up to our wedding in a single Mini Cooper. Now here’s a recipe for one strained marriage: take two independent contractors, mix in a lockdown, season with some overdue mortgage payments, et viola! Johnny crammed all his equipment inside this spare room at the back of the house, and one afternoon, while passing the outside hallway, I heard a hushed conversation from behind the door. Rather than become one of *those* couples who needed to constantly keep tabs on their spouse, I forced myself to walk on by. But these ‘encounters’ happened again and again, and I couldn’t bite down on my suspicions forever. I finally succumbed to temptation and knocked on the door one afternoon. After some nervous shuffling about a case slammed closed, then Johnny pulled open the door and smiled; a short, nervous smile that showed too many teeth to be genuine. “Who were you talking to?” I asked, stealing a glance past his shoulder. Rudimentary furniture and gag props lay scattered about here and there. He cracked the fingers on his right hand and flexed the wrist, as though shaking out an ache. “Just an old colleague.” This sent up a red flag. Or perhaps, a series of little ones, all tied together and crammed up his sleeve. Years earlier, he’d casually mentioned a lady he performed with as a duo… “Oh, which one?” “Dan,” he said. “You never met him, he moved to Australia years ago.” His vague, non-committal answers left an unpleasant gnawing sensation in the pit of my stomach. Still, I trusted him. A few months later, I got hired as head chef at Blue Chicago, one of my city’s most popular restaurants. Suddenly, Ruth and Johnny weren’t on a shoestring budget anymore. Suddenly, I had money to burn. In his sleep, Johnny started writhing around relentlessly. It seemed like every time I drifted off rogue digits jabbed me in the throat. I considered asking him to consult a therapist about his money anxieties. Then, while I chopped tomatoes in the kitchen one evening, he wandered in and said, “Is that a new knife?” I stopped mid-chop, held the blade up to the light, and smiled. “Yep. It’s a Zwiling. I got the whole set.” I pointed at a wooden display stand on the counter. “I thought I’d treat myself since the Christmas bonus finally came through.” The fancy collection had everything: a knife specifically for garnishing, another for utility cutting, and a meat cleaver that could slice straight through bone. “How much did it cost?” Johnny asked, his tone accusatory. “Don’t worry, we can afford it,” I replied, then continued chopping. His constant questioning of every purchase had grown tiresome. “Ruth, you *know* children’s entertainment is in a slump. I haven’t had a booking for weeks, my finances are stretched thin.” “Maybe if you took that Amazon delivery job,” I mumbled. “Oh, you want me to quit clowning? Is that it?” His cracked the knuckles on his right hand. “Nobody said you have to quit. Maybe just get a real job for a little while to–” “Real?” he asked, offended. I’d taken a cheap shot at his life-long passion, one I didn’t really mean. Believe me when I say I loved being married to a clown—the way kids' faces lit up around Mr. Giggles warmed my heart—but at that moment, Johnny pulled my strings in a bad way. An argument had been brewing for a while. As he stormed out of the room, I followed him into the hallway. “Oh, are you off to tell *her* what I said?” “Who?” "Do you think I'm some kind of dummy? You’re ex-girlfriend, that’s who. What was her name, Brandi? Bonnie?” He crossed the threshold of his inner sanctum, faced me, and stabbed the air with his finger. “You’re crazy.” “Oh please, then who are you talking to all the time? Why all the smoke and daggers?” He sighed. “There’s parts of my life you’ll never understand, Ruth. The clown worlds…*complicated*.” Not rolling my eyes took a hero's effort. “If you and your mystery woman enjoy each other’s company so much, why not run off and join the circus?” Visibly hurt by this remark, he slammed the door in my face. For the next few days, Johnny practically lived out of that spare room, and between his self-isolation and my long shifts, we spent very little time together. I apologized for the circus remark, he apologized for his reaction to the knife, but things were still frosty whenever we passed each other on the landing, or coming out of the bathroom. Meanwhile, every now and again, strange sounds rang out from Johnny’s quarters. Scuffles. Furniture scraping roughly across the wooden floor. Muffled voices. Grunts, groans. But anytime I snuck along and pushed my ear against the door, the room lowered its voice. For all I knew there was a corpse stashed beyond that door. Maybe ‘Bonnie’ had moved in right under my nose… One Saturday, Johnny got a last-minute call to fill in at a company picnic and scrambled to assemble his gear before flying straight out the door. After almost stepping on his phone on my way out of the bedroom, I rushed after him. On the front landing, I hesitated. Despite my better judgement, I entered the passcode—our anniversary—and found zero suspicious messages or nude photos, just tedious ‘shop talk’ with his colleagues. A few seconds later, a key jingled in the front door. I pretended I’d still been in the process of rushing after Johnny and handed over the phone. Once he left, I poured myself a glass of wine and flicked through some old photo albums. Toward the back of one, I came across a shot of Johnny at his first-ever show, performing with this raggedy Anne-style hand puppet bonking him on the side of the head with a club. The audience—a group of children not much younger than him—were giggling away. Just then, I hated myself for not trusting my husband. Was his behaviour suspicious? Most definitely. But I’d jumped to conclusions. Invaded his privacy. And worst of all, insulted his passion. A romantic gesture seemed like the perfect way to patch things up. With food being *my* great passion, it’ll come as no surprise I decided a romantic dinner would spice things up. But I wanted a grand gesture to go with the meal. A secret ingredient if you will. The idea came to me at work that night while preparing a lamb curry. Would it be a little cheesy? Definitely. And oh sure, I’d never take centre stage at the Royal Variety Performance. But with a few practice sessions, Johnny would sure get a kick out of it. It’s amazing the things you can learn from Youtube these days. I darted around the city picking up materials then, over the course of the next few days, worked on my little project in secret. Anytime Johnny emerged from his layer, I’d stash my work-in-progress behind a sofa cushion or under the desk. On the big night, he arrived home late from a gig at a children’s hospital. My gift lay on the kitchen counter, wrapped up in a giftbox. In the dining room, I dimmed the lights and lit some candles. “What’s all this?” Johnny asked, as he stepped through the door. “I thought we could have a romantic meal. I made honey roasted tenderloin, your favourite.” “Okay,” he said, his voice all flat. “Let me go change.” Not quite the enthusiastic response I’d hoped for… He disappeared into that room, again, while I watched the candles burn themselves out. How long did stripping off a costume take? The tenderloin would be cold at this rate. Stepping into the hallway, I heard the voices. *Again*. Except this time, it sounded like there was a row going on. Suspicious, I tiptoed along—not that there was much danger of being heard—and held my ear against the door. “No, it’s just a crummy dinner…this means nothing…of course I care about you.” What. A. Bastard. He *was* talking to an ex. And after all the trouble I’d gone to preparing that tenderloin… Eager to catch him red-handed, I burst through the door, and when I saw what was going on in there, I froze. He was still in costume, but he wasn’t speaking on the phone. My intuition had been way off. Instead, he was arguing with this little hand puppet; one with red curls, a French beret, rosy cheeks, and a button-down coat. Johnny shot up off his chair at the sight of me, the room suddenly crackling with tension. “Johnny?” I asked, confused. Light reflected off the puppet’s button eyes. I looked from it to him and said, “What’s going on?” “Ruth, I…I…” he stammered away for almost ten seconds before swallowing a gulp and relaxing the muscles in his jaw. Then, without moving his mouth, he said, “We’ve been talking, me and Mr. Giggles.” Wait. Why did his voice climb several octaves higher? On the end of his arm, the puppet slowly rotated toward me. “And we don’t care for the way you’ve been talking about clowns. No siree, we don’t care for it at all.” The stammer and anxiety had vanished. Johnny now spoke in that stern tone teachers used when lecturing a student. This couldn’t be happening; he couldn’t be so trapped in delusion he communicated via puppet. “Johnny…have you been in here talking to a fucking doll this whole time?” The notion drew a laugh from me. In a way, I think an affair might have been easier to swallow. “You need help,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Help?” he replied, his mouth a permanent straight line. “As if we need help from *you*. You only wanted Johnny, not Mr. Giggles. Her royal highness couldn’t stand being married to a clown, could she? She didn’t want a man who brought joy into children’s lives, she just wanted an expensive kitchen for cooking fancy French cuisines. Well, me and Mr. Giggles hate French food. Don’t we Mr. Giggles?” The puppet swivelled toward Johnny, who nodded, submissively. “That’s right Bonbon.” When the puppet faced me again, he mouthed, ‘I’m sorry’. Bonbon? My husband’s brain had become completely scrambled. He didn’t need help—he needed a serious psychiatric evaluation. I now tasted a whole, rancid danger in the air. “Johnny…” I started. “He’s not Johnny,” Bonbon shrieked. “He’s Mr. Giggles. And it’s about time you learned that.” The clown and the puppet both lunged at me. Terrified, I spun into the hall and made a desperate break for the front door, Bonbon cackling away, then on the far side of the landing my husband’s hands locked around my waist and hurled me into the wall, a glass cabinet, and finally over a side table, which made me crash onto the floor, hard. Sprawled across the carpet, I managed a feeble, “Please, let me go.” “Oh, you’re not going anywhere,” Bonbon said, rubbing her hands—operated by Johnny’s pinky finger and thumb—together as she crept her into my blurred window of vision. “The way we see it, you’ve been a real brat to poor Mr. Giggles.” She faced her puppeteer, who sobbed and kept his eyes fixed on the floor. “And you know what we do with brats, don’t you Mr. Giggles?” Without looking up he shook his head, then Bonbon leaned close to his right ear and whispered something. A horrified look spread across Johnny’s face. “Oh Bonbon, we can’t do that,” he said, feebly. “Who’d mop up the blood?” Still gasping, I crawled along the hall and into the kitchen, away from the psychotic jester. Bolts of pain raced through my ribs every time my arm lifted above my head. The scuffle had left me broken and bleeding in a dozen places. “It’s nothing personal, little Ruthy,” said the puppet, stalking me through the door. “But see, you and Mr. Giggles were never gonna work out. He needs a partner who appreciates him.” My hands fumbled across the ceramic tiles for a pot or a pan—anything to defend myself with. I came at last to the counter. Wait. My fancy knife lay perched on top. Ignoring the needles drilling into my midsection, I clawed my way up the side and unintentionally swiped the gift box onto the floor. Johnny grabbed my shoulder, used it to steer me around, and leaned his companion in close, her face inches away from mine. Past her, I saw tears stream down Johnny’s cheeks as he avoided my gaze. So much for fighting back. Now I could only pray some portion of the man I married was still rolling around in there. “Johnny, I love you,” I whimpered. Muscles in his neck flexed. While he squeezed his eyes shut, Bonbon whipped between us, then slapped him across the face. “What are you doing?” Her voice sounded different now. Nervous. “Kill her already!” “Please don’t,” I rasped. “Johnny, I love you so, so much. Remember the first time we met? You just wanted to eat your burger and flirt with me, but kids kept running up and asking for more tricks. I thought it was adorable the way you made them all feel special.” His lower lip wobbled. As he backed away, I slid down the counter and onto the floor, beside the gift box. Above me, Bonbon tried to strike him, but he grabbed his own forearm and held her in place. “No,” he said, straining from the effort of resisting the puppet's influence. “I won’t let you do this.” Out of nowhere, Johnny’s body relaxed. For a moment I thought he’d broke the spell—that we’d survived this horrible nightmare. “Well then,” the puppet said seriously, “if you’re too much of a chicken, I’ll just have to do it myself.” Reluctantly, Johnny’s free hand let go of his arm and reached around the back of his own skull. From his bemused expression, you could tell he wasn’t running the show anymore. I watched, horrified, as he bashed his face against the counter and then the wall, producing a sickening thud. The macabre performance left me in a state of shock, otherwise I might have dragged myself to my feet and snatched a knife. A slab of tenderised beef loomed over me, grinning. Flakes of peeled face paint and juicy blood streaked Johnnys head white and red, like vanilla ice cream doused in strawberry sauce. The rubber nose had fallen off and several teeth were dislodged, broken, or missing. The creature said, “Johnny’s mine, you hear?” in a burly voice, half his own, half Bonbon’s. The puppet swayed back and forth as Johnny shuffled toward me. Those knives lay up on the counter, outside reach. But the giftbox had landed beside my feet. Both Johnny’s sanity and my life were on the line; I had no choice other than to fight fire with fire. And quickly. Black circles danced before my ever-shrinking window of vision as I grabbed the box, tore open the wrapper, fumbled around for the hidden slot inside the packaging paper, and let my hand slide into place. Then, I held my arm between Johnny and me, a shield. Here goes nothing… A crudely made lamb puppet sat on the end of my arm, one with a pink bow and big, bright eyes. “Say hello to Lambchop,” I rasped. Johnny hesitated, that gap-toothed smile vanishing. In my best ‘cute’ voice, I said: “That’s right, I’m Lambchop, and I came here to tell you Ruth loves you. Both of you, Johnny *and* Mr. Giggles.” “What are you doing you big lummox? *I’m* in control here.” Bonbon screamed. “Don’t listen to her. She’s only a part of you, just like I’m only a part of Ruth. And every part of Ruth loves every part of you.” “Kill her,” screamed Bonbon, furiously shaking back and forth. “Kill her, kill her, kill her!” His gaze whipped between me and the puppet. Then, with a decisive shake of his head, he said: “No.” When Bonbon next lunged, Johnny held his own forearm, pinned her flat against the counter by pressing his knee beneath the crook of his elbow, and then grabbed the butcher knife from the stand. Unable to wriggle free, the psychotic puppet squealed and squirmed around, helpless. The blade came down in a fierce, shining arc. By the time I’d hauled myself up, Johnny had already drawn it out of his forearm and plunged it in a second time, then a third, a fourth. Exposed cartilage and ripe muscle trailed beneath the elbow, spurting blood thicker than peppercorn sauce over the counter, sink, and part of the wall. Johnny stumbled across the room, finally hitting the floor in a dramatic manner, reminiscent of those pratt falls he did so well. On the counter, his hand—and subsequently, Bonbon—twitched wildly. Already on the phone with the paramedics, I tied a belt tight around Johnny’s stump. “Ruth,” he sputtered, as he lay flat in a pool of his own blood. “I’m here. Stay with me.” He looked up at me, eyes glazed, and said, “Things really got out of hand there, huh?” And through the tears, despite all the fresh trauma, I let out a little chuckle. My husband. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Mad Tales from Medicine [RESPONSE] “You’re kidding me…” “It will be a good experience.” “That’s literally bumfuck nowhere.” I complained. “The hell am I supposed to do, stich up some white-trash inbred good ol’ boy with a straight line for a family tree who got shot by his half-brother cousin over an argument about who would get to fuck their sister-wife?” “Zach… Jesus… Look…” Anna the medical director said, face-palming while Chase openly laughed in the background. “I don’t make these decisions.” “Who the hell does?” I grunted. “Seriously, the loan forgiveness plan was clear. I would get my loans taken care of if I worked in a high-need, emergency medicine environment. Where we are now is quite clearly a high-need environment and unlike the other whiners, I actually like being here.” “Zach…” Anna began again. “No, this is stupid.” I cut her off. “I’m by far the best PA here, no one has as many saves as me. I’m super self-sufficient, my charts are always done on time, and I have excellent report with the patients.” “That’s why we’re sending you out there.” Anna said. “So I get punished for being good at what I do?” I continued complaining. I’ll admit I was getting a bit whinny, but come on, this was stupid. “This isn’t really up for discussion man, I’m sorry.” Chase stated with finality and with genuine empathy. “Unfortunately this is how these things go. You’ve seen a lot of the more unique cases, so they want you out where it’s even harder to get providers.” Now, when Chase said “more unique cases”, he was right. I’ve seen and treated quite a few. There was the guy that was involved in a motorcycle crash. He came in with his entire pelvic cavity torn to shit, bleeding all over the place. I had my hand almost elbow deep in this dude’s pelvis, clamping down on his femoral vein. That guy didn’t make it. I was gripping his femoral vein and could feel his femoral artery pulsing right above my hand. As the doc was scrubbing in, I felt it stop. I literally felt a man die. It was surreal. Motorcycle injuries are fucked up, people. Take extra care when riding on one of those deathtraps. There’s a reason some of us in EMS call them “donor cycles”. Then there was one particularly freaky case that was probably the main catalyst for the decision to move me to Bumfuck, Nowhere. Probably due to how I reacted to it. It was a trauma case that came in in the middle of winter. It was the overnight shift at the hospital, a major surgery center for the region. I was in the employee lounge hanging out with Deena, a freckled nurse that I'm... uh... “friends” with. She and I were part of an emergency surgery team that had seen some crazy shit and kept it together. Our team had the highest positive patient outcomes. That basically means patients not fucking dying in hospital admin speak. In an unusual move, the hospital administration kept us together. Deena was a tattooed, red-headed, former paramedic with shorter, punk-like hair and had a strong-but-lithe build. Think of the badass bitch stereotype of a female paramedic, and you’ll probably not be that far off. We had been discussing the finer points of how shitty the Rise of Skywalker was when the call came over the intercoms. “Adult trauma alpha, ETA now, O.R. 07.” The voice said in a rhythmic, practiced staccato. “Adult trauma alpha, ETA now, O.R. 07. Adult trauma alpha, ETA now, O.R. 07.” For those of you who don't know, it's usually standard practice to repeat major hospital announcements three time. Something having to do with human memory and comprehension. “Let's roll.” She said plainly, downing the rest of her coffee and crumpling up the cup. She tossed it behind her. It sailed ungracefully across the room, missing the trash can by several feet. One of the other hospital employees had just come into the breakroom and watched the cup bounce across the floor. He frowned at it, and before Deena could do something, grabbed a paper towel as a hand barrier and tossed it into the trash can. “Thanks.” Deena said. “Don't play basketball.” I told her as I stood up and walked over to the door that led towards the O.R. hallway. “Like you're tall enough to be a judge of that.” She laughed, slapping my shoulder as she walked through the door I was holding open for her. We jogged to the scrub sinks outside of the assigned operating room and immediately began the process of washing our hands. It's a longer process than you may think. It's a two-part process as well. You wash your hands first, then your arms, in that order. The washing involves scrubbing under your fingernails and up to the elbows. One thing to specifically watch for is the thumb, it's the least washed part of the hand. Deena and I completed our processes and both made our way into the room. The other two members of our team were already there: Donny the surgical tech and Dr. Scott the trauma surgeon. A nurse and an anesthesia tech that weren’t part of our team but we worked with often were there as well. “Hey all.” I said as the surgical tech, Donny, opened up a sterile surgical gown for me. I put my arms through the sleeves and let him tie it around my back. “Zach, Deena.” Dr. Daniel Scott acknowledged us. He was a taller man in the late prime of his life with salt-and-pepper hair, a slightly big nose, and brown eyes that always seemed to crinkle with smiles. He was a damn good surgeon and was one of the best doctors to learn from. I will always admire the man greatly. “What do we got?” Deena asked as Sofia, the other nurse, helped her into her reinforced hospital gown. “You remember that guy that went missing on his “camping” trip?” Sofia asked. “That redneck frequent flier we have to restrain every damn time?” I cocked an eyebrow, slipping my arms into the sterile gloves that Donny had opened up for me. “Yeah, they found him.” Sofia answered. “So... what's his deal?” Deena wondered. “Third-degree burns, apparently.” Sofia answered darkly. “With a few possible fourth-degree.” “Jesus.” I muttered. “Of course this would happen when we have a skeleton crew at the hospital. We got enough skin grafts?” “Is the Alloderm rep here?” Dr. Scott asked. “We're probably gonna go through quite a bit of tissue.” “No, but the freezer's fully stocked.” Deena answered, looking at the sterile table at the surgical supplies. “Supply chain made sure to order enough in advance.” “We'll need to reorder more for sure.” I added. “Do the supply runners already know the deal?” “They’ve been informed,” Sofia acknowledged. “We’ve got the doctor on call on the way as well.” Deena stated, briefly glancing at a message that had popped up on her smartwatch. “Patient coming in!” A new voice said loudly. The doors to the O.R. opened and a short, plump nurse came in at the head of a gurney, an ED tech pushing it into the room. The man lying on the cart was what we call “trauma naked”. His clothes had been completely cut away, and he a sheet and blankets over him with some skin visible on the parts of the body that hadn’t been fully covered. He looked to be in his early forties, though the completely bald head made guessing his age a challenge. I looked around the room to see if anyone else was questioning anything. Sure enough, Deena and Sofia seemed to be pondering the same thing I was. As I mulled over my thoughts, I turned my attention to the anesthesia tech, Mandy. She glanced from the anesthesia mask in her hand, to the patient's file on her printout, to the patient himself as the ED tech, Sofia, Deena, and the newly arrived nurse positioned themselves alongside the gurney. They performed the standard drag with the assistance of a slide to get the guy onto the surgical table. Dr. Scott popped his neck and walked up to the gurney and carefully removed the sheet, revealing the man's body. My suspicions were instantly confirmed, but I waited for someone else to say it. There was a good twenty seconds of silence before Donny spoke up. “So... where are the burns...?” This guy showed absolutely no signs of burns... Of any kind... In fact, outside of a few standard cuts and scars, the guy's body seemed to be perfectly fine. All of the O.R. staff looked at each other confused. Third and fourth degree burns are... Well, I don't suggest looking them up. Third degree burns go through both the epidermis (outer layer of skin) and dermis (layer below the epidermis) all the way down to the fat layer. Fourth degree burns are even uglier, and can affect bones and muscles. They're nasty as hell, to put it VERY mildly. But this guy seemed perfectly fine, save for the... oh god dammit... the white pride celtic cross logo tattooed on his left pectoral. “Is this the right guy?” I asked as I stepped next to Dr. Scott. “Can we get confirmation please?” Dr. Scott asked Sofia, who seemed just as confused as we were. She read off the info on the man's file, and it all seemed accurate. “Wait, you see that?” Dr. Scott pointed at the man's thigh right above his knee, where the skin seemed to have a slight red hue. “Yeah,” I said, turning my head as I inspected the spot, feeling it slightly with my hands. It seemed a lot more tender than it should be, the flesh seeming to move strangely. It looked almost like a baby leg. You know how they have those chubby, cute legs? Yeah, it's not so cute when it's on a grown-ass, white-nationalist. “What do you think it is?” Dr. Scott asked. “Could be subcutaneous hematoma...” I suggested. “But then again, the color's all off, those are blue or purple usually...” “I was going to say angioedema, but the swelling never looks like that…” Dr. Scott suggested. “Neither answer the main question…” “Where are the burns?” Deena asked, leaning over the bed slightly. “Exactly.” Dr. Scott said. “Move your hands please, Zach.” I did so as the doctor felt the wound. “This feels all wrong...” He muttered. "This makes no sense… “#15 scalpel, please.” Dr. Scott said. The surgical tech methodically handed the scalpel to the doctor before his brain caught up to him. “Wait, doc... What are you...?” Dr. Scott didn't wait. I moved my hands quickly to keep the leg steady as the doctor put the blade to the skin and ran it in a vertical, two inch motion. I had learned to trust Dr. Scott, even if I too had my doubts about what he was about to do. Almost immediately, the smell of burnt flesh overtook the entire operating room as a cloud of burnt ash that was once flesh burst out into the air, similar to the ash and soot that flies off of a campfire when someone tosses a new log onto it. From that small cut, charred flesh spilled out. As in, literally spilled and piled out. Think of when a shrimp cooks and the flesh pops through the shell, or when you boil a sausage and it rips and sort of inflates out of the cut, and you'll have a good approximation of how this nasty, blackened flesh spilled out of this tiny wound and all over the man's leg, the gurney, and my gloved hands. The smell had this strong, rotten, metallic, almost coppery weight to it, and I had to fight the urge to gag. I’d seen my fair share of nasty stuff as an EMT, so I managed to keep my food down. Donny however turned and promptly vomited off to the side and all over the floor. “Well great, this whole fucking OR now needs to be sterilized now.” I thought. That concern was immediately waylaid as the patient's heart-rate suddenly spiked on the monitor. His eyes flew open and he sat up, completely breaking through the restraints he had been strapped to. His arms flew out, his hands wrapping around Mandy the anesthesia tech's neck and squeezing hard. “IT'S INSIDE ME!” He bellowed. “IT'S INSIIIIIDE MEEEEEEEE!” “What the fuck!?!” Deena exclaimed. “Whoa, let go!” I yelled as I immediately leaned forward and grabbed the man's wrists. I pulled hard, trying to pry his hands off of the anesthesia tech's throat. Almost immediately, I felt a sensation like the crispy skin of a chicken strip sloughing off of the white meat as my grip slipped away, and I found myself holding two thick handfuls of skin, perfectly clean on one side, and charred and bloody on the other. Below the man's freakishly normal looking epidermis, his arms were burned down to blackened bone. Several chunks of burned yet still wet flesh plopped to the O.R. floor with a series of nasty, moist impacts reminiscent of a wet mopping hitting a tile floor. I could see the patient's radius and ulna, charred black, clear as day. As I stood there, fighting down the bile that was coming up in my throat, I can honestly say that was the first time at that job that I've ever frozen in place. I knew I'd be experiencing some weird shit, and I already had, but this was beyond anything I'd ever expected. Nothing in P.A. school, shadowing, or my past as an EMT could have prepared me for this. Deena was the next one to try to attempt a rescue. She pushed her way up to me and busied herself with the fingers on the man's right hand instead of his wrist, all the while staring in panic at the tech's face, which was quickly turning purple. Dr. Scott was attempting the same thing on the man's left hand. They somehow managed to loosen his grip, and the tech stumbled backwards, knocking over an instrument tray and scattering the tools across the O.R. floor with a series of clatters. Her back hit the wall as she gasped for air... Nasty, rotted flesh smelling air... She too turned and immediately hurled all over the wall she had fallen against. “INSIDE MEEEEEeeeeeee…...!” The man gave one last, rasping scream that died in his throat before his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell back hard against the gurney, his vitals flatlining. We all stood around, staring in utter and complete shock at what had just happened, with that annoying ass *beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep* ringing out as the only sound besides the dry heaving of the two techs. “What... in the holy...” I muttered. “Uh... Zach...” I looked over at Deena, whose eyes were focused on my hands. I looked down and realized that through all of this, I was still holding on to the man's... wrist skin. I just stared at the weirdly burned flesh as the beeping droned on. “I... I don't...” Dr. Scott muttered quietly, had his hand over his heart, staining the surgical gown with the blackish-red residue from the charred flesh. I could barely hear him over the sound of the beeping. It went on for another excruciating few seconds before Deena hit the button to mute the machine. Several more seconds of silence followed as we all exchanged glances before, finally, the wide-eyed nurse at the computer found her voice. “So... Um…” She awkwardly said. “Time of death...?” Both Mandy and the ER tech quit after that incident and Sofia took a long leave of absence. Donny bounced back pretty quickly after taking a day off. Deena, Dr. Scott, and I seemed to be the least fazed by the incident. I’d been an EMT, Deena had been a paramedic, and Dr. Scott had volunteered in warzones across the world with various NGOs, so we managed to shake off freakier shit relatively easily. The patient obviously died. Turns out he wasn't originally even supposed to come to us. Some freak snowstorm forced the emergency chopper to re-route to our hospital. I found this weird, as that hospital was by far the best hospital in our region of the United States, and that there was no snowstorm reported in the news... I never actually found out where the chopper was originally headed, but I'd be lying if I wasn't curious. I dug into the transfer paperwork and saw that the original destination was listed as "Restricted B". Not helpful at all. So again, when Chase said “unique cases”, those are the kind he meant. What I DON’T think he meant was me having to slapfight a small pair of glowing-blue, weirdly human-like hands sticking out of a dude’s shoulder in order to surgically remove the bulbous-eyed frog that they belonged to. At least it looked like a frog. Weird anatomy of the frog aside, I have no idea how it got in there. There was no sign at all of any entrance wound on the guy’s body, anywhere. The only clue I had to go on as far as the cause was something the guy said. He mentioned that his diet was “normal” (in the deep south, this means overly fatty and diabetes-inducing), save for the fact that he drank some homemade mead made with a glowing blue sap he “pur-curred” off a fallen tree while he was wandering in the woods high on meth “ ’bout’ta week er two b’fore.” That’s a story for another day. So in case you haven’t figured out by now, I’m a physician assistant, or physician associate depending on the state. The best way to describe the role is a “Doctor-light”. P.A.s can do a lot of the things doctors can do like see patients, order and interpret labwork and scans, prescribe medications, and much more. They’re restricted on more complicated procedures like complex surgeries, though they can and often do work as the first assist, taking part in suturing, IV placement, and catheterization. They also can perform more basic surgical procedures like draining abscesses, doing biopsies, and stuff like that. Basically, on the surgical end, P.A.s can do minor invasive procedures. There’s some contractual stuff and legalese that allows some P.A.s to do specific, more complex procedures in certain states and counties, but I won’t bore you all with that here. Basically, a P.A. can do a lot of what a doctor can do, but there has to be a supervising physician present in the practice or hospital as well. It’s a fun and relatively autonomous role. While P.A.s make a good salary, P.A. school here in ‘Murica is still super expensive. Some P.A.s jump on loan forgiveness/repayment programs that involve being a provider in high-need areas or medical shortage areas, especially rural ones. That’s how, after 1 year in an extremely busy but criminally understaffed urban hospital I ended up being moved to Bumfuck, Nowhere in a region of the United States that can charitably be described as “country”. I had heard rumors that there had been a few fresh P.A.s and even M.D.s and D.O.s that has cycled through this town but never lasted more than a few weeks. Most ended up quitting the forgiveness program, though one or two just kind of dropped off the map, never to be seen again. I think the program thought I’d be made of stronger stuff due to my background. Before going to PA school, I was an EMT for a few years in a very large, very violent area of one of the biggest cities in the United States. I’ll keep it as vague as that in order to keep some semblance of my anonymity intact. I’m guessing it was due to my past EMT experience and my very successful first year as a PA in that same city, that I was transferred to Hickville, to the all-in-one “Health Location.” Yes, health “location”… To keep it short, it was a sort of all-in-one health clinic… or Location I suppose… that was in a surprisingly decent-sized and clean building for the town it served. It had its own little departments for separate issues, including an emergency department, primary care, urgent care, ENT clinic, pharmacy, and a few others. I honestly don’t think that is allowed, legally speaking, but I’m no lawyer. I follow all the laws I was told to follow in PA school as far as patient treatment, so whoever runs this place, that’s on them. I’m getting my loans taken care of and the federal government is vaguely aware of this placement, so what the hell do I care? I’ll start with the first case that made me realize that these cases were different. The supervising physician was in the primary care clinic dealing with one of our regulars, Charles Stubblebeard, a chronic appendicitis patient who was being seen in preparation for his seventh appendectomy. His appendix tended to reappear and burst every few months. I, meanwhile was working the dayshift in the urgent care clinic that day. A new patient came in wanting to get some stiches removed. That’s the only thing I managed to overhear initially before one of the medical assistants, Kelsey, whisked him away to one of the exam rooms to do his vitals and intake. She came out a few minutes later. I met her at the door outside the patient’s room as she handed me his clipboard. “Milton Brown, 39 year old new patient with a history of diabetes.” She immediately began. “Got a wound from a four-wheeler accident about 4 weeks ago. Had a family member stich up the wound. Wants to get it checked out and possibly get the stiches removed.” “Symptoms?” I asked. “Mainly itching and redness at the site, he said. No fever or pain, though.” “Huh.” I muttered. “Alright, thanks.” “The way he got it is… interesting.” She added as she walked back towards the front desk. I furrowed my brow as I watched her go, wondering what she meant by that, then shrugged and swung open the door. “Hello Milton!” I said with a smile. “Hay there!” Milton exclaimed happily. “Yer the Pee Eyh?” I was still adjusting my ears to southern speech at this point, so it took me an extra second or two to process what he said. “Uh, yes. Yes sir I am. My name is Zach.” I said as I made my way over to the provider chair by the desk and sat down in it, turning the computer screen towards me and readjusting the keyboard. “Well good ter meetcha!” According to his chart, Milton was 39, but he looked significantly older. He had frown and wrinkle lines, as well as lightly tanned skin that was overly dry. His teeth were yellowed, likely due to smoking for over twenty years, as his chart designated. His dark brown hair was messily tucked under a camouflage-patterned trucker hat with the words “Big Cock Country” superimposed over a picture of a rooster on the front. He smiled at me as I typed a few notes into his encounter note. He was very amicable and friendly, a rather welcome change from most of the patients I had seen that day. “Good to meet you too sir.” I nodded. “So tell me a bit about why you’re here. I got some of the story from Kelsey.” “Well…” He muttered, scratching at the patchy beard on his chin. “’Bout four weeks ago I wuz fixin’ ta load up mah 4 wheeler into mah truck so I could take it to my buddy Brian’s house. And, well, I fell of th’ damn thang as I wuz loadin’ it. For those of you not from the United States, four wheeler is a slang term for an all terrain vehicle, or ATV. “I see. And you impacted on your back, correct?” I asked, typing what he was telling me into his note. “Yessir,” he said. “I had this big ol’ gash on mah back, so I asked mah cousin Bubba to grab me sum sewin’ supplies and stich it right up!” I paused from typing and barely managed to turn a laugh into a cough. “Mah cousin Bubba” was a little too much for me for some reason. “Well, we didn’t have none in the house,” Milton continued, “so Bubba climbed up into the rafters of tha barn. There was a buncha shit left over there from that weirdo who was living there for a few days while I was camping down by the crick.” He meant creek, for those of you who don’t speak Southern. “So he grabbed some strong lookin’ thread, came down, and just stitched me right up!” “Some… body was living in your… uh.” I stated. “My property, yeah.” Milton nodded. “He was talkin’ to hisself in some funny language, wasn’t no ‘Muirican, so ah dunno what the hell he was saying. I hollered at him, asking what the sam hill he was doing. He just kinda looked at me from under some weird-lookin’ hood and moved further back. When I climbed up there, he was gone. Weirdo, man.” “That sure is strange.” I agreed while silently wondering how drunk Milton must have been. If only I had known what was to come in the future. At the moment though, I was more focused on treating my patient. “Do you mind removing your shirt so I can take a look at the stitch?” “Of course!” Milton smiled. He unbuttoned his bleach-stained flannel to reveal a white tank top underneath, which he rolled up to his armpits as he turned around. I have to be honest, I was expecting it to look much worse than it actually did. There was a massive scar from a laceration across his back, reaching almost from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. Its width was pretty consistent with the injury he described. The surprising part was the complete absence of any sign of infection. The wound was awkwardly stitched with a rough, black thread that looked like it was somehow made out of burlap. The stitching work was haphazard and ugly, but what else could I expect from a backwoods hick. I will admit though, it did seem to keep the wound closed either way, so I had to give some credit to whoever the hell “Bubba” was. I did immediately note one particularly strange thing: the erythema (redness) that surrounded the wound and stitching was far more widespread than it should have been. There were even some deep lines around, almost as if someone had taken thin metal wire and indented the surface of the skin all around the wound. “So tell me a bit more specifically about the injury.” I said. “Well, I was trying to load up the 4-wheeler like I said, ya know. So I built me a dirt mound.” “A dirt mound?” I asked, pausing in the examination. Where was he going with this? “Yep. Then, I lined up mah truck at what I thought would be the right angle and all that. I lined up mah 4-wheeler and gunned it. I figured I’d be able to jump in into the truck bed easy. Well, I kinda missed, the four wheeler only half hit the truck bed and bucked me off it.” Again, I found myself repressing a laugh at the sheer idiocy of what redneck Evil Knievel had tried to do. “Okay Milton. The wound seems to be fine, looks like there’s no risk of anything opening. Do you want me to remove these stiches for you?” “Yes please!” Milton said brightly. “Alright, go ahead and lean forward for me, put your hands on your legs.” I answered, pushing away to a nearby cart and opening one of the central drawers. I reached inside and grabbed a blue bag marked “Suture Removal Kit” which contained a set of tweezers, suture scissors, and alligator clips inside it. Most doctor’s offices have autoclaves, containers that use high pressure and high heat to sterilize reusable tools. Some are put in on metal trays, others are combined into little kits in specialized blue bags. It was one of these blue bagged kits that I grabbed. “You want me to do anythin’?” Milton asked? “No sir, just keep steady for me.” I stated as I opened the bag, grabbing the tweezers and the suture scissors. I positioned my hands over Milton’s stitches, ready to begin, when a knock came at the door. “Come in.” I stated. “Hey Zach,” Kelsey, one of the medical assistants, leaned her head in, “For the previous patient, that was Augmentin you prescribed, not Amoxicillin, right?” “Yep!” I answered, looking over at her. “Can you also make sure we have another set of straight mayos in this room after we get Milton taken care of and on his way.” “Will do.” Kelsey answered as her head disappeared from sight and the door closed. I turned back to Milton’s back, only to find that my hands were about 1 inch below the suture. That was weird, I had my hands in the perfect position prior to that. Oh well, maybe they shifted slightly as I was talking to Kelsey. “Alright Milton, are you ready?” I asked. “Yessir.” He answered. “Alright, you may feel some discomfort and minor sharp pain, alright? Try your best to stay still for me.” I said. I readjusted my hands and slowly put the tweezers to the sutures, grabbing one of the ends. There was significantly more resistance than I expected. As I placed the suture scissors against the end of the suture, something totally unexpected happened. The suture straight-up slipped out of the grip of the tweezers with surprising strength and moved. I don’t mean they slipped out of the tweezers and slipped back into their place. They straight up moved. Like in the skin. “Aw man, there’s that itchiness again.” Milton grunted. “You manage to get it?” “Uh…” I had no words. “Everythin’ alright?” Milton asked with concern. “Uh… Yeah, yeah… No problem.” I shook my head, reaching for the suture again. This time, the threat didn’t wait. It bent like a tiny, thin snake around the tweezers, not even allowing me to get a grip on it. I just stared. “What the hell…?” I muttered out loud. “Sumthin’ infected back there?” Milton asked. “No, no… I’m just… Having trouble getting a grip on the thread…” I half-lied. “Yeah, Bubba was sayin’ it was a tough thread ta use.” Milton agreed. “Let me try to get it again. It’s pretty tough to get a hold of.” I told him. I shook my head, reaching out with the tweezers. Yet again, it seemed to move a few millimeters just out of the way. “Little bastard.” I muttered out loud in frustration. Instead of just a part of the thread, the entire thing began to shift and slide like a snake, eventually forming into 3 capital letters, spaces being formed by the thread going under the skin: NO U. I stared, utterly dumbfounded. There was a long, uncomfortable silence before Milton spoke up. “Man, that’s itchy.” “Did… Did you say you found this thread in your… barn?” I asked Milton, watching as the threat formed the words UR MOM’S A BARN. I kept staring. “Yeah, from that weirdo that was squattin’ there.” He answered. “Man, it’s tough to git, huh?” “Yeah… It… It is…” I answered. “I think I’ll be able to grab it, though.” In response, the thread formed the words LOL NO. “I’ll show you, no.” I said out loud without thinking. FUCK U the thread expressed. “Wuzzat?” Milton asked. “Uh… Never mind.” I answered, watching in increasing annoyance as the threat formed the phrase UR A CUNT. What followed was a full minute of me playing a weird, medical version of Whack-A-Mole. I keep trying to grab an end of the thread with the tweezers while it dodged around as best it could, forming into various insults and invective directed at me. I finally managed to grab the end of it after the thread seemed to overextend itself, forming the words TRUMP 4 EVER. The tweezers closed in around the U in TRUMP and I wasted no time in putting significant power into the grip of the tweezers. Through a slow, methodical process, I managed to grab and snip away at the thread, pulling it out in pieces. When I had finally gotten the last part out and tossed it into the basin nearby. I finished up with Milton soon after. His wound was well healed, so he really didn’t need a follow up appointment for anything. I still stressed that he should follow up with us if any issues with his wound came up, and he thanked me on the way out. I ended up closely examining the thread, but nothing else weird happened. It simply looked like nothing more than a crappy suture. I was really curious about it regardless, so I sent it off to a particular lab that I have some connections with, but nothing conclusive came from it. Look guys, medicine is weird. There are new things discovered every damn day and medical books are constantly being rewritten. But there are some things, in my opinion, that we will never fully understand. Sometimes, it's that person coming back from death's door with no explanation. Other times it's cancer that simply disappears, overnight. And yet other times, it's a somehow internally burned white supremacist who tries to choke a random anesthesia tech and then dies, screaming about something inside him. Then there’s the weirdly Republican-loving stitches. All of that, however, is just scratching the surface of the range of weird shit I’ve seen in my work.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Puppet Wife [RESPONSE] *Transcript of an interview conducted by Detective Ron Miceli of the Guelph Police Service with Felicia Hisaka, regarding her time spent working with Paul Farrington, the owner of Summer Rose Fashion Boutique in Guelph, Ontario.* *Transcript provided without the consent of the Guelph Police Service. This is not an official GPS Document.* ***\[Transcript Begins\]*** **Miceli:** The tape is rolling, Miss Hisaka. **Hisaka:** Oh, it is? Are we starting? **Miceli:** We are, yes. Can you please state your name for the record? **Hisaka:** Right, right… My name is Felicia Hisaka. I’m 21 years old. **Miceli:** Thank you. Now, why don’t we start off by discussing how you first came into contact with Paul Farrington, alright? **Hisaka:** Sure, sure… Right… Well, I first reached out to Paul when I saw the ad he’d put in the paper about… I think it was about six months ago. I forget exactly which paper, but it was one of the ones available at the University. I saw the ad though. It said he was looking for models. Specifically, Asian models… **Miceli:** And you replied? **Hisaka:** I did. I’d been looking for a job for the past couple of months and I was… I was kinda getting desperate. I mean, just reading the text, it came across as a little… Demeaning… Y’know? Like… How do I describe this? It read a little like a craigslist ad, looking for a hookup. I kinda got the vibe that whoever wrote it just had an Asian fetish. **Miceli:** But despite that, you still answered the ad? **Hisaka:** Like I said, I was desperate. I’d seen the ad in the paper for a couple of months beforehand… And I needed the money so… **Miceli:** Right. **Hisaka:** Look, I tried to not be a dumbass about it. After I called and said I was interested in the gig, I told a couple of friends of mine where I was going. I figured in case anything happened, and I didn’t come home, they’d know where I was. And I mean, to be fair… Paul didn’t really come off as that creepy when I showed up at his store. **Miceli:** Why don’t you tell me about how that first photo shoot went. **Hisaka:** Well… It was kinda awkward. But I’ve been through worse. When I got there, Paul came out and greeted me. He thought I was a customer at first, but when I told him who I was, he invited me out into the storage room with him. He did kinda strike me as a little socially awkward. But he was respectful, he didn’t like, put his hands on me or anything and considering the situation he was about as professional as he could be. **Miceli:** Define, professional in this situation. **Hisaka:** He’d set up this sorta photo backdrop. It was just clouds and a blue sky. It was kinda a cheap setup, but it was fine for what it was. He said he’d gotten this overstock shipment of mandarin gown style dresses, and he wanted to sell them online. He took my measurements, then he gave me some dresses he wanted me to try on and I modeled them for him. He took his pictures and he paid me three hundred bucks when we were done. We were done in just a little over an hour. **Miceli:** Did he make any advances on you during or after the shoot? **Hisaka:** No. None at all. The closest he got to touching me was when he took my measurements, and even then it was just measurements. Then after the shoot, he offered me a pop and asked if I’d be interested in doing some future shoots for him. He said he needed a model. **Miceli:** And you said yes? **Hisaka:** Yeah. Like I said before, I needed the money and I was like, as far as I knew he was just a small business owner looking to market his shit. It wasn’t really a full time job or anything. I was still looking, but he called me in every couple of weeks and it was a little bit of extra spending money. **Miceli:** So during your subsequent photo sessions with Paul, you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary? **Hisaka:** Not really, no. I mean, he was always a little bit awkward around me. But he was also a little bit awkward around his customers. If anything, he kinda started growing on me. I actually even bought a couple of dresses off of him. We’d make small talk, he’d ask about my classes, my family and stuff like that. I’d ask him about his life, and how the shop was doing. I never really found any of his questions particularly invasive or anything. For the most part, he always kept it completely professional. **Miceli:** For the most part? **Hisaka:** A couple of times when we had to do some later shoots, he did invite me to stay for dinner. He said his apartment was right over the shop. But I really just took that more as like, a common courtesy type thing than anything else. I didn’t read too much into it. **Miceli:** So when did things change, then? **Hisaka:** The day I forgot my sunglasses. **Miceli:** Walk me through that, will you? **Hisaka:** Alright… *\[Sigh\]*. So he’d called me in on a Saturday, saying he just got this new shipment of dresses in, and he wanted to list some of them on his website. I went over like I usually did, we shot for an hour, then talked for a little while before I left. I’d just gotten to my car when I left my sunglasses behind. So I went back for them. When I went back into the shop, I didn’t see any sign of Paul. That was a little weird, since he could usually hear the door open from the back, but I figured he might’ve been upstairs in his apartment taking his lunch. I didn’t want to bother him, so I just went into the storage area and grabbed them… And that’s when I heard Paul talking… **Miceli:** What was he saying? **Hisaka:** It… It sounded like he was saying my name, ‘*Felicia*’... I thought he was calling to me, so I went looking for him. And while I was looking for him I noticed that his basement door was open, which was kinda odd because I’d never seen it open before. **Miceli:** So what did you do? **Hisaka:** I went and checked it out. I was kinda worried that Paul had fallen and gotten hurt while he was down there. I wasn’t trying to be quiet, or sneak up on him or anything… I just don’t think he heard me. **Miceli:** Do you mind telling me what you found down in Paul Farrington's basement? **Hisaka:** I found… Paul… He was in one of the rooms off to the side. The basement was kinda rough and unfinished, but he had some plain walls up. And I looked into one of them and I saw him sitting on the floor with his back to me… He was looking at several photographs that he’d hung on the walls, and it didn’t take me long to realize that they were all of me… They were… Um… They were the photographs he’d taken over the past couple of months… And he was… He was masturbating to them… **Miceli:** I see. **Hisaka:** I just sorta watched him in horror for a moment… It was fucked up! Like, I’d just turned my back for a few minutes and when I came back he was just… He was just jerking off to pictures of me in his basement! That’s fucked up! And after I saw it, I had to get the hell out of there. I started going back up the stairs and I might’ve taken them a little too fast… I… I slipped. And he heard me. **Miceli:** What did he do? **Hisaka:** While I was picking myself up, I looked back to see him running out into the hallway, half naked. He looked panicked… Probably for good reason and started yelling at me for sneaking down there on him. I kept apologizing but he just kept screaming… I’d never heard him raise his voice like that before… He was tugging at his hair and crying and yelling. It was hard to make out exactly what he was saying but I know that at one point he said something like: *“You were supposed to be mine… Not like this, I didn’t want it to be like this!”* **Miceli:** So you suspect that he had more than just a sexual obsession with you. His intentions may have been, in some twisted way romantic too? **Hisaka:** Maybe? I don’t know… *\[Pause\]* I just know that I tried to get up the stairs again, but he just grabbed me and pulled me back down. *\[There is a long pause.\]* Next thing I know, he had his arms around my throat and I couldn’t breathe… He was sitting on my back and pinning me to the ground and I remember thinking: “*Oh God… He’s going to kill me.*” It was probably the most terrifying moment of my life… I… *\[Exhale\]* I thought for sure I was going to die… I could feel my vision fading and I was crying and begging him to stop, but he wouldn’t… He just kept squeezing tighter and tighter and then… That was when I passed out… **Miceli:** Do you need to take a minute? **Hisaka:** No… I’m… I’m okay. It’s just… It’s… Scary to think about it. I… I didn’t think I was going to wake up again… I just… I vividly remember blacking out. Like, you know how you never remember it when you fall asleep, right? Well… I remember blacking out. I remember losing consciousness. I remember being so fucking afraid because I was so, so, so sure I could feel myself dying… I’m sorry. **Miceli:** Just take your time. Breathe. Slow, deep breaths. In and out. **Hisaka:** Right… Right… *\[Pause\]* Thanks… **Miceli:** When an you’re ready, can you tell me about what happened when you regained consciousness? **Hisaka:** Yeah… Yeah, of course… When I woke up, I was still in the basement, only in another room. **Miceli:** Aside from the attack you just described, did you have reason to believe that Paul had done anything else aside from move you, while you were unconscious? **Hisaka:** You’re asking if he raped me… **Miceli:** You don’t have to answer if you’d rather not discuss it. But it would be helpful to the investigation if you did. **Hisaka:** No, it’s fine… No. I don’t think that he did anything aside from just moving me to another room. He had handcuffed me to the bedframe of the bed I was on, but it was just one hand, so I could still move around a little bit. I was able to sit up on the bed and that was about it. I could also hear him moving around in the next room and I imagine he heard me, because shortly after I woke up, he came into the room with me. **Miceli:** Did you have any indication as to how much time had passed between the attack, and when you woke up? **Hisaka:** I did. He’d taken my phone, but I was still wearing my watch. It’d been about 20 minutes, roughly. **Miceli:** Okay. You said he came into the room to speak with you. Can you tell me about that? **Hisaka:** Yeah… When he came in he was more… He was a lot more composed. Kinda apologetic. He said he was sorry that it had come to this, and that he wanted to make things right with me… I told him that he just needed to let me go, and I’d forget all about it, I said that I wasn’t going to tell the police if he did. He just sorta shook his head and kept saying *“No, I need you to be mine.*” **Miceli:** Did he give any indication as to what he meant by that? **Hisaka:** A little… I just… I just wanted out, so I just sorta said what I thought he wanted to hear. I said that I’d be his if he just let me out… And then he asked me if I would marry him and if I would be his whenever he wanted… He kept offering me things too. He offered to pay for my school, he kept saying he’d be a good husband and that he loved me… **Miceli:** And you went along with this? **Hisaka:** Not at first… When he started talking about marriage, I sort of stopped. I told him that if he really loved me, he’d let me go and he’d stop hurting me. But he just got upset when I said that. He started groaning and he started hitting the wall and shaking his head. He said that… He said that one way or another, I was going to be his… That was about the time I started getting angry. I started yelling at him, demanding that he let me go and pulling at the handcuffs. But he just got more and more agitated. He kept punching and kicking the wall and screaming back at me… At one point, he just started banging his head against the wall. He wasn’t always speaking. Sometimes he just screamed. Then after a few minutes of that, he left and then he brought in the mannequin… **Miceli:** The mannequin? **Hisaka:** Yeah… It was sort of like one of the wooden ones he used in the shop to display the dresses. Only this one was a little more… He’d carved all these symbols into it. I didn’t really get why at the time. But he brought it in and I remember that he said: *‘She’ll love me.’* **Miceli:** What happened after that? **Hisaka:** After that, he left me again. He said that I needed to think about our future. Then I heard him going back upstairs. As soon as he did, I started looking for ways to break free. The bed he’d handcuffed me to was sorta old. The frame was pretty flimsy. It had this metal headboard with bars, and some of the screws were pretty rusted. **Miceli:** So you were able to break free? **Hisaka:** Yeah… It took me a little while. I had to actually break the screw on one of the bars, but I was able to pull it off and get off the bed. He’d locked the door to the room I was in, but the walls he’d put up were just plain drywall. There wasn’t really anything that stopped me from taking the bar from the bed I’d just broken off and breaking through it. I just sorta used the bed bar to hammer through until there was a hole big enough for me to crawl through. **Miceli:** Paul didn’t come to investigate the noise? **Hisaka:** No. I think he might’ve been upstairs in his apartment at that point. The shop was closed by the time I got free from the bed. **Miceli:** I see. Continue. **Hisaka:** Right… Well, once I was out I started looking for the door back upstairs. The basement wasn’t huge, but the layout was kinda confusing. Plus, not all of the rooms had doors… So… I saw some things… **Miceli:** Can you explain what you saw? **Hisaka:** Okay, well… In one of the rooms I passed almost right after I got out, I saw some more of those mannequins… The wooden ones that he’d carved all those symbols into. He had this room that it sorta looked like he’d been using as a workshop or something. And he had these old books and shit. They looked sorta occult-ish… I don’t know. Anyways, he’d made a couple of those mannequins and it looked like he’d torn some of them apart for some reason. It was weird… Then I saw what was in the next room and… *\[Sigh\]* Christ… **Miceli:** Do you need a moment? **Hisaka:** No… No… I… I just don’t know how to even begin to describe it… Like, when I went over to the next room, I kinda couldn’t help but look and when I saw it, I didn’t know what the fuck it was supposed to even be… Like… Okay, it was another bedroom, like the one he’d put me in. Only this one was… He’d done it up more. The light had this sort of pinkish hue to it. The bed was nicer. And there were these plush animals all over it. Like someone was supposed to be living there… And when I first walked by, I thought someone was living there. Like… I saw what looked a lot like another woman standing there and that’s what made me stop, because I thought he might’ve kidnapped someone else… And I guess he did… **Miceli:** The… ‘woman’ you saw… When did you realize that she was… **Hisaka:** A mannequin? A lot later than I should have. It was… It was the skin that threw me off… Maybe it was the dim light, but it still kinda made her look… alive? I don’t know… I went up to her trying to talk to her and when I put my hand on her shoulder, it felt wrong. Like, the skin felt cold but normal and the body felt too stiff. When I tried to turn her around, she just fell over and I just kinda stared at her, trying to figure out what the hell I was looking at because it didn’t immediately compute… And then the longer I looked, the more I realized… She was… It was human skin… He’d just put it over one of his… Jesus… **Miceli:** Please. Take your time. **Hisaka:** I’m sorry I… You saw it, right? You saw it! **Miceli:** I have seen it, yes. **Hisaka:** Jesus… That poor girl… She couldn’t have been much older than I was and he’d just… He’d put her skin on one of those fucking mannequins… Shit, it was worse than that… There were still parts of her… Parts of her he’d kept so he could still… Jesus… So he could… So he could still fuck her… When I saw that, some of the shit he’d been saying started to make sense and I realized… I realized that’s what he was going to do to me… **Miceli:** Did you interact with the remains in any other way? **Hisaka:** No… No, I just… I didn’t even want to touch it I just… I just stared. Hey… Can I ask you something? **Miceli:** If you’d like. **Hisaka:** Did you… Did you ever figure out who she was? **Miceli:** We did… Yes… Her name was Carly Murphy. She was also a student at the University of Guelph who’d gone missing approximately one year ago. **Hisaka:** Jesus Christ… **Miceli:** Her family is… Relieved… To have some closure on the case. **Hisaka:** Yeah… Yeah, I bet… Christ… **Miceli:** Do you need a moment? We could take a break if you’d like. **Hisaka:** No… No, it’s fine… I just… How do you get over seeing something like that? **Miceli:** Honestly… You don’t. **Hisaka:** Not even if you’re a homicide detective? **Miceli:** No. Not even if you’re a homicide detective. Felicia, what you’ve been through is nothing less than an extremely traumatic event. It’s okay that recounting some of these details is difficult for you to get through. They’d be difficult for anyone to get through. But being here, right now, going through this with me will help. It will help you heal and it will help finally put this case to bed. We’ve got time to wait, or take breaks if we need to, if that’s what you need. So please take your time. **Hisaka:** Yeah… I guess… Thank you… Thanks… *\[Sigh\].* Right… So… After I saw the mannequin… Carly… That’s when I started panicking. I just… I ran for the stairs. I had the metal bar from the bed frame with me. I was sorta expecting the basement door to be locked and I was right, it was. So I used the bed bar to try and break it down. It was just a wooden door, so it did some damage. It just wasn’t really enough… And I guess Paul heard the noise. **Miceli:** He came to investigate? **Hisaka:** Yeah… I heard him coming down from the apartment and he started yelling at me to stop. I could hear him moving around outside the basement door. I think he was sorta panicking… I don’t think he’d ever had someone escape before. And when I did, he didn’t really know what to do. I started screaming at him to let me out. I didn’t really think he would but I was hoping that maybe if we were loud enough, someone might hear and investigate. Maybe from next door or something. I’d put a pretty big dent into the door… You probably saw that, although I dunno if I could’ve actually broken through or not. **Miceli:** So what did he do next? **Hisaka:** Well after a couple of minutes of screaming at each other through the door, he finally opened it. I kinda wasn’t expecting him to. The moment I saw him, I kinda freaked out and started swinging at him with the piece of bedframe I had with me. I hit him in the head the first time, but I don’t think I got any other hits in. He grabbed it and started trying to pull it out of my hands. **Miceli:** Did he? **Hisaka:** Yes and no… I was kicking and scratching at him the whole time. Then, I saw him reaching into his pocket for something. I didn’t see what it was at first. Not until I felt it going into my ribs… Turns out it was a pocket knife… He’d… He’d stabbed me. After that, he was able to pull the piece of bedframe out of my hand. I remember… I remember him stabbing me again, this time in the stomach. And I remember hearing my heart racing in my ears and then… Next thing I knew I was falling back down the stairs… Everything was just a blur. **Miceli:** Did you lose consciousness again? **Hisaka:** No… My ears were ringing and I was in a hell of a lot of pain but like, I was still fully conscious. And I remember seeing him coming down the stairs towards me, and he was still holding the knife. He was talking, and ranting and raving but I only heard bits and pieces of it. I remember he said: *“Now you’ve made me ruin you!”* I guess because he’d had to damage my skin… **Miceli:** And how did he react to that? **Hisaka:** Not well… I was bleeding pretty heavily. I couldn’t really stand and when he got to the bottom of the stairs, he started hitting me… Kicked me… I remember I bit my lip at one point and I remember my mouth filling with blood. Paul grabbed me by the hair, he started dragging me down the hall, and the concrete was scratching my skin. I remember seeing another room up ahead that he was dragging me into. This one was built a little better. He’d actually insulated the walls. Then once he opened the door, the smell hit me… He’d torn up the concrete floor in this room… There was a pit he’d dug in the ground and I couldn’t see what was inside of it at first. I just remember him pushing me into it and suddenly everything was dark. The only light I saw was at the top of the pit, with Paul looking down at me… Then he just turned and he… He left… And it was just me… In the dark… W-with the smell… And the feeling of… I knew what they were… And they were so cold… Colder than the concrete had been… **Miceli:** By they, you mean the bodies, right? **Hisaka:** Yeah… The… The other girls… I don’t.. I don’t know how many they were. Some of them were just bones I think. Some of them didn’t even… Most of them didn’t even have their skin… God… **Miceli:** You don’t need to describe it further if you don’t want to. **Hisaka:** You’re going to play this in court, right? **Miceli:** We will, yes. **Hisaka:** Then yes… Yes I do… I don’t know how many girls there were… I couldn’t see most of them clearly but… *\[Pause\]* There were a lot. They were rotting and some of them were skinned and when I saw their eyes… They just stared… Empty… D-dead… Oh God… Oh God… *\[Pause. It sounds as if Felicia is crying.\]* He did that to them… He did that to them… And… And he’d just thrown me into the pit with all the dead girls and I was bleeding and sleepy and dizzy and I thought… I thought I was going to die there, with them… And I thought that nobody was ever going to see me again… And I thought… Oh God, I thought… **Miceli:** Let’s take a break… **Hisaka:** No. No, I don’t want to I just want to… I just want to finish it… **Miceli:** Alright. Then take your time. **Hisaka:** *\[Pause\]* Okay… I… I remember passing out again… At least I think I do. Second time that day, and I thought I was dying… But I woke up. I woke up… Surrounded by c-cold bodies… Smelling them rotting… The smell… Christ… I… I could taste it… But I wasn’t dead yet so I just… Everything hurt. My entire body hurt. I was bleeding but I made myself move because I wasn’t dead yet and I just wanted to keep moving because if I was still moving, it meant that I wasn’t dead. The pit was at sort of an incline… So I was able to climb out by sinking my fingers into the dirt. It wasn’t easy but… I could climb out. **Miceli:** And when you got out? **Hisaka:** I went for the door. It was locked, but his construction was still pretty shoddy. He’d insulated the walls, but he hadn’t put up more drywall so I could just sort of tear out the insulation. It stung but… Well… I had bigger problems… Once I got it out, I was able to get to start kicking my way through the drywall. Paul must’ve been back upstairs because he didn’t hear it and from there, I was able to get down the hall… **Miceli:** You walked? **Hisaka:** It wasn’t easy… My legs felt like jelly. I had to lean on the walls for support, but I made it. He hadn’t locked the basement door this time. I think he thought I was already dead, so he wasn’t that worried about me escaping. Then from there, I could hear the sounds of the TV up in his apartment… **Miceli:** So he was distracted, and you were upstairs. You could have made a run for it. **Hisaka:** I could have… But while I was listening to the TV, I figured… I don’t know if I was even thinking straight. I just… I wanted to hurt him. After everything I’d seen, I just felt so sick and the only thing I could think about was Paul and what he’d done. So… I headed up the stairs to his apartment. **Miceli:** What happened next? **Hisaka:** The TV was loud. So he didn’t hear me… I’d never been up in his apartment before but I didn’t think it’d be so… So bizarre… It wasn’t dirty. He kept it really clean but there were these dolls everywhere… **Miceli:** Dolls? **Hisaka:** Yeah… Sex dolls… He had like, 4 or 5 of them that I saw. There were some at the kitchen table, there was even one sitting beside him in the living room he was… He was cuddling it, like it was his wife or something… Then there were the clothes… Some of them were wearing the dresses that I’d worn… They had hair that looked like mine, and… Christ… Half of them looked just like me… **Miceli:** I see… **Hisaka:** Yeah… I made the same face you’re making right now… One of ones that didn’t look like me looked like that girl I’d seen in the basement… Carly. The others I didn’t recognize… I don’t know if they were other girls he’d killed or what… I don’t know… **Miceli:** So, you were able to enter his apartment unnoticed, correct? **Hisaka:** Yeah… And I got up right behind him too. He was watching TV on the couch. He didn’t notice me and I was still wearing the handcuffs from when he’d cuffed me to the bed… So… I took the dangling cuff in my hand and then I pulled the chain right across his throat. I pulled… I pulled as tight as I could. **Miceli:** You attacked him. **Hisaka:** I did. I pulled the chain as tight as I could and he fought and he tried to grab me. He got me by the hair and started trying to pull me over the couch. I just crouched down, trying to stay out of his reach. And I stayed there until he stopped grabbing at me and… And he finally stopped moving. **Miceli:** Was it after that, that you left the scene? **Hisaka:** Yes… Once I thought he was dead I went back downstairs and out through the front door. I made it out onto the street, and I could see some cars outside passing by. One of them was at a stoplight so I went up to that one and just started pounding on the window. They saw I was covered in blood and crying and that’s when they called the police, and the ambulance… Everything… **Miceli:** Did you believe that you had killed Paul Farrington when you left the building? **Hisaka:** Yes. Yes I did. **Miceli:** Are you upset that he survived your attempt to kill him? **Hisaka:** I… I don’t know… I really don’t know… **Miceli:** Alright. Thank you for your time, Felicia. No further questions. *\[Transcript ends\]* *The following emails are also being included in reference to the Felicia Hisaka interview.* To:RonMiceli@\*\*\*\*\*\*.com From: BillFord@\*\*\*\*\*\*.com Subject: RE: Farrington Case Hi Ron. Thanks for sending me a transcript of your interview with Hisaka. I’ve spoken with Farrington. Shocker, his version of events states that Hisaka attacked him unprompted… No mention of the pit of bodies in his fucking basement. Christ… Did you see the fucking books he had in his basement? Real weird occult shit. Seems like he believed he could bring one of those mannequins to life as some sort of sex slave, after he put some real skin on them. Fucked up, isn’t it? With Hisakas statement and all the bodies, it should be a pretty open and shut case. Scares the shit out of me to think that this fucking guy was right under our noses though! My wife used to shop at that guys store. I’d seen him around a few times. I never thought he was that much of a sicko, he seemed like such a nice <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I’m a fire watch lookout and I think I’ve made a terrible mistake (Part 2). [RESPONSE] Link to Part One: By the time dawn arrived the next morning, I had climbed down from my temporary shelter in the low boughs of a red cedar and tried to work out all the painful kinks from my stiff shoulders and neck. The night had not been kind to me, but I was alive, which is more than my fear-stressed mind expected after yesterday. The night had been harrowing – there was no better word to describe it. The rain hissed among the trees and stung exposed skin angrily, driven by the banshee-wail of the wind rushing through the forest, and was accentuated by the chaotic flashing of lightning and heart-stopping crack of thunder. Because of this relentless chaos, it’s difficult to say with any certainty. But throughout the night, I thought I heard something large trying to move stealthily in the forest near my shelter. I say, “trying”, because it felt like whatever stalked through the underbrush was more at home in the unnatural stygian gloom of a cave than under the watchful eyes of nature. Of course, it could just as easily have been my imagination. When the first dim light of dawn started to illuminate the sodden and dripping forest, I spent the better part of twenty minutes straining my eyes with every ounce of concentration as I scanned the gray woodlands around me. I was only ten feet or so above the ground, but there was no way I was going to step foot from my hide until I was absolutely certain I was alone. Once I was satisfied that I was alone for the moment, I climbed down to the muddy ground. I tried the radio several times through the night and into the morning but wasn’t able to get even a burst of static that might indicate someone was trying to respond. A combination of the storm and the interference from the trees worked against me. My first thought was to get back to my Jeep as quickly as possible and run every drop of gas out of its tank trying to get as far away from this place as I could. When I checked the GPS to see how close I was to its marked position, however, I found the unit unresponsive and with a disastrous crack across the screen that seemed to mock my dismay. Probably caused by my less-than-graceful scramble from that damned cave. No rifle, no radio, no GPS. Perfect. I still had a compass and the rising sun to guide me, though, and that was something. I was only a couple miles from my tower, which should have been somewhere due south of where I stood. I knew that once I got close, I should be able to either find the service road or the tower itself, so there wasn’t much danger of getting myself lost, at least. It was a small comfort, but one I gladly took. I moved through the trees and undergrowth with more speed and recklessness than I probably should have; an ankle broken by an errant misstep would have been bad news. Still, even though I hadn’t heard or seen anything of my late-night visitor, I couldn’t help but feel like I was being watched. You know that creeping sense of dread you feel when you’ve just turned the lights off in a basement and now have to climb the stairs back to the light of the doorway, or when you’re making your way from your car in a darkened and lonely parking lot. It’s the feeling that *something* is there – *something* much more suited to the dark than you are. It’s that same feeling that pushed my footsteps almost to a jog as I traversed the uneven ground and storm-felled detritus that tried to hinder my passage. For the next hour I moved at this pace, aware with every rasping lung full of breath that I should pause and rest for a few minutes. Knowing that pushing myself to fatigue would only increase my chances of falling or hurting myself. I imagined myself lying in blinding pain next to an unseen chuck hole, clutching at a broken leg and watching as the sunlight began to dim with the onset of dusk. Waiting for whatever haunted my trail to find me. What would happen then? Would I even have time to look on its visage before it struck? Did those campers in the cave? A misstep and stumble that nearly made this nightmare a self-fulfilled prophecy jarred me back to the present. Against all instinct, I forced my pace to slow, first to a trot, then to a walk. Then, reluctantly, I stopped completely, trying to catch my breath while I scanned the dense woodland around me. Nothing. No, not nothing. As my heart began to slow and my breathing returned to a more manageable cadence, I turned my gaze back in the direction I had been headed and an unconscious smile found its way to my lips. The sun had risen high in the morning sky during my flight, and now I caught the flash of its reflection on the windows of my tower, not two hundred yards directly ahead of me. I laughed aloud with relief, fully aware that the fear tinted eruption was closer to the manic cackle of lunacy than anything else. I didn’t care, though, and my feet started forward again on their own, quickly reaching a brisk pace. A few minutes later I burst out of the trees into the maintained clearing surrounding my tower, feeling the full sunlight on my face for the first time since yesterday morning. Had it only been a day? It seemed like longer. I was so filled with relief that I didn’t even register the fact that a Forestry Department Jeep sat parked near my fence-enclosed tower until I started entering the combination into the gate lock. The faded white “12” emblazoned on the corner of the windshield told me that it was Billy’s Jeep, which wasn’t much of a surprise, I realized after a moment. After not hearing back from me, I was more surprised I hadn’t returned to find an entire S&R team making preparations to search for their lost puppy. I punched the 4-digit code into the mechanical combination lock on the gate and stepped through, making sure to close and lock it behind me. I stood there a moment, staring through the tall chain link fence at the dense tree line, wondering if something waited just out of sight in the shadows, staring back at me with hungry anticipation. I shook myself of the sudden chill as best I could and made my way quickly to the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. Billy was going to be pissed at me, I was sure, but the thought was a fleeting one that didn’t take purchase. His displeasure was the least of my concerns right now. When I reached the top, I threw open the trapdoor and suddenly found myself looking down the muzzle of a very large rifle. Even in that brief moment of abrupt shock, I could register how the barrel trembled in the hands of its agitated master and I wonder how close I came to having my life ended in a bright flash of light. The moment only lasted a second or two, and then Billy hastily swung the rifle away in a safe direction. “Dammit, John!” he exclaimed, his tone an incongruous mixture of relief and fear. “I almost shot you!” I stepped fully through the trapdoor and let it drop closed behind me. “Jesus, Billy,” I breathed, leaning back against the railing. I suddenly felt weary and realized it was likely the adrenalin now rushing from my system that had kept me moving at such a hurried pace throughout the morning. “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded, stepping back inside my shack, and taking a chair at the small table in the center of the room. I noted with mild interest that he kept the rifle leaning against the table beside him instead of stowing it in the rack over the door but decided not to comment on it. Billy Johnson was in his middle years, maybe forty-five or so, with a bit of a gut and grayish-brown hair trimmed close. He wore an impressive mustache that reminded me of something an old west gunslinger might groom. He was dressed in typical attire – khaki Forestry Service shirt and brown cargo pants. In addition to the rifle I’d had the unfortunate opportunity to closely examine a moment earlier, I noticed that he wore his .500 magnum in a holster at his side. That wasn’t too unusual when out in the bush; bears and mountain lions can sneak up on you unawares. Having a hand cannon within easy reach goes a long way towards taking the fight out of them if necessary. It *was* a little unusual for a drive over to another tower, I supposed, but not exceptionally so, given the circumstances. I took the opposite chair, dropping my pack to the floor next to me. I realized my legs were still shaking anxiously and I placed my hands on my knees to try to calm them. He was trying to deflect, but he was horrendously bad at it. He knew something. I was sure of it. “You know where I’ve been,” I replied, gambling on instinct. I watched his face closely for a reaction and wasn’t disappointed when he winced and turned his focus out the window and over the forest to the north. “I told you to abort and head back to your tower,” he stated brusquely, “but you just had to feed that curiosity of yours, didn’t you? You’re damned lucky to be alive, you know that?” From my chair, I reached under the cupboard to my right and pulled a half-empty bottle of Jameson and a couple of mostly clean glasses. Billy turned his head and raised an inquisitive eyebrow – alcohol was a no-no up here. When I poured and handed him one of the glasses, however, he accepted it without a word. I took a pull from the other. “It’s my own damned fault, I suppose,” he continued, turning back fully to me. “It’s been so long since anyone’s even *thought* of Camp LeClaire that it didn’t even click for me when you told me where you saw the campfire.” I took another drink and then poured a bit more of the whiskey. “Camp LeClaire? That old mining camp?” I asked. “Logging camp, actually,” he corrected me. “The mine was there long before the East Atlantic Logging Company set up out here. Nobody knows who dug it. Hell, nobody even knows *when* it was dug. A long time before the nineteenth century, at least. Camp LeClaire was established in 1872, and the mine was old even before that.” He looked at me in earnest for the first time since I’d returned and frowned. “You look like hell, John. Got caught in the storm, I’m guessing. Hell of a storm.” I only raised my eyebrows, as if to say what an understatement that was. Billy nodded knowingly and took another swallow. “Did you find the campers at least?” I shook my head and turned to look out the window to the north, where I could almost envision the black void of that mine entrance staring back at me. “No, I tracked them to the mine, but lost them in the cave.” I jumped when Billy’s glass hit the floor and was out of my chair before I even realized it. Billy hadn’t moved from his seat, but now both hands were splayed on the table before him, as if to steady himself. His pale blue eyes were wide and fixed on me. “You went into the cave?” he said, a sudden and horrifying realization dawning on him. It was then I realized my mistake. He hadn’t known. He thought I had just discovered the camp and the mine and then got caught in the storm overnight. *A close call, but nothing that couldn’t be undone*. “Yeah,” I replied, nodding slowly, deliberately. “Yeah, I went into that cave looking for the campers. The gate had been cracked open already – not sure when or by who.” I leaned forward in my chair and stared hard at him. “Billy, there’s something in there. I think it got those campers, and I think it followed me out.” Billy Johnson’s face had gone white then, and I thought for a moment he might pass out. He scooped his glass up from the floor with numb fingers and poured himself another splash of whiskey, downing it in a gulp. When he spoke again, it seemed faraway, distant. “*Kuwetami*. That’s what the Chickasaw called it, and they were here long before we ever were. Angler is what the white man called it, among other names.” “*Kuwetami*?” He nodded. “*False brother,* *lying man,* or something like that. Hell, I don’t know – what do I look like, a translator? It means *bad*, no matter what language you speak. It means something is out there that isn’t supposed to be. Something that was locked away a long time ago and forgotten.” It was then that he stood and grabbed up his rifle, as if suddenly remembering something. “I need to get back to my tower and make a call. Now.” I gestured to the radio base station sitting patiently on the table near the door. “Why not use mine?” Billy shook his head. “Sorry, John, but it doesn’t work that way. Special phone. Special number. I just hope I’m not too late.” I started to stand. “I’ll go with you,” I said. He pointed a stern finger at me and narrowed his eyes. “No, you stay here. Strap on your handgun and make sure it’s loaded.” His voice was calm, almost cold, and didn’t leave much room for debate. Still, I had no desire to stay here alone with whatever this *Angler* thing was roaming around out there. “Billy, I can go with you. I can help-,” I started to argue, but was quickly cut off when he took a menacing step towards me, and I realized quickly how much I’d underestimated him because of his normally easy manner. “*You will stay in your goddamned tower and you will follow your orders!*” he roared, and I unconsciously took a step back and reclaimed my seat, only managing a shaken nod in acknowledgement. He took a trembling breath, pointed at the radio, and said in a slightly less terrifying tone, “And keep that thing on. As soon as I’m back at my tower, I’ll radio you with updates.” A moment later, he was gone, and the trapdoor slammed shut behind him. I stood and retrieved the pelican case from under my cot. Inside was the same model of .500 Magnum revolver that Billy had been wearing, heavy and cold in my hands. I loaded it and belted on the leather holster, feeling the reassuring weight tugging at my waist. “John!” I heard Billy call from below and went outside to the walkway, leaning over the railing. He was standing beside his Jeep fifty feet below, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight as he looked up at me. “Make sure to keep everything locked. I’ll come back for you,” he shouted. I raised a hand to him and slid the latch shut on the trapdoor with my toe. I turned back into my shack as I heard Billy’s Jeep fire up and a moment later drive off down the rough service road towards his tower. I glanced back to the north, to the place where I had first seen the campfire smoke rising the day before and suppressed a shudder. I was alone again. Safe in my tower and armed, but alone. Abruptly, like an unexpected wave of nausea, the feeling that I was being watched washed over me with a chill, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I looked back over my shoulder to where Billy had been only a minute before but saw only the rough service road and dense impenetrable tree line beyond that. Probably just my imagination, but the feeling didn’t diminish and with every passing breath, I was more and more certain that there was *something* nearby. Just out of sight, standing stone-still in the gray-green foliage. Waiting. I stood there a long moment, eyes straining for any hint of movement or alien shape among the shadows, but if it was there, my human eyes weren’t sharp enough to pick it out. I stepped back through the open doorway of my shack and dropped down into the chair again, my eyes catching the bottle of whiskey before me. I was tempted to pour another drink to help settle my nerves, but I could already feel the tickle of a buzz at the edges of my mind from what I had already drank and quickly decided that the last thing I needed was for my reflexes and awareness to be dulled right now. I’d made more than one poor decision in the last twenty-four hours; I didn’t think adding another to the pile was such a great idea. Grabbing the bottle, I screwed the cap back on and reached to return it to the sparse cupboard to my right. As I did so, my boot caught my pack, knocking it over. Without a thought, I reached down to move it out of the way and then remembered the old, weathered journal tucked inside the front pocket, the one I’d found in the cave. I reached into the unzipped front pocket. For a frustratingly alarming moment, my searching hand couldn’t feel anything in the compartment, and I feared that I had lost it in my chaotic escape. But then my fingers brushed the familiar shape, and I withdrew it, setting it in front of me on the table. I could see the book much more clearly now in the daylight. It wasn’t overly large – a little larger than my hand and maybe the thickness of my thumb. There were no markings on the front, except for a simple grimy brass loop that secured the leather strap holding it closed. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see what was inside, but I needed some answers. Anything. A stray sound from the trees below rose to my ears and I froze, listening intently for more, but none came. The forest around me was silent again and I turned my attention back to the journal, pulling the strap free from the cover and turning to the first page. *From the pocket of Andrew Robinson*, it read. The writing was neat and compact, and distinctly male. The ink was a rich black scrawled upon brittle yellow pages, and though faded with the years, was still mostly legible. I turned to the next page, where the entries began. I felt as though I had dropped into his account mid-way, as though this was just the latest in a series of journals that this Andrew Robinson had been keeping. *23rd July, 1891* *After nearly a week of hard overland trekking, we reached the abandoned camp late this afternoon, exactly where the old trapper said we would. Sequahi, our Pawnee tracker, has once again astonished me with his overland navigation skills.* *I must admit, I was skeptical at the yarn the old trapper had spun in the crowded confines of the common house in Dunn Creek, especially after I smelled the liquor on his breath, but the Professor never doubted a moment. The man’s instincts for reading human character are absolutely singular.* *The camp looks to have been abandoned, and I have to admit to a certain unease as we inspected the rough cabins. There isn’t a soul to be found, and it looks years-abandoned, yet everything stands as if awaiting the loggers return at any moment.* *Strange.* *24th July, 1891* *Our small troupe of intrepid adventurers made camp in the center of LeClaire last night. Though the cabins likely would have been more comfortable, I doubt any of us would have felt at ease intruding upon them. Richards laughed it off when someone mentioned how peculiar it was that the loggers had departed in such a hurry that they abandoned their personal possessions, but I could see in his eyes that he felt it odd as well.* *Sequahi, our ever courageous and stolid guide, seemed ill-at-ease and unusually withdrawn, refusing all conversation and only responding to queries with quiet grunts. Something of concern hides behind his eyes, though, and I wonder at what it is.* *Only the Professor seems unmoved by the unusually still atmosphere of this place, and his typically infectious positivity keeps working at our unease, keeping it from expanding beyond its current state.* *Today we spent much of the day exploring the area surrounding Camp LeClaire, and the sunlight was nearly spent when Dobson burst back into camp with news of his discovery. We, all of us, raced at a moment’s notice behind him as he led us along an ill-used and nigh-invisible footpath that led ever-ascending upon the side of the northern rocky slope.* *When the path terminated, we were deposited before a truly curious sight – a barricaded tunnel entrance had been bored into the rockface by some unknown hands. I suspect some sort of exploration tunnel or adit dug in search of precious ores, especially given the nation’s more recent history with gold fever. The wooden barrier that had been roughly assembled from a hodge-podge of heavy timber beams was curious, and several of our group commented on it, but the Professor dismissed it as a triviality, so the matter was dropped.* *It is far too late in the day to proceed further, but we plan to penetrate the barricade and enter the tunnel in the morning. The excitement among the men is palpable.* *25th July, 1891* *Sequahi is gone! He took his supplies and his prized Winchester rifle and fled sometime during the night like a phantom. This is a shocking blow to us all, but none more so than to the Professor, with whom the Pawnee tracker had partnered for a number of years across much of the eastern states. We have no explanation for his sudden desertion, and it sits unwell with the entirety of the group. The overall mood has darkened, I fear.* *Still, we must push onward.* *25th July, 1891 – Addendum* *It took more than two hours of hard labor, but we were finally able to gain entrance to the mine shortly before noon today. Richards managed to get his boot caught between two heavy timbers as he stumbled forward, straining his ankle with a terrible cry. We feared it broken, but Dr. Franklin assured us that the bones seem intact. Regardless, Richards was taken back to the camp, where he will convalesce while the rest of us make our entry. His part in our exploration has come to an end for now.* *We made our way in a single file through the adit tunnel for some way before reaching its carved end, the light from our oil lanterns providing regrettably inadequate illumination over the rocky surroundings. When we reached the terminus of the mine tunnel, our hearts sank for a moment before the Professor gave a exclamation of discovery and suddenly disappeared through a nearly hidden rift in the wall, surrounded by jagged rocks.* *We eagerly followed him through, careful of our footing as we went, and found ourselves in what I can only assume to be an accidental breach by the miners into a natural cave system. The air was chill unmoving, but our excitement at this discovery allayed any concerns or discomfort this might have caused.* *The Professor directed us to set a secondary camp in this new chamber, which will be used as a staging point for further exploration, so we spent the rest of the day bringing supplies from our main camp and constructing a smaller version in this moderately sized chamber.* *By the time we completed this endeavor, the efforts of the day precluded a start to the exploration until the group has had the opportunity to rest and replenish their energy.* *I feel I will sleep well tonight, despite the anxious excitement buzzing around my mind.* *26th July, 1891* *Another shock when we awoke this morning. O’Connor is gone! The Irishman, who has ever been reliable and constant as the north star, was assigned first watch last night. There is no trace of him, and no indication that he took any provisions or even his personal rucksack with him.* *I fear his natural inquisitiveness may have gotten the best of him and led him to explore the deeper caverns beyond our ad-hoc basecamp, for his lantern is the sole item that has gone missing with his person.* *The Professor immediately rallied the rest of our small group – seven in all, now – and mounted a search for our lost companion. I tried to caution him against rushing into action, but he was not to be deterred. To my dismay, I was the sole man ordered to remain here at camp whilst my companions took up their supplies and launched deeper into the cave system, in the event young O’Connor returned in their absence.* *I was understandably disappointed but grasped the logic of it well enough. I would loathe to think of O’Connor returning only to find us all gone and then losing himself again trying to find us.* *I shall endeavor to rest a bit. With luck, my companions will return before long with our lost compatriot.* *27th July, 1891* *I am at my wit’s end and am unsure how to proceed.* *It has been more than a day since the Professor led the rest of the men in search of poor O’Connor, and I have felt their absence as keenly as I am aware of my own solitude in this cave.* *I have seen nothing of our missing companion or of the party that delved deeper into the system yesterday morning, and I know their lanterns did not have sufficient fuel to carry them this long. Without other means of illumination to guide their return, I fear they are hopelessly lost!* *I, myself, had to return to LeClaire for more lantern oil for my own waning light. I must admit with no little embarrassment some reluctance to my return to this dark place, which no longer carries any of its former adventurous excitement or fascination. It is now nothing more than a doorway into the deep places below the Earth, where men were never intended to tread.* *But the growing apprehension is not the worst of it.* *The sounds! By Heaven’s grace, the sounds!* *I first became aware of them last night, as I dimmed my lantern and tried to set myself to sleep. At first it was only an indistinct and muted echo that may have been interpreted as nothing more than the distant whistle of wind or other natural sound, distorted by the unique acoustics of this place.* *But then I heard the distinct tonal qualities that could only be a man’s voice!* *I instantly rose and took up my lantern, raising the flame and rushing to the entrance of the cave that had swallowed my companions. There I stood, listening with such keen focus that I felt beads of sweat upon my brow. I would swear upon a holy book that it was the distant calls of the Professor himself, and I eagerly called back with as much fervor as I could summon, hoping desperately to guide them back to me.* *However, the instant I called out, the voices vanished, and I was met only with the suffocating silence of an open tomb. There I stood, straight as a sentinel, praying for a response from my friends.* *After several minutes of absolute silence, my thoughts began turning to dark things. I became painfully aware that anything beyond the weak cast of my lantern would be utterly invisible to me, but I, on the other hand, would be lighted as a beacon to it.* *I pushed these thoughts from my mind as forcefully as I could, inwardly chastising myself at seeing ghouls where none existed, and was about to call out again to my lost companions when I heard it.* *The voice came again, echoing from the claustrophobic abyss that lay before me, mired in the blackest darkness one could imagine. It was still some distance away, I estimated.* *But I was certain it seemed closer now.* *When the third time I heard it, I was just barely able to make out the words.* *But it was enough to be sure.* *My own words echoed back to me from the depths of that damned cave, and in my own voice!* *I staggered and nearly dropped the lantern at that moment.* *Could the legends be true? The Professor always seemed to believe them, though I must admit I attributed his faith to the unwavering certainty he held in those things lost to antiquity. He had always maintained that a legend, especially one whispered by so many indigenous peoples without mutual contact, must have some root in truth.* *But that line of reasoning is antithetical to modern civility, and I must reject it and focus on the more probable explanation that my already stressed nerves were turning my fears against me.* *The voices must be those of my companions, lost in the dark, but near enough to hear their calls. They must be!* *I am not certain what lies next, but I know that I cannot abandon my companions, my friends, to wander the darkness until they fall from exhaustion or dehydration. Not while I might yet help them!* *I will leave this written account at the entrance to the cave. This lantern is nearly spent, but I have another with a full vessel that I will take in its stead. If I do not return, at least someone may know of our passing here.* *May God be with us all.* I closed the journal with a trembling hand, momentarily lost in what I had just read. How was it possible? The journal was more than 130 years old. No animal alive then could be what pursued me now. *What if it’s not an animal?* The sudden burst of static from Billy’s call that simultaneously erupted from my radio base station and the portable handset clipped at my shoulder made me jump and drop the journal on the floor. Heart pounding, I cursed under my breath and keyed the microphone. “Go for tower 9,” I answered, my voice tight. As I spoke, my eyes drifted out across the sky to the east, where darkened thunderheads had been unknowingly gathering and marching slowly in my direction. I shook my head – icing on the cake, I thought. “John, what’s your position?” asked Billy. The self-assured authority that had filled his tone before was strangely absent now, replaced with something else. Fear? I frowned a moment at the question before answering. “Where do you think, Billy? I’m in my tower, just like you told me.” A strange pause before he spoke again. “John, this isn’t some sort of joke, right? You’re not outside of my tower?” I was growing more agitated by the moment. What sort of question was that? I had no Jeep; there was no way I could have made it to his tower in such a short amount of time, even if I’d wanted to. “No, Billy,” I answered with more force than I’d intended. “I’m not outside of your fucking tower. Why-,” I stopped mid-sentence, a horrified realization sweeping over me in that moment. I tried to speak, but my mouth had gone dry. “Billy?” was all I could muster. The radio was silent as my eyes slowly drifted to the west, where I could just make out the small, lonely shape of tower 12, barely visible over the darkening blanket of green. Was that a gunshot? Link to part 3: <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Seeker: Part One. [RESPONSE] My best friend at the time, Carly, and I had come home from school. We lived in a rural farm town. Both of us grew up together as neighbors, well, in truth we lived nearly a mile apart. Carly and I got off at my stop, just a block from my place. Readying ourselves for our traditional harvest sleepover. I can still to this day see the golden wheat bustling from the ridged, cracked seams of dried land. I can close my eyes and see the rows of corn that thrashed about from the beginning of the autumn weather. Several acres of browned stalks that beckoned our arrival to my home. Walking down the long gravel driveway to my families’ farmhouse, I could see six middle aged farmhands having verbal arguments with our goat, Gumpy, who had proudly perched himself on his apple tree. All of them were shouting at him to get down, only to face a rebuttal of bleating and spit. One of the last fond memories from my childhood. My father and his girlfriend had left town for the evening to catch a movie, leaving Carly and I to have the house, and tradition, to ourselves. We rushed through our math assignments, eager to decimate some frozen yogurt and cake while we watched Willow. Now before you think my father a terrible parent for leaving two ten-year-old girls alone on this vast property, the farmhands that worked the night shift would periodically check in on us, so we were never truly alone. A small comfort to say the least. It was early in the morning when I had woken up. My throat was parched, likely from an abundance of salt and vinegar chips. I made my way down the steps and opened the fridge, the light burning my still groggy eyes. I chugged down a bottle of water and made for the stairs again, when I heard crashing coming from the back door. Flicking on the hallway lights, I made my way out of the kitchen and towards the back of the house. The main door was bolted shut and locked, but the outside screen door was slamming against the frame, causing the entire wall to shake violently. I reached out to unlock the door, my hand fumbling with the bolt lock, I pulled back the latch, sliding it through the barrel of the chrome lock until the sound of someone calling out from the barn stopped me. Jamming the lock back in place, I made for the side window, looking out to see one of the younger workers, Jonah, come rushing towards the back door. “You alright?” he cried out, practically sprinting towards the door. I scrunched my tired face. “What do you mean?” I shrugged. He seemed out of breath. “Was working in the barn and I thought I saw someone I hadn’t seen before on the property. A little after that I heard banging coming from over here, thought I’d check on y’all.” “Yeah, I think it may have been the wind causing the screen door to open and shut so much.” I tried to rationally explain the situation. At first, he gave me that classic Jonah smirk, “There’s no wind, kid.” He chuckled a bit. Then, it was as if an epiphany had struck him as he lowered his eyes to the screen door. The young mans’ face went cold as ice. He stared at me for a second, then the words fell out from his slightly ajar mouth. “You need to lock all the doors and call the police. Stay inside!” I ran for the phone and frantically called 911. Desperately trying to explain what was going on. Carly must have heard all the commotion and come downstairs looking like a weird concoction of tired and freaked out. After the phone call I told Carly what had happened. She was scared but mostly confused. We both went to the front door, keeping an eye out for the young man who was now approaching the edge of the corn field. I told Carly to stay there and dashed up the stairs, running to my bedroom I desperately crawled out my window and onto the roof so I could get a better view of him as he had now stepped inside the field. Overhead I could just barely make out where he was, watching the corn shake with every step he took inside the field. He stopped near the scarecrow that was about one hundred yards out from our home. The light emitting from his flashlight scanned the area, then looked as if it was pointed back to our home, presumably he was heading back. That’s when something caught my attention from where Jonah had been standing. The arms of the scarecrow that had been outstretched and tied to the perch had simply dropped right before my eyes. This creep had been hiding inside of it. The person began to casually pull out the hay and take off the head and shirt, carefully setting them down. Then quietly they began to step towards Jonah. “It’s behind you! Run Jonah!” I cried out frantically. Thankfully he heard me, as he began rushing through the corn, but the person behind him was now running just as fast. He was right on his heels. “Carly, open the front door!” I yelled from the top step. She nodded her head, unlocking the deadbolt and ripping the door open. There was an antagonizing moment of nothingness. An anticipation that had festered for such a period that we were stuck still in a paralyzing moment of our lives. It felt like hours before the young man dove through the frame and kicked the door closed behind him. Carly slashed the deadbolt through and hammered down the lock. We expected a smashing on the door or glass to shatter but there was nothing. I ran back upstairs and onto the roof. And that’s when I saw them. They had replaced their scarecrow head with a gut-wrenching mask. The best description I can give you is it looked like the anguished man painting, but the mouth was much larger and ajar. A circular black blotch. Like a void. They looked up at me, pointed at me and then stepped backwards into the field until they were completely out of sight. It was another fifteen minutes before the police, my dad, and his girlfriend showed up. They took our statements. When they checked the backdoor, they could see the keyhole had small scratches, likely from a knife. The frame seemed cracked. The officer, and Jonah believed the person was slamming the door open and shut, hiding in a blind spot so I could not see them. A trap to lure me outside and close the door, and in that moment grab me. I had been inches from this broken person’s grasp. I breathed a sigh of relief, but the thought of their attempt being successful stuck with me. I wish I could say that the worst of it had come and gone but, this only gets worse over time. This was simply their first appearance.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Junkyard Job [RESPONSE] The chain-link fence rattled, followed by my shoes hitting the dirt. The fence rattled again, then another thud signifying Darren made it over. I crouched behind the nearest rusted out pickup truck and lowered my facemask. The sunset illuminated the massive sign overhead that read “Dave's Junk & Scrap, Lead now $0.90 a pound!” I turned to Darren and whispered “We’re in and out quick, don’t forget the moneybox in the bottom drawer.” We both took out our crowbars from our backpacks, I double checked my pistol and carefully put it back in my belt, raising my facemask back over my nose. Darren adjusted the hunting knife sheathed on his waist. I turned and peered over the truck's hood cautiously, listening and watching for any signs of security. Then I saw something I couldn’t quite make out, tapping Darren on the shoulder and pointing in its direction. In the distance, maybe 80 yards off, was some kind of small dog-like creature. It was walking on all fours and appeared to have very short hair if any at all. It was almost hopping from place to place, like some kind of deranged frog. It moved erratically between the rows of junk cars. Going on, in, around, under, without pattern. Darren flinched at my touch but aligned his gaze toward whatever that thing was. We both held a crouch while fixated on what the hell we were seeing. In a hushed voice Darren uttered “What the fuck is that?” I whispered back, not breaking my gaze on it. “Is it some kind of guard dog? Looks awfully small for that.” “Maybe it's some kind of rabid possum? I've heard those things will mess you up if you piss them off.” We agreed to avoid it, no way we were risking rabies or whatever disease just for some cash. The junkyard was set up in an egg-like shape, the widest part being the middle and the outskirts surrounded by a curved fence. Stacked vehicles and piles of scrap were everywhere, small walking paths were winding between everything like a spider's web. Located in the middle was our target, a shipping container turned into an office. On one side it had a solid metal door fixed on it with a floodlight overhead. The floodlight was off currently, we guessed it was motion activated but there was no way to tell. There were street lamps posted every 50 feet or so all throughout the junkyard, however the sunset was too bright for them to be activated yet. I adjusted my backpack and motioned to Darren it was time to move. We held our crouched positions, Darren just a few paces behind, and advanced toward the middle. I felt like some kind of badass navy seal, giving hand gestures to my partner while looking out for any kind of movement. I truly believe people are capable of things thought impossible if only they had the confidence. That being said, confidence has jack all to do with fate. Rounding a destroyed bumper of a ‘99 Toyota, glass crunched under my feet before I could see it was even there. I froze dead silent and so did Darren. We were in the mid section of the junkyard now, just a few rows from the office. Then it hit me, we were right where we had seen the thing before. Low and distant, a bone chilling sound moved through the cars. It is hard to describe, but picture someone gargling mouthwash. Its echo eerily passed through the rows of cars followed by a series of fleshy thumps as the creature moved from vehicle to vehicle. Terrified, I dove under the car, Darren following my lead. It had not seen us, so I held up a fist signaling to hold our position under the car. The sky was beginning to give in to darkness at this point, I figured we had 15 minutes until full darkness. We had flashlights but I was against having to use them as they don't exactly hide your location. Then the window of the car above us shattered, trailed by that fucking gargling noise. It was even more disturbing just feet away from us. By now I was learning more and more about the creature. It seemed to be noise sensitive, and had some sort of claws. They could be heard ripping at the upholstery of the car, it seemed like it was digging frantically with harsh desperation. It was making a breathing sound now, quick breaths in between its gargles. Searching for the source of the noise I so foolishly made. We held our breaths, trying to keep our noise level to a minimum while squashed beneath the car. It seemed our luck made a turn after what felt like hours, it climbed out of the window it had broken earlier and did that odd hopping motion we had witnessed it do before. It leapt onto a box truck adjacent to the car we were positioned under, however it clung to the side without sliding down. Claws penetrating the sides of the truck with ease, I realized my assessment of dog-like was inaccurate. It looked more like some kind of fucking giant salamander now, no teeth, only a large tongue. Eyes on each side of its head, no hair could be seen on its body, only what appeared to be some kind of slime that glistened in what was left of the sunlight. I glanced at Darren and saw the sheer horror in his eyes, it confirmed I wasn't the only one seeing this monstrosity. It all felt unreal. After a short while, motionless and noiseless, it made its way up and over the box truck it clung to. We could hear it hopping to the next vehicle, then the next, until we were sure it was far enough away. I was the first to move from under the car, I rolled to my side and got back on my legs, holding a crouch. I glanced into the car through the passenger window as Darren made his way out from cover to return to my side. What I saw looked like a damn hurricane went through the car. Every seat was torn up, even the dash had been sliced in half like a fucking bell pepper. There was slime everywhere inside too, like a scene out of David Cronenberg's “The Fly”. I could hear Darren talking but almost didn't register it, I was too focused on what the hell I was even looking at. “The coast is clear up to the office man, let's get this cash so we can ditch this shithole!” Darren exclaimed through clenched teeth. The tense feeling was mutual between us, I could tell it would turn to desperation soon if we didn't move out. We proceeded towards the office, crowbars still in hand. Now I had Darren moving backwards so he could alert me if anything was following us. We made it uneventfully to the door of the office just as the spot light switched on above us, putting us right in the limelight like a fucking $2.99 rotisserie chicken at Walmart. In the distance, the gurgling began subtly at first, like someone playing music on their patio a few houses down. Then the fleshy thumping of its hops became audible. “Get that fucking door open!” I yelled, knowing a confrontation with that creature would likely be our last. Darren slammed his crowbar in the door, yanking with all his might. The door groaned and flexed, but did not obey the will of Darren’s crowbar. He screamed “It wont fucking open man, shit!” The thing was close now, the streetlights hauntingly illuminating its voracious approach. With one final jump, nearly a 10 foot hop, it landed solidly on the roof of the office. It’s eyes glaring down on us like a kid into his Halloween bag. With one last pull the door flung open, rocketing Darren on his back and tossing his crowbar to the side. The creature pounced on Darren, wrestling with him like fucking WWE. Darren reached for his knife on his belt, slashing at the air to no effect. The creature had him on his stomach now, its hind legs wrapped around Darren's waist. With one slash, like a veteran butcher, it severed Darren's spine just under the skull. Like a sack of potatoes, Darren went limp as soon as the claws exited. Blood erupted everywhere like a firehose as Darren’s head leaned forward in paralysis. The knife fell uselessly from his hand. The creature placed its mouth over the wound and this absolutely horrific slurping sound began. I didn't wait to see the end, I snapped out of shock and rushed inside the office, slamming the door. The office door had multiple locks on it, like some kind of bank vault. I hurryingly attempted to engage them but they all seemed electronically controlled. A red button was on the wall labeled “Emergency Lockdown” so I slammed my fist on it, watching each lock engage one by one. I took a deep breath, for now, I think I'm safe. I could hear the creature outside continuing to feed but it seems to be done now. I don't know where it went, but it never tried to get inside after me which I find weird. Additionally, how did the crowbar manage to get past all those locks? This was such a mistake. I can see out the window from inside the office, there’s bars over it now that must've come down when I hit the lockdown button. Darren is lifeless, his neck bent and there seems to be a massive hole under his skull where his brain should be. I'm not looking for too long, I already vomited twice. I am writing this on my phone, I just don't know what to do from here. I see a desk in here, there's a laptop on it but its password locked. There are CCTV monitors but they are all powered off and I don't see a way to turn them on. My phone is almost dead and I am sure someone will show up to work here eventually. I will update you guys when I can, any advice would be really fucking appreciated.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] A Nightmare come true [RESPONSE] I joined a forum online to learn about lucid dreaming and how to control your dreams. It was during quarantine and I had nothing better to do. I always asked questions about the things I was doing wrong like falling midflight or creating monsters and waking up out of fear. Then I got a private message from a user called Dare2dream42. She told me how I could be paired up with a partner called a master dreamer, someone far more skilled than myself, and become an expert lucid dreamer. Seeing as she didn't ask for money I felt I had nothing to lose. "You could meet up in dreams with a master dreamer to show you how limitless the possibilities really are." She wrote. I thought to myself how this isn't possible but let's see what happens. I mean what endless possibilities for people to meet up with others in their dreams? The problem was you have to find someone you're dream compatible with. The rules were simple, you can only speak in wake hours about lucid dreaming. No small talk, no getting to know one another, no sharing photos, and definitely no becoming friends. After your dream master helps you lucid dream on your own, you would no longer work or speak with them. Within a week I was paired with a master dreamer. Cora was perfect, kind, and understanding. She saw potential in me. I told her what things I absolutely did not want to see in my dreams and all the reasons behind not wanting to see them. I mean not wanting to see blood or murder didn't need an explanation but I told her about my fear of spiders because of a traumatic experience as a child. I told her my fear of drowning and other things I hadn't shared with others. I asked her what things she did not want to see and she told me not to worry about her. That somehow simultaneously calmed and intimidated me. I was nervous but also I felt she knew what she was doing. The first few days were hard because we'd be in the same dream but we had to find one another. After we created methods and signs to find one another we quickly began the process. She was beautiful, adventurous and so kind. I felt like I had a big sister showing me the ropes. It was like learning to ride a bike. While learning to fly in my dreams I had moments I'd slowly begin falling and she'd grab my hand each time. "Don't overthink it Ava." She must've said that to me twenty times in the first two weeks. It worked though and I stopped overthinking. Once I mastered flying, she taught me to conjure up different items. It started with food which was my favorite. The first time I thought up an apple it was half green and half red, she laughed at me. "I know, I know. I'm overthinking it." I tried again and it was a perfect red apple. It even tastes like an apple but sweeter. Then she wanted to place random vehicles around my dreams and I had to get in them and start them up. In most dreams, you don't have to have car keys but the problem I always came across was the car changing. So first I'm in a big hummer and within a few moments, it's not a tiny car without any walls. She taught me to keep the car consistent. The next lesson was about animals and insects. I created a beautiful butterfly whose wingspan was bigger than mine. I was so proud and it was so beautiful. And then not a moment later, Cora made a spider the same size as my butterfly and the spider devoured my butterfly. I freaked out. I woke up immediately. I told myself she didn't do it on purpose and it must've been an accident. I emailed her about the incident and her response was, "it must've slipped my mind." There was no apology but I believed her. The next few days went by pleasantly. We worked together in our dreams and we even made an island. As I was flying above it I saw Cora make a boat. I didn't know why she was doing that so I went down to ask. "Cora, are you going out to sea?" I asked nicely. She turned around, gave me a blank stare, and then smiled. Within moments I was on the boat in the middle of the water and freaking out. I tried to fly off the boat but I was overthinking it and too anxious. I kept panicking and the boat slowly began filling up with water causing it to sink. I shouted for Cora and she was nowhere to be found. I began cupping the water from my hands and throwing it out of the boat but it was hardly doing anything. Did Cora do this on purpose? What is going on with her? Why is she changing out of nowhere? I looked behind me and Cora was floating above the water smiling, "Ava, you have to face your fears." She then disappeared. It was at that moment that I feared her more than the water. I tried to wake myself up but I couldn't concentrate. Now the boat was mostly submerged underwater and I couldn't do anything to stop it. I sank with the boat and my heart began racing. As it was a dream I could breathe underwater and I thought to myself, "this isn't too bad. I'll be okay." That's when I turned around and saw a whale shark. It opened its mouth and came right towards me. I closed my eyes tight and when I opened them I was awake. To this day it makes no sense to me but I had a gash on my left shoulder blade. It was as if the shark really did bite me. It was bad enough to be concerned but not bad enough for an ER visit. I wrote Cora that I never want to see her again and that she cannot join me in my dreams. I was now incredibly fearful for my well-being knowing that I could physically be injured in real life. I figured she'd back off and leave me alone but she responded with, "Someone's being dramatic." The next three nights I was afraid to go to sleep. I barely slept and when I did my entire dream consisted of me being on the lookout. I was fed up and wrote in the dream forum about what had happened to me. When I logged in later in the day I realized my account had been deleted without any reason. I didn't know what was going on anymore. I was livid and I was hurt and mostly I was exhausted. I was tired of letting some stranger make me feel so bad. That night I went to sleep early and was ready to see Cora. In my dream, I called out to her and was ready to fight. I went from my bedroom to a dark empty hallway. I heard her voice call my name. But the echo came from many directions. Then the voice came directly behind me and I turned around quickly. It was Cora. But she was a big spider. My anger made me overcome my fear. "I'm not scared of you." I grabbed a knife I was hiding and stabbed her directly in the stomach. She pulled it out and laughed. Then she grabbed me by the throat, lifted me up off the ground, and then dropped me. She then disappeared. I began choking and coughing really hard. The hallway was slowly filling up with water. It now covered my hands. I was still coughing and then I felt something come up my throat. It was a spider. I was choking on spiders. I kept coughing up spiders and the hallway was still filling up with water. I tried not to panic but it was my two worst fears and they were both happening worse than I could ever imagine. I woke up covered in sweat and crying. That was two years ago and now I am happily married with a baby on the way. I don't think about what had happened often but I'm writing all this now because it's four am and I woke up abruptly. I went downstairs to get some water and my husband had fallen asleep on the couch with his laptop on his chest. This happens when he has a big upcoming project. I took his glasses off his face, folded them, placed them on the coffee table, and kissed his forehead. Then I picked up his laptop and wanted to make sure what he was working on was saved before I closed it. That's when I saw it. He was logged in on a sleep forum, one that I used before I had even met him. His username was Dare2dream42. My heart sank, and I told myself this can't be real. I wish I had found out he was cheating, this is so much worse. I looked at him and he was still fast asleep. Maybe I remembered Cora's username incorrectly. I looked at his past messages and he had messaged multiple people about helping them with their lucid dreaming attempts. In some, he introduced himself as Corey, some as Cora. It was him. I am married to my worst nightmare. I have no idea what to do or even how to bring this up to him or if I even should.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I woke up inside a replica of my childhood home. The things watching me are not my real parents [RESPONSE] "Honey, breakfast is ready," the friendly voice of my mother called from the other room. It awoke a warm and happy memory. One of our Sunday breakfasts where my mum would make the best waffles in the world, my parents would share the newspaper and the smell of coffee would fill our whole house. While I was too young to have any of it then, I loved the smell of fresh coffee. My mum always used to mix in spices like nutmeg. I wish I could have tried her special coffee but she passed away before I was old enough for it. My eyes shot open. Whose voice had just woken me up? I was lying on the couch in our living room. Well, my dad's living room. I moved out four years ago, just after I turned 20. Slowly, I got up and took more steps than necessary until I was standing in the doorframe between the kitchen and the living room. "Dad?" I carefully asked but nobody answered. While it was always slightly emotionally painful, it wasn't unusual. I often heard mum's voice in my dreams but it was weird that I smelled waffles and coffee while the kitchen table was completely empty. I shook my aching head, I had the most horrendous hangover that I needed to cure with more sleep. Upstairs, in my old bedroom, not on the uncomfortable couch. *Dad must have made a toaster waffle before he went to work*\- Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. I climbed up a few of the stairs and found myself in front of a thick, grey wall. It sounds ridiculous but the upstairs part of our house had either vanished or was sealed shut with a new wall. This sight felt so entirely absurd that my brain didn't even understand what to make of it. I instinctively took a step back, slipped, and fell down the few stairs, landing on my butt and I could swear I heard laughter. I slowly got up and walked towards the tv but it was black. "Dad?" I shouted. "Where are you, Nils? Didn't you hear your mum calling you for breakfast?" Every fiber of my body froze. That was dad's voice and it came right out of the kitchen. I didn't understand what was happening but I knew that it was not right so instead of checking the kitchen, I decided to be smart and head straight toward the front door. I pulled and pushed, but it wouldn't open. There was also no key in sight. I pushed the curtains from the small window next to the door but behind it all I saw was black. My heart started racing so fast I thought it would explode. I swallowed when I remembered that I'd seen sunshine through the window in the empty kitchen earlier. Maybe I could get out of the window. When I walked into the kitchen I saw a little white booklet on the table that I swear wasn’t there before. I picked it up and read the cover, all it said was NILS. I was just opening the first page when I saw her right outside of the window, scratching the glass with her nails. My mother. My mother, who passed away when I was only seven. Or rather, something resembling her. I think the best way I could describe it is that she looked like someone had tried to recreate a human based on a picture that a child drew but with real flesh and skin. Her proportions were all wrong, her face was plastered with makeup and her hair almost looked as if each strain had been glued on. I felt too perplexed by the situation to even breathe, all I did was stare at it. And then a single tear rolled down my cheek. When *he* appeared behind her, the copy of my father, I finally woke from my trance and stumbled backward into the living room. The copy of my father was far more realistic, only small components were incorrect. Like, he had a big mustache even though he’d shaved it off a week ago. And his nose appeared to miss holes. Small mistakes. Holding that booklet that I found tightly in my hands, I crouched down next to the sofa and hoped that this would all be over soon. \-- I can’t say how long I sat on that cold living room floor. There wasn’t anything I could do, the only way out seemed to be the kitchen but at least it appeared like they didn’t try to come inside. After what must have been at least an hour of sitting and contemplating my sanity, I decided to look into the booklet with my name on it and started reading the first page. ***The adventure of life*** ***Pilot*** ***Scene 1*** **We are inside a regular, suburban living room. The childhood home of Nils. We focus on the sofa in the middle of the room.** **Nils is sleeping on the sofa, tucked underneath a light blanket, still wearing last night's clothes: Loose, blue denim pants. Black t-shirt with a pocket. Converse shoes. His hair is frizzy.** **A voice wakes him up.** **"Honey, breakfast is ready!"** "What the actual fuck?" I whispered to myself. I skimmed through the pages, but hardly any of them made sense. A few scenes were normal, like the one describing me waking up. After that, it was a mixture of random words and nonsense. It was all bullshit but I did not want to wait here until the *actors* of my parents came inside. I folded the paper and shoved them inside my back pocket. Holding my breath, I slowly tiptoed towards the kitchen window. It was the only way out for me. The glass was still foggy from the breath of my mother’s copy. A shiver went through my body when I thought about it. I collected all of my courage and peeked outside. There was no sight of anyone or anything. I held my breath just a moment longer, praying that this window wasn't a prop. I probably could have broken it but that might alarm the things and they'd come back. But I didn't have to. The window opened like a regular one. Finally, I could breathe again. I turned off my brain and climbed out the window. \- I was staring at a blue wall, above me was a warm, yellow spotlight. The fake house was standing inside a massive storage hall. Cameras and other equipment were lying around but there were no signs of any humans. I walked around the hall until I found two doors. One of them had a sign glued to it. **Audition for new Warly, this way!** I decided to take the second door without a sign which led me to a hallway. I ran through it and landed in a second hallway. I kept running until I finally found an exit. When I realized that I was feeling the real, cold air on my skin, tears started streaming down my face. The relief was replaced by fear again when I noticed that the exit led me right into a forest. No roads, no sign of civilization. But I had to focus, I had to get away before they decided that I wasn't supposed to leave. So I started running again. I can't tell you how long I ran for and how many times I got lost if that even makes sense in those circumstances. But finally, I found a diner where I could use a phone. I had escaped and I was safe. \-- Ever since that moment I've tried so hard to remember the location of the place. The police have not been able to find it with the bit of information I had Of course I left out the part about the creatures. Nobody would believe that shit but I’m not able to let go of it. I need to find answers. Before I end up back inside the studio. Because when I fled, I took that script with me and when I finally got home I collected the courage to look at it and found another part that wasn’t nonsense. **Nils decides to trick the parents. He opens the window in the kitchen and climbs outside. He doesn't know where to yet.** **End of scene**. They'd wanted me to leave, *no*, they even predicted it. And now all I can do is keep wondering if there is a script for another scene. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Father Christmas? [RESPONSE] This all started about 4 years ago. None of my cousins, aunts or uncles live in the same city as me so every year we go on a road trip to see each of them and their families. Last year we took a trip to pietermaritzburg. My uncle had passed away a few months prior to this paticular visit due to cancer so my aunt and her 16 year old daughter were staying alone in their huge double story home. Everyone remembered my uncle, David for giving gifts to everyone. He would always take us shopping and spend ridiculous amounts of money on expensive toys and gadgets for the kids. My dad was driving our 8 seater hyundai van while my two sisters and my mother were fast asleep in the middle row of the vehicle. My older brother, Keeran and I were seated right behind them. We were sharing earphones and listening to creepypasta stories he had downloaded on his phone. It was getting really boring. It read 12:10 am on the dashboard. It was saturday morning, Christmas Eve. It was dark outside as there were no street lights on these gravel roads. All we could see ahead of us was as far as the cars headlights went, so my dad drove slowly. As we drove on, both sides of the road were covered by forest. This is when I saw something very odd. A man was walking along the left side of the road. Keeran saw him too. We tried to see his face but it looked like he was made of shadow somehow. His figure was boney and disturbing and he walked slowly. Keeran tried making something creepy out of the situation as he usually does but I shot down his theories until I realised again that there was no source of light, food or electricity for miles. Maybe he was just a homeless guy who doesn't know where he's going, I thought to myself. The rest of the trip was quiet. Everyone was asleep besides my dad who was driving and me who was looking out the window at the stars, trying to come up with more solutions which could explain the creepy guy. I came up with nothing. We finally arrived at my cousin, sarah's house after 11 hours on the road. It was 2 in the morning and we were unpacking our bags from the car. My brother and I were forced to sleep in the lounge as the rest of the open rooms were occupied by reptiles that my cousin had an obsession with. I put my pyjamas on and looked at the old christmas tree. I remembered all the gifts I had waiting for me under the tree when I was growing up and I knew this christmas wouldn't be the same without uncle David. I woke up at about 11 am. My sisters were doing my cousins skin care routine and Keeran was on the phone with his girlfriend. I asked Sarah where our parents were and she told me they were out shopping for christmas food. That was the one thing I was looking forward to. For most of the day I played airhockey with Keeran and Forza Horizon on sarah's xbox while she socialized with my sisters. Later in the evening, our parents got home. Keeran and I went to the car as soon as they parked and helped with all the food and groceries. Packets were filled with gammon, corned beef, and other good food and deserts. When we were done we fetched some firewood from the backroom of the house and got the fireplace going. Everyone was more cheerful than I expected and we had a great time watching tv and playing games. I think we were all just excited for Christmas lunch. Everyone got up and went to their rooms while I layed on the couch. Me and keeran went to the bathroom to brush our teeth and when we went back to the lounge he went straight asleep on the couch. I turned the light off and fell asleep shortly after him. I woke up in the middle of the night but I couldn't move. I saw a figure in the corner of the room, behind the christmas tree. It looked so familiar. It was just standing there. Boney in figure and short. It looked exactly like the thing we saw travelling to sarah's place. For some reason I wasn't horrified. I didn't try scream. I felt so comfortable and I was so happy in that moment. I woke up again. This time it was about 7 in the morning. Sarah's rooster was crowing. It was christmas morning. I laid there on the couch for about 20 minutes, thinking about the dream I had. Was it a dream or was it real? I still don't know. I got up and at my amazement I found a ton of gifts under the tree. I quickly forgot about what I had experienced the night before and looked for a gift with my name on. I couln't find any. The gifts had the names Anne Meyers , Peter Coldham, Steven Bennet, Hannah Young, Ben O'reilly, Connor Newton, and Kyle Oubre on them. I knew no one with these names. I went to the kitchen and got a glass of water. Everyone woke up and wished everyone a merry christmas and the adults were confused about the gifts. They asked us who bought all of the gifts and we all said we didn't know. I took another look at the gifts. Underneath all of the gifts each of our names were written. They were written in blood. At first we thought keeran was playing some sick prank on us but he said he wasn't so we believed him. I opened my gift and to my surprise it was an Iphone 8. I was tired of using android but I had never told anyone I was saving up money to buy this exact Iphone. Keeran's gift was a new lenovo laptop, he said it's the exact one he was planning on buying when our vacation ends. In summary, everyone got exactly what they wanted. Later that night I told Keeran about the dream I had and he told me he saw the exact same thing. We tried figuring out what was happening so we did our research. We searched the name " Anne meyers". We were horrified when we saw what came up. The girl had died on christmas morning due to injuries she supposedly sustained from her dog. The dog was put down. An Iphone 8 exactly the same as mine which had been bought for her christmas gift was nowhere to be found. We were shocked to find that Peter Coldhams christmas tree fell onto him and pinned him into his fireplace where he burned to death. Peters mother had bought him a lenovo laptop identical to keerans which went missing. It was the same thing over and over again. Every name we researched had a gift one of our family members had recieved. Keeran and I kept this information to ourselves. For years and years every Christmas I get whatever I envy. I've tried my hardest to not want anything but that's impossible isn't it? Year after year I see names on a gift box of someone who dies and their gift miraculously ends up at my feet on the 25th of December. I managed to come up with the only explanation that makes sense. The boney figure is my uncle. He lost a tremendous amount of weight in his last days alive and It would explain why I felt so comfortable that night. Maybe I'm wrong. I don't really care. I can't handle this. I've been to fortune tellers, Specialists and all sorts of witches but they all turn me away when I tell them my full story. I don't know how I can live with this. I don't deserve the gifts being given to me every year and these people don't deserve to die. If I die no one's gift will disappear and they won't die right? Even if I'm wrong I feel guilty. And it's something I can't deal with anymore. It's time for me to end it now. This is my goodbye.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm a Hunter In The Mountains Of California. My Latest Kill Wasn't A Deer... [RESPONSE] The Rangers just drove away, so I think I’m clear to write now. If you read the title, then you know I’m a hunter. And before I tell the story, I think there are some misconceptions about hunters that I need to clear up. First off, I respect the wildlife. I don’t kill for sport, and most of us don't either. I live in a secluded cabin deep in the mountains. The nearest actual store is an hour or so from my cabin, so I find it easier to hunt deer instead of making that drive every time I need food. And second off, if I see an animal who is injured, I put it out of its misery. That’s not really a misconception, just a good segway into the story, since that’s how it started. I was on a trip into the woods, venturing to a flower-filled meadow that deer seemed to love grazing and frolicking in. Usually, there were several there, but this time there were none. Odd. After 45 minutes of nothing, I tromped out into the field and took off my mufflers, my ears immediately being hit with the sound of a wounded deer. I figured I’d better put a bullet in its head instead of leaving it to suffer. I followed the sound and found a deer laying down on its side, intestines leaking from a large gash on its side. I took out my revolver I kept with me for this particular task and took aim. Just then I heard the crashing of bushes and branches snapping to my right. Something was coming. Based on the sounds, a bear maybe. I saw a boulder a few paces away, so I jumped behind it and waited. When the sounds stopped, I peeked out from behind my spot. A lone deer was standing over the wounded one, sniffing it and nudging it. I was confused and about to reveal myself when the deer looked around, as if checking that no one was watching, then it…grew. Its bones grew into spindly limbs, tearing its flesh at its joints, and the smell of fresh blood wafted my way. Its antlers grew longer and more tangled, while its teeth previously meant for chewing plants shifted into a carnivorous maw. It began to use a pair of new clawed hands to tear the wounded deer open further and eat the organs that fell out. I tried not to let my breakfast come back up while planning on what to do next. My rifle was about 20 yards away, and I wasn’t sure how fast the thing that was feeding was. I eventually decided on a mad dash to my gun, hoping it didn’t chase me. I counted down from three and took off towards my dropped weapon. Behind me, I heard the thing I was dreading. The thing was after me. *SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT* I jumped at my rifle and snatched it, whipping around and shooting a desperate blank In the thing’s direction. I covered my face, so I didn’t see my shot hit it in the shoulder. It let out a sound that echoed off every tree in the dark woods behind it. While it was still reeling, I pulled out my revolver and ran up, holding the barrel about an inch from its forehead. I fired the killing shot. I realized that I had better report this to a forest ranger or even the police, but ended up picking the first one. I showed them the body and they went silent. Without a word, they loaded up the corpse into their pickup truck and drove off. So now I’m at my desk writing this, and, well. I don’t think I have much time left. I keep hearing something screeching, and I have no doubt it’s another one of those things. I can hear them tapping and scratching on my window. If these are my last words, then I have a warning. There is an unknown species in the woods of California. And they look like deer.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Life On The Road (Part 2) The Dangers Of Pop-Up Hotels [RESPONSE] (First: (TW for Suicide) I found myself on an empty desert road with the sun setting fast. I’ve been driving all day to nowhere in particular. I’d hoped I would reach a city or a small town to stop and rest sooner and didn’t really want to drive all night. For hours I didn’t see any signs of life besides a car or two going the other direction. I lived on the road, in constant motion for a few years. I no longer kept track of how long I’ve been at it. My hair starting to turn grey around the edges since I started my new lifestyle, making me wonder if I’ll ever really be able to stop and settle in one place. I started to get tired. When night fell and with no sign of a city or rest stop, I debated on if I should just pull over for a quick nap. I honestly didn’t remember the last time I stopped for anything besides a quick meal. I needed to sleep soon. So far, I hadn't seen too many cars but didn’t want to risk someone's life by getting in an accident because I was too tired to drive. By some luck, I spotted a sign off in the distance, glowing beside a long empty road. When I got closer, I realized this motel wasn’t luck but rather it appeared for one weary driver. Being on the move as often as I was, I’ve seen things. Most things people would never believe in, but on long roads strange things tended to happen. Some of these things didn’t have names, or labels. I started to make notes of what I come across in case I could help out others, warning them away if needed. I called these kind of random encounters pop up motels. They looked as if they belonged to the 60’s or 70’s. The neon signs buzzing and giving off and eerie pink light that almost appeared to be a color you couldn’t describe if you stared at them for too long. They didn’t take cards so you needed to pay in cash, or any jewelry you may want to give up for a night’s rest. Most of these motels were a half square of rooms, all the doors looking out in the empty courtyards. If you find one of these motels with a pool, it’s best to keep driving. Nothing good comes from a pop-up motel with a pool. They only appear to those who need a rest and is without any other options. All the other rooms will be empty but you’ll always get the same room number. The clerk is silent, a younger man with blond hair and a pale face. He moves slowly handing over the key to room ten. I’ve stayed at these motels before without too many incidents. I just sleep for the night, return the key and leave in the morning with the building fading off in the distance. I forgot my cellphone charger in my room the one time and doubled back to get it only to find and empty lot. I hope the next person to use room ten needed a phone charger. At times I might come across a hooded figure standing beside an ancient soda vending machine. The front plastic cracked and bubbled hard clear buttons sticking when pressed. At least each can only cost a quarter. I paused looking that the person hidden under layers of dirty clothing. I’ve met him twice before and gave him a quarter for a drink. The darkness hid his face, but I thought he appeared happy by the offering. He quickly got a cold can and hurried off into the darkness and deeper in the empty desert landscape. I put my own change in and found he bought the last root beer I wanted. It happened last two times as well. Every time I pick a different soda and he always buys the last one. Smiling to myself I picked a regular off brand soda taking it to my room. I didn’t bring a change of clothing or anything else besides the drink to the room. I didn’t want to forget something again and lose it forever. I took off my shoes and laid on my back over top of the sheets. The room smelled musty, almost Earthy but a bed was better than sleeping in my car. At least the room appeared clean and I've never had any issue with bugs in the pop-up motels in the past. I drifted off quickly, being totally exhausted from the long day. Who knows when I last slept. With my hands resting on my chest, I fell into a deep sleep for a few hours. I didn’t even set and alarm to wake up in the morning. In the middle of the night, my brain pulled me from my rest confused on why I suddenly needed to be awake. I’d fallen asleep so quickly and so deeply I wasn’t that groggy when my eyes opened. I looked around the dark room, not moving my head or anything else, sensing something off. The neon light blinking slowly outside and coming through the thin curtains. The smell crept into the air causing my body to tense. I knew this smell. Sharp air making my skin crawl. It was almost sweet under the hints of Earth and rotting. The smell of death mixed with something growing in the dark. Heart racing, I knew I needed to turn my head. Whatever was in the room with me noticed I woke up. No way to avoid what would happen in the next few seconds. I needed to face it head on and hated it. My hands shaking clasped together and head moving as little as possible. My eyes travelled over to my right side already knowing that someone else laid on the bed. My throat went dry seeing the shape in the faint pink neon light. The face been covered by a white cloth with mold growing through it. The fabric clinging to the rotten skull underneath. I knew that there was always a risk of encountering something supernatural in a pop-up motel room. So far, I’d been very lucky. That night, my luck ran out. The shape turned its rotting head and if it had a nose, ours would be touching. In a flash the thing got on top of my body, pinning me to the hard mattress. The entire body almost rotten away, the skin replaced by splotches of mold and rot. The hands made of bone only held together by the mold wrapped around my wrist painfully. I got one hand free and pushed it against the exposed ribcage trying to get the rotten body off. Through my fear I found myself thinking the body almost looked beautiful in a way. The colors mixing well in the odd light coming from outside revealing delicate lines and shapes flesh normally covered. The hands wrapped around my throat cutting off my line of though. I kicked and thrashed trying to get free. I was going to die in that room. I knew that for certain but hated the feeling of it. Death hurts. It always hurts. Most times I feel into a cold darkness that I feared I would never come out from. My hand caught the cloth covering the skull of a face, tearing it off. The creature didn’t release its grip from my throat and even in such a predicament, my mind went blank at what I saw. Set in the left eye socket was a false green eye made of glass. It sparkled in the dim light matching the colors of the rest of the body so well I couldn’t help but want to reach towards it. My palm landed on the cheek of the skull, startling the creature. I was terrified in that moment. Who wouldn't be? This thing could easily break every bone in my body ten times over. Being strangled to death was a kindness. But my cross wired brain accepted the fear along with the sudden admiration of the face looking down, meeting my eyes for a brief moment. The fingers lifting long enough for some raspy words to get out. “You’re beautiful.” I told the monster and meant it. I don’t know if my tastes became warped after I started living on the road and dealing with supernatural creatures. I could have always been like this and never became aware of it until I came across the things that lurked in the night. Most of the time the creatures didn’t know how to respond to the compliment. A great deal of them acted poorly. The rotten moldy body got over the shock and the hands went back to my throat. I really wasn’t into that kind of thing but accepted being strangled over what else the corpse could do. The edges of my sight growing hazy and spots starting to dance over my eyes. In a brief moment I saw the monster for who they’d been in life. A man burned on the left side of his body, and so many failed surgeries leaving the skin appearing distorted. The untouched part of his face any model would be jealous of. The contrast of his scars against his handsome features made my heart flutter for a second. Then it slowed to a stop from the lack of air reaching my lungs. I have a strange ability of cheating death. I don’t know how. It just happens on the rare occasion I die. Which has been happening much more often as of late. I wake up when the sun rises, whole and uninjured. If I broke my arm, I could in theory kill myself and wake up alive and well the next day. I’ve never needed to take my own life and prayed that day never came. To be honest, I never found out why I am able to come back to life and am perfectly content not looking for answers. After being strangled, I woke up on my back gasping for air, reeling from the experience the night before. The phantom pain in my throat remained causing my hand to rub at the spot. I knew no bruises remained but my mind fooled me into thinking some damage lingered. Still, I could have stayed dead. Waking up with some pains was preferable to the alternative. Risking a glance over, I saw the rotten body from before. The white cloth over the face again and hands folded neatly on his exposed ribs. The mold growing in a way that made it appeared as if he hadn’t moved since he died. I sat up but didn’t leave. I couldn’t bring myself to. This person died alone and rotted away without anyone finding them. The idea hurt my chest. Using the room phone, I called in a few favors from someone I knew who dealt with this sort of thing. Then I carefully placed my hand over the corpse’s bony fingers silently promising I wouldn’t let him be alone again. I called in a pair of agents that respectfully collected the body. I left the room with them following behind the stretcher and the black body bag that held the one I found. When I left the room, I saw I was no longer in an empty desert but within the middle of a city I didn’t recognize. My car parked out in the motel courtroom and on lookers peeking out from curtains to see what all the commotion was about. The pop-up motel rooms connected to any empty motel room available anywhere in the country, sometimes even further than that. The window shows the motel you arrived in but inside the room is somewhere else. I never got disconnected from the pop-up motel before. At least it was kind enough to bring my car along to wherever I ended up. The agents listed to my story and nodded, making notes. They found out the man was named Michael Burr. He rented out the motel room for at least six months. His bank account charged a special rate each month him and the motel owner agreed on without any issues with payment for all that time. After renting the room, he sealed it up, put the heat on and took enough sleeping pills to not wake up again. I asked about why he might do such a thing and the agents shrugged. I researched myself and found out that Michael had been a dancer, and breaking out to be an actor when an accident burned his face and body. He recovered physically, but mentally could never get over his new refection. His marriage broke apart and family grew distant. After the accident there wasn’t a single person in his life to tell him his scars made his face even more beautiful. Maybe that was my own tastes talking. Regardless of my own preference, I wished there had been one person who stay by his side no matter what he looked like. If someone did, I would not have found a body that night. I thanked the agents for coming out and dealing with the body. They called a special cleaning company to take care of the room. Neither knew why the rotten body got back up to strangle the one who made the mistake of sleeping on the bed, or why I was sent to the room after I’d fallen asleep. Sadly, I've found when it comes to supernatural occurrences that things just happen. I wanted to believe the pop-up motel sent me to that room knowing one lonely corpse needed company for the night. I also found out later that his family cremated Michael's body. I wondered if that was something he wanted, or if it was just a cheaper option for them. He might not have thought much of his body rotting away in the ground, or leaving his scarred face behind in the world. Still, I wasn’t a part of his life. I didn’t have any right of being a part of his death. I did what I could for him. That needed to be good enough.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The High Window [RESPONSE] Hey everyone, I’ve been lurking on here for a long time, but I find myself writing this post in desperation. No one else in my life is seemingly giving me the time of day on this, and I am petrified to my core. Not even my family wants to listen to me. I’m sorry if I don’t sound very collected, I’m finding it difficult to even arrange my thoughts in a sensible manner, let alone type them out for you at all. The hail outside assaulting my apartment is giving me a petulant sensory overload that is only compounding on my anxiety, making it incredibly difficult to think. My apologies again, let me try and start from the start. Do you remember some of your earliest memories? You know the ones I’m talking about – the ones that were formed on the cusp of your sentience, the surreal ones that could very well have been a dream and you wouldn’t know any better. I have many of such memories; memories that I’m not sure even happened at all. Sometimes my mother and father could confirm them, but this particular recollection I am speaking of, I unfortunately have no frame of reference. My great-grandfather was a great man and was a proud Armenian. Many of our family before and after the genocide were involved in the Armenian Apostolic Clergy. For those reading who are not familiar, Armenians as a people believe Noah’s Ark landed on Mount Ararat and was the first nation to adopt Christianity around 300AD. I myself am not particularly religious, but I respect the deeply spiritual nature of my culture. When I was around two or three, we flew to Armenia to visit him. A close friend of the clergy, he saved a great many holy relics during the genocide that still hung on the brick walls of his modest homestead. At the age I was, I never really appreciated the raw amount of history in that house. There were wooden carvings and prayers in languages that even adults probably wouldn’t have understood. Our family gatherings were a beautiful thing – he always loved my cousins and I, knowing that we were the next generation of a culture that he thought was going to be forgotten. He was often moved to tears when he saw us and was not afraid to feel the full extent of his own emotions. I remember sitting on his lap on his front porch, on a rocking chair. Although where his house sat was beautiful – a basin surrounded by Armenian highlands and forest – it always intimidated my young mind. It would be quite a few years until I found a word to match this uneasy feeling… Isolation. The homestead was a lantern; a bastion of warmth, love, and safety, but it was surrounded by a nothingness that I had never really experienced anywhere else. The moonlight did seldom to illuminate the neatly trimmed field surrounding the home, and as the sun took its last gasps before dipping below the horizon, it felt like the darkness squeezed the homestead. The religious iconography in the house always calmed me down. Just outside this loving oasis lay an unknown I was not prepared for, the crucifixes and statues of Mother Mary watching over me eased my young mind as I tried to sleep. I was a very anxious child, and still am an anxious person to this day. I was scared easily, and my cousins would take great pleasure in torturing me. They would feed me lies about what the darkness outside held – if I didn’t finish my dinner, for instance, the ghosts of the lions who ate martyrs long past would smell the thrown away food and come searching for the ungrateful. These little tales would upset my sleep, but I remember there was one story my cousin told me that I could not purge from my little mind. One I could not shake. It was night, and through the window it was so dark that not even the nearby tree line could not be seen. The window in question was strangely high up on the wall, and just below it lay a holy relic. In a faded gold frame, in what appeared to be a very old and distant dialect of Armenian, was the Our Father Prayer. I didn’t really see anything significant about it, aside from that it was written on an ancient piece of parchment, that looked as if it would fade to dust if ever released from its golden tomb. My cousins, like sharks smelling blood, latched onto my curiosity. “What do you think that is written on?” “Paper?” I asked. “No, Dede told me that it is written on the skin of a goat. Every now and then, the skinless goat will come to the window and stare through it. Sometimes, if it feels like it can convince you, the skinless goat will tap its horns on the window and ask for it back. You’re sleeping on the couch tonight, aren’t you? Across from the high window?” My cousin chuckled, finishing with a wry grin, “Dede thinks the goat is the devil himself, unable to leave the possessed goat until the prayers are wiped clean from its skin – “ It was at this point that Dede (my great – grandfather) berated my cousin for scaring me again. It was strange however, as it was not a usual scold. He screamed many things at my cousin, showing a side of himself far from the loving figure I had come to know. I hid behind the couch, only making out a few words. “I trusted you! You have passed it onto him now! He is a child! What the fuck were you thinking!” He boomed as my cousin shrank further and further into his tiny teenage frame. This was the first time I had heard a swear word. Afterwards, my Dede gingerly plucked me from behind the couch, and made all things right in the world. He said, through a lying mouth but truthful eyes, that I had nothing to worry about. He shut the blinds to the high window, said a prayer I did not recognise, turned off the lights and went to bed. The whole house fell asleep. Sleeping on the couch that night, I tried with every fibre of my being not to look at the window. The blinds were closed, but I was still absolutely petrified of the mental image my cousin put in me. I woke in the middle of the night, to a distinct sensation that even today I struggle to find a word for. I was scared, but not the childish fear of being scared of a fictional monster. It was the fear I now imagine a gazelle would have, drinking from a lake whilst a lion lay only a few feet away, in hiding. The gazelle has no reason, no evidence to indicate that it is in danger, it just… Knows. It was the deeply instinctual fear of being watched. Something was staring at me through the window. I was paralysed with fear. I obviously didn’t open the curtain to see what was through the window, I couldn’t face it, but I knew there was something there. It was the inexplicable feeling that something was wrong and I felt powerless to do anything about it. I sobbed into my pillow for hours and hours, the fear never waning. This went on, night after night. My Dede, God bless him, continuously asked me if there was anything wrong, but I didn’t want to tell him I couldn’t sleep because I was scared. I was too embarrassed, you see – I didn’t want anyone to know how deeply my cousin scared me. Night after night I lost more and more sleep, only ever really resting from collapses of exhaustion. Then, maybe a week or two later, Dede passed away. I still feel as if this was completely unrelated to the situation I am telling you all but I can never really know. He passed peacefully in his sleep, surrounded by loved ones and with a smile on his face. This, to my horror, meant our stay in Armenia was to be extended. The feeling of being watched never truly went away, but I was able to accommodate it enough to finally have a decent rest. That is, until the night my family forgot to close the curtains. I slept as usual, rolled over away from the window. Tap. I felt my blood run cold. Tears welled up in my eyes as I chalked it up to my imagination. I desperately tried to steady my breathing, as to not induce a panic attack. Tap. Tap. I lost control of both my breathing and my mind. I squeezed my teddy bear tightly and hid under my covers, sweating profusely from the heat that had built up. I was almost suffocating myself with the stale air under the blanket because my mind simply couldn’t take facing what was outside of my little bubble. Tap. Tap. Tap. I reached a point of utter desperation. I was soaked in sweat, borderline suffocating, overloaded with anxieties until my very being was nothing more than a flaky tremble. I said every prayer I had been taught in my mind. *Hail Mary full of –* Tap. Tap. I tried again, *Hail Mary full of* – Tap. Tap. Tap. *Our Father –* Tap. Tap. Tap. In my young mind, I reasonably concluded, that the only way to stop my fears was to look at the window. The tapping could have been anything mind you, it could have even just been the creaking of the house. For my own sanity, I was left with no choice but to finally throw the covers back, and look outside the window. This would be the moment I outgrew my childish fears. I felt an amazing rush of cold air as my overheated body was finally relinquished and took a gasp of the most beautiful refreshing air. Then, I looked out the window. And it looked back at me. I felt a sharp digging in my chest, a nervosity and fear that I had never experienced before, and dived back under the covers. It was looking directly at me. Tap. Tap. Tap. I only saw a tiny glimpse of what stood at the high window before I dived under the blanket, and my cousin was not lying. It was indeed the skull of the goat, wrapped in red, wet, steamy flesh. Its teeth were exposed and bared, impossible to tell if it was smiling or that’s just how its face looked without skin. It had four black horns, two jutting up like blasphemous unicorn horns, and two more that were gnarled and curled. Its eyes were massive, with two black rectangular irises, that dug into me even under the blanket. What horrified me even more is that the window was so high up on the wall… There was no way a normal goat would be able to reach that high. I shuddered, with the realisation that it was far bigger than a normal goat and must have been standing on its hind legs. Tap. It spoke. “Sam…vel” Its voice was distinctly inhuman, as it gurgled and dripped its words forth through an exposed and fleshy goat larynx. “Sam…vel.” It persisted with its halted and blasphemous voice. “Sam…vel…Abraham…yan” Samvel Abrahamyan. My name. How did it know my name? I got up out of bed, and walked towards the high window. Being the age that I was, the high window completely dwarfed my frame. The eyes of the creature followed me the entire time, and looked down at me, as I looked up at it. “Leave… Leave me alone. “ I stuttered in an utterly unconvincing voice. The creature grinned. I could see its tendons move as its muscles clasped back, showing banks and banks of teeth running all the way down its throat. Its eyes flicked down to the prayer on the wall and then back to me. “You… You…”, it swallowed, the teeth within it clicking against each other as its throat moved, “know… What… I want.” My head felt light and I felt distant from my eyes, “No… Please,” I squeaked, as fresh tears ran down my face. “Give… Or… I…I…” It swallowed its own wetness once more, “Never… Leave…” It turned its head, and tapped on the window once more with its gnarled horns. I rocked back and forth on the floor, with my eyes squeezed shut, desperately trying to say the Our Father in my mind. “He… Won’t… Help… Only… Me…” I kept breathing faster and faster, it felt like my body was on fire from the fear. Tap. “There… Only… Me…” I felt sick, sicker than I had ever felt in my life. The room spun and wobbled as I tried to swallow but couldn’t. The lion had sprung at the gazelle. Tap. Tap. “Only… Me…” Tap. Tap. Tap. I looked to the statue of Mother Mary, and her soft eyes looked back at me. I bunched my fists with all the resolve my small body could muster. “Do you promise to leave my family alone, if I give you the prayer?” A strange expression crossed its face – deliberating, thinking, pondering – before its oily, sickening grin stretched back across its face. Its eyes became wild and wide, excited even. “Yes… Bother… Them… Won’t…” I unlocked the window. An impossibly long hand like tendril that looked nothing like the leg of a goats gently pushed the window open. The arm was long and wrapped in a pungent red coating of viscera. It plucked the prayer off the wall. The creature held the frame between two fingers, and almost lost grip of it as it slid down its greasy wet hand. The hand left and closed the window behind it. I quickly ran to the front porch, to Dede’s rocking chair, and saw the first licks of light steam over the surrounding mountains. I saw the creature skulking off to the woods. You see, at the high window, it had been kneeling down. It stood impossibly tall, as tall as the ancient trees that surrounded the house. Even through the darkness, that impenetrable wall of the unknown – it seemed to glow the faintest red, perhaps like a used glowstick. It turned back towards me just before the tree line. I didn’t have to see its face to feel its eyes or its toothy grin. “Many… Thanks… Sam…Vel…” It took a bow, and disappeared into the woods. Now, r/nosleep, the story I have just told you is one that I have never, ever thought to be real. I’ve lived through enough of my anxious years, I’ve had enough nightmares to realise that this event didn’t happen. There was nothing separating this from the countless other fever dreams I had at this age. No one ever seemed to question that the prayer on the wall was gone, either. Honestly? I forgot about all of it, especially the prayer on the wall. My cousins just figured we lost it whilst packing our Dede’s possessions, none of them taking any of his stories of the prayer seriously. After many years, we forgot about it entirely, not even being sure if it truly existed, or if my cousins just made things up to scare me. That is, until I found an old family photo of Dede’s old homestead. It was a picture of all of us, happy and loved. With a faded gold frame hanging on the wall behind us. Beneath the high window. I am terribly sorry for that rant, but this catches us up to where we are now. Seeing that photo has seemingly activated some old fearful memories. Through the hail, I am hearing a tapping on my window. However, unlike my naïve child self, I know this to simply be sleep paralysis. This is because when I put my noise-cancelling headphones on to block out the hail, I can still here the tapping. As if it’s right next to my ear. That’s one reason how I know it isn’t real. The other reason is because my apartment is on the seventh floor, and I don’t have a balcony. Have you guys ever experienced something like this? It’s getting harder and harder to chalk it up to my mind playing tricks, as I’m not in bed or anything while I’m typing this, so I can’t really attribute it to sleep paralysis. One last thing I can’t shake from my mind, is that supposed ‘deal’ I made when I was a kid. I made it promise to leave my family alone… But not me. Maybe that’s what it was smiling at. I don’t think about that though, as I feel like indulging in that ludicrous fake memory may just make my anxiety worse. Anyways, I’ve been prescribed some new sleeping medication, so I’m going to try and go to bed. The hail outside has died down, so I’m going to leave the window fully open too. Can’t tap on what isn’t there! I’ll get back to you all tomorrow and see if it’s stopped. Otherwise, I am very eager to hear any advice you guys have on getting a good rest. Goodnight.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] She Would Always Leave the Light On, Until Last Night. [RESPONSE] Me and my grandmother both live on our own 20-acre piece of land. It's a pretty godforsaken place, deep in the woods of Africa. This place was once owned by my great grandmother, who in turn inherited it from her father. He was an English colonialist, and a proud one at that - not the proudest moment in our family history, but we try to keep to our own and live our lives in peace nowadays. Over the years, this land had accumulated a plethora of building. The first houses were the villa, the greenhouse, and the gardener's house. These were built by my great great grandfather, in hopes of starting a new life in this odd, foreign land for him, his wife, and his back-then year-old daughter. He built a majestic house for them all. five magnificent bedrooms, so any future child or grandchild could have a place of their own to stay at. a huge swimming pool, a state-of-the-art kitchen made of black marble, and a grand dining room, fit for 20 guests. He even built the new fireplace with his own two hands, as a way of making the house truly his own. His wife, my ancestor, loved growing flowers, a legacy which later passed to her daughter, and her daughter as well, all the way up to my mother. I am only one which this talent seemed to skip - anything I try to grow tends to die, and feeling bad for these poor plants, I ended up growing a single cactus in my room, since these don't need much attention to thrive. Anyway, my ancestor built the greenhouse so that his wife could enjoy her hobby to the fullest, with tall, pristine glass, and rows of beautiful clay pots. He built a hut for a gardener so one could stay on the plot and listen to my great great grandma's every whim regarding her garden and greenhouse. It must have been beautiful back in the day - the greenhouse gleaming in sun with a small rock garden just outside it, the gardener’s stone hut, like some gnome's house out of a legend. whole plots of flowers in all shapes and colors, the pool as blue as the sky, and above it all, the great Victorian villa, all cream walls, polished wood, and clean marble. I can only imagine, however, as nnowadays it lies abandoned for over three decades. All the plants in the greenhouse grew wild or died; a section of its roof gave way and fell over last year. The pool lies barren, mucky leftovers of water covering its floor. The gardener’s house lay abandoned for even longer, as no gardener has been employed ever since the original owner’s wife died. And the house itself stands shut, vines growing over its walls, the windows ever dark. Ever since my great grandmother died, my grandmother has abandoned that house. Too many ghosts of the past, she said. Too many childhood memories of her and her brothers, her mother, her father, and my own mother. The second house on the land was one that my great uncle built. Some six decades ago, when he was a young man not five years since he left home, his father had an accident on the property. I am not sure of the exact details, but I do know that a month later, he died in a coma. His mother was so heartbroken that my great uncle decided to move to the land with her, so that she won’t be alone. He built a wooden hut there, not too far away from the main Villa. My great uncle was a hunter, and he built it on his own, decorating it with the game he hunted. That place, too, lies abandoned. He died from a hunting accident a few years after finishing to build it, and no one took a claim to it. I rarely pass by it, as it is a way off my house, but the few times I have seen it, it seemed rotten and almost sad. The last two houses are my grandmother’s, and my own. As I said, my grandmother did not want to live in the main house anymore, as it held too many memories for her, of people she would never again see. She built her own wooden hut – this one very modern, unlike her brother’s. Two stories high, it holds every comfort a person needs to live in that kind of environment. A spacey food cellar, a long balcony with a rocking chair, a metal fireplace inside a comfy living room, complete with a floor to ceiling glass window and even a raised corner dedicated to her cat. Then, her second husband left her. That was around a decade ago, and not much after that I decided to move in as well. To explain my logic in moving to such a remote place, I was not in any kind of relationship, and I was exactly in this in-between time in my life, looking for myself. I have always been close to my grandma, and I decided I might as well keep her company while trying to find some peace for myself. As a year passed, I realized I quite liked that style of living. Before that, I had been living in London with my mom, and the calmness of the woods allowed me to truly relax for the first time in my life. My grandmother offered to use her savings and make me a small house of my own – “the land is big, and still empty in most parts, practically wild woods-“she said, “and while I need my own space, my dear, I won’t allow you to live in a rundown shack or in a house full of ghosts.” I accepted gladly, and a year later my own house was built. Smaller than my grandmother’s house or the main Villa, but bigger than my great uncle’s hut, it was sweet, cozy, and just what I needed to feel at home. And so, I happily moved all my stuff over. From my new house’s plot of land, I could just make out the vague light of my grandma’s porch from between the trees. It was just far enough to feel privacy, yet close enough to not feel lonely in the vast woods. We had an agreement, grandma and me, that as long as we are both home, we will leave our porch lights on until we go to sleep, just so we are both calm knowing that the other is ok. I know it sounds silly – I mean, even if anything happens, the light will remain on, and I would have no way of knowing until late night came, and I was sure my grandma should already be asleep. But it was comforting, in those quiet woods, in the evenings when we were not sitting to share a cup of tea, seeing the light on the other side, and knowing that my grandma is ok, and there is another living soul just a shout away. Not to mention, with all those abandoned houses lying around, I always had this creepy feeling that a squatter could be in any of them, and I would never know. Better safe than sorry, she would always tell me. I did start noticing a few odd things over those years. During the year I lived with my grandma, she would lock the door at 10pm, and said that for her peace of mind I must promise her to not open it until daylight. I dismissed it as an old lady’s fearful habit and respected it. When I moved in my own house, I would mostly keep that habit going, but not quite as religiously as she did. Some night I would only lock the door when I went to sleep, others I would forget about it all together. The first odd thing I recall is that one night, around a year after moving in, I woke up to what sounded like a long scratching sound. I startled awake, straining my ears to try and figure out what it was that woke me. I could still hear it – a faint sound, like metal dragging very slowly over wood. It seemed to come from downstairs, so I got up and went to the bottom floor to check it out. However, a few stairs before the landing, the noise stopped at once. When I checked, I was creeped out to find the front door open. I shut it close, locked it up, and searched every nook and cranny to no avail. No sign of an intruder, or anything that could cause that sound, really. I went back to sleep, albeit a little shaky. I told grandma about it the next day and tried to ask if she knew what it was, but she just nodded her head, saying, “dear, we are in the middle of the bush here. There are many things that can walk in your house, just lock your door and be a good girl, okay?”. Needless to say, I started locking my door from that night onwards. Over the seven years since, I have seen a few other odd things. I could swear I saw lights in the woods coming from the Villa’s direction, low murmurs just in earshot that disappeared as I turned to look. I once found a dead deer, looking completely torn apart, but dismissed it as some kind of predator. The one night, as I was sitting outside, the woods fell completely silent – which stood out, as in the middle of a forest you would usually hear the wind over branches, birds, a cacophony of insects. I looked up, looked around. In seeming harmony with the complete silence, I could see no branch moving, no bird flying. It freaked me out, so I went inside the house and locked the door. I did take a look towards grandma’s porch, and sure enough, the light was on. So I took a deep breath, and waited. I can’t remember exactly when, but at some point, I fell asleep, and when I woke up, the world seemed to gain its noise again, and I dismissed it as my imagination. Of course, I told my grandma the few first times I noticed those weird occurrences. But she dismissed them all, just as she dismissed the first one, and at some point, I just stopped sharing all with her. Last night however, as I was cooking dinner around 8pm, I glanced towards her porch to search for the normal, comforting light. This time, the light was off. Of course, I left what I was doing, and went to her house to make sure she was ok. It was raining earlier that evening, and so the smell of fresh mud and wet trees was hanging in the air. For the nine years of living in this house, not once has my grandma forgotten to leave her light on, and this was much too early for her to sleep. I was worried, and so I ran, not watching my steps in the mud. As I got closer to the house, I could see none of the lights were on. I knocked on the front door to no avail, I got no answer, so I tried to open it. It wasn’t locked. My grandma would never leave the house unlocked. I found her cat, Charlie, shaking and frozen in his little corner, hiding under his blanket, looking as if something truly terrified him, but no grandma anywhere around the house. I went out again, calling out for her as I walked. Of course, I got no response. I wasn’t really expecting it, but one can only hope for the best. I looked all over the garden and could not find her. I did, however, after stumbling in the dark and mud for a few minutes, find a set of footsteps leading towards the main house. I was hesitant. You see, as I said, my grandma had a strong aversion to that house and never, ever, went there. So what would she want of that old house at this time of evening? Yet, as I had no other lead, I decided to go there anyway. It was a few minutes’ walk, and as I started getting closer to the villa, I could already notice something very odd – the lights in this house were on. As I got close to the front yard, I could see my grandma sitting in the front yard, in her mother’s old swing chair, holding her mother’s sheers in her hands, looking at them intently, as if to examine something on them. She was wearing her night dress, and slippers. I was sick worried by that point. As I walked up to her, she lifted her head, smiling. “Hello my dear!” she said, cheerfully; “how has this night been treating you?” Now, this will sound crazy to you, but that second, I just FELT something was off. Something about her intonation was just not right. She was too cheerful, too nonchalant about sitting outside this creepy old house, on this cold night, wearing only her night clothes. Her smile was too empty. Suddenly I felt the loneliness of this place, miles and miles of empty lots, not a living soul around. Unless you counted monkeys, birds, and Charlie of course. “Grandmama.” I said, carefully. “What are you doing out here? You must be freezing cold!”’ My grandma’s smile grew wider, but she didn’t answer for a long minute. “Grandma, please.” I pleaded with her. “Come back with me. We will warm you up. No need to explain tonight, but I am worried.” She did not answer. I don’t remember exactly what I said next, but nothing I said could get a response out of her. She just sat there, smiling at me, not moving. Eventually, I decided enough’s enough, and told her I was leaving, and calling help from the close town, as something was clearly not right with her. This finally got a response out of her. “No!” she said, almost in a shout. “No-“ she said, softer this time; “Why don’t you come inside with me instead?” “Inside?” I said, confused. “Why yes dear. There is a fireplace inside. We can light it and sit next to it to warn up if you are so very worried about me. I can then tell you all about your grandpa, and uncle.” Now this was truly odd. She never talked about my grandpa. It was like a code of silence between her and my mother – I would ask about him – who he was, how he died. they would change the subject. Any other day, I would have taken this opportunity without thinking. But that night, the light from the villa glaring behind me, the cold sinking into me, my grandma’s strange tone sounded not inviting, but scary. That’s when I remembered – the house should not be connected to electricity. my grandma had officially declared it abandoned and thus refused to pay the bill for so long, they had cut it off. Every fiber of my being told me I should not be there right now, and I decided to obey, but not before giving her one last chance. “Grandma, please. Please, I will ask one last time. Come back with me.” I tried to plead with her with a shaky voice. Very slowly, my grandmother nodded her head, her smile growing almost unnaturally wide. Call me a terrible granddaughter, but at this I turned, and ran the hell out of there, hoping beyond hope that this is a bad dream, and I will wake up the next morning to find all is normal. I somehow fell asleep and woke up not long ago to that same scratching sounds I heard years ago from downstairs. It was much louder this time. I stayed in bed, eyes wide open, listening for anything else. The sound seems to have been drawing closer. Suddenly, I heard a loud knock on the door. A voice came with it. “Dearest?”; it was my grandmother’s voice. I didn’t dare to answer. Something doesn’t feel right about this. The knocking has been going on for a few minutes now, louder and louder, with my grandma’s voice adding to it things like “I am worried dear, please open!”, more and more frantically. I don’t know what to do, dear readers. As I am typing this, the knocking is getting louder. I am sure something more sinister is going on in this plot of land, but this is my grandma we are talking about. How can I just leave her out there? I think I may just open – I will update you all if things go well.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I always knew my girlfriend was hiding something, now I wish I had never met her [RESPONSE] I need some help. I’m writing this after I had the most frightening experience of my life. To tell you the truth, I don’t even fully understand what happened. What’s worse is that I don’t know if I’m in danger. Let me give you some context… Clara and I started dating a couple of months ago. We met in a pub. She looked sad and… Lonely. So, I approached her. We started dating, and I immediately thought she was odd. It was a somehow fascinating oddness, though. I confirmed that the first time we decided to meet at her place. We exchanged messages all day, knowing I’d come for dinner, so around 7-8 pm. Yet, she kept texting me, asking me to confirm I’d come at 8, and “definitely not later”. I found it a bit weird, such an obsession for a specific time, for a date taking place at home. But that wasn’t even nearly as odd as what followed. I did come at 8. It was clear I was going to stay over for the night, so I had brought my backpack with me. We had some wine, cuddled on the couch, and then started talking. At 11.45 sharp, she abruptly stopped our conversation and stood up to go close all the blinds of the house and lock the door. I remember the time because she did the exact same thing ever since… Every night, the latest at 11.50, she would stand up, no matter what we were doing, and she’d close all the windows, blinds, and lock the entrance door. I always thought she just had an irrational fear for burglars. That’s what she confirmed as well when I asked her. Obviously, it didn’t take me long to realize that she didn’t want to get out of the house beyond that time either. If we were to go out, we had to be home before 11.50. It was a frustrating situation, and her attempts at changing subject or avoid questions made it only worse. One night, I got enough of it. When she stood up at the usual time, I grabbed her arm, looked into her eyes and told her to sit down. “There’s no reason to do it now, Clara. Let’s stay on the couch a bit longer, and then we’ll close the blinds later… Ok?” I told her, holding my firm glance onto her eyes while trying to sound assertive. She jerked her arm away from my grip and rushed to the blinds without an answer. I could see then how scared she seemed to be, like it was a matter of life and death. Only when she sat down did she explain what back then did make sense to me. “Martin” she started, suddenly calm again, “I was in a difficult relationship before ours. My ex boyfriend… He was very jealous. To the point he’d be a little… Violent, sometimes”. I suddenly got uncomfortable and stared at her. No burglars, then… “What do you mean… Violent?” “He’d attack me, grab my phone, check my messages. He’d show up under my window and spy on me… He freaked me out.” I stood up, suddenly nervous. “Wh- I mean… He’s still doing it?” She shook her head, slowly. “Oh, no. He doesn’t do that anymore; it was some time ago. But somehow… He left a trace.” She sighed, and then raised her head, smiling at me. “Can we please just close the blinds every night? I’d just feel so much better…” I agreed, but I started thinking she had gone through a trauma and she’d need help. All in all, I believed her… I believed her until I heard her speaking alone in the middle of the night, a few weeks ago. I woke up and turned to hug her, but she wasn’t in bed. I could see the dim light of the hall getting through the bottom of the bedroom door. I opened my ears, trying to figure out what was going on. And that’s when I clearly heard her whispers. “Leave me alone! You can’t get in, I know you can’t!”, she hissed toward someone who appeared to be outside of the door. At that point, I rushed out of the bedroom. “What’s going on?” She seemed shocked to see me, as if awaken from a nightmare. She slammed the entrance door and I confirmed she had been keeping it open to talk to someone. She turned to me, and I saw in her face she was scared. She was pale, she looked weak and tired. “Nothing, Martin. I… I tend to sleepwalk.” This time, it sounded like a lie. I suddenly knew beyond any doubt she was hiding something. “Are you kidding me? Your sleepwalking gets you to open the door and speak to someone who isn’t there?” “I- Sometimes... Please, believe me. It gets worse sometimes!” she cried. I brought her to bed and told her I believed her. But I didn’t, not this time. Who the hell was she talking to in the middle of the night? Someone who was trying to get in…? Was it… Her ex-boyfriend? The following nights (by then I was sleeping there regularly), I started noticing a pattern. Every night, she would stand up, open the entrance door, close it, only to then do the same for each and every blind. Open, wait a few seconds (looking outside, I guessed) and then close. I thought confronting her wouldn’t make sense, as she’d lie anyway. Instead, one night I decided to stay awake when we got to bed. I waited for her breathing to slow down as a sign she had fallen asleep, and I slid out of the bedroom. I went to the blinds and started repeating what she had been doing. I opened the first blind and just peeked through it. The street was quiet, completely empty. Only a few lampposts were interrupting an otherwise pitch-black neighborhood. So, I went to the next blind, which provided a slightly different angle, and I opened that one too… I gasped, as my stomach bulged. To my horror and disbelief, there was a man standing just outside the building. A tall figure, looking straight at the window I was peeking from, like he knew I would be there. What horrified me more than anything else was the way the man was standing. He was statue-still. He didn’t blink. He didn’t move a finger, nor did he seem to breathe, as the lack of any condensation seemed to suggest. Shaking my head in disbelief, I closed the blind and started walking to bed, determined to call the police the day after. That’s when the motion sensor light in the entrance hall outside of our apartment went on. Still on my way to the bedroom, I froze for a moment. Then, I slowly reached for the doorknob and opened the door, only to find a quiet and empty corridor. I checked outside from the window again: the man had disappeared. I decided to wait for the morning to confront Clara, but it took me 3 hours to fall asleep, thinking of that pale statue-still man standing just below the apartment, staring at me without blinking. I fell asleep, but it didn’t last. I woke up to Clara’s terrifying scream. It was so loud and desperate I felt like choking for the first few seconds I was awake. I checked the clock: 4 AM. Clara had left the bed as usual. I stood up and ran towards the living room, where the shout appeared to have come from. The image I got in front of me initially froze me. She was sitting on the floor, her arms embracing her legs against her chest. She was shaking violently and whispering something. She seemed in shock and wouldn’t react to my words. I got closer, to grasp the words she was repeatedly whispering. “Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone.” I tried to shake her out of her state, but she wouldn’t stop. I ran to the blinds, checked outside. Nobody was there. I went back to her. “Clara, you have to tell me what the fuck is going on!” I shouted in panic. Only at that moment, she suddenly stopped shaking. And with an incredibly sudden calmness, she slowly turned her head to me. Her face was the palest I’d ever seen on a human being. “He shouldn’t have come back. I thought I was free… But he’s here now.” Her eyes looked empty: I had never seen her nor anyone else in that state. Nothing made sense to me anymore, I ignored her cries and carried her to bed. I didn’t sleep until dawn, and when I woke up, she was making breakfast, like nothing had happened. When I questioned her, she chuckled like I had asked the most stupid question. “It’s my sleepwalking, I told you! Don’t make too much of it… I made pancakes!” She showed me a pan with something cooking in it, and I looked at her. She did look better, but she was still somehow different. Like something had broken and she was denying it. My head was buzzing through 1000 explanations. Maybe she was suffering from PTSD, or she was on the edge of a mental breakdown… Or she was lying. “It’s going to be fine. We are almost through.” She told me later that day, and somehow that last phrase had a chill go down my spine. Almost through with what? I dismissed the thoughts, and left to go to work, leaving the due conversation about what had happened for later on. That was yesterday. I couldn’t stop thinking about the night I had just passed, and when I got to the apartment in the evening, I spilled it out right away. “Clara, I saw your ex… Bob? He was standing outside. I know he’s still staring at you. We need to put an end to this.” “You… Saw him?” She asked me, apparently appalled. “I’m confident I did.” After all, who else could it be? “He’s a tall man, dark hair… Isn’t he?” She turned pale, and for a moment I thought she was going to have another panic attack, or whatever that had been. “I think you should leave now”, she told me after a few seconds. “I won’t leave, Clara. We need to go to the police, we need to do something!” “You don’t understand… He’s dangerous. He’s violent… I tried to stop him once and…” she swallowed, I had no doubt at that point she was terrified. “It made everything worse”. “Clara. I will stay here. We will have a good sleep, you won’t move from bed, and tomorrow we will go to the police.” She reluctantly accepted, but now I wish she hadn’t… The night came down on us quietly, we didn’t talk at all. We were both clearly tense. At midnight, after she had closed the blinds and the door, she went to bed. She seemed to be in a weird state, I mean… Weirder than usual, that is. She hadn’t spoken much, she was still pale, and she didn’t look at me for the whole night. I went to bed and fell asleep. At 1 AM, a loud bang in the corridor woke me up. It sounded like it had come from the door, like someone had bumped into it. I looked at Clara, she was sleeping. I slowly got out of bed, opened the bedroom door… and that’s when I saw him. In front of me, at the end of the corridor, there was a man standing. It was the same man I had seen the other night. I couldn’t help but notice that the entrance door behind him was open, even though I was sure Clara had locked it. The light in the hall reflected on his calm, inexpressive and yet somehow ferocious face. He didn’t move, didn’t even blink. He just stared at me so intensively I instinctively took a step back. “LEAVE!” I shouted after a few seconds, after I found back some strength. I started walking towards him. He slowly turned, got out of the door, leaving it open, and disappeared in the corridor. I ran after him to the door and got into the hall… but he was gone. There was no trace. I shook Clara awake. “He has the keys…” I said in a rushed and tense voice. “No he doesn’t”, she moaned, like she just didn’t want to be bothered. “He does! I just saw him at the door…” She suddenly opened her eyes and sat on the bed. “He was… inside?” “Yes, we have to leave. We’ll go to my apartment.” She shook her head. “You don’t understand… He will find us. He… He won’t leave me alone. You should leave… He has seen you now…” She sounded desperate, not just scared anymore. “No. That’s out of the question. We are going, now!“ She fought me for a while, but eventually she reluctantly agreed. We got into the car in the middle of the night and got to my place, a small studio on the 5th floor of an old building. I was so tired, I fell asleep, feeling safe at home. I thought I’d deal with it today. It must have been a couple of hours, maybe less. It was still dark, when I woke up hearing whispers. I turned my head and saw Clara standing in front of the window, which I saw was open. A freezing winter breeze came into the room. “Clara?” I wondered if I was dreaming it. Clara was standing, the window open, her white sleeping dress floating with the breeze. She was whispering something. I sat on my elbows. “Clara!” She then raised her voice, enough for me to hear what she was saying, but without moving. “I told you we couldn’t run. I told you he wouldn’t leave me alone.” She was facing the windows, her back turned to me. She sounded… Calm. That’s when it happened. I suddenly had an uneasy and sudden feeling that someone was behind me. I slowly turned my head and was met with a grinning, pale face looking at me with ferocious rage at just a few inches away from my face. I shouted and jumped out of bed. I fell on my back, just next to Clara. She hadn’t moved, she was still whispering and starting outside the window. “I told you he’s jealous.” She said, with a chilling calmness, like nothing could interrupt her from her thoughts. I stood up and looked at the corner where the grinning man had been standing. There was no one. “I told you I tried to stop him.” She continued, slowly and without moving her eyes, fixed on the outside. “I told you he wouldn’t leave me alone…” I was still looking around the bedroom in shock, only half listening. “I had to do something. He wouldn’t leave me alone… He was beating me.” She turned her head, and this time her face was so different I didn’t recognize her. Her pupils were dilated, her lips were so thin she seemed to be mouthless, her look was blank, like she was there only physically. “So one year ago, I shot him with my dad’s gun.” I couldn’t believe what I just heard… “I killed him. I buried him… But things only got worse. He never really left…” That’s when she climbed over the window, and before I could realize what was about to happen, she jumped.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Eight Years Ago My Sister Vanished [RESPONSE] Eight years ago my sister vanished. She was part of some team that worked on some kind of experimental medication. She didn’t really speak much about what exactly the drug did, only that it would help those who suffered from various sleep disorders. As quickly as her dream job came, it vanished. Less than a year passed before funding had been cut and the team disbanded. Jennifer never told me what happened no matter how many times I prodded. I let the question drop, something I would come to regret. With her job gone along with all of the work she put forth, Jennifer wanted time away to clear her mind. She asked our parents for the key to the summer cabin. Despite the fact that the place had gone untouched for many years she insisted the solitude of the woods would clear her mind. So off she went, alone, into the thick woods. One month. She was only going to stay there for one month and yet she never came back. Police were called, a search was done, and nothing came about it. One month we were chatting on the phone and the next she was just… gone. There was no closure or last goodbye for our family. Nothing. I’m not here for pity or condolences though. I’ve had years to accept the fact that my sister is gone and isn’t coming back. The reason I’m writing this is because of something I found five days ago. The thing is, my family hasn’t come back to our little cabin. This place was barely used before my sister vanished. With bad memories now attached to the location it was fully left to wither and rot. It would have remained rotting alone for the rest of eternity if it wasn’t for a couple of my pals. No reason to let such a place go to waste, they said. Took some convincing but I relented. Was not hard to get my parents to hand the keys over as at this point they wanted nothing to do with the place. With a car full of camping supplies we drove off into the forest. It was weird stepping inside the cabin again. Honestly the place wasn’t in that bad of shape. Needed a little love here and there but it was going to be manageable. Obviously if this was just about a run down dank cabin you wouldn’t be reading this right now. As I relived my childhood in the swirling forest something clicked in my head. Jennifer and I had a tiny hollow tree stump we liked to stash goodies in. It was a secluded hidey hole away from the cabin, away from any potential search attempts. My stomach was doing flips as I searched for the stump. When I found the stump those flips evolved into full blown nausea. Inside was an abandoned and rusty lockbox. Jennifer’s birthday was the code to open it, she never really was that creative. Inside I found a small bag with a single pill and a journal. Under usual circumstances I would never dare to read another person’s personal journal, but I think you understand that these were not usual circumstances. I brought it back to the cabin and read it. We all read it. That is why I’m here writing this because every single one of us is at a loss right now. I’ve gone through the journal multiple times now so that I can cut out the useless fluff while maintaining the more important bits. If anybody can figure this out I would appreciate it because… I just don’t fucking know anymore. **March 15th, 2014** Tomorrow is going to be the biggest day of my life. It will be the official first day that I get to work on this super secret medication. I was only told it would help soothe the minds of people with sleep disorders and that was it. Today was mostly just the paperwork, signing an NDA and such. Honestly not much to write about but I just know it is going to be a pain falling asleep with all this excitement! **March 16th, 2014** I knew it! When I saw there was enough red tape to make even the president blush I just knew this thing was going to be huge. Somnuvail, a work in progress name, but one that could change the world for the better. It produces a chemical in the brain upon consumption that dips the user into a lucid dream state. Somnuvail not only helps restless sleepers remain asleep but it also brings them into their own creative dreamland. I’m getting giddy just thinking of the potential uses on demand lucid dreams could provide. Creative playgrounds for artists or therapeutic escapes for the depressed. I can see why Doctor Moore was so secretive with his hiring. **April 16th, 2014** Testing has begun on animal subjects. So far the monkeys that were given a dosage of 500mg or lower have shown to have no adverse reactions. Those that had dosages of 600mg to 1000mg have increased anxiety and heart rate. Severity of symptoms increases with dosage. Further testing is going to be needed before Somnuvail can be safely given to human volunteers. **April 20th, 2014** Monkeys that had taken dosages about 700mg have died. Strangely enough they didn’t die from any outright symptoms, instead they bashed their heads against their cages until they passed from a brain hemorrhage. Potential cases of psychosis noted if dosage is too large. The monkeys that had taken 600mg still appear to suffer from anxiety but no suicidal tendeinces spotted as of yet. Dosage 500mg has begun showing signs of agitation now. **July 8th, 2014** Testing on animal subjects has been concluded. Results have shown stability of the drug when given dosages of 200mg. Higher concentration causes anxiety with severe cases involving suicidal urges. Lower concentrations fail to provide proper brain waves indicating a proper state of lucidity. With these findings Doctor Moore will be able to increase funding on the project and begin the search for volunteers. **August 16th, 2014** We got our first group of volunteers today, eight in total. Group A is going to ingest a 200mg pill of Somnuvail while group B will instead be given a placebo. Furthermore each group has someone with insomnia, one with depression, one with neither, and one with both. The sample size is not really the greatest but you have to start somewhere I guess. The eight of them will be staying at the lab for the next month while we observe how their conditions change. **August 18th, 2014** First day of testing and so far nothing special. I’m taking this time to get to know some of the participants. Had a nice chat during lunch with Jeremy, the one with insomnia taking Somnuvail. Found out that we actually had gone to the same school together up in New Hampshire, he was just four grades below me so we never talked. My god it is such a small world. Had a nice chat about what teachers we liked and what ones we hated. We ended up talking for so long that I got chewed out by Doctor Moore. Oh well, there is always tomorrow. **August 25th, 2014** So far every subject taking Somnuvail has reported improvements. I’ve been talking to Jeremy about his dreams and what he has been doing. Apparently he has been using his lucidity to relieve childhood memories, some of which he didn’t even remember until recently. Such a lucky little bastard. Honestly I had never thought about using Somnuvail to relive my golden childhood memories. I’ll have to keep that in mind when I try the drug out. **September 8th, 2014** Jeremy was quiet at lunch today. Usually he couldn’t shut up about what he dreamt about or this and that but today… he just sat there and let me speak. At first I thought he was just being polite but when he nearly jumped out of his skin when I touched his arm I knew something was up. He didn’t want to mention what was wrong at first but I managed to worm into his brain. Last night he lost control of his dream and inside the nightmare realm of his imagination he was haunted by a doppelganger. He seemed really shaken up, his body shivering as he told his tale. I told him that he should report this to Doctor Moore but he declined. We are going to see if this continues or not. **September 10th, 2014** They have all seen the doppelganger at this point. I don’t know if they started seeing it at the same time but each one is scared shitless. None of them wanted to take the Somnuvail anymore. We were able to convince them by offering compensation if they remained for the final five days. The way they are acting reminds me of how the monkeys acted. Was 200mg too much for humans? Why was it enough for the monkeys? I had suggested that we drop the pills down to 40mg for the next test. Doctor Moore was hesitant but eventually agreed that it would be for the best. **September 14th, 2014** What the fuck. What the fuck. WHAT THE FUCK! I had been waiting for Jeremy outside his room each morning after he originally told me about his nightmare. When he was thirty minutes late I went to check on him and… fuck. Putrid rot assaulted my nostrils as soon as I slid his door open. I couldn’t stop myself from vomiting immediately all over the floor. Jeremy sat with his back against the wall. Dried crimson blood and brain matter had matted the wall from self inflicted impacts and his eyes, god his eyes! His thumbs were shoved knuckle deep into his eye sockets as if he was trying to blind himself from some abomination. What really got me though in the end was that damn odor. He couldn’t have been dead for more than a day yet he smelt like he had been decaying for years. I already feel sick just thinking about it. **September 15th, 2014** I found out today that all of Group A died. It wasn’t just Jeremy, each and every single one of them died in similar ways. I don’t know what to do anymore. **September 16th, 2014** Everytime I sleep all I see is Jeremy’s eyeless figure screaming in agony. Not only are my dreams being haunted but there are also rumors that the program is going to be shut down. We were so close! Are we really seriously going to let them die for nothing!? **October 1st, 2014** The lab was shut down and everyone was let go. Somnuvail and all it hoped to achieve has been marked to never see the light of day. Bullshit, I am not going to let Jeremy and the other’s lives be wasted for goddamn nothing. Before the project was completely scrapped I had managed to sneak into the lab and snatch the bottle of 40mg pills Doctor Moore had created. I am going to borrow the old family cabin for the month. This should give me the solitude I need to test the lowered dosage. **October 4th, 2014** Took my first pill last night with no results. Everything is the same, even that damn nightmare of Jeremy. I am going to keep taking one pill each night for the next few nights. If no improvement in effects I may have to up my dosage. **October 10th, 2014** I took two pills last night and already I felt the effects. I saw Jeremy last night but this time he was still alive in his cell. I had us leave the lab and go to the local diner for breakfast. It felt so good to hear his laughter again, I forgot how much I missed it. **October 14th, 2014.** Last night was a nightmare, no that would be putting it too lightly. It could only be described as a living hell. Everything started out completely normal. I had just come home from a long day of middle school. The scent of fresh baked cookies greeted me at the door as I skipped to the kitchen. Mom had baked them for me and my brother, fresh warm chocolate chip cookies with a cold glass of milk to wash them down. I gobbled up the divine baked goods, the warm gooey chocolate was like heaven in my mouth. I grabbed my cold glass of milk and started gulping it down. Halfway through the glass is when everything went to hell. My cold refreshing drink turned warm and rancid. I dropped the glass on the floor and began heaving up the spoiled milk. My once warm home aged a hundred years as the rotten flooring looked ready to snap with any pressure. My body was no longer that of a kid, I was my normal adult self but I sure felt like a scared child. After what felt like an eternity of retching I was able to stand on wobbly legs. Crackling fire drew my attention to the lounge. Like a moth to the flame I answered the call and limped my way over even as my body shrieked in an instinctual horror. Every creaking step towards the kindled fireplace made me want to run in fear but I was just a puppet on strings at this point. I wasn’t in control of the dream anymore. Inside the lounge I saw myself, sitting in a chair. I say this was myself and yet it wasn’t. Uncanny is all I could describe the doppelganger as. Everything about it seemed wrong, even its flesh looked smooth like an imperfect plastic imitation. My imperfect clone stood up and took a step forward. I mimicked that step. Another step for both of us. I was forced to march along towards what I knew was certain death. My clone started to smile and so did I. Its grin grew wider and wider. I could feel a warm liquid trickle down my chin as my flesh tore itself apart in an attempt to copy that impossible smile. I woke up in a cold sweat. It took myself a moment to realize where I was before I felt relief flood my body. Relief gave way to pain and horror as I felt a burning pain radiate from my torn mouth. **October 15th, 2014** I fucked up. I fucked up real bad. I knew it took Jeremy and the other twenty-three days before they saw that monster, so why had it happened so soon to me? Well it only took one call to Doctor Moore to solve that question. I didn’t want to tell him I stole those pills but I had to. Doctor Moore never did get around to making those 40mg pills as it turns out. I instead stole a normal bottle of 200mg, and I had been taking two each day. A medical team is on the way to my location right now, at least that is what Doctor Moore says. I know they are just going to cover this up just like they covered up Jeremy’s death. All I can do now is hide this journal and some proof and pray someone finds it before they do.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Would You Let the Darkness Consume You? [RESPONSE] I’ve been goth for pretty much as long as I can remember. You know the type, black clothes, black hair, black tattoos, black eyeliner, black cat. The whole nine yards. Even as young as primary school you can find old photos of me adorned in spiked collars and combat boots. For a while my family tried to get me to branch out, my grandparents especially abhorred the whole thing, but after a while they all gave up on changing this part of me and it became to some degree normal- or at least something they stopped bringing up. This may not seem too important, but the point is being goth has been a consistent and pervasive part of my life for years and has never really caused me any problems aside from the occasional dirty look from older couples on the street or my neighbor's teenage son, not unaffectionately, nicknaming me ‘La Llorona’. That is, until recently of course, which is why I’m bothering to write this all down in the first place. I moved to a new city this summer, for my graduate program. I want to be a programmer, not that you care, but it hasn’t exactly been easy to make new friends as a goth programmer in a male-dominated field. At least, it hasn't been easy to make friends who are lacking in… ulterior motives, namely making me their ‘big titty goth girlfriend’ or whatever the fuck. For that reason I had, in the last couple of months, made a habit of hitting up underground goth and punk clubs in my city on the weekends. They aren’t nearly as hard to track down as they probably were back in the day, even without knowing the right people. All I really had to do was look it up, and I found a pretty comprehensive list of events catering to alternative scenes in my area. I was pretty nervous to go on my own the first couple of times, but the people were friendly and welcoming and by the first couple of events I attended I had already met some cool people that I could look forward to seeing. A couple of weeks ago me and a few of my new friends had planned to meet up at the Forgotten Attic, our favorite venue. Ironically, it was in fact not an attic and instead was located in the basement of a self-proclaimed anarchist pizza shop after hours. For this reason, it was a pretty popular spot, the owner would sometimes open up the shop upstairs for concerts and sling pies to drugged-out alternative college kids. Plus - the basement smelled damn amazing, but I digress. On this particular night, a couple of local goth bands were performing alongside a group of performers toting some kind of ‘bondage demonstration’. Not exactly my thing, but I had been invited and didn’t want to shirk my place in a new friend group right as I had gotten it. A couple of the girls were planning to take some molly and it sounded like it was going to be a pretty fun night regardless of my reservations. The night started out normal enough, me and my friends grabbing some drinks, dancing, flirting, you get the idea. It was a great event, but I found myself overtaken by a sense of unease as soon as I had gotten there, like I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me or something. I couldn’t relax, looking over my shoulder constantly, but I was only ever met with the same crowds of drunk and high punks that had been there the whole time, all of them wrapped up in their own conversations or dance circles and paying me no mind. I even asked a couple of my friends if they noticed anything weird only to be brushed off with a hint of what seemed like annoyance. Eventually, I found myself unable to track down any of the people I had met up with, all of them breaking off from our group to mingle or perhaps just get away from the standoffish, paranoid mood I had been oozing from the start. I couldn’t help but feel I had ruined my own night and began to feel a pang of resentment toward myself for not being able to let loose and have fun. I considered just calling it quits and going home, and it was as I turned to make my way toward the exit that I noticed him. I was a bit surprised I hadn’t noticed him around until now, he didn’t exactly fit in with the rest of the crowd in their short black skirts, bondage pants, and leather jackets. A man stood almost flesh against the wall nearest the staircase marking my exit, and he was dressed in an ill-fitting trench coat of a color I couldn’t quite determine under the pulsating laser lights of the club, and a large pair of jet-black sunglasses that were so dark they seemed to suck in all light that hit them. The strangest part though, is that even with his sunglasses I could tell that he was staring RIGHT at me, and his mouth was moving quickly like he was mumbling something under his breath, not to me, exactly, but at me. At this moment the weirdness I had felt all night bubbled up into intense rage, this creep must have been staring at me all night, he had to have been the cause of the paranoia I had been feeling since I had arrived, I just knew it. So I marched on over to him, ready for a confrontation. Regardless of my aggressive body language, the man seemed to regard my approach with a sense of casualty, almost as if he was expecting me. When I asked him what the hell his problem was, he only smiled placidly at me and asked, just loud enough to be heard over the music: “You must enjoy the darkness, don’t you?” This caught me off guard of course, and my rage sizzled into discomfort. I was pretty used to being asked dumb questions like this, men in my classes making jokes about how I ‘sure do love the color black’ and ‘what are you, a vampire?’, but what this man said seemed… different, in a way that made me unconsciously tense up. I didn’t know what to say and felt mounting anxiety begin to overtake me, wanting nothing more than to get away from this weird, staring man. I managed to mumble out sheepishly that, yeah, I guess I did enjoy the darkness, and tried to inch my way towards the staircase he now seemed to be blocking, despite never moving from his spot along the wall. If he understood that I was trying to bolt he did not show it, and asked me something again, quieter now, too quiet for me to hear, and when I paused for a moment trying to register it he took a large step closer. His voice seemed as calm as it was before as he asked me, “Would you let it consume you?”. I stared at him for a long time after he asked me this, feeling suddenly very dizzy as I tried to make sense of what he was talking about, and the longer I seemed to stare at him, into his sunglasses, I felt frozen in place, a deep sense of dread trickling down my back. I stood there for what felt like forever before I pulled myself away with every ounce of mental strength I had, hurrying up the stairs and down the street a ways before looking behind me to make sure he hadn’t followed. After all of that I simply called a Lyft and went home, texting my friends that I had started to feel ill and that I would hopefully see them next week. By the time I got home, a deep exhaustion had settled over me and I was almost able to forget my unsettling encounter at the Forgotten Attic as I curled up with my cat Percy, turned off my lights, and settled into bed. I was almost asleep when the man's words echoed back in my head, asking me if I would let the darkness consume me, and turned to flip my lamp back on before drifting to sleep. The next morning it took me a while to notice. It was so subtle I probably wouldn’t have even realized if I hadn’t gone to put in my contacts, a ritual long ingrained in me even if I had no real reason to not just keep wearing my glasses for the day. I realized then, pulling up my eyelid to insert the plastic disk, that my pupils seemed just a little bit too large. I furrowed my brow and brought my face up close to the mirror, examining my eyes. Sure enough, both of my pupils looked blown, taking up more space in my iris than they should, the way that they might if I had taken some kind of party drug. I was confused, as I hadn’t taken any drugs last night, and even if I had, the effects would have worn off by now. With a sickening twist of my stomach, I wondered if someone had drugged me the night before. Maybe that had been the cause of the weird feeling I had all night? Maybe the strange encounter and dizziness I had felt were nothing but symptoms of an unexpected drug dose? I texted my friends to ask if anyone else had reported feeling weird or having something slipped into their drink, but no one knew anything and didn’t offer much help- going as far as to say I was probably overreacting. I know it’s stupid but I didn’t know what else to do and told myself that my friends were probably right, and went about my day as normally as I could. After all, even if someone had drugged me, it’s not like anything bad happened, I got home safely. I would just be more careful to watch my drink the next time I went out, I guess. I tried not to think about it too much those next few days, the weird man, the possibility I got drugged, my friend's dismissal of it all. But my pupils never seemed to go back to the right size. In fact, over the next 48 hours they seemed to get even bigger, the blackness seeming to consume the green iris of the rest of my eye. I noticed something else too, while sitting around at my campus tech support job, the lines of my tattoos weren’t quite right. I don’t really know how to explain it, but it seemed like they were… expanding? It wasn’t the normal tattoo blowout you might see, more like the edges were seeming to edge, just slightly, into the rest of my skin, ink creeping from the original lines. I didn’t connect any of this to the weird man and his questions about darkness though, at least at first. I just thought I was having some weird mental break after moving to a new city. Over the next week and a half though, things have gotten really weird. My pupil has overtaken my iris completely and has seeped into the white of my eye as well, leaving nothing but black holes where my eyes once were. No one has seemed to notice, and when I bring it up my classmates and friends look at me like I’m crazy. My tattoos have started to overtake my skin, reaching like vines across my flesh and suffocating it in darkness. Wherever I go lightbulbs seem to short out, hall lights on campus, street lights at night. I’ve replaced my light bulbs 7 times in the last week and a half. Pervasive black grime seems permanently wedged under my fingernails, no matter how much I clean them. My roots should be growing in from the black hair dye now, but where it’s grown seems to be even darker black than the dye itself instead of my natural light brown color. All of this has, of course, been extremely frightening, but it’s not what drove me to make this post. Last night my cat, he… disappeared. And I don’t mean he ran away, or I can’t find him, or anything like that. He. Disappeared. One minute he was stalking around a darker corner of my room that lamps couldn’t fully touch, the next minute he was just… gone. But the shadow in the corner seemed to grow… almost like it… ate him. When I tried to tell my mom she told me she had no idea I even had a cat. She got him for me. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if the mumbling, staring man at the Forgotten Attic put some kind of curse on me, or if I’m just going completely crazy. I’m too scared to sleep with the lights off but no matter how many lights I leave on I wake up in the dark. So I’m posting here in hopes that someone might know what's going on. I want to go confront the man from the club but I’m too afraid to go out at night, and I don’t even know if he’ll be there. I’ve been looking up all sorts of things on the internet but I haven’t found anything that can help me yet. I’m so scared. I’m so scared that the darkness is going to consume me, and the man’s words repeat in my head over and over again. I don’t want to disappear. Please help me. I’ll try anything. In the meantime, I think it might be time for me to change up my aesthetic.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Scratch [RESPONSE] I first noticed the scratch on the floor last winter. It was a straight, horizontal line gouged deeply into the wood in the corner next to my sofa. When I inspected it, I saw the scratch appeared to start at the outside wall—-up against the baseboard-—then run a few inches into the room.  It looked at first like a chair had been dragged across the floor, but it was gouged too deeply to be from ordinary furniture. The scratch also contained traces of a chalky substance with a reddish tint. Very strange. I hadn’t moved any furniture recently yet I could see tiny splinters of wood around its edges, so it was a recent scratch. How, exactly, did I do this?  Sometime toward the end of spring, I noticed that the scratch seemed longer, at least by several inches. Was I imagining things? Did I absentmindedly move furniture around when I cleaned? Has somebody else been in my apartment? I called my landlady and asked if she’d allowed anybody in. Maybe to do repairs? She said no.  Over the summer, I forgot about the scratch. But sometime toward the end of August, I noticed it on the *other* side of the sofa. I pulled the sofa away from the wall and discovered the scratch was now about 12 feet long—nearly the length of the entire living room wall.  Had it grown there in the dark all summer long??? This is insane. I called the landlady. She came by and took a disapproving look. No, she hadn’t let anybody into the apartment. Had I been moving furniture? She told me it must have been left by the previous tenant. She promised to get the building’s locks checked, as if that would do anything. She probably thinks I’m making things up. But I’m not a druggie or a drinker. Or a sleep walker. Or crazy.  I looked closely at the scratch that night, running my finger down inside of it. Razor-straight and gouged in by something sharp. I thought of sharp old-fashioned tools--an awl? A sickle? Or was it a claw? I drew my finger back and it was stained with an orange-red powder. I’ve seen that color. I looks like red ochre. It’s found in ancient graves, painted on stone-age bones and strewn on the floors of mortuary caves. Where is that scratch going? Where will it end? I shuddered and pushed the sofa back against the wall. This morning, I woke up to find the scratch had extended into my bedroom during the night. Straight across from the living room, through the bedroom doorway, right up to the side of my bed. Gouged into the wood just as deeply.  But worse than that was the tiny scratch I found on my face. It didn’t hurt, so I only noticed it when I was brushing my teeth. Just a tiny little nick next to my right eye. Like from a razor (or a claw?). Back in the bedroom, I could see how my head on the pillow aligned with the scratch on the floor. As if the scratch –or whatever was making it--had been going up and over the bed as I slept. Over me before I woke up. Did I interrupt it? There were tiny splinters on the sheets. Tiny flecks of red ochre on the white pillowcase. Now I sit her wondering what would have happened if I’d slept late? And what if I slept in the same bed, in the exact same spot tonight? And what--or who--is coming scratching in the night? <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Trick is to Keep Breathing [RESPONSE] I'd like to imagine this is all some random guy's fault. Of course, it's probably not. Probably a lot of people's fault. But it's the image I'm going with, the one I'm playing up in my head while the nearly empty bus (just me and the driver) drone westward to a coast I've only ever seen on the internet and in rare, but fierce, dreams. Yeah, there he is: sub baked dirty brow glistened with sweat, tired eyes and cracked hands as he continues his arduous task in those deep desert ruins the people in the city miles away told him never to go to. But of course he didn't—simply couldn't—listen and now he's there, working so hard until, gloriously, his hands swipe across what he's been looking for these last several weeks. It's sheer luck he knows that he's found it, the blistering sandy winds bluster and carry the brittle bits of the world, and just so happened to give him this. He's excited and his energy doubles and he gets deep in that dull tangerine land until the final rest of this very special dead lays thick and black in the merciless sun. The man, dry lips, drier water bottle, pries off the lid, maybe a bit too hastily as the stone chips and a crack sprints across the stone, and beholds the cereclothed image of manmade immortality in Her glory. And there, on Her neck, almost like part of the wrappings amidst the other glyphs and gifts— Me. / Jen thought I needed some oomph for my Halloween costume. She told me this while we sat on the edge of town, where the rocks mash up against each other, sharpening their skins. The place smells of stone and ocean filtered through a suburban haze until lighters laugh, then it's swept away by gas station advertised smokes. "Your costume's alright, but don't you want to impress? Show them up and all." "Not really into that, you know that." "Yeah, but it'd be pretty funny to see you try." I thought about that. "Yeah. Yeah it would be." We tried the big stores and beyond; went through parental jewelry boxes and yard sale discards. Nothing. Then—whimsically, almost by design (I guess how these things work, right?)—the pawn shop materialized before us as we stalked the streets, cigarettes giving spice to our young breath. Jen and I went in, the rest went on. We let the chill of Fall into the dusty world of pre-owned lives. The owner was somewhere in the back but we didn't wait up. And if you believe this sudden establishment was cobweb coated, eerie in an unexplainable way, be disappointed. It was just a pawn shop: marked up baseball memorabilia; paintings and postcards I couldn't understand the value of; stamps, statues, wood carvings, jewels and rings and silly trinkets; then, finally, the owner came in with a logo imprinted shirt and a face too well shaved. A big sniff of our smoke scent flushed worry over his beady eyes. We'd crushed our sticks outside, andhI guess that was enough for him. "Looking for anything specific?" Straight to the point; how I like my men. "She needs something for a costume: a brooch or necklace or…," Jen waved her hands about like it was all the Seller needed. "Anything cheap?" "Nothing cheap here. All quality." So began the tryouts of the century old, high quality tokens to give soul to a seasonal store bought costume. None met our wallets challenge. Until Her Necklace. "Man who sold me it seemed to want to get rid of it. Took only twenty for it." "It cursed?" He smiled, even laughed leaning in, slow-spoke, "maybe. Seller said he found it in his father's stuff after he died suddenly. In a box labeled 'do not open.'" "Sure. Give it here." He looked me over, then it, maybe doing calculations in his head. Maybe figuring if it truly was cursed. "I'll do fifty." We agreed to forty. Just in time for Halloween. // An emerald forest heart encased in onyx, even the chain that midnight black. If you looked long enough the green seemed to swirl, pulse in a still living power. It could've burrowed into the skin below my collarbone and looked peaceful, right at home. On the backside, in a gleaming shadow, you could feel less than see markings of some sort. Hieroglyphics my fingers decided as they traced them. Looking in the mirror, the costume was less an empress and more the necklace itself—I was the add-on to this ebonic thing. I was smiling though, so something had to be right. The time was soon and the place was a few miles away and so I tore my image from the mirror, grabbed my earbuds, and went down the stairs to the front door. Hand on the cold knob, I let the evening filled with the laughter of early trick-or-treaters in and stepped out; called back to Mom I'd be back before midnight. She wasn't there—never was when I left—instead at another place in the city for the next three hours, probably four the way she worked. Even on holidays: it became the expected. But I always call out anyway, letting my voice bounce around the house. Maybe it keeps going until she's home, slips into her head as she lays crashed on the couch. I like to think so. Wouldn't know. Won't now. I put the bowl of candy out and don't bother locking the front door. /// Jen's boyfriend would have driven us, but he and cars never saw eye to eye. Car-less, again—Jen says he finds more lemons than a farmer. I don't mind walking. Costume heels in hand, the concrete kind of hurts. The chill is worse though, it's cold tonight and I can hear the littler kids scamper through it complaining between giggling house runs. I pass the time looking up at the empty spots in space, wondering if stars used to be there and have lost since expired. Everything must die, I supposed, but the stars are sad because they can never leave where they form—will always be stuck there at where they're born. There's something about the arms of galaxies technically moving them, and I guess that means we're always moving too, in a way. Logicing away the romanticism fills my head as I relax at the red light: the one with no cars nearby. I decide to wait anyway, go against the anti-status quo. I twirl my arms, whistle and hum, think about how vulnerable I am. The usual. Some elementaries join me; a second later, their parents. They don't wait for the green light. A pretty pink princess in a North Face jacket smiles at me and says I "look correct," as her father whisks her away. I'll think about that more than the stars. The sounds of children seem to disappear, get picked up but the ghostlike wind and carried far off to the forest surrounding Suburbia. The full moon reigns over, but the winds attack it too, blowing gray clouds over its silver body until the neighborhood lays cloaked and cold. And, just like that pawn shop, on cue, a shape begins to emerge from the distance, coming down the sidewalk I just traversed in an awkward almost-gait. At first I think it's a child, hunched as it is; then, no, too long of limbs: a lithe teenager really playing the part as their chosen holiday spook. They're coming, oh yeah, they're coming, I kind of sing to myself. A kind of humanoid shadow: makeup caked in a grey rot, enough eye shadow to create sibling black holes. They've done good. Really good. I'm actually a bit stunned watching them approach. Part of me wants to stick around, check out their details, another, the winner, forces me to keep walking with the sudden green light and white walking person in their box. I'm going, sometimes looking back at my company. They've ignored the instruction of Do Not Cross too, but they're in no haste for candy. I somehow know this individual should stay away, too dedicated to their role, I admit. Eventually my bare feet outpaces their weird commitment to the part. They don't appear on the horizon as I linger transfixed outside school, but I sure expected them to. //// Neon colored haze pouring over the floor like the rise of the dead; classic Halloween beats and rhythms to steal away the silence from the ghoulish procession about the dance floor. Those who steer clear of the dancers are chatting with colorful soft drinks standing alone in corners, wandering the border of the gymnasium like unfulfilled predators. There's laughter and some screams and maybe a teacher yelling, unable to be heard amidst the revel of high spirits. I put my earbuds in. Somewhere in the cacophony of colors a few compliments come in the form of muted pointing and smiling. Thank you, thank you; I know they're talking about the jewel. But gift horses and mouths, however it goes. I flash a smile that's probably purple in the prismatic chaos. I can't help myself, I'm enthralled in my own reckless abandon—a battle of being too cool to dance versus too cool to not dance—that I let myself drift away from my friends, let the bouncing sides and backs and hips of students carry me further into the tide of youth as the adults watch on, more lax than they probably could be. Something makes me stop. In that collage of characters, the intricate face paints and macabre masks and foam cutouts, in all the illusion of fun horror and cheeky screams—something real. Heads bobbing and rolling to a raucous beat and smiles flashing with neon lips and markings, and between the lines of green and red and purple there is a shadow, and almost immediately I know who—what—it is. And it's no teenager playing mummy, oh no. The knowledge comes as real and sudden as an eclipse. A sepulchral stare with sunken skull, dipped out of the pools of eternity and fate. Though I only knew the fraction of this realization, the fear was no less great—fear like a wrong way in the woods; fear like following footsteps on pavement late at night; fear like falling, falling, falling into the unseen depths of a fresh cavern that's opened up miles below our fragile lives. Yes, this face was such fear: worm yellow teeth and skin layered and frayed like burnt papers, inked in age. Now, ever believing it to be something less—a child, a teenager—seemed comical, illogical, trivial. Stupid. And to confirm this new truth, the necklace seemed to shiver in exaltation for its Mother. She had come and found. She was here to reclaim her metallic and earthly child. She slipped through the dancers who, somehow, some way, paid Her no mind, and enchanted in the terror I remained still. Her neck and shoulders, clad in the neclacke's siblings became visible. Her mouth opened to release the voice of an epoch's end, a sound of black hole cores and the space outside life and death. Somehow that was the releasing factor and I ran, tripper, scrambled through the laughing joys around me, unaware or indifferent to my coming end. As a child I often wondered how victims of fairy tales knew innately of consequences. I understood then as the babe knows how to scream. The knowledge simply was. The truth simply was. Yet, something deeper stirred, under the fear and primal understanding—something specific, subconscious, strange. Excitement. And so, my feet slammed the polished floors to the tune of my hammering heart, ignoring the cries of my friends who saw my terror but not my terrorizer and broke through the double doors of the gym into the hallway and ran, tumbling on bent ankles and running once more, leaving shining thrift store heels behind as an unneeded clue to my pursuer in her path, the entire time my indifferent playlist continuing as it always should. ///// Mom still wasn't home yet. The phone's cicada-like shaking never ceased in my pocket. Pantry guts scooped in armfuls into a backpack. A piggy bank, all of mom's hard work, now broken on the floor. The price of tuition at a school I hardly thought about, now in my pocket, rolled firmly and carefully like you'd imagine they'd be. I took a few clothes, plenty of snacks. Said goodbye to the pictures on the wall (none of them were taken by me); paid respect to a house's old bones that saw plenty in me and Mom. There wasn't any confusion here. I'd seen the movies, read enough stories, knew inside my heart what was to come. No time to weep or beg or try and double-cross. That's the fate of the Marked afterall. Somewhere a voice told me to take what still clung to my neck back to where it began, to the crimson sands under the sun's bloodshot eye, the bleached bloodstained bones of a culture buried. Give it back to Her in a way we'd both be satisfied. But I hate being on water and flying? She'd catch me in custom's line. Couldn't help but laugh at the latter. I didn't gasp when I opened the front door to a face. "What's going on?" Jen stood alone before me. "Gotta go, can't waste time." "You're not making sense." "This necklace is cursed and now I'm going to die if She catches me. Can't throw it away because that doesn't work. Usually doesn't anyway." "What?" "Gotta go." I passed by and didn't bother turning around when Jen kept asking me what I was doing. She followed me through swathes of kiddies and preteens who had come out for the real big candy bars, employing logic where there was none, even began to cry at points much to the glances of the sugar stalkers. I just smiled at her and tell her I'd be fine. Eventually she stopped and so did I seeing her shadow in the moonlight abruptly go still. She let a couple heart beats pass by. For some reason I remained still, watching her. I knew she'd reach for the necklace, but my reaction time simply sucked. Only way to say it, really. "You idiot," I told her. "God, what's wrong with you? Is this some kind of messed up joke? Trying to scare me? Halloween, yeah I get it. Not funny. Rickie pulls this crap, not you." I thought about leaving her there, looking stupid holding the necklace, an equally dumb face of faux triumph mixed with concern. But no. I liked Jen. She was right, it didn't make sense. Maybe one day she'll learn things sometimes never do. "Are you going to say something?" Then, quietly, almost a whisper. "You're really scaring me." What could I say that waiting for Her wouldn't? "I'm going back, Ray. This, I don't know what this is. But prank's over. Can't believe I wasted forty dollars on this." She tossed the necklace to me, though not high enough to catch. It hit the concrete and I wondered briefly if it could crack. I left it there, instead watching as Jen walked away, away. A few houses down she abruptly stopped, seemed to see something further off and straightened up. It gave me goosebumps too. I reached down and picked up the jewel. No cracks to be seen, just that subtle swirl in encased green. When I looked up Jen was staring at me, her mouth slightly open and the glossed eyes of one not quite sure what's going on. I wondered if she'd come back to me. She didn't. She wandered off with the crowds of children, all of them eventually melding with the evergrowing night and its harbinging wind. How long did I stand there in that Hallow chill? I put the earbuds back in and walked away. ////// If the pawn shop was part of this lethal prophecy, I'm not sure what this Uber is. They didn't even have to come to me, I apparently was walking towards it the whole time. It's there, lonely and brights wide alive, at the cusp of suburb and city construction, and at first I figure the driver just up and left after answering the app, decided it was a holiday after all, no time for a quick buck. In reality he was slumped over the wheel, battling phlegm in his throat with a bottle shaped paper bag at his feet and a picture of a woman not at all like me taped to the dashboard. I don't bother looking around as I step into my future. The man turns to me. "Where you going, Cleopatra?" "However far this car goes." "Goes pretty far." "I'll probably need further than that." I give him several thousand. He goes wide eyed then smiles in a way that reminds me of that little pink princess. "Runnin' from home?" "Something like that." He starts the engine, a ramshackle sound I only ever heard from Jen's boyfriend's cars. I ask myself if this is all one bad idea, I answer matter of fact, even a bit chipper: of course it is. But Jen's called me the Queen of Bad Ideas before and people don't give titles just like that, logic be damned. You wouldn't, couldn't, logic out the millennium old pursuer, who's crossed sand and sea and suburban concrete to kill this teenager. The least I can do is be just as difficult. As the engine coughs and wheels shriek, She slips forth from her shadow down the toad. I give her a middle finger, but I'm glad She's there. So go, Weirdo Driver, go. And we go. Far longer than ought to have gone honestly. The Driver (Ted, if you care) tells me his life story and I tell him mine; we only break for sleep and he never asks why I wake him up so quickly, why we have to leave to get to the other side of the country. There I don't know what I'll do. Maybe I'll get lucky and hobo-hop on a boat or something as it leaves the coast, watch Her stare off from the coast until I melt with the sunlit horizon or steel point stars. Not that oceans would save me for long, I mean, she crossed them somehow. But the chase, Her lumbering, that's the point really. She could catch me whenever She wanted—that fact I've decided upon. Teleport or simply exist somewhere, grab me when I finally give up and sleep longer than I should. Sometimes I'll see her on the brink of a hilltop or the end of some old, long road. In a top window of a house where the family laughs and dines downstairs. But honestly, she could get me at any time. I won't dispute that. Yeah, I realize, it's about the chase—that we're in this contract together. An acknowledgement that I'm doing this because I can and She's doing it because she can too. There's no obligation to play. I don't want to see it that way. I've since ignored the messages from Jen, the voicemails from Mom, the ever growing list of things my old life tried to build. It's Me and Her now. She'll chase and I'll run. It'll go on forever and ever, Her thinking one day the amulet will be Her's and she'll rest once more in that dry, deflate place where her people whistled away with wind, where their lonely voices call out from the rocks that still sit about the sand; where the birds no longer go and the scorpions and sun spiders and lizards have abandoned out of a feeling they know so intimately but could never explain. She'll chase because her alternative is to be forever thrown into the thoughts of the dead, the epoch of the end. She has chosen this. She'll chase because she wants to. She'll kill me because she wants to. And if life wasn't such a fucking game, maybe I wouldn't want to play. But what this bitch doesn't know is I've been running from my problems my whole life. And I've gotten pretty good at it.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I found an internal security breach within a company I worked for. Please help me figure out how to stop it. [RESPONSE] I am posting here with a throwaway because it is all I can think to do at this point. I am out of options. As the title says I discovered some documents at work that indicate an internal security breach within the company. My branch was called Fenistrat. They were accessing client data that is supposed to be anonymous, linking it back to the individual, and then extorting the individual for money. I was unable to photograph these documents in time before I heard my boss at the door. When he walked in, I saw no choice but to make an excuse and leave the building before they realized what was laying right out in the open. The documents I found contained hundreds of clients and the sums of money taken from them. This would be easy to corroborate with the victims if a formal investigation took place. I can explain exactly how it was done, too. Funds had been transferred to the company account from clients being contacted anonymously, and record of these transfers were attached to personal info most people would find humiliating/threatening along with their name and contact info. The company is lying about the way they access and store their data, and everything on their clients is visible. You may be part of this data breach without even realizing it. Data storage solutions were only a minor aspect of Fenistrat that most clients didn't even know about. But the ones who did inadvertently provided access to their own clientele, which sometimes reached upwards of a thousand people. None of these people would have a clue who was threatening them. When they first hired me as their receptionist, my boss told me Fenistrat was a locally owned and operated business that had returned back to town from our neighboring city one hour away. He cited the pandemic as a financial strain, and our cost of living is cheaper here. At first nothing was fishy about it; I didn't even think to question the story because it made total sense. My boss seemed open and personable, and he made me feel at home. Most people worked remotely, and as a result I never met them. There were only 3 of us who worked there in person. There was nothing off about the other employee either, although he kept pretty quiet. But the documents I found proved everything they had told me was a lie. In these pages were listed many other branches all under different names, seemingly owned by a parent company which I'll explain why I cannot name. In hindsight I understand why they set up such an extreme security protocol for how I interacted with our clients. They claimed for security reasons that I could only refer to clients by number, and they must do the same with me. I was "00". The large majority of calls were tech issues which I was to transfer to one of our remote employees. It didn't take my boss long to realize what I saw after I rushed out in a panic on my last day. I received a call from a blocked number when I got to my vehicle. It was my boss and he told me, "Your position has been terminated, but we will give you some leeway because we know that you will do the right thing." I didn't let this vague threat stop me, and I went straight to local law enforcement to report what happened. They looked into Fenistrat and my claims, then called me back to let me know the company had already shut down, and that my boss and coworker must have given me fake names because that wasn't who was listed as renting the unit. The person renting out the unit listed a fake address, and their number had been disconnected. They police visited my former office in person just in case there was evidence left behind, but the place had been cleared out by time they got there. I asked them about all the other branches that were still operating and what could be done about them. I could remember a lot of those names, but not their associated addresses. There were too many. I only remembered them being scattered across several states. They police said there is nothing that they could do about the other branches without more information. The parent company is well out of their jurisdiction. Since this seemed like a dead end, I called the police department in the jurisdiction for the parent company. After giving a brief explanation of what happened, I was asked to hold. After a few minutes I was transferred to someone who I seriously doubt worked for the police department. She asked me if I was ready to take down my report number so that I could "keep calling back to make a difference." I paused at her sarcasm, and for the heck of it I asked for the number. The woman announced, "00, sweetheart. Be careful!" before hanging up. And that was the end of that. At this point I went online to social media and explained what was happening to warn people. The parent company was prepared for this outcome. They knew how to manipulate every single social media site to immediately silence me. Hundreds of reports would come in within minutes to automatically flag and hide my posts. Nothing stayed accessible for long, and what was still accessible was flooded with trolls and bots ridiculing me. I then tried spelling the parent company in different ways to get past the search filters they may have been using, and that's when they personally contacted me on fb. They told me that if I was smart, that I would stop talking. And that if I didn't stop talking, they would help me find a way to do so. That wasn't where it ended. They described precisely where I was sitting in my room, the color of my socks, how I was nervously touching my hair, the brand of soda on the table, and then complained that my room was a mess and asked how long I would keep the grey box on the floor. I'll admit that my room is indeed a mess. No one should know these things because I'm the only one who's been in here since it became this mess. Forgive me but I'm too stressed out to clean right now and this has just made things 100x worse. I don't know how, but somehow they were seeing into my home. I put tape over my phone camera and webcam because I can't think of any other way they could have spied on me. My blinds are already shut. I always keep everything locked. I have security cameras, but now I'm scared they're somehow going to use those against me. The account that sent me this creepy threat was disabled shortly after I read it, but I was able to screenshot it before it disappeared at least. I called the police a second time to report the continued attempts to silence me, hoping that they could do more this time with this screenshot. Again they told me there was nothing that could be done except to file a report and keep tracking what is happening. They encouraged me to keep calling with any updates, and they directed me to report my screenshot as a cyber crime. I did this and have not heard back. At this point I honestly don't expect to. When I asked my local police department about the response from the other department, all they would tell me was "Yeah, I'm not surprised, but don't let it get you down." That brings us to today. I'm hoping to finally have a discussion about this without immediately being censored and threatened. Do not ask for the name of the parent company, I will not tell you. My whole point here is that I need to figure out a way to even do that without the company silencing me or attacking me. Warning just my family is not enough, but if I say the name here, they will come and bury this. They do every time. Can anyone give me some advice on how to proceed? Do I really need to walk away here knowing this is happening to so many people?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] All My Exes Die After We Break Up - The Curse of Hollyeve: Casey - Part 4 Finale [RESPONSE] Casey and I watched as Colin held that knife at his neck with it trembling in his hand, eventually slightly driving the sharp blade into his soft skin. “Give me both parts of the necklace!” Colin screamed up at us.  I followed Colin’s frightened eyes and saw that they were looking behind us.  I whipped around and for the quickest of seconds I saw a charred figure standing right behind Casey and I. I then saw that figure rush at Casey.  I couldn’t react fast enough to help Casey. Hollyeve’s apparition knocked him down the stairs and I watched him tumble down about 20 steps until he landed at Colin’s feet.  I could feel a cold wind rush at me next but I hurried down the stairs and was able to avoid it.  My foot caught one of the steps awkwardly and twisted, tripping me and sending me down the stairs just like Casey. In a flash, I was at the bottom, back with Colin and I could see he had dropped his knife down to his waist. Casey was on the ground between us - knocked out.  “You can’t take it from me. You can’t take her from me,” Colin whispered to me as he stood above me.  “What?” I asked and looked back up the stairs - seeing Hollyeve’s apparition standing there, swaying at the top.  “I don’t want to let go of her,” Colin went on.  I went to look back at Colin and just as I did, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hollyeve fly down the entire flight of stairs in a blink - gliding on air.  I found myself between the two of them. I looked up and saw them staring into each other’s eyes.  Suddenly the newfound strength Colin had found started to vanish. He started to tremble and step away from Hollyeve.  She held out her hand and motioned for him to give her something.  I could feel something radiating out of Hollyeve. It was a sadness. No longer anger. A yearning to be set free.  It prompted a revelation in me. I think she was able to plant there as I sat at her feet.  *It was not Hollyeve who was holding on.* ***It was Colin.*** I looked up into Hollyeve’s burning eyes and memories that were not mine flooded into my mind.  *I was with Hollyeve on that property - out in the woods - in the middle of the night. I was pressed up against a tree by a young Colin - his eyes soft and kind as he moved in to kiss me delicate on the lips. There was no denying it felt true.*  I then looked into Colin’s eyes from the ground. They were burning just like Hollyeve’s.  *I was transported back to that moment in the woods - looking at a younger, fuller, Hollyeve, who I saw smile for the very first time. She was a different person as young Colin was with her there and he uttered those three dangerous little words - “I love you.”*  Still on the floor, I watched fat tears start to drop out of Colin’s eyes.  *Another memory started to come to me. I was now out in the field outside of the house, looking at an older, more rustic version of the building we were currently in, resting on a moonlit night in a soft wind, ignited in flame.*  *I watched young Hollyeve dash across the field and disappear into the house.*  *Then I was inside the house, barely able to see through all the smoke, but I still saw Hollyeve rushing through her old bedroom, searching for something. Lost in the smoke, coughing, and slowing, she wasn’t finding it and she was succumbing to the smoke.*  *It wasn’t long before she dropped to the hardwood floor, but she also got what she came for. Clutched in her hand was that half heart necklace Colin had given her.*  I was back on the floor as well, looking up at Colin and Hollyeve’s spirit - locked in a stare.  “I came back to your house to tell you I wanted to be with you. I had changed my mind,” Colin said to Hollyeve. “I just didn’t get there in time.” *I was back in the burning house again in a memory that wasn’t mine. I looked out the window and saw a young Colin running through the field outside, making his way to the house in a full on sprint.*  Back on the floor, out of the memory, I was still looking at Colin cry above me.  “You don’t believe me?” Colin asked Hollyeve.  She shook her head. *No.*  Colin reached out and put his hands softly on Hollyeve’s forehead and I was transported back to the memory.  *I was inside the house, the flames licking at me, I could feel their heat on me, and I could barely see because of the smoke all around. Yet, I could see Colin frantically searching the house - making his way up to Hollyeve’s bedroom.*  *I heard him call out for her - his voice breaking with sadness and panic. He kept screaming and screaming.*  *What he didn’t know yet, I could already see - Hollyeve on the ground, the flames already to her, consuming her not far from me on the floor.*  *I think the smoke took out Hollyeve and she couldn’t even feel her body being consumed with flames, thankfully. She didn’t scream in pain, she just laid there and succumbed.*  *And Colin still had no idea, he moved through the smoke calling for her, coughing, and nearly succumbing himself.*  *He could feel it though. I could feel him scream out in pain as flames caught him, eventually catching his clothes on fire.*  *I watched him get taken by the flames and collapse next to me - I saw his blue eyes shining through the smoke as they laid upon Hollyeve, fully aflame, just a handful of feet from him.*  *I watched tears fall from those eyes as he slipped away.*  Back in the room, I watched Colin strip his shirt off and reveal extensive scarring over a good portion of his torso. The sight seemed to soften Hollyeve. She looked at the scars all over his chest and back and her eyes started to wet.  “I came back for you,” Colin said softly.  *Back in the burning house in the memory - I watched firefighters rush in and take Colin away just as he passed out.*  *They didn’t get Hollyeve. She was left there to burn.*  The memories drifted away and I felt myself completely in the moment on the floor, looking up at Colin and Hollyeve.  “You never stay,” Colin said to Hollyeve.  I felt Hollyeve communicate back to him silently - *You want me to stay?* *I was back in memories. This time in what appeared to be Colin’s teenage bedroom. Him clutching that half heart necklace, rubbing it with his thumb, looking at a mirror as he sees the image of Hollyeve’s apparition for just a second.*  *His face lights up. He squeezes the half heart necklace. Then she’s gone. And his face falls flat.*  “I kept trying to find ways to find you,” Colin explained.  *Back in Colin’s memories. We were in a cheap motel room with a sex worker. They were kissing, but he looked hesitant.*  *He kept looking at the mirror - clearly trying to find something. The sex worker noticed and grew wary. She pulled away from him.*  *“What is this? You have someone watching you or something?” The sex worker asked Colin.*  *Just as she finished her question - the image of Hollyeve flashed in the mirror Colin was looking at.*  *The sex worker saw Colin’s eyes light up and then her’s followed his until…* *She caught a glimpse of Hollyeve in the mirror.*  *The sex worker screamed and pushed away Colin. Then she rushed out of the room.*  “I paid for love because it was the only way I could connect with you. I couldn’t date regular girls anymore because you always chased them away. Then you even chased away the paid ones, and I had to go yet another route,” Colin said.  *The memories kicked back in and I was in a dark strip club with Colin watching him hand over $20 bills to a stripper looking beyond exhausted.*  “The strip clubs were a public enough space that you didn’t seem to terrorize the girls and I would get to see you,” Colin went on.  *In the strip club, I could see Colin getting a lap dance. Across the little space sat Hollyeve.* “But now I’m almost out of money. That’s why I came here tonight. My last chance to maybe keep seeing you,” Colin said.  I blinked deliberately a bunch of times and was able to get myself out of the memory and back into the house, looking up at Colin and Hollyeve, eyes still locked on each other.  Hollyeve slowly reached out her open palm, upwards, wanting something. Colin balked. Clearly not wanting to give it up.  She just kept her hand there. Kept her eyes sad and haunting.  Still, Colin didn’t give in.  I watched Hollyeve’s mouth move, but no words came out. Yet, I could tell exactly the single word she mouthed to him.  *Please.*  I watched Colin think about it for a few more moments, then hand over his half of the half heart necklace.  “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “It’s crazy to say now, but I did love you back then.” Hollyeve moved towards Colin. He flinched for a second.  She wrapped him in a strong hug. A long one. They held there for a little while. He just kept saying he was sorry over and over and over again.  Eventually Colin was standing there all by himself.  *Hollyeve was gone.*  — I got Casey up and got the three of us out of there.  Colin told us he did feel like he could finally live life now before he walked into his apartment.  I didn’t really believe him.  \- I wasn’t sure if things really worked out for Colin or not. He never appeared on the Curse of Hollyeve subreddit. The rest of the group started to reappear though. Everyone was noting that Hollyeve seemed to have gone away.  I noticed it too. I went a long time without any kind of encounter or even vibe from her. I swear I used to frequently feel a lingering presence around me when I was alone, and it was gone.  Eventually some members of the group even started talking about successfully dating. No longer getting issues and attacks from Hollyeve. They were finally finding love.  \- I gave it some time and I told Katy about what happened and we felt it was okay for us to part ways. We got divorced as quickly as we could.  I started to branch out myself once we separated. A few days ago I set up a dating app profile.  Then earlier today I started skimming through profiles - sending likes and messages.  I was elated when I received my first “Like” from someone. I raced to find out who she would be.  I haven’t looked at the profile yet. The name was enough to get me to close the app… ***Hollyeve***<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] There is a place... [RESPONSE] My friend Alois had always been, just like me, *different* than others. Both of us used to be rejected by most people on schools, summer camps, etc., and before meeting each other we had never formed a proper friendship. We understood each other and that allowed us to finally feel a connection. My problem was pretty basic: I was a medium. I was able to hear dead people talking to me. I would have whole conversations with a previous owner of my mother's flat via giant pictures on our walls that had once belonged to him. I had also been visited by my dead grandpa a couple of times. In Alois'es case, it was a bit more difficult: he was attracting demons. He would subconsciously seek people who were or had been possesed by demons and he had a thing for demonology and rituals. He claimed it was all just to *know his enemy*, but I was always concerned. Alois and I met while playing a MOBA game, we were both nerds and we ended up in the same team. Soon we started playing with my ex-classmate, Ben. Ben and Alois quickly became friends and not too long ago they have developed feelings for each other. As always in such situations, I became less important to them, but our friendship prevailed. From the beginning of our friendship, Alois would tell stories about his previous life. Everybody loved listening to him, because he was a brilliant storyteller. The story that had always resonated with me the most was a story about a haunted fortification in the suburbs next to our city. "People never liked it and every company that had bought this building have quickly abandoned it" he said. "There is a story that the bad atmosphere of this place lured a group of satanists inside about twenty years ago. They were sacrificing animals and whatever they were trying to conjure, it's dwelling there now. I had been there once and I'm telling you, this place is something else. If you ever end up there somehow, do not enter the bunker". "Why?" I asked. "Is there something gross inside?" "No, it's empty. But don't enter, it's not that easy to get out". "Well, you got out" I smiled. Suddenly his face went pale, as he slowly shaked his head. "I never truely got out" he whispered. Knowing how unrealistic and superstitious he was, I forgot about this ominous conversation and continued living my life. Until one day, when Alois returned home - the three of us together, me, him and Ben, were renting a flat - completly ashen and scared. "What happened?" I asked. "I've been in the bunker" he answered. "It's horrible. It's awful. I don't want to see it ever again". "Then don't" said Ben, entering the room. "Nothing's forcing you". "I'm not sure about this" replied Alois. "But I hope you're right. Let's just go to sleep, I'm tired as hell". The next day he went to the bunker again. He explained later, that the last time he hadn't have enough courage to enter the building and he wanted to change it. It was just a couple of walls and bricks, nothing to be afraid of, after all. This day he also didn't have enough courage, so he decided to go there again. He said the bunker was amazing and that he would have liked to see how far did the tunnels go. "It's becoming an obsession" said Ben around one and half week ago. "It's just a beautiful place. If you want to, you can go with me and you'll understand" Alois replied. "Don't go there, Ben" I asked quietly. Unfortunatelly, he was too concerned about his boyfriend to care about himself. They left after the supper and returned just before midnight. Ben was ashen and shaking, he asked for a hot cup of tea and went to sleep quickly afterwards, refusing to talk about their trip. The next day however he seemed way more relaxed about it. "It actually just looks scary, it's an awesome place" he said during breakfast. "All those small shafts in the ground, this unkempt park with huge trees and thorns everywhere, and this giant front wall with empty windows, it looks great! I really wish to see it again in a daylight, how about another trip, Alois?" "NOOOOOOO!" Alois screamed at the top of his lungs. Ben and I looked at him, absolutely surprised. "What's wrong with you?" I asked. "Nothing. It's just... You will never go there again, Ben. Ever". "But... I haven't even entered the building!" Ben complained. "I want to touch the surface of the front wall at least". "No. You will never ever go there again or I will break up with you". After saying this, Alois went quiet. He was absolutely silent for the rest of the day and I had to be the one to comfort Ben after hearing those words. I was angry with Alois, seeing how deeply hurt my mate was, but I couldn't just confront him with that. He was going through something we weren't able to understand yet. "Don't hate him because of me" said Ben during the dinner. Alois was still locked in his room when we were sitting in the kitchen. "He did that to protect me". "To protect you from what? His obsessive behavior and his overgrown ego?" "From what's inside the bunker" he replied with a trembling voice. "He knows it's too late for him, but I might be saved". "You believe in these demons?" I laughed. "You haven't been there, Wendy. You would believe as well". "Time to change it" I decided. "Where is it?" "No, I won't tell you" he said loudly. "You're different, just like Alois. I was able to resist the temptation to return to the bunker, but he weren't. And you won't be able to resist it as well". I was upset, but I didn't push it. The next day Alois left again without any explanation. Ben followed him to the door just to give him a goodbye kiss, but Alois pushed him away and he slam shut the door. From this day on we haven't seen him again. We have searched for him everywhere. Police was called and Alois was put on a list of missing people. As we expected, nothing worked. There was no sign of our dear friend. "You think it's the bunker demon?" I asked yesterday. "I'm sure it is" Ben replied. He had been crying for a week after Alois had went missing and now he was learning how to talk again. "So why don't we go there to look for him?" "Because the police had searched this place and they found nothing". "But I am different" I whispered. "I talk to dead people. I think I can find something more inside". "Don't give me hope" Ben cried again. "I'm sorry, I have to. I cared about him too" I replied. Ben gave me the adress and I left in the evening. Before I got there, the world had gone completly dark. The way was covered in weeds and thorns and surrounded by old trees that resembled petrified giants. Halfway through the park I started feeling weird; there was something really unsettling about this place. I took my Holy Cross outside my pocked and raised it high. With this weapon I was ready to go deeper into what seemed like a primal woods. The darkness was so thick, I almost faceplanted the lodge. Its walls were completly covered in creepers and the huge trees behind it made it seem like a shadow of one of their stoopy branches. I walked around it carefully; the tunnels were below the ground and some ventilation shafts were hidden in the weeds like a small traps for careless visitors. Empty, dark windows on the side of the lodge made me even more uncomfortable, so I rised my Cross a bit higher. I climbed to the top of a hill and I saw the bunker. It was waiting for me down there, huge and grey, it's giant empty windows making me think of dragon's open jaws ready to spit fire, with three floors and a creepy round annex as a porch. I felt a touch of the wind of my face but the park behind my back was somehow completly silent. I started walking towards the main entrance but each next step was harder than the previous one. Finally, I stopped about ten metres from the entrance and my courage left me - there was something incredibly *evil* inside, and my small Cross was definitely not enough to fight with it. I left the park as fast as I could, almost falling into one of the ventilation shafts, and I sprinted home. As soon as I got to the first lantern, my fear stopped and I started laughing. It was just an ugly building and an abandoned park, nothing to be afraid of. "I could go back there just to touch the front wall" I said to myself. "But it's a mission for tomorrow. Now I have to go to sleep". I felt really tired, more tired than I usually feel even after very long days. I could barely move my legs walking home, all I dreamed of were a bath, a cup of tea and a good night sleep. When I was far away from the bunker, I looked back; there was a giant orange moon exactly above the hill next to the bunker. Its colour was so intense it looked like a sun that broke and stopped shining. This view made me realise something: the bunker was not ugly! It looked creepy but it was, in fact, a beautiful building that deserved to be praised. I came home and immidietly went to sleep, without talking to Ben. Today I woke up and I have already made my mind: I will go there after returning from work. I have to see this beautiful place again, take a few photos and maybe gain some inspiration, I'm a writer after all. I will touch it's surface and enter the bunker to contact with Alois' ghost or something. I also feel my curiousity rising; I need to see how far do the tunnels go! I hope I will make it before the dusk, I really want to see this amazing building in the daylight. This time I don't feel like taking a Holy Cross with me, it's just a bunker and I'm not a coward. Wish me luck!<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Cursed family part 2 [RESPONSE] ...After receiving the text from his father, Jack immediately started researching and tried finding the haunted forest as luck would have it his town had more than one... Knowing how cheap the school is they would have chosen the closest one that has abandoned living accommodations, taking this in calculation, one of the dozen stood out like a swore thumb. Having no doubt in his mind that the school is dumb enough to go to Dead Man's Timber, Jack quickly grabbed a few supplies and called a few favors from friends to get transport. Upon arrival Jack headed for the area the living accommodations where supposedly, to see if anyone could give him some details but Jack wasn't known to be lucky, neither the cabins nor the tents had any sign of residents, frustrated he searched for anything of use and found the main cabin although it had no supplies it did have insight. The forest was known for having the most hauntings and the highest reported death count, those dumb enough to go in did not come out a in one piece or were clinging to a thread of life. Not many know why the forest is haunted but it is said that in the center of it is a Cemetery and the reason why the dead do not slumber is because a few drunken teens defiled the entire place without a shred of decency nor respect, this was 20 years ago and the only surviving teen was followed and butchered in his own home. Anxious to find his sister, Jack determined where the centre would be but with some surveillance he spotted a trail made by something or someone heavy being dragged of into the foggy embrace of the forest, following the trail seemed easy enough but Jack couldn't shake the feeling of a thousand hungry eyes staring at him wiyh intent of making a meal from him. Knowing how the super natural messes with electronic Jack lit a torch and followed the trail. It seemed to go smoothly until what sounded like the laughter of a malicious toddler echoed in the fog, sending a chill down Jack's spine, trying his best to just power through it, determined to find his sister and her companions, he couldn't help but shiver when a tiny hand weaved it's fingers in between Jacks. Heart beating to war drums not knowing what to expect he tried a few tricks up his sleeve, Jack was about to ask the ghost that held his left hand captive if it could help him find his friends. Before being able to do so the ghost revealed it self to be a boy sounding no younger than 5, saying "Mister, can you help me find my Mommy ? " Shacking in terror Jack replied "I'll help you the best I can, where did you last see her ?" With pure glee the boy praised Jack and dragged him with unnatural strength through the forest stopping only when Jack's head slammed on to the wooden floor of an unknown building. Trying to recompose himself Jack was greated with a harsh feminine voice screeching "Where are you silly boy !? You need to be punished !" Jack was petrified after hearing this but almost stained his pants when the boy whispered in his ear "hide..." Throwing himself into the nearest closet that had a big enough hole to see through, shaking with fear Jack only hoped that his bladder would not release itself as a half decade woman bursted into the room knife in hand. "When I find you I will use your head to mop up the mess they made !" the woman's voice reverberated through the building. When the little boy flung open the closet Jack's lungs deflated and refused to let air back in. Confused to why the boy wants to find his mother when she was here started searching every room, frequently being forced to hide from her storming in when she pleased. After a while of searching Jack found a dairy, it's contents were... disturbing at best so much so that he refused to go into detail about it, when he closed the dairy slime dripped from the ceiling and when he looked up he saw the woman who had been chasing him on the ceiling... Mustering all his bravery he threw the dairy at her and ran looking for the exit, to no surprise, to him atleast, the rooms started moving so that the building became an unescapable maze no matter how he ran through it, as he wanted to stop and examine his surroundings he noticed that the woman was pursuing him while still on the ceiling with a bloody butcher's knife gripped in her jaw. Jack, now forced to think on his feet, ran straight forward unknowing of what would happen, he noticed that neither stairs nor doors were to be found and his pursuer is now close enough to feel her icy breath on his neck, starting to feel exhausted he noticed no matter how much he ran the dairy was always in his peripheral vision. Deciding that it might be of importance next time it came in sight he ran towards it, grabbing it off the floor and having no other option, Jack jumped out of the window and as luck would have it he was on the second floor, I could see for myself that he suffered quite a bit from the fall, hearing a terrible feminine screech echoing from with in the building he barely escaped from Jack took it as his que to leave. Before he did, Jack felt the need to inspect the cover of the dairy and on the front was a scratched and withered name, illegible at best, he limped between the graves looking at each tombstone to find any names that seemed similar enough, in his exhausted state he tried to be funny looking at the dairy he said "take me to your owner." To his surprise the dairy started dragging him towards a grave with a wooden cross. Not questioning what just happened he placed the dairy on the grave, sat on his knees and made a prayer wishing that the dead may rest in peace, as if to awnser his prayer decayed hands jumped out of every grave with a clawing motion dug out each resident, refusing to open his eyes in fear Jack calmly sensed that he was now surrounded by a legion of dead. Not knowing what to do next he opened his eyes and was greated with a thank you from a little boy, he described the feeling as "The whole forest had a sigh of relief." This was not the end, Jack still had to find his sister but now atleast had a clue. As if calling to him, her favourite earring glistened from a low hanging branch at the edge of the grave yard bearly noticeable through the fog. Taking it off the branch while surveying the area for more clues as to wich direction his sister may have ran in, Jack noticed a trail of footsteps leading deeper into the woods. Determined to find his sister he followed the trail with one thought in his, is his sister safe. As if on que he heard a scream from the direction he is heading in. Ignoring his pain he ran towards the scream, panting all the way only stopping when he reached a clearing, by now the fog has dissipated, Jack's pain and exhaustion however did not... Link to Part 1: <|startoftext|>[WP] I bought a backpack in a thrift store, it turned my life into complete nightmare [RESPONSE] My old backpack has seen some better days, so I went to get a new one. Luckily there’s a big thrift shop nearby, so I could buy something decent without spending too much. Besides, why pay extra for a bag, mainly used to carry my groceries around, right? And there it was - my new belonging: a bit worn out, though sturdy with leather inserts and reinforced straps. I found it in the pile of dozen others, mostly Mickey Mouse & Avenger themed ones. Lucky me! After checking it all around, with no holes or stains being visible I went straight to the register without hesitations. Paid just $20, so a win-win situation. My day was getting better. Then I stopped to grab a burger on my way home, and while the order was prepared - I’ve decided to transfer everything from my pockets into the backpack. So I’ve unzipped it to discover, that it was not quite empty, as it seemed. One of the inside pockets contained a folded sheet of shabby paper with a hole in it and a pen, a pebble and a half-used eraser. I took the paper out to check for clues, like, you know - to develop some non-mutual connection with the previous owner or something. It’s just a natural curiosity to find out who owned the thing before you. And I could bet it belonged to a school kid, or graduate, probably. Well, I unfolded the paper to read the following: “I’m sorry, but this is yours now. Maybe one day you can forgive me. I still don’t understand what it is, but I can’t let it hurt Danny again. Just follow these couple of rules, I’ve discovered and don’t let anyone take it from you. 1. It likes apples and mince meat. Leave at least a small piece by it everyday. 2. Don’t let it get wet, you will regret this. 3. It’s fine if somebody touches it, while you hold it. Just don’t let go. 4. Keep it away from other people and your pets when you’re at home. Hide it somewhere. This is all I got so far. Please, forgive me.“ Whoa! That kid was probably not really popular in his class, I guess. Who the hell was Danny? imaginary friend or something? And yeah, that edgy message of “don’t touch my backpack, or else…” - that was definitely something. I’ve looked deeper and in a moment the whole “collection” of forgotten items resided before me on a table: apart from stone and used writing stuff I also got a shoelace, a paper clip, some rubber bands and a coke bottle cap. Not much, and frankly speaking - I would prefer that kid to forget a dollar or two, but oh well. So after having the meal, I grabbed all that junk and put it into the trash bin altogether with burger wrappings and cup. It was time to test out my new baby! I’ve bought some milk, eggs and other edible stuff in my local mart and went home. Brilliant thing - not too tight, holds the weight perfectly and looks stylish. I was absolutely satisfied with the purchase. By the evening - I’ve already forgot about that cryptic teen message and the story would never land here, if it wasn’t for what happened next. Couple of days went by, and all I could care about was my job and watching some Netflix after it, cracking a cold one or two. I’m a lonely guy in my primes, so no annoying chores or missions, unless I decide so. Yeah, your classic chipmunk wheel of sleep-work-drink-sleep, you know what I’m saying? And it was completely fine by me, no complaints. But that morning my descend began. It was Saturday, I woke up later than usual and decided to cook some eggs & bacon for breakfast. Heat on, skillet on, oil in, eggs cracked… And then I just froze for a second, refusing to believe my eyes. It just couldn’t be true, but right in front of me, at the bottom of my frying pan - there was a human thumb. I’ve blinked rapidly, trying to make the morbid vision go away. But it was still there. And no, that was not a chicken embryo shaped weirdly. That was a human thumb: I could clearly see a nail and the clean cut below the knuckle joint. Holy fucking shit! I think it belonged rather to a man, than a woman. Without an extra do - I’ve called the cops. And should I say that next weeks turned into a huge steaming pile of troubles? I’ve been asked hundred of questions, they made me take a drug test (which was humiliating, though I had no intention to cause further suspicion), they checked the store and made some lab tests. As a result - the investigation went sideways to the hen farm, as the test results came back stating that the shell indeed has traces of human tissues, and though nobody had any rational explanation to this - they left me alone for now. What the fuck, man? What the fuck? I’ve never heard about anything like this in my life! But it was just the beginning. Next evening, I was watching some show and felt a sudden urge to sneeze and as I did - something went flying over the room, landing on a floor with a rattle. That was strange, so I stood up to check it out and imagine my confusion when I saw a human tooth lying on the ground. I grabbed it a went straight to the bathroom to check myself in a mirror. Sweat dripped down my spine, as I realized that tooth was not one of my own - no holes, no bleeding patches, nothing. I kept the fact to myself and didn’t go to the hospital, because, you know - the cops were already on the edge, and showing up with some other body parts, yeah, thanks but no, thanks. What was happening? I had no clue. But something definitely was not right. I’ll skip the part where I pose myself like a complete idiot, contacting so-called paranormal experts and parapsychology professors of all sorts and cut down to a point of what one of them said: “Try to remember, maybe you got some new things recently? Things that didn’t actually belong to you? That doesn’t have to be a stolen phone or anything. Maybe you found something on the street and that something is empowered with dark energy…”. Of course, the backpack! That was “not mine”, even though I paid for it and I suddenly recalled the written message included. Is the thing cursed? Should I burn it? But what if that will make things even worse? So I’ve decided to stick with what was written in the note first. What was it? Some apples and meat must be left by it every day? Ok, got it. There was something about not letting anyone touch it, too. But I live alone, so we’re safe here. And something-something, think-think…. Gremlin! Yes! Don’t let it get wet. So I did what I could - I’ve put a small plate of apple pieces and beef mince next to it, hoping to see any reaction by the morning. But there was none. Just a couple of fruit flies found their way to the treat, and the plate was untouched. “Well, maybe it doesn’t consume it? Maybe the smell is enough?” - I thought to myself. I was all pins and needles through the whole day, without proper conclusion if that worked or not. It did not. In the evening I felt my throat going sore and just moments later I coughed up a wet lock of hair, bending in half on my carpet. It hurt like hell. Spitting out the stuck hairs I went to the fridge to grab some orange juice to clear my throat, though something atrocious awaited me there. As the door opened I’ve witnessed a swarm of tadpoles sitting in the bottle, packed so tightly they could barely move. I think all the heavenly forces and the Lord himself helped me to keep me myself sane. I took the backpack, a lighter and went to the yard with firm intention to burn the fucker down. As I watched the flames licking the fabric and the cracking leather indents - the whisper of doubt somewhere deep inside, repeated: “What if this is not enough?”. Apparently, it was not. After discovering an extra pair of ears on my pillow in the morning, clean cut and no blood - I’ve suddenly realized the most horrible outcome of this whole situation. I remembered the paper, how shabby it was and how I didn’t pay much attention to other stuff when taking it out. What if that warning message, the sheet itself enfolded the It, the subject and after tossing the bag around - it just fell out from the fold? What if it’s not the backpack but something that was within it destroys my life? What could it be? That pebble that looks just like any other pebble you can find on the ground? The eraser maybe? And then it hit me hard. So hard, that my heart just stopped beating for a single moment, as a cruel realization of what I have done bloomed in my head… I will never find it. It’s just impossible. I threw it out to a trash bin in a burger place couple of weeks ago. Even if I knew what exactly I’m supposed to look for - it’s most probably buried under tons of trash in a dumpster somewhere outside the city. I’ve never expected to hear about something like this, not even saying about being a part of the cruel scenario. I have no other choice but to pin down where the garbage truck went and put my life to finding that exact trash sack from the burger place before it’s too late. Consider this a goodbye letter, I know my odds. Besides, my stomach is kinda painfully irritated for couple of hours already, and I really don’t like this feeling. Wish me luck.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I don't think that person was a person at all. [RESPONSE] , as I'm choosing to call it. After sleeping on the idea for a couple of nights, the fright that I originally felt from my first experience turned into sheer curiosity as to what could be going on inside that house. But you know what they say, curiosity killed the cat, right? On the night after I posted about my first experience in the house, I had a nightmare where I visited the house again. Call me a masochist, but this only made me want to visit the house again more. I'll spare you the details of this nightmare for now, but it becomes important later. As I approached the house for the second time, everything appeared precisely the same from the outside, except for the light that turned on on the second floor. This time, no lights turned on when I walked up. The driveway, the signs on the front yard, as well as the black fog in the front door were all the same as last time. When I walked up to the front door, I waited for a moment in anticipation of the hand gesturing me in again, but it never did. It probably recognized me as a returning visitor. Before walking in though, I padded myself to make sure I had everything I wanted to bring in for safety precautions. This included my flashlight, knife, and a bit of holy water freshly blessed by my local priest. Hey, if you were in my situation, you would probably do the same thing, don't judge me. Whoever runs this place didn't hesitate to scare the hell out of me as soon as he had the opportunity. As soon as I stepped into the entry hall, while I'm still enveloped in the black fog, two hands grab my shoulders. I struggled for a good ten seconds before they finally let go and got out of the fog. Whatever grabbed me was nowhere to be seen, but it was kind enough to leave some of that black goop on me. I still haven't been able to get that goop out of my shirt. I've washed it three times. Most of the haunted houses in my area don't have any sort of physical contact between the visitors and the people performing the scares. The ones that do have special permission from the city and visitors have to sign a waiver before entering. Given that this haunted house doesn't have a name, nor have I signed any waiver, I'm assuming this house doesn't have such special permission. Regardless, I move on. Because the note I received after my first visit said it was different every time, I came in expecting the worst. The hands grabbing me was bad, but a good haunted showrunner will save the worst scare for the end. Though, if he's expecting me to be coming back multiple times, I highly doubt he's considering my second visit the end. As I gathered my bearings and got up, I looked around the entry hall to see if anything had changed about the house since my first visit. It was still a normal-looking house, but some of the furniture was moved to different spots and there was no longer a lamp on the entry table. My first thought was *oh, is this just some sort of spot-the-difference game*? No. No, it wasn't. One thing that was the same, however, was that the TV in the living room was still just playing static. If I was gonna stay there for longer than before, I wasn't gonna deal with listening to TV static the whole time. So, I grabbed the remote and tried to turn it off. It still didn't work. I even went to unplug it, but the static still persisted. Too bad I didn't bring my earplugs. I wish I could say that was the end of the TV shenanigans. Every time I exited the living room, the static would stop. And every time I walked back in, the static would continue. I was terrified at this point but also impressed. The owner of this haunted house was clever, you don't see stuff like this in haunted houses that often. I decided to give up on the living room for now and move on to the kitchen. I start investigating a few things and notice that the kitchen knives were somehow secured in the knife block so you couldn't pull them out. This was strange, but it made sense as a safety precaution, you don't want to leave a bunch of sharp weapons out for people. Especially in a haunted house this secluded and not well known. Another thing that I took notice of was the breakfast table. There was food on all the plates. And not even just some basic breakfast stuff, like a whole breakfast meal. Eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, you name it. You'd think I would have been able to smell it, but I couldn't smell anything. I inspected the food and it was real. I ate some of it. It was delicious. And I'm still alive to write this, so it wasn't poisoned. I couldn't help but feel like I'm being placed in a false sense of security. Was this a haunted house or a bed and breakfast? I'm not sure, but I still had my guard up. I decided to go upstairs next. The black goop was still on the railing, which I avoided touching. It was at this point that I started getting a little suspicious. I'd been there for almost an hour and the only scare I had gotten was the one at the beginning. Sure, this is a lot more intricate and mysterious than a typical haunted house, but I figured there would be more to keep me interested. That line of thinking was a part of that false sense of security. As soon as I got to the top of the stairs, I got an overwhelming feeling like something was watching me. Sirens began going off in my head. This wasn't your typical *I feel like someone is watching me* sort of feeling, this was an imminent feeling of terror. I looked at every window within view. Nothing. I even got my flashlight and shined it everywhere. Nothing. I don't know where this feeling came from, but there was *nothing* to be seen anywhere. Yet. I began looking around upstairs. The nursery was the same and all the bedrooms were the same except for one, the master bedroom. When I opened the door to the master bedroom, I immediately noticed somebody sleeping in the bed *fully covered* under their blanket. This person had to be incredibly tall, their feet were almost hanging off the end of the *king-size* mattress. Okay, pause. Who the hell sleeps like this? Don't you need to breathe to sleep? Silly me, this is a haunted house. For all I know, this could've been the corpse of the previous owner who was murdered in cold blood by a local fisherman who disappeared immediately after the incident. I didn't walk into the room. I closed the door and walked away. I really wanted to leave, but I made a promise to myself that I would stay for the "full experience." As soon as I started walking back downstairs, I hear the static of the TV start again. Normally, it would only start when I walked into the living room, so I was curious. I returned to the living room and grab the remote yet again. To my surprise, the remote wasn't completely useless this time. The TV actually turned off when I pressed the power button on the remote. I then turned it back on, then back off, then back on, over and over again. It was all still static, I couldn't change channels or video sources, but at least I could turn the TV on and off. This was progress. Now, I still have no idea what I was progressing toward, but it's progress nonetheless. The black goop guy didn't like me messing with the TV. For a split second, while I was turning the TV on and off, black goop guy appeared and disappeared in the blink of an eye in the reflection of the TV. I immediately dropped the remote and turned around, but he wasn't there. He did leave some black goop on the ground, though. This was my cue to leave. This visit was long enough, so I immediately ran to the front door and ran out. But not before picking up yet another note left on the ground. *Why not stay the night next time? You can have the guest room.* The owner must be crazy to think I would stay the night in this haunted house. He might be right. It was too quick to gather any details, but this is the best description of black goop guy I can give. He's tall and slender. Humanoid in shape but not human in appearance. Not human skin, more alien-like. Pitch black in color. Next time I visit, I'll try to get more details, but that's all I could see. I don't think I have enough information to review this haunted house yet. I need to figure out what's going on in that house. Everything seems real. I need to go back. But do you remember that nightmare I mentioned? Well, that's how this whole situation goes from a really good scare to what I think is legitimate supernatural activity. I forgot about the nightmare while I was in the house, but after my second visit was over, I realized something. Everything I saw, every step I took, every decision I made, and every sound I heard was completely identical to the nightmare I had before. This isn't just a haunted house.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] We always burn liars here. [RESPONSE] Jackie was a werewolf. Pete was a vampire, though he kept referring to himself as “a Dracula” just to piss me off. And I was a witch, though admittedly the outfit was just a half-ass modification from my initial idea of “girl Gandalf” after my older brother, Kevin, set fire to my beard the week before. We were too old for trick-or-treating (or as Pete liked to call it, “tricker treating”) and we knew it, but that was part of the point. After a five-year hiatus on free candy because Halloween was “for babies”, we’d come back around to the idea that so long as we leaned into it being a prank/game/social experiment instead of just teenagers begging for candy that we could just drive to the store and buy…it was cool again. The idea was this. We would drive up to every house, not hiding the fact that we were old enough to do so. Pete and I were seniors and Jackie was home from her first year of college, and between his beard, her tits and my height, no one was mistaking any of us for children. That being said, we had a rule that we had to dress up in legit costumes and couldn’t act weird or assholey when we went up to get the candy. Just polite trick-or-treating, as to do anything else could affect the bet. Because this is where the “game” part came in. Before we got out of the car at each house, we would each bet whether that house would give us candy or not. The odds were always in favor of yes—most people might get irritated at older teenagers coming for candy, but so long as we were polite about it, it was hard for them to get past their default position of honoring Halloween customs. So the scoring worked like this: If you bet a house would give us candy, you got one point. If you bet that a house wouldn’t give candy and you were wrong, you lost one point. But, if you bet a house wouldn’t give us candy and you were *right*, that was worth five points…so long as you didn’t do anything overtly rude or whatever to make sure things went your way. Sarcastic tone of voice was okay. So were fake accents. But you couldn’t say or do anything that was really impolite or highlighted our age beyond our obvious appearance and ability to drive up in the first place. No, “thanks, dude. Got to get back to the wife and kids now” or that kind of thing. In other words, reasonable lying was fine, so long as it was done courteously. When we were done for the night, whoever had the most points got to divide up all the candy, and best of all, they got to pick the first three things the other two ate. Didn’t matter how gross or sketchy, they had to eat it if someone gave it to one of us during the night. Had to have stakes, after all. So far, Pete was somehow ahead. He was a good guesser—he always had been and it was irritating. I was only two points behind, but it felt like we were running out of houses as we moved further and further out into the dark countryside. That had been part of our plan—go out to places that had lights on but were more remote, as they’d be less likely to have many trick-or-treaters. They’d also be less likely to have candy at all, but most of the houses with decorations and lights on gave up something, even if it was from their own private stash. Jackie was one point behind me, though I still thought her strategy for the evening was dumb. She was voting no candy on every house based on the idea that the five points when she was right would override the one point losses the rest of the time. I tried to point out that we were only stopping at houses that looked like decent candidates to begin with, and that always voting the same wasn’t really playing the game, but she wouldn’t budge. And I hated to admit it, but her strategy hadn’t totally sucked so far, and one no candy house would put her back in the lead. That’s why I complained when she started turning onto the long driveway at the end of CR 13. She snickered as she completed the turn and gave me a grin, her fur-covered face green and sinister in the meager light from the dashboard. “It has jack-o-lanterns out at the fence gate with burning candles in them. That counts as decorations and lights.” Pete gave a groan. “Fuck, Winny, she’s right.” Jackie had started down a driveway that was paved, but with thick hardwoods on both sides that obscured the way forward as the path curved to the right. Irritated, I shook my head. “It’s supposed to be decorations on the house, not a mile away at the road. This doesn’t count.” Jackie shrugged. “Well, we’ll see then. If the house is dark or has no decorations, then we’ll turn around and leave. I’m not trying to cheat, but I’m not turning down a good prospect either.” Sighing, I slumped back in my seat. “Fine. But I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s not even a house back…” “Holy shit.” That last had been from Pete, and I didn’t have to ask what he meant. We’d just rounded the last corner, and instead of more woods or just an empty overgrown field, there was a large antebellum mansion with brick walls of dark grey and tall white columns that lined the front like long teeth. We saw most of this from the sweeping light of Jackie’s headlights, but they weren’t the only things lighting up the night. Behind the hulking shadow of the house I could make out the shifting orange glow of a fire, and up on the porch there were four more jack-o-lanterns to match the ones out at the road. Jackie turned and gave me a satisfied smile as she pointed first to the glow of firelight behind the house. “Light.” And then the pumpkins on the porch. “And decorations.” I sniffed. “I mean technically, yeah. But does this place look like somewhere we want stuff from? It’s dark and creepy. They probably have a bucket of razor-blade candy in there.” Pete laughed. “It’s Halloween! This is the kind of house we *should* be visiting. And isn’t the razor blade thing more of an urban legend?” Jackie shook her head. “No, that happened to my cousin once. But it’s okay. Because I confidently bet we will get no candy here.” I rolled my eyes. “What a shocker. Bold strategy there.” She squinted at me. “If you’re scared, just say you’re scared.” I floated my middle finger around in front of her as I did a wavering ghost voice. “Fuuuuck yoooou. Just don’t come crying to me when I give you a poison candy bar covered in rat turds to eat.” Snorting, Jackie turned off the car and got out. “Come on, sore losers. It’s Jackie’s time to shine.” **** “I bet no candy too.” I couldn’t see her face as we approached the house, but I could still hear Jackie smirking. “Decided to back a winner, huh? Smart play. Won’t help you in the end, but I respect you for acknowledging my awesomeness.” “Ugh. Whatever. Pete, what’s your bet?” “Mmm. Candy. These people have to be loaded, right?” “If they’re even…” The porch light came on as we started up the steps. “home.” And then under my breath, “Fuck.” Pete was already on the porch, grinning back down at us. “Always bet on the Dracula.” Turning, he walked over and rang the ornate doorbell next to the equally intricately carved black door. Far away, we heard a small bell chime. This was a weird house. Everything about this felt weird. Why couldn’t they see that? I was about to suggest we just give up the game and declare Pete the winner when the door’s lock clicked and it swung open. On the other side, a dead woman stood smiling at us. Pete must have been right—whoever these people were, they had to be kinda loaded, because her costume was movie-quality. Not because it was over-the-top or really elaborate, but because it was so subtle. The blue dress she wore was faded and curled at the edges with what could have been age or rot, and her skin had a faint blue-tinge that stood out in the porch’s overhead light but wasn’t cartoonish or overdone. The only other sign that she wasn’t just an attractive middle-aged soccer mom was her left ear. Her long, dull brown hair was artfully pulled over her ear on that side, revealing a gnawed stub instead of whole flesh. “Damn! You look awesome!” Pete was right, though it was hard to tell from his lingering gaze on her breasts if he was talking more about her zombie outfit or her generally being kind of hot. Jackie apparently thought it was the latter, as she nudged him in the ribs and stepped forward, holding out her open briefcase. “Trick-or-Treat! Arooooo!” I stifled a sudden nervous laugh. The briefcase thing…Jackie had brought a briefcase instead of a normal trick-or-treat bag. At first me and Pete hadn’t understood why, but once we saw how she was betting—against candy every time—it made more sense. She thought using something that wasn’t Halloweeney or immature would tilt the scales toward pissing someone off so they didn’t give us anything. I couldn’t say for sure it had worked, but at the two houses that had told us we were too old, they’d both looked at that damn thing. Still, it didn’t seem to matter to this lady. She just gave a soft laugh as she looked at us each in turn. “Well, well. I appreciate the compliment. And I accept the commencement of bargaining as well.” Still chuckling, she took a step back. “I have all manner of treats in the kitchen and will brook no tricks on this holy night. All I ask is that you tell me what you are before you pass my door.” She gestured back down the hallway to a kitchen that was dancing with yellow candlelight. I shot Pete a concerned look. “Ma’am, we don’t normally go into people’s houses.” She nodded. “I understand, but I just finished cooking, and I’m afraid I have too large a variety to bring it out here.” Shrugging, she started to close the door. “But if you refuse the offered treats, we can close the b-“ Pete stepped forward. “No! No, ma’am. We’re happy to come in.” He glared at me. “Forgive my friend. She’s just a sore loser.” The woman smiled widely at him as she moved the hair behind her other, perfect ear. “So glad to hear it.” Her face suddenly became more serious. “Now. What are you?” Pete hesitated a moment and then bared his plastic fangs. To be fair they were expensive and looked good other than being a different shade than his actual teeth. “I, madam, am a Dracula.” I expected the woman to laugh or look angry, but instead she just nodded. “Very well. You may enter our home.” Pete stepped in as she turned to look at Jackie. “And what are you?” Jackie had lowered her briefcase again, and even through the tuffs of fake brown hair glued to her cheeks and forehead, I could tell she was worried too. Still, she wouldn’t quit playing so long as one of us kept going either. So giving another small howl, she stepped closer to the door. “I am a werewolf, ma’am.” “Very well. You may enter our home.” The woman looked at me. “And you?” I started to speak but something held me back. This…this woman wasn’t right. I couldn’t say what the problem was with her, and I didn’t know enough to make the others leave, but there was a weight to everything the woman was saying and doing. As though this wasn’t some kind of campy Halloween roleplay, but part of something real and serious. And she was still staring expectantly at me. Heart hammering, I stepped forward. “I…um, I’m a girl dressed up as a witch. I was supposed to be a female Gandalf, but my jerk brother burned my beard.” The woman studied me for several moments before smiling again. “Very well. You may enter our home.” Closing the door behind me, the woman led us back to the kitchen—it was massive, with double ovens, eight burners set into a large wooden island, and a long table along one end filled with a variety of cookies and candies and muffins and cakes, along with candied apples and pumpkin tarts and other dishes that I didn’t recognize. “Holy shit! Um, I mean, dang. You’ve got quite the spread in here.” The woman chuckled. “Thank you. We don’t get many visitors out here and my boys have finicky diets, so I always wind up overdoing it. But it is Halloween after all. Please, take what you’d like.” I felt a stab of panic and leaned into Jackie’s ear. “None of this stuff is wrapped up. It could have anything in it. We can’t eat this stuff.” Pulling back, she gave me a frown. “How’s that different than anything else? You think someone can’t rewrap candy or inject something through a wrapper? And how often do you get to try fancy stuff like this?” Pete leaned into the conversation. “And don’t think I didn’t notice your whole “I’m a girl dressed like a witch thing. You’ve lost. Give it up. Don’t fuck up the best meal I’ve had in like ever.” He grinned at our host. “So like, how much is it okay for us to take? It all looks so good.” She beamed at him. “As much as you want, of course. There are plates and bowls at the end, so feel free to sample here, and I can make you bags to take with you as well. As I said, I have far too much.” The woman frowned as Pete reached toward some kind of potato fritter piled on platter near the table’s edge. “Oh, no, not that for you though.” Pete pulled his hand back and looked at her questioningly. “Oh, sorry.” She waved her hand. “Not at all. It’s just that I prepare those with garlic, and I wouldn’t want you to get sick.” Pete stared at her blankly for a moment and then let out a loud laugh. “Oh, shit. Right. Yeah, I guess I have a selective diet.” He picked up a small crystal glass containing what looked like dark layers topped with whipped cream. “Is this okay for me you think?” The woman nodded. “Yes, of course. Blood mousse with bits of caramelized baby fat for texture.” She picked one up and handed it to Jackie. “This should be good for you as well.” Glancing between us, Jackie picked up a spoon. “Sure, thanks. It looks delicious.” The woman turned and patted my arm. “All the food on the left side of the table is meat-free, my dear.” I gave a slow nod. “Well, I mean I’m not a vegetarian, but the cookies and muffins look great.” I pointed toward Pete as he was eating the first bite of his mousse. “But those don’t really have some kind of meat in…” Pete spat a dark wad onto the floor as he began to retch. “Lady…what the fuck is in that?” When he looked up, he didn’t look at her but me, his eyes watery and fearful. She frowned. “Just as I’ve said. Congealed blood. Quite a favorite of your kind.” He was hardly listening, hocking and spitting as he tried to get the taste out of his mouth without trusting any of the various drinks on offer as a way to clean his palate. On his fourth spit, one of his fangs flew out and landed in the middle of a plate filled with bat sugar cookies. “What is that?” The woman’s tone was icy. “Look at me. Show me your mouth.” Pete stared at her slack jawed, his lone fang still dangling there. “What the fuck are you talking about?” The woman’s expression darkened as she turned to Jackie, who had set her own mousse back down. “And what about you? The treat not to your liking?” “Ma’am, this isn’t funny. We’re just going to go…ahh, let go!” Our host had grabbed Jackie’s arm, gripping it hard as she pulled her closer. “You answer me now. Are you truly a werewolf?” Stepping forward, I tried to shove her away from Jackie, but she didn’t budge or even look my way as she held my friend tight. Jackie was crying a little now as she shook her head. “Of *course* not! It’s a fucking costume! It’s not even a good one, and werewolves aren’t real, you crazy bitch! Let me goooo!” The woman did as she was asked, after a fashion, slinging Jackie in Pete’s direction and sending them both careening into the nearby wall before tumbling to the floor. I moved to help them, but then the woman was in my path. “And you? Are you a girl dressed as a witch?” I could barely breathe as I squeaked out my words. “Why…why are you doing this?” “Answer me. Now.” “Yes! Yes, I am just a girl dressed as a witch.” She nodded, giving me a satisfied smile. “Very well. You have maintained the covenant that your companions have broken. You may pick any treats you like from the banquet table.” “We just…just want to go.” “Go? They can’t go. They’ve broken covenant, and on a holy night no less. There will be no falsehoods in this house or in my family’s bargaining.” Her eyes went to Jackie and Pete even as shadowy figures began to approach between the flickers of candlelight. One looked like a dragon, another a twisted skeleton, while the third was a ropy mass thick with clawed tentacles. The woman looked at them lovingly before giving me a warm glance. “My boys.” **** The glow behind the house had been a large autumn bonfire, stacked high with wood and mounds of colored leaves that somehow never fully burned. More long timbers of wood lay to one side, and it was to two of these that the monsters bound Pete and Jackie as they thrashed and screamed. I think I could have left before then, but I couldn’t abandon my friends, even if the woman wouldn’t let me intervene to save them. I did try once, but after that, her firm but gentle grip bore down on me heavily enough that I knew there was little I could do but shake and cry and tell them I was sorry. This seemed to trouble the woman somewhat, and as her monstrous offspring finished lashing my friends down, she spoke to me again. “I hope this doesn’t seem cruel to you. My family passed through the Imago some time ago, but we are still old-fashioned. We keep to the ways of bargain and palaver, and we especially revere Halloween, as it’s one of the few times the world drops some of its pretenses.” I had no idea what she was talking about, but maybe if I talked to her, I could convince her to let us all go. “Pretenses?” She nodded. “That the world is safe. That monsters aren’t real. And that the truth that lay in the dark can’t hurt you.” Despite my plan to calm down, I could hear the angry panic in my voice. “We were just wearing fucking *costumes*! That’s what Halloween is about! Why are you punishing us for it?” She frowned. “Not you. Just them. You were honest. And lying is certainly *not* what Halloween is about. That’s just what fearful people have told themselves and taught their children. Another lie.” Her lip curled, the gums around her teeth dark and withered in the bonfire’s light. “And we always burn liars here.” I turned as I heard a fresh set of screams. The horrors at the bonfire had picked up the timbers Pete and Jackie were tied to effortlessly, swinging them up into the dark October sky before pitching them down into the roaring heat of the flames. I let out one last scream, letting my painful cry fill the void left by the fading of their dying breaths. Eyes squeezed tight, I slumped to the ground, wanting darkness to take me, begging to wake up and realize this was all some terrible nightmare. I felt something shift, both in my head and in the world around me, and when I opened my eyes, the night had turned to day. The remnants of the bonfire were still there, but no sign of any bones or bodies. And when I turned around, I saw the house was gone as well. Instead, it was just a large clearing, empty except for the large pile of smoldering wood and, next to me, a large pumpkin jack-o-lantern painted black and made of some kind of red fired earth. Choking back a fresh sob, I reached over and pulled off the stem lid and looked down inside. It was halfway filled with candy corn and chocolates, and resting on top of the sweets was a small note on orange paper. Pulling it out, I read what was written there. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] We thought McDonald's was running a contest, The truth was much more sinister. [RESPONSE] My friend RJ has always been interested in puzzles. So much so that it sometimes drove a wedge between him and other people. He tends to get invested in more elaborate ones to the point of obsession. And if you’re not as quick to put something together as he is, he can be a bit condescending. Overall I think he’s got a good heart though, so I don’t mind the occasional assholery. I was sitting in the school cafeteria Thursday afternoon when RJ plopped himself down next to me. He wore that shit-eating grin that said “TedEd just posted a new logic puzzle.” *So, what’ve you got for me today?* I asked him. *Your parents are pretty chill right?* He asked back through a mouthful of pizza. *I mean, Yeah I guess. Depends on what you mean.* *You think they’d let us go out Saturday morning around 3? I want to try something out.* RJ had piqued my interest and was hamming it up now. He was trying to suppress a smile and act all mysterious but it wasn’t working. *You gotta tell me what it is first.* I said laughing to myself a little bit. I knew he wasn’t gonna talk though. He was relishing his little secret too much. He just shrugged his shoulders at me and turned his head back towards his pizza. *I’ll tell you more this weekend.* Friday night came and I got a text from RJ around 10. *Don’t fall asleep dickhead, I’ll be there at 3 sharp.* I knew why he was doing this. RJ didn’t have a car and relied on me to take him places pretty often. Where he wanted to go at 3am was beyond me though. He’s not exactly the kind of guy to get drunk in the woods. By 3 o’clock I was on my second cup of coffee and still fighting to stay awake. RJ showed up at the front door wide awake. *Ready to go to McDonald’s?* He blurted out as soon as I opened the door. I mimed slamming the door in his face, which didn’t change his attitude in the slightest. *I think you finally owe me an explanation.* I said, shaking my head. *Why are we going to McDonald’s?* RJ explained it to me as we got into the car. He spends a lot of time on 4chan. I don’t. Apparently he came across this thread about weird receipts at McDonald’s There were a couple pictures included from people who had received these receipts. They all had a number written in red ink at the bottom of the paper. (As an aside, I tried to find this thread he was talking about while I went to post this, but didn’t have any luck. I don’t ever use 4chan though. If anyone can find the receipt pictures and link them in the comments I’d really appreciate it.) RJ told me that some people noticed all of the receipts were processed at 3:33 am on a Saturday. This little detail is what got them thinking this wasn’t a coincidence, but might be some sort of big McDonald’s secret challenge. Kind of like Cicada 3301 or something. I actually thought this was pretty cool. I knew KFC did something like this with their twitter account. They sent the guy who figured it out a picture of him getting a piggy-back ride from Colonel Sanders. I thought maybe RJ and I could get one with Ronald McDonald if we figured this out. All of the receipts had another thing in common. They had all ordered exactly 5 menu items. The red number at the bottom of the receipt was always a digit 0-5. These menu items differed from receipt to receipt but they were all numbered orders. For example, #1 was always the Big Mac. RJ explained that this led to them guessing that the numbered menu items formed some sort of code that needed to be input in the right order. *And I think I know what the passcode is.* RJ said in a dramatic whisper. *Look at the receipt with a red 5 on the bottom.* He continued. *They order 2 number ones, 2 number fours, and a number eight. I think those are the digits of the passcode, 11448. They just need to be rearranged.* *And you figured out the right order?* I asked excitedly. *I’m pretty sure I did. I just hope no one else has beaten me to it.* *Well, what is it?* *You’ll see soon enough.* RJ replied. His sly grin had returned. I pulled into the McDonald’s parking lot. It was almost completely empty. I could see a couple employees and a lone customer inside. There was no one in the drive thru line. *Just pull up to the start of the drive thru and sit there. Don’t place an order yet.* RJ instructed me. *We have to place this order at exactly 3:33.* I didn’t like the idea of holding up the drive thru line. But like I said, there was no one around. So I figured it wouldn’t be too much of a problem. We sat in silence for the next couple minutes. I kept my eye on my mirrors to see if anyone was trying to get into line. RJ kept his eye on his phone, watching every passing minute. At 3:32 he told me to drive up to the speaker. We sat there silently for what seemed like an eternity as the poor employee tried to get us to talk to her. As soon as a minute passed, RJ leaned over to my window and placed our order. *I’d like a number one. I’ll take another number one please. A number 4. A number 8. And another number 4.* We watched as each number popped up on a little screen next to the speaker. RJ seemed satisfied with the results. The employee told us to pull forward. *So how’d you know that was the order?* I asked RJ. He wouldn’t tell me though, he just smiled and shrugged his shoulders again. We got our order and paid. The woman working the window didn’t give us a little wink or a knowing nod or anything. In fact, she seemed incredibly bored. I handed the bag to RJ and he tore through it for the receipt. There at the bottom instead of a red number was a red address. *Holy shit.* I muttered under my breath. RJ waved the receipt excitedly at the employee. *Is this it? Are we supposed to go here?* He asked her. The woman seemed incredibly confused. She looked at the receipt and squinted her eyes. She told us she had no idea what that address was or why it was on our receipt. RJ and I exchanged incredulous glances. Were the employees not in on this? Who was monitoring it and writing in the red ink? Maybe they were just instructed to play dumb. We pulled out of the driveway and I had RJ put the address into his phone. It was only about a fifteen minute drive from where we were, and sure enough it was another McDonald’s. At this point I was totally invested. RJ didn’t even have to ask me, I was already driving towards the second location. Once we got on the road again it was completely silent. There were no cars or people anywhere on the street. I suppose it wasn’t too weird for such an odd hour. Still, something wasn’t sitting right with me. RJ seemed to feel it too. The sense of calm. There was no sound other than the purr of the engine. No rustling tree leaves, no overhead planes, no crickets. Nothing. I shrugged it off at the time as a side effect of being so tired, but now I’m not so sure. When we finally got to the second McDonald’s, the parking lot was completely deserted. There were no cars, not even for employees. All the lights inside the restaurant were on, but peering through the windows it didn’t seem like anyone was inside. *That’s weird* I said as we walked up to the front door. *There’s no one here.* I reached forward and pulled on the glass door, expecting it to be locked. Instead, It gave way immediately, letting off a cheery chime that seemed to linger in the air. *Um hello?* I called out as we walked into the McDonald’s. As I spoke my breath appeared like a thick cloud in front of me. It was freezing inside. Each of our footsteps echoed off the tiled linoleum floor. *Is anyone here?* Silence. *This is so fucking weird.* RJ whispered. *I’m gonna check the kitchen, maybe there’s someone back there.* I wasn’t sure if that was a good idea, but he was already leaping over the counter. *We should go.* I said. *I don’t want to get in any trouble here. This feels weird.* *No, wait, hang on.* He snapped back. *What’s that?* RJ was behind the counter looking out towards the seating area. I turned around, following his gaze. There, alone on a table in the middle of the room, was a single happy meal box. We made our way over to the happy meal. On closer inspection we could see a napkin sticking out from under the box. There were two words written in the same red ink. *Choose One.* I looked back at RJ, and he was just nodding at me furiously to open the box. So I opened the cardboard, and reached inside. There were two small figures wrapped in plastic. Happy meal toys. But as I looked at them more closely, a feeling of dread began to settle in the pit of my stomach. The figure in my right hand was short and stocky, while the one in my left was taller and more slender. One wore a green hoodie and jeans, the other was in basketball shorts and a t-shirt. It was us. The figures were so detailed, down to our eye color and shoe brands. They were dressed exactly as we were at that moment. Tiny replicas of terrifying accuracy. RJ reached over and took his figure from my hand. *What are…. Who could’ve…How is…* RJ started asking through increasingly quick breaths. Examining his own likeness in the toy. *Dude. we need to get out of here.* I managed to whisper back to him. I didn’t know what the fuck was going on, but I was thoroughly creeped out by the whole thing. This didn’t feel like a fun puzzle anymore. I turned and bolted back towards the door, still clutching my figure. RJ just stood at the table, staring at his miniature. *Come on man!* I yelled back at him, as I threw myself into the door. The door gave way and I was met with a blast of heat. The silence seemed to crack as I crossed the threshold outside of the store. A train blared in the distance. A dog barked across the street. I could hear cars driving along the highway in the distance. A slight breeze scattered some leaves across the tarmac of the parking lot. It was as if the whole world collectively breathed out a sigh at once. I turned back to RJ. The store was completely dark. There were no lights on inside. RJ was gone. I was frozen in shock. I was standing inches from the door I had just come out of. A door that now seemed to lead to an entirely different place. I finally came to my senses, and pulled at the door again in a panic. Trying to get back inside. Maybe RJ had just moved somewhere else, I thought. Surely he was right inside somewhere. However, the door wouldn’t budge this time. It was locked. I was completely beside myself at this point, calling out to him in a frenzy, and banging on the glass door. After a few minutes of screaming, I had to stop and catch my breath. I sat down on the sidewalk in front of the door. I tried to stop myself from shaking and calm myself enough to analyze what exactly just happened and what I should do next. That’s when I looked back down at the toy in my hand. It wasn’t me anymore. It was a small replica of Ronald McDonald. But his eyes were pitch black. There was a little speaker on his chest, and a button on his back. I threw it on the ground in sheer disbelief. As it hit the sidewalk, the toy let out a grainy whisper. *Good Choice. Now Start Running.*<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My mirror is watching me. [RESPONSE] I just recently went on a home decor shopping spree, I wanted to replace my old furinture that I had for years and started just blending in. I wanted something new so I put my keys in my car and went to the basic places where you would find such things, home depot.. I spend hours just finding out what to buy from my savings and before I knew it closing time was aproaching, I went to the stand to make my orders and with a large smile I was headed back home to my two dogs, cat and my girlfriend. It was already pretty late and unusually in this area there was a huge traffic jam, I spotted this offroad alley big enough for a cat to fit and GPS told me that the road could be a shortcut to my home. As I drove by the little village I stopped because I saw an old lady at a garage sale selling some house itemns. Once again it was pretty late anyways and I took my chances on getting something unique for my house that wouldn’t cost a fortune. I greeted the old lady and looked around the old items, I pretty much looked the whole time like I was at a museum observing things. The old lady kept to herself and once in a while she murmured something loud enough me for to hear but quiet enough for me not to understand. In the end I observed this mirror from the victorian era with beautiful wooden engravings, and as I set eyes on it I asked for the price and left. As I expected it was only 100$ and that’s abnormal for a historic itemn that would usually cost a fortune in an antique shop. I arrived home and placed the mirror on the wall, as I got a kiss on the cheek from my girlfriend the night ended like any other night. ..or so I taught I woke up with the sound of breaking, angry, I stormed down to the kitchen thinking my cat was the culprit since he loved knocking down plates or bowls when me or my girlfriend weren’t looking. I went downstairs and there was nothing to be founf except my cat sleeping soundly on the couch and a random plate on the floor. When I just wake up I’m just those droozy wobbly things that can’t even do a simple task in a decendly short ammount of time, but I swear in the corner of my eye for a split second I saw a shadow or something and for that whole night I couldn’t brush off the feeling that something was very wrong. Lucky for me it was a saturday and when I woke up I took a broom to clean up the mess from yesterday but to my shock there was nothing there and I just had to stand there like an idiot with a broom in my hand staring down a spot in which I could have sword I saw a broken plate the night before. My girlfriend kept poking fun at me with remarks like “glad you decided to do the chores so early“ and just statements like that but I could’ve sworn on my life it was all real. As freaked out as I was I just went in my office and started on the project I had due in a month just to get my mind off of this. I took a nap as I couldn’t get one minute of sleep last night but something was drawing me towards that mirror I can’t explain it in words but I just dreamnt the mirror was everywhere I went. I knew very well that my girlfriend wouldn’t accept my bullshit excuse of “I’m scared of a mirror because I saw it in my dream“ I just went downstairs and did it the old way by covering up the mirror with a black cloth past 6 pm. My girlfriend taught I was exagerating but didn’t put up a fight because she was always spooked by my old traditions I still follow aswell with the old things I put around my house. I have a very strong belief that old things were created to last and new itemns just break more to make you consume more. Well I took it upon myself to cover the mirror every day from then onwards. Things went back to normal shortly after but one day I had to leave because of a business trip and I advised my gf to either keep the mirror covered 24/7 or follow my ritual of putting the cover on during the time intervals of 6pm-sun rise. I could see her internally rolling her eyes while saying a sarcastic “understood“ but I was dead serious and assured her of it. I was gone for only a week but when I came back everything seemed too normal, she was almost copying her own behaviour and it creeped me out even more that she didn’t cover the mirror and it was already midnight, while coming closer to cover it I saw a faint shadow just like the one I saw the night with the broken plate. I tried to spit on my finger and just wipe it off as if I wanted so badly to hope it was just a spot on the old dusty mirror, and just like that it was gone. I must have been so tired I fell asleep because I woke up in my work clothes. I felt like I was always watched troughout the day by something, my girlfriend locked herself in her room whispering something similar to the old woman. This time when I looked in the mirror in the morning the shadow was right behind me watching, I know that whatever I do I won’t get rid of it. I cracked the mirror. Now I hear their voices I threw holy water. And my girlfriend won’t stop screaming I burnt it. The crying stopped, the voices stopped. They are after me and I don’t know how much time I have left, I already hear my “girlfriend“ calling me from downstairs. I know it isn’t her because she never talks this deeply.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I Can’t Tell if People Are Real [RESPONSE] I remember the first time I actually realized there was something wrong with me. I was 10 in the backyard playing with a little girl I’d just met. I had seen her walking past the house and invited her over to play in the pool with me. After a while we went in for lunch. I’d asked my mom to make a plate for my friend and gestured to the girl behind me. My mom looked past me and then made a face, “honey, there’s no one there.” I was confused and insisted that my mom make my friend a plate but she refused saying she would not waste food on an imaginary friend. When I looked at the girl again she just shrugged and said she’d be back another time. I never saw her again after that. I’d even asked the kids in the neighborhood about her, describing her in vivid detail but know one knew who she was. Another time, in high school, I had signed up to retake my ACT (a standardized test used for college admissions in the United States). We were in a classroom in the community college. There were at least a dozen students there. They were all talking quietly to the point there was a steady hum of hushed voices all around. When the test started I was expecting the room to be silent but that hum of voices still hung in the air and when I looked around, I could still see students up around talking to each other. I tried to tune it all out but the harder I tried to ignore it it seemed the louder they got. At some point one of the adults who was working as an administrator came up to me and asked if I was alright. I’d been tapping my foot and the sound of change jingling in my pockets was disturbing the other test takers. “What about all the people in here talking?” I had almost snapped at her. She looked taken aback and said “Miss there is no one here talking.” When I looked around the room again, there were only four other students in the room with me. Each at their own table staring at me, annoyed, and the room was completely silent. Now, I work from home and keep to myself. I hate talking to people, I can’t ever tell who’s real and who’s not. The people I walk by on the street or the store. They all seem so real; I can hear them, I can seem them interacting with the environment. They don’t always disappear either. The other day, a homeless man started shouting at me. It was mostly unintelligible nonsense and I tried to ignore him. As I walked home he followed, shouting at me. A few people glanced our way as we weaved through the sidewalks but no one stepped in to help me. He followed me all the way to my apartment and stood outside my door for almost an hour still shouting. The next morning I stepped over to my neighbors to apologize for the noise the night before. “Noise?” My neighbor had said, “I didn’t hear anything last. I heard you come home and you slammed your door pretty hard but other than that it was a quiet night. I was up until about 2 this morning studying.” It seems the only consistent people in my life these days are my parents and my friend Kirko who strangely resembles that girl from when I was 10.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Creepy Man In Truck [RESPONSE] Sorry this may be long but everything included is important for the story. So this story happened to me when I was 25 years old living in Las Vegas with my then husband and our son who was 4 years old. Our schedules were pretty much the same every day. My husband would leave for work at 5:30am & got home around 4:00pm Monday-Friday and I was a stay at home mom. Usually after he got home from work I would take our son with me to the grocery store to grab dinner a few hours later & give him time alone to unwind. The Smiths grocery store by my house was literally less than a 2 minute drive away & it’s one of those grocery stores with the gas pumps in the parking lot so once a week after grabbing groceries for dinner I’d go to the pumps and fill up my car while my son slept in the backseat. On one of my daily trips to the store that included a stop at the gas pumps I was pumping gas & a truck pulled up to the pump on the opposite side of mine. The man quickly did whatever he came to do and pulled off. As I was finishing up & walking around my car he pulled up alongside my car and rolled down his window & said, “I just needed to tell you that the only reason why I pulled up to the pump was to get closer to you. I saw you & just had to tell you how beautiful I think you are.” He looked like Ted Bundy on crack. I was nice though & politely told him, “I’m flattered but I’m happily married with a son.” He responded with, “I know, I just had to let you know how I felt…” and started to pull off but stopped & backed up rolling his window back down he said, “By the way if you tell your husband what I said I’ll fucking kill him!” and then he sped off. I was shocked and immediately got in my car & called my husband & told him what just happened. He told me not to drive home incase he follows me & to just run the 1st light I come to & speed & when I get pulled over tell the officer what happened. I did and the officer who pulled me over was very understanding and drove me to the substation near my house where we left my car and he took my son, my groceries and I home & my husband went & picked up my car the next day. I thought that was the end of it but somehow I knew it wasn’t. I told my husband how it bothered me how sure of himself the guy seemed when he said he’d kill him and how he responded with “I know” when I told him I was happily married with a son. Was it possible that he already knew where I lived? How long had he been stalking me before he approached me that night? A few nights later my husband realized we were out of cigarettes and decided to run to the store to get some. It was late so our son was fast asleep & I was playing on the computer. He left through the laundry room door into the garage where our cars were. Not long after he left I heard the laundry room door open again & someone came inside. I called out to him, “honey what did you forget?” But I got no answer, however I could hear someone moving around in the laundry room. I called out to him again this time a little nervous, “Honey is that you? Your freaking me out…” Still no answer & I’m realizing that I’m completely unarmed. My husband is a US Marine and a Federal Employee so we had an arsenal of weapons but they were all in our master closet on the top shelf and I’d have to run past the laundry room to get to my room so there would be no way if someone was in there that I could get to my gun before he got me so I just sat there frozen & terrified. I could feel the weight in the room as I sat in fear waiting for him to round the corner knowing that with my son sleeping down the hall I’d do anything he told me to keep my baby safe & that when my husband returned home he would have the element of surprise on his side not to mention his family hostage so he wouldn’t stand a chance either. My heart was in my throat and I couldn’t breathe as I heard his footsteps coming towards me when suddenly from my bedroom I heard the deep growling of my 2 Pitt bulls, Ruby & Darlene, and before I could think I saw both dogs dart into the laundry room. At that moment I heard the garage door open and slam shut as a man screamed. I shot up from the computer desk with my phone in hand & bolted into my sons room and shut the door, locked it & sat against it. I quickly called my husband, “Please tell me you’re home & messing with the dogs!” But I could hear in the background, the cashier bringing stuff up & knew he was at the store and whoever was in my house was definitely not my husband! “Someone’s in the house get home right now, please be careful when you get here! I don’t know where he is but I think he’s in the garage. I’m hiding in our sons room with the door shut & locked.” He told me to stay put until he got home & came & got me. Waiting in the dark in my sons room while he slept waiting for my husband to come home felt like an eternity. When he came to get me from our sons room I was relieved but for months afterward he never left us home alone after dark. I know he was just as scared as I was that the man would come back. About a year after the incident we moved out & bought a new home. I always think about what would’ve happened if he hadn’t let the dogs in before he left that night. I don’t know what he had planned for me but I know it wasn’t good & my son would just be a tool to control me, while my husband would of just been something in the way to get rid of. I have no doubt that Ruby & Darlene saved all our lives that night. Now that they’ve crossed the rainbow bridge from old age & my husband & I are no longer together & our son is grown we all still sleep with dogs in our rooms from that night.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] We bought a doll at a flea market. It ruined our life. [RESPONSE] “Daddy, I want. I want that one.” Our three-year-old daughter Kaley pointed to the horrendous looking plastic doll on the woman’s table. “My friend. I want. My friend.” Our annual town flea market generated your typical piles of odds and ends, antiques and junk people held for too many years. This doll—beyond ugly—looked so human-like that you could have mistaken it for the woman’s child. Matted blonde hair tangled over the scalp. Brown bulging eyes with dried tears painted beneath. A mouth open, gasping for air, as if the doll were choking. My wife Audrey and I glanced at each other; we were on the same page. A true monstrosity in plastic form. But when your only child has struggled to socialize with other kids, you want to be supportive. “How much for the doll?” I asked the woman. “For your little one, no charge. My little darling needs a new home. Take her and take care of her. She deserves it.” The woman squeezed the doll with a hug and handed it gently to Kaley. I had never seen Kaley so happy. For the next few days, Kaley took the doll wherever she went in the house. Never out of her sight. “Does the doll have a name yet? What do you call it?” I asked Kaley one morning. “Watchie.” “Watchie. Did you say Watchie?” “She watch me.” Kind of an odd name, I thought, but it was her choice. The doll creeped me out though. Every time I was in the same room with it, I swear it was annoyed that I was present. I’d be sitting on the couch while Kaley was on the floor in front of me, doll over her shoulder, and that plastic face would stare up at me, making me sweat. As days turned into weeks, Kaley paid less attention to Audrey and me; she was inseparable from her new best friend. My own insecurities surfaced. The lack of childhood attention and nurturing I received from my own parents brewed a rage within me. I vowed to never be like my own parents. And with Kaley acting like I was invisible, I struggled to maintain a healthy relationship with her. I proceeded to limit the time Kaley was allowed to have with Watchie. And this did not sit well with her. She pouted and screamed and cried bloody murder as soon as I snatched Watchie from her grip and placed the doll in our closet. During a chilly Fall night, I read a book to Kaley while she snuggled with Watchie. After dozing off, I placed Kaley into her crib and took a seat on the recliner to keep an eye on her for a few minutes to make sure she stayed asleep. Completely exhausted, I ended up falling asleep myself with Watchie on my lap. When I woke up, I fell out of the chair when I saw Watchie climbing across Kaley’s chest up to her face. I jumped up and went to grab the doll, but Watchie was climbing into Kaley’s mouth with an unheard-of strength that rendered me helpless. Kaley squirmed with terrified wide eyes as Watchie burrowed its way into her throat. Kaley’s body convulsed wildly once Watchie was completely inside of her. Audrey busted into the room to help, but both of us were unsuccessful in retrieving the doll. Instead, we witnessed the unthinkable. Kaley’s skin shed like a snake. A pool of blood formed in the crib, and Kaley’s body took the form of Watchie. Our dead daughter, now a life-sized doll. Audrey passed out, and I would have too, if I weren’t in complete shock of what just happened before my eyes. Explaining this turn of events to the authorities left them just a puzzled as us. We were able to track down the woman who gave us the doll, but there was nothing she could be charged with. But when I eventually sat alone with the woman, she revealed something that chilled my bones. Her own daughter Suzie had passed as just a child. When she showed me a photo of Suzie, I gasped when I immediately noticed the resemblance to the doll when it was first handed to us. I don’t know how this doll became cursed. All I do know is my daughter is now just a doll.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My freezer door won't open. [RESPONSE] I was casually browsing an online marketplace when I saw something very strange. There was a fridge for sale. It was a simple fridge, with a small door for the freezer above the larger fridge door. It was a light gray color, but it was covered in dust and grime. One thing I noticed was the price - it was free. I was surprised - a half-decent fridge, for free? My old one had broken down after years of use, and I was in the market for a new one. I couldn’t believe my luck. The guy who was selling it lived pretty nearby, and we arranged a meetup. In our messages, I noticed that something was a bit off about the guy. He seemed really desperate for me to take it, going as far as offering to pay *me* to have it. I had a bad feeling about it - I’d seen enough horror movies to know that something was definitely up. But, considering the alternative was spending thousands of dollars, I was willing to take a chance. The seller said that he had to leave town before our arranged meet-up time, and he would just deliver it to me. The doorbell rang. I went to answer it and saw the fridge sitting there. I couldn’t see anyone else, though. The fridge looked just like it did in the photo - except for one difference. The freezer door handle was gone. I tried prying it open, but it didn’t budge. I sighed. I guess I shouldn’t have expected a perfectly functional fridge for free. I figured I could get the door repaired, but for now the fridge would have to do. I dragged it in and plugged it into the wall. It hummed to life. I opened the main fridge door. It was laid out pretty normally. I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary with it. I put in the food I had taken out of my old fridge. As for the freezer, I would have to get a repairman to come to fix it. That was fine though - I could manage without one for a little while. The next morning, I was cooking breakfast when I smelled something. It was a very slight scent, nothing too alarming. I tried to ignore it for a little while. But as time went on, it became worse and worse. At first, I thought a rat might have died in the walls. But my apartment has never had a problem with anything like that. When I went back to the fridge later, I stopped. The smell had gotten stronger. Maybe some food was rotten? I checked all of my food, but no. I realized where it was coming from - the freezer. I went back on that online marketplace. I needed to talk to the seller. But, to my surprise, I couldn’t find his account. I checked my conversations - there was nothing. It was like he had never existed. I decided that it was time to call a repairman. The repairman arrived at my house that afternoon. He was an old man, balding, with a dirty blue uniform on. “Names Al. Where’s the stuck fridge?” He asked. I directed him to it. He grimaced. “What’s that smell?” “I don’t know.” I admitted. “It seems like it’s coming from the freezer.” He walked over to it. “It’s definitely coming from here.” He remarked. He tried to open it. “You’re right - it’s stuck fast. I have some tools in my car.” He came back with a toolbox. “I’ll try the crowbar first. If that doesn’t work, I can try cutting it open with the blowtorch.” The smell had become even worse by now. He wedged one end of the crowbar into the space between the doors and began pushing. It didn’t open, not even a crack. “I’ve never seen anything like this.” He mumbled. “Doors don’t usually stick this bad. The only way it could have gotten like this is if someone sealed it on purpose. I’ll have to use the blowtorch.” I watched on nervously. He got out the blowtorch, and slowly and deliberately cut through the metal door. The smell got worse. It was slow work, and I tried to breathe through my mouth to avoid the smell. “The freezer must be broken if something’s rotting in there.” Al commented, to break the uncomfortable silence. “Where did you get this fridge again? They haven’t made this type in nearly twenty years.” “I got it online. Someone was giving it away for free.” I replied. “I guess you should’ve expected a free fridge to be defective.” A couple more minutes passed. Al stopped and stood up, looking surprised. “I have no idea what’s going on. It’s just not opening. I’ve -” He was cut short, as, to our surprise, the door just swung open. We looked inside. It was a tunnel. It was so long I couldn’t see the end of it. Some strange liquid dripped from its roof and pooled on the floor. “What the…” Al mumbled, but that was all he got out. I stared in awe. Al pulled out a flashlight and turned it on, illuminating the tunnel. For the first couple of meters, it was normal steel, but beyond that it started to morph into a soft, red, porous substance that shifted and pulsated. The smell had reached its peak. “I’m not sure what’s going on.” Al managed to get out. “Where did you say you got this again?” I was about to answer when a long, red tongue shot out of the tunnel and grabbed hold of his face. It started to pull him back into the freezer. The freezer was too small for a human to fit through, and I heard the cracking of bones as his body was pulled through the small opening. As soon as he was through, the door slammed shut. That happened two weeks ago. Ever since I’ve tried to keep that thing at bay. I tried moving the fridge, but it felt like it weighed a million pounds - it didn’t even move an inch. I tried sealing the freezer, but that didn’t work either. The only thing I can do is leave something near the fridge and hope it eats that instead of me. Just one problem - lately, it only accepts a… *certain kind* of food. That’s where I am now - in a graveyard, at two in the morning, with a shovel and a flashlight. I don’t want to have to do this - but what choice do I have?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My friend told me the secret to hiding in the dark: contortion [RESPONSE] When I was in high school, my friends and would hang out late into the night on weekends. We wouldn’t do anything in particular, really, just hang out and do stupid shit. If any of you are familiar with the invisible rope trick, that was one of our favorites. For those who aren’t, it’s when a group of idiots would line up on either side of the road at night and pretend to pull a rope taut as a car was coming. If the car stopped, we’d run away; if it didn’t stop, we’d pretend to fall over as the “rope” pulled us forward, then run away. So yeah, we were pretty much just a typical group of dumb teenage boys. Anyway, one night my friend Jeff got the idea that we should play hide-and-go-seek at the local elementary school, Hillcrest. The notion came to him as we were hanging outside of the local Safeway, bored and sipping on the Monsters we just bought. “What are you, twelve?” DeAundre teases, laughing. “Yeah, we can play pretend that we’re pirates after that too.” “Fuck off, man,” Jeff shoots back, defensively. Seeing that the rest of the group is smiling, Jeff relaxes and grins to save face. “I’m just saying it’d be hella fun at night. Hillcrest’s huge, and it’s got those woods out back that’d be perfect.” “Yeah, perfect to have me freeze my ass off while your bumbling ass tries to comb through, oh I dunno, an entire fucking forest at 1 in the morning,” I say deridingly. My bud Wade giggles and mutters “Bumbling” to himself and then goes back to dicking around on his phone. “Ok, fair point, forest’s off limits. Come on, you guys got any better ideas? And Paul, if you say we should go ‘ghost hunting’ one more time, I’m finding new goddamn friends.” “I wasn’t going to?” Paul turns his hand palm-side up, subconsciously spilling some of his Monster with his other hand. “Shit. No, I was actually gonna say that sounded kinda fun if you weren’t a dick about it.” “Bro, I can be a dick and still be right,” Jeff chuckles. “So Paul’s down, and he’s basically the size of two people, so that’s like half of us right there.” Paul throws his hand up in exasperation and lets out an “Asshole,” before taking his phone out and pretending to check something. “Fine man, at least it’ll give me a break from having to deal with your shit,” DeAundre says before starting off toward the school. Jeff gives a cheesy smile before heading off in the same direction and the rest of us follow, sparing the empty parking lot from having to listen to our bickering. It’s a brisk October night and the leaves have just begun to fall. All is quiet and peaceful aside from the occasional car or murmurs from a backyard gathering that’s persevering into the early morning hours. It feels cozy in that sort of eerie way you can only get in the suburbs, where there’s just barely enough going on to remind you you’re not alone, but not enough to stress you with life’s usual background noise. I wish they still felt that way to me today. We walk along the sidewalk kicking through leaves every so often, DeAundre leading the pack and the rest of us paired up. Despite the earlier exchange of words, Paul and Jeff are chatting away amicably. Paul had developed a thick skin over the years we’d known him from Jeff’s relentless teasing, so by this point he’s quick to forgive and forget. I think they’re talking about World of Warcraft builds or something, a topic I’m not too familiar with. Wade and I, on the other hand, just walk side-by-side mostly silent, taking in the beautiful night. I’ve known Wade since we were little kids, so it’s a comfortable silence. I appreciat that about Wade; he wasn’t much of a talker, but when he does say something, it usually sticks with me. That’s why when he turns his head to me and breaks the silence, I listen intently. “You know, in scouts, they told me the best way to hide from someone in the dark was to take up a real unnatural pose,” he explains to me. “Everyone’s always expecting to see a dude just standin’ or crouchin’ there, so if you’re all twisted up, they’re gonna just glance right past you.” I stare at him blankly. “Why the fuck would you need to know that for boy scouts?” “To hide from Scout Leader Brandon, of course, dude was a creep,” he chuckled. “Naw, it was because we played a lot of games at night, like capture the flag. I even won a few games by sprawling like a weirdo on the ground when I had the flag. The other team would just run past me, then I’d sneak back to our base.” “Huh, good to know,” I reply. I must have a skeptical tone because Wade follows up with “Naw man, I’m serious, it works. Just watch, Jeff’s never gonna find me.” “Alright man, well I’ll believe it when I see it.” Before long, we make it to Hillcrest with its sprawling campus. What it doesn’t have in jungle gyms it makes up for in sheer acreage. There’s a huge, open field with cones set up for soccer and plenty of room to spare for other games. Lining the perimeter of the campus are huge bushes and trees of all sorts, shielding the school from the view of the neighboring homes. The school itself is a modest size, dwarfed by the vast open space surrounding it. “Yeah, ok, woods are definitely off limits. This place is way bigger than I remember.” The others and I nod in agreement, thinking about which areas we would try to hide in. “Who wants to be ‘it’ first?” “You, man, you’re the one who wanted to play,” DeAundre says. “I’m tired, I’m tryna take a nap.” “Fine, ok but you guys have to leave your phone volume on,” Jeff says, slightly irritated. “I get one free call per person to help me find you.” “What, that’s gonna make it way too easy,” Paul says. “You wouldn’t be saying this if you didn’t have to be ‘it.’” “Dude, no, this place is huge; it’s gonna take any of us forever to find each other. Look, fine, half volume, one call per person, final offer.” Eventually we agree to the conditions and Jeff begins counting to 100 without warning. The rest of us promptly scurry off. Before I break off from the pack, I look over and see Wade eyeing a back alley on the side of the school where the dumpsters are. I guess the guy is dead serious about winning, but I’m not about to sit next to a steaming pile of garbage for half an hour. I can just smell the sour cafeteria milk. No, I’m going straight for the bushes out back. Jeff says the woods are off limits, but he didn’t say anything about the bushes right before it. By the time I’ve gotten there and crouch down by the base of a rhododendron, I’ve completely lost track of where everyone else could be hiding. No one else is in sight. I’m completely alone. Minutes and minutes pass uneventfully, and boredom begins to take over. My knee is starting to hurt, so I resign to getting my ass dirty and just sit crisscross applesauce on the ground. Eventually I see what looks like a phone flashlight off in the distance; must be Jeff scanning around, and I think I hear 2 voices from that direction. I guess Jeff has already caught someone, probably Paul. Paul never fully commits to the games we play. After a time, they disappear, and I am once again left entirely without stimulation for about 3 more minutes. But then I hear something. Heavy, crunching steps coming from the right of me. Are they coming from the woods? No, I must just be imagining that. It must be Jeff coming to find me. Then, all of a sudden, they stop. Being careful not to make a sound, I adjust my position to get a better look from inside the bush, but can’t see anything except the dimly-lit backside of the school. Eventually the steps start up again and the silhouette of a hulking behemoth of a figure lurches into view. Could that be Jeff somehow fucking with me? Does he know where I was already and has some sort of makeshift costume to scare me shitless? I don’t have much time to think before my phone starts ringing. Jeff or whatever that thing is move with a start at the noise I scramble to get my phone out and turn it off, but I fumble and drop it before seeing the caller: Jeff. God dammit, Jeff, fuck you and your stupid last-minute rules. Eventually I decline the call and the sound stops, but it was too late. The figure is already moving in my direction. Panicked, a million questions rush through my mind: could this thing really just be Jeff? No, how could it be? Should I make a break for it? Maybe, but I’m scared so shitless that I can’t even move. What do I do? I’m paralyzed, and all I can do is watch the thing inch ever closer, and with every step, I feel I could make out more and more details of its shape. It looks like it has knobby, human-like appendages of all sorts hanging limply off of it, swaying whenever it moves forward. Yes, there are definitively some human hands that I can make out, most of the time just dangling limply, but occasionally flexing suddenly and contorting like it’s seizing up. What in God’s name is this thing? What am I going to do? Then I remember what Wade had told me. Without thinking, I suddenly twist myself into the most convoluted shape I can muster. I wrap myself around the base of the bush, its branches poking into my stomach uncomfortably. I twist my arms back with my fingers jutting out in all manner of strange directions, doing my best impression of a bush. My legs are so far apart from each other that I’m practically doing the splits. It’s painful as hell, but I hold that position for dear life and try not to make a sound. The steps get closer and closer. I can hear the cracking of fallen leaves, the shifting gravel, and eventually, something else: wet, labored breathing. It’s an extremely deep, phlegmy noise that grows louder with each passing second. All I can do is wait and pray that Wade and his dumbass boy scout troop know what they’re talking about. After the longest wait of my life, the footsteps stop right outside of the bush I’m in. Realizing what this means, I struggle not to panic. I can’t even breath to calm myself; instead, I just start counting in my head. *One.* I see gnarled hands with broken fingernails reaching into the bush above me. How many are there? No, I can’t focus on that, I have to just keep— *Two.* The gangly hands grasp blindly at the branches of the tree and feel around, searching for someone. Who? Oh God, that’s right, it’s looking for— *Three.* I feel something touching my left leg. It has to be some sort of animal, it can’t be— *Four.* Whatever’s touching me grabs my leg and I have the urge to break free. No I can’t, I have to just stay— *Five.* I feel its cracked fingernails running up and down my leg, its fingers poking and prodding and squeezing and— *Six.* I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to— *Seven.* What’s that? I hear what sounds like beeping from the other side of the school. All of a sudden the hands retract and my leg is free. Why is it— *Eight.* The creature begins to walk away from the bush. At least that’s what I think it’s doing. It must be. Oh my God, I’m not going to die. Oh thank God. I stay perfectly still in the same agonizing position until I can no longer hear the horrible steps anymore, and then 5 minutes after that. I scramble to get to my phone and see 3 more missed calls from Jeff. Making sure my volume is still off, I call him. “Dude, where are you?” Jeff answers. “I give up, man, I gave up a long time ago. You, Wade, and Paul aren’t answering.” Whispering, I say “There’s something out here, it almost killed me.” “Oh fuck off with that shit, man, I’m done, someone else has to be it,” Jeff retorted, dismissively. “No, I’m serious, man, something fucked up is going on,” I blurt out, my voice shaky. “Jesus Christ, alright man, just meet me at the basketball court.” The call ends. Peeking my head out of the bush and making sure the coast is clear, I sneak out and head toward the front of the school, trying not to lose it. I have no idea what I’m dealing with, so I try to be as careful as possible. Finally, I see Jeff and another figure in the distance; is that DeAundre? That’s right, Jeff said Paul wasn’t answering either. He and Wade must still be out there. “Fucking finally, dude, where were you?” “I told you, man, I was hiding for my goddamn life. We need to find Wade and Paul and get the hell out of here right now.” DeAundre looks nervous, but doesn’t say anything, just shifting his gaze from me to Jeff and back to me again. Jeff, seeing how visibly shaken I am, begins to seem a little more concerned. “Alright, alright, geez, yeah, let’s find them. Any idea where they went?” “I don’t know about Paul, I just saw Wade head over toward the dumpsters.” “For real, man? Damn, that’s nasty. I figured no one would hide over there. Alright, let’s go.” As a group, we make our way to the opposite side of the school and see the alley faintly illuminated by the school’s cheap, yellow-tinted light. I can already smell the sour scent of trash as we approach. “Alright, you first.” Jeff elbows DeAundre, but DeAundre just silently glares back at him. “Fine, whatever man, everything’s always my problem, huh.” The three of us creep forward with Jeff in the lead. We can’t hear anything except the dull hum of the fluorescent light. I feel like I’m going to throw up. The adrenaline from earlier wearing off, the disgusting scent of trash, and my horrible fear of whatever grabbed my leg are too much for me. But I have to keep moving forward, for Paul and Wade. We make it to the alcove where the dumpsters are, and neither of our two friends are in sight. It’s so silent that I feel like I’m going to scream. But then we hear it: a small whimpering noise coming from one of the dumpsters. DeAundre, Jeff, and I all look at each other, and then slowly approach the source of the sound. “Probably just some animal,” DeAundre whispers, but his tone is unsure. I grasp the lid of the dumpster and turn to the other two, nodding. In one fell swoop I pull the dumpster open, and there, covered in week-old food and trash with his hands over his head, is Paul. “What the fuck are you doing in there, man? Dude, that’s fucking disgusting!” Jeff yells. But Paul doesn’t respond or move an inch. He just stays there, his face pressed into a garbage bag, crying uncontrollably. “Where’s Wade?” I whisper to him. After a time, I hear Paul’s muffled response. “He’s here.” “Where, man? I don’t see him anywhere, cut the shit,” Jeff spits out, now getting visibly upset and nervous. His eyes dash all around the alcove and the alley we came down. And then it hits me. I slowly turn my head into the dark corner of the alcove, hidden from the fluorescent light, and I see him. Contorted beyond anything I thought possible, Wade is propped up against the wall. His arms and legs are broken in multiple places and bent in all the wrong directions, his jaw is pulled out almost cartoonishly, several of his teeth are missing. His back is twisted like a pretzel. His eyes are bulging from their sockets, one of them almost completely out. I point and attempt to scream, but no sound comes out. Thank God for that or who knows what would have happened. It takes a minute for it to register for my friends’ minds before they begin to panic too. We pull Paul out of that fucking dumpster and run blindly, sprinting away. We need to get anywhere but here. The cold autumn air hurts my lungs, but I keep on running and running until I miraculously make it home. It’s been almost a decade since that day, but every October I can’t get it out of my mind. I’ve moved halfway across the country and done weekly therapy sessions, but I don’t think I’ll ever be fully over it. The trauma is too much to handle. The worst part is that I’ll never get any closure. When Wade was reported missing, we told the police where we’d last seen him, but there was nothing there. The body was never recovered. I have to make peace with the knowledge that I’ll never understand what that creature was or what ultimately happened to Wade. But what really haunts me from that night is that sound. That sound from that dark corner of the alcove next to the dumpsters. It wasn’t much louder than a whisper, one might even think that they could have imagined it. But I know it was real. It was the labored, wheezing sound of breathing.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Are You Real? [RESPONSE] "Are you real?" A man rasped from the darkness. I looked around, confused. "Me?" I shrugged, unnerved by the strange ask. The B line swooshed to a stop, and I leapt aboard. Luckily, the guy didn't follow. The train car was empty, something I'd become accustomed to while working grave shift. I sat beside the door, relaxing as best I could on the hard plastic bench. The metro began to slow and the speaker crackled to life. Static lasted longer than usual, prompting me to open one eye. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Across from me, I saw the man. Grinning ear to ear, his chapped lips split and bloodied, he rode from outside the subway. I shot forward in my seat, rubbing my eyes. He was still there. "Are you real?" The speaker called, over the roaring static. No, not static. That was the interference of rushing wind! The train slowed to a halt. In that instant, I shot one more look to find the maniac gone. I picked up my backpack and bolted. Not a single soul walked the streets, not a man, a cat, nor a mouse. I passed the gate into the parking lot, but the tollbooth was dark. "Sleeping on the job?" I choked, desperate for a normal interaction. After a minute of creeping silence, static chirped twice. **Pahh! Patsatsa!** "Are you-" The same man began, but I sprinted before he could finish. The halls were pitch dark. I frantically crashed through the darkness, tripping on a discarded box of empty beers. **clang clack CLACK!** still the hall remained dark, lifeless. "Are you reaaaal?" The man's gravely voice echoed from both ends of the hall, reverberating through my head. I crawled the last two doors until I arrived at my own. I gulped as soon as I saw it… unlocked and ajar. I slammed the door shut behind me, disregarding the potential noise complaint. Right then, my television buzzed to life. In a blink, I locked the door behind me and rushed to the den. No matter what I pressed, nor even when I pulled the plug, the tv wouldn't go off. "We have reports of a missing person…" the tv called, then proceeded to name my name. Biting my nails, I watched as my name and my face popped up. My name. My face. "...has been missing for just about two weeks now. If you have seen them, please contact the authorities right away!" I have been going to work, shopping, hitting the gym. No way in hell have I been missing for two damn weeks. I called every single number I knew. Some even picked up. "I'm okay!" I shouted, only to hear unamused responses. "Hello? Is anyone there?" They would always say, then would hang up. Phone, SMS and all of my other means of communication are gone. This is my last hope. Please, someone, I need to know the answer. That man keeps repeating his question. "Are you real?"<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] New family moved across the street, there's obviously something wrong with them [RESPONSE] I live on a relatively quiet street in the outskirts of the city and there’s not much going on around here. So the ambulance siren or just any loud noise is considered as “something happened, let’s take a look”. There’s a nice park and a lake nearby, some small groceries and other amenities around and people here tend to know each other. You know the place. And the life would go on and you would never hear from me if it all hadn’t started that morning. I was having a cup of coffee at my kitchen table, as I always do, when a truck stopped right before my house. It had some branded stickers on sides, claiming that you could book it for moving you in or out, find us at this address & such. Clearly - somebody was moving in, as I’ve later discovered a woman in her forties together with a pair of kids were running back and forth, picking up stuff from the insides of the rented car. Well, it doesn’t happen that often here, that somebody moves in or out. I guess people find our area “boring”, and probably expensive, as there’s much more cheaper options around the city. So I’ve sipped my drink and examined the newly arrived neighbors. They looked completely fine - just a regular family of three, with a woman, who looked tired and some siblings, who were exact opposite - full of life, walking around with cardboard boxes and shouting at each other. The strange things started to occur in the evening. I was munching on my dinner, as a motion in the windows across the street caught my attention: the house with the new folks, formerly known as Old Rosie’s last resort (God bless her soul). The new family had the dinner too, except there was one interesting detail to it: they all sat around the large oak table, where Rosie used to play Solitaire all the time. The food was served and it all looked like a regular family evening, except for that thing at the head of the table. I had to look twice. There was a human shaped doll placed in the chair, with its arms laying on the desk. It seemed to be made of some crude fabric, like a potato sack, or something similar, with the poorly drawn face and some hair, which was a used mop, I guess. I was not quite sure, due to the distance and my eyes not being as sharp as they used to. I’m not kidding around: they had a human sized doll at their table and the weirdest part was that it seemed they were talking to it, as their heads turned to the scribbled face as if they were paying attention. Of course, it was none of my business - maybe the family is coping with the loss of their beloved one in such a manner, maybe it’s some sort of therapy, or even - maybe they are a bit weird and have the imaginary friend for some reason. Who am I to judge? I, myself, call my coffee machine Sebastian, and thank him every time he provides me with a fresh brew. People are strange after all. The next morning they were having breakfast in the same manner - Mom, kids and the doll, whom I believed was the Dad of the family. I had a quick chat with Lester, while picking up the morning paper - he saw it too. We agreed that though it was a bit weird - it’s not quite polite to interfere into other’s life and spread rumors. And then switched to discuss yesterday’s game. Later that day a knock to my door interrupted me from reading. I went to check out the guests, and who would you expect that to be - the newly moved smiled at me. “Hi! We are the Browns, my name is Julia. We got here just yesterday. Looking forward to be neighbors with you, so please accept this as a Hello-we-are-new gift. Nice to meet you” - the woman shot the words with a sincere smile, passing me an apple pie. “Oh wow! Welcome, Julia. What a delight to see new faces around. Thank you very much” - I’ve responded. “If you don’t mind - we have couple of questions about area around here, so if you’re not too busy - maybe visit us for a dinner sometime?” - she said. “What's the harm?”- I thought to myself. Besides, I would settle the mystery with that doll of theirs. Maybe this poor woman needs some support and shoulder to cry on? “Absolutely. That would be a great pleasure” - I’ve replied. “Oh, great! I’ll ask my husband to get his grill ready then. See you soon!” - she said, leaving me a bit confused. Husband? Maybe I’ve missed something? I didn’t see any male in the house across. Wait. What if their Dad is a pilot, or a sailor and that strange sack is indeed their way to “keep him around” while he’s on his trips? Anyways, I was intrigued to hear the explanation. And so - that evening I’ve put on my suit, grabbed a bottle of wine and knocked on the door of Brown’s family. “Welcome-welcome!” - Julia greeted me with a smile - “Please come in. George is on terrace, grilling some meat and I’m wrapping up, so I’ll join you soon. ” The smell of beef touched my nostrils. It was nice. I went trough the hall, the living room (where the table was served already) and straight to the terrace, where the grill was supposed to be. “Hi, I’m Mitch. Nice to…” - I’ve stopped in the middle of the phrase as I saw him. Or it. I don’t know what suits better. The sack puppet, wearing an apron leaned to the wall next to a burning grill. Its poorly drawn face was directed towards me, so I saw the crooked smile and the curvy nose. Somebody attached the spatula to one of the arms and placed a can of beer next to it. “George, huh?” - I think I’ve said it aloud - “well, your meat is about to get burnt, George”. There was something uncanny in this comical situation. Imagining that this sack is an absent person is one thing, but dressing it up and expecting others to accept it as normal - that’s something else. “Kids, dinner!” - Julia’s voice from the kitchen returned me to reality. I went back to the room where the queen of the house was placing the dish of mashed potatoes on the table. “I’ll wash my hands quickly and join you” - I’ve said. “Oh, please. Be our guest. Did George mention when he’s ready with the food?” - she asked. “No, ma’am, he did not” - I’ve replied. “Oh, I hope you didn’t get the wrong impression. Sorry. He’s just not talkative type, so sometimes people find him rude” - she smiled. I’ve washed my hands and returned to the room, where the kids already took their chairs and the steaming pile of steaks resided on a serving board. George was there too. Just as I’ve seen him before - sitting in the head of the table, no apron or spatula this time, though the beer can still with him. Another weird thing was the smell. The room smelled of lavender and orange peels, as if the sack was stuffed with it. Not the freshly cut ones, no. Dried. The dinner officially began and I was bombarded by Julia’s questions: any wild animals around? Which store has the best seasonal discounts? Have I heard of any football activities for children? Any crime reports in the area? I’ve tried to answer those as good as I could, but there were more incoming. Soon enough the kids were done with their meals and were excused to leave from the table. We were sipping the wine I brought and Julia seemed tireless in her attempts to communicate. When suddenly she asked: “So, what do you think?” “I beg my pardon” - I’ve got confused. “I mean, George’s suggestion. What do you think about getting out for some fishing with him? Sounds fun, right?” - she turned to him and back to me. “Look, lady. I don’t know what’s going on here, but having this human sized doll sitting at the table is already something weird, and I’m not even mentioning that part where you pretend it’s a real human and such” - that’s what I wanted to say, or at least thought at the moment. Though these modern times are really complicated, you know. Modern people are fragile, they don’t make folks like they used to. It’s so easy to hurt somebody’s feelings by saying obvious things. And I’m not the type who wants the beef with the neighbors. Yes, I’m an old geezer, who lives alone and doesn’t even have a dog, so people expect me to be a harsh old fart who doesn’t care about anything else than his Bingo weekends, but that’s not true. Anyways, I gave that thought a moment and decided no to hurt her feelings: “I don’t know folks, this time of the year… My chronic pains are usually my only entertainment and my back is killing me each time the rain about to drop… Let’s say ”maybe“ and see how it goes”. She didn’t seem moved by my “old man’s problem” card, so just replied: “Oh.. I hope you feel well. That would be a delight, if you’d manage to. Right, George?” - she turned to him. “All right, I guess it’s time to wind up and head to my pillow. Thank you very much for invitation, folks. Gorgeous food. I wish I could return the favor, but my skills end with slightly burned fried eggs and TV Dinners” - I laughed. “Always, you are welcome. Thank you for all the info.” - Julia stood up from the table, intending to walk me out. I threw a quick glance over my shoulder, checking on George for last time (God, what a weird woman), and for half a second, I swear, I saw that his smile inverted, giving him a somewhat upset and angry look. Or was it just the wine? I’ve walked home, thinking about my experience in the Brown’s house. This woman seemed to really need some help. The kids looked weird too, talking to George, telling him how their day passed, but they are still kids, you know. The power of imagination and such. What kind of grief was bound to this lady’s heart so she decided to act this way? I had no clues. This was not normal, that’s for sure. Suddenly I’ve got this nasty feeling, you know, like when your skin goes goosebumps and the hair at the back of your neck itches a bit - as when somebody stares at you, and you’ve just felt it. So I looked through my kitchen window to the house across the road. There in the dark, hidden behind a curtain. Somebody was there, looking back at me. Or something. I guess Julia, who was standing there realized I see her and in a soft motion the silhouette moved out of the window. Strange. Next morning I’ve almost spilled my coffee - George was “standing” in front of the window, gazing with those poorly drawn dots of his eyes. Maybe it’s just me, but it felt… terrifying, considering the details I’ve discovered about this family yesterday. But as I’ve returned the cup to the drawer, after washing it - he was gone. Are they messing with me? In the evening he was by the window again - this time both of his arms on the glass, as if somebody taped them to make his posture. I’ve had enough, so I rolled down the blinder and called it a night. What a bunch of weirdos… Morning after instantly erased the negativity, as it seemed that Indian summer kicked in - the sun was shining brightly and the bird songs greeted the warmth. I went down for my morning ritual and pulled the blinder string to let some of that sunshine in. My heart shrank to a tiny frozen lump as my action revealed George leaning on my window, both arms up as if he was trying to look through the glittering glass. I’ve rushed to the door, being sure that those brats decided to pull a prank on me, but as I’ve opened it - there was nobody: neither kids, nor that hellish puppet. I’ve tried to calm down, picked up a crossword magazine and took my watching position. I had to see it with my own eyes to make a proper blame and come up with argument. If those people are tossing a huge sack doll around - I would definitely see it. But nothing happened. I haven’t seen George or the rest of the Browns family. Were they satisfied now? Almost leading the old man to have a heart stroke? They’d better be. So I put my magazine aside and went to get some sleep. Things escalated quickly from there. I woke up at 4:00. Not that I’m complaining, but the older you get - the harder is to keep it, if you know what I mean. Though this time it was different. As my mind came back from slumber I’ve instantly realized that something was wrong. I’ve looked around - everything’s in place, no sudden noises or whatever. What’s wrong then? And then it hit me - the smell. My room was smelling of dried lavender and orange peels. I’ve jumped from the bed, with all the power my old body had and hit the light switch. Nothing. Just this intense smell all around. And couple of threads and tiny sack patches by my bedroom door. I was outraged, full of boiling fury and anger. I went straight to their door, knocked and ringed and then ringed and knocked, but nobody opened. I’ve shouted at the door and behaved like a complete madman, I guess. Until finally interrupted by Lester peeking out with a flashlight, wondering what was going on. As I write this - I have my old hunting gun on my lap and a mug of coffee provided by Sebastian. Why am I writing this? That’s simple. If this message won’t get updates - something bad happened. I don’t know what exactly, but I have some theories. But, yes, if this message won’t get updates - make sure to check out if you’re getting new neighbors knocking on your doors. It might be nothing, or it might be the Browns.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm A Rookie Deputy Working On A Long Dark Highway. (Part 2) [RESPONSE] (First: Next: “I don’t know why you do those crossword puzzles. It's not as if you can spell worth a damn.” Rusty, my partner grumbled. “They get me improve spelling weird words. Besides, what else do you have to do all night besides help me with this?” I asked tapping his shoulder with the thick puzzle book. We worked as deputies for a small area. Most nights we just parked on the highway waiting for something to be called in or ticketing speeding cars. Most of the shifts went by slowly and I took up doing crossword puzzles. Rusty was right, my spelling needed work. Thank God for spell checkers but the printed pagers weren't as forgiving. I ended up asking Rusty how to spell a certain word or two at the start of the puzzle to get me going. He acted tough and grumpy but deep down I knew having a second person in the car beat being alone no matter how much they pestered you for a five-letter word for five minutes. I would have liked our job to be boring forever, but in the first three weeks of working I discovered that things lurked in the dark. We come across something I still wasn’t entirely sure of and Rusty didn’t want to overly explain it because he didn’t want to scare off his new partner, or he didn’t fully understand either. Though, he did mention that supernatural occurrences didn’t happen often and we should be in the clear for a while. A sound tore through the night followed by a car flashing by where we parked, swerving and darting all over the road. A second later a call came over the radio saying a drunk driver been reported heading our way. I called over say we were in pursuit and Rusty gunned it. He always drove and, in this case, I felt happy he did. The driver got spooked by a cop car suddenly pulling out from behind them. They did the dumbest thing possible and went as fast as their beat-up car would let them. Rusty stayed back a little way to be safe. If this car slammed in the breaks, we didn’t want to ram into them. With drunk drivers their actions were unpredictable. We followed the car on a wide turn and it disappeared for a second. When we came around, we saw the tail end of the crash. A white large figure darted out into the road, stopping in front of the car. The driver didn’t have a chance to avoid the shape. The car hit the figure, then went off the road into the trees. We drove by unable to stop in time. When we passed the shape, I saw it looked like the same kind of creature we came across a week ago. Pale white arms scattered on the road and blood covering the asphalt. Rusty pulled off to the side of the road a bit away from the crashed car. We both got out, he went towards the creatures remains and I went towards the car. The front end smashed but the driver door open with blood coming from it. From the looks of things, the driver got out and stumbled into the woods. They needed medical treatment right away. I heard Rusty shouting for me to stop. My beating heart and breathing heavy from running made it impossible to hear his words. “Sam! Don’t-” I caught that much just before my foot hit the grass off the road. Then, nothing. The entire world changed in a blink of an eye causing me to stumble. I tripped directly into a tree that had not been in front of me a second ago. The world so dark without the lights of our car. Grabbing the flashlight off my belt, I looked around trying to see what the hell just happened. I stood in the middle of the woods. That did not make any sense. I’d just been on the road and shouldn’t have gotten this deep into the trees. I called out Rusty’s name, hoping he heard me. My light caught a color that made my heart sink. Blood covered the leaves that littered the ground. I thought of the driver at once. There wasn’t that much blood, but enough to make me worry and follow the trail. Low mist crept through the trees which didn’t make the place look any less unnerving. I walked, trying to stay as silent as possible. Maybe I should have asked for a transfer... I couldn’t dwell on that kind of thinking and needed to focus on finding the injured person so we could get out of here. A shape between the trees caught my eyes. Pale fingers came out from around a tree to hold the bark, scratching at it with long finger nails. My mouth opened to call out to the person hiding, wondering if they needed help. Another hand came causing me to shut my mouth. Then another. Soon the entire tree became wrapped with pale hands from behind. Each going upwards in a line tearing at the bark. I couldn’t even see how high the line reached. I wasn’t having any of this. I turned and ran, no longer caring about the noise I made. My eye caught the trail of blood again. Against better judgment, I pivoted to follow it. As I ran, I kept seeing those hands coming out from behind the trees but not the source of them. A bundle of them blocked my way from following the blood trail. Gritting my teeth, I ran right through them. Nails scratching as my exposed skin, and one stole my radio from my belt. With everything happening so suddenly, I didn’t think to use it until it was gone. At least I got through with only one long cut across my cheek. I run as a hobby. A weird hobby I know, but it came in handy as I kept up my pace away from the hands. I was only human and couldn’t keep it up forever. I paused long enough to catch a second wind, frantically looking for the trail when I thought I lost it. My beam of light shone between the dark trees landing on a different shape. Something tall, very pale and covered in veil like sheets. My chest froze. It reminded me of the quick glance of the creature I saw before. I turned my head knowing seeing the monster in full meant a fate worse than death. A scream echoed through the woods making me jump. I had my gun but didn’t think it would be useful. Still, my hand flew to my side ready to draw it if needed. Any normal person would have run away from the screaming. I went towards it, ignoring the figure in the distance silently watching. Screaming meant something bad was going down. My job was to help. Most people might call me either crazy or brave for running towards danger but I never considered myself as either. I saw this as my job. And my job needed to be done. Fear still tore through my body as I ran towards the screams. Pleas for help kept my feet moving forwards. Along the trees another sound drifted through, a cruel laughter enjoying my fear. I nearly tripped over an exposed branch causing my body to go off course and slam into a tree. I stopped for a moment, dazed. Sweat dripping down my face and heart racing. Something brushed against my hand and I jerked away thinking a spider just crawled over it. To my horror, a pale hand darted back behind the tree. I wasn’t even close to being safe in the slightest. I needed to keep going. Another scream rang out. I picked up the blood trail again to follow that and the screams just praying I wouldn’t arrive too late. In the middle of my run, I thought I spotted the road through the trees causing me to stop again. The cries for help were so nearby, but in the other direction of the road. I didn’t see any cars or had any way of contacting Rusty. I left my cellphone in the car and the hands took my radio. I could save myself or keep trying to find the person in the woods. Regretfully, I stuck to my job. “I'm close by! Please yell if you can hear me!” I shouted, my flashlight scanning the trees with a shaking hand. I didn’t hear the person but caught sight of them. They were on the ground a few feet away, bloody with clothing torn. I shouted when a pair of hands grabbed them, dragging the person deeper into the woods. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me, and that wasn’t good enough. Knowing I wouldn’t get to the person on time, I dove forwards, skidded across the rough ground. My fingertips touched theirs but a hand grabbed my ankle to pull me away so fast, I couldn’t react. My entire body tossed aside with that same cackling laugh coming from the woods. I stood up, fuming, seeing red. I got turned around when I was thrown and didn’t have the slightest clue where the injured person got dragged off too. “Stop messing around and show yourself! "I shouted into the woods, voice becoming hoarse. “That person needs treatment you bastard!” I stood waiting for a response, chest heaving with each breath. A twig snapped behind me and I lost any sense of bravery I once had. The cold air stinging my sweaty face making my shoulders shake. I listened for more footsteps. When none came, I started running again. In a few steps a set of powerful hands grabbed me from behind, I shut my eyes just in time. Those hands kept me in place and titled my head back, forcing me to look upwards if I kept my eyes open. “Oh, how quick of you. Here I wanted to keep you in these woods. Do me a favor and open your eyes for a few seconds.” The low raspy voice let out a laugh that made my entire body react in a negative way. My teeth chatted but I kept my eyes shut and waited in the darkness for this monster to do something. “Give back the driver.” I demanded, but not sounding brave at all. “Why? Didn’t they break the law? Are you going to.... what is that word?... Arrest them? I gave you a chance to leave on your own. Why try and rescue a human like that, hmmm?” The monster questioned. More hands fell on my arms, they griped just tight enough to be painful. Another set of hands came to my face to run long fingers across my cheeks making me try and move out of their grasp without any luck. “My job is to serve and protect. I need to protect that driver from you.” I explained finding at least some strength to put into that statement. “Protect a criminal?” It said in an amused voice. “I don’t get it pick and choose. It's serve and protect for everyone. If not there isn’t any point to it, now is there?” In an ideal world that would be true. I knew at some point in my life, I may come across a vile human that didn’t deserve my service. I hoped that never happened while I worked with a small police task force. The driver did break the law and endanger other lives but that didn’t mean they should be condemned to death for it. I heard the monster laugh again. Something got close to my face and I felt soft fabric brush against my cheek. “I’ll make you a deal little human. Open your eyes and I’ll return the driver.” The voice said in a low whisper directly in my ear causing me to shutter. I swallowed hard. Opening my eyes meant dying, or something I didn’t even want to think of. And this monster might not even be telling the truth. The choice heavy in the air and the creature waited patiently for my answer. At least I didn’t have anyone to miss me. Rusty would get over his new partner not coming out of these woods soon enough. My nephews young enough to forget about me in time. I cracked my eyes open, seeing white in the darkness. Before I opened them the rest of the way, something came over them to cover my sight. I felt the monster come closer, the veils it wore spilling over my face. The arms bringing my body closer against something that felt like a pile of thick branches all jabbing into my back. I waited for the monster to remove the hand from my eyes expecting death. Then a soft feeling came to my forehead as if something been pressed to it. “What a silly little thing you are. Didn’t even try to bargain. Taking you now simply a waste. I’ll enjoy tormenting you but for now you held up your end of the deal. You may leave.” All those hands fell onto my back and pushed me forwards. Something happened to all the strength in my body. I fell forwards completely limp, smashing my face into a ground much harder than the forest ground. I stayed on the ground, dazed and pain slowly coming in waves. A rough set of arms picked me up and back to my feet. Rusty shoved some napkins against my bloody nose trying to clean my face up. He wasn’t very gentle and I think he made it worst. “What in fuck’s name happened?!” He demanded. I knew he was angry that I ran off into the woods. Well, I stepped on the grass but that counted so I’d been snatched up by the forest. He was shocked I came out alive. I shook my head of the hazy feeling to look around for the driver. I found myself standing on the empty highway, the car still crashed against the tree and our cruiser flashing lights off to the side. “The driver I... the monster said it would give them back.” I stammered not seeing the other person. On cue, the monster held up its end of the deal. A loud crack rang out when a shape literally fell from the sky. Rusty jumped away cursing. No one could blame him for that. I collapsed back to the ground seeing a broken body of the person I'd wanted to save. If they were alive before the fall, the hard ground took care of that. Blue and red lights colored the silent scene and Rusty needed to drag me to my feet again. He let me sit in the car trying to process everything that happened. Due to this stretch of road being home to some supernatural creatures, people were in place to clean up the mess they caused. The body taken and returned to the family to be buried. The cause of death listed as a car crash due to the man drinking and driving. Our dash cam didn’t record much past us driving by the mangled car due to manufacturing issue. At least, that’s what was released. In truth, when the forest took me all the electronics in the area got fried. I needed a new phone and Rusty told me I needed to get use to that sort of thing when dealing with this job. My partner suggested I took a day off. I refused. The morning after the accident I was coming out of the station at the end of my shift ready to go home and then go to work that night. On the way out I ran into someone I expected not to see again. The white-haired child from before. He scowled seeing me and I stopped on the steps, blocking the door by accident. “Is your partner in?” He asked trying to sound reasonable. “No, he already left. Do you want me to leave a message?” I offered looking down at him. I held onto a small bag with a doughnut inside. Someone did a coffee run and got it for me just before I left. The boy’s eyes kept darting towards the bag but was too proud to ask for it. “No, I wanted to give him some updated information. I refused to help you and my words are a great help. I can wait until a later time to tell him.” He said and made a motion to leave. “Do you want this? I’ll trade it for some information about what I saw last night.” I said, feeling as tired as I sounded. He took five seconds to think of the offer. The bag snatched out of my hand and he waited for me to speak again. I didn’t really know what to ask so I went for the first thing. “What was that monster I saw last night? He had a lot of arms and veils, I think?” I questioned. He waved a hand as if this wasn’t an important question but answered anyway. “That is the forest itself. He is made up of things found in the woods. Spider silk hair and veils, antlers for a body and anything else it can collect. I believe it’s just a body made to speak with humans on a more even level. You could never understand what that forest really is and this is the closest thing to a form your human mind can deal with.” The boy said ready to leave. “Human arms though? How does it get a hold of those? It's not as if they’re really a part of the woods.” I mentioned. The child stopped, giving me an intense look through his white hair. “Hikers go missing all the time. Their bodies are eaten by animals but also used by the forest for other purposes.” I did not like that mental image at all. The boy reached into the bag to grab out his breakfast without caring he dropped one of the creepiest statements I’ve ever heard. I shook my head wanting to remove the thought. “I thought the woods were like, peaceful and all that. Why is the body of the woods all freaky instead of, I dunno, some pretty tree lady?” I asked causing the small king to look at me mid bite. “Peaceful? Nature is an unforgiving cycle of life and death. You should not place your human ideals upon it.” He went back to eating and I got tempted to pat his head again. No matter how hard he tried sounding like this big scary king he really just looked like any other good kid. He noticed my hand raising slightly and backed away before I could reach him. “I’ll give you a free warning. You need to leave now or you’ll be unable to the next time you encounter something supernatural. You have a hint of the forest smell on you. The more often you encounter things of the night, the more likely you’ll become a target of them. Now that you are aware of them, you cannot go back to how it was before. You can only try and find a place where they are less common. Save yourself now or risk being devoured the next time the forest turns an eye towards you.” His tone dark and statements grim. I was scared of what he said and yet I couldn’t take it entirely seriously because he had a bit of the chocolate glaze on the corner of his mouth. I reached out to clean it off with the cuff of my sleeve causing him to get angry with me again. “What’s your name? Rusty never told me.” I asked the boy who fumed, face red. “Elly! Don’t treat me like a child!” He shouted then realized his mistake. Rusty didn’t tell me his name because he knew how I would react to it. My face lit up and smile grew wide. With another groan of anger, the small boy started stomping away trying to look at my expression. “Elly is a cute name!” I called after him. “Eat it!” I made a very powerful enemy that day. And yet I didn’t care. I needed to hide treats in our car in case we see him again. Rusty is going to kill me though for how I treated Elly. I just couldn’t help it. Cute kids should be treated as such. I felt a little sorry for the boy for being in his position. He tried so hard to act like an adult. He really should be in school having fun with friends, not running around alone dealing with monsters. I was aware that what Elly said was true. If I stayed working this job, I risked my life. Then again, I knew there was always a risk when I became a deputy. Now I just added a new option of how I could be killed on the list. I left the station more worried about how Rusty would ream me out for my actions that morning than any kind of supernatural threat.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] It Always Follows Close Behind [RESPONSE] As far back as I can remember, it has been there. Always watching, terrifying me. Even when enough time would pass and I would think I was finally free, it would return. My first memory, when I was four, is the terrified feeling of being watched, while my brother and I played in the backyard at dusk. There was rustling in the bushes by the fence and the face that peered out at me was like a nightmare. It had no hair, the skin stretched so thin it was almost transparent. A thin, long smile that stretched up to the dark sunken eyes. I screamed in terror, and then it was gone. I tried, through my tears, to convince my brother that someone was there but he didn’t see anything. My parents chalked it up to childhood imagination, but that’s when the nightmares began. I would be sleeping in bed, the sounds of a mighty storm raining down upon me. The window would creak open, just a crack at first and then slowly sliding up. The tall, dark figure with the long, thin smile would be there, staring at me. I would scream out over and over, but nobody could hear me. Suddenly the figure would be next to my bed, long fingers reaching out to grab me. I had this dream every week, to the point that I was sent to a psychologist. She was a welcome change in my life, giving me the chance to tell my story without being mocked. When I was 8, I was hanging out at Jonathan’s house. I was supposed to be home before dark, but time has a way of getting away from me. I was hurriedly riding my bike home when the sun set. There was a tree line on the west side of the street, the side of the street that I was riding. The whistling began softly, getting louder and louder until it was so loud that I covered my ears to stop the pain, crashing my bike into the base of a large oak. I looked just behind me and saw a face peering out from behind another tree, the same face that has haunted my nightmares. Fear brought me to my feet and I was running as fast as I could go, not caring about my mangled bike. I told my parents I was being followed and crashed my bike. The police took my statement about the tall, skinny man with the long, thin smile. The nightmares stopped after that. Years passed and I became convinced that I was followed by a man, and that my imagination made it more than what it was; a pervert with a thing for small children. That is, until my 15th birthday. It was summer break and I remember the hot, humid air that surrounded us was overwhelming. My parents had rented a cabin by the lake for family and some of my friends. My parents got cake and my friend’s and I had a blast talking and swimming in the lake. After everyone went to bed, I stayed up a little longer listening to the crickets. It was so peaceful as I drifted off to sleep. The next thing I know I am standing just outside the forest on the other side of the lake from the cabin. Was I dreaming? It didn’t feel like a dream, but how did I get here? I had never been a sleepwalker, and it would’ve taken me at least two hours to walk all this way. I suddenly realized I was dripping wet, had I been in the lake? That’s when I heard it, a faint whistling on the wind, it seemed so familiar. I tried to run but was just too tired, the exhaustion getting worse by the second. I opted for a brisk walk in the direction of the lake. At least the moonlight reflecting off the water would light my immediate surroundings. I had to get back to the cabin. I made my way around the closest side of the lake for the next hour or so, falling in the darkness several times. I only had about a mile left of my trek and dawn would be coming soon. The whistling didn’t follow me, but I began to feel a heaviness in my chest, like gravity had increased 10 times and I was being crushed. As I lumbered through a muddy patch of ground with small hills and deep holes, I heard a gargled sound coming from the water right next to me. I stumbled to my knees as I looked over. In the moonlight I saw a head poking out of the water, just a few feet from the shore, the face smiling that familiar long, thin smile that haunted me so badly as a child. It peered at me for a moment before slowly sliding under the water. I moved away as fast as I could, choking back tears. All I wanted to do was lay down and cry. Who or what is this thing following me? When I finally made it back to the cabin I showered and went to bed, telling everyone I was feeling sick. I didn’t want to tell them what happened. I knew they wouldn’t believe me, I wasn’t even sure if I believed me. I had the same nightmares again after that. The rain, the thunder, the face coming into my room lit up by lightning, the thin smile that stretched on forever. I was always scared, always looking over my shoulder. Every time I heard a whistle, I would lose my breath. Again, time went on without incident. I am 26 now and living on my own. As I sit by my bedroom window and write this, the rain is pounding against the house. Every few minutes the lightning illuminates my yard; the fence line, the grass, the bushes, the trees, and the stretched face that peers out from behind them. The long, thin smile directed at me. I don’t know who, or what, has been watching me all these years, but I am tired of looking over my shoulder. I'm tired of not knowing, tired of being afraid. There's only one thing left to do. I will open my window tonight..<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Lone Trick-or-Treater [RESPONSE] I always loved this time of year, ever since I was old enough to appreciate the joy in it. My father would get just as excited as I would when it was time to adorn our festive garb and begin the quest for sugary goodness. While we passed by other parents walking with their little ghouls and goblins, my dad would just smile at the expressions he would receive, being one of the few who took the season as seriously as the children. Whatever costume I wore, he had something to match. If I dressed as a vampire, he would be my elder, watching over his apprentice. While we would sometimes choose a more fun theme, like the year we went as Shrek and Donkey, with me being the latter, we often went for something far more sinister. Evil clowns, father and son zombies in search of brains to go with our candy, and of course, the aforementioned vampire duo, fit with fake blood splashed across our faces to assure any of the unsuspecting homeowners we would visit that we had our fill for the night; seeking only some goodies for dessert now. I suppose it was that very thing that didn't cause me more than a second glance at the particularly unsettlingly dressed kid while I went door to door with my son last year. As always, the streets were positively packed with extravagantly dressed children; some walked alongside their folks, while others traveled in packs. This one, though; he strolled the sidewalks alone. The first time we passed by him, I was honestly quite impressed by how realistically the blood spatter was applied to the leathery apron. The blank-faced mask that was designed to look like some sort of creepy porcelain doll, had more specs of those crimson stains, looking as though it had gushed from the left. Given that was the hand in which he held the gore-lined butcher's knife, while the other swung the pillowcase half-filled with candy by his side, I had to admire the attention to detail. He was a little taller than my son, who was only eight at the time, but I still couldn't help but wonder why any parent would allow their child to walk the streets alone, even if there were a great many other children out that night. For a moment, I considered approaching the boy to inquire if he needed help, or perhaps wanted to join us, but when Matty vigorously pulled my hand to the right, having noticed another house with their porch light shining brightly, I just let out a chuckle before allowing myself to be dragged to the side. By the time I turned my head back to the road, I saw no trace of the eerie little kid. Following in my father's footsteps, I would never miss spending this time with my son. I carried the tradition of getting equally as dressed up as Matty, allowing him to choose the year's theme, as my dad had with me. Though my boy wasn't quite as much into the scary stuff as I was at his age, I managed to gently nudge him into dressing as zombie versions of his requested Captain America and Spider-kid. "Spider-MAN, daddy!" he would insist whenever I called him that, but it was strangely adorable how flustered he would get in correcting me. "Alright, three-foot Spider-Man," I said with a laugh, to which he giggled and playfully slugged me in the gut, before 'thwipping' to the next house. It was maybe ten minutes later when we passed by the lone trick-or-treater in the porcelain mask again, but he looked a little different. There were a few rips across the sleeves of his stained white shirt, as well as the leather-like apron. It's very possible that I simply hadn't noticed before, but I could swear he had more blood splashed across him now. "I like your costume," he said, not so much as glancing up at me when he walked by. His voice was gravelly and monotone, almost making me think of a fifty-year-old, two-pack-a-day smoker, rather than a young boy. His tone was still as light as anyone whose voice had not yet broken, but the raspiness was nothing short of unnerving. "I like yours too," I replied, mostly sincerely. I glanced back at the kid after he walked by to see there was just as much blood across his back as his front. He creeped me out for sure, but I still convinced myself it was nothing more than an effective performance of one fully embracing their chosen character. The fact that his pillowcase appeared more bulging than the last time I saw him was enough for me to believe he was just really into the season. Perhaps he had a water gun filled with red water tucked away under his apron, to apply more as the night went on. The sticky-looking gore on his knife looked no different than it did the last time, as far as I could tell anyway, so I just shook off my overactive imagination. For the remainder of our night of trick or treating, I only caught one more glimpse of the boy; this time from a distance. Again, he looked as though he was even more bloody than before, but given how far away he was, as well as the darkness surrounding him between the sporadic street lamps, I didn't dwell on it. Once Matty began to whine about his feet hurting, I felt content in the knowledge that we had accumulated more than enough goodies and it was time to head back home. The previously crowded sidewalks had only the occasional group making their way in one direction or another, each looking as wiped out as we were. Moments later, I was carrying my son, with his overstuffed bag of candy looped around my shoulder. He had pulled up his mask to nuzzle his face into the nape of my neck and I couldn't help but smile as I recalled resting in my father's arms this way. "Can I have some candy when we get home," he said, lifting his head, sounding as though he was on the brink of drifting away into Dreamland. "I gotta check it all first, kiddo." "I know, but can I pick something out and you can check that first? I just really wanna…" A wide and exhausted yawn cut his words short, inspiring him to rest his head back into its previous spot. "I just really wanna Reece's cup." "We'll see when we…" When I noticed the silhouetted figure limping out from behind a house on the corner; one that signified we had almost reached our destination, it took me a second to realize who it was. The boy held neither his bag of candy nor the gore-lined blade as he shuffled toward me. "HELP!" he called out as he struggled to push himself onward. It was then that I heard a rage-fueled scream; not from the kid, but from the man who pursued him. As he rounded the side of the house the boy was trying to escape, I saw the far more realistic blood-stained knife in his hand. I knew I had to act quickly, but my first and most crucial task would be to secure the safety of my son. After another quick glance to assure myself the man chasing the boy down had only one target in mind, I set Matty down on the sidewalk, looping the candy bag around his arm. With our home being just on the other end of the street, just beyond the stoop ahead, I gave him one mission: "Run home, Matty! Run home and don't look back! When you get there, tell mommy to call the police, okay?" He just nodded and took off in the direction of our home. I felt my stomach lurch with the thought of him making his way back home on his own, even if it was only another minute or two on foot. Still, I knew I had to get him as far away as possible before I did what I had to. By the time I reached the front yard of the house the boy in the blood-stained apron was staggering away from, the tall and well-built man was almost on top of him. "HEY!" I yelled out as I ran towards them, hoping to get the attention of the man who seemed to growl as he ran for the kid. Taking no time to second guess my actions, I tackled the guy as he lunged at the kid. It was as I raised from the man I had planted to the grass, knocking the knife out of his hand, that I saw the four deep and grizzled gashes across the right side of his face. When the boy in the porcelain mask walked up beside me, pointing his finger at the man, I noticed the fresh blood and tissue caked to his fingernails. "He stabbed me!" he said, hiccupping with tears trickling down his mask, "I didn't do nothin' to him, but he cut me anyway!" The man gazed up at the kid with wide and almost shocked eyes, while still attempting to break free. When I called out, hoping to get the attention of some of the neighbors, he caught me across the face with his fist, instantly causing my head to spin. As he took the opportunity to lunge for the kid a second time, I felt my body roll to the ground while the boy let out a high-pitched yelp. It only took a few seconds for my senses to return, but when I looked up to see the man clutching the child in the blood-soaked apron by his good leg, I had no time to waste. Again, I jumped on the guy, deflecting another attempted attack on my swelling face, while jabbing at his midsection. "Run, kid!" I said, trying to grab the writhing man by his arms to hold him in place. As the boy began to back away, a few other people left their homes to see what was going on. Some of them ran up, quickly assisting me in keeping the man from reaching his target. When I was able to release my grasp on the guy, trying to ignore the pulsing pain from where he had clocked me, I turned to look back at the likely traumatized boy. When I saw no trace of him, I was momentarily worried someone had snatched him up amid all the craziness. I suppose that's just that fatherly instinct, to go straight to a worst-case scenario when it was far more likely that he headed back to his home after such a fright. Still, though I hadn't had a chance to see how badly he was wounded, I knew he would require medical assistance. After a while, the police arrived at the scene, wasting little time in cuffing the man whose blood was still dripping on his shoulder. Paramedics rolled up moments later; one of whom checked me out to make sure my swollen shut eye was nothing more than a well-cleaned clock, while the other attended to the guy with his hands bound behind his back. Nobody knew anything about the kid in the blood-stained apron, nor did anyone have any idea where he'd run off to. Over the next few hours, several more cars rolled up to the house on the corner, just past the stoop. The yellow tape had already sealed the place away from the public by that point, but I had to stick around for a bit to answer some questions. Once I was permitted to leave, I returned to my home to find Matty passed out on the couch, with a few empty Reese's wrappers on the coffee table beside him. I explained everything that had occurred to my wife, before taking a well-earned shower. Becca prepared an ice pack for my eye while I cleaned myself up, which honestly felt heavenly when I held it to my puffy face. It wasn't until the following morning that I walked out to meet the group of onlookers, to see a healthy amount of police doing their job, taking little note of the curious observers. It would seem I had arrived just in time to watch them remove the bodies from the house; those that were buried in the basement. I watched in horror while they carried out the body bags; seven of them in all. The idea that someone capable of such acts lived so close to us was bad enough, but the fact that the subdivision was filled with kids the previous night, many of whom may have knocked on his door, almost caused my breakfast to escape. When one of the officers who had questioned me waved me over as I stared on from the other side of the street, I wasn't sure what else I could offer to the investigation. As two other cops opened up a large trunk they had retrieved; the box that held the 'trophies' this bastard kept to commemorate his foul deeds, I found myself truly lost for words. The blood-spattered, porcelain doll mask sat upon a variety of other objects, each wearing its own faded crimson stains. From what I could tell, all of the items the chest held were from one child's Halloween costume or another, as this was the season in which the sinister owner of the house liked to hunt. The officer kept me somewhat in the loop of the investigation over the weeks that followed, as she was just as befuddled as I was about the child who somehow tore into the face of his murderer from beyond the grave. She admitted she had witnessed more than her fair share of bizarre things since joining the force, but we were both saddened and heartbroken by the crimes they uncovered. After the identities of the victims were discovered and their grieving parents were given the news of the truth of their children's disappearance, we finally had a name for the lone trick-or-treater. The eleven-year-old Zachary Walsh had somehow gotten separated from the group he walked sidewalks with that Halloween night, the year before. He lived in a neighborhood many miles away, but just about everyone in that subdivision looked for him for hours after hearing about his disappearance. Unfortunately, he had likely already been snatched up by the time the search party even had a chance. My heart aches for the boy, as well as the others who lost their lives to that son of a bitch, but I hope their parents at least have some closure now. Given that young Zachary was the most recent of the sick bastard's victims, I can't say why he chose to skip this Halloween, with it being his hunting season and all. I wonder if perhaps we managed to stop him before he had the chance. Maybe that was the young boy's mission all along; to stop his killer before he was able to add a new trophy to his precious box. Halloween feels a little different this year. Yes, Matty is just as excited as ever, but I don't know if it'll ever be the same for me. My son gave me free rein on what our costumes would be this time, as he is quite the perceptive kid. I'm sure he can tell that I'm far more distracted than usual, but maybe dusting off the old vampire outfits my father and I wore so many years ago will get me back into the spirit. Take from this tale what you will; be it just another spooky story for the haunting hour or even the ravings of a gullible idiot. Whatever the case, just please do me one favor: Keep a close eye on your children. Whether they're by your side as they go door to door in search of goodies, or traversing the sidewalks in a group of fellow candy seekers, make sure they know not to stray. You can never tell if the truly horrific monsters of this world look anything like the personification of their nature, or live just a few doors down from where you rest your weary bones each night.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I had to babysit my siblings [RESPONSE] My siblings were always the annoying type. The type that would bug you until they get the attention they want. One night my parents wanted to go out on a date, so they asked me if I could babysit my siblings I initially disagreed, I never liked my siblings, but my mom offered to get me my favorite fast food on the way back. Finally, I agreed to babysit my siblings; besides, I had to give in eventually, as there was no one else they could call in such a short time. I have a younger brother and a younger sister; they were around eight to nine years old. The first few hours were uneventful until I heard the doorbell ring. I thought it was my parents,s I went to open the door, but then I stopped; they brought a key with them. Why didn't they open the door? I decided to look through the peephole and almost screamed there on our house's porch was a tall skinny figure wearing a top hat and a white mask with a bloodied smile etched into it. I then heard my "mom's" voice "Josh, can you open the door?" My name wasn't Josh it was John. The thing on the other side got impatient and I heard my "Dad's" voice "Josh, you better open this door or I'll kill you!" I turned and ran to my siblings' room and locked it. "Is mommy home?" asked my little sister "No, she isn't home," I said "Stop lying!" Snapped my little brother My little brother got up and stormed to the bedroom door and unlocked it. I urged him not to unlock the front door, but he didn't listen. He stormed downstairs and opened the door. There was silence for a moment before I heard a deafening scream. I ran downstairs and I saw the thing reaching for my brother. I grabbed him and ran back into my siblings' room and locked the door behind us. "What happened? Is mommy home?" asked my little sister "No!" yelled my brother and I "It's the exact opposite," said my brother We heard a demonic voice singing nursery rhymes before stopping at our door. We held our breath before it began to bang on our door. My sister screamed as the banging continued. Eventually, the banging stopped I grabbed my brother's bat and slowly opened the door. I saw nothing out of the ordinary so I slowly walked through my house I found nothing. I decided to call my parents, but I heard screaming coming from my siblings' room. I ran up the stairs and saw the thing looming over my crying siblings I raised my bat and hit the creature. It turned to look at me and I saw its creepy mask close up. It pointed at me and said, "No one can save you now." I raised my bat to hit it again, but it caught it. "I'll cut you a deal," it said "What do you mean by that?" I said "I will take them off your hands if you..." it said "If I what?" I said "If you give me your liver," it said I didn't know what to do. I would lose either way. It began to walk towards me, but then it stopped. I turned around to see my neighbor holding up a bible. It stepped back, opened the window, and leaped through it. "Thank you!" I said "No problem," replied my neighbor "Say, how did you know it was in here?" I asked "Well I saw it enter your house," said my neighbor My neighbor offered to stay with me until my parents arrived. I told them everything, but of course, they didn't believe me. I had never had anything like that happen again. As I am writing this I heard a knock on my door I ordered pizza they came earlier than I expected.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I spent the night in what I had thought was an abandoned water park. [RESPONSE] Its skyward trajectory was really like that of a shooting star—albeit inverted. As if with implacable cosmic momentum it had actually shot right through the Earth, piercing the opposing crusts with as much ease as a pen through folded paper. I stood there, perched on the rim of the empty swimming pool—a leaf and filth-strewn bowl into which I had planned to piss—gazing upwards, bewilderedly, as the object soared towards the stars; with which, it seemed, to bear a stellar kinship. But at the height of its arc, it curved, and then began to plummet Earthward; trailing in its wake the same silvery foam that had followed its precipitous rise. Amazed as I was, I failed to properly track its fall in relation to my own position on the planet; and it was only until I closely saw and even felt the tiny motes of that silver-tinged foam that I realized it was going to land within the vacant swimming pool. I immediately turned and ran, expecting at any moment to thrown off my feet by the assuredly calamitous impact of the object with the Earth. But aside from a soft, perfectly supportable heaving of the ground, there was no geologic violence; and turning around I saw that the object had landed squarely within the pool, without even disturbing the environing land. The foam now rose mistily from the crater, casting upon everything a dreamy, ever-shifting film, as of nebulous gossamer. I approached, enchanted by the emanation, unsuspecting of any malice or peril from it nor the object from which it was steadily surging. Peering into that once-empty pool, I beheld the fallen thing in its bareness, and immediately recoiled at the entirely unsuspected sight: for it was a woman, humanoid in shape and appearance, but titanic in size. I guessed that she would stand at least ten feet in height, though she had landed in the pool in the fetal position; or had assumed that position upon impact. I realized with a sort of enthralled incredulity that her silvery, thickly curled hair was the source of the mist-like emission. It flamed wildly, and the coiled locks thereof curled and uncurled at seemingly random intervals; as the tongues of a powerfully burning flame might haphazardly lick to and fro. Her skin was as pale as the high-flung moon, and had I not seen her break through the surface of the Earth, I would’ve thought her to have fallen from that ivory sphere—perhaps descending from its barren, craterous surface in search of terrestrial companionship. Seeing her amidst the grime and dead leafage sickened me, and without further consideration I clambered down into it with the intent of removing her. I even silently chastised myself for having been about to urinate in the place of her earthen rest. But as I neared her body, a thorough coldness came to me, a chill that bypassed my jacket and crept pervasively into my bones. I was briefly halted by the suddenness of the phenomenon, but not turned away; and fortifying myself somewhat against the cold, I resumed the chivalrous endeavor. But as I wrapped my arms around her body—careful to uphold her dignity—I realized that I would not be able to displace her from the pool, because of her immense weight. I am not saying that she was portly or rotund or obese in any way whatsoever; but that, due to her perfectly proportionate though inhumanly preternatural size and stature, she simply weighed more than I could manage. She was a Titaness, and I a simple human man. I released her body, gently and without noise, but something awoke her, and her eyes flipped open at once. I leapt back, for in that gaze—immediately aware and alert—was a frigidness, an inhospitality beyond human capability. *An arctic, anti-tropical malevolence.* Without hesitation, she rose, coming to stand several feet above me upon marmoreal, strongly sculpted legs. Her hair (the curls thereof) flared aloft as if stoked by some cranial furnace; and her eyes, bluer and bolder than a polar sea, glared at me icily; as if I had somehow offended her in my attempts to render assistance. With the cold callousness of a boreal witch or a glacier-dwelling demoness, she spoke; and while I have no way to confirm this, I am positive that those words were not in any tongue of Man, but in the frost-formed phonetics of some *Northern Kind*, interpreted into English by her winter-wrought sorcery. “You, who would lay unfrosted hands upon me. On what land do I now stand, and in what era? I augur **His** coming, and demand to know the name of the region to which He would first emerge.”   As if a sickle of ice had chiseled the words onto my eardrums, I cringed at their icy crispness, responding only when the accompanying sensation of frigidness had ebbed away a little. “This is Missouri—you've landed in the city of Wentzville, Missouri. In the year 2022. Who are you talking about? Where are you from?” My voice faltered at the last question, and a horror joined the cold to doubly assail my nerves. She repeated the name of the city and state, trying them out on her sky-blue tongue. She seemed to have paid no attention to the time period, or simply did not care. Then, without any warning or announcement of any kind, she inhaled and released a deep breath; and a chillness, unearthly and insupportable, fell upon the atmosphere at once. I collapsed to my knees, suddenly struggling to breathe. With a flash of dread-instilling panic I realized that the gelld air was irrespirable, as inundated as it was by the supernatural chill. I swooned; my vision became occluded, and from all around me there seemed to whisper faint phantoms, portending the coming of some dismal and wintry end. The mist all about the area thickened and took on an almost celestial aspect, the motes thereof shining brightly, like atoms set aflame. Vaguely, I saw the figure of that Titaness float from the pool, rising of her own ultra-mundane volition. She landed beside me, her naked form still little more than an outline in the deepening murk of the ice-mist. “Yes, I think he will enjoy unleashing his Tartarean fury upon this land. The nethermost abysm, the Deep Cold, will mount the subterranean peaks and pour forth from the cracked land. Molten ice will wash over your kingdoms, and all will fall to the unstoppable frost.” An unhinged cachinnation followed this doom-promising pronouncement, and the last thing I saw before a cold and nightmare-haunted slumber took me was the supernal giant’s hair glowing to a white, star-like brilliance upon her scalp. In the sky beyond, the moon began its withdrawal into the clouds with the coming of the morning... I awoke on the ground, lying in a pool of shiver-inducing water; my clothes fully saturated. The sun shone clearly and fully above, and I allowed myself to bask in its warmth for a few moments, while my mind struggled to reboot itself. Remembering what had happened, I rose to a sitting position, expecting to see the structures and forms of the abandoned water park whitely armored and frost-blasted; but there were only the usual faded metals and wood, untouched by even the smallest speckling of white. Turning my gaze landward, I saw a puddle—a rather large one—a few feet ahead. Within this was a mess of stringy material, dull-grey and bearing sad remnants of what might’ve been luscious curls. Rising to my feet, I approached the puddle, and felt a lingering but measurably diminishing coldness radiating from it. The puddle lay directly beneath the scope of the sun, unshaded by any of the derelict structures, which loomed dismally over other sections of the forsaken park. Putting two and two together, I side-stepped the puddle and began my journey home. I guess if you’d only existed within some lightless and frozen pocket of space in the bowels of the Earth, the concept of the sun—and its unyielding heat—wouldn’t have occurred to you during the planning of your hibernal conquest. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I Swear To God that Giant, Weird Bug on the Floor Was a Wad of Thread Until a Few Hours Ago [RESPONSE] I know because I kept meaning to sweep it up. That twirl of blue thread came from this thrift store blanket I've had for awhile. I'm not sure what shade of blue it is, but I'd say it's a few shades brighter than navy. My wife hates it. It's old and a little ragged. She complains whenever I use it at night, scrunching her nose up like she smells something nasty. But we sleep with separate blankets, so she doesn't complain too much. I, however, love it. It's the most comfortable blanket I've ever had. It reminds me of sleeping under the big, fluffy, always-fresh comforter in bed with my grandparents when I was so young I was just starting to form long-term memories. God, that room was, and still is, I think, the blackest room I've ever experienced. I couldn't tell the difference between seeing with my eyes open or closed. Sometimes, when I was a kid, I couldn't always control what I saw when I closed my eyes at night. So I'd lie there with my eyes open until I couldn't hold them open anymore. But that didn't matter there, under that giant comforter with my grandparents huddled around me. I always felt so safe there. Anyway, those twirls of thread have been coming off of my budget blanket for a few days now. I think maybe it's starting to come apart slowly. My wife's been complaining about the mess. She's working out of town right now, and I've been trying to get the house clean before she gets home. So every time I would walk over to my side of the bed, I'd see the thread and have that internal buzz of "Oh shit, I need to sweep!" But I always noticed it while I was in the middle of doing something else, so it's sat there, collecting dust on the floor, for about a day and a half, while I've continued to forget about it as soon as I've walked away. But now, it's definitely not a wad of thread. The ends of the thread, splayed out as they are, are now moving. They look like legs from spiders. Not like the thread is a spider, but that it happens to be composed of various legs that happen to be from spiders. What's more surreal, though, and what makes what I'm seeing so hard to accept, nearly impossible to chalk up to any accident of reality as I understand it, is that it's still the exact same shade of blue. There's a bit of sunlight from outside lighting it up, and it's so blue. ............................................................................ I can't look at it anymore. I literally just stared at it for three hours. I just watched its legs twitch and stretch, all seemingly independent of each other in intent, like they all belong to separate spiders somewhere else, each one possibly somewhere else, not able to understand what's happening to it. I can sympathize. For three, maybe three and a half hours, I watched it sit there and be impossible, legs twitching restlessly, almost like they were bored. I didn't notice the room get dark as the sun set. I couldn't tear myself away. I didn't want to, either. But my attention was broken by the buzzing of a fly, just six or so inches from my ear. It was a fat, black fly - much bigger and slower than your average housefly. Not big enough to be a horsefly, but big and cumbersome and odd enough that I turned to it instinctively. I think normally I would've flinched and try to swat at it. But I felt like I was moving underwater. Or like I was half asleep. And I felt unconcerned about it, just accepting it as it was. I guess that makes sense, considering a fly is much more common than an impossible, unknowable, formerly inanimate wad of thread turned into, well, I'm rambling now. So nevermind. I watched it sort of bobble through the air in these gentle, if not clumsy, arcs, occasionally making a small curly-cue at the end that propelled the husky little fly back up and forward. And of course it was flying right to the thread-spider. I knew that as soon as I processed and accepted the fly as being a fly -- if that makes sense. "Oh, it's a fat, slow fly. It's probably going to that thread-spider." When I looked back to the thing on the floor, the spiders' legs were all acting in unison. They were reaching for the fly. They seemed to be pushing themselves as far and as hard as they could. I could've sworn the legs were vibrating as they moved to follow the fly along its Sunday drive. I watched the fly do one of its trajectory-altering loopdiloops, and as it changed direction, the spiders' legs vibrated more violently, looking for a half-Mississippi like they might break apart. By this point, I was fucking terrified. I kept looking at the old blanket hanging off the bed, close enough that I could see how perfectly the color of the thread-spider matched. The compulsion to do something, do literally anything at all, fought with paralyzing fear in my head. The impossibility of what I was seeing kept me from moving. I've never been so scared in my life. I'm still pretty fucking scared. I'll spare you the details of what happened when the fly landed. It was horrific in ways I haven't even started processing yet. And I don't understand most of what I saw, either. Like, on a fundamental level. Like, if the weird thread-spider just ate the fly, no matter how disgusting or frightening it might be, I'd still be able to understand that one thing ate another thing. That happens all the time. The fact that it happened with some impossibly strange creature would just mean there's one more really frightening spider-shaped thing in the world. But that's not what I saw. I used the analogy of the spider eating the fly because that's the closest thing I can think of to relate to this. And I'm pretty sure the fly was completely consumed. That's probably the only thing I'm sure if. I just don't know how, or in what way, exactly. Anyway anyway, I finally moved when I heard what sounded very clearly like a large bone snapping. And yes, it very clearly came from the thread-spider. That sound was like a slap in the face, or like when someone smacks you upside your head because you're daydreaming in the middle of something important. I bolted out of the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind me. I've been sitting here in the living room for a couple of hours now, trying to process everything. After browsing Reddit for a good while to try to distract myself, I figured I'd share this here, see if anyone has any idea of what's going on. I wasn't sure which sub to post in, so I figured I'd start here, where I'm maybe less likely to get my post deleted or downvoted into oblivion for being fake. In the meantime, I'm going to go check on that thing. I was pretty scared of it, but after getting the story out in the open like this, after rereading what I wrote, I'm pretty sure I was overreacting. How could I not be? I actually feel a little silly for being so afraid. So, if for nothing other than my injured machismo, I'm going to go see what's up. I'll try to get a picture this time.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I Am A Hunter And I Am On The Run... [RESPONSE] Hello, my name is Sam. It’s my real name you can check my school records if someone would ask for it. Well currently I am on the run, not from police but with someone whom I made a deal and I guess most of us know who makes a deal. So I am on the run and surprisingly enough I brought this second....actually third hand laptop selling in one of the alley...so you know who well it might work. I want to tell my story before he catches me or the laptop gives up. I am a hunter...I don’t hunt animals of course, I hunt demons, monsters, creatures, spirits and sometimes insane humans and I also investigate these stuff. I wanted to be a pilot though when I was a kid but life never ends the way one plans. I want to start this at the beginning about how I become like this. Everything is linked to my childhood, I was a normal boy in a lovely family and I had a little sister and she was the most beautiful thing that happened to me. I remember when she was born I was the first to hug the doctor even before my father...so yeah I loved her. I was born into a normal family and I never had a paranormal incident before that day. I was a normal kid going to school and everything was fine. I remember it was raining that day, there was a alert on news so the school and offices were closed. I was 10 back then and my sister was 4. We were sitting in my room, she was playing with her blocks and toys and I was playing with her. I went to look in window to see how long will it rain but the clouds were not wanting to leave and it was really dark there. My eyes went to my lawn and there was a strange man standing there, his head was completely shaven and he a had a little tint of blue on his skin. He was looking at my house just looking when my eyes went to his face and strangely I noticed that his skin was more blue than it was...what color normal skins have. But his eyes, it still send shivers down my spine. He looked at me and our eyes met for a second but I could tell he was not a human, his eyes were pitch black, deep like a never ending void but something were screaming inside them, thousands of souls screaming behind those eyes when he suddenly smirked at me. I was frozen to my place for a second but I immediately ran for my sister who was just behind me. She was still playing and I took a deep breath relaxing my muscles. I looked at the window again but the man was gone. My sister and I played for another fives minutes when I heard a scream from the basement, my mom was washing clothes there while my dad was fixing the only source of light there. I ran down to the basement it was my father, small pieces of glasses were on floor while my dad was holding his face blood spilling out from where his eyes was supposed to be my mother crying holding his hands. Glass went into both his eyes and just like that in a single day my father lost his vision I went up to bring him a first aid box when I saw it blood was slipping from the the stairs, my thought immediately went to my sister I ran up the stairs and there were pieces laying on the floor to my room where my sister was...it was small pieces of flesh, I was stopping my tears from rolling down slowly walking to my room preparing myself for what I might see. I opened the door the whole room was colored in blood and my sister was no where to be found the window was open and there was something inscribed on my desk with nails ‘???? ????’ went I went to the basement to see my parent they vanished to and the whole room was covered in blood. I was left alone that day and since then I have been studying about everything paranormal as well as how to protect myself. I found the meaning of the note few years after the incident. It was written in herbrew and it said ‘be seeing you’...<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Mr. Ashworth's Pumpkin Patch is Full of Evil Secrets [RESPONSE] My family lives beside a pumpkin patch. We’ve been here since the beginning of the summer, living in this little two bedroom house with a leaky roof and bad plumbing. My parents said it was a fixer-upper, but I haven’t seen either one of them fixing anything yet. The pumpkin patch isn’t ours - it belongs to our neighbour, Mr. Ashworth. He’s the one who owns our house, so I guess he’s our landlord too. My parents always talk about him while whispering, as if he might be right outside the window, listening in on their conversation. “That Mr. Ashworth is an odd fellow,” my mom will quietly say. “You got that right,” my dad will reply, even more silently. They think I can’t hear, but kids must have better ears than grownups, because they talk loud enough I can make it out from the basement. That’s how I overheard them saying the other day that they were gonna be short on rent this month, and they would need to make it up to Mr. Ashworth in some other way. “Why don’t we tell him that Jason will help him harvest pumpkins this year," My mom offered. "He can work for him every day after school.” “Hmm, I suppose that might cover it,” my dad said. “You’re gonna need to start looking for a new job soon, though. If they can’t give you full time hours they shouldn’t have told you they would...” “Tell that to Sharon,” my mom retorted, in a tone that suggested there would be no further discussion on the matter. And so I ended up out in the pumpkin patch, harvesting fat orange pumpkins and loading them onto a wagon, my back straining and sweat pouring down my face, despite the chill of the evening. Mr. Ashworth sat up high on his tractor, looking down at me condescendingly with his one good eye, sipping something from a brown bottle that looked cold and alcoholic. “Alright, keep working. I’ll be right back,” he said, once the flatbed was stacked high with pumpkins. The tractor started to chug and belch black smoke from the exhaust stack, as it lurched into gear with a jolt that sent several pumpkins teetering and tumbling from the back end. Mr. Ashworth seemed not to notice as they smashed and spilled seeds and guts everywhere on the grass. “Hey! You dropped some! Mr. Ashworth!? When can I go home!? I’ve been out here since four o’clock!” I shouted after him, looking at my watch. The sun had set hours ago. I hadn't eaten dinner. It was past 9:30 PM and I had school in the morning. Not to mention the pile of homework in my backpack which had been nagging at me until I decided I didn’t care about it anymore. Mr. Ashworth was gone up the hill, the steep slope sending a few more pumpkins wobbling and rolling off the back of the flatbed. I realized suddenly what a terrible conveyance it was for our purposes. Something caught my attention as I was standing there, breathing heavily and waiting for him to come back. A scarecrow, about fifty feet to the left of me, was hidden between a few high corn stalks in the patchy field. For some reason, it began to draw me in, and I felt myself taking slow, tentative strides toward it. Something was odd about the scarecrow, I realized as I ambled closer. Actually, there were several strange things about it that had drawn me in. For one thing, it was covered in crows. And I’d always thought they were meant to keep those pesky birds away. The scarecrow was guarding a small, hidden garden. I guessed it was Mr. Ashworth’s personal vegetable patch. There were a few sagging stalks of corn, a couple rotten pumpkins, a half dozen blackened and collapsing gourds and zucchini, swarming with flies, as well as a yellowed tomato plant covered in moldy, rotting fruit. Everything growing there was dead or dying. As I drew closer, I saw that the scarecrow wasn’t alone. It was the outermost of a group of them, positioned in a low section of the field so that the vegetation disguised it and camouflaged it. I realized it was a perfect hiding place, completely indistinguishable from the road or the house. It was like a bunker in a golf course, minus the sand, hiding this little monument to decay from the rest of humanity. Maybe that was why my legs were wobbly and my hands were a little shaky, as I thought about the fact that I probably wasn’t supposed to be exploring over here. But I couldn’t help it, and it felt like my feet were on a conveyor belt taking me inexorably closer to the group of scarecrow-people, swaying gently in the breeze, with broomsticks shoved up their- “Jason! Get back over here! The day’s almost done, boy! One more load and I’ll be done with you for now!” I shuddered at his phrasing and began walking over. I looked back over my shoulder at the group of scarecrows, and could have sworn I saw one move. Twitching ever so slightly. But that was surely just a trick of the light. The one closest to me could just barely be made out in the dim glow of the moon. A burlap sack with a smiling face painted on it - and the bulge of something underneath the fabric that looked a bit like a nose. And that smell… it was like rotting vegetables. But also something else, sweet and pungent and unpleasant. Birds were picking at the scarecrow's arms with their sharp beaks, pecking and prodding at what was underneath the thick clothing. As if trying to get at something tasty hidden underneath. “MOVE IT!” Mr. Ashworth shouted at me, and I began to run back towards him, my heart pounding in my chest. *Just a trick of the light,* my mind said again. *Nothing more.* I didn't get home until 11pm that night, and fell into bed exhausted. Still, despite my tiredness, I couldn't sleep. My mind was racing. Theories floating through my thoughts with no conclusions, only questions. Answers just out of reach, teasing me from underneath burlap sacks painted bright with smiling faces. As I lay in bed, I thought about the scarecrow again. And I imagined those birds, pecking at the fabric of its arms, like a thick and troublesome sausage casing. And as I fell asleep, I drifted into a fit of nightmares worse than any I’d had before. In them, my parents and I were pumpkins in Mr. Ashworth’s field, our bodies buried up to our necks in dirt. Another version of me, with a horrifying, hollow-eyed pumpkin for a head, came along and surveyed us all, judging our ripeness. He stooped down with a knife in his hand, long and rusty, and began to hack at the exposed flesh of my neck, driving dirt and soil and worms into the wound with short, swift sawing motions. I tried to scream, but found my mouth was sealed shut like the uncarved face of a pumpkin. All I could do was watch as he hacked and cut and blood sprayed and splashed the doppelganger jack-o’-lantern me’s face, covering him in fine, misty red droplets. Finally he was done, and the thing which looked like me but wasn’t picked me up in his arms and cradled me like a newborn. Then he took me over to that weird, hidden little garden, with its distended, misshapen scarecrows, and brought me over to one with no head. The stump-end of a broomstick could be seen sticking up from the farmer’s overalls and clothing, stuffed full of hay to look like a body. Pumpkin-me drove the bloody stump of my neck down on top of that pole and I could have sworn I felt real pain as he twisted and turned my skull to drive it deeper and deeper. And then finally it was finished, and the pumpkinhead-me walked away, dusting off his hands and leaving me there. I looked around to see the faces of my parents on the scarecrows all around me. But they were frozen in gap-mouthed poses, their gazes blank-white and rolled back, as the carrion birds began to swoop down and land upon us. And the crows and ravens began to feast on our eyes. I jolted awake with a terrified start, feeling my clothing and the sheets beneath me drenched with cold sweat. Sitting up in bed, I was panting and trying to catch my breath, as if I’d just been running a marathon. My hands were shaking and my legs were wobbly as I stood up, wanting to get as far away from that dream as possible, and never wanting to sleep again, despite my tiredness. My legs brought me to the window and I found myself looking out into the field, at the pumpkin patch beside our house. Somehow I wasn’t surprised to hear the sound of digging out there. A grunting, huffing sound as someone worked in the pumpkin field, despite the darkness. And then the noise stopped suddenly. Startled, I saw a glimpse of reflective eyes looking back at me from the darkness between corn stalks. Golden and mirrored, like a large cat’s stare. But then they winked out of existence and disappeared, as if I had just imagined them. But I knew I had not imagined them. And I knew who they belonged to, just as surely. Mr. Ashworth. * I thought about telling my parents my outlandish theory the next morning, but they were already gone when I woke up for school. It was weird, but not totally unlike them. Half the time I was forgotten about, and the rest of the time they acted like I was a deliberate inconvenience to their lives. As if my existence were a gift they had bestowed upon me that I needed to be thankful for at all times. The kids at school looked at me funny when I expressed this truth as a mundane fact of my existence. Their faces were sad and I eventually realized they were looking at me with pity. My parents had disappeared like this a couple times before, but not for a while. And they'd always apologized afterwards. I would just eat frozen pizza and cereal and wait for them to come to their senses, like I was living out a far less glamorous version of Home Alone, in a shittier house. I figured when I got home from school they would be there and they'd buy me iced cream or something to make it up to me. But they weren't there when I got home from school. Instead, Mr. Ashworth was waiting for me at my front door. My heart sank immediately. Feeling exhausted already from school and working the fields the day prior, I wasn't exactly thrilled to see him. But he reminded me that I had a job to do, and that my family would be evicted if I didn’t do it, and I agreed to head over to his place after changing out of my school clothes. "Fancy boy, ain'tcha?" He said mockingly. "Just wear what you got on." "Have you seen my parents?" I asked, hurrying to follow after him. "They've been gone since this morning." He looked at me sadly. "Your parents certainly take your maturity for granted," he said cryptically. "What do you mean?" "Didn't they tell you? They said I should make sure to give you dinner for the next few days, since they were going out of town. I told them it'd be no problem. By the way, I hope you like mutton." I was flabbergasted, and felt a terrible sense of betrayal. "For a FEW DAYS!? They went out of town!? That's impossible! How could they do that and not tell me!?" "Are you sure they didn't? Young boys such as yourself don't always have the best ears for listening. Especially if there isn't candy and video games involved." I could feel my face getting hot with anger. "No! They didn’t mention it! Did they leave a phone number? Anything!? I need to talk to them!" "Nothing of the sort. Come on, let's get to harvesting! Those pumpkins won't pick themselves!" Mr. Ashworth's house was a lot busier today, I realized, as people were starting to show up to purchase pumpkins from his barn where he had them stacked high in a lineup like a class photograph, arranged from small to large going left to right. They were sorted on a set of long benches which appeared to be designed for that purpose. I was surprised to see a dozen or more children were also working with Mr. Ashworth, taking cash from customers in exchange for pumpkins, and assisting people with carrying them to their vehicles. I hadn't seen the kids in school, and didn't recognize any of them, but I was new to town and figured they were in different grades or different classes than I was. I tried to talk to one of the kids, but he just turned away, refusing to say anything to me. He looked a little frightened, and was dead set on tending to customers. He had no interest in speaking to me. "What are you doing in here!?" Mr. Ashworth shouted when he saw me. "You're supposed to be out in the fields, hacking pumpkins! Get back down there. Don't make me get the whip." I expected a grownup to chastise Mr. Ashworth for saying something like that to a child, even if it was a joke, but nobody said anything, they just kept going about their shopping. A woman's eyes strayed to look at me for a second, but then she looked away sharply, as if not wanting me to notice. She grabbed her young daughter's hand and made a showy display of picking up a pumpkin and hefting its weight in her hands. "Look, Sadie! This is a big one! Do you want to carve this one?" The little girl smiled, looking shy. I could sense something was off about all of this. Something was left unspoken as a hushed tone carried throughout the barn. I felt like people were watching me intently, but when I turned to look at them they were quick to glance away. I got that feeling you get when people are talking about you behind your back, saying unkind things. "Move it!" Mr. Ashworth said, pushing me from behind. "The jack o' lanterns don't pick themselves!" I walked down the hill towards the fields with a forlorn look over my shoulder. The families acting strange, picking out pumpkins while ignoring me, and the kids quietly working at Mr. Ashworth's farm, they all had something to do with the creepy scarecrows in that hidden garden. I knew it. Like seeing the pieces of a puzzle and knowing it would make a picture, but not knowing quite what that picture was. I resolved to sneak out to visit the hidden garden later that night, after Mr. Ashworth went to sleep. Assuming he actually slept. * Later on, I lay awake in bed, the sounds of crickets outside my window the only noise in the world. I was exhausted after another long night working in the pumpkin patch. All evening I had watched with jealous anger as happy families with smiling children streamed in one group after the next, laughing and picking out their pumpkins, talking about how they were going to carve them to look like clowns, witches, ghosts, and ghouls. The only ghoul I wanted to carve up was Mr. Ashworth. He had told me to come back bright and early in the morning, before school. I would need to help him for an hour or so before class. There wasn't much I could say to this. He was my impromptu guardian, it seemed, at least for the time being. It would be another short night with no sleep, by the looks of things. The lights in Mr. Ashworth's house went out suddenly and it was still and dark. Was he finally going to sleep? I imagined him climbing into a coffin in the basement, and closing the lid shut until morning, like some sort of reverse vampire. I climbed out my bedroom window, afraid of the squeaky sounds of our rusty-hinged front door waking up the old man. My feet hit the ground with a muffled sound, the grass slightly damp with early morning dew that I could feel through the canvas-tipped toes of my shoes. With a deliberate effort to remain stealthy and hidden, I made my way towards the rickety wooden fence which divided the two properties. I slipped between the rails and began to march out into the pumpkin patch, staying low to avoid detection. The house stayed dim and quiet and I took that for a good sign that Mr. Ashworth was fast asleep. I made my way out towards the secret garden and found an assortment of crows waiting for me, standing on the arms and heads of the scarecrows, their beady eyes watching me silently as I approached. One bird let out a soft, mournful caw and took off, flying up into the night sky to disappear amidst the stars, and I imagined him as an undead scout going to report the enemy's position to the necromancer general - The Dreadlord Ashworth. This would need to be quick. A peek under the burlap hood, to see what was really underneath. I began to take slow, tentative strides towards the closest scarecrow. The crows stayed where they were on it, watching me carefully. I approached even more cautiously as they refused to abandon their perch. They guarded it with jealousy, their eyes looking angry as I got closer. Raising my hand to pull back the cuff of the scarecrow’s shirt, I began to expose the wrist. Hoping I would only see straw beneath the plaid, I folded the fabric back. All of the birds took off suddenly, their flapping wings and squawking cries startling me and causing my heart to skip a beat as it fluttered in my chest. After recovering, I went back to it. In the dim light it was difficult to see what was beneath the shirt. I stepped back to let the glow of the moon shine through. It was spongy and strange to the touch, but then I realized why and fell stumbling backwards. The arm…. It felt like flesh. Just like my nightmare, the scarecrows were constructed from corpses - left out to rot and hang in the sun. The only support for their weight was a sharpened pike sent through their body from the rear, and up into their mouth, like a rotisserie chicken. When I pulled off the hood I saw the jagged end of a pike protruded from the man’s mouth, with entrails and organs dangling from it. That smell…. No wonder the stench was so powerful over here. My eyes were drawn to the other scarecrows. I couldn’t help myself as I began to take wobbly strides towards the next one a few paces ahead. As I got closer to it I saw that there were more of them. Far more scarecrows than I had seen the first time. There was a line of them extending into the distance. What I had thought was a little sand bunker-shaped divot in the field was actually a meandering ditch that turned and twisted away from me, its length hidden by a low hill. And there were dozens of scarecrows planted within this narrow gulley. I began to rip the rotting clothing off the one closest to me, and almost let out a scream of horror when I saw what was beneath. A body ravaged by the birds and the sun, the rain and hail and all the other elements. The skin was sloughing and tearing in great long gashes. Pieces of rotten flesh came off with the clothing as I pulled the plaid shirt from the scarecrow. The head was still covered with a burlap sack with a dead-eyed smiling face drawn upon it, and I had to pull it off to be sure. The form beneath was almost unrecognizable as human, but I knew it wasn’t either one of my parents - and I began to move on to the next one. Despite my terror, I had to know. I had to be certain. The next scarecrow was the same as the other two. Straw hanging out the cuffs of a plaid shirt with sleeves too long. The entire form of it distended and drawn out, the limbs too stretched and lanky. But now I understood why - it was to conceal what was really inside. I ripped the hood and hat off of this one as well, to see the face underneath. I nearly vomited, a puddle of bile sitting bitterly in my mouth afterwards. The faces of these scarecrows were rotten and I guessed they were months or years old by the looks of them. And the smell, worse than anything I’d ever experienced. It stuck with me and stayed in my nose as I walked further along the row of scarecrows. Instead of going for the next one, I went further, towards the very back. The last two scarecrows looked newer than the other ones. Their clothes were brighter, not yet faded by the rain and the sun. Even in the darkness I could tell the difference. And the other strange thing was that these last two scarecrows were moving. It was horrifying, seeing those two figures, squirming and writhing on their posts, their heads hidden by burlap sacks. The worst part was knowing, deep down in my gut, that those were my parents, impaled on pikes like victims of Vlad the Impaler. That story I had learned in school suddenly came to mind with a chilling clarity that made my blood run cold. Who knew how long they’d been out here? I had to help them. But I had to be sure first. I began to run, my feet sinking into a muddy section and getting soaking wet and momentarily stuck, but I didn’t care. I left my shoes behind as the muck swallowed them up with a hungry GLURP sound and staggered on in my socks. When I got to the scarecrows I began to blubber and cry and call out to them, no longer thinking about staying quiet. I could only think about helping them. My hands worked quickly, pulling the burlap sacks from their heads. It was my parents. To say they were still alive was a stretch. What that was could not be classified as living, but only an agonizing delay on the road towards death. They were in a purgatory of pain, impaled and balanced in the most horrifying way atop two pikes which were slowly and inexorably making their way through their vital organs, as their body weight caused them to slide downwards, the tips of sharpened pikes inching out from behind their tongues. My mothers eyes drifted towards me and she looked at me with what I would have guessed to be remorse. Her lips quivered up and down, and I realized she was trying to say, “I’m sorry.” “It’s okay, mom,” I said, taking her hand and squeezing it. “You can let go.” Her eyes closed and she let out a deep, shuddering breath and was gone. I looked to see my dad had done the same, as if they were both out there waiting for me to show up, to see me one last time and apologize. Before I had even one second to grieve, I heard something behind me. A shuffling of feet, and movement through the brush. It felt like I was being surrounded. “Lleh reven tel uoy og,” a kid’s voice said from the darkness. “Eruoy eno fo su won.” What the hell? As scared as I was, I was also confused. Was the boy speaking another language? Was this a Russian government spy project or something? It didn’t sound like another language, I realized. It sounded familiar, though. Like a record being played backwards. Without another thought I began to run towards my house, bolting past the rotting tomato plants and sagging corn stalks. Kids were waiting for me just on the other side of those, and reached out to grab me, their fingernails raking across my skin and leaving long gashes in my flesh. “Kcab emoc! Kcab emoc!” they called after me. “Eruoy eno fo su won!” Come back. Come back. You’re one of us now. I realized that after I got back inside the little squat house I once called home. I realized that they were speaking backwards. Why, I have no idea. Just like I don’t know why Mr. Ashworth has been kidnapping kids and killing their parents for years, maybe decades. Just like I don’t know why the town is protecting him. When I dial 9-1-1 to try and report the murder of my parents, all I get is a recorded message with my address listed at the beginning, as if it is meant specifically for me. “Submit to Mr. Ashworth,” the message says. “Mr. Ashworth knows what is right for us all. Mr. Ashworth is good. Mr. Ashworth is just. Do not question his authority. Open your door to him. Open your heart to him. Open your mind to him. Submit. Submit. Submit.” I hung up the phone after that, when I felt my eyelids getting heavy and my head was feeling fuzzy, and I began walking to the front door with my hand outstretched. Part of me feels like I need to go back over there. Like I owe him a debt. My parents did agree to his terms, after all. And we did eat the delicious pumpkin pie he gave us when we moved in. Submit. The word flashes through my mind and with it is a wave of terror. Because I know that eventually, whether I want to or not, I will be back working in Mr. Ashworth’s pumpkin patch tomorrow. And every day after that, for as long as I live. Until one day, I too become a scarecrow in his <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I Can Hear my Child Through the Walls, it’s Tormenting me. [RESPONSE] My child died in March of 2022, otherwise this year. I have been grieving for so many months until I finally pulled myself together. My husband has taken it harder than me. He always wanted a child and ever since my baby died, he’s been completely shut off. I need suggestions on how to help him. This week I walked into the old nursery and found him holding our baby’s teddy bear. He was cradling it in his arms as if it were the real one. “John, you can’t do this. C’mon let’s take you back.” He looked at me and shook his head “He’s still here, he’s still here!” I had to drag him out of the room and back into the living room where I told him he was gone. He silently cried into my shoulder and I hugged him. Last night when I was downstairs making a drink, I heard a baby crying coming from the nursery. When I heard it I instinctively ran up the stairs, and into our bedroom where I hid under the sheets hoping the crying would stop. This isn’t the first time either, it started a month after our kids death. When our kid died we were given a stuffed animal which we put in the nursery. After a month of being in there it would move. It would move into the crib, the top shelf, the toy blocks, anywhere it could get, it would be. We would place it back but it would move again. My husband thought it was our child telling us it was here with us. I think something darker is going on though. He thinks it’s a miracle, I can’t relate to him. He’s extremely religious, and thinks god is at work. This morning, I found the doll and it wasn’t in the nursery, it was in our medicine cabinet. I had opened the medicine cabinet to take my daily pills and found it sitting there, it’s Teddy bear hand was inside my pills. I quickly took the teddy bear out of the medicine cabinet and saw medicine powder was around the bear’s mouth. I threw it in the wash hoping that would clean it. When I got it out it looked to be brand new, as I was holding it I started to see our child in the bear. I cradled it until my husband came and rushed over saying it was our child. When I realized what is as doing I put the bear down and started to cry. “My child is gone! How can I live like this?” I collapsed onto the laundry room floor and my husband hugged me telling me our child was home. I don’t believe this is our child. It’s demonic. It’s not real, it can’t be real. Can it? I’m loosing my mind, I have an appointment with a psychiatrist next week and I’m loosing sleep. My husband brought a baby monitor home last night, he said it’s so we can watch our kid. He named our kid Noah, after a person in the Bible, I have no idea who that is but I hate him for naming our child that. I cant stand this house anymore, it’s tormenting me. I will walke up in the middle of the night to crying and my husband will nudge me out of bed to go check on our “child” it’s not our child. It’s a demon. I know it. He’s continuously pushing me to take care of it. It’s not even human, why the hell does it need milk?! Why the hell do I have to take care of it?! Why the hell is it here?! I went to my appointment and the doctor said I’m having hallucinations, I still think it’s the devil. I’m loosing sleep every night, and I feel like I’m loosing my mind.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My girlfriend won't let me deadbolt our closet door [RESPONSE] After 3 years of dating, my girlfriend and I finally moved in together. This is great and all, but for any of you out there considering a similar move, please try to set any ground rules before you make the decision. I thought Lizzy & I were on the same page, but she threw me a curveball on day one. "Now we can finally get rid of that creepy deadbolt on your closet!" She said I know you're probably jumping to a bunch of conclusions about me right now, but there's a good reason for it- and beside that, she knew about the deadbolt beforehand. This hadn't been brought up when we discussed the move. Hell, she hadn't even complained about the lock for years! Before you start jumping to conclusions, let me give you the background- which I pretty much have to give any time someone sees my closet the first time. When I was a kid, I was terrified of my closet- typical kid stuff like "there's a man/monster in there!" I used to wake up my dad multiple times a night saying the closet door opened itself and I saw or heard something in there. He would come check, reassure me, and close the door. A few hours later, the same would repeat. Finally, my dad got sick of waking up 3 times a night and decided to put a lock on my closet, convinced I was either opening the door in my sleep or intentionally to get attention. A normal lock didn't work, but he was still convinced I was somehow picking the lock and opening the door. He installed one of those chain locks they have at hotels at a height I couldn't reach. I would still wake him up saying the door was cracked open. One night, my dad was up late and heard slamming coming from my room. He checked, and I was standing by my closet just opening and slamming the door in my sleep. The next day he installed a deadbolt, and he has slept soundly ever since. I am taking my parents' word for a lot of this, because I was only around 4 or 5 at the time- I remember running screaming to my parents' room a few times, but that's pretty much it. Anyway, bolting my closet became a nightly routine that I grew up with, and the few times I tried to stop, I would have awful nightmares and wake up to an open closet. I pretty much just resigned myself to bolting the door. When I moved out of my parents'house, I decided to give up the habit. My friends gave me crap about it since I was young, and the last thing I was going to do was bring a girl back to a room with a deadbolted closet- serious ac murderer vibes. I had the familiar nightmares I associated with the other times I had tried to quit, but I decided to push through it. I woke up to the closet door open so many times, that I stopped closing it at all. I started waking up in the middle of the night and seeing things in my closet. This shook me, but I would turn on the lights and see something to explain it away. For example, I would think I see a person and it would be my golf bag. I would hear scratching on the door and find a branch outside my window. I would hear "Warren" whispered and think it was just the AC kicking on. This pattern continued, but the "plausible explanations" became less plausible. I would see an unnaturally tall man in a bowler hat with twinkling eyes, and when I turned the light on, there would be a bowler hat with some Christmas ornaments...in July- and I've never bought a bowler hat. I looked for that hat in the daytime many times without finding it. I would hear whispers of "Warren, come join us. Join us" that would build up into yells, then mix in with the sound of my fan. One night, I woke to the bowler hat man. He let out a deep chuckle and then lunged from the door, bounding at me on all fours, limbs twisting at alarming angles. I turned on my lamp, and a bowler hat sat in the middle of my room. I went to a 24 hr Walmart, bought a deadbolt, and installed it the same night. I slept like a baby. Explanations be damned, I kept that lock on my closet in every apartment. Lizzy knows this and knows how terrified I am of the closet, but she won't let me put a deadbolt on. She says "it's time you get over this phobia". It has been a month since we moved in. The nightmares are back. The closet door is always open. I hear them whispering to me. "Come, come, join. We will dance together. We will shower in the red." I dreamt last night that I awoke wet, smelling metal. I walked to the bathroom and in the mirror I found myself drenched in blood. The bowler hat man stood behind me- smiling, pleased- and patted my shoulder. He rolled down and whispered in my ear, "yes, join us" This morning I woke up and the closet door was closed, but I was inside. I felt a peculiar feeling on my head and reached up to find I was wearing a bowler cap. I begged Lizzy today to let me put on my lock. She is insistent that this is all a fantasy of mine. I don't know what is happening, or what will happen next. I have to put the lock on. I can't last another night.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm an Animal Control Expert Who Specializes in Cryptids. One Cryptid is Entering Human Homes More Often Than Usual. This is a PSA. [RESPONSE] For years I was the guy to call if you had a squirrel in your attic. I mean, to a lot of people I’m still that guy but over the last 20 years I’ve branched out to other less common infestations. Now I’m the guy you call if there is a haunted doll rummaging through your attic or a sasquatch trampling your flowerbeds. I love my job. The specializations I’ve acquired have allowed me to travel across the country, meet incredible people and experience cryptids like few have ever done before. It doesn’t hurt that the pay is great, but the stories are even better. I have one short story for you now, its more of a public service announcement than anything else really. I’ve dealt with every sort of infestation from Sasquatches (spray Human urine around area of sighting and it will avoid the area), Demonic Presences (Usually need to bring a priest in. Sometimes can be tricked into inhabiting a lesser creature, like a frog), and Jackalopes (its just a bunny with some antlers! Put it in a cage and give the poor thing a carrot!) but recently there has been one cryptid that has been growing more and more invasive into human settlements – The Hidebehind. Most commonly found in the forests of the Northern United States and Canada the Hidebehind is one cryptid that cannot easily be dealt with. In fact, I’m not sure it’s even possible for one of these to be bagged and tagged like we normally would with other cryptids. To my knowledge no Hidebehind has ever been killed, maimed, dazed or even simply removed from a residence. Once it has made a claim to an area whether it be a local forest, a cave or even, in one particularly bloody case – a Bass Pro Shop, it will defend that area to the death. First documented by the Native Americans then by Lumberjacks in the PNW of America the hidebehind is one of the lesser known, but cryptids on the continent, but without a doubt, one of the most dangerous. No one really knows what they look like. As the name suggests, as soon as they are seen they quickly duck out of view to hide behind anything in the vicinity. In the wild, this would be trees and rocks, in your home this could be a corner, a kitchen cabinet, a television or literally anything else as they can manipulate their body to hide behind an object of any size. In the few accounts of the sightings we have on record they have been described as everything from a large bear/lion hybrid to a frail and elderly woman with long arms and rashes on her skin. Because of this wide discrepancy in their descriptions, they are believed to be shapeshifters that can change their shape based on what they believe will best get their potential victim to come closer and investigate the sighting. I don’t know why the Hidebehinds are moving into suburbs, I’d guess destruction of their natural habitat, but it is becoming a real problem. That’s why I am going to share this story with you now, so you know what to do if one shows up in your home. I pulled up to Tim’s house around 12pm on a Tuesday. He had called in to tell us there was a ‘demonic entity’ in his house and we needed to remove it ASAP. They always demand ASAP. Tim had nothing going on, but people are so much more demanding than they were 20 years ago. I took a quick look around the house and it was pretty apparent there wasn’t any sort of demon in his residence. Not only was there no reaction to the holy water and Ouija board I had brought with me, but Tim also didn’t have normal symptoms of a demonic haunting – bad dreams, sleep paralysis or the witnessing of any telekinetic events. After further questioning he described what he had seen in more detail: *First, I was sitting right there on the couch watching television when I got the feeling I was being watched. I turned my attention to the screen door and for just a second I saw a bear looking in through the screen, but it wasn’t a bear, you see? A bear would just keep on staring at me or keep poking at the door, but this thing just ducked out of view as quick as can be, like it was trying to sneak up on me and I had caught it in the act. It bothered me something awful, but I just grabbed my gun, set it on my lap and kept on watching the TV and eventually that feeling, like I was being watched, just kinda melted off.* *It was all peaches and cream until she showed up a few days later.* The ‘She’ Tim was referring to was a new ‘human’ form that the hidebehind was taking. I assume it was because of the lack of a reaction to the ‘bear’ form it had previously shown itself as. Like I said earlier, the Hidebehind wants you to look for it, to come nearer, like the Angler Fish, it dangles something in front of you in an attempt to bring you closer. It’s a lazy hunter. *I was out in the garage in my workshop and that feeling come over me again, that bein’ watched feeling. I turn around and I’m looking out the garage door and I don’t see nothing but then out of nowhere I see a lady’s head and shoulder pop out from the corner of the garage and the second she sees me eyeing her she pops right back around the corner where she came from. Well this time, I went looking ‘round for her. I gave a wide berth around the corner, cause I lived in New York City for a year in the 70’s so I’ve seen crazy people and she looked crazy and I didn’t want her grabbing me. So, I gave a wide berth around that corner and there wasn’t no one there. I walked all around the house and I didn’t see anyone. Not even footprints. Tell me that ain’t demonic.* It wasn’t demonic. It was a hidebehind and I told the man as such. I told him living out here on the edge of town made him an easy target for it. I told him that there really isn’t any way to get rid of them or scare them off. I told him he could try to leave his house for a year at minimum and maybe, with luck it would leave on its own, but the best bet would be for him to burn the place down and never come back. He didn’t like that answer. *My family lived in this house for 3 generations. I ain’t leaving and I sure as hell ain’t burning nothing down. I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’ll keep my shotgun on me and when I get that feeling again, I’ll shoot it. Works for bears and that’s the meanest thing ‘round these parts, don’t see why it wouldn’t work for this- what’d you call it?- hidebehind.* You can’t argue with anyone over the age of 65, people get set in their ways, their beliefs calcify, so instead I was honest with him. I told him two things: The first thing I told him was that eventually he’d get that feeling that he was being watched and he’d get his gun and he’d start looking around for the Hidebehind, only he wouldn’t find it. That’s what happens in all these cases, because at that point, it found the best hiding spot it can possibly get, the only place you won’t be able to lay eyes on it, even if you tried – directly behind you. And at that point, its too late for you. The second thing I told him was that I’d be back in two days and more than likely he’d be dead. And then I left. Two days later I pulled my van up Tim’s driveway to find the screen door open and blowing in the wind. I didn’t even need to cross the threshold of his house to find him. He was everywhere. On the floor, the ceiling, the walls. The smell was unbelievable. I poured some gasoline on the front porch and lit it with a match. The house was an inferno within 30 seconds. I got in my van and started to pull out of the driveway and I took one last look at the house and then beyond it out into the tree line where I saw, for just a split second, a young boy before he quickly pulled back and disappeared behind a thin little tree. I was hundreds of miles away by lunchtime. I say all of this to tell you, if you ever think you might have a Hidebehind in your house or even in the area, leave. Burn the place down if you can, so new people don’t move it. These things are like bears, if they know they can get food someplace they are just going to keep coming back. And if you get the feeling that you’re being watched and you can’t figure out why, call your loved ones, because it’s standing directly behind you.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I ran a Safe Haven for monsters [RESPONSE] ______ Going to Alcoholics Anonymous is very awkward with mortals. It’s not like I can properly explain my past. . “Hi, My name is Theo Sharpe. I run… well I used to run a . You know, werewolves, vampires, fae. Things that go bump in the night? Yeah well they are all real and guess what? They are all in danger now thanks to me. Long story really. My sanctuary was burnt to a crisp by the Lord Of Night, and the monsters that trusted me to protect them? I sold them into slavery with these twisted sorcerers called the Solomonari. But that’s fine. It’s cool because they all think I’m dead and I lost my powers so now I’m just a nobody here waiting to die like the rest of you.” Yeah that little introduction wouldn’t go very well. But I sit here and I listen to their little bitchy stories about how miserable they are because I can smell something supernatural in the area. I was drawn here after spending a few months in the Alps because of an anonymous tip from a Strigoi contact, who claimed that his clan was concerned about a new threat to the area. Vampires are very territorial and ordinarily I knew this stuff would be handled by their High Guards so I thought it was intriguing he tossed a bone my way. I wasn’t sure if it was because he felt sorry for me or because he just wanted to send me into a lion’s den and be shredded to pieces. But here I am, and of course, that means I’m exposed to any threat that recognizes me as a fake human. I mean, I am actually human now. Nocitifer took my powers of immortality. But what I mean is, I still have that distinct sense like others have that are near to magick and it’s not something you can mask with cologne. Sadly though, because I am mortal now, I can’t sense it as strongly as they can so I was definitely taking a risk by being here. But it’s not like I have anywhere else to go? Can’t go home. Don’t have one to go home to. I’m a nobody and I needed to matter somehow and I told myself that maybe getting in good with this vampire clan could give me a chance to find allies. If I ever wanted to go up against Noctifer I would need some of those. My attempts at contacting any High Fae ran dry after the first few weeks, thanks to my mortal status none of them wanted anything to do with me. They didn’t really care about the fact that the Bringer of Night was amassing a dark army to take them down either, which honestly made me want to say fuck them. But I can’t cause this isn’t really about them anyway. It’s about the creatures I swore to protect that used my safe haven. They deserve better than me, but I’m all they’ve got. Anyway, enough of that boring backstory shit. My current problems are far more worrisome anyway. Each time after an AA meeting I have followed one of the members for a few days to get an understanding of their schedules. I think I’ve narrowed down my list of suspects to three in the group that are probably supernatural creatures. There’s Todd, he’s a bit of an old school romantic and seems to think that the girl in his apartment should show him attention but won’t. Don’t know why that’s driven him to drink but with that narcissistic behavior I can’t help but to think he might have some werewolf genes. They tend to take what they want without regard for the human toll. Roberta is suspect number two, she doesn’t say much but it’s her silence and aversion to conversations that makes me think she might have a connection to my vampire friends. She never wants to be in group pictures and claims to have a skin disorder. Classic vampire profile. Probably a Moroi. This is a little tmi, but vampires have strict rules about feeding. This keeps their clans safe from human intrusion. So if a vampire was say, excessively preying on humans then it’s likely that the High Guard would be interested and bring them in rather quickly. The thing is, that’s their job and not mine. So I can’t imagine why my contact would think that I could take down a rogue clan member. The final suspect is Wilbur, he works at the docks and has been complaining a lot lately about having to work odd hours and getting no sleep. But when anybody asks about his job or what’s causing the insomnia, he clams up. The reason he’s on the list is because I went to his job just a few nights ago and it felt off, especially when it came to the security detail. Normal human establishments don’t care that much about security for a boating dock like this, so I figure they must be hiding something in the containers. Tonight the plan was to get closer and take pictures and figure out what was coming and going from the dock. I followed Wilbur and waited until he was already starting his shift, watching the calm Mediterranean and waiting for the boats to arrive. This shipment came around 2am, the only reason I recall the time is because alarms blared and I dropped my camera. I was half asleep in my car and felt like a fool wasting my time. I sent the photos to my contact though, just in case his well trained immortal eyes could see something I didn’t. To my surprise, his response came within moments. “What is Bucca Pharmaceuticals?” the text read. I glanced at the picture he sent, a zoomed in shot of the logo on the containers and texted back. “How should I know? You’re the expert here.” Then, before I could get another response, someone tapped on my window. My heart was pounding a bit, fearful that I had been spotted and I rolled it down to politely nod at the bay guard. “Hello there. Lovely evening isn’t it?” I said as I gestured toward the bay. His demeanor told me he wasn’t buying it. “I suppose I should get going then…” “You’re coming with me,” the blocky man said as he reached into my car window and slammed my head against the steering wheel. A second later he was grabbing my car door and ripping it off, pulling me legs first onto the concrete. “Just who the hell sent you?” The guard snarled as he kicked me in the thighs. Used to be I wouldn’t need to give two shits about being messed around with like this, I could take a hit and keep going. But now I’m mortal. Now I knew that I wouldn’t be walking straight the next morning. Still, I did my best to remain silent as he slammed me against my car and said, “Won’t talk eh? That’s all right. We can find a way to make you talk.” He slammed my head so hard against the roof of my car I blacked out. When I woke, I was strapped down to a metal chair inside the warehouse and some of his bosses were coming to check me out. “What do we have here?” The first man said as he adjusted his sunglasses and got a good look at me. I tried my best to look unfrightened. But it didn’t last long. “He has contact with the Clan Reinhardt, I couldn’t determine who. Seems that he was sent to spy on us,” the guard said, tossing my burner phone to the boss. “Interesting. Seems that they are getting pretty desperate if they hire simpletons like you,” the man said dropping the phone and crushing it with his boot. “What’s in the containers?” I said focusing on my mission. I knew that my instincts about them were right and despite calling them out, the criminals didn’t seem too concerned by the revelation. “Considering the fact that you’re working with Reinhardt I suppose a peek behind the curtain couldn’t hurt,” the man said. He seemed to be amused by the thought of revealing their secret before torturing me to death. He was relishing the idea of whatever nightmares they had hidden being unveiled to me before I was made to suffer. And when I saw what was in the containers I understood why. There were other vampires here, lower foundlings or newbloods as they were often called each being suspended upside down on silver chains above deep purple tanks of water. The tanks were filled up enough so that each of the vampires could be plunged into it over and over again, held down and forced to thrash about as they were repeatedly drowned. Of course since these creatures couldn’t die from such an experience I immediately understood the purpose of this chamber was for their suffering. The men in charge were cutting them with crosses and stakes, jabbing their bodies full of holes and then allowing their blood to taint the tank full of water. And as we went toward the back of the container I saw they had set up an ordinary tank just for me. “You’re going to tell us exactly what the Reinhardt’s know about our little operation, and you’re going to tell us now,” the boss said. “They don’t know anything. Only that you’ve been considered a threat,” I admitted. I wasn’t sure why I told the truth. Maybe I thought it might buy me a few more seconds. “Oh are we? Well I suppose that’s good to know we are making progress,” the man snickered. “You’ll regret ever becoming a thrall for them,” he added as he lowered the chains around my neck. I saw something in his eyes that gave away his true nature and thought I might try a different tactic. “I am not a thrall. I was sent to report for them on behalf of the Alliance,” I told him softly. The man hesitated, clearly surprised I knew anything about this. “And they trusted a mortal?” he asked. “I am merely in disguise. You should let me go, before they find out that you have been breaking the treaty,” I told him. He thought about, his eyes dilating a bit as he reconsidered if his little illegal operation was worth dying for. “I think you're bluffing. Besides which once you die the Alliance won’t know what happened and we can disappear like we have before,” he declared. Then he raised me up by the chains and I felt the air knock out of my lungs. I was dangling like a prized ham, struggling to breath as he commented something else that I couldn’t hear. Then I was dumped into the icy water, trying my best to hold my breath as the depths surged around me. I felt the chains tighten around my neck as I thrashed and watched them outside the water, the murkiness inside the liquid revealing their true bodies. Their skin was scaly and silver and blue, similar to fish skin and their eyes were wide and bulby. No hair and open slits around their neck told me my guess was right. These were merfolk. It was a comforting thought right before I drowned. But that is not what happened. As I was just about to black out I heard a sharp whistle from above. The merfolk heard it too. They looked up and I saw a large shadowy figure drop from the warehouse rafters. In a flash the strange apparition attacked them. Their oily green blood spilling out across the warehouse floor as the creature attacked each of them, leaving nothing left but quivering fish guts. Then I felt the strong pounding of a fist against the glass. I watched as the shadow smashed open the tank, spilling me out onto the floor and causing me to cough and gasp for life. As my eyes adjusted back to the world I saw the carnage and looked up at my savior, the vampire that had contacted me in the first place. “Sergei, you’re a little late,” I said as I coughed up more blood. “Bucca Pharmaceuticals is owned by renegade merfolk,” the tall pale figure said as he stared at the crimson flowing from my hand. “Figured that out did ya?” Then I paused and realized the blood might be too strong for him to resist. “You’re.:. Not hungry are you?” I said hesitantly. He looked away and adjusted his clothes before commenting, “Quite full actually.” “Well. That’s good then.” “You’re welcome,” he said with a whisper and added, “You performed your duty well, despite your current status.” “Is that a thank you?” I asked as I studied my injuries. I would probably be out of commission for a week. “By the way, how exactly do you guys pay? Please tell me your clan uses PayPal,” I mumbled as I looked up but he was already gone. I walked out of the warehouse with bruises and no clue what this issue might have been or if I was any closer to gaining a foothold in the vampire world. But I guess it’s a new beginning, and they all have to start somewhere.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm Never Eating At A Buffet Again... [RESPONSE] We have a tradition of going to buffet for my birthday dinner. As I got older it became harder to get my small family together for a meal. My brother left for school and my parents both got pretty into their jobs. When the day came, I got lucky and my brother came back for a weekend. My parents far busy but promised we could do dinner later with just them and I accepted the offer. If I went out with them later, I could go with my bother now so I got two birthday dinners. I picked out the place I wanted to eat at. There was a Chinese buffet pretty close by that I loved. The food was great and they had some aquariums with massive Koi inside for people to watch while they ate. They place looked beautiful as well. The entire restaurant covered in red and gold making me wonder why it wasn’t a more popular spot. The hostess silently directed us to an empty table. Besides the workers, we were the only one inside. For how good the food was I felt bad that this place wasn’t packed. We got our drinks and went to load up our plates. The dinner was fairly normal for a while. I roasted my brother in the way only a little sister could. He pretended to be annoyed but had fun hanging out after being away for so many months. We tried to stay quiet though so we wouldn’t disrupt the serves slow night shift. I swore I needed to come by this restaurant more often after eating two plates of different meat dishes. The food had no reason being this good. Soon I started to get full, leaving a few pieces of mushrooms and noodles on my plate. My brother had half a slice of cake on his. We sat and talking for a few more minutes waiting for our stomach to settle before attempting to clean the last few bites. As we talked, someone else came in and sat at a table near ours. I glanced over at him unable to help myself. I’ve never seen a person like him before. His skin dark, but hair golden. His eyes a bright blue, almost white. It made them look fake and I didn’t know why someone would wear colored contacts to go out alone for dinner. The wait staff suddenly started to act weird. They whispered something to the man sitting down and nodded towards us. I met my brother’s eyes to see if he wanted to leave or stay to watch what this was all about. The man said something in a low voice I couldn’t make out and waved off the waiter's concerns. The waiter gave us an almost scared look for half a second, then hurried away. I looked around to see that almost everyone working in the place suddenly started to hover nearby. The man dressed in a dark red vest with gold pin stripe threads. His shirt buttoned up all the way to his chin making his neck look stiff. He rolled up his shirt sleeves to the elbows in such a neat way and buttoned them in place with glittering golden buttons. We both did our best to not stare, finding it hard. He didn’t seem to notice the other two people looking at him. The stranger sat stiff and proper, waiting for something. The server came over with two plates in his hands piled with stir fried rice and some sweet and sour chicken. I gave my brother another look wondering who this guy was that made him so important a buffet server would bring food to him. The plates were set down and the man started to eat, then more servers came over. My mouth dropped open as more plates were set down. Soon the entire table was covered with dishes over loaded with different kinds of food. I couldn’t finish even a plate and a half of what been placed down in front of this man. Did this guy have friends coming by? No, the table he sat at only could hold four people. This was way more food than what four people could eat. In the time the plates been set down the man finished the first two. He set the cleared plate aside and the server scooped them up for more to be set down in their place. This man wasn’t big. He looked rail thin and yet he already ate more than what myself and my brother did in two minutes after sitting down. We should have paid our bill and left but we sat in our seats transfixed at the sight before us. We no longer tried to hide staring at this man eating. Another four plates set aside and the servers were sweating. They were acting as if a wild animal came inside but needed to act professional serving it. The music that played over some sort of hidden system cut out letting us hear the sounds of his cutlery against his plates and faintly a dishwasher running somewhere in the kitchen. Oddly enough, the man wasn’t making any disgusting chewing sounds. Well, until he got to the shrimp plate. The restaurant served whole shrimp with the head still attached. I’ve never tried eating them before. The man didn’t take the heads off. he just shoved the whole thing in his mouth and I could hear the shells crunching as he chewed. I already lost track of how much food he’d already eaten. I caught my brother’s eyes again and he mouthed a silent ‘What the fuck’. His face pale and I assumed my own expression was the same look of horror. The strange man got to a place of some sweet and sour short ribs. They honestly were my favourite thing served at the restaurant and I tensed up waiting to see if he ate them the same way he ate the shrimp. Shells were one thing, but bones? There was no way he was going to eat the bones. We both stared, mouths open as he ate through the pile with no issue at all. Bones and all. The sound of his teeth cracking against the ribs the only thing echoing inside the restaurant. This was insane. There was no way someone could eat like this. We had a chance to just leave. I doubted the owners would care if we fled without paying our bill by then. There was no way to figure out how much he ate with all the empty plates being taken away. We lost track of time but I think it wasn’t very long. This man ate more than what some people did in six months in under an hour. Finally, all the plate were removed and replaced by clean empty ones covering his table. He turned his head to meet our gazes. I nearly screamed having the set of bright eyes on us. We both froze, unable to move when he stood up, adjusting his vest. Even after eating so much, he didn’t make a mess. No drips of sauce on his vest, or at the corners of his mouth. He took the few steps to come over to our table, a smile on his face that made my body want to fold onto itself. He stopped and placed a hand on the back of my chair, trying to look as friendly as possible. I wanted to scream. I looked up my brother silently begging him to do something. His hand went to his butter knife, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white. If this man tried anything to his little sister, he might attack him. Thank God for older brothers. “I am sorry you both needed to witness all of that. It must have been unnerving for you, but I this restaurant had a wonderful dessert prepared for me tonight and I needed to come in right away.” The stranger spoke, his voice sweet and with a hint of a southern accent. “You... ate the bones...” I choked out unable to say anything else. “Oh yes. I am able to digest things like that. One should always clean their plates. It’s an insult to the chefs and the food otherwise.” He said and his eyes fell on our plates. We still had a few things left over. I started to sweat. My chest getting tight waiting for him to do something. My mind going crazy with thoughts of what the hell this man really was and what he would do to us for not finishing our meals. “But I suppose a few pieces left behind isn’t the end of the world. After all, you did see something a bit strange. It’s understandable to not finish your dinner with your stomach upset. I’ll pay for your meals as an apology. I do know that my eating habits are a bit different from your own.” He said his friendly tone never wavering. I sighed and my brother relaxed his grip on the knife. I wanted to leave and nearly did so when I saw his face twist into horror. He saw something before I did and I heard a sound of muffled screaming. I tensed again, praying that if I didn’t move nothing would happen. The sound got closer and out of the corner of my eyes, I saw the servers dragging a bound man through the empty dining room. He struggled harder when he got closer to the table of empty plates. His pleas for help hidden under the cloth stuffed in his mouth and wrapped around his head. “Oh, there is my special dessert now. This one was found trying to climb into a window of a child in the dead of night. It seems that wasn’t the first time he's done so. Just the first time he was caught.” My dinner threatened to come back up hearing those words. I let myself watch the servers place the struggling bound man on the table and on the plates. He broke a few as they forced him still. He kicked and thrashed, causing some of the broken shards to cut his clothing. The stranger didn’t mind. He turned from our table to go back to his with a new meal. I only stayed long enough to watch the stranger's mouth literally unhinge from his jaw. I knew he wouldn’t eat his dessert as neat and proper as he did with his dinner. I grabbed my bother by the wrist and dragged him out of that place, letting out a small scream when I heard the first sounds of the stranger biting down. We got into his car and got the hell out of there, neither of us speaking. We didn’t even notice my brother accidentally stole the butter knife until we got back home. We threw it out, not wanting the thing in the house. It took hours for either of us to finally speak to each other. “Do you want to... Go to the movies instead of dinner for your birthday next year?” My brother asked in a shaking voice. I nodded agreeing with him. It sucks that I could never eat at that restaurant again. I really liked their sweet and sour short ribs.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Hundreds of People Enter The Corn Maze In My Small Midwestern Town. Not All Of Them Come Out Again. [RESPONSE] The maze appears at the same time and place every year– Although nobody alive could say who makes it. When the mists clear on the morning of September 23rd, it's always there, like a man-sized cut in the solid wall of Joshua Brock’s far cornfield. The Brocks were here long before the first white faces came riding up from the river with their guns, smallpox, and whiskey. I reckon they’ll be here long after the rest of us are gone, too. In all that time, the Brocks’ farm has neither grown nor shrunk–an’ how could it, seein’ as how it's bordered on three sides by the weird stretch of trees that old folks call the *‘Hagswood?’* It’s in *that* field, the one butting up against those twisted trees, where the maze appears. Between sunrise and sunset, it’s a normal corn maze. Hell, some people even let their kids play there. From dusk ‘til dawn, however…well, that’s something else. There have always been legends about the maze. About how anything ‘lectric–from phones to drones to flashlights–goes dead the moment it approaches that wall of corn. About the gruesome fates of those who attempt to cut, burn, or otherwise interfere with the maze. About the single wish that’s granted to anyone who makes it through the maze at night. That last rumor is the reason for the carnival atmosphere that gets hold of our town this time of year. Folks come from all over. Celebrities. Saudi Princes. Official-lookin’ types in long black cars. Drunken teenagers from a few counties over, tryin’ to win a bet or impress a girl. We locals just set up our lawn chairs in front of the maze, enjoy the smell of corn husk and woodsmoke, and listen to the dyin’ leaves of the Hagswood rustle in the wind. Our kids bob for apples or paint pumpkins while we watch the parade of out-of-towners. Sometimes they come lookin’ scared, like somethin’s after’em and they’d give *anythin’* to get away from it. Others have a darkness about’em, like they’re hungry for revenge. A few walk carelessly into the corn, laughing at fate– But it doesn’t matter. They all end up in the same place. Most who go in never come out again. Even if they do, there’s more than one way to grant a wish. I remember this one fella who came all the way from California. *He* made it through, and all he wanted was to get the Leukemia out of his little girl. When he got home, it was out all right. It had ripped itself right outta her in little chunks that splattered all over the carpet of their home on the oceanfront. The way I heard it, he jumped off a cliff afterwards. Then there was the local girl who wished for a perfect boyfriend who’d love her forever. She got’im too, ‘cept that he was a life-sized porcelain doll. She said her handsome doll moved when folks weren’t lookin,’ and did terrible things. Wouldn’t let’er out of his sight. Last I saw of that awful thing was when she begged all the men in town to burn it for her. Maybe I’m goin’ senile, but I’d swear I heard it scream inside the flames. I never figured myself for one of the fools who risked the corn maze. Not ‘til I had no other choice. *‘Early Onset Dementia’* was the diagnosis. I’m lucky I have a straightforward small-town doctor who told it to me plain: *“By the end of it, you won’t even recognize yourself.”* The whiskey I drank when I got home tasted like ashes. It tasted bitter as my future. I’d worked my ass off all my life, *an’ for what?!* To be robbed of my golden years? I drank until my lips were numb, until bad ideas started to make sense. The full moon was high above the fields that night. *A slow spiral into hell or a walk through an endless maze, what’s the difference?* Or so I thought then. I was halfway to the Brocks’ farm before I even realized I was behind the wheel. I was *that* drunk. Time an’ again, the little voice in the back of my head–my conscience, or whatever ya wanna call it–told me to pull off the road, sleep it off, that things would look better come mornin.’ Time an’ again, I ignored it. Not ‘til I was standin’ in front of the wall of corn did I have second thoughts. I didn’t even know what I’d *wish for* if I made it through. There I was, a fifty-six year old man, believin’ in wishes–although in *that* atmosphere, it was *easy* to believe. The corn seemed taller and thicker in the moonlight. It seemed to shake with excitement when I got close, like a hungry dog eager to gnaw on an old bone. I took a deep breath. The air smelled like wet dirt and rotten leaves. That pesky little voice piped up again, telling me that this was my last chance to stay in the sane an’ honest world of livin’ folks. The whiskey told it to shut up, an’, well– The whiskey won. My momma used to tell me to never get myself into anythin’ I couldn’t get out of again, but by the time I thoughta her, the maze had closed up behind me. That’s when reality set in. I didn’t panic, didn’t try to shove my way out through the plants. I knew what happened to the ones who tried. I knew about how the stalks wrapped around’em, strangled’em, snapped’em like twigs. How they sunk into the soggy black dirt. I knew ‘cuz, well, it *might* be a lie to say that *everyone* in town avoided the Brocks’ corn maze. A few foolhardy souls had gone in, and fewer had returned. They were tight-lipped about what they’d seen–and what they’d wished for. We were never sure if those were the conditions of their escape, or if what they’d experienced was just too awful to talk about. Even so, rumors trickled down over the years. Warnings of what to avoid. Suggestions on how to proceed. In the shadow of those tall stalks, I wished I’d paid attention. At least I’d remembered not to panic or touch the plants, and the chill air was sobering me up fast. When I started walking, my feet squelched in the black and boggy earth. Soon as I could, I took a right–toward the heart of the maze. The stories said that you had to pass through the darkest part of the maze before you could come out the other side. If you stayed on the edges, the distances would play funny tricks with your mind, and you’d wander there forever. *What else had the stories said?* There was something about a Veiled Woman, and Painted Man, and– Soon as I thought of it, I heard it. *The Whistler.* Hell, maybe *thinking of it* is what gives it power. I stepped on a corn stalk, and when it broke with a hideous crack, the sound was behind me: gentle, casual whistling. It was far off, but getting closer by the minute. I picked up my pace. The Whistler whistled faster. *How the hell had folks gotten away from it?* I tried to remember. I thought back to bein’ a kid, gathered with the others ‘round Abby DeMille’s porch. She’d run into the Whistler when she’d tried her luck in the maze, back in ‘85: “If you hear whistlin’ in the corn maze,” she’d told us, “take a turn and let it pass on by. Don’t look, don’t speak. Just *wait.* And remember: *‘when the whistlin’s gone, it’s safe to move on.’*” I slowed my pace to a walk. The Whistler slowed down too, but it was still gaining on me. I saw a turn up ahead. Behind the corner of the corn-wall, I stood stock-still and listened. The whistling wavered. It sounded confused, like it was irritated that it missed me. I began to hear something else, too: a low scraping sound, like claws or rusty metal being dragged over dirt. Abby had told us not to look…but I couldn’t help it. Risin’ in up in the starry sky above the constalks, I saw a huge scythe go passin’ by as Whistler continued on its way. The blade was caked with dark stains and chunks of meat…I didn’t look around the corner after that. I didn’t wanna see any more. I don’t think I breathed again ‘til it was gone...and I continued on my way. Time works different in the maze. Sometimes the folks that walk in between dusk and dawn come out just a few minutes later, but they’re thin and gray as though they’d aged twenty years. Then there’s cases like Clayton Halstead, who went into the maze in ‘51 and and came out in 2006. *He* hadn’t aged a day. Before he ate a bullet on Christmas Eve, Clayton used to say there were *rooms* inside the maze. Square areas cut outta the corn. As to what might be in them, he didn’t like to say. Only once, when he was plastered outta his mind at Al’s Bar, did Clayton make a single, mysterious comment. “Know what fellas?” he’d burped and looked down into his bottle. “Sometimes, when I’m sittin’ on this bar stool with you all, this cushion gets to feelin’ like hay, and the beer starts to smell like straw. An’ I get the most godawful feelin’ that I’m *not really here,* but instead, I’m back *there,* surrounded by neverendin’ walls of corn. Makes me afraid you’ll all just…*disappear*…and the moon’ll be high above me, and I’ll realize..*.”* at that point, he’d always shake his head and order another drink. He’d keep that up ‘til he fell offa his stool. I thought of Clayton because I saw one of those *‘rooms’* on my right, a little further down the path where I’d hid from the Whistler. It was nothing like what he'd described. Instead of bales of hay, I was lookin' at a buncha old-fashioned furniture set up on the wet grass: a polished dark wood table, high-backed chairs, and fine china that gleamed in the moonlight. Steam was comin' outta a silver pot, like somebody was about to have a tea party… I got the hell outta there and went back to my path. Or at least, I thought I did. That's another thing about the maze. The paths…*change.* I had been going straight when I’d turned the corner, but when I went back, I found *three* paths, all leading away from where I wanted to go. If the paths changed, I reckoned, there was no sense tryin’ to remember which one I’d taken. I chose one at random and kept walking. There was no sound but wind in the corn, no scent but rotting stalks–and nuthin’ to see but two endless walls of green. That was another thing Abby DeMille used to say, back when we were kids gathered around her porch: *“the green gets to you.”* Now I knew what she meant. I felt something beneath the sole of my boot, something hard and sharp. *Bones.* Ribs, broken femurs, whole spines. There were so many of ‘em that I couldn’t be sure what sorta animal they’d come from. I had a feeling I knew, but… *Where were the heads?* Black wings flapped around my head. A hard beak struck my cheek, then my brow– I felt warm blood and *knew* that it was going for my eyes. I swatted at the mass of black feathers, and as it circled around for another swoop, I realized what I was lookin’ at: a vulture, or maybe two. I’d never seen one of those hideous things up close before. Carrion birds, eaters of the dead, with heads like strips of raw meat and beady black eyes. I didn’t know they grew so large…and I’d never heard of’em attackin’ the living… *Unless it figured I was dead already.* I had to keep moving. I used my jacket as a makeshift whip to smack away those awful beaks. They swooped again and again, always goin’ for the eyes, until I left the bone-covered strip of dirt behind. The cawin’ faded, and I was left alone with my bleeding face and pounding heart. Nobody ever mentioned anythin’ about *vultures.* Or bones. I thought of folks like Clayton, who’d walked out of the maze years later. How many trials like that had *he* faced…and how many more were ahead of *me?* When liquid courage had sent me struttin’ into the corn, I’d figured on dyin.’ With my diagnosis, it didn’t scare me a bit. Bein’ trapped in here *forever,* on the other hand… *Maybe those bones were what was left of the lucky ones.* I walked on, always turnin’ toward the heart of the maze… ‘Though, I had to admit, I no longer had any real idea of where that might be. The sun should’ve risen…but it didn’t. Without it, there was no way to tell how long I’d been inside the maze. No way, ‘cept for my own hunger and thirst. If I hadn’t been so focused on feelin’ sorry for myself, I might have noticed it: the way the corn opened up on either side. By the time I realized I’d walked into one of the *‘rooms,’* it was too late. When I turned around, I was lookin’ at a wall of green. I *had* to cross the room. Nothin’ to be afraid of, I told myself. Just some too-perfect grass, gourds and pumpkins, some bails of hay… *And a stuffed man with a painted face.* Rhett Carlson had talked about The Painted Man, that Wizard-of-Oz lookin’ scarecrow with a face that looked like it had been drawn on by a disturbed child. When he’d come out the other side of the maze, Rhett’s simple wish had been to win the lottery. He’d only had a few years to enjoy it before his wife Marla had him killed to collect on his life insurance policy. Rhett had a single piece of advice about the Painted Man: *“Whatever it does, ignore it.”* But *I* had already stopped to look at that freaky oversized scarecrow. When I did, the Painted Man’s face snapped in my direction. It stood on straw-filled feet… Despite the awful sound of its creaking limbs, I ignored it. I kept my eyes on the opening of the maze– Even when I heard its hay-stuffed arms extending horrifically across the grass. Even when I felt its fake-gloved hands slithering up my legs. The Painted Man patted and prodded me like, like a blind man tryin’ to identify something by touch. If it got to my face–if it realized that I was human–I figured I was done for. I could feel its raspy, wheezing breath on my neck… *And I whistled.* “The Farmer In The Dell:” the same tune as the Whistler. It wasn’t dead-on accurate… But it was pretty close. I couldn’t see what the Painted Man was doing behind me, but I got a feeling that it was bowin’ low and backin’ away slowly. But I had bigger problems. Somewhere far across the maze, the Whistler had heard me..and it had whistled back. Now it was rushing toward me at an insane speed. I grabbed my knees to keep myself from running, and turned a corner quick as I could. My pursuer paused and whistled nervously. That sickening scythe bobbed above the corn. It stood still, doubting–I could tell by the pitch. *It was lookin’ for me.* That wasn’t supposed to happen–it was supposed to keep on walkin’–but then again, maybe *I’d* broken the rules first by whistling. The leaves of corn tickled my back, and I knew I couldn’t go back any further without being swallowed by the maze. I shut my eyes tight, and somethin’ passed me by. Somethin’ that sounded like draggin’ metal and reeked of death. When I went to move again, though, I nearly fell over. I was dizzy from hunger and thirst– But did I dare to eat or drink anything in the maze? The room with the Painted Man was behind me, at least… Even if the scummy puddles along the path were startin’ to make me thirsty. There was another room up ahead: dark wood furniture, a tablecloth, a tea pot.. *No. It couldn’t be, but somehow...*I was right back where I started. I dropped to my knees in the mud and cried like a baby. I didn’t think I’d have the *strength* to try a different path. I wasn’t sure I’d have the strength to *stand up* again. I was crawlin’ in the muck, miserable as a man could be, when I heard a noise that sounded an awful lot like *tea* bein’ poured. My eyes snapped open. I looked into the room. A figure had appeared in one of the high-backed chairs. From head to toe, it was draped with an enormous black veil. WIth a black-gloved feminine hand, it placed one tea cup in front of me, and another in front of itself. *Come.* Its voice, a woman’s voice, beckoned to me from inside my head. Dizzily, I got to my feet and ambled over to the high backed chair across from her. There was a platter of cookies and cakes between us, lit by the bone-white glow of the moon. *Eat. Drink. It is the perfect night for a moon-viewing party, don’t you think?* I didn’t say anything, but the Veiled Woman didn’t seem to mind. My stomach growled. I blew on the steaming cup of tea and reached out for a little flower-shaped cake. I happened to look to my right– And my hand froze above the silver platter. I wasn’t the only one attending this weird party. Beside me, a man sat with his spine perfectly straight, staring upward. His eyes were round as marbles, and the skin beneath his old-fashioned farmer’s clothes was all as dry an’ hollow as a corn husk, but he was still breathin.’ It was like he’d been mummified alive. The thirteen-year-old cheerleader a few chairs down the table, the Mexican teenager across from her, the soldier in a getup from the first World War on my left–they all looked just like the man beside me. Livin’ goddamn skeletons, wide-eyed, with the skin still on. Half-drunk cups of tea and pastry crumbs moldered on silver plates in front of them. I drew my hand away from the platter of cakes. The Veiled Woman seemed disappointed. *What is it that you want?* She asked inside my head. “I just wanna go home,” I answered honestly. *Really?* There was surprise in that raspy, whisperin’ voice. *That’s ALL you want? You won’t be able to change your mind again later, you know…* I hadn’t forgotten about the fatal diagnosis or what would come after, but I’d discovered that there were things worse than death…maybe even worse than losin’ your mind… And they walked the shadowy paths of the Brock’s corn maze. I nodded to the Veiled Woman. With a shrug, she waved a black-gloved hand. The rustlin’ green stalks behind her parted. In the misty field on the other side, I could *just* make out the outline of my truck, drunk-parked diagonally in the dirt lot in front of the maze. The Veiled Woman watched me leave, but when I turned around again, there was nothin’ behind me but a wall of corn. When I tell folks about the maze, they usually reckon I’ve lost my damn fool mind. Even folks who’ve lived in town for years and know all about the Brocks’ weird cornfield don’t *really* believe I’ve been inside it. After all, if I had–where’s my wish? Some nights, sittin’ on my porch and lookin’ up at the moon, I think that was the trick all along: the only way to safely leave the corn maze was to wish for that, and nothin’ more. But on other nights, when the trees rustle strangely and that big ol’ moon seems to bright and silvery to be real…I wonder if maybe I’m wrong about the maze... *I wonder if I ever really left it at all.* <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] [PART 2] I'm an investigative journalist with a special interest in unsolved homicides & missing persons cases. I need help with a case. [RESPONSE] [\[READ PART 1 HERE\]]( Before I could even scream, it was like a spell broke, and everything snapped back to normal. I could hear birds chirping in the trees and kids getting off a school bus somewhere behind me. The breath on my neck was gone. I cast one last glance at the memorial, ready to run back to my car and drive away from this place without looking back, but my heart stopped. The rabbit, the carving on the cross, and the blood was gone. The blood was gone from my wrist, too. I backed away, gripped with fear, and then turned and ran, stumbling over twigs and leaves in my path, running as fast as I could until I made it back to my car and then drove with no direction, no intention, except to get away. It was over an hour before I calmed down enough to think straight. I had no explanation for what had just happened. I kind of wanted to push it to the back of my head, leave this place, and never think about this again. I drove back to the inn where I'd been staying, planning to pack my bags and leave town immediately. Whatever spooky shit was going on here, I didn't want any part of it. I wasn't an idiot. I wasn't going to be the fool who dies first in the horror movie. Much to my surprise, Jerry O'Rourke was waiting for me in the lobby of the inn. "Uh, hi," I said, trying not to sound like I just had the most bone-chilling experience of my life. He skipped the pleasantries. "I have something for you." He handed me an enormous envelope. "You'll find that most everyone at the station is rather less than eager to discuss this case, but one of my trainees was just promoted, and I called in a favor." He tapped the envelope. "This is everything they have, as far as I know. If you need anything else from the police, ask for Jason." He tipped his hat at me, and left. I stood in the lobby, staring at this envelope in my hands. Five minutes ago, I had been dead-set on getting the hell out of dodge. But I was still a journalist, and an entire police file on the murder I was investigating was too delicious not to at least look at. I brought it up to my room and pored over it. Before I tell you about the police report, I want to tell you a few other things I dug up about this case that I forgot to mention. My first day here, I paid a visit to the local newspaper archives at the library. There were three articles that I found particularly intriguing: >November 5, 2015 **THE KENT GAZETTE** > >EYEWITNESSES CALL KENT HIGH STUDENTS’ MURDER “PARANORMAL” The reporter had interviewed two people who had been on the scene right after the bodies were found. Helen Jones’s scream of terror had alerted neighbors, who came running, and a small crowd had gathered by the time the police got there, although most everyone backed away once they realized what they were looking at. Karen McIntyre, a 46-year-old mother of four and local substitute teacher, stated with conviction that this was “clearly paranormal” and “there were forces at work here,” although she didn’t really explain what either of those things meant. She did say, “I think we all know who the police should be looking at right away,” but the article ended there, as though the readers would know whom she was talking about. >November 17, 2015 **THE KENT GAZETTE** > >KENT HIGH SCHOOL STUDENTS’ DEATHS OFFICIALLY RULED HOMICIDE Up until the police report, this article gave me the most hard evidence I had so far, and it was bizarre. Although the autopsies confirmed that this was definitely a homicide, no causes of death were officially determined for any of the victims. Which is so weird, because Jerry said that all three bodies bore evidence of brutal, fatal injuries to their heads, necks, and torsos. How could they not tell how they died? >December 4, 2015 **THE KENT GAZETTE** > >UNDERAGE SUSPECT ARRESTED FOR HALLOWEEN TRIPLE HOMICIDE This article didn’t name Victor Knight, but it did describe the suspect as a “disturbed young person” and said that the injuries inflicted on the victims were “consistent with potential murder weapons found in the suspect’s kitchen, basement, and garage.” Now, back to the police report. This thing was a mess. There was virtually no organization, which made it very difficult to parse. I found the autopsy report first, and while I could have lived without seeing those photographs, I did learn something very interesting: the bodies were so badly mutilated, in so many different ways, and in such quick succession, that it was impossible for the medical examiner to be certain which injuries were ultimately fatal. In fact, they at first thought the bodies had been partially consumed by animals before they were found, although that was ruled out by the medical examiner. Reading this, I thought, if they were so badly mutilated, how were they even identified? The photographs, unfortunately, answered this question for me: the bodies were mutilated, but the faces of the victims were left entirely intact. Whoever did this wanted them recognizable. The police report told me a few other things I didn't know. There were a number of strange things about the scene. One was that all three bodies had their mouths and pockets stuffed with whole, peeled cloves of fresh garlic. The dirt around them had been marked, as though someone were writing in it with a stick, but not in a language anyone recognized. And the scene was littered with dead animals. I shivered, thinking of the rabbit. That spot in the woods was full of dead squirrels, rabbits, chipmunks, birds, and so on, and for weeks, as though every small creature in the area died suddenly. The police report described some of them as having "unusual wounds," which made me think of the rabbit's slit throat, but others seemed to have simply fallen out of the trees, dead as doornails. It seemed that no one bothered to perform any squirrel autopsies to find out what killed them. The last thing I found in the police report that night was about Victor Knight and the case the police built against him. I've already talked about how Victor was a really big eleven-year-old, and how the victims were really small, especially for varsity athletes. Jerry had told me that Victor's older sister, Haley, was also a cheerleader, and she was bullied by the other cheerleaders and eventually killed herself. The police report gave me more details: Haley was the youngest member of the varsity cheerleading squad, and there was a lot of tension over her because the older members of the team were jealous of her. That's where a lot of the bullying came from, and it seemed like rumors were spread about her with all kinds of vicious lies. Haley was bullied relentlessly by the whole student body, it seemed, and yet she remained on the cheerleading team until the day she died. That seemed so strange to me. If being a cheerleader was the reason she was tormented, why not drop off the squad? Victor was four years younger than Haley, but he was very protective over her, for some reason. His parents were interviewed by the police and said that Haley was his favorite person in the world and they were very close. He was devastated when she died, and said all kinds of horrible things about hurting the people who hurt Haley. That's where his motive for the murders came from, getting revenge for his sister. However, the Knights' parents also talked about how Haley was profoundly depressed long before the bullying started, long before she tried out for the varsity cheerleading team. They had tried to get her help, but they said it was almost as though she was afraid of something. *Afraid.* That seemed like such a strange way to describe a depressed person. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring mindlessly out the window into the blackness behind the hotel, thinking. Something moved outside, and I blinked, startled, at the flash of something light-colored outside. But it was gone as quickly as it happened. I stood up and went closer to the window, looking for whatever it was. There was nothing out there, it was just flat blackness. Too black, actually. There was no light, no shadow, no dimension. Just pure, deep blackness. I squinted into it, too confused to be afraid, until two things happened at once. An ear-piercing scream shattered the room, and at the same moment there was a flash of lightning across the window that caused me to leap back in fright. I collided with the bed and stumbled to the floor. I curled up against the night stand, heart pounding, the echo of the lightning flash emblazoned on the inside of my eyelids. Who had screamed? Was it me? I went to the door and opened it, expecting to see people rushing about, trying to find out who was hurt or what was going on. But there was nothing. A maid walked by pushing a cart. "Excuse me," I said. "Did you hear that?" "Hear what?" "The...you didn't hear anyone scream?" She shook her head, looking at me kind of weird. "No...?" I nodded. "Great." I went back into the room and shut the door. What the fuck just happened? I sat on the bed for a minute, the open window like a gaping wound into the darkness. A cold breeze shot through the room and I got up to close the window before it hit me -- why the hell was the window open? I shut it and went to pull the blinds but before I did I noticed that the hotel windows cast squares of light across the grass, and the stars blinked bright overhead. It wasn't even cloudy. Why was there lightning? Why couldn't I see the lights from the hotel earlier? What the fuck was going on? I locked the window, pulled the blinds, drew the curtains, and then went to the door and made sure it was locked too. On an impulse, I dragged the dresser over to block the door. Probably a fire hazard, but it made me feel safe enough to get in bed. It was too late to drive home now anyway. But as I laid in the dark, staring at the ceiling, the image of the lightning flashed in front of me again. And then I realized something I hadn't immediately registered: it wasn't just lightning in the window. In the vague way you remember dreams, like you are certain it happened but can't quite picture it, I remembered a face in the window, illuminated by the bolt of lightning.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Hiding Under The Covers. [RESPONSE] Ever since I was a kid, I’ve had to deal with the most unsettling sleep paralysis. I’m going to recount my episode here. At seven years old, I had an episode where I woke up with cold sweats and my clothes ripped off my body. I shared a room with my ten year old brother and tried calling out for his help. When I tried to let out a scream, nothing came out. I prayed that someone would come help me. I needed to know who ripped my clothes off. I don’t know how, but my brother woke up to come and help. He picked my clothes off the floor and started to put them back on my body. I asked him who took my clothes off. He looked at me without saying a word. I kept asking him what happened, and he kept giving me a blank, expressionless face. I figured he was just a bit weary from being woken up so abruptly. I got my clothes back on and got back under the covers. About two minutes later, I heard my door creak open. I heard footsteps going towards my brothers’ bed. I was too scared to look up from under the covers and just hoped whoever it was would just leave. The footsteps continued until they just abruptly stopped. I still felt the presence of the person in the room with us. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps again. This time they were coming towards me. I tried not to move a muscle thinking that would help. The footsteps kept inching closer to the left side of my bed. Now, whoever was in the room was just inches away from my bed. I could practically hear them breathing. I build up the courage to say something. After taking a deep breath, I faintly said from under the covers “who is it?” “Why are you still awake?” It was my mom. “I had a nightmare.” I replied. “You know those things aren’t real. Go to bed, you have school in the morning.” I took a sigh of relief. I decided to give my mom a hug and just go to sleep. After all, I did have a math test the next morning. I come out of hiding from the covers and look directly at my mom. What I saw still haunts me. My mom was dressed up as a clown with blood dripping from the sides of her mouth. She wore face paint with a frown painted on, a red clown nose and teeth sharp like the ends of a butcher knife. I was in complete shock. “What’s wrong?” She said with the motherly voice I’m used to. “Why are you wearing that?” I replied with my voice and body shaking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Go back to bed.” At this point, I realized just how strong this hallucination was. My brain was playing tricks on me. Even at seven years old, I thought I was losing my sanity. My mom leaves the room and I was left ruminating on what just happened. I hide back under the covers and try to shake the thoughts out of my head. I still tend to do this from time to time. I tried all night to try and get some sleep, but I just couldn’t help but think about what I just went through. At 6am, I heard footsteps coming back into my room. The door creaked open and I heard my mom yell “WAKE UP BOYS, IT’S TIME FOR SCHOOL!” I slowly take the covers off myself and get a glimpse of my mom. There she was, no more clown outfit, just a concerned mother wanting her son’s to get up for school. I slowly sit up on the left side of my bed and stretch before planting my feet on the ground. As I stretch, I notice a round, red clown nose on the ground in front of me. The cold sweats start again, and I can barely move my body. I slowly look up to my mom, who’s still standing at the door in our room. “m-m-m-mom what’s that on the ground?” She stares back at me, with a blank and expressionless face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Go back to bed.” And so I hid back under the covers.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Never get on a London bus without checking its number. [RESPONSE] The date was October 31st. I was walking home from college like I did every day. That night I’d stayed late to work on an assignment that counted towards my final grade, and I was the last person to leave. As I stepped outside and started walking, it began to rain. *Of course* it had to rain on the *one* day I left my umbrella at home. I picked up the pace and held my bag above my head, but it didn't stop the rain at all. By the time I reached my bus stop the shower had turned into a drizzle, but I was already soaked to the bone. Wet and tired, I got on my bus without checking the number. The instant I sat down I noticed something was *off*. I couldn’t quite place my finger on what, but my brain was screaming at me that I wasn’t supposed to be in that bus. I tried to shake the feeling and watched the rain fall. I assumed this feeling came from the gory decorations hung around for Halloween. After a few minutes I felt someone sit next to me. I turned to see a woman wearing a green cardigan and doing some sort of crochet work. I greeted her, but she didn’t respond. I said it a bit louder thinking she hadn’t heard me, but it appeared like she was ignoring me on purpose. Confused and annoyed, I continued looking out the window. After a few minutes the lady left. 2 stops before mine, the bus came to a sudden halt in the middle of the road, throwing me face first into the seat in front of me. Annoyed, I stood up and walked over to the driver to ask what happened. I knocked on the booth and they turned to look at me. I screamed. The driver had no face. I tried to run, but the bus doors were locked. I heard a coarse voice speak from behind me. “The doors only open at stops.” I turned and flew up the stairs to the second floor of the bus, but every seat was filled with another faceless person. I tried to jump off but a group of them grabbed me and pushed me back downstairs as I let out a scream. I squirmed free and ran to the back of the bus, hoping to find an emergency exit, but all I saw were more faceless people. They had me cornered. I jumped over the seats to get back to the front, thinking I could break the door down. The faceless people grabbed at me as I rushed to the door. I threw myself at the door, hoping it would break, but as I was about to hit it the bus came to a stop and its doors opened. I fell onto the sidewalk, scraping my knee. I looked back into the bus. The driver looked like a normal man with a face again. None of the passengers had gotten out of their seats. It seemed like nothing had happened and nobody noticed my wild screaming. I was confused and scared, so I ran home. I still don’t know what happened that day, but if you're ever getting on a bus in London, make sure to check its number.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm an archivist for a private university. I found some strange tape recordings. [FINALE] [RESPONSE] [[PART 1]]( [[PART 2]]( [[PART 3]]( [[PART 4]]( [[PART 5]]( [[PART 6]]( It’s Naissance. I’ve come to terms with the fact that this will probably be my final post. I made it to Clara Stevens’ residence about an hour ago. Her cottage, once warm, cozy, and inviting; now had an oppressive, corrupt weight to it— as if it were going to collapse on top of me, burying me under a collection of aged-rubble and hiking equipment; effectively ending my journey before its conclusion. I thought that, perhaps, that would be a merciful fate, if not boring. I knew that wouldn’t happen though. *It* wouldn’t let it. That place. It had use of me, of that I knew. It wanted me. I was special. That’s what it told me, through the tapes, in my dreams, my visions. I knew the influence that *The Place* had on me was much like that of the others I’ve heard in the recordings. My shifting reality, this underlying feeling of *longing*— it affirmed that. And yet… Something tells me I would have gone down this path anyway. I would have chosen to seek out *The Place*, even knowing its danger. Its intentions. This feeling comes from a strong, deep desire of curiosity, that I’m sure almost every human being has felt in some way or another at some point in their lives. The desire to explore. The desire to discover. I wanted to become a part of something more important than myself, than this world; than humanity. Even if that something was horrible, and powerful. Even if it caused great pain and suffering. It was a selfish thing— the search for meaning. Clara Stevens was not here, in her home, however. I could not question her; no, *demand* that she show me the way to *The Place*. Although, I was not sure even she herself knew. Not that she wasn’t trying, of course. In the meantime, I would wait for her return. I set the final tape in front of me. This one was different from the others. September 29th, 2022. A recent date. Very, very recent. I wondered if it was ready yet; that altar of crimson blood. I wondered if it would tell me the answers I needed. And to my surprise, it did. It told me everything I needed to know, and more. I decided to give the tape a name, in respect to the others. Please disregard it if you think it is narcissistic or conceited, it just… I felt like I had to leave a record of myself somewhere. Maybe another archivist will pick these up somewhere someday, and relegate it to long-term storage, where they will never be touched again. It’s been a long ride. Thank you everyone, for joining me on this journey. ___ **TAPE 1C: ‘NAISSANCE’** DATED: SEPTEMBER 29TH, 2022 ___ \[**START\]** \[FAINT, ONGOING STATIC\] \[FOOTSTEPS\] CLARA: It’s beautiful isn’t it? I finally found it. After all of these years. DISTORTED VOICE: Yes. CLARA: My husband, he’s here, isn’t he? DISTORTED VOICE: Yes, he is. Somewhere. \[PAUSE\] CLARA: How can you show me how he dies? How can you be sure? It’s been so long. DISTORTED VOICE: Time… DISTORTED VOICE: It does not flow here. It is infinite. He is here. CLARA: So he’s always been here? DISTORTED VOICE: Always. Everyone who comes here is always present, somewhere in this place. \[LONG, UNINTERRUPTED SILENCE\] CLARA: How do you know all of this? DISTORTED VOICE: It told me. \[PAUSE\] \[KNOCKING\] CLARA: What’s that? DISTORTED VOICE: Another gateway. It’s okay, it doesn’t concern us. Let’s keep moving. \[FOOTSTEPS ECHO\] DISTORTED VOICE: This is it. CLARA: This is… That pit, from all those years ago. This was what the bottom looked like? A pit of blood… DISTORTED VOICE: Yes. CLARA: This is where he died? DISTORTED VOICE: It is. CLARA: What… What should I do? DISTORTED VOICE: Wait here. Then, it will come. It— \[PAUSE\] It will take your face. So you can see. \[PAUSE\] CLARA: I… I see. Will it hurt? DISTORTED VOICE: Yes. But— you will see him. It’s what’s owed to you. CLARA: I understand— what will you do? DISTORTED VOICE: I’ll swim to the center of this crimson altar. And I’ll sink. I will be with the rest of them, in blood, for all of eternity. But first— I need you to speak to her. Like we agreed. CLARA: Of course. It’s an old well, by an orchard near the hills. There’s an old barn nearby. \[PAUSE\] CLARA: Find me, Naissance. Come find me. DISTORTED VOICE: Thank you, Clara. CLARA: Good luck. \[SPLASHES\] \[SLOSHING\] \[PAUSE\] \[SCREECHING\] DISTORTED VOICE: It’s coming. \[CLARA SCREAMS\] \[SPLATTERS, RIPPING\] \[CLARA GROANS\] \[THUD\] \[LOUD SCREECHING\] \[LONG PAUSE\] \[SUBMERGED MUFFLED VOICE\] DISTORTED VOICE: It’s time to see it. Just like in the dreams. What awaits us, down there, past the pulsing flesh at the bottom of this pit? DISTORTED VOICE: You were wrong about this place, Naissance. About its purpose. People may live, they may die, but the blood— the blood remains. Stained into the Earth, for all of eternity. Blood, and this place, is more ancient than our existence. \[PAUSE\] DISTORTED VOICE: Even as I sink to the bottom, I’m unsure of my fate. I’m unsure of whether or not this is the end, or a new beginning. A dilemma we will both share. DISTORTED VOICE: Part of me wonders if this bloody altar will reject me, will spit me out into my bedroom, like the visions, the dreams. Birthing me into a seamless, ignorant reality to continue this cycle of blood once again. \[PAUSE\] DISTORTED VOICE: I’ll reach it soon. The deepest reaches of *The Place*, in a void of blood. \[PAUSE\] DISTORTED VOICE: *The Place*, it wants just one thing. You’re a smart woman. I know you can figure it out. It was nice talking to you, in my final moments. Until next time. This is Naissance. \[STATIC\] **\[END\]** ___ I understand now. My fate was sealed days ago. It wasn’t *The Place* that had been influencing me to seek it. It was me. It was always me. It was clear to me what I must do now. I would look for an old well, near an orchard, by the hills. I would find Clara Stevens in the gateway there. And we would fulfill our purpose. *The Place’s* purpose, however. That one thing. I think I understood. An altar of blood. Of wounds. Of life. Of death. The pull *The Place* had on us; the way it corrupted us. Maybe that was never from *The Place* itself. Maybe it was in all of us, that desire. That desire to seek it. All of us— all of us were born in blood. We were born of an altar of blood. It only makes sense that it would pull us towards our deaths there. It just needed to remind us. I had spent all of this time thinking I was special. That *The Place* needed *me*— but it didn’t need me. I wasn’t special. It needed a messenger.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Mark [RESPONSE] When I was 23, I met a man on Tinder. You know, the usual way. He had a nice smile, was 25, and shared an interest in comic books; so I agreed to go get coffee with him. The date was unremarkable. I was bored halfway through, my coffee was the best part. But he was nice enough. We finished it up and I prepared never to see this man again. But if that was the case, I wouldn’t be here telling you about it. You see, to me the date was unremarkable. Vaguely boring. Not worth a repeat. Mark, my Tinder date, disagreed. I responded to him asking me out again by letting him down easy. I told him that I didn’t think we had a lot in common, thanked him for asking, but explained I wasn’t interested. I responded to the next 10 date requests the same way. And then, on a Tuesday morning in March, I woke up to 78 messages from this man. They got increasingly unhinged. I asked him to stop texting me and that’s when the calls started. I asked the police about a restraining order. I had to actually go down to the station to talk to them because he wouldn’t stop calling. I had 115 missed calls at that point. The nice police officer suggested I just block him which was something I hadn’t actually thought about doing I was so upset. Mark started physically stalking me after that. I think he quit his job, not that I asked him. But he was everywhere. He was at the grocery store, he was outside my job when I went in and when I came back out. Any time I looked out of my apartment window, he was there in his car. Staring at me. I stopped going out because I didn’t want to run into him. I kept my curtains drawn. I kept my door locked at all times and slept with a baseball bat under my pillow in case he ever tried to get in. When I went back to the police, they agreed that they would talk to him. It helped for all of a week. After that, it was two years of me trying to be taken seriously. He never hurt me, never touched me. Never even talked to me after I blocked his number. But he was everywhere. I flew home to see my parents and Mark was at the gas station I stopped at. And then finally, finally we were finally going to go to court, get a restraining order. On the day of the hearing, Mark died. I didn’t do it. Neither did he. He was in a car accident that was tragically fatal. At first, I thought that things would be better. I know it's horrible of me to say, I can barely even admit it to myself. But I thought I was finally free. And then I saw Mark in my apartment. He’s haunting me and I don’t know what to do! Is there a way to get a ghost restraining order? I’ve tried moving apartments, but he’s definitely latched on to me and not the place. I had just unpacked my last box when he appeared. Sitting on my sofa and grinning at me. I asked him to leave, and he laughed at me. Told me no. He doesn’t normally speak to me. He follows me everywhere, always right next to me no matter what I’m doing. I don’t know what to do. I didn’t even believe in ghosts before this. If anyone has any suggestions, please tell me!<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I think my roommate is trying to kill me [RESPONSE] It's no secret that my roommate and I don't like each other. I found her a few months ago after my other roommate dropped out of school. I didn’t vet her much, because I needed to find someone *fast* to cover half the rent. Of course I did a background check, stalked her social media, that kind of thing. But I’d only actually talked to her one-on-one for twenty minutes before she moved in. She’s mid-twenties like me, and very pretty. Perfect blonde hair and clear blue eyes. Perfectly applied makeup, from pink eyeshadow to skin that looked like it had been airbrushed on. Sparkly white teeth with a killer smile. I think that’s why I didn’t spend more time vetting her. I assumed she must be okay because she *looks* okay. I immediately regretted my decision. Apparently, Emily is a “beauty vlogger.” She doesn’t have a real job—just sits in her room all day, trying out different makeup looks for her fans. I hear her up at all hours of the night, even, talking and giggling as she records. But at least she pays her rent. So I didn’t grumble as I cleaned up the foundation powder from our counter (seriously, what does this woman’s skin really look like? She applies like a metric ton of foundation to her face every day.) I didn’t complain when she woke me up at 2 AM with a fit of high-pitched giggles—or when I had to leave the windows open in freezing cold just to get rid of that horrible floral scent. She tried to befriend me at first, but after I sniped at her a few times, she got the message. We pleasantly ignored each other, as if an unspoken pact had been made. Things were actually fine. That all changed on September 7th. I was running late. I didn’t let the shower water run for a few minutes like I usually do. I jumped right in—and as soon as my feet hit the ceramic, they slipped out from under me. If I hadn’t grabbed the curtain rod just in time, I would’ve cracked my head open. “I’m so sorry. I’m trying out this new conditioner,” Emily explained, when I told her. “It’s super detangling. I never really noticed but I guess the bathtub does get kind of slippery. I’m so sorry.” She was being really nice about it, but I was furious. It was bad enough that she messed up the place with all her beauty gook. Now, it was a safety hazard, too? “I can’t keep doing this,” I said, trying to keep my voice from rising. “You have to keep all your makeup in your bedroom. I’m sick of cleaning up all your messes. And you can’t use weird shit in the shower that might kill me. Okay?” “Okay,” she said in a small voice. Emily was really good about keeping her stuff out of the bathroom after that. The bathtub was never slippery, and I even noticed that cloying floral scent seemed to fade. I was happy, and even felt a little bad for yelling at her so much. She pays half the rent just like I do. Why do I get to say what comes into the bathroom and what doesn’t? But then it got worse. On September 30th, I woke up early. Made my way to the fridge and, shamelessly, grabbed the milk to take a swig right out of the carton. Emily drinks fat-free, so the 2% is all mine. But as soon as the milk hit my tongue, I began to sputter. “Eugh! What—what *is* this?!” The milk didn’t taste just sour. It was acrid, burning my tongue and making my eyes tear. I ran over to the sink and spit it out. It had a strange consistency—like it had been diluted with something clear and slightly viscous. Like spit or something. Emily burst out of her bedroom. “What happened?” “Something is *really* wrong with this milk.” "Oh my God, you drank the milk?" A funny feeling settled in my stomach. "Why... why would I *not* drink the milk?" "I told you! Last night! I asked you if I could use your milk carton for a beauty mask recipe. You said sure. So I poured the remaining milk into a cup--" she pointed to an aluminum-foil-covered mug in the fridge-- "and used the carton for the mask." I cupped my hands under the faucet. Swished water in my mouth. Over and over until the acrid taste started to fade. She kept apologizing, but I could barely hear her voice over the faucet. That night I couldn’t sleep. *I don't remember her asking me about the milk carton.* That thought pulsed in my brain well into the wee hours. I got up, turned the lock, and jimmied a chair underneath the doorknob for good measure. And why my milk carton? She could've used a bowl, a bottle, a Ziploc bag. And I don't know what the hell she put in her beauty mask, but it sure tasted like poison. I kept even more distance from Emily for the next few days, trying to figure out what to do. Kicking her out would most likely result in me having to move, too, unless I could find someone else to take her place within a matter of days. *And I’m probably just being paranoid.* She was a beauty vlogger, and making some weird-ass face mask sounds just like the kind of thing that would go viral. That's what I told myself--until Friday happened. I got home late that night, a little drunk. I unlocked the door, yawning, and stepped inside. Then I flicked the light switch. It didn't go on. *Dammit*. The bulb must’ve blown. The light was on in the main hallway, so it couldn’t be a power outage. Still—the apartment was pitch dark. I fumbled through the darkness, my footsteps weaving from the alcohol, my hands stretched out in front of me-- They met something soft. *What* is *that?* I was standing in the middle of the main room. There was only the couch and TV in there. It should’ve been a clear shot to my bedroom door. I squinted into the darkness. Nothing. But it was weird—I could tell something was there. By the way the hum of the fridge muffled right in front of me. How the slight variations in black and gray changed just two feet in front of my face. *This is stupid.* I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and hit the flashlight. My heart dropped. Emily stood right in front of me. Just standing there in the middle of the room. At almost 2 AM. She faced away from me, towards the windows. Her blonde hair cascaded down her back, glinting off the phone’s flashlight. “E-emily?” I backed away. “What are you doing up so late?” She slowly turned around. She was grinning. A wide, ear-to-ear grin. Her blue eyes sparkled in the light as she stared at me. And then she giggled. A low giggle in her throat. As if she were positively delighted that I’d just arrived home. It made her entire body shake—and that’s when I noticed something glinting in her hand. A knife. I forced my legs to move. Forced myself to run towards the apartment door. But as soon as I took a step, I heard her lunge after me. Her fingers grabbed my hair—*tug—*and then I jerked forward with all my strength, ripping several out in the process. I made it to the door and burst into the hallway. Ran down the stairs, screaming the entire time. Someone must’ve dialed 911 because minutes after I made it to the parking lot, red and blue lights were throbbing in the darkness, sirens wailing in my ears. The police found Emily in the apartment. They arrested her and told me later that “Emily Ryan” was a fake name; though they haven’t been able to identify her yet. However, she did admit one thing that chilled me to the bone. Emily never had a beauty vlog.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Every Year a Demon Comes to My Town and Kidnaps a Child [RESPONSE] **THE PROMISE** 3. For most people, this is nothing but a simple number; something to commemorate an anniversary with their one true love or, perhaps, something to represent the number of Ben and Jerry’s pints eaten after a bad breakup(you know who you are). However, in my small town in rural Arkansas, the number 3 represents something far more sinister. To us, this is the number of innocent kids that have been stolen, only to be replaced by a single life-size doll. My name, well, I suppose that’s not important. My only concern right now is sharing our story in the hopes that somebody, anybody, can stop what is happening in this Godforsaken town. Please, I am begging you, I have a little sister and I’m afraid that next year, the demon will choose her. To start, you should know that there have been 3 victims: Victim #1: Audrey Meyers, 7 years old Victim #2: Analee Jones, 5 years old Victim #3: Dixon Crawford, 8 years old From the single freckle on the tip of the nose to the golden blonde of the hair, each doll captures the child’s unique characteristics perfectly. For the past 3 years in June, a child between the ages of 5 - 12 goes missing in the middle of the night; taken from the very place where the child should feel the safest. All that is left behind in the now-empty covers of the child’s bed is a doll and the same promise that is left every year on this fateful night: A promise I make to you Money, health, and good fortune All of this will be yours too Now now, don’t get all riled Though the time has come for us to depart A child replaced with a child, That’s all I’ll take in return for your new start If it weren’t for my little sister, I would say that there’s no point in going out of your way to find the town and stop the cycle. As it turns out, the parents here no longer fear the demon that they have named “The Dollmaker.” In fact, many of the parents in this town spend their days praying for The Dollmaker to leave its promise at their house. My parents are no exception. **THE FIRST CRITERION** After the first victim went missing, 7-year-old Audrey Meyer, a pattern had not yet emerged in who The Dollmaker takes. By the second victim, however, the folks in town knew the families most likely to receive a visit from their mysterious “friend.” Being in rural Arkansas, it is probably no surprise that many of the people living here don’t exactly rank in the top 1% when it comes to wealth. Hell, most of us can’t even afford to get ourselves a new pair of tennis shoes. Instead of buying something new whenever it goes to pot, you’ll see many folks utilizing duct tape like it’s the holy grail of fixing what’s broken. I mean, come on people, do you really think duct tape can turn your deathtrap of a rusted-out 1997 Dodge pickup truck into a sportscar? Now, maybe using duct tape is a bad idea. Just maybe, however, it would have worked better if these families had just used duct tape instead of praying to a mysterious demon of the night. So far, each of the victims has come from a particularly underprivileged family. Take the first victim’s family, the Meyer’s, for example. Though they appeared to be a loving family, they couldn’t afford to feed their two kids, who were under the age of 7. Don’t get me wrong, I understand that there are numerous perfectly understandable reasons why a family might be in this situation. Growing up, I’d oftentimes see that the family would resort to hunting for their meals. Rabbits, deer, and even squirrels were all fair game for this family of four. As much as it disturbed me to see this, I understood. Hell, my family isn’t much better off. It was during one of these hunting sessions that the father, Eddie Meyer, got injured. The gossip around town surrounding the injury tells a story of Mr. Meyer’s tripping over a gangly tree root while chasing a 6-point buck in the nearby woods, snapping his ankle like a small twig. Unable to afford the hospital bill, Mr. Meyers’ ankle never healed properly, leaving him with a significant limp and chronic pain. That is, until June 16th, 2020. **THE SECOND CRITERION** Ever since The Dollmaker visited the Meyers’ residence, miracles seemed to be happening for the once poverty-stricken family. Only a few weeks after Audrey went missing, Mr. Meyer’s woke up one morning to find that he longer had a limp. Miraculously, it seemed as if the bones had been set back in place and completely healed, all in a single night and without him even noticing. In fact, this good fortune seemed to extend throughout the entire family. Loretta, Mrs. Meyers, was no longer suffering from Crohn’s disease and Eben(6) was completely cured of the asthma attacks that have plagued him since he was 3. In addition to the restoration of their health, the Meyer family had begun to see a significant influx of money coming in. So much so that, instead of hunting for their dinner, the family was now feasting on lavish meals consisting of steak and whatever side dish and dessert that they desired. Even more odd was that, at first, nobody knew where the money was coming from, not even the Meyer family themselves. It appeared that, for the very first time, The Dollmaker had fulfilled its promise. What the residents of this town didn't realize was that the Myers family's supposedly kind demeanor and The Dollmaker's oh-so-generous promise were only that: an appearance. And, as we all know, appearances can be deceiving. You see, The Dollmaker, in addition to choosing an impoverished family to visit, has a second condition that had yet to be discovered: they must be hiding a dark secret. How exactly The Dollmaker uncovers the family's secret has yet to be discovered but it can only come from months of watching and waiting. As it does, The Dollmaker begins to see things only it is privy to. Some of these things are ordinary for just about any family; little Eben of the Myers family curling up in bed with his favorite stuffed elephant named Heffalump(or Hellaphump as Eben says) or Analee Jones hopping in mud puddles while singing “Rain, rain, go away. Come again some other day!” Some things that The Dollmaker sees, however, are much less wholesome. I don't know if anyone is reading this but, if you are, I promise I will be back to tell you about the first victim. For now, I have to go.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Porch Pirate [RESPONSE] It happened to my neighbors first across the street. I overheard the conversation as I was checking my mail. “Damn porch pirates. Seems like the closer we get to the holidays the more daring they get!” Mister Carney complained as he stifled a cough. “Have you thought about installing a camera?” I asked casually as I tossed the bills and kept the rest. “Can’t afford it and can’t figure out how to install it. But I swear if they come by again they’ll be met with a mouth full of lead,” he snapped back. I chuckled at his feisty attitude and walked inside, thinking nothing of it. I don’t get very many packages and my house was on the end of the cul de sac so I didn’t think it was likely that any thieves would bother me. But it didn’t take long for them to prove me wrong. I ordered something simple on Amazon for my girlfriend, a promise ring that she’s been wanting. Typically when the delivery drivers drop the packages off right beside my garage door as it closer and I haven’t ever requested otherwise. So when the delivery date arrived and I couldn’t find the package, naturally I was a bit confused. Mister Carney saw me out there looking for it and piped up. “I saw it happen. I was inside and just as they snatched the box I tried to run out and shoo them away, but they were long gone.” I guess it was a wake up call for me to do something. But I didn’t know what. Just like my neighbor, I’m on a tight income plus it’s a rental property and my landlord wouldn’t allow cameras. I thought maybe it would be one time and the thieves would never return, but soon it became all the time I tried to get a package. It started to get under my skin. I work a lot damn it and it’s my hard earned money trying to get this stuff. Amazon would usually refund me but even then after a while they said they couldn’t. The thieves were winning and I was at a loss on what to do. Mister Carney’s method of revenge was starting to seem more appealing. But I didn’t want to hurt them. I just wanted them to stop. Legally speaking I knew if I did wind up hurting them I would be the one in jail, so I thought I might play a prank on the pirates, make them rethink ever stealing from me again. A few DIY YouTube’s showed me how I could make a soft paint bomb that would not hurt anyone. It was designed as a prank on friends. And claimed that it was guaranteed to work. I figured that a face full of paint would send a message that I was tired of them fucking with me. I went to a nearby grocery store and asked around for one of their empty boxes and took it home to set the trap. It didn’t take long before it looked just like an ordinary package and I set it out by the garage. I was expecting just a bunch of paint every where when I went to inspect later. Or even better catching the thief red handed. And that was actually what wound up happening. I was just about to cook dinner when I heard this loud pop and I knew the trap had been sprung. I actually felt giddy as I opened the garage door to confront the pirate. But on the other side of the door I can’t even explain my shock as I saw what was there lying in a mess of paint. First off, it was not human. It was this misshapen thing that looked like a cross between a toad, a hedgehog and a tiny person with raggedy ears and broken teeth. It’s skin was leathery and it’s back was covered in bristles. It was completely naked too, with weird hoop piercings on its chest and it’s backwards bent legs flailing as it choked on the paint in surprise. At that point I didn’t know what to do or how to respond. The plan that I had was tossed out the window. And as it’s black soulless eyes opened and stared toward me, all I could sense was danger. I backed into my house and slammed the door close, hoping that the creature would just go away. Instead I heard it scratch and claw at the door, trying to find me and make me pay for what I had just done. I tried to think of where my phone was so I could call 911. Then the door burst down and the creature scratched me across my face. I fell backward as it slithered into my kitchen, drooling and gagging on the paint as it began to use its jagged fingernails against my legs. I kicked and flailed, running toward the magnetic strip above my stove where I kept my carving knives. I grabbed one and tossed it at the creature, jabbing it in the side. The thing shrieked louder than a newborn infant. I grabbed another to defend myself, slowly moving toward the open door that led outside. I knew it could lunge at any moment but thankfully the fresh injury kept it occupied just long enough that I could rush down the street. My eyes scanned the neighborhood for help. I saw Mister Carney out watering his plants and started waving my hands. “Call 911!!” I shouted. But the old man is half deaf. He turned toward me as I heard the creature running toward me. I dropped to the ground and it lunged for him, pushing him down to the flowerbed and clawing at his throat. Mister Carney was choking on his own bile a few moments later. I ran toward my house again and finally found my phone while the creature was distracted but it really didn’t do any good. By the time the police arrived the gremlin was gone and so was my neighbor. They asked around to see if anyone actually saw anything and unfortunately for me, the only verified thing anyone could report was they thought they saw me attacking Mister Carney. I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to answer police questions without sounding like a lunatic. It’s late now, and I am back home. My back door is still busted down and I don’t have the energy to fix it. Plus I’m not sure it would prevent the creature from coming in anyway. I took a shower and told myself maybe it was all over, but I knew it was just another placating lie. The gremlin returned about an hour later, this time to raid my kitchen for food. I didn’t even dare to engage with it this time as it took what it wanted and then scurried into the night. the silence and tension in the room told me that it was asserting dominance and telling me it would return when it felt like it and take what it wanted. Sure enough, the next time I ordered something my package was gone again. It doesn’t happen every time now though because I offer something in its place, a bowl of food or drink or something to appease the imp. I think I can live with that if it means it won’t attack me anymore. You can live with just about anything once you live in fear.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Jimmy in the Trees [RESPONSE] Every town has its own scary story. Whether it’s ladies in white, haunted and abandoned buildings, supernatural forces, we all have something. With Halloween coming up, I felt like I should talk about my hometown’s spirit: Jimmy in the Trees. When I was younger, I was always told to be home before the streetlights came on, as I believe we all were, but the reasoning was far different. “You get back in here before dark, Tommy,” my mother would say, “you don’t want Jimmy in the Trees seeing you out there.” The sentence alone would cause enough fear to ripple through me that I hadn’t once dared to test it. I didn’t know much about Jimmy’s story at the time, but I knew even then that my mother’s words had held some ounce of truth within them. The part that made the whole belief in Jimmy even worse was that next to every street had a line of trees on it, or every house had a tree in its yard; suffice to say, Jimmy could be anywhere, at any point, just watching for his next catch. I always imagined him as a kid like me, but with white eyes and for some reason in amish clothes. I think that’s because Children of the Corn was a big movie back then, and there were parallels to Jimmy, at least in my prepubescent mind. Even mine and my friends' grandparents held some belief in Jimmy, as anytime we would visit they would threaten to send us out at night to let JImmy take us away. So many of us believed in the character that we hadn’t dared to press on the story for so long. That was until Jonathan decided to defy his parents. He was a close friend of mine back then, and I remember being at the playground with him as the sun was going down. The streetlights were just starting to activate, signifying that it was time to head in, and the group of us were all finishing up our games to head in. “I’m not afraid of no Jimmy.” Jonathan said. “He’s not even real, I can prove it!” We all fought with him that he shouldn’t test it. “Don’t be crazy Jonathan! You know Jimmy will get’cha!” Even now, rewriting this memory, the hairs on my arms are standing on end. Regardless, Jonathan went his own way, walking down the street and kicking along a soccer ball. He was found three weeks later in a sewer drainage tunnel. We weren’t told of his condition, but time would reveal the truth to us. The kids in town learned later in life that Jonathan was found with his eyes missing from his face, a smile carved into his cheeks in a crude and grotesque fashion. His chest was torn open and his heart was also missing, along with most of his innards being destroyed from decomposition and being eaten by rats and other creatures. The newspaper had said that he must’ve fallen into a ravine or something and got sucked into the sewer before drowning, the state of his physical condition was due to rodents finding his corpse. We all believed otherwise, even the adults. We all believed in Jimmy in the Trees. Eventually I grew up and moved away for college, and hadn’t returned to my hometown until two weeks ago as my grandfather had been hospitalised from a severe battle with lung cancer. I don’t know why, but when I went to visit him, the thought of Jimmy wouldn’t leave my mind, and I was compelled to ask about it; now that I was older, I was curious to know the full story of Jimmy in the Trees, and what the whole deal was with him. When I asked him to tell me about it, my grandfather’s eyes immediately filled with so much fear and sadness that I felt as if I had struck him down then and there. Yet, he composed himself, sat himself up in his bed, and he told me this. “When me and your grandmother were younger, about the same age as you were when that poor Jonathan boy had died, there was a family that lived in town with us. There was a boy that we had gone to school with named Jimmy, and there were his two parents, Elenor and Michael. Well, one day, just around sunset, Michael was found walking around town with Elenor’s head in his hands, covered in blood from head to toe. When police brought him in to question what had happened, Michael had said nothing for two days straight, he just sat there. In his cell. Staring at the wall across from him. Finally, on the third day, he snapped out of whatever was going on with him, and was confused as to why he was there. When the cops explained to him what was going on, Michael had broken down and demanded to see his wife, but they would not allow it. He asked where Jimmy was, and they told him they didn’t know, which was true. For so long no one knew what had happened to Jimmy or why Michael had brutally murdered Elenor. Michael was given the death sentence and was put to the electric chair only weeks later. The following summer, however, a man was walking his dog past Michael and Elenor’s home when the dog had gone wild, jumping at the tree in their front yard, barking and snarling at it. The dog began to tear at the bark and tear at it until finally it revealed where Jimmy had been. Somehow, and in some way, Jimmy had been shoved into the tree, his body broken and contorted in such a way that at first, the man who had found him didn’t even think it was a human body he was looking at. When he was removed from the tree, it was discovered that Jimmy’s body was in the same state as poor Jonathan’s was found, his eyes missing and his innards torn from his chest. So many children began to go missing after Jimmy was removed from the tree, and all that were found were found in the same state.” I just sat there as my grandfather said all of this, dumbfounded by the story he told. And yet, there was more to the tale. Through the week, I continued to talk to him about what had happened and even asked my grandmother and my parents about the events. The belief is that, and I know this all sounds crazy, but we believe that Jimmy was possessed by something. Something evil. And his mother had known this, so she somehow, in a way still unknown to us, murdered her son and buried him in the tree in some insane fashion. Jimmy’s father was affected in the process and had killed his mother for what she had done to his son. Now, whatever evil was inside of Jimmy is within the trees, and at night, he’s able to return, enacting what was done to him on kids who dare remain outside. We have a little poem about it we teach people who come through town. *There’s an evil in town, hear this tale if you please* *Be warned of Jimmy, O’ Jimmy of the Trees* *A boy full of evil, tormented with hate* *Tortures any young soul that stays out too late* *When the street lights go bright* *Stay out of sight* *For it’s then when Jimmy will give your heart a bite* *Believe this tale, or think it’s lies* *But be warned that Jimmy has a hunger for eyes* I’m 30 years old, and even now, I’m too scared to even look out a window at night. I swear sometimes I can feel him just outside, roaming the sidewalks, searching for any child that may be out there.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I've been visiting and reviewing haunted houses in my area this month, but there's one that seems a little too real. [RESPONSE] Most of the haunted houses I've reviewed have been ones I've found on a website or in local advertisements. I found this one by accident. I was driving down a back road to get home from a haunted house that had asked me to visit and review. This isn't a road I drove down very often, and I was surprised to see a sign indicating a new haunted house just down the road. It was late, and I wanted to just get home, but I decided I would check this one out. There was no sign in the front that listed a name, nor did the sign on the side of the road list a name. This is common with haunted houses built within residential homes by hobbyists. I find that hobbyist haunted houses are either of professional-level quality or it looks like it was built by a couple of preteen boys. There is no middle ground. At the outset, I got the impression that this was built by professionals. Heck, I was getting goosebumps just driving down the driveway, which felt like a mile long. The outside of the house was nothing special. The driveway was empty of any cars and there was a sign in the front yard that just said "please enter the front door." Ominous? Yes. Intriguing? Also, yes. If I'm being honest, I would recommend most people avoid a haunted house like this. I did some research and I couldn't find anybody talking about a haunted house anywhere on this street, let alone at this address. Me, though? I'm a man of the people. And if this haunted house doesn't have any reviews yet, then I'll be the first. As a way of prefacing what you're about to read, as of the time I'm writing this post, I have yet to write the review for this haunted house. In truth, I'm afraid to. Plus, it doesn't have a name. I decided to park in the grass a short distance away from the house. As I approached the house, I noticed that, on the second floor of the house, a light turned on. The only other lights that were on before this were the porch light and the lights for the sign in the front yard. This put me at ease for a moment, I assumed that whoever runs this place just realized they had a visitor. Throughout the whole process, I never met the owner of the house. When I got to the porch, looking inside the wide open front door, there was a layer of black fog blocking my vision of what was inside. I waited there for a second to see if there was gonna be someone to take me inside, but nobody ever came out. Instead, a decrepit, inhuman hand reached out from the fog and gestured for me to walk inside. Despite my better judgment, I walk in. There were many obvious warning signs that I shouldn't enter this house, but I figured that only two things could be happening if I haven't seen this house mentioned anywhere. Either everybody that walks into this house never leaves it, or nobody has had the guts to walk in in the first place. Call me a skeptic, but I find it unlikely that nobody would have noticed people going missing. After getting past the layer of fog at the entrance of the house, I was expecting to see arrows pointing me to where to go next, but I find nothing of the sort. Instead, I find a completely normal home. The front door leads into an entry hall with two adjacent staircases on either side. When I looked behind me, all the black fog had disappeared and the front door had closed. I didn't hear the door close. Now I'm just confused. This is a haunted house, but there was not a single piece of anything that I would expect in a haunted house. This couldn't have been a mistake, there were signs clearly saying that this was a haunted house and a creepy hand gesturing me in. Without anything indicating where I needed to go next, I start exploring. I remembered the light that turned on on the second floor, so I went there first. To my dismay, there were no lights on. The room where the light came was a nursery with two cribs in it. I'm not sure why a family with two infants would be putting on a haunted house, but at this point, that's not the weirdest thing about this place. Moving on, I went back downstairs and continued down the entry hall into the living room. Everything was normal here except for the TV, which was showing static like those old tube TVs. I found the remote to try to turn it off, but it wasn't doing anything. At this point, I was thinking about leaving, but I wanted to stay a bit longer to see if there was actually anything in this place. I mean, why would they go through the trouble of putting up signs, a fog machine, and a fake hand for nothing? I decided to open the blinds in the living room to see if there was anything in the backyard. Well, there was nothing in the backyard, but I did see something in the windows. As soon as I opened the blinds, the faint light from the front yard created a glare in the windows. I immediately saw the same hand that gestured to me on the railing of the stairs, and whoever was walking up the stairs was making absolutely no sound. Okay, now this was starting to feel like a haunted house, if unconventional. I immediately bolted to the entry hall and looked at what was walking up the stairs, but there was nothing. I wanted to pull out my flashlight, but I thought that would ruin whatever experience these people had for me. I walked up the stairs and discovered that whatever was walking up the stairs left behind some mysterious sticky black substance on the railings. Think of molasses but less smooth and a more looking-into-a-black-hole kind of black. I couldn't find anything upstairs. The trail of substance stopped when the railing stopped and there was no more of the substance anywhere else. For all I know, whoever this vanished at the top of the stairs. This was starting to get a little too weird. I'm used to haunted houses being immersive enough to scare you, but still making it clear that it's all just a show. I decided to leave after that. But this house had one more thing for me. When I opened the front door and walked out, I noticed a piece of paper on the ground. It's different every time you visit, I look forward to seeing you again. If the owner's goal was to make me feel like it was all real, they succeeded with flying colors. That was the worst scare I've experienced in a haunted house in years, maybe ever. What do y'all think? , or would I be better off reviewing more established haunted houses?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] All My Exes Die After We Break Up - The Curse of Hollyeve: Casey - Part 3 [RESPONSE] The intensity of Hollyeve’s newfound presence in my life scared me. I decided it was best to back off, at least for a while.  I successfully kept Hollyeve out of my life for almost a year when I received a message from Casey on Reddit. Casey was unlike the other Hollyeve informants - younger, brighter and unbroken. He was actually still in high school and it was unclear if he was intentionally goth or if he was just pale and wore dark clothes. Hollyeve showed up at his school on the first day of school. He was drawn to her immediately. It was like someone had cooked up a fellow odd, semi-goth, who struggled to make conversation, and dropped her into his little rural town along the rugged northern California coast. Like Colin, his hometown was in the same county I grew up in.   Casey and Hollyeve started a quiet romance. They ate lunch together. Two weirdos in the back of the lunchroom. They walked home together. Two weirdos who happily cut through the cemetery to get home quicker. They listened to ambient music in his room alone.  They would make out for hours in his room. Never worrying about whether his casino-addicted parents would come home. Casey would then walk Hollyeve home to a dark house on the edge of town. They would share a kiss and then she’d slink away. Never inviting him in.  One night as they stood there in her driveway - he told her he loved her.  The phrase seemed to startle her. She froze up and stared at him for an awkward 10 seconds.  Eventually, she kissed him.  *Then he never saw her again.*  Casey asked around at school. No one knew anything about her. The school office had no record of a student by that name.  He went to her house and walked up close. Knocked on the door. It appeared to be abandoned. *Had he never actually watched her walk in?*  Casey started Googling Hollyeve and quickly came across the subreddit about her curse.  It took him a long time to absorb everything, but it also started to make sense. It seemed all of the people on the Sub who ran into Hollyeve were on the rural coast of northern California and it seemed to span over the course of 20 years. I was the only one who responded to Casey’s message. I noted it seemed like things had gone quiet on the Hollyeve front. It may have been in response to Hollyeve suddenly getting stronger not long before.  I told Casey about the origin story of Hollyeve and Colin and their false, broken love.  Casey then dropped a bombshell. She had found some actual information online about Hollyeve as a teenage girl and she tracked down Hollyeve’s mom, Kelly, and had met with her.  Casey earned Kelly’s trust and got her to share even more about the manipulation of Colin and how it broke Hollyeve’s heart and spirit. The poor young girl really thought they were in love and when you are 13, you think everything that happens to you is the rest of your life.  Kelly also explained what happened to Hollyeve that Colin would only hint at.  Kelly wasn’t sure how it started, and she didn’t want to believe that Hollyeve started it herself, but Hollyeve’s house nearly burnt down the night Colin broke up with her. Hollyeve never got out. They found something Hollyeve wore next to where her body was - a silver necklace that was half of a heart. Kelly was able to remember Hollyeve had started wearing it a few weeks before. She had asked about it and Hollyeve had said it was from a boy, and he had the other half.  Kelly had Hollyeve’s half of the heart necklace. She didn’t know where the other half was.  I felt like we suddenly had an incredible clue…and a potential solution.  *Could we solve the Curse if we could get the other half of the heart necklace back?*  We had to track down Colin.  Colin wouldn’t respond to any of my messages. I worried he might be dead. Casey and I had to sleuth hard online and turn into private investigators just to track him down.  We were both determined. I wanted to finally be able to find my true love and Casey wanted to get some closure with his first true love.  We eventually found him.  Colin lived alone in a nice part of San Francisco. He seemed unemployed and the only thing in his life which appeared to be any kind of obligation was walking to the strip clubs on Broadway every night.  Casey and I caught him coming out of one late one night.  Colin lived like a ghost haunting a nearly empty studio apartment. All he had was a mattress on the floor and a face which looked like it was about 60, even though I knew he was in his 30s.  “I’m just trying to have nothing, so maybe then she will leave me alone. There’s nothing left to strip from me,” Colin explained.  I already knew Colin’s past romantic struggles because of Hollyeve. I didn’t know that she was otherwise still affecting him personally.  “I don’t know what happened. Suddenly I can’t get rid of her,” Colin lamented. “I’ve noticed that if I keep a low profile and live as little life as possible, that she comes around less though.” I agreed, something seemed to be going on with Hollyeve recently. Something was making her more aggressive and changing her M.O. Colin thought she could sense someone was close to unraveling her curse - solving the riddle. That she was getting desperate and angry, feeling herself slipping away and lashing out.  “What’s with going to strip clubs every night?” Casey asked, beating me to my question, which I thought was much more important at this point.  Colin’s face instantly got guilty. He struggled to get words out suddenly.  “If I pass it on…it’s better,” Colin mumbled.  “What?” Casey and I asked at the same time.  “It’s easiest if I can pass on Hollyeve to someone who she can attach to romantically, even if it’s completely fake and for money. Then I can keep her at bay. At least for a night. I have no other choice,” Colin explained.  “So then Hollyeve gets attached to these poor women who give you lap dances? But she leaves you alone?” Casey asked Colin.  Colin looked long into our eyes and I was taken back by how tired he looked. He looked like a man who hadn’t had a good night of sleep in years.  “You know you’re not going to beat this, right?” Colin asked us.  Neither of us answered.  “She’s not a person, she’s not a spirit, she’s a virus, and humans never beat viruses. Ever. She doesn’t die. She just gets passed around and then comes back again like a cold,” Colin said.  Again, no response from Casey or me.  “You’ll never be able to figure out where Hollyeve starts and ends because “it” might not even be her. My family might be even more fucked up than her’s was. Maybe she got it from me? We break people and they break us. That’s all it is,” Colin rambled.  “Do you have the other part of this?” Casey cut off Colin and showed him the half heart necklace.  Colin flinched at the sight of the jewelry. I did as well. Casey hadn’t told me he had gotten the necklace from Hollyeve’s mom.  “Where…did you get that?” Colin asked, suddenly taking on the posture and demeanor of Golum from Lord of the Rings when he sees His Precious.  “Where’s your half of the necklace?” Casey asked, sternly. — Colin kept the other half of the heart necklace in a drawer by his bed. He agreed to take it back to Hollyeve’s old bedroom with us that night.  He didn’t think that would work though. He had always had that necklace. Hollyeve could have taken it back anytime.  He would try though. We gave him no choice. We drove him up the coast in the middle of the night. Kelly had told Casey that a chunk of Hollyeve’s childhood home still existed, deep in overgrown woods. Again, Casey didn’t reveal this information to me until we were on the way there.  I used the drive to take some time and question Colin. *Why had Colin even reached out to me on Reddit in the first place?* He dismissed it away quickly. He would go through periods where he wanted to solve the curse and he thought I might be onto something. He changed his mind after he shared his story with me and nothing changed.  We made it to Hollyeve’s half burned down old home a bit before daybreak, in the darkest hours of the night, in the middle of a cold rainstorm.  Colin told us Hollyeve’s room looked to still be there - up a steep staircase. We thought Colin was following us. *We were wrong.*  We got to the top of the stairs and looked down to the bottom where we saw the flash of a knife in the shallow light of the darkened space. We watched as Colin slowly drew that knife up to his neck.  “She’s here,” Colin said softly.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I’ve been missing for a week and nobody knows I'm here [RESPONSE] I’ve been missing for a week. I’m not very adventurous, and I had planned this one overnight camping trip to see if I could really do it. Just like trying a new restaurant for the first time. I had a sleeping bag, hammock, stove, a camping knife, first aid, and other essentials all packed up in a stretched-out hiking bag. That’s when my boyfriend Robert started his questions, something like this: “What’s this?” “What’s what, honey?” I looked up as I tightened the top of the bag shut, considering if the knife deep down was safe or not. “The… the whole camping thing? Is it yours?” “Yes, it’s for me. Don’t you remember when Sammie dropped it off?” Robert stood with the entire back half of his body melted into the cold shadow of our living room. “And… don’t you remember finding me those bandages?” I asked and got nothing. I continued: “Well, it’s this overnight camping I want to do.” “Tonight?” His face went still as if I was going to scream at him. “Yes, I am going tonight. Did you forget?” “So when are you going?” He reset his muscles, comforting himself in the release of words. It was nice to see it for once. But I wouldn’t again. The spot was just a well-known wild camping area near the North Pennines. Many people just know it by driving by, so it’s widely discussed. It’s usually used by hikers, but this area isn’t so popular this time of year so I knew I would be fine alone. I’ve never felt so free, kind of like a teenager again. It felt like I could do anything. I had driven up and walked thirty minutes with the moon spying on me through the finger branches. The trees crowded around me when I got to the spot. Dark vein wood littered the ground and echoed dryly as I cleared the ground. I set up my hammock, made a small fire pit, and drank my coffee flask while watching the stars open their eyes to me. I studied each and every star and they began to roll and draw their burning white lines across the darkness. One of them became sharper. I couldn’t look away. I thought I saw lines and shapes inside it even. Then it blinded me like a fiery hot wave splashing over my face. The day after, my eyelids were sore and achy, but I still managed to get up early. Then it happened. The police knocked at my door and informed my boyfriend I was missing. They were already staring right at him as the door swung open and let in the vile wind. “Can we come in?” Thomas led them into the kitchen where he got cups of tea ready for them. He waited for them to speak over the expanse of the unused table. I mumbled through my gasping mouth and almost tapped one of their broad shoulders before they spoke again. “Maria hasn’t been found anywhere. We checked her office, friends’ houses, extended family, and around her last seen location.” They uncomfortably paused. “There’s even no evidence that she was ever present at any of these locations over the past week since her disappearance.” Thomas looked away from the words and across the room. I went to speak since it obviously hadn’t been a whole week. But, I just heard my words clearly tapping through my skull, and nothing came out. That’s when Robert looked through me. But he was grinning in thin paper cuts. “I’m sorry we can’t be of any further help. Please let us know if you think of anything else.” They had stood up and left my boyfriend alone at the table, shutting the door slowly behind them. The hot air from the cups of tea stood beside him for a minute. My skin stretched back across my mouth. My tongue disappeared. I could taste a little blood. “Robert, Robert, please, I am here, I am not missing, you saw me right?” were some of the things my jaw hummed out in silence. He lifted his full body up and stood towards me, readying for something. He finally broke the frosty silence. “So, when are you going?” Despite my disappearance, I actually managed to get into my car and back on the road. My bag was freshly stained with green and wet with blotched mud. The open windows rushed air at me and I still smelled grass on my skin. The path crunched back at my boots this time. Frost hid amongst the tree roots and under the rocks in the path. I felt the wind die down just like every other quiet winter we have around here. It was a different quiet from what I heard back home with Robert. My knees were sore from attempting the fire for the tenth time. I might have burned off some wisps of finger hair, but it hadn’t singed my skin. My sweat drowned away and the ice crept up on me as the stars came out in all their shapes. This time, the light came up to me and blinded me from behind. It burned towards me. It was Robert. I crept my head up to the top of the sofa, while lying down as low as possible. He sat at the kitchen table like a dark monolith, soaking up the light. I felt my skin wiggle around like a costume. A click. His shoulders seemed to hide the back of his head. Shadows spread all around the floor. A click. I couldn’t see what the hell he was doing. I saw my camping bag right by the backdoor. A click. It was a flashlight. He played with the switch like it would do something new. Nothing. The light died and left an indistinct hunched shape, outlines burning outwards from blue to black. I could hear him shaking the table ever so slightly. My feet dug into the carpet. I ran. My hand threw itself out towards the bag. Limbs shadowed from the corners of my eyes. The door broke cold stinging my eyes. My bag dragged and shot dirt up onto my shins. The street rolled up across my eyes, empty. I came back after a few hours. It had the same quiet from the woods. He’s no longer at the house. I would report him missing, but he isn’t.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I made a horrible mistake [RESPONSE] I 23, rented out an old building next to my university. As for context I am a history enthusiast and I love old things, I found this old timey mansion for very cheap and I said to myself “fuck it why not?“ at first glance the pictures were very dark but I could make out a few old objects, the house looked straight out of the 18th century it was just perfect, I always wished to live in those old timey house and I clicked on the “contact seller“ button without a second taught. We chatted over the phone and we met in front of the house, the previous owner was an old man and I assumed he is going to a retirement home or something since his frail hands looked like he wouldn’t be able to take care of the house anymore. He handed me the keys and saw his face slightly grin like I have taken a burden off his back. I already had my bags with me so I just went inside the house ignoring the weird encounter and started unpacking. As night fell I noticed that there were no lights only a few candles, chandeliers in some rooms and very few gas lamps. I taught this was odd but I rented this for so cheap, it could have been worse. I just ordered some food and while putting my clothes inside the drawers and hangers I noticed a night gown and it had a tag on it that said “good luck“ it really rubbed me the wrong way but I took the night gown and put it on, at my university we luckly had enough power to charge my powerbank. I just watched some videos and went to bed, something felt really off but I just ignored it and went to sleep. I had a horrid night, I kept waking up to runny faucets around the house and seeing things in the corners of my eyes. I was lucky if I slept one full hour without anything disturbing me, I also am a heavy sleeper so simple things would not wake me up like for example all my life I slept with my gandfather clock in my room without silencing it. After arriving at home again I felt very uneasy just entering the house, today I brought my cat in the house because I’d left him at the vet for a checkup. He kept seeing things in the corners of the room and hissing at nothing, good thing the past owner left me some books, they were all dusty and the pages felt lost in time. I started to read the roman while just ignoring the sharp screaming in the basement. I’m just imagining it and plus this is the best deal I’m going to get. I light up a candle and make use of the leftover meat, the screams have stopped. I try to text my best friend, no signal. As the first snowflakes of this winter drop on the window I just hope this stay gets better, I signed a contract for a year. I’m an atheist but I started praying for myself and put salt around my bed for protection. I ate the steak I made and went to bed, as I was stepping on the creaky hardwood floor I arrived to my bedroom. My cat was crawled underneath the drawer and I went in bed, I have to wake up early tomorrow. I wake up at 5 am as usual and while trying to open the door it just wouldn’t budge, the snow was door high but the weather app told me it was just cloudy with a chance of rain. I swear I heard someone whisper in my ear “this is not your house.“ I ran back upstairs and glancing at my book it wrote in big letters “GET OUT“ I am taking refugee in my bed while the thing downstairs keeps getting closer mimicking a human, the words “get out“ echoing trough the halls, I glance at the door, holding my cat tightly. May God forgive me.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Son of the Rat-King [RESPONSE] A Rat-King is a grotesque feat of nature. It’s one single entangled mass of rats, joined together by the tails. Entwined together, they create a giant super-rat. Rats and Rat-Kings are prevalent in folklore all throughout the world- rats, of course are known as beasts of plague and danger, and are almost universally hated. Though some scientists dismiss the existence of Rat-Kings as folklore and fiction, historical data and specimens in museums point to another conclusion- that they do indeed exist. It’s thought that rats *intentionally* tie themselves together to keep warm. Oils, liquids- and even feces help stick their tails further. The only problem is that rats stuck together probably can’t survive long together, and they are forced to either separate- or die. In Germany, there have been tales of men tying rats’ tails together to earn a quick buck from them- at least, their dead bodies. “He’s the son of the Rat-King.” “Who?” I paused, confused. I’d been watching a man fishing off the side of a lake that looked more of a swamp- something about the guy had struck me as odd. I turned and looked at the elderly woman who had approached me. “The guy you’re watching,” she explained. “We don’t know his name. We just know he comes by occasionally and fishes down there. Never comes up to town.” I’m a journalist, see, and I’d traveled all the way from Maine to Louisiana to sink my hooks into a story- a local festival the small town of Camelia’s Creek was celebrating. I had a friend who’d grown up there, and I wanted to see them and shed light on the obscure little festival. “Who’s the Rat-King?” I asked. “I’ve never heard of him.” “Local murderer,” the woman seethed. “Active back in the day- *Carlton Musakh* was his name, I believe.” “Interesting.” “People started going missing here in the old days,” she continued. “Nobody knew why. They were just gone- gone over to the lake to fish- and suddenly- gone. They went out there,” she gestured to the strange man and the lake, “and then they were gone.” “So what happened?” I pressed. “That guy took em’ and killed em’,” she explained. “And we never would have caught him had a passing hiker not have been there- just there by coincidence, seeing Carlton drag a body off down to shed.” “That’s good,” I commented. “But the Rat-King? Why’d they call him that?” “Cause of the bodies,” the woman explained. “They found the bodies all tied up together. Gutted and knotted by the intestines- all scrunched up together and all. I heard blood was all over that small cabin of his. The sight of the bodies ties by the intestines reminded some journalist of a Rat-King, and that’s-” “That’s why he was called the Rat-King,” I concluded. “Precisely,” the woman nodded. “And I think you should come back to town with me- it isn’t safe to be down here. Local legend says that his son-” again, she pointed at the man fishing down at the lake “-has the same potential as murder as his father.” She led me up, and I followed. Still, I had questions. More questions unanswered- and in that moment, I decided that the killer and his son- that would be my story. Whatever small-town festival was nothing compared to this. A murder case that very much disturbed me. Men and women tied by intestines- and later, I’d learn that their stomachs were filled of rats, all entangled together, tied and bound by blood and feces. “Wait, what does that mean?” I questioned. “Same- potential for murder?” “We don’t know where he came from,” the woman sighed, still leading me up to the town. “We just know he showed up one day. He was young back then- just a. He didn’t attend school and would only frequent the alleyways. See, that’s where the rats lived. “Okay?” “And there he’d do things to the rats- terrible things. Almost a dozen times did we catch him tying their tails together and creating those grotesque demons- Rat-Kings,” the woman- who I’d later learn was named *Elenor Green*. “And he would set the monsters loose on people and they would hunt em’ down, tear right into our flesh.” “Creepy,” I murmured. “But Rat-Kings don’t do that. And how? Aren’t the rats here gigantic?” “Right,” Elenor agreed, nodding. “But somehow the kid still did it. Catching giant rats by the tails and tying them together to create monsters. About two dozen cats had vanished before something got the guts to confront him.” “Then what?” I was taking notes now, albeit in my head. “Oh- and do you mind if I write about this- I work for a media company.” “I don’t mind,” Elenor decided, thinking. I thanked her, and she continued her tale of rats and death. “The Sheriff back then- I believe it was Mills- he chased the kid out of town. Threatened him never to come back. And he never came back after that- the disappearances of the cats stopped, and the kid disappeared.” “So where did he go?” I wondered. “Who took care of him- what did he eat?” “Nobody knows. They say the rats took care of him. At that point we didn’t know he was Carlton’s son, but eventually old Madison decided to go look for him, about a month after he left.” “Where was he?” “The old shed down at the lake.” Elenor looked back at the lake- now just barely visible. The unnerving son of a killer was still there, fishing- and for a second I wondered if he was fishing for fish- or *rats*. “Madison went down there and came back hours later, a crazed look in his eyes. He couldn’t speak of what he saw down there- just that it was too horrible and devilish and begged for nobody to go down there.” “I see.” “But he came back with hair- the boy’s hair, and Sheriff Mill’s went down to the city and had it analyzed- he had suspicions the boy was Carlton’s son- so did we all. And unfortunately, we were right.” “And nobody wanted to raise the boy right?” I inquired. “Why not?” “He rejected education, ran away from everyone,” Elenor explained. “He only spoke and lived with the rats- to this day. We haven’t seen him with anyone but those things. I’ll bet he’s still tying those poor things together.” “Creepy.” Elenor paused, sighing in and then taking a deep breath. “We also had a kid go missing a few years ago. Just gone. He was going out to play with his friends- they were playing hide and seek or something. He ran to the lake to hide and never came back.” “They didn’t arrest the man- Carlton’s son?” I asked. “He’s the only one down there.” “No evidence,” Elenor confessed. “Not much you can do when someone just disappeared.” “But the shed-” “Sheriff Mills went into the shed to check it out- came back crazed, and then he spent the last two weeks of his life unable to speak. We couldn’t really do anything- we even tried to contact the higher authorities- but we’re too small of a town to be paid attention to.” “That’s… not- not fair,” I protested. She shrugged. “It is what it is. Since then we’ve barred anyone from going down to the lake. We don’t want anyone else going missing. That’s all there is to the story.” With that, she left me off the side of a small little cafe bustling with activity. I found my friend, and I joined them, asking them how things were. Still, I couldn’t help but think about the son of the Rat-King and the story Elenor Green has bestowed upon me. Maybe that’s why I decided to head down to the lake a final time, the day before I had to leave back to the newspaper in Kasden City. I headed down there alone- not even my friend wanted to head down there with me. The man was still there, fishing, mumbling to himself- and his mumbles almost sounded like-like the squeaking of a rat. I watched from a distance, seeing piles and piles of rats next to him. *He really was fishing for rats*. He began to tie them together, slowly, and the massive rats screamed as he did so. Knotting them up and keeping them together, creating massive forms of rats. Of course- I made myself hidden, hiding within bushes and trees. The man began to walk away now, and slowly, remaining hidden- I followed. I followed until I saw him in front of a shed beaten and worn down by time- the same shed Elenor had warned me about. I saw the man open the shed- and for a split second in time- I saw the grotesque forms of the things inside that had driven Madison and Sheriff Mills insane. An amalgamation of rats- and the remains of a corpse, somehow undecomposed. Flies swarmed around the man as he entered- and the foul amalgamation inside moved as the flies deceased upon it. With one hand keep the door open and the other hand carrying a tied mass of rats, he smiled, and then threw the rats into the amalgatic corpse pile- and- *The pile of corpses moved.* A mouth- a gaping hole opened and the rats was swallowed into the form. And then what happened next shook me to the core- he turned to look in my direction, smiled further, and mouthed. *“You’re next.”* That’s when I ran. I ran until I could run no longer, halfway between the town and the lake. I threw up right then and there- and then I ran further, back to the town- back to safety. And that’s it. The end of my story. I hope by telling the story of the town someone finally pays attention and stops him before more people die- and destroy whatever he was feeding inside the shed. I don’t know what that thing was but I’m glad I didn’t see enough of it to drive me insane. Be careful if you’re traveling down there in Louisiana. *You might just encounter the son of the* <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I’ve been squatting in a condemned high rise. These are the rules I follow to stay safe. [RESPONSE] I’m not homeless. I have a home. I just don’t own it. But it’s mine and I work to keep it. Every city has its fair share of abandoned buildings to squat in, but usually you gotta deal with either cops or shitty neighbours. The Annedale High Rise has neither. Police stay away, so do the locals. As a stranger from out of town I stumbled across the place on my first night in the city and thought it a little strange that a 28 story tower block had been left to rot. Every window black. Every light in the courtyard smashed. No cars in the lot. No booth for a guard. Not even barbed wire on the fence. Barely half-a-mile from a playground filled with shouting drunken teenagers but none of them strayed in the direction of Annedale. No fires or music or bottles hurtling through the air. It was silent. Inside, I found that the lobby had been torn to shit. Double doors ripped open and left that way for what looked like years. Easy access for the curious, but I was the only one there. Most of the first story had collapsed. Waterlogged ceiling tiles turned to mulch by shitty British weather. I know water is invasive, but it had practically fucking colonised the place so bad algae was growing up the walls. Even the elevator shaft was flooded. My own reflection looking back at me as I peered through brackish water and caught a glimpse of the old rusted carriage just a few feet below. I couldn’t help but think about standing on top of it, waist high, and reaching down to pull open the emergency hatch. Only natural to wonder what was down there. Little metal box soaking in pitch black water for years and years. I thought about pressing the button, calling it up and seeing the elevator rise in spite of all logic. An image I still think of from time to time. Meanwhile the empty shaft loomed above, cables whistling in the wind. I’ve learned not to linger by it. If you look up you’ll sometimes see something ducking out of the way, pulling its head through the doors before you get a good look. It finds it awfully funny, even tries to make a game out of it, like peekaboo. Play too much though and it starts to pop up elsewhere. Any open door becomes an invitation. Sent more than a few people running for their lives in the middle of the night, but bad news for them. That thing is more than free to leave this place if it’s part of a game. If you ask about Annedale most people just shrug or laugh. Kids’ll talk about it same way they talk about any haunted house. Difference is no one dares anyone to go up there. No one uses it to get pissed or high. No one sneaks into the basement to have a risky little fuck. No one hides their stashes there. It has all the hallmarks of your classic urban legend, only people *actually* stay away. They’ll laugh and joke and tell scary stories, but they treat the soil its on like it houses a radioactive leak. And the council, I’m surprised they haven’t knocked it down but they, out of everyone in the city, have the most to lose by talking about it. They built it in the mid fifties as government housing. Only a lot of the young mothers who moved in there found their children’s health taking a turn for the worse. Started with newborns. Babies that wouldn’t wake after a peaceful night’s sleep. The kinda deaths that got written off as either negligence or abuse, screaming teenage girls hauled off to prison on the words of doctors who didn’t give a shit. It’s always the mother’s fault in some people’s eyes, and these girls had no one to stand up for them. Two in the first year, four in the next, and they kept on coming for every year until it closed. Wasn’t until 1982 that someone traced the source of deaths to tainted water storage on the roof. Toxic metals leeching into the supply. Not enough to kill an adult, but bad news for anyone with weak immune systems. Thirty eight women had been imprisoned by then. Another twenty three had killed themselves before they could be sentenced. And those are just the ones accounted for. Not all the deaths were from the water. Annedale has a way of being bad for any child’s health, no matter the circumstance. More than a few toddlers starved to death as their parents rotted in the tub from an overdose. Even more were lost when they found their parent’s stash, little bodies wracked with agonising fits as their panicked mothers screamed for help. One tripped down the elevator shaft because the doors opened as if the carriage was right there. And those are the ones who were found. Plenty more went missing, written off as runaways. In the end Annedale’s reputation as a cursed place got so bad the only way out was to shut the whole thing down. Board it up. Erase it from the records. Pretend it never happened and just forget. But Annedale kept on killing even after the doors were officially shut. If anything it only got nastier. Talked to one cop who told me he found a guy dead from sepsis on the sixth floor couple years after the place was shut down. No one could fucking believe it. They reckon this guy scratched himself on a nail and caught gangrene like it was the 1800s. Never went to the hospital. Just laid there and died slowly and painfully as the infection spread, but not before he took every last bit of furniture in the room and shoved it against the door. Strange enough on its own, but it was the flag he’d made out of his own clothes that freaked everyone out. He’d scrawled *HELP* on it, like he wanted to get someone’s attention down below even though the lock was on his side. He could’ve left anytime he wanted. Cop I spoke to said he was there when they kicked the door down. Still remembers the look in dead man’s eyes. He was glaring at the door two days after he’d passed, white knuckled fists gripping a blanket that smelled sickly sweet from all that infection. There were others too. Lots of people falling, many of them without a good reason. Got so bad they bricked the roof door but by the time I arrived someone had cleared it all away with a sledge hammer. I still don’t hang out up there. Not after I first went up and saw pale fingers gripping the ledge, like someone was hanging off it and holding on for dear life. I reckon a lotta people see something like that and think a person needs their help. They go rushing over to offer a hand. But when I saw it something about those grimy nails set alarm bells off in my head. Fingers looked all wrong. So I took my coat off and used a broom handle to move it closer to the ledge. Sure enough those ugly hands snatched at the coat and ripped it outta my hands, sending it hurtling to the parking lot below. I’ve thought about taking a closer look from time to time, but I got a thing about heights and could never bring myself to investigate it much further. You’d think I’d leave, but it’s my home. I own it as much as it owns me. People even refer to me as the caretaker now like they forgot I wasn’t always here. Police treat me the same, can you believe that? Any reports of a break in and they call me on my number to go take a look, like I’m some sort of official. Only other guy who was here as long as me was the philosopher. I don’t know his name, just call him that because of the books he left behind. He came here back when the block was still just a place to live and he stuck around for a few years after its closure. Lots of notebooks in his flat. Thousands of pages talking about child sacrifice made to gods who don’t like being named, along with pictures of strange things frozen in ice and medical photos that look fake. At first I thought he came to document the curse. He has dozens of books just recording all the strange things he saw, like birds with too many wings or milk that turned to clotted blood in the bottle. But after going through every thing he owned I found letters to a wife who’d died in childbirth. He kept her death certificate way at the back of an old looking box filled with the letters he’d kept writing her long after the date. Another box, just a row over, had the letters she’d written back. Awful things scrawled on random scraps, shit and blood for ink. He dated them himself and sometimes wrote notes about how they came to him. *Delivered by a rat that was cannibalised in front of me.* *Pulled by my dentist from a cavity in my mouth.* *Written in the web of a spider with thirteen legs.* Anyway, he gives away the real reason he moved to Annedale in one of the letters. Says that Annedale was the key to helping her, that he was weeks away from figuring out how to open the door. Told his wife he’d bring her back. Told her he knew how. I’ve never figured out where he went next or what happened to him, but his apartment was locked when I found it and likely would’ve stayed that way if the key hadn’t turned up in my inside pocket on the first morning. Now I live in his old place. It’s safe in there. He’s written things on the wall that keep everything well behaved. Symbols that I don’t understand but which are easy to trace so that’s what I do. I go over them every couple of months and so far they’ve kept me safe and sane. Because you do need protection in Annedale. I don’t know when in its history the curse went from something mundane to something very real and very dark. It wasn’t all just bad luck or poverty, not by the end and certainly not anymore. You can’t just go strolling around Annedale, certainly not at night. It’s dangerous. For one thing, it attracts a constant rotation of the deeply unwell who are likely to attack on sight, if you’re luckly. They usually turn up dead in the halls come morning, although sometimes it’s just bits of them that I come across. Strips of skin floating on the brackish water that floods the basement stairwell, or bloodied fingernails embedded in the ceiling plaster. Weirdest one was a single tooth in a lightbulb, bloody gum still attached to the root, the glass all around it somehow intact. Many of them come here with business, something a little like the philosopher’s. Rituals. Bargains. Things like that. It’s not a good idea to interrupt them, or to give them even the slightest hint you might be a problem. Every night I lock my door and wait for Annedale’s business to finish and come morning I do a sweep, floor by floor, and clean up whatever’s left of the tower block’s strange pilgrims. Most of the rituals don’t look real to me. In fact, I reckon a lotta people who come here just end up as victims of something or someone else. There are a *lot* of reasons to stay out of Annedale at night, and most of its visitors strike me as a little naïve. Most of what I see looks like it got stolen from a bad death metal album. I once found a book called “Satanism and Witchcraft in the 21st Century”. It’s hard to imagine that the secret inner workings of the universe can be found in something with an ISBN number and 3000 Amazon reviews. Of course, not all attempts at exploiting Annedale’s energy are so hackneyed. I had one guy turn up at my door and pay me three grand in cash just to show him the darkest corner in the building. I wasn’t sure what he meant at first. Thought he meant light and shadow. “Sort of,” he replied when I explained this to him. “Darkness like that can be part of it. But I’m looking for a corner, has to be a right angle or more acute. Ideally, more acute. You understand that term right?” He’d seemed arrogant and that last sentence confirmed as much. Good looking guy in his late twenties, nice suit. Looked like the stereotypical banker. Acted like one too. “Plenty of places like that,” I said. “Lots of funny rooms in Annedale. People trying to make the most of limited space. Sometimes the walls meet at tight angles, sure. But I don’t know what you mean about dark. There’s the basement. It’s flooded. Can’t think of anywhere darker than that.” He bit his lip and hesitated for a second or two, as if he was actually contemplating it. “Not a bad suggestion actually, but no, too difficult to reach. And I don’t just mean dark as in the absence of light. I mean dark like under the bed. Dark like that one chip in a wall that leads to a hollow space between the bricks and as a child you can’t help but wonder what lives there. Somewhere that just inexplicably feels… like it’s not got as much of God’s attention on it as everywhere else.” I thought about this for a second. His words were vague but damn if I didn’t know what he meant. “A corner?” I asked. “Has to be an acute corner?” He nodded. “I think I know the place,” I said and he smiled like real creep. I took him to a flat on the eighth floor. It was rundown like everywhere else but there was still enough of its old furniture lying around. You can pull open random drawers in there and still see the cutlery people once used. There’s even an old analogue TV on an old stand. You can perch on what’s left of the sofa and stare at that TV and get the feeling you knew the people who lived there once. Run your thumb over the dials on the toaster, the handle of the fridge, or the yellowing plastic of a light switch, and feel an aching loss that creeps up on you out of nowhere. Look up and you’ll see that the light fixture has been torn out of the ceiling, like someone had tried swinging from it. Not a big place, by the way. Three rooms. A bedroom with a double bed all rumpled up. A living room slash kitchen. And a tiny little spare room that looked like it once would have been used for storage, or a washing machine maybe, *if* you were single and childless. A slither of space, a triangle carved out of whatever room was left over when other more important walls had been put up. That sofa I mentioned, the TV, they were all placed so whoever was sat down could always keep an eye on that room and its contents. You see they’d put a cot inside and it’s still there, bluebottle flies circling overhead. You can’t see inside the cot, not unless you went in and actually pulled the blankets out but it’s been decades and no one has managed it yet. It’s dark behind those old blankets, a heavy shadow that dissuades a closer look, like there’s something in there no one needs to see and it’s spent a long time sat there eating what little light there was. Even with a window in that room, daylight doesn’t really filter down. “Perfect,” the businessman said when he saw it. He gazed around the flat one detail at a time, his head pausing for a moment and a smile creeping across his face as he laid his eyes on the broken light fixture. And the cot, the sight of it, the flies that still circled above faded Winnie the Pooh blankets, it made the breath catch in his throat. “Oh this is… *yes* this is good,” he told me. “Dark like under the bed. You’ve earned that money. I could have had a dozen men sweep this place and they wouldn’t have understood the brief as well as you have.” “Thank you,” I replied even if that wasn’t really how I felt. Quietly the man sat down and began to unpack his leather satchel. No pentagrams to be found, although he did unpack seven strange looking candles. He caught me looking at them and smiled. “Home made,” he said. “Each one shaped by my hands. I’m not a good artist, but it’s the effort that counts. Took forever to rend the wax. Of course that was the easy part. The hard part was getting the fat to make it. Did you know there can be a surprisingly high level of security around a hospital’s medical waste department?” “I didn’t,” I replied as he took out some flimsy bits of wood and a few small nails. He oh so carefully began to nail the splinters of wood together into what looked like random shapes. “Oh well,” he sighed after a few quiet moments, his fingers nimbly gripping the tiny hammer as he tapped away. Already he’d put together at least six of the strange little wooden polygons, and with each new one I felt a strange sensation. “Would you like to stay and watch?” he asked. “Absolutely not,” I answered. He stopped tapping and smiled once more. “Oh you’re clever,” he said. “That’s the correct answer, by the way. And if I’m to respect it, I should inform you that now is the safest time to leave.” I made my way to the exit just as he lit the first candles, but not before I looked towards the cot one last time. I was surprised to see a hollow blackness that extended beyond the doorway, like a curtain had been draped across it, only there was depth to it that drew the eye. The businessman paid it no attention, but after a few more seconds he eventually looked up at me expectantly. “Can I ask what is it you want?” I said. “Everyone who comes here, I don’t get the sense it ever works out for them.” “I’m looking for a new kind of afterlife,” he replied. “Do you need one?” “We all need one,” he said with a wry chuckle. “But only those of us willing to take a few risks will get a better deal. Everyone else…” He grimaced. “It’s worth the bother. But look who I’m speaking to.” He looked to the darkness that enveloped the doorway. Shapes could be seen floating past. “You should leave now,” he said. I pulled the door shut and, noticing that the sun was rapidly setting, ran to my apartment where I knew the walls would keep me safe. When I returned the next day the man’s satchel was still where I’d last seen it, propped against one arm of the sofa. The candles had burned down to the very end of the wicks and left a lingering smell that’s still there all these years later. And of the man himself, well in the room with the cot—which still has bluebottle flies orbiting overhead—there is now a shadow burned into the wall. It’s blurry and diffused, but vaguely recognisable as a man on his knees, his head pressed to the floor in a gesture of supplication. I’ve known it to occasionally move, to turn its head and look towards me at which my point my temples throb, my ears pop, and a darkness begins to encroach upon the edges of my vision. I never exactly considered that flat to be Disneyland before, but now I avoid it like the plague. Still, it could be worse. Not every ritual ends so cleanly and at times I’ve had to personally intervene, something I hate bitterly. If people want to go poking around in the universe’s undercarriage that’s their business. It’s one thing if I’ve got to sweep what’s left of them up afterwards but at least that’s a one and done job. Sometimes it isn’t so clean. One guy turned up and told me he’d be a new “resident”, my neighbour, and we’d get to know each other. A bumbling old man with an upper class accent and the look of a professor who was down on his luck. He set up in the room next to mine and no matter how little I spoke to him, he never really got the hint and kept trying to act like a good friend. Few times I did initiate conversation it was to tell him the place he’d chosen didn’t have much in the way of protection. He pointed to some funny little rashes and told me *they* were his protection. Over the next few weeks I’d bump into him from time to time, always on his hands and knees, scraping some dank corner or mouldy pile of bumpy growths. He collected fungi, told me on the first day, and I’d often see him wiping his samples onto petri dishes that he whispered quiet words to whenever he thought I wasn’t around. I don’t think he was sane, but he probably wasn’t completely barmy because he lived long enough to get a sense of Annedale and only come out in the day. Meanwhile his apartment filled up with a growing collection of chittering terrariums and pickle jars, their specimens hidden by murky fluids. All over, he planted and cultivated strange mushrooms and moulds. Encouraged them to soak up the darkness of Annedale and set them to grow in the rife conditions he’d cultivated. Towards the end his living room had mushrooms growing out the walls. Plaster crumbling beneath microbial armies until there was only concrete and rebar, and even then mould continued to grow and thrive. A few times I peered in and found him feeding meat to the frilly growths that exploded out of the old furniture. During this time the symbols on our shared wall would often grow hot, and I found myself having to replace them on a nearly daily basis as he tinkered away on the other side. I asked him once or twice to tone it down. “This is important work,” he growled, an unseen darkness creeping into his voice. “I’m not some ditzy crackhead trying to summon the Baphomet! I’m not looking to get *high*. This is science. Progress! That is what I am working towards.” “Yeah well your progress is trying to eat its way into my flat. Can you ask it to stop?” He stopped, froze in mid gesture like I’d said something either profoundly stupid or insightful, or likely a bit of both. He looked at the rashes on his arms that had, by now, started to sprout some of their own strange fruit. When he finally spoke again it was sly, like a lecherous old man propositioning a nurse. “This fungi,” he said. “They had samples of it in the university for thirty years! Can you imagine? They never even realised what they had until I found it and unlocked its potential. Now I’ve finally found the source and I can do things no one else thought possible. This entire time my thesis has depended upon the idea that the fungus has… a capacity for information processing way beyond anything we’ve considered before. And your idea is a good one, you know? Asking it just might be an option…” He scuttled off without another word and for the next few days he set about the building like a furious little honey bee in Spring. Poking and prodding, setting trap after trap and cleaning them vigorously of any rats or mice he caught. When I did my morning sweeps I’d find him hovering over Annedale’s latest victims, scraping what was left of them into transparent bags for his own purposes. “Don’t mind me,” he’d mutter. “It’s worthless to you, but these poor souls could help me achieve great things.” This persisted for another month. He no longer scraped mould or mushrooms off old apartments. He became interested only in meat, and by the time it came to an end I can say confidently that I have never smelled anything worse than the prickly musty odour that wafter out from under his locked door. It became so bad that I began to wonder if I might have to ask for police help and have him removed when, finally, he simply disappeared from Annedale’s halls. One morning he was there, annoyingly shooing me out of the way as he lowered jars into the flooded basement, and then the next he was gone and Annedale’s halls were silent once more. But that didn’t mean he had moved out. Far from it, actually. It took two days before I decided to just go ahead and break his door down. I kicked at it with a short sharp blow only to find my leg immediately disappeared through wood that had the texture of sodden cardboard. I freed my foot and tried a different tactic, grabbing the handle and pulling so hard that it simply *popped* right out of the rancid wooden frame. Free to move, the door swung open with an eerie creak and fetid air, hot and damp, blew out of the room. Inside I found that the man’s specimens had gone wild. Terrariums had shattered, their contents spilling outwards. Frogs as large as footballs glared at me from behind furry fronds, and insects with human eyes scuttled away before the amphibians could snatch them up. In one corner rats had built a hive out of old cardboard, their backs covered with fungal growths that resembled human fingers and other appendages. In another corner something that looked a little like a black rubber sheet slapped furiously at passing vermin and it took me a few seconds to realise it was a slime mould. When it finally caught something it dragged the strange creature squealing into the dark corner where it grew and constricted around its meal like a fist. I stared at it horrified until one by one black orbs unveiled itself from within the strange mass and I realised it had eyes to stare right back at me. It was a cacophony of God awful terror, so gripping that it kept me from hearing the muffled noise of a human struggling to speak. Eventually it did reach my ears and I used my torch to light up the far wall without having to actually step inside. I found the scientist half-grown into the wall. Algae and moss coated him head-to-toe so that he was no longer recognisable, but I had to assume it could be no one else. Wide eyes glared at me with terror and pain as nasty little critters nibbled away at what was left of his shins, meanwhile strange tendrils probed at his ears and head, never resting for a moment. He kept trying to speak, but the algal growths kept driving their way into his mouth until, one-by-one, they pushed too far and something snapped. His eyes went wider still, his squeals became hysterical, and his jaw slowly slid further down his chest until it hit the floor with a sodden thump. “Finally made contact?” I asked. “An awful idea if I’ve heard one. What would a mushroom have to say even in the best of circumstances? Let alone one that was grown in the ruins of Annedale? I can only assume you never got around to telling it to stay off my wall, did you? No you probably had your own reason or doing all of this and that’s what took priority.” That made me wonder what it was he’d asked for. As the thought entered my head I took a quick look around and tried to see if anything particular stood out to me. Something was growing on the sofa that looked strangely human-shaped. It might have been just my imagination, but in the dark it seemed to turn towards me. Meanwhile the scientist continued to shiver in agony, his eyes focused on me and begging for help. “I’ll see what I can do,” I said before slamming the door. Something about that strange pile on the sofa had deeply unsettled me. I put the word out, asked for a gun, but got a crossbow instead a few days later. A nervous looking sixteen year old boy ferried it to my door. I was surprised he’d entered the building, but who knows who’d ordered him to do so. I’ve acquired a strange sort of respect amongst the locals and it comes in handy. This boy looked like he would have stamped on my head and robbed me blind any other day, but when he spoke to me he did so with more respect than I ever imagined I deserved. I thanked him, took the crossbow, spent an afternoon practicing with it, and then used it to kill the scientist the next morning. Took a few hits, but in the end one thumped into his forehead and shut down his whimpered moans. I didn’t see anything on the sofa this time, at least not anything human-shaped, which I was thankful for. After that it was a simple case of calling the police and beginning a long chain of events that ended with half-a-dozen men in hazmat suits spraying the room with noxious chemicals. For a while there I’d been worried that they’d find a corpse and ask questions, but by the time anyone actually entered the room there was nothing left of the scientist save a splotch on the floor. I never did figure out exactly what it was he was after, although it is not uncommon for my morning sweep to turn up a body (or part of) covered in fungal growths. And I have been known to occasionally catch glimpses of a strange person lowering themselves into the floodwater of the elevator shaft. Of course I might just be making connections that aren’t really there. All sorts of things live in that water. The entire level is flooded and if something was down there, it’d have free reign over quite a large space. It's a strange world down there. I should know on account of one visitor who gave me a very bad time. I’ll call him the fisherman since he came to Annedale because of the flooded basement. Saw a photo that’s been circulating around for a while now, if you know where to look. God knows who took it and how, but it shows the flooded stairwell leading to the basement and beneath the brackish surface is a hand that’s all out of proportion. Fingers splayed with perfect symmetry like a starfish, it is reaching up out of the depths and resting gently on the third step below the water. When I first met him he was sitting happily with his feet over the edge of the flooded shaft, water up to his knees, with a rod and line set up beside him. It was quite a surprise at first, seeing him there with a little fly-fishing hat. A chubby but healthy looking man in his forties with an egg mayo sandwich in one hand and a phone playing candy crush in the other. I called out to him as I approached because, in my experience, startling someone in Annedale is bad for your health no matter how sane the visitor appears. He looked up when I caught his attention and smiled amiably. “Hello,” he waved with his sandwich. “You’re the caretaker?” “Yes I am,” I answered. “And you are?” “Just a tourist,” he smiled. “Care to join me?” The sun had risen only moments ago. “You weren’t here when it was dark, were you?” I asked more than a little suspicious. “Oh no you’ve only just caught me, been here barely ten minutes before you showed up. I was told you’d be willing to help in exchange for a small fee.” “What sort of help?” I asked. “Oh just give me a nudge if any of the lines start moving,” he said while pointing to a rod he’d set up beside the basement stairs. The door was propped open and the line led down into the darkness below, water gently lapping just out of sight. Another line had been set up in a corner of the lobby where the floor had been torn away revealing a hole straight down into the basement. “I can’t keep an eye on them all at once, you see. I have bells ready but, well, two heads are better than one.” “What is it exactly you’re hoping to catch down there?” I asked. “Are you familiar with the primordial ocean?” he said. “The abyssal waters that God split into light and dark, all that? It’s not a physical location, per se, but it does connect to certain bodies of water depending on the time and place. Last recorded manifestation was in a glass of old whiskey underneath a forgotten bar in Mexico City. Some poor fellow knocked it over and didn’t notice until the following day when half the bar was suddenly underwater. Quickly rectified but some of the things swimming in that water were something else, and all from at the bottom of a glass no wider than my wrist. Imagine what we can do with this!?” he said while gesturing at water by his feet. “You think there could be fish alive down there?” I asked. “At least,” he replied. “I’d be willing to pay for any reliable information, of course. Do you have any idea what might be down there?” “Not really,” I shrugged. “But I’d guess it wants to be left alone.” “Hmmm you might be right there,” he said while looking at his other rods. “I didn’t exactly put down any old lure, you know?” He reached into his pocket and took out a strange tuft of fur and ivory, holding it up for me to squint at. “A tooth from a man who drowned in the sea. A drone collected it off a shipwreck near the Norwegian coast. The fur is actually red algae that was found growing on his bones. I have plenty of these and, well, other things that might appeal to what’s on the other side. My research was thorough and expensive. Come on, take a seat. Flat fee, one thousand, just sit here until the sun starts to set.” “I just have to sit?” I asked. “And let me know if you hear or see anything.” I groaned and sat beside him, folding my legs instead of letting them dangle in the water below. Despite my reticence, we stayed like that for several hours. He’d brought lots of food, good homemade stuff, along with plenty of cold beer. We sat there and spoke very little, but we did eat and drink a tremendous amount. Not the kind of thing I do normally, but I was being paid to be there, and I didn’t really have anywhere else to be. It was, all in told, a very pleasant afternoon. Until I fell asleep. When I awoke it was with a terrible gasp. My chest was tight like something had been sitting on it, and judging from the terrible giggling and scampering feet I heard running off into the darkness, it might not have been *just* a feeling. Already panic was setting in as my eyes darted to the open doors and saw that the moon was out and had been for hours. I fumbled for my torch and turning it on saw that there was no sign of the fisherman. All his stuff had been left behind yet all that remained of him was his hat that still floated on the water. Even as I watched, a smooth glistening shape curled beneath the water and plucked it off the surface. I recoiled and crawled away from it as fast as I could. This was bad, I knew deep in my heart I’d never been as at risk I was in that moment. The open doors that led outside were tempting, but just beside them were the stairs that led downwards and I swore I could hear something approaching. I couldn’t help but picture the fungal man I’d seen in the scientist’s flat. Then again, that basement was huge and who knows what lay down there. I decided to go for the stairs. The entire time my heart was in my chest. I had never been caught outside my room at night, not since my first night when I’d slept in the lobby with my coat pulled over me. You don’t get lucky twice, not with Annedale, so I knew had to be careful. I had to be quiet. My only hope was to go unnoticed. I took to stealth, climbing each floor in perfect silence, hiding in well known spots at the slightest hint of footsteps, human or otherwise. Annedale comes alive at night. Whispered mutterings from strange children who descend from air vents, living there for God knows how long. Other times I saw apparitions including one, a toddler, the sight of whom made my stomach growl with an insatiable hunger that hurt just to contemplate. She stared at me with pleading eyes as I slunk away from her open door. I might have been tempted to help her were it not for the sight of the moon peering through her translucent image. And yet, despite all this, I somehow made it to the fourteenth floor alive. Only it was there right at the final hurdle, so close to safety, that I came across something out of my worst nightmare. A woman stood outside my apartment door. Silent. Pale. Dirt covered fingernails. It was all too often I’d open my door and find muddy impressions on the floor made by a woman’s bare feet. Now I knew who left them every night. I couldn’t see her face from where I hid, but something about her seemed profoundly familiar. When she finally turned towards me I remembered. I recognised her, even though most of her face was missing. It was the philosopher’s wife. He had succeeded, it seemed. But I couldn’t imagine at what God awful price, because the woman who stared at me had clearly weathered some years in the grave. It was only the poor lighting and her long hair that had covered up just how bad a state she was in. A lipless grin stared back at me below sunken cheekbones and hollow eye sockets. And yet, I could tell that in another life she had been beautiful which only made the sight all the more gut-wrenching. “My darling,” she whispered, and there was something about her voice that I found hard to stay sane in the face of. I don’t know why. Over a decade in that place and I’d borne witness to living nightmares, but it was *this* walking corpse that pushed me to my limits. The inescapable feeling of loss weighed me down and without realising it I found myself taking steps towards her even as my knees buckled. By the time I reached her I was crawling until I could clutch her grimy icy leg, and that was the last thing I remember before I woke up in my bed the following morning. Everything seemed normal, so completely mundane that I could’ve written the whole thing off as a bad nightmare. But there were footprints leading from my bed to the door. And later on I found the fisherman’s things much as he left them, although when I finally reeled his lines in I found the lures gone and replaced with bits and pieces of the man who’d first set them up. I threw it all into the water below and decided it would be best to forget him. Every now and again, of course, I can’t help but check my peephole at night. I never did before that, but now I do. I see her every single time. She looks sad. Hurts me to think of her out there. It ought to be terrifying but it’s more like someone’s ripped out my stomach and heart and let all my insides fall out the bottom. Each time I see her I wonder what exactly was it he did to bring her back? He leaves only one hint. A final letter, I think. It’s not like he dated them. In it he says he would give everything to have her in his arms once more. Not only his life, but everything he’s already lived. Every sunset. Every good dream. Every nightmare. Every victory. Every loss. Every little memory that makes him who he is, he’d give it all just to save her. Sometimes I wonder about him, figuring we’d probably be about the same age. I’d like to think back and imagine what it would have been like for the two of us to meet as young men, but for some reason whenever I try to remember what my life was like before I came to this city, before I woke up with that coat pulled over me… well, I don’t know… It’s just hard, that’s all. It's almost like there's nothing there. Like something reached in and took all the years away. I guess it's just one of those things I'm better off not dwelling on.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Hensley House [RESPONSE] Fugate Drive was unremarkable: a short, dead-end road that branched off from the main street of a slowly dying coal town. All of the houses were inhabited by elderly couples who stubbornly refused to leave once the mines began drying up, and extremely transient thirty-somethings who hopped houses on a slow, expensive trek to find their footing. Since most of the homes were owned and rented out by the same woman—my neighbor, Valerie—they all had the same look about them, too. It was white vinyl siding and wrought iron porch columns as far as the eye could see. It was an extremely boring place to grow up. And back in ‘96, when I was seven years old, it was where I held the unfortunate title of “The Only Kid in the Neighborhood.” My family was on the verge of dirt-eating poor, so I didn’t have much to do indoors. There were no cool toys or video games to hold me hostage. Outside wasn’t much better; there was only so much to do alone on a street inhabited by old women who’d turn the hose on me if I got too close to their yard. I spent most of my childhood being both painfully lonely and excruciatingly bored, with moments peppered in between where I’d successfully brainstorm something to do that wouldn’t get me in trouble. I found a creek where I could spend time catching frogs, which was nice until I realized I had nobody to show said frogs to. I learned that the best climbing tree was in the backyard of a rental home that was empty more often than not, though it didn’t seem as thrilling once I mastered climbing it. Sometimes, if I was desperate enough to pitch in, Valerie would tell me some interesting stories while gardening. The tales were fun, even if peonies weren’t. Without a shadow of a doubt, though, the most interesting thing to explore was the one place it seemed like Valerie didn’t own. On the other side of her home from mine and a few houses down, enveloped by trees and vines, was an uninhabited property that looked like it hadn’t been touched since before I was born. Everyone called it “The Hensley House.” The Hensley House was unique. The paint was flaking and the roof shingles were loose, and all that remained of a once pristine picket fence was a single section of wasp-infested wooden planks that bordered the sidewalk. Ancient, rusted cars slept in a gravel driveway that had been mostly reclaimed by nature. Sun-bleached curtains, now a nauseating green, were still perfectly cinched in long-dark windows, revealing porcelain figurines of red-cheeked animals gazing out at the world with beady little eyes. The backyard was a veritable jungle of out-of-control morning glories that twined low-hanging branches together so densely, it created a canopy that nearly blotted out the sun. The ground was a mess of moss and ivy, slugs and beetles, and treasures that were lost long ago, waiting for a particularly restless second grader to recover them from cracks in what had once been a lovely brick patio. When nothing else seemed interesting on a slow summer day, I could always count on getting a kick out of playing “treasure hunter” at the Hensley House. The problem was that I wasn’t supposed to be there. Valerie told me as much, saying that I was “trespassing” and “being disrespectful.” Apparently, the titular Hensleys were long dead, but had once been fiercely protective of their property. “I don’t think they’d appreciate it if you kept pokin’ around their yard, takin’ all their stuff,” she once told me, in a tone that clearly implied I was heading toward trouble. Unfortunately, I was a child who only listened to these sorts of warnings if they didn’t clash with what I wanted. I vaguely remember following up her warning by asking if anyone was currently living there, and being told no. There was some boring talk about a daughter who didn’t know what to do with the house, how technically “treasure hunting” was “stealing,” and some other junk that a kid doesn’t really care about. All I was taking out of it was that the house was empty and that meant nobody would catch me if I kept on like I had been. So, I did. I kept on like I had been, waiting until Valerie was busy or gone so she wouldn’t see me ambling around the forbidden yard through her kitchen window. And, as time went on, I got braver. Hunting for bugs and bits in the moss was fun and all, but the old shed door was cracked just enough that I could get inside and forage for anything useful or interesting. Things like old timey Avon bottles shaped like dogs and race cars, or ancient RC colas still in the carrier. Before long, I realized those cars parked by the house were unlocked and there were goodies in the glove box. Mostly papers, yellowed and brittle, that told a story about the people who used to drive them, though I *did* also find a moldy toy frog that I decided to keep amongst my hoard. There was a hole in the lattice under the screened-in back porch and I eventually got brave enough to crawl under the house, too. It’s where I found stored boxes of old, faded Christmas decorations, grimy Santas that used to light up and were now mostly covered in cobwebs and dirt. Bones, too, of a dog or coyote or *some* fanged animal that had crawled underneath the house to die and left only a jawbone as a sign that it was ever there. The screened-in back porch was the natural next progression. It was locked, but rain and time had made the metal latch incredibly brittle. Weak enough, actually, that a little good ol’ fashioned stubbornness saw it pop right off so I could take stock of things I’d only ever seen through a layer of warped mesh. Things like the worn and ragged porch furniture, made of wicker and tacky, moldy floral cushions. There were suncatchers in the shapes of hummingbirds spinning at the end of dirty strings and tied awkwardly to wherever they’d fit. Once upon a time, there’d been plants, too, but they were long gone with only the terracotta pots remaining. The dirt inside was so dry that it barely registered as dirt. It was more like ash, gritty and crumbly and having settled so far down in the containers that it had almost become a cake at the bottom. I took a suncatcher, and an entire pot of desiccated soil. For whatever reason, I found it interesting. Hell, it was *all* interesting. I felt like I was stepping back in time, getting to know secret things about secret people that I was never meant to know. This was a child’s equivalent of digging up the meteor that killed the dinosaurs. My curiosity burned me like a lit cigarette. I was hooked. Emboldened by the fact I hadn’t yet “gotten got,” I spent a lot of time trying to find other places to explore. I exhausted the shed, the cars, the porch, and aside from a few new cool spiders and slugs, I’d exhausted everything the crawl space had to offer, too. It wasn’t like I could go back to digging through moss for bottle caps, not when there were treasures left unseen and secrets buried in places I couldn’t reach. So, I started stealing trash cans from the neighbors. I got caught a few times, but eventually learned when people were at work or the store or church. I’d slip to the end of their driveways, grab my prize, and quietly drag them to the Hensley House to use as a stool to reach the windows. I wasn’t so stupid that I would try actually breaking into the house itself, but I didn’t see any harm in taking a peek. After all, the curtains were wide open and you could practically see into the living room from the street. I spent a lot of time with my hands cupped around my face, squinting past the dust in the windows. If the sun was angled just right, I could see entire rooms as clearly as if the electricity was still working. Most of them had a dingy, kelly green carpet and wood panel walls covered with dust-caked photos that were impossible to discern. The beds were made so tightly that the sheets still seemed to have a spring to them, and the kitchen was a cramped, meticulously organized affair with a blue-and-white color scheme that didn’t match anything else. The living room was cluttered in knick-knacks but was in spectacularly good shape, save for a brown recliner on the far side of the room, awkwardly tilted with a short stack of magazines in the seat. All in all, it was everything you’d imagine a grandma’s house to be. Simple. Dated. Dull. I kept hoping something interesting would catch my eye, but nothing really changed except for the spider webs. In fact, I started getting bored, and that was a feeling that brought with it a deep anxiety. After sinking so much of my summer into playing detective, the idea of doing anything else seemed foreign and empty. What was I supposed to do, after all? Go back to a life of catching frogs with no one and sitting restless in a tree? Hell no! I had to up the ante somehow, though the only thing I could figure was finding a way to actually get *in* the house. Even if I was a stupid kid, I was smart enough to realize that was beyond a bad idea. The furthest I ever got was standing on the front porch and staring at the doorbell, as if ringing it would summon somebody aside from the occasional angry neighbor trying to scare me away. Which would lead me back to looking in windows. I still couldn’t tell who was in the photos on the wall. I knew exactly how many cans of thyme were left on the kitchen counter. I was reaching first name basis with the orb weaver that was living in the bush by the bedroom window. I felt like a homicide detective that had finally run out of leads. Case closed. The Hensleys were dead, and their cool, ancient, older-than-me stuff was going to take their secrets to the grave with them. Then, there was a break in the case. I had been trapped inside by the rain for most of the week, but the sun had finally decided to come out of hiding with a vengeance. It had to have been the hottest and muggiest day of the year, but it was bright and blue and I was sick of watching bad talk shows. So, out I went. There was an urge to catch up on my daily staring contests with the Hensley’s doorbell, but I heard the shrill, excitable voice of Valerie somewhere around the corner on the main road. Showing around the new revolving door tenants, if I had to guess, and talking louder than a preacher at Sunday service. Of course, avoiding her was the best option. I turned on my heels and decided to cut through some backyards, hers included. I hopped some fences, accidentally stepped on a flower or two, and eventually made my way to the Hensley House’s thoroughly investigated property. Ivy and cracked brick crunched beneath my sneakers as I tread the same tired ground I had been haunting for weeks, eyes fixed on my feet in hopes that maybe *something* new would have popped up since the last time I was there. Hell, I’d even settle for a new snail. No such luck. I let out a resigned sigh and stopped dead in the center of the brick patio, lifting my head to look up at the gaps between the vines and trees. Spots of sunlight managed to sneak through the branches, but not enough. I could barely see the blue of the sky, and I remember finding it strange. The canopy had always been thick and the property had always been shady, but it had never been as dark as it was that day. However, a child’s mind isn’t too keen on picking up bad omens. I was at an age where I could get swiped off the street if somebody offered me enough candy, so it being a little *too* dim didn’t really set off any alarms. It was an oddity I noted before trying to figure out whose trash can would be the easiest to swipe. The Hughes family always sat out several of the big, square, sturdy ones, but they usually sat them out in plain view of the Hendersons across the street. Valerie would always notice if hers were gone because she was a stickler about things being in place. The Johnson family at the end of the road probably wouldn’t notice since they never seemed to notice anything, but I’d have to walk past some prospective renters and their loud landlady to get to them. That’s when I heard a very sharp creak that snapped me out of my train of thought. At first I thought it was a tree branch or Valerie’s back door. I braced myself for the crash of a falling limb or some unforeseen family member to burst onto Valerie’s porch, but I was met with silence. Then, another creak. This time, it didn’t take me by surprise, save for the fact that it was coming from a curious direction. My heart was thudding faster than it ever had in my life, and I found myself craning my head towards the house itself. My eyes came to rest on the culprit before my brain really had time to process what I was seeing, and I stood in silence as it took its time catching up to the moment. Through the mesh on the back porch, partially obscured by tacky suncatchers, I realized that the back door was open. Not a lot, not entirely. It was just a crack, about the width of my hand, and just obvious enough to be noticeable. My first thought wasn’t investigating. My first thought was to think back to Valerie telling me about the daughter who didn’t know what to do with the house, how she wouldn’t have appreciated me being on the property. How what I was doing was technically trespassing and stealing. Again, I froze, waiting for some stranger to come out and demand that I explain myself. And again? Nothing. I let out a long breath and loosened my posture. I walked to the edge of the house and peered around into the overgrown gravel driveway, trying to see if there was any indication of a new car. The only ones that greeted me were the rusted heaps I’d already gone through. But that didn’t mean that there wasn’t anyone there, I reckoned. There was a church parking lot at the top of the hill and I’d known plenty of people to park there. Fugate Drive was a cramped mess and some folks opted to walk it rather than try to find comfortable parking. So I called out, an innocent hello with a tone that I hoped conveyed the lie that this was a first time offense for me. I played dumb as I elaborated to the air: *Hi, do you live here? I live just down the road. I was cutting through on the way to a friend’s house. I’m sorry.* Silence. I checked for a car again. I checked to make sure the coast was clear. I uttered another greeting and wound up with nothing in return. My thoughts shifted. Maybe somebody *was* in there, probably this hypothetical daughter. Or her cousin or brother or aunt or uncle. Maybe whoever it was happened to be somewhere on the other end of the house and didn’t realize they left the back door open. Or, worse yet, maybe they were already gone and didn’t realize it didn’t latch. Either way, it wasn’t safe. What if somebody got in that wasn’t supposed to be there? That would be positively awful, wouldn’t it? Motivated by only the *faintest* desire to see the inside of the Hensley House, I cautiously began to edge forward, across the brick patio and up the steps. I pulled open the broken door to the screened-in porch and hesitated before knocking a bit too quietly on the back door itself. My voice was faint as I muttered another “hello” through the crack. My second knock was more calculated, louder and more forceful, so that the door squeaked open just enough to see inside. Which, admittedly, was difficult to do even with the door open. It was too dark. So, I poked my head in for a better look and was hit with the distinct odor of mildew, dust, and something sour that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Considering that the back door led into the kitchen and electricity was nothing but an ancient memory, I figured it probably had something to do with sour milk, bad meat. Years of rot and grossness that had been left to fester and nothing I needed to be too worried about so long as I didn’t yank open the fridge to investigate further. Covering my nose with my shirt, I took a tentative step inside. It was hotter indoors, and somehow more humid. The kitchen tile was sticky with some unknown substance, and dusty enough that I left prints in my wake. A single point of light could be seen at the opposite end of the house—the living room window, visible from the kitchen—but it was filtered through what looked to be a sheer set of once-white curtains, fluttering like a worn flag. Odd, honestly, because I distinctly remembered all of the curtains being the same thick green ones that were all carefully cinched in the middle. My brows furrowed. This was clearly a sign that somebody had been in the house, or *was* in the house. Why didn’t they answer me? Was it because I had been purposely quiet? I’d knocked louder the second time. And why would they just hang up some gross curtains? What did that accomplish? *Unless*… A laugh escaped me and I popped my forehead with my palm. Duh! It wasn’t a curtain. It was a sheet. I’d seen my dad hang them up while touching up the walls in our house so paint didn’t accidentally get on the windows. And the Hensley House was in bad enough condition that even a second grader could tell you it probably would need a new coat (or five) whenever somebody came back to fix the place up. I couldn’t guess why they wouldn’t have cleaned out the rancid fridge or dusted first, but sometimes the reasoning of adults went way beyond me. However, that also meant that somebody was probably actively there, and that person probably had heard me come into the kitchen. And maybe that person would like some help from some bored, well meaning kid who’d come in with the pure intention of letting them know their door was open. And maybe they’d let that good kid take a look around and tell them stories about who lived here before, so said kid could compare notes to figure out if they were *right*. I yelled into the house, louder and more confident. I explained they’d left their door open. I asked if they wanted me to close it for them. Or if they needed help. Step by step, I inched from the kitchen to what I assumed was a dining area. I hadn’t seen this part of the house from the outside since there were no windows, just a light fixture swinging in the breeze I’d let in. Cobwebs danced between links in a chain that was tangled with a yellowed electrical cord. I kept talking. I wasn’t even waiting to hear if there was a response, and to this day I don’t know if it was because I was caught up in the excitement of seeing something *nobody* had seen in decades, or if it was because my gut instinct told me that something was wrong. I blabbered and blabbered, and I’m sure that the longer I spoke, the more holes were apparent in my story. I’ve never been good at maintaining a lie, and I was even worse before my brain fully developed. The floor creaked beneath me with every step, a sound that echoed into the depths of the house as if it were as hollow as a cave. I skirted around the dining table, fingers running across tacky, dusty chairs. My heart skipped a beat as I stopped beside the bedroom door. Finally, my brain registered with certainty that something wasn’t right. Nobody was answering me, the darkness was beginning to feel constricting, and I consciously realized something that’d I’d been ignoring in my excitement. The smell from the kitchen was getting stronger the further I walked from it, rather than fainter. When I began to consciously focus on it, I was surprised it hadn’t repelled me sooner. It was less sour now, and more… *something else*. Putting words to it seems impossible in retrospect, and was even harder at an age where I was barely struggling through Accelerated Reader programs at school. I didn’t have the vocabulary, but I knew it sat in my nostrils and twisted my stomach and made my head throb. Somehow, I knew that I was walking towards something dead. I don’t know how I knew that, save primal instincts. My only encounter with death at age seven was second-hand gossip from Valerie about some of the neighbors and some pet fish I’d failed to feed properly. It wasn’t anything I’d really seen, let alone *smelled*, yet my mind filled in the gaps with images from horror movies I’d peeped through parted fingers. I called out another apology, and an excuse which was probably wildly different than the ones I’d used coming in. In response, the floor squeaked. Yet, I hadn’t moved. And the way the floorboards squealed beneath the carpet told a story about something moving that was much, much bigger than myself. As if my shoes had sunk in concrete, I stood there frozen, unable to will my legs to move or my body to turn. I forgot how to swallow or speak as I entertained thoughts of being the next missing kid on America’s Most Wanted. Thud. Squeak. Thud. I could see movement now, shadows dancing across the wall, far too blurry to make out. A wave of putrid air caught my nose again, and the jolt was enough to knock me out of whatever trance I’d fallen into. I clasped both hands over my face to block out the smell and scooted backwards towards the kitchen. Squeak. Thud. Squeak. My eyes couldn’t register what I was looking at at first. It was just a blob, obscured by the tears welling in my eyes from the scent of decay. When I blinked them away, it began to take a solid form: hunched and loose and knock-kneed in a dress that was tattered at the edges, backlit by the living room window. At first I thought it was a person and my first instinct was to apologize, but then, it moved. Rigid. Jerking. Its head slumped sideways and then snapped up so violently that what looked like an entire clump of hair flung free of its scalp and slapped against the wall. A new, noxious odor followed its movement and a few droplets of something black and rancid hit my hand. Bile rose up my throat and, for the first time in my life, I dropped the f-bomb. In true child fashion, my fear only intensified when it left my mouth; not only was I going to die, my mother would somehow magically know and be *so* mad at me, as if my current company wasn’t mad enough. It lurched forward and a ragged, wheezing sound escaped it. The floorboards squeaked as it stumbled and barely caught itself. I finally found it in me to run. Something sour rose up my throat as I let go of my face and was slapped with the full force of the smell, and it was only made worse by the way my stomach flip-flopped inside of me. I knew I couldn’t stop to look back, but I could paint a very vivid picture in my head based on the grotesque noises behind me. Squelching, stumbling, thudding and hissing as ancient, hole-filled lungs struggled to say words that would never come out. Clicking teeth, falling objects. Something broke in the kitchen as I felt cold, bony fingers claw at the back of my shirt and barely miss getting enough of a grip to pull me back. The kitchen tile seemed to expand infinitely, the door always moving further and further away, still tantalizingly cracked from when I came in. Lungs burning and stomach roiling, I launched myself at the back door like a pouncing cat and curled both hands around the edge. I pulled and I pulled, but it was as if some invisible force was holding it shut out of spite. I felt a rush of musty, bitter air on the back of my neck and screamed. The door flung open. So forcefully that I nearly fell back into the entity and barely managed to catch my footing as I threw myself out on the porch. The wicker lawn furniture and empty plant pots became obstacles as I stumbled and shrieked and threw cushions and watering cans and whatever else I could in the direction of the door. Stealing only the briefest glance to see if I was making any leeway, I saw it looming at the threshold, emaciated and flaking to nothing, eyes long gone and dried maggots caked to what was left of the flesh. Strings of loose hair fell messily around it, from patches of scalp that were mostly peeled away from the skull. It was the sort of image that sticks with you, one you carry with you in excruciating detail for the rest of your life. And so I have, just like I carried the memory of how bad it *hurt* when I realized I’d carried myself to the porch stairs and promptly fell down them. My nose cracked against the brick patio. I felt blood oozing down my face, but adrenaline numbed the pain enough that I could climb up to my feet and bolt around the edge of the house, past the abandoned cars and the garbage cans I failed to return. Something slapped the windows as I ran by, my legs pumping so hard that I could barely feel them, but I refused to look up. I didn’t know who or what was trying to get my attention but, given what I’d just seen, I could imagine. Instead, I just screamed. I screamed as I ran out onto the sidewalk. I screamed as I stumbled over the uneven pavement. I screamed until I saw Valerie on the sidewalk in front of one of her rental properties, waving at a car of hopeful tenants as they made their way out of Fugate Drive. It was obvious that I’d taken her by surprise; she never stopped waving even as her smile faltered and I collided with her legs like a runaway vehicle. She swayed and threatened to fall as I wrapped myself around her knees, blood smearing on her slacks and fingers digging into my own sleeves. Not a word passed her lips as I confessed three times in the span of thirty seconds to what I had done. I’d not listened to her, I’d been snooping around the Hensley House, something was in there and it was *going to get me*. The phrase “I’m so sorry” flung from the end of my tongue so many times that it ceased to have meaning, becoming more and more strained as tears and snot began to block my throat, making it harder for me to speak. To her credit, she listened. Hand still lifted in a wave, she looked down at me with puzzlement, then disappointment, then sympathy. The final time I glanced up at her, her face was twisted in indignant anger and her eyes were fixed on the Hensley House, deceptively still and silent behind a fragment of its fence. “Oh, Leslie,” she sighed, dropping her hand at long last. “I told you not to go snoopin’. Their girl ain’t cleaned that house out for a reason. *Nobody* gets in there anymore. Nobody *can*.” Slowly, she fell to her knees. Her arms wrapped around me in a hug, and I could feel the heaviness of her sigh as she rested her head on my shoulder. She was still facing the house and I could imagine she was still glaring. After a long, tense moment of tears, Valerie looped her arms around me to pick me up off the ground and lead me home. She didn’t flinch as I wrapped my snot-and-blood covered hand around hers and toddled behind her, legs so weak that I didn’t know whether or not I could keep up with her stride. My whole body shook and neither of us spoke as we ambled down the sidewalk to my front door, or at least we never spoke to each other. I muttered to myself that I was stupid and I was sorry and I wanted my mom, and Valerie mumbled under her breath when she thought I wasn’t paying attention. But, I was. At one point, I looked up at her and saw her expression was still stony and mad, her jaw stiff and her brows fixed like those of an angry mother. She never looked down at me, never even noticed I was looking at her, and I sniffled as I watched her suck in a breath between her teeth. “Fuckin’ Ruth Hensley,” she quietly grumbled. “Always hated her. What a bitch.”<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] She Always Wore A Hat. [RESPONSE] We met on an online dating site. Finally, years of going through multiple apps and failed relationships seemed to have not been in vain. She messaged me first and complimented me on my looks. She loved my beard and my blue eyes. She wanted to go on dates and experience fun things. She was beautiful. She had blonde hair, blue eyes, a pretty smile. She even wore my favorite baseball teams hat. We met up at a local amusement park. She gave me a very brief hug and she was so gorgeous. She wore a red dress and a straw hat. Her red lip stick left a stain on my cheek. “Hi, I’m Abbey.” “Nice to meet you, I’m Andy.” We had so much fun. She seemed happy with little things. She loved eating ice cream, roller coasters, hot dogs. She acted as if it was the first time she ever experienced those things. We had multiple dates since then. We went to see some movies, go to restaurants, baseball games, she even went with me to a tattoo appointment. She wore a hat on every date. She told me she traveled a lot and wants to become a mom one day. She was told having a baby would be a big issue for her and she may not be able to have any. Eventually I asked her about the hat, I mean she had gorgeous hair. Her hair reminded me of a young Dolly Parton. We were at a baseball game. “I have a bald spot on my head, I’m just really embarrassed about it.” “It wouldn’t bother me if you were bald, I love you the way you are.” “You love me?” She had a big smile on her face. “I love you, Abbey,” She kissed me and it was magical moment full of bliss. We went back to her place. Her apartment was very dull, it didn’t match her personality. There were no pictures or posters on wall, no extra furniture besides a couch, only the couch and a small tv. She began kissing me and pushed me into her room and on the bed. She unbuttoned my pants and jerked them down. She turned off the lights and the room became pitch black. I couldn’t see anything . At one point I tried to pull her hat off and she tightly grabbed my wrist. “No.” It was the greatest moment of my life. She asked me to stay the night. She came out of the bathroom in some pajamas and a night cap on. I just stared at her with confusion. “It helps me sleep better.” I talked with my roommate about my curiosity and he told me I’ll just have to pull it off her head one day. I didn’t like the idea of that though. A few more weeks go by and she said she’d stay the night at my house. She met my roommate and they got along good. We all played Monopoly together until it was getting late. We got back to my room and she cuddled up next to me in bed. “I’ve never felt the way I do about you as I have anyone else.” I kissed her forehead and told her the same. I was in love. We fell asleep holding each other. I woke up around three a.m. and she was rolled over and snoring. I slowly pulled her nap cap off and prayed that she wouldn’t wake up. I felt really weird, she didn’t have a bald spot. I couldn’t figure out what she’d lie about that. I glanced at it a few and planned on going back to sleep. I’d tell her the truth when we would wake up later. Then I noticed it. A tiny silver zipper was poking through her blonde curls in the middle of the back of her head. A zipper line didn’t appear until I slowly began pulled it down. Her real skin appeared, it was black and reptilian like. I tried to open the door and creep out and I heard her voice. “Where are you going dear?” She stretched up arms then put her hand behind her back. “Oh no.” I took off running and she followed. She pointed her finger at me and I froze. I tried so hard to move but couldn’t. My roommate came out of his room. “What’s going on in here?” She turned around the front of her costume fell down. He let out of a scream. “Oh my God!” Her tongue shot across the room and went completely through his forehead, he dropped. She peeled off the rest of the costume and turned to me. Her eyes were neon green. “I didn’t want you to find out like this. But you love me and I love you. I also found out that we’re going to be parents.” My body was still frozen. She pointed at me again and I was able to move. I felt scared and didn’t know what to do. “You’re gonna be a daddy.” I felt speechless. “I can have a ship come pick us in a few minutes if you want to come with me. The choice is yours.” I looked down at the blood stained carpet where my roommate was laying, she looked back up at me with a nervous smile. I just wanted to wish you all the best and say a farewell. She said the ship was close.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I Used To Be An Abandoned House Explorer, I Saw Something That Made Me Regret It [RESPONSE] Me and my friends used to explore abandoned or supposedly haunted houses in the city. We were all pretty into that type of stuff, we thought it'd be really cool to go through a run down or "ghost filled" house. This particular story was a little while back when I was about 16 and my friends Jake and Anne were both 15. We found out about an abandoned apartment building by one of our friends, once we did we got our things together and headed to it. When we would explore places we usually took walkie talkies, flashlights, a crowbar, and a knife each just in case. Once I packed all my things I headed outside where Jake and Anne were waiting on their bikes, "Took ya' long enough Xan." Jake said. I went over and got on my bike, "Can it, you got the address?" I replied. "Yup, how about we get going?" Anne answered. We all started peddling down the street to head to the apartment. "So what's the story behind the place?" I asked my friends as we rode our bikes. "The place was built in the 70s but kept getting lawsuits because it wasn't up to the right standards. Eventually it got shut down, the town hasn't had the chance to get rid of it." Anne told me. "Over a dozen people were injured from the shitty maintenance and two ended up dying." Jake reported. "Sounds like fun." I chuckled. It didn't take us long to reach the apartment and once we did we looked it up and down. The apartment looked old and withered, having boarded up windows and a boarded up door preventing entry. The other windows looked smashed or dirty enough for you not to be able to see through them. "Jesus, I think this is the shittiest place we've seen yet." Jake chuckled as he handed me the crowbar he brought. "Let's get this over with, I don't like the vibe of this place." Anne advised. We went up to the door where I used the crowbar to pry off the boards, once they were off the door practically swung open. We all took our flashlights out and turned them on before heading into the decrepit apartment. "Well this isn't much better." I groaned. On the inside of the apartment in the lobby were tossed over chairs, holes in both the floor and ceiling, and there was spray paint almost everywhere. "Not the most inviting environment." Anne commented. We spread out to look around the lobby with me going behind the main desk. I opened one of the drawers with a loud creak and found a family of cockroaches crawling around some keys, making me shiver. I closed the drawer and went back to meet back up with my friends. "Let's check out the floors." Jake pitched. We found the stairs leading up and carefully went up them to the first floor. "Jake you check out this floor, we're gonna' head up to the others." I told Jake. "Sounds good to me, keep your walkies on." Jake replied. We continued heading up the stairs to the next floor, "You okay checking out the third floor on your own?" Anne asked me jokingly. "I think I can handle myself." I chuckled. Anne went into the second floor leaving me to head up to the final floor. I turned my flashlight on as the third floor was darker than the others, it looked like there weren't any windows to let in any light. "Creep city." I shuttered. I started looking through the rooms, least the ones I could get into, to find anything worthwhile. As I was looking around and walking down the hall I saw something on the floor and shined my light on it. I was staring at a fresh trail of blood, leading down the hall and around the corner. I grabbed my walkie talking and pressed down the button, "Hey guys, I just found something really fucking freaky." I reported. "What is it?" Anne asked. "A trail of blood, what should I do?" I told them. "Follow it, maybe somebody needs help." Jake answered. "That doesn't exactly sound like a good idea." Anne advised. "Neither does coming to an abandoned apartment where two people died but we're here." Jake retorted. "I'm just gonna' follow it, keep your walkies handy." I told my two friends before putting away my walkie talkie. I headed down the hall to follow the blood, the whole time my hair was standing up on my arms. The walls looked like they were about to fall apart with holes in them along with peeling wallpaper. I turned down the hall and saw something disgusting, on the floor in the blood trail were pieces of entrails. I was beginning to sweat and shake as I kept following the blood trail to the end of the hall. I turned into a room and saw the most horrifying sight. There looked to be a homeless man on top of a woman, he was shoveling the organs of the woman into his mouth using a knife. Pieces of organs fell from the man's mouth like he'd been starving and this woman was his first meal in ages. My light alerted the man and he looked at me, I quickly took my knife out and swung it open. "Y-you stay the fuck back!" I shouted out with my voice shaking in fear. The man got up and then ran at me, I quickly ran off down the hallway to get away. I didn't get far before I slipped on the blood and fell face first onto the ground. Before I could get up the man chasing me got on top of me and bit down into my shoulder that was covered by a jacket that thankfully protected me, however it didn't protect my left side from being stabbed. I screamed out in pain and instinctively elbowed the man off of me. I turned around and slashed at the man's face to get him away, allowing me to get up and run down the hall. I grabbed my walkie and pressed down the button, "Guys we need to get out, now!" I shouted into the walkie. Thankfully I reunited with my friends downstairs where we ran out of the apartment, pushing the door we came through closed. I doubled over on the ground as I held my heavily bleeding wound, "Come on, let's get him to my house. My dad can fix him up." Jake said. I managed to get on my bike and pedal away to Jake's house. Once we were there I got patched up, we then called the cops and I told them what happened. The police searched the building but only found the body of the woman. I don't know why the man was doing what he did, maybe from drugs or just desperation, but what I saw that night will forever stick with me and I will never explore abandoned buildings ever again.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Late Night Geometry (Part Two) [RESPONSE] I honestly wasn't planning on making a second part, but after writing the , things have started coming back to me. Like, my childhood was a lot less normal than I ever realized. It's almost funny; my friends and I loved to joke about how we were pretty sure I was cursed. Most animals hated me, like my stepbrother's dog, who would scream at me whenever I tried to pick him up. But crows flocked about me, even when I had no food, and even though I'm not one for superstitions, the family's back cat, Samwise, loved me. At least once I week I woke up to write in my dream journal, some vivid nightmare or bizarre subconscious adventure that would stick with me for life. I noticed things nobody else did, saw faces in the dark and heard words in the white noise. This story seems pretty mundane compared to the first, but it still feels notable. I was twelve at the time. Our house had a small, partially unfinished basement with one main room and a hallway leading off to the storage room, which had a concrete floor and exposed "industrial" ceiling. It flickered and hummed constantly with the water heated and deep freeze and whatever else we couldn't be bothered to keep on the main floor. The walls were bordered with wire shelves stocked with jarred foods sent from my grandparents in North Dakota. I remember a few weeks my sister and I spent there out of every summer, where we helped Papa in his massive garden and Grandma bake pies and crumbles and tarts. But the whole storage room is irrelevant to this story. The main room and stairs were covered with this ugly, faded yellow shag carpet that smelled vaguely of spilled milk and cat pee, no matter how many times my stepfather, Daniel, tried to shampoo it. He and his son, Liam, had an Xbox 360 down there that I only got to play on once every about 12 years since there was always somebody on it. Even my sister would sometimes steal it from the two boys. I, being the youngest in the family, never could. One day in late December, when Liam was home with his mom for Christmas, I did finally get a turn. Danial had recently gotten Skyrim, which I liked, even though I didn't care much for the storyline or the Elder Scrolls as a whole. I just liked killing stuff because I was, like most children, bordering on psychopathic. That night I played pretty late, until exactly 1:26, I remember, because my mom had told me to be in bed by 1:30. I stretched and got off the floor, turning off the TV and 360. The basement had one light switch and it controlled the bulb in the main room. Just as my head touched the switch, I heard something. Something from the top of the stairs, just past their 90° turn barely feet from me. I froze and strained my ears, crouching to the ground so my shadow shrank towards me. The sound. It repeated. Sort of like if you were to bounce a rubber ball off a hollow piece of wood. It repeated identically four times, each "bounce" the exact same, like the "wood" was being hit with the same force and angle, calculated. Or like a recording. It happened five times in all before stopping entirely. There was no sound from above me, only the still silence of a sleeping household. I was spooked but not only that: it was well past 1:30, and if my mom knew I was still up, she'd probably ground me for the rest of Christmas Break. For me, this meant she'd take away my oh-so-precious writing notebook, which I had halfway filled with ragtag stories. The last time that'd happened was a few months earlier when I forgot to tell her I was with a friend and she thought "something" happened to me. She never did elaborate on that, but I'm beginning to think she meant something by her vagueness. The noise had stopped, so I turned off the light and mad-dashed upwards, towards the door, as I always did late at night. The whole basement was cast into complete darkness, but I'd lived in that house most of my life, so it was no trouble for me to find the doorknob and fling the whole thing open and reach for the row of switches on the wall just across- Where were they? Where had they gone? Like I said, I knew this house like the back of my hand. You could blindfold me and stick earplugs in my ears and give me a minute and I could get anywhere in that time. I knew that there were exactly 17 stairs leading to the second story. Where were the lights? It was so dark and I fumbled against the wall, running my hands across cool paint and finding nothing but the smooth, solid, vast expanse. In one direction was the faint amber glow from the sliding back door, shining with streetlight, the other impermeable and inky in the night. The living room had blackout curtains and two doors, the interior, solid wood one, and the outer, heavy storm door, courtesy of living in the midwest, so everything was suffocatingly dark. Well screw it, I thought. If inanimate objects wanted to move around, so be it. I was going to bed. It wasn't ideal, and my skin was crawling at the thought (I've always been terrified of the dark), but I could find my way up the stairs, easy. Just as I made up my mind, I heard it again. 1... 2... 3... 4... Rubber ball on wood. What wood? The floor was carpeted, the sound impossibly close, no more than a few feet away. I froze, sickened, not daring to move. If it was so easy for me to hear, how well could it hear me? I drew my breath gentle as water through my teeth, one hand clenched over my mouth the muffle it. Click click click. The kitchen was tiled, claws playing along it like needles, or knives. "Samwise?" I called out hesitantly, my voice small and weak. Nothing. The darkness drank in my words and gave me nothing in return. Selfish. I pivoted on my feet, turning from staring at the empty wall to the kitchen, warm charcoal gray with streetlamps. There was a thin layer of snow across the ground, turning the outside world way brighter than it should've been. It's the only reason I was able to see what I did, and I feel like that was a mistake. Bright against the dim, it was... god, how do I even begin to describe it. It was a pillar, nearly grazing the 9-foot-tall ceilings, of swirling shapes, elongated diamonds and rhombi and polygons, trapezoids tumbling across irregular hexagons. Each time one fell, it clicked gently, tinnily, against the ground, bouncing off and rising up the column before spiraling down again. They spun and twinkled in the light, beautiful and unearthly and deeply unsettling. Somehow, I was not seeing their entirety, if that makes any sense. They seemed to know I saw them, and they sang for me. Deep, whalesong notes rose from the shambling pile, a chant that stopped at me, hitting a wall and falling to the ground and sliding back towards the singularity. Entranced, I stared into the point of infinity, standing barefoot on the cold ground. They were growing closer, as was I, stumbling as though attracted by gravity. And yet they pulled away from me, phasing through the wall so I had to throw open the back door and let in the cold winter air to follow. It seems dumb now, but I was utterly drunk on the sight, on the heady, ominous song, unlike anything I'd ever heard before, so I continued across the backyard. The shapes rotated until the column was as thin as - thinner than - paper to pass through the fence before waxing and growing, sort of like charms on a bracelet. God, they were beautiful, colors than I could for the life of me name, shapes recognizable but unseeable, not letting my eyes focus no matter how I squinted. I would paint this scene if I knew where to start, the child following the Lovecraftian horror, but it seemed almost like the Greek story of Semele, who was vaporized the moment she set eyes upon Zeus. Divine, and not made for human sight. I'm still not sure what allowed me to see them that night. The sidewalk must've been numbingly cold, and I was dressed only in pajama pants and a t-shirt, but I didn't seem to notice. My breath billowed and sparkled on contact with the air, but even the frigid weather almost added to the magic and intrigue of the moment. It was wonderful and even now I wish I'd followed the column further so I could see what they wanted to show me. But I guess that wasn't meant to be. An arm threw itself around me as my mother picked me up, even as I struggled to go further. At the time, the look on her face didn't register, but it does now: absolute horror. She'd seen them too, I think, and didn't like them half as much as I. She hauled me back to the still-open back door and set me inside, whispering frantically about how I was, under no circumstances, allowed to go outside without another person. And that if I saw the column again, she wanted me to come get her immediately. I nodded, more scared of her reaction than I was of the column themself, and was sent up to bed. I was lucky to get nothing worse than a few blisters on my feet, no permanent damage or frostbite, but I can't help but wonder, even to this day: what if I had gone further? What let me see them? Are they still waiting for me? But I guess it's all a part of my strange childhood.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] A Mad Dog Likes Ice Cream. [RESPONSE] I grew up sheltered. I do regret the fact I didn’t go to parties, date or drink in school. I went off to college without that much life experience causing me to fall for the first guy that gave me any positive attention. Some showed their true colors very quickly when I refused to sleep with them after knowing them for a day or so. The man I fell for, and later married kept his real nature well hidden. I only found out what kind of person he was after our son turned three. Due to health issues when I became pregnant, I needed to put off finishing collage for a year or so. I found myself unable to pay for the remaining years and took any jobs I could manage with my medical issues still lingering. I earned enough to keep us afloat. My husband slowly starting to show who he was as the years passed by. I found us unable to pay bills on a regular basis and unsure of where the money went. I fooled myself thinking that staying for our son was the best idea, regardless of our problems. I asked a friend to follow my husband and he found out that our funds were going towards slots and horse betting. I confronted him about it and we got into a huge blow out. For six months I stayed, scared out of my mind over if we could feed our son or lose the roof over our heads. I never thought I would become one of those women who stayed with their abusive partner. While you're in that kind of situation everything feels impossible. I was more afraid to leave than if what my husband would do if I stayed. Then he threatened my son and everything became clear. Overnight I packed up a few bags and left. Just left. I couldn’t even stay at my parents or friends because he knew where they all lived. I didn’t want to risk their safety because of my deranged husband’s wrath. For a year and six months I made it work. I found a place to stay, I changed my first name and went by my maiden name. I did everything possible to ensure that man could never find us. After no signs of him for so long I became a little bit lax. I took my son out for ice-cream every Friday and I assume having a routine let him track us down. I don’t know how else he did so. You may call me a bad mother for what happened. I left my son who just turned five, alone in the apartment by himself. I felt safe knowing I’d only be gone for ten minutes at the most and he was asleep when I left. I just wanted to pick up some bread from the corner store for his lunch the next day. I came back and knew right away something was wrong. I knew I locked the front door but then I came back I found it unlocked. I flew inside, dropping my bags of food I went to the store to get. I rushed to our shared bedroom, dread growing in my stomach. The room was empty. I nearly fainted. I tore through the entire apartment looking for my boy. I pushed aside the couch and opened every cupboard in the kitchen, my mind in a blind panic. Somehow through that panicked state, I heard my cellphone ringing. I checked the number to see if maybe my neighbour saw my son try to leave the building and called me saying he was just at their place. I didn’t know the number and let the call go to voice mail. I didn’t even set the phone down when the same unknown number sent a text. A message a mother never wants to see from an unknown number. ‘I have your son.’ My sight growing grey around the edges giving me tunnel vision. My hands shook so much I couldn’t get my phone unlocked fast enough. The number called again and this time I picked up. “Troy, I swear to God if you-” I shot out, voice shaking with fear and anger. “Not Troy sweetie. Just someone he hired. I needed to get you but you weren’t in and this is better. Do you want to talk to your kiddo?” A deep voice came from the other end. I’ve never heard this person before and didn’t have a clue who he may be. I always thought my husband wanted us gone but didn’t think he would dare spend money that could be used for gambling on something like that. “Yes! Let me talk to him!” I hated how desperate I sounded. Noises came over the phone as it was handed over. It sounded as if they were in a car with the windows down. My heart sank. They could be anywhere and travelling further and further away. My son’s voice barely heard over the noise. “Hey mom.” My boy started but I cut him off. “Benny, did he hurt you?! Where are you, are you ok?!” I barely kept myself from shouting. My tone didn’t go over well with Benny. He was just a child and didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t even know being in a car with a stranger was a bad thing. “No, tis ok. He's a friend of dad.” Benny said in a small quavering voice. I never really told him about his father. I just said we needed to be away for a while. I just couldn’t think of a way to explain how I felt about Troy without scaring my child. I knew he missed his dad but I told him so many times not to go with strangers. This man had been hired by my ex and got coached on what to say to make Benny comfortable and think they really were friends and going to see his dad again. All of this was my fault. I left him alone and I didn’t say the right things to protect him. I wanted to cry but needed to stay strong to make sure he lived through this. “Can you tell me where you are? What car did you get into? What does he look like?” I pleaded hoping if he answered one of these questions it would help the police in finding him. The phone was taken away before Benny said anything else. The man came back and I heard my son sound upset in the background. The phone got muffled like if the man pressed it against himself as if he didn’t want me to hear him sounding almost comforting to the child in the car. He cleared his throat and brought the phone back up. “I have no reason to hurt him. I just need to you go to a certain location and time. After that, your son can go free. I’ll buy him dinner too. Is he allergic to anything?” The man asked. His deep voice not matching how friendly he tried to make the last statement. “As if I believe you! What do you really want?! Just, please we’ll do the trade now. Bring my little Benny back.” I begged pressing my phone so hard against my ear it hurt. The man didn’t answer for seconds that felt like hours. He rolled up the window so his voice came out clear. “Show up on time at the location I’ll send you. If you call the cops, you’ll never see your son again.” The man’s voice so cold it made my shoulders shake. I opened my mouth to speak but he hung up. A second after a text came through with a screen shot of local park on Google Maps. A part of the trail in the middle of the park was marked, and he provided some photos of the meeting spot. The trail a bit over grown and surrounded by trees. I should have called the police. I had the number the kidnapper called from. I didn’t record the phone call but they should believe me it took place. I did consider calling them. The meeting time was set for an hour from now and after it got dark. I didn’t think the cops would believe me so fast and put a plan in motion before the time was up. No, I needed to do the foolish thing and go alone. I called a friend and told her that my husband found where I took my son. I didn’t go into details but told her to call the cops if I didn’t send her a message in two hours. I debated on telling her to send the police to the park if she didn’t hear from me, but decided against it. I would send her a message with the images of the park right before I needed to meet the strange man that took my son. That gave me enough time to get Benny back and hopefully have her call the police for us. If the police arrived at the wrong time, I risked my son’s life. I kept looking at my phone while I drove expecting it to ring. My car wasn’t the greatest and it puttered along taking up a decent amount of time to arrive to the park. I got there ten minutes early and figured it didn’t matter. With the messages to my friend sent, I raced down the path trying to see in the dark and find the right spot. The trail empty and I didn’t see any cars in the parking lot besides an old grey one sitting at an angle. The uneven path nearly caused me to trip a few times and I cursed myself for wearing sandals instead of better shoes. I saw the meeting spot under one of the rare post lamps. Bugs already buzzed around the light. The sun only setting a few minutes ago but it looked like the dead of night. I saw two shapes and my heart raced harder than it ever had before. A man I didn’t recognize was sitting on his heels doing what looked like to be a magic trick with a coin. Benny unaware of how dangerous the situation really was, watched on in awe when the man tossed up the coin, caught it and opened his hand to show it was no longer there. I ran up, scooping Benny into my arms and took a few steps away from the kidnapper. I wanted to run but didn’t risk it in case someone else was watching us. I looked over my son, finding him perfectly find. Just a bit scared from my reaction. His face also a little sticky from soda. I noticed a takeout bag sitting by the lamp post to be tossed away. I fussed over Benny wanting to sob from missing him so much from the short time apart. The man stood up and the movement nearly caused me to bolt. He picked up a grey suit jacket off the ground and quickly put it back on. Grey hair matched his jacket along with his eyes. He looked a few years older than myself and a bit scruffy to be wearing a suit jacket and a dress shirt. “Did he hurt you at all sweetie? Did he...” I couldn’t bring myself to ask my son if a stranger touched him in a way that made him uncomfortable. I sort of had that talk with him but never did it properly. I regretted a great deal of my choices that led to that moment but never regretted having Benny. He was the only thing in my life I was proud of and I almost lost him. From the looks of things, Benny wasn’t hurt in any way while away from me. The man told the truth of just holding onto him for the hour and buying him dinner. I hated this man and I hated a monster like him acted this good with a kid. “I’m ok. Did I do something bad?” Benny asked in a small voice looking as if he might cry. “No honey. I was just scared; your father's friend didn’t tell me he was taking you.” I lied. That calmed him down. I took a step backwards keeping my eye on the man who stayed silent the entire time. He placed his hands in his pockets and when I pressed Benny’s face against my shoulder to calm him, the man flashed the handle of a gun. He quickly put it away when my son looked back. He didn’t want to deal with a loud, crying child so kept his threat silent but clear. The brief look of the gun caused my body to almost shut down. I wanted to get sick. My body shook from stress and I kept thinking about just making a run for it. I couldn’t risk Benny getting hurt. I needed to stay alert and escape when I had a better chance. I also had a small weapon in my purse. Just a stun gun but I needed to be closer to the man to use it and I didn’t want to put my son down either. “Why did you do all of this?” I asked the man, voice filled with anger. “I told you. Your husband hired me. He should be arriving any minute, so please let’s play the silent game until he gets here.” “Listen-” I started. He cut off my words by taking a single step closer. Hands still in his pocket, and an unsettling grin on his face. For a moment, I thought his teeth appeared too sharp and the light shone off his eyes in an odd way. I took a few steps back, legs uneven and shaking. My son started to get upset again and I needed to get him out of here. “Can I... At least let Benny leave?” I begged in a soft voice. He paused to consider my request. His face returning to normal, and he took a step away to keep us calm. Crossing his arms, he shook his head. “It’s a dark park and he’s like, ten.” The man answered. “Five.” I corrected. He let out a long sigh, and cracked his neck in frustration. “Aright, five. It’s not good for him to be walking alone at night. And where would he go? Do you have someone who can pick him up?” He offered; his deep voice almost friendly. I stood, stunned. I didn’t think the person who took my son would let him go like this. I nodded and made me get out my phone. He watched me type out a message to my friend asking her to come by and get Benny. When I sent the message, he warned me to keep my phone in my pocket and not try and call the cops. He said that he was only hired me to get me to the park and didn’t care what happened with my son. If my friend left her place right after the message was sent; it would take her thirty minutes to get here. he agreed to let Benny leaver after she arrived to get him and not make him walk around to get lost in the park. We had some time and my ex-husband hadn’t shown up even though it was a few minutes after the meeting time. The man started to pace as we waited. He found some rocks to kick into the grass when he got bored and I let Benny sit on my lap. I whispered to him how much I loved him and anything else that came to mind. He was confused and scared which was understandable. He just wanted to see his father again after so long. I wondered if I should have told him about his father or let him have the few years of still thinking the man was a decent person. Finally, my ex showed up from down the path. His blonde hair looking like it’s seen better days. Face covered in a beard and eyes sunken. He didn’t look like the man I married and Benny didn’t even know who he was. The kidnapper let out a growl and dramatically tapped at his wrist. “You’re late.” He hissed at my husband. “I was making some deals. I can give you a little bit extra for staying. Are they both here?” Troy’s voice sounded rough as if he just woke up. I suspected Troy got into something heavier than some drinks and ruined his body since I left. I stood up, son in my arms again trying to think of a way out of this mess. What did he want? I didn’t have any money or life insurance. Our deaths wouldn’t benefit anyone. In fact, I told my best friend if I disappeared to tell the cops Troy had something to do with it. If he killed me, all signs pointed to him. “It’s the principle of the matter. But you're here now. Do you want me to kill her?” The grey-haired man said as if he was asking a mundane question. My legs failed me. I sank to my knees, Benny being strong but tears came to his eyes. I should have risked running sooner and now I wouldn’t be around to see my son grow up. “No, no. I have some guys who want to pay for her. You can like, hit her head, right? Like do something to make it so she doesn’t know what's going on but keep her alive? Wait, what do people do with an ice pick up the nose?” Troy offered, hands shaking but from withdrawals and not from what he was saying. “Like a lobotomy? I don’t carry and ice pick around but I can figure something out. You’re the one paying for this, her dead or not.” With a shrug, the hired killer turned and started to walk towards us. I made an attempt to stand only to have my legs give out again. This couldn’t be happening. I refused to let either of them follow through with their plan. I reached into my purse and found the stun gun. I held onto it tightly, waiting for the man to get closer. I wanted to shock him and run like hell thinking it would be my only chance. “Oh, and the boy too. I’ll get more for him.” With a few steps between us, the man stopped at those words. A dark expression came over his face for only a second. I thought I imagined thing it. He forced a smile on his face and brightly looked over his shoulder at my husband, his tone a false cheer. “I told you it’s double for kids.” He nearly sang causing my skin to crawl. “I’ll pay it. Just grab them or do whatever you need to do here fast so we can go.” I wanted to scream. Like fucking hell this man was going to touch my son. I already failed him once by leaving Benny alone and I wasn't going to do it again. I gritted my teeth together, waiting for the right moment. Just before he reached us, I set Benny down and screamed at him to run. My hand holding the stun gun flew out of my purse and I jammed it into the man’s side. I flicked it on and heard the current run but nothing happened. He didn’t flinch or react in any way. I smelled the burned fabric of his shirt and he still didn’t do anything. To my horror, I saw Benny just standing with wet eyes unable to move. A hand as tight as a steel vice came down on my own and took the stun gun from me. He wrapped one arm around my neck to press my back against his chest and I screamed hoping someone would hear. Nothing worked. This man far too strong for me to get away. “Please! I’ll pay you more than what he’s offering! My purse, all my cards are in there! You can take anything out of my purse and, and-” I choked on tears trying to think of anything else I had to offer to save my son’s life. “My body! You can do whatever you want with it! I’ll sell it too if I have to save Benny, just don’t hurt-” My body was tossed to the ground and the man held onto my purse strap. Benny came running over, sobbing seeing his mother mistreated in such a way. With my heart racing, I looked up to see the kidnapper actually looking through my purse. He paused at some lip-gloss as if he was considering taking it. “What the fuck are you doing?! Just grab them!” Troy yelled, his rage boiling over. The stranger put the lip-gloss back and found my wallet. He pulled out a small purple card stock square and a smile with sharp teeth came to his face. The wallet was returned and the entire purse tossed at my feet. He held out the card showing it was a stamp rewards card for a local ice-cream place. All the stamps been filled out for a free waffle cone with two scoops. “I’ll take this as payment, if you don’t mind. It was inside your purse so it counts.” He said and I didn’t believe his words. He tucked the card away and turned towards Troy. His hands tucked inside his suit pockets and hunched over but he still looked like a force of nature walking towards my Ex with purpose. Troy screamed at him to finish the job and the man didn’t turn back on us. His anger taking over and Troy pulled out a hand gun from his pocket. I screamed and curled around Benny in case one of the bullets reached us. Each shot rang out through the empty park sounding much louder than I expected from a small gun. Raising my head, I saw a horrible sight. A bullet tore through the grey-haired man’s ear. Blood splattered on the ground and Benny went into a sobbing fit. Instead of crying out in pain, the man started to laugh. He doubled over like he couldn’t breathe from laughing so hard. In a blink of an eye, he went from laughing a few steps away from Troy to knocking him to the ground. His scuffed dress shoe on Troy's chest, pinning him down. I didn’t even see this man move. Troy's hands flew to the man's leg trying to move it as he shouted and cursed. All his attempts to get free failed. “Ten grand! I'm paying you ten grand! She can’t give you that! Don’t they call you a Mad Dog?! A kid shouldn’t matter!” Troy screamed as if he hadn’t just shot the man now standing on his chest. “That money is what you think you’re going to win off of a bet tomorrow. You currently do not have the payment, and this lovely woman over there paid me in advance. Unlike you, she did not promise what she does not have. So, I’m taking a job from her. After all, I haven’t gotten a cent from you, and I do believe you were just going to kill me instead of actually ever handing over any money.” That sounded like Troy. I honestly never expected him to find me because that would require him to pay a private investigator or to spend a good chunk of his own time tracking us down. I wasn’t worth anything to that man until he found out he could sell his ex-wife and son to God knows who. Troy started to sputter out excuses, but the man pushed his foot down harder to cause him to start wheezing. He leaned over, his chest pressed against his knee to watch Troy’s suffering face closer. When he turned his head to let our eyes meet, my body turned to ice. A pin prick of white light came from his pupils and somehow, his ear wound started to close. This man wasn’t human and I didn’t have any clue what he really was. “I don’t get paid to hurt people. I only kill them. But someone has to tell me to do it. So, little lady, you have already paid. Do you want me to go through with the job?” His smile got wider and teeth sharper. His face appearing more of a beast than a man’s. I looked from the monster and the man I married. I realized then they were both monsters in their own way. I nodded my head and that was enough. The deal silently made. I didn’t want my child to see what was going to happen. I stood up, ready to make a run for it and leave these two behind. Off in the woods I saw more lights from eyes. Countless of them appeared in the dark. Out from a bush came a shape that made me gasp. A rotten bear with shining white eyes took one step into the clearing. The fur sagging off the thin frame and half the skull exposed. Such a creature should not be able to move around. I questioned my sanity in that moment. I turned to leave but saw the man move his leg. He kicked Troy hard enough for me to hear ribs break and see his body fly a few feet towards the dead bear. “A fun fact about bears is they just start eating you. You’ll be lucky if you bleed out quickly from the attack!” I heard the man shout with another wheezing laugh. My legs finally working and I ran for our lives. I met my friend at the start of the park, her face with clear worry. I forced her inside her car and told her to drive. I could pick up my car later. I refused to tell her what happened besides my husband found us but won’t be an issue any longer. She thought I killed him but was a saint. She let us stay at her place for the night. My poor Benny crying late into the night. I hoped this happened to him young enough the memories of the night faded in time. I called out of work for the first time the next day. I expect the police to come knocking at our door but nothing happened. I hated leaving Benny with my friend so soon after everything that happened, but I needed to make sure of something. I told her I just wanted to pick up my car. I got on a bus to head to the park, only staying long enough to grab my car. But I drove down to the pier and found a spot to park. I looked around trying to find a certain person knowing my stamp card expired tomorrow so he had to be here today. By some miracle, I spotted the man with the grey suit jacket leaning against the wooden railing and looking out into the water. The grey clouds of the day matching his hair. He had a waffle cone in his hand and a brown paper bag in the other. The cone almost finished with a few drips of bright blue ice cream on the side. I walked up to him but stopped behind unsure of what to say. He somehow sensed I arrived. Turning, he tossed the bag at me which I thankfully caught. “Your stun gun is in there. Oh, and about sixty grand in cash your husband won from his horse race today. I picked it up for you.” He said in a calm voice and a shrug. “What?”!” I choked on my words, holding the heavy bag. I pressed it against my chest, feeling what must be a stack of bills inside. I shook my head not believing he would simply hand this much money over. “Why wouldn’t you keep this? I never would have known about it.” I questioned and noticed people looking at us. I stepped closer to keep our conversation between ourselves. What kind of person would hand over a life changing amount of money and kill a man for an ice-cream cone? Not a person I told myself. He wasn’t human. Some sort of monster I never wanted to see again. I just wanted to know if Troy was dead or not. “I don’t need it. And a dead man doesn’t either. And I think you earned this after being married to someone like that. Either way, I did my job. You still owe me a little bit though.” He said and finished off his cone with one big bite. I let him chew and wondered what he was talking about. If he didn’t want money then what? I thought back trying to remember what I’d offered in such a state of panic. My words coming back and my stomach fell to the ground. “You want me to...?” I asked mouth dry and the words dying in my throat. “You offered. You said I could do whatever I wanted with your body. We can get this done right here.” He said, and his face turned into a smirk I wanted to slap. “Here? Are you crazy?” I hissed. I did offer my body but that didn’t mean I wanted to get arrested for public indecency. He raised one hand and with his index finger, tapped his right cheek until I got the hint. My face turned red and I held the bag closer, threatening to rip it. I wanted to kill him with my bare hands. I got closer and kissed his cheek, face still red and anger simmering in my stomach. This bastard just wanted to tease me. “Is that all you wanted me to do?” I asked clearly seething. He got closer, his lips neck to my ear causing my body to tense up. His hand went to the bottom of my back and only touched the space with his finger tips. I smelled cigarette smoke on him covering up an Earthy, almost sweet smell. “Did you want me to ask for more?” He offered in a low voice I jerked away, hating him as much as I hated the reaction my body had to his words. This man wasn’t human and I know killed my Ex and yet I shook from mixed signals. My face red and teeth clenched together I shook my head unable to speak. He laughed a harsh wheezing chuckle and I knew why he left it at just a kiss on the cheek. That soft moment and the suggestion afterwards made me question myself. For the rest of my life, I would curse what I felt for a half a second wonder if he pushed hard enough, I might go along with what he asked. Unable to help myself, I punched his arm. That caused him to laugh harder. “Let’s hope we never meet again. You need better taste in men.” The man mocked and started to walk away. “I really do.” I admitted. I let the stranger leave, glad to not get his real name or know anything else about him. As the months passed by, I waited for the police to show up and they never did. No one came questioning me about Troy going missing and no body was ever found. If it wasn’t for the cash, I hid away I would have thought the whole thing didn’t happen. Benny blocked out the night but he started to have nightmares for a few months afterwards. That man we came across, whatever he was, just wanted to amuse himself. He didn’t care about my life or Benny. He just kept me alive to tease me afterwards. Simple as that. Or he turned on Troy because insulted him. Either way, I was thankful his odd personality let us live through the night. I hated Troy. I really did. But if I had the option going back and never marrying him knowing how it would turn out, I still wanted to go through with it. I have my son who I love more than anything. The past five years of bad memories are well worth having him around every day.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I Was a Bad Neighbor [Final] [RESPONSE] My lawyer has advised me against continuing to post. My sister, Jenny, has asked me to please stop. I apologize to both of them for acting against their wishes. Everything I am about to tell you is the honest truth. I would testify to it in court. As a matter of fact, I intend to. After my last update, there was nothing to report. I was staying with Jenny and just eating the cost of the commute for work. Within a couple weeks, I had a new apartment lined up, and Jenny offered to help me move the rest of the furniture to save on money for a moving service. Plus, I don't think she wanted me to be left alone for too long. Even now in my new place, she calls me almost every day. We're closer than we've been since we were kids, but it's fucked that it took something like this to… So the furniture. We borrowed her husband's pickup and were just taking my stuff down. I didn't ever have a lot, a table and a desk, a couple chairs, nightstands, my bed, and the couch. Consummate bachelor shit. Not even any wall art. I noticed that as we were taking stuff out. Spending so much time with Jenny's family, it was suddenly weird to me that I had left my walls totally bare for as long as I'd lived here and it never bothered me. Which made me think about Eloise's art, and I had this crazy urge to own one of her paintings, like a consolation prize for all she'd put me through. We were carrying the couch through the kitchen, and ended up knocking it into a wall while I was distracted. I heard a thump. Jenny and I set the couch down so we could check our pockets, thinking someone had dropped a phone. Neither of us saw anything until we'd gotten the couch out into the hallway. There was something flat and square on the ground, blue and a little bigger than a credit card. I thought it was some bit of junk mail or a gift card or something that had fallen off the fridge or out from beneath the couch cushions, but when I picked it up, it was slim, cool plastic, and on the down-facing side, there was a little speaker. The upwards facing side was sticky, and sure enough when we tipped the couch over there was a strip of duct tape dangling. We found the second one under my bed, taped to my mattress. By this point I was hysterical, tearing up the apartment for anything else unseemly. I hadn't told Jenny all the details of my life for the last several months and she assumed this sudden move, the hospitalization, my erratic behavior, were symptoms of a mental health crisis. Now she was seeing in sudden, confusing detail that the mental health crisis was a symptom of *this*. How had I missed it this whole time? I don't know how I could have been so stupid, because when Eloise's voice came out of the speaker, it was obvious. Tinny, an inadequate recording playing out of an ill equipped speaker. It was one of those optical illusions where once you see the intended shape you can't make your eyes unfocus enough to find the old one. I wanted it to be her. Even if it meant she hated me. It wasn't that I was fooled. I wanted to be fooled. We did a thorough sweep of my apartment and found cameras. Bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, one aimed at my front door. An entire spying operation dedicated to me. I crushed them, snapped the speaker things. Jenny was sitting really quietly on my kitchen floor, just watching and trying to process all of it. She asked me what was going on. I mean, she'd been asking me, but I wasn't ready to speak until I had gotten rid of as much of the stuff as possible. I thought the best way to explain it was to show her the Reddit stuff, and she almost thought I was fucking with her. Yeah, I shouldn't have busted up all the evidence. I never said it was a good idea, but it was an absolutely necessary one. Could you live with something like that in your house, still recording, for even a minute longer than it took to eliminate them? I don't want evil things in my life. And in front of my fucking sister no less, who is innocent in all of this regardless of what I've done or what this fucking sicko that had invented Eloise thinks of me. Because it was clear now. Eloise was a fiction. A pretext to stalk and terrify me, to remind me of one of the worst things that has ever happened to me and use it as a weapon to hurt me. I'm not going to apologize or feel callous for making this about myself anymore, because Eloise is dead and she's not listening, and I'm still here living with the consequences. I brushed it off like it was no big deal? Well, it was. I lied. I'm telling the truth now. The day Eloise killed herself was the second worst day of my life. This was the first. I told Jenny to stay there and I ran to Nicole's. I pounded on her door for a good couple minutes, and I felt bad waking her because at that time she'd normally be asleep for her night job. This couldn't wait. I was already running it through my head, what I would have to tell her about the Reddit thread and my stalker to catch her up to speed. She lived in Eloise's old place for god's sake, so how could this person pass up involving her? She eventually opened the door a couple inches. She peered through it, heavy bags under her doe eyes. "What's…?" "Nicole, I need to talk to you. Please, this is seriously urgent." "Oh. Um, about Eloise?" I pushed my way inside, scared someone would overhear us. For all I knew, her apartment had been tapped. We would have to de-bug the whole thing, do a clean search, with profuse apologies from me for roping her into this. I don't think she was expecting me to be so forceful, but she scrambled out of the way. "Yeah," I said. "About Eloise." I'd never been inside her place before, but it was really dark. Obviously, I mean, she was semi-nocturnal, she'd probably barely had a chance to put the lights on. But it unnerved me. The only light came from her multi monitored computer setup in the bedroom, visible through the doorway; and the outdoors through her drawn curtains. "I don't know what to think. I was just with my sister. It's too much." She wandered or maybe ran to the balcony, and I followed her. I couldn't make out the look on her face in the dark. I don't think she was even really listening to me. Shutting the door, I glanced around again for some spy or assailant. I was utterly tunnel visioned. Nicole had pressed herself into a corner, her back to the balcony railing. "I just found all these cameras and shit. It all makes sense now. Her Facebook page, her accounts, the shadow, everything, I mean someone must have--" It was a hot summer afternoon, but between one breath and the next the air turned sharp and freezing in my chest. "Someone must have…" Nicole the psychic moved into my dead neighbor's haunted apartment. Except there never was a haunting. Which means she was never a psychic. God, I was so stupid. "Nicole…?" She blinked at me. "Neighbor?" I reeled. From the very moment I started talking about Eloise, she'd been there with me. Neighbor, neighbor, neighbor, not in Eloise's wholesome next-door voice but the anonymous chatter of the mob. I could finally put a face to it all. My voice thickened, burdened with choked back tears. I asked her, "How could you do this to me? Why did you do this?" And do you know what she did? She shrugged. Like a little kid when you ask why they didn't do their homework. Perfect innocence. Obvious guilt. I thought I was going to throw up, my heart was beating so fast. "Don't fucking *shrug*, Nicole, you poisoned me!" "Oh come on, like you actually have a meat allergy? A little pork blood wasn't actually going to hurt you. You just had a panic attack." "I went to the hospital." "Yeah, because you panicked and shot adrenaline into your leg." Oh my god, I realized then. I'm talking to someone who tried to kill me, and this is her only response. Nicole looked just as honest with me now as ever. Big open eyes, and nothing more off to her voice than a condescending tone. It was surreal. I think she really believed it. I tried asking again: why did this happen? She wouldn't give me a straight answer. I was in her space, with half a foot over her, and she didn't so much as flinch. Her hand went to her pocket. Did she have a knife, or a taser? The steady drip of adrenaline left me shaking. If I had to, I knew I could stop her, but there's a difference between telling yourself something and putting your body into motion. "What do you want?" I begged. "What were you trying to accomplish? What did you think this would do?" She rolled her eyes. "I thought that was pretty obvious." Yes, right. Killing myself. "But *why*?" "Because you deserve it." The internet is not real life. The internet is a brick wall. You press your ear to it to hear voices on the other side. Maybe you whisper along. Across the courtyard, I saw Jenny in my apartment, frantically on the phone with someone, but I couldn't tell what she was saying. I'm no good at reading lips. She looked up and saw me crying. She ran out. Nicole kept talking. "You know, it's not really hard to pick a lock. It's not hard to print off bills. She had a bunch still in the trash when she died. Even the expensive stuff, getting ahold of the cameras and setting up the hotspot to keep them streaming, that can all go on credit cards. You can open a new line of credit basically anywhere, anytime. You don't even have to use your real name. Lots of people do it; you've got stuff in your name, I bet, you wouldn't even believe. "But you know what the hard part was, really?" She kind of laughed. "Catching all those fucking pigeons." If I ran out of there, back through that dark apartment, would she follow me? Nicole was feverish, pink, and ready to take matters into her own hands. If I'd pushed her to this point where she was confronting me face to face, what could I make her do? I was thinking all of that, but I still said, "You are a fucking sociopath." Her nostrils flared. "Oh, I'm the sociopath? When you watched her die and did nothing, and then pretended… It's offensive, honestly, to think you could have stopped her." "I never said that," I insisted. You guys know I've never pretended to be some hero, right? I've never acted like I could have changed things, and wishing I had isn't the same thing. "You don't have to say it. I know you believe it." I didn't, I don't, but there was no reasoning with her. "She was just nice. Why can't I just care about someone who was nice to me? I mean, as though I don't understand how it feels to be lonely." Nicole crowded up into my space, and I had to put my hands out to block her. The first time I ever touched her. I thought she was going to jump up and maul me. Her teeth were out in such an ugly snarl it barely looked human. "See, this is why. You're so arrogant, you're obviously not the only one who's seen her stuff. Because *I* have. I found it before you, and I showed it to you. All you can ever have is a voyeuristic, secondhand Eloise, but I've *been* her. I've been in her skin in ways you could never understand." I was at a loss for words. I was deep in the swamp of panic and it was sucking me down fast. I didn't know how to interrupt her. Even if I did, what could I say to defend myself that hadn't already been said? Nicole kept going, more vicious the longer I failed to respond. "You're a fucking monster. You think you're in love with her? You think she would have gone for some manipulative, soft little creep? You couldn't even save yourself, but you have the gall to think you could have saved Eloise? The best thing for either of you now is to kill yourself." I shook my head. I tried backing off, up against the glass of the balcony. From behind, loud enough we could both hear, someone was pounding on her door. And she got this wild look on her face, electric. The way I imagine racers look when they're about to take a curve too fast to pull out of. "It's too bad she isn't really here to see you now. She'd be proud of me for avenging her." That's when Nicole jumped. She snapped her neck in the courtyard. When I got up the guts to look down, she had landed in the same flowerbed that Eloise's falling body had crushed in May. I can't tell you what must have been going through her mind, and speculation is not admissible in court, as my attorney keeps reminding me. But this is not a courtroom. This was how she decided to punish me. Nicole- and that wasn't her real name, of course- was fucked up. Like Eloise, she was underwater on credit, falling behind on rent. She decided her best course of action was to take that out on someone like me, who had done something she thought was wrong. She dedicated months of time, moved across the state, stole identities and committed god knows how much fraud, just to ruin my life. She ruined her own life out of pure spite. That's not the work of a rational mind. So when it looked like I might get away unscathed after all that effort, she thought, like I have thought: can he live with a second dead girl on his conscience? I can. And I will. Some of this may not seem to add up, but sometimes the truth is inconvenient. My court date is a few months from now. I've moved to a different part of town. I have heard no voices and seen no shadows. God willing, a jury of my peers will determine my innocence. Nicole jumped. Goodbye, Eloise. I wish we could have been friends. \- Neighbor<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] It All Started with a Splitting Headache [RESPONSE] It all started with a splitting headache. One that nearly brought me down to my knees. The pain was so sudden and so sharp I thought I immediately got nauseous. My vision darkened and my whole body felt like a building had fallen on top of me. Worst of all was the light; a dim light started shining right in front of me. Slowly but persistently expanding over my field of vision. Shifting and twisting it into a rather serene forest scenery. I was sure I was about to die. At that moment, I was convinced I was having a stroke or some other brain death-like experience. Stumbling as I dragged myself to the phone. Never got to that phone. I ended up tripping over my own legs and falling. Strangely enough, as soon as the room flipped upside down around me, the pain subsided as suddenly as it first appeared. I remained for a few moments, lying down, trying to steady my breath as everything seemed to return to normalcy. This was the first of many such headaches. It all started with a splitting headache, not mine actually. My sister’s, to be honest. Addie never suffered from migraines, but after a few bouts of crippling headaches, she ended up getting her brain checked. It turned out to be worse than anyone could expect. She had a brain tumor. A terminal one too. It was too deep to operate on and Addie refused to take any meds that might just prolong her suffering. In short, she accepted her fate. It took aback me when she told me about the diagnosis. Rather cheerfully saying she’s got only a few months left to live. I’m lying. In reality, the news left me devastated; I was so overcome by disbelief and worry that I couldn’t sleep for the first few days after she had told me. Addie was the last family I had in this world I cared about. Mom was gone years ago, Dad offed himself not too long ago too. I wanted to just disappear from this world for a moment, fall asleep for a while, and wake up when this nightmare was finally over. I didn’t get the pleasure to do that, Addie decided we had to spend as much of the little time we had together as possible. And that’s how it was for the next four months. We’d spend all of our free time together. I was forced to watch as the tumor slowly ate away at my sister’s ability to live freely and took away, bit by bit, pieces of her personality. She wasn’t entirely lost by any means. Nothing close to a demented individual, but there were moments where the metastasized malignant growth must’ve pressed on some regions that made her go on unintelligible rants about nonsensical verbal diarrheas. It didn’t hurt as much knowing she was going to die as much as it hurt to watch her wither away. The slow process in which one becomes utterly unrecognizable to their loved ones hurts the most. From the liveliest woman in the world, she turned to a slow and lethargic shadow of her former self. Sometimes getting lost in mid-sentence. Other times, she’d just start sobbing as the pain became utterly unbearable. And I could do nothing to stop it. The painkillers were practically useless. All I could do was watch. All of it ended as suddenly as it started, unexpected, completely unexpected. I came by to check out how she was doing. She had given me the spare key. Allowing me to enter any time I wanted to. Just in case she couldn’t answer the door or something happened. That day, the moment I entered her apartment, something felt completely off. Certain darkness hung in the air, sucking out the oxygen from this place. I called out to her, but she didn’t answer. Looking around the house, I found her in the apartment, as peaceful as a sleeping infant. My brain went into a different gear the moment I saw her that day. A different person took control of my body at that moment, a person I hoped I’d never have to meet again. Let’s just say I am used to seeing blood… but I guess I handle it better. Seeing Addie lying on her red-stained bed, a gun between her hands and brain and skull matter sprayed all over the bed and wall. An eerie sort of calm washed over me as I called the authorities and notified them of my sister’s suicide. It’s not to say that I didn’t care. It’s just second nature. One I’d like to get rid of. Unfortunately, I can’t. The police suspected me because of the coldness in my voice and overall attitude. I don’t blame them. They questioned me, but they couldn’t dig up anything about me. So that was that. It wouldn’t surprise me if someone still suspects me to this day; even though I’ve explained to them, she was dying from a brain tumor. Can I blame anyone, though, for potentially not believing me? After all, you don’t get to see normal people not breaking down at the sight of their dead siblings. But break down I did; this was just the very telling calm before the storm. And what a storm it was. As soon as the cops and the medics left, I felt the stinging tears build up in my eyes as I collapsed and cried every ounce of tears I had in me. I wouldn’t stop crying for the next few hours. Hell, I was a mess for weeks after the fact. I couldn’t do anything without breaking down and crying like a little kid. That one stung the most. I was in hell for a while. The days went by with me, trying my best not to collapse under the gloomy monotony of sorrow. At the same time, the nights passed sleeplessly as I regurgitated memories of us together over the years. In these moments, I found a bit of solace; having a mental image of her radiant smile, her shining blue eyes that could make the oceans envious of their clarity, and her voice. I went through the whole five-round deal with my grief. Denial, especially since she had hated guns. I made up an entire conspiracy in my mind that this wasn’t her, that she wasn’t gone, that I had followed in our father’s footsteps and gone insane. Anger; mostly at myself for letting her die in my head. Bargaining, once again with myself; telling myself I should’ve made her take the medications she was being offered. I also prayed to God to have my life replaced by hers. I know it isn’t really feasible and outright selfish, making her live the kind of life I had a hard time accepting for myself. But in these moments of despair, I wasn’t thinking rationally. The depressive period that came after, I don’t really remember it that much. It was just a cloud of sheer mental and physical nothingness. Eventually, I came to accept that she was gone. Life went on, and there isn’t a single day I don’t miss her, but life went on, and I moved on with it. Adrianna, I love you, and I know you are watching over me over there. I know you already can tell that life resumed its normalcy. I even almost fell in love, almost. Sadly, that didn’t pan out. The days rolled on, and I stopped counting how long it has been since she was gone. I was back to enjoying my job, enjoying the company of friends, and enjoying life. I even found a news article about some local nut job that robbed the local cemetery. Found that funny at the time, not thinking about the possibility that my sister’s body could’ve been among his loot. It just didn’t register in my head. And then everything started with a splitting headache. One that nearly brought me down to my knees. The pain was so sudden and so sharp I thought I immediately got nauseous. My vision darkened and my whole body felt like a building had fallen on top of me. Worst of all was the light; a dim light had shone right in front of me. Slowly but persistently expanding over my field of vision. Shifting and twisting it into a rather serene forest scenery. I was sure I was about to die. At that moment, I was convinced I was having a stroke or some other brain death-like experience. Stumbling and dragging myself to the phone. Never got to that phone. I ended up tripping over my own legs and falling. Strangely enough, as soon as the room flipped upside down around me, the pain subsided as suddenly as it first appeared. I remained for a few moments, lying down, trying to steady my breath as everything seemed to return to normalcy. This was the first of many such headaches. They would come and go, lasting no longer than a few moments, but each time, they’d be unbelievably torturous and bring about increasingly intricate visions of a forested scenery getting bigger and bigger with each episode. While the insides of my skull were being fried, my soul was traveling through this beautiful heavenly locale. The mental hellfire was so severe it started affecting my day-to-day life, from bouts of explosive migraines at work to just completely draining me of my energy and disturbing my already fragile sleep cycle, which sent me further down into the rabid hole. Soon enough, I was once more consumed by grief and longing for my dead relatives. Often feeling their presence around me. I would catch glimpses of them sort of meandering about the house or hear a whisper of their voices, only to find out I was alone. Instead of getting fearful for my fleeting sanity, I’d get upset and mournful all over again. The headaches and visions consumed me during the day and the night. Everything in my head was being geared toward this forest, but each time, the pain was becoming far worse. My days were slowly but surely becoming a singular cacophonous delirious headache. During the night, I’d frequently dream about that same forest, albeit in greater detail. It was almost becoming familiar. The trees, the grass, the rock formations here and there, the distant rushing of water. All of it was growing more and more familiar, as if I had known this place. Some days, though, the pleasant dreamscape would become a terrible nightmare. It was completely the same serene forested landscape, but with the gut-wrenching addition of my sister’s likeness appearing in the distance and guesting me to follow her somewhere. Whenever I saw her in my dreams, I’d wake up with nauseating vertigo, accompanied by the sensation of a crack forming in my skull. These nightmarish dreams would become frequent and soon enough, I could hear her voice in my head. Every time I heard it. I felt chills running down my body. And every time she asked me to follow her, I did. Yet, every time she’d disappear somewhere before I could reach her. Dreams bled into reality and I could see her likeness standing behind my reflection in the mirror, albeit briefly. I could hear her voice calling out to me from beyond the nothingness of death. I’d catch glimpses of her everywhere I went. It’s like she was haunting me. A ghost of a memory turning into a waking nightmare. One night, I had finally reached my dream’s nightmarish conclusion. It began as it always did. I found myself walking about in this beautiful woodland. The sun was shining pleasantly on my skin. I walked around purposefully, lost until Addie’s silhouette appeared in between the trees. My body moved towards her. Like a game of tag, she ran while I followed, trying to catch on. My voice was muffled and distant as I called out to her to stop and wait for me. She didn’t say a thing, merely looked back at me every now and again. We ran for long minutes across the forest until I finally saw what I thought was a clearing. It was at the edge of the woodland. The familiarity of the environment struck me immediately. I didn’t even need to the sign indicating the distance to our town to know that this was the woodland not far from where I live. Addie ran into this old cabin by the edge of the woods while I could not stop her. The moment she ran inside, the pleasant atmosphere of the dream seemed to turn on its head. Trees turned black as the skies became blood red. The surrounding scenery turned into a perverted version of itself. Violent flames burst within the cabin as I watched it hopelessly. A cacophony of anguished screams woke me up. The darkness in the room seemed unnaturally dark and cold. My body still felt numb and stiff. A shadowy figure seemed to move in my direction, threatening me with its ominous presence. All the while, I couldn’t move. As the shadow grew closer, my body grew colder, but before I knew it, Adrianna’s form stood over me. Her eyes were ice blue, shining like beacons in the dark. Pure hatred burned within their gaze. A familiar scowl on her face, one of an unstoppable anger. Even though she wasn’t moving her lips, I could hear her voice in my head screaming. I was trying my damnedest to reach out to her, but I could barely feel my body moving by the point I felt like I had finally moved an inch closer to my sister. Her form burst into a flock of loudly cawing crows that covered the entire room. As the birds threatened to swallow me whole, I could move finally and realized I was all alone, sitting upright in my empty room. My heart pounded in my chest cavity, while my mind was torn between the feelings of pain and longing and terrifying confusion. It took me a few moments to gather my bearings. My head was pounding as a hammer was used to wake me up. My limbs were weak and unsteady, and it took me a couple of hours to get myself out of bed. I feel as though something was trying to tell me I needed to go to this empty cabin at the edge of town. For as long as I’m alive, I have known it as this abandoned building no one ever bothers looking in because it’s apparently as ancient as the oldest parts of the country and anyone within a living memory remembers it as being empty and unused. That said, I followed my gut feeling that day and made my way to the dilapidated cabin. The headache that day wouldn’t go away. It kept pounding away at my skull in searing waves over and over. The closer I got to my destination, the worse the pain seemed to get. By the time I was facing the cabin, the pain was spreading down my neck and my eyes were watering. Slight soreness caressed my entire body as if I had come down with a fever. Walking slowly towards the cabin, my entire body began feeling as though it was going to explode soon enough. The tension was almost radiating from under my skin. But all of that would go away as soon as I opened the old wooden door and set my eyes on what was inside the cabin. The headache, the soreness, and the immense weight of this unknown condition fled from my body with wave after wave of chills. A decapitated head, unpreserved; half rotten blue, and missing one eye. A few teeth were missing as well. For the first time in a long time, I’ve felt such a strong reaction to human remains. My stomach twisted and my head spun. The stench finally penetrated through my shock. The previous night’s dinner mixed in with digestive juices tasted fresh in my mouth as I looked around. The whole place would put the lowest depths of hell to shame. Human body parts were strewn about. Furniture made up of yellowish leather all over. Pants, coats, gloves... A necklace from five nipples on a string hung about from the ceiling. Another head, in a more advanced stage of decay, stood on display on a shelf. My head was spinning, and my body wanted nothing to do with that place. Until I caught a glimpse of a leather jacket. Yellow and brown. Patched up awkwardly with random pieces of leather, including a couple of faces at the bottom. I was going to throw up all over the damn thing if I didn’t notice a mark on the center. A tattoo; A rose flanked by six wings. It was Addie’s tattoo. One of a few she had gotten. All feelings of disgust turned into an all-consuming flame in my bowels as the memories come down drowning my mind in a mixture of rage and misery. I trashed half of the trinkets and homemade clothes. I wanted to destroy all of it, but in my anger-driven rampage I overexerted myself and ended up finding a hunting laying under a table. Whoever was responsible for this sick house of horrors had to pay dearly. I picked up the hunting rifle and made my way to the nearest chair that had no leather on it. Sitting on that chair, clasping the rifle firmly, all I could think about was how I’d torment whoever desecrated Adrianna’s body. Whoever disturbed her peace was about to experience hell on earth before I sent them to the next life. Old addictive habits were creeping up in the back of my mind as memories I’d usually hate to remember, but at that moment, I accepted the return of the other me. I wanted him back. I needed this. The world could use him at that moment, or so I thought. The blinding flames of rage were all I had in these moments. The moment I heard a truck approach the cabin, I stood up and carefully made my way to the window, as I didn’t want to make too much noise and scare off the owner. A middle-aged man about my father’s age, tall and lanky, he has been carrying yet another, fresh trophy. I kept following his eyes as he inched closer to the door. I’ll never forget that empty, almost side-eyed gaze. As soon as he opened the door, I leaped out of the shadows and clocked him across the face with the butt of the rifle. He went down instantly. Letting out a pained moan as he lost consciousness. Oh, how human this monster had looked. So much like myself and yet so different. Animalistic, alien of sorts. I stood over him, wondering what kind of torture I’d inflict on him before I blow his head off. Looking around the room for any source of inspiration, I once again looked at that damned coat with Addie’s tattoo. The memories came flooding down again. It all came back; us playing in this very forest; us going to school, going camping with our parents, how I knocked out the first boy who broke her heart, how she popped the tires of the bike of the first girl that broke my heart, how we fought and made up, how we were best friends even though we didn’t speak for long times during the last few years of her life. The way she hugged me when I quit the army, her voice echoed in my mind as she expressed her gladness at my return to civilian life. The pain we shared when our parents passed. All of it came back, rendering me unable to do anything to this monster at my feet. I broke down into tears all over again, cursing him repeatedly until my head started aching again. After that, I called the police instead and told them I found their grave robber. I had to fabricate a story about how I was passing by the cemetery when I saw him drag out something suspicious and followed him up to the cabin. I don’t know if they really bought into any of that, but I don’t care. The blow to his head made him forget who I was, and he ended up confessing everything. Turns out two of the six women whose remains I found in this cabin were murdered by this man as opposed to being dug out. A local handyman whose name is now all over the local news, like he’s some kind of new Dracula or Jack the Ripper. They sent him to an asylum because he was too insane to stand trial. The media barely mentioned the names of the victims because an insane fetishist murderer is somehow more appealing to the public than the sum of his victims. Personally, I wanted nothing to do with the outrage. Luckily, the police force that arrived at the cabin took credit for everything. I’ve better things to do, like fixing my cervical spine and getting rid of this constant splitting headache.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I ran a deep sea mining operation, but something other than climate change stopped us. [RESPONSE]


THE ARTEFACT Twenty-five kilometres North-West of Madagascar, under the guidance of Triskele – a privately held operation, that had set up the world’s first successful deep ocean mining project harvesting manganese, cobalt, and copper. It was a project that became the most ethical, and sustainable mining project around, but before we go any further, I would like to say I have heard the comments that must be spinning in your mind, but a frequent point I would bring up is have you heard of Ituri? North Kivu? Or in the most simplistic sense, do you understand phones, or that hip hybrid vehicle of yours, true place of origin? Not the sleek designs, but rather the components properties, the sweet blends like coffee that warm you up to the delusion your somehow ecologically sound. I won’t pretend as if any mistakes haven’t been made. The lives lost at the Bay of Guinea were terrible, and maybe if the Guinean leaders had cared for people, as much as the luxury of sending their kids to Europe, things might be different. There is one thing that had pulled me from the rampant anger you might guess from the earlier paragraph, and I can still recall that form as she swept into my office that day. Dr. Ntsay was her name, and she was an immense presence, especially around her peers and superiors. She was someone you either had to love or loved to hate, with how she dominated a room. I the simple head researcher of this retrofitted oil rig, had the pleasure to know her and love her. It was dinner night, and we had planned on preparing some of the freshly harvested fish we had traded with an ocean tug, that would pass on the periphery of the site, as our daily rations had not brought in the level of comfort food as the fresh tuna would, especially when complimented with the cloves, thyme, and lemon zest that had also been traded for a small distributive fee. ‘So, shall we leave?’, Ntsay asked. ‘Let me wrap up this report.’, I said. ‘How are you ladies? Date night? I have plans too.’, Stehr quipped. Ntsay sighed, as she attempted to explain to Stehr that his bravado was pointless with some lesbians in the room. The pale, and bony man in charge of security was seemingly incapable of turning off his chauvinistic charm as he continued his parade around. His arrogance was a guidebook for most of his interactions with the outside world, and it would only become a bigger problem, as a last minute emergency was reported to my office. The boy who cried wolf had not done much to convince me the situations true emergency, as what had usually happened in these ‘emergencies’ was the tree-lovers across most of the departments had a habit of getting agitated when an uncatalogued species of some translucent whale, squid, or goose swam nearby the drilling stations, and they had wished to preserve it, knowing full well the time, money, and lost revenue could handle most African state debt, but the young man had been quick to retort that it had been a true emergency that had summoned me. ‘You’re going to need my help.’, Stehr said. ‘We will call on you, once a boat needs to be sent to pick up the shredded squids.’, Ntsay said. ‘You can laugh, but you both need a man around.’ ‘And you need vitamin pills.’, I said. ‘This is my natural body form, you know I take my diet seriously.’ I urged the two to shut up, as we made our way onto the submersible platform we used to send repair crews, to handle the drilling rakes. We would be met by a task force that had been formed to address the item, the young man called nothing more then a thing. It seemed like the usual ecological fearmongering to me, there was a rack of PESU suits to my left, and the scientific task force had been huddled into the corner of the right of the room, looking out through the framed window, almost hoping to catch a sight out of the ‘thing’ through the tricarbonite glass that we were neatly wrapped in. One of them looked over us, and immediately pulled Ntsay into their circle, as Stehr went ahead and took control of the platform’s steering from the platform operator, leaving me all alone, and without a briefing from a group that ended by night plans. ‘Here we go.’, Stehr announced. The long pulley made from highly strung out carbon strings had propelled us lower, and lower through the mono-rail as we gently pushed through the sea smog composed from the limestone, and shale deposits that had been grounded down into smooth dust, as it permeated across the waters surface, but as the giant clouds dissipated, we were met by the sight of heavily damaged mulit-billion dollar equipment carved into smooth knobs. ‘Who messed up?’, I asked. ‘No one, it hit something.’, A researcher said. ‘It tears diamond to dust, what can do that?’, ‘Maybe it just wasn’t that good.’, Stehr quipped. It was just humour to Stehr, and he made no effort to conceal his laxed attitude towards the situation, that could leave us and Triskele completely bankrupt. In fact Stehr had taken the time to talk up the young lady from the Geological department, as she inspected the short range probe the team had deployed, once they had discovered the newly titled, ‘Artefact’, from an engineering warning message after the drills registered damage. I ordered A much larger fifty metre class probe to be sent out, as we were immediately struck by a tide – propelled by the ocean currents, the silts of limestone, and shale would brush up against anything in its way, but as the pelts of grounded stone had brushed against us, the silhouette of something in tide had begun to emerge like a mirage. It was enough to finally calm Stehr, as he was also left speechless by what we saw. Enveloped in a jagged surface; a few kilometres wide as most of it remained submerged into the sea floor. The machines had after all managed to brush the dust out of it before their bristles had been left worn out. Its cylinder shape had further left us intrigued, but it had been the realisation through the short range probe sent by the geologist that left us stunned. It was completely hollowed out, and quiet possibly by design. The rail that had leashed us onto the rig, had given a slight shake, as the team wondered in such an ominous occasion, weather the cause could be from the Artefact, but Stehr had been quick to remind us all that it was in fact the little coughs the motor made all the way up from the rig. ‘Its not the time to go insane. Is it?’, Stehr said. ‘How long is it?’, I asked. ‘We estimated a couple of kilometres.’, a research explained ‘Man made?’, Stehr had asked. ‘It isn’t a natural feature.’, A researcher slyly answered. I had heard enough, as I explained they all ought to shut up & let me think through on the next steps. Yet, nothing could come to my mind as I stared vacuum-less across the ridges at the ocean floor formed by our machines, but it seemed now we were confronted with an even greater one. As we pushed closer, & with my own silence holding the teams back. Stehr took the initiative for the deployment of a small team to look more closely at it. He took his assistant aside, and gave an order for his brashful team to carry out his will. The chatter among the group slowly rose as Stehr pushed for me to hand over command of a team to him. I admit that the situation had overtaken me, but who wouldn’t be? Ntsay had long huddled with the technical teams to surmise what statements they could make with the information they had about the ‘Artefact’, as I was again left to pretend like I had an idea of what I was doing. ‘Sure go ahead, Stehr. Just watch out.’ ‘I will.’, Stehr assembled his team, and headed over to the deployment room, at the corner of the platform, as the group entered into their PESU suits, which were ten centimetre thick ceramic materials, that had been added onto the already burdensome layer of synthetic fish skin that functioned to provide most of the suits mobility by functioning as muscles. The PESU were not loved, but respected for what the could perform, something made clear with one of their components. A hundred kilogram artificial gill that had operated by inserting sharp needles into the abdominal cavity. Stehr cracked some jokes through the intercom, as he attempted to push thorough the excruciating piercing that was accompanied with the mild anaesthetic that poured into their bodies, as the PESU’s would launch an integration factor. It would be soon after, that I received news that the 50meter class of probes had been shot out from the rig, and would be converging with Stehr’s team as they explored the artefact. I still feel, as I had at that time that it was risky for a team to be sent out, but for as tacky I found Stehr at times, he was capable. ‘You should opt to use the fifty-metre classes to handle most of the up close inspections.’, I said. ‘I think the tactile feel, might be more beneficial.’, Stehr said. ‘Bullshit, you want to play Rayleigh.’, Ntsay said. ‘Go out in the field, as much as I do, then I might reconsider your position.’, Stehr said. ‘Stehr, we don’t know a lot, and I can’t promise I can help if something goes wrong.’ Stehr brushed us aside, as I talked further with Ntsay about the possible worst case scenario with the team not making it out. Ntsay had felt adamant we had to inform the board, and Malagasy government about what had happened, while I felt as if we still had very little to say but the most insane thing imaginable, at that point it would do little good to put people in a frenzy. ‘Its my home we’re talking about.’, Ntsay said. ‘I know, and it matters to me, nearly as much as it does to you.’, I explained ‘You will have to do more then just say that. Putting Stehr there, wasn’t the most rational decision.’ ‘I understand you might not agree with my methods, but I’m still your superior.’ I tried to stop myself, but it was too late, and I had swung it wide and far. Dr. Ntsay chuckled with anger, and continued on with her duties, as my punishment would come in no cuddle time. I finally took a seat down, as the next emergency had come in through the form of the newly uncovered emission waves, and after that it had been that someone had decided to take charge of a fifty-metre probe and navigate it through the cylinder. Stehr couldn’t be reached, and his number two, had been almost stuck in the child-state non-snitching policy, that left her unable to specify exactly what occurred, but it was clear by then, that Stehr had stirred up something. Communication channels would soon go erratic, as the platform’s cabled probe had slowly become the only source of transmission from the artefact, as ‘it’ or maybe ‘they’ had seemed to have been awoken, and its emission of a strange signal had disrupted all of our communication. Ntsay ordered the probe move over to the last known location for the team, as on another panel our sonar had picked up a fifty-metre probe heading into our direction. The feed which had been an amalgamation of infra-red, and ultrasonic imaging, had provided us with the reality of mass death. The suits hunkered onto the ocean floor had been almost squashed down, by some type of force. It was heartbreaking, and fear striking as a few had began to cry for the friends they had lost, and as I had been struck by the desolation enough that I remained unable to act, leaving Ntsay to quickly order for the fifty-metre class probe to be identified. The team picked up to signatures, but also the strain the craft had been operating under, almost as if it was fighting to keep its self up, as we were soon to be affected by the tragedy that occurred to our crew. It was unnatural what would soon occur, as the counterweights, levers, and cordage that held the platform were put under a tremendous strain. I reacted with the only way I knew how to, and demanded that the team start pulling the platform up. ‘Up now!’, I shouted out. ‘The others from the probe?’ ‘Stay with them, if you want to die. It had seemed Stehr had the same ideas as he used the platforms monorail system to boost himself, and the platform up against the immense force. Ntsay had panicked, but it was one more concerned that we had likely experienced a localised increased in gravity, a rod in the ocean floor had the capacity to simply pull us down with ease into our deaths, and it contributed to the growing sense of unease about the artefact. I was the one blamed in the decision to leave the remains at the bottom. It had been twelve hours of surreal horror since we made it back safely to the rig, as teams had begun pushing twelve hour shifts dedicated to rapid experiments, and trying to figure out what we were dealing with. I remained adamant about leaving off-site communication off, until we had enough data, and Ntsay had gotten upset enough to lambast me about the possibility of the gravity waves expanding onto land into Antananarivo, and possibly further into the mainland into Pemba, Arusha, Bulawayo, or Johannesburg. I understood the fear she had come from, but I just could not stop the sense of gut betrayal for being humiliated like that and it deeply hurt. Stehr dealing with decompression sickness had recovered quickly, and had for the most part changed from the experience. He wanted to get back to it, he wanted to find away to get even, and he felt like a fool for getting his team down like that in the first place. We counselled each other with our problems with a bottle of whisky, and left in ten minutes, as our breaks had been over. We walked our separate ways in the maze like terrain of the converted rig – its former pipelines had been reshaped, and cut to provide the stylistic façade that at times had left you claustrophobic, or somewhat like a super-villian, but it still managed to maintain a charm with the detailed hydroponically grown fauna that for the most part covered most of the ‘unpleasant’ parts, which was ironic for a former petroleum plant, turned deep sea metal mining operation. Heading back to my office, the Geology head in an untold exuberance had nearly pushed me to the floor, and informed me of the preliminary tests that estimated the artefact as being over twenty billion years old, as metallurgy had also found out about mostly unknown compounds, or even a few elements coming from the shell of the artefact. While his department had stumbled upon a few significant things, ecology had also sent him over to explain the discovery they had made that would likely complicate the situation further, as the small radius of five kilometres around the artefact had began producing significant mutations in plants, sea animals, algae, insects, and even recovered bacterial samples. The radiation had been non cancerous, but had clearly changed the biological patterns of the effected species, and one great white shark had produced some strange features that they would have liked for me to see. He guided me over to the ecology, as he ranted on about the genuine mystery, and intrigue of the artefact as I did my best to maintain a cool about a scenario that felt more like fruition of an apocalypse. Once we arrived, we heard the ramblings as it seemed as if a crowd had gathered to witness a hanging, pushing those faces of fear, disgust, and confusion aside we found the lab had been painted over with traces of a purple goo, left splattered on the team that had been left in a state of shock. As I tried to understand their reactions as I headed closer to the glass panes that split the lab, and the outside world, the scene was composed of the former shell of the shark, cocooned with a thick white film, and a few metres from it was the strange corpse, with the team a fair distance away from it. Whatever it had been, and what had caused the clear bash on it skull had to be solved by internal; but the situation had clearly been caused by the heightening stress levels. The cocoon structures had seemed to mutate, and create these strange things, and with further inspection by internal I had found out that their was an attempt at communication before a member of the team who had lost a loved one, in Stehr’s expedition had acted in ‘self-defence’. Internal too had seemed to be losing their mind, if they had made such an attempt to condone murder as a ‘self-defensive act’ Pursuing my course of action, had begun to bite back. I would be too late to act once two unlikely people had defined themselves as crusaders reclaiming their land. Without any express permission beside their own fears, and larger support from the rig, Ntsay, and Stehr had deployed themselves with a large contingent of security personnel to attempt to secure the artefact. Stehr had mentioned earlier that he must have had something that allowed him to live, beside the luck. They were going to get themselves killed, so as I rushed to analytics, I cleared most of the team, only leaving myself with the most loyal and trustworthy hands. It had taken a moment for someone to voice their discovery that coincided with their monitoring of Ntsay, the infamous transmissions from the Artefact had begun again. It was a video loop, that had seemed to attempt to fashion a person almost from scratch. Its attempt at recognition coincided with the models it procured from the PESU corpses, and the sea life it had attained through its symbiosis attempts. The unrest outside of the room, had grown as a mob had assembled demanding their right to communicate with the outside world. I ignored them, as I honed in closely to the broadcast, which had soon grown erratic. We soon realised the problem was heightened as the seismic shifts we began to feel had been produced by the artefact moving towards us. It would seem as Ntsay’s team had been lost, as I demanded some real action from the team, and for a second, I expected some words from Stehr at this tense moment, but they were none. I was left alone, and as shameful as it is to admit I had felt as if they had it coming for being such idiots. On incident, a junior officer in the panic had managed to inverse the feed, which had temporarily halted the artefact. The team had relocated the Ntsay vessel, but it had seemed wrecked, as I pushed for them to continue whatever they had done to stop the artefact. The head, wondered it a possible overfeeding could change something, as he instructed a more varied field on information be sent, and as what they had was mostly was the rigs data centre for the crew personal information, as we fed it whatever it wanted, so it could stop. It had suddenly retreated, and slowly it crawled itself back to the crater we uncovered. Another team had simultaneously run a their purported hack, but what they uncovered was just a series of generated images, their context being a series of defineless shapes. Triskele had not been as impressed, once the body count had been tallied, and the true scale of what happened was known. They feigned an excuse of economic, and logistic concerns as they moved their operations into the Mozambique channel; payments, NDA’s (which they might litigate now), and severances for the worst cases were dispatched. Dr. Ntsay, and Mr. Stehr had luickly survived, but their testimonial in the internal investigations had plundered all our reputations enough to be barred from the seas, and maybe that’s for the best, anyway. I don’t know where, how, and what it intends next, but I know anything near it won’t be safe. - douwe<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] He came from the fire [RESPONSE] My eyes remained fixed on the fire. Its flames were beautiful. To me, their every move was a work of art. I remember how much I enjoyed just looking at them, at the fire as if it were a beautiful force of nature. I don’t think I can ever see fire as I did then, it means something different to me now. But then, then it was all I could give attention to and how could you blame me? They’re the only that had an appeal to me that night. I couldn’t seem to give my newly acquired college friends the same attention. Don’t get me wrong, we were all having a good time, out in the wilderness, under the stars. It’s just not my cup of tea to be around a bunch of slobbering, drunk fellow 18 and 19-year-olds when I haven’t had a single drop of alcohol myself. I don’t have anything against drinking, I just choose not to do it myself, for reasons I’m not going to get into. And, even though I made this know to the group I was camping with this night, they never seemed to get the message. I was constantly bombarded with offers of shots of vodka and seltzers or beer. Some of them kept asking me to try their special little concoctions of which I had absolutely zero interest in trying. Truth be told, I’m not one for parties. I prefer my solitude. My idea of a fun Friday night is being alone, playing video games, and watching youtube. That was a far cry from this little getaway camping trip. I had sort of forced myself to make more friends when I got to my university, and for the most part, I enjoyed it. I decided it couldn’t be too bad to join them on this trip, it sounded like fun anyway. I didn’t know how many other people they were bringing along and it certainly came as a surprise when I found out there would be more than a dozen of us. After meeting all of them, remembering none of their names, and then making the trip out there and getting everything for the camp set up, my social battery had run dead. I kept myself tending to the fire. Now and again, I would get up and go find some leaves to make it flare up and burn bright once again. It was October, so I had plenty of fuel around to entertain me. The other thirteen were behind me, an even mix of male and female, set up in their lawn chairs and mixing each other drinks while they blasted music from their portable speaker. An hour or so of this went by before I saw one of the guys, Nathan, walk over to his car that was parked close by. He opened the front passenger side door and it looked like he was searching for something. He was rummaging around for a while before he emerged, holding a single sheet of paper. I didn’t think anything of it at first, but I kept a curious eye on him as he sat on the log next to mine. Despite how blasted he must have been at this time in the night, he was able to concentrate deeply on whatever it was his little sheet of paper had on it. After a couple of minutes, he got up and ventured back to his car again, leaving the sheet of paper pinned down by a little rock. My curiosity got the better of me and I walked over when I saw him get up. I lifted the sheet to see it was some sort of instruction manual. I had trouble reading it, so I angled the paper enough to catch the lighting provided by the fire. I don’t remember them word for word but they went something like this: 1. Prepare a fire pit. This fire has to be started on the ground. Using a pit that is elevated above the ground or not touching the ground will result in failure. Additionally, covering the fire with anything, such as a cage will also result in a failure. 2. Safety precautions are required before starting the fire. Clear any brush, sticks, leaves, or dry material that can catch on fire. Remove loose clothing, tie up long hair, and keep it away from the fire. It can not be stressed enough how important it is to keep the fire contained in its pit. 3. Have a fire extinguisher or some other means of putting out the fire quickly ready at any moment. Things can get out of hand fast and it’s good to have a backup plan. Escaping the fire once its pit is impossible. Running is futile once he is free. I couldn’t finish reading the instructions before Nathan snatched the paper from my hands. “What’s that?” I asked with a hint of frustration at him taking the instructions from me. “Don't worry about it. I’m trying to do this weird ritual thing I found on the internet. It’s supposed to summon some dude from the fire, I don’t know man” Though I didn’t get the opportunity to read much of the instructions and as bizarre as they were, I was intrigued. On top of that, his defensive reaction and mention of summoning something interested me even more. I’ve always been into superstitious things like that and the idea excited me. This was certainly the most exciting thing I could have imagined happening on this night. “Well, what are we summoning then?” Nathan ignored me, still reading from his list. It was then that I noticed what he brought back from his car. On the log, next to us, sat a ziplock bag with some sort of white powder-looking substance inside. As I said, I don’t have a problem with alcohol but if they were about to get into something like cocaine or worse, I didn’t plan on being any part of it. “Did you seriously bring drugs out here too? I can’t-” Nathan then interrupted sharply “No! I told you, calm down. It’s not drugs. It’s this like…spirit salt or something, dude. It’s something we need to summon this guy supposedly”. “Who are you summoning? And where did you get those instructions from? I don’t think we should be calling some demon to our little camp out here. It’s creepy enough as it is” “Bro, I told you, I don’t know. I got the instructions from a weird place on the deep web. One of those cult websites where they tell you about their weird beliefs and rituals and stuff. They said he’s not a demon”. I was skeptical of course. Not just of the merit of this little ritual, I’m sure most people would be, but also of this cultist group Nathan got these instructions from and whatever their intentions were. I’ve not always been the most religious person but I didn’t have the greatest feeling about summoning some spirit. Nathan’s uncertainty about everything he was trying to do didn’t help. But, like I said, this sort of thing interested me and I wanted to see where it was going or what would happen. I tried to figure out more. “Nathan, let me see those instructions again”. “No! You’re just gonna fuck it up. I got this, I promise. Just chill out”. I returned to the log I was sitting on before. I sat, looking back and forth between the fire and Nathan. I recalled the part of the instructions I had been able to read and pondered them in my mind. The fire must be built on the ground and uncovered. Well, ours fit both of those stipulations. Containing it is most important. Anything that can catch fire should be cleared away. I looked around the ground near the fire. I had already thrown most of the leaves that were there but I cleaned up what twigs and leaves were left and tossed them into the fire. I sat back down. Running is futile once he is free. Who is he? A couple of minutes went by before Freddy, one of Nathan’s close friends and a guy I was getting along with quite well came over and sat on the log next to me with a bottle of beer in hand. He’s more outgoing and outspoken than I am so it was no surprise to me that, when after he took a peak around me to get a look at Nathan, he had something to ask. “What the fuck is Nathan up to?” I simply shrugged, still wondering that myself. After a couple of minutes of chilling with me by the fire, Freddy got back up and returned to the others behind us. Nathan walked up to the fire with his little zip-lock bag and opened it. He slowly poured his powder, or salt, or whatever the hell it was along the ground about a foot or two away from the fire, making a ring around it. He proceeded to take a small stick and etch something into the ground, all along the outside of the ring he just made. I got up to have an inspection. He was carving some sort of symbols or letters in the dirt. It looked like maybe an old language, but I had no clue what one it could be. I figured he still wasn’t going to tell me what was up. I wanted to get a look at that weird instruction manual he had again but I couldn’t because he was holding it. I watch as he finished going around the circle, making all of his little symbols in the dirt before he made another ring with salt around them. He looked at each symbol and double-checked them, reading off of his instruction sheet for a minute before I saw him nod to himself and turn towards the group. “Guys! Get over here I gotta show you something. Shut that music off too, this has to be quiet”. All but a few of them walked over after a few minutes of bickering back and forth. Freddy sat down next to me again. It seems a number of them didn’t want to be interrupted and refused to be brought over to see what Nathan had planned. The guy who owned the speaker, and whose name I can’t remember for the life of me, put up a fit over having to turn off the music. Nevertheless, Most of them made their way to the fire and were sitting around it, waiting for Nathan to go on with his plans. He gave a little speech first. “Nobody goes near the fire, throws anything at the fire, or steps on the salt. Just sit down and watch, alright? Oh, and if you see the fire spreading anywhere, let me know right away, alright?” “Sure, whatever. Just get it over with” The speaker guy said, clearly annoyed. Nothing happened for a couple of minutes as Nathan kept looking at his instruction sheet. People around the fire started their own side conversations until Nathan started speaking in some sort of weird language, reciting something from the instructions sheet. It sounded old. I assumed it was the same language as whatever he made the marks in the ground with. The group quieted and most of them grew confused expressions on their faces, some of them looked at each other and let out a quiet laugh with their hands over their mouths. After about two minutes of this recital, Nathan approached the fire, being sure not to step in the salt on the ground before tossing what he had left in the bag into the fire while he continued to read. It was obvious that most of the group was becoming exponentially bored the longer this went on but I think we still wanted to see what would happen. As Nathan tossed another pinch of salt into the fire, it burst upwards in an explosion. Ashes filled the air above the pit and came raining down on us. He fell on his back, surprised, dropping his bag and sheet before frantically crawling away. Everyone else in the group expressed their surprise as well, including me, who jumped to my feet. A few girls and a few guys screamed when this happened as well. The flames from the pit calmed but as they did so, the symbols Nathan had carved into the dirt lit up on their own. I watched Nathan the whole time he made those symbols. He never put anything inside them that would make them light up like that, that could make them burn. I could tell by the expressions on all of their faces, that everyone was in awe and caught by surprise, as was I. No one was ready for what followed. I noticed a shape taking form in the fire. A single flame reached up and out before it split at the end, into four, then five individual flames. It was a hand. The fire had grown an arm and a hand with fingers. Another sprouted from the opposite side before the arms reached back down, pushing against the ground. Rising fast from the flames was the head, followed by the shoulders and the torso. It rose to about 7 feet tall before it stopped. It was very clearly the shape of a man, I could even make out the legs that stood, rooted in the fire. One thing it didn’t have was a face. It had no eyes, mouth, or any other details. Its head was just a blank canvas of nothing but fire. Some of us just stared, and others began to cry and scream in fear of what they were witnessing. Nathan was back on his feet, standing next to me and Freddy. I could see the disbelief in his eyes as he looked at the figure formed by the flames. He tried to explain the situation to us, fumbling through it. “Don’t worry, he…he can’t leave his pit as long as the fire doesn’t spread or… or that’s at least what the instructions say…I…I didn’t think this would really happen” One of the guys got up, looking like he was ready to book it out of there. Nathan noticed. “Don’t run! It can't get you and you can’t outrun it f it could anyway”. “What the fuck do you mean?” The guy yelled back in a shaken voice. Nathan finally confessed to the group. “Look, I got these instructions off of this shady place on the deep web. They said if you follow the steps you can summon this…this thing but I didn’t think it would work, I just thought it would be fun and a little scary, I was just trying to entertain everyone, I don’t know how this is even possible”. “Well, how do we get rid of it?!” A girl on the log across from me asked, demanding to know. Nathan picked his instructions off the floor. They were wrinkled from when he fell. As soon as he did so, a gust of wind blew it from his hands and towards the fire. The figure reached out to grab it before the paper crumbled in flames, turning to ash. Everyone stared blankly, not knowing what to say or do at the moment. Whatever instructions Nathan had to get rid of it were long gone, destroyed by the very thing they instructed on summoning. “Do you guys hear that?” A voice asked from across the pit from us. It was one of the girls. Everyone looked over at her for a moment. I don’t think anyone else could hear what she was hearing. “You guys…you don’t hear that voice?” No one responded. We all remained silent, waiting to hear something, anything. None of us could. At least, none of us spoke up about it. The girl covered her ears with her hands and started to scream in agony. Her friends helped her get up and move away from the fire. I had a sneaking suspicion that this thing in the fire had something to do with it. It was somehow talking to just her. Her screams were loud enough to finally alert the other few who hadn’t come over to the fire when Nathan asked. One, an extremely drunk guy, seemed to be oblivious to it all. He didn’t notice the figure standing in our fire. That was until he got close, very close. He walked right past us and almost into the first ring of salt before he noticed the flaming symbols on the ground. Before anyone could react and get him away, he looked up to come face-to-face with the figure in our fire. Like anyone would react, he jerked away from the fire in shock. Unfortunately, the cup he held in his hand spilled, right into the fire. His drink must have been a strong one because even though the fiery figure stood a good 7 feet above the ground already, the alcohol made it rise even higher. As its growth was bolstered for a short second, the figure reached an arm above its head and touched a branch that hung over it. In an instant, the branch lit up in flames and turned to ash, ash that rained upon the now vacant fire pit and unlit symbols on the ground. It was now totally dark. Everyone had shut everything off to look at the fire, now we were scrambling to find a flashlight or a phone, anything that we could use to see. Everyone was screaming, some were still crying and it was obvious that we were in disarray from the shock and panic induced not only by what we just saw but also by the fact that it had all disappeared in an instant, all so suddenly. Freddy, even in his drunken state was coherent enough to remember and locate a flashlight he had earlier when he helped me set up the fire. He turned it on and shined it on everyone to make sure they were alright but he stopped when the light landed on Nathan who was, for some reason, standing as stiff as a board, looking at the fire. I thought he was in shock but it was like he turned to stone. I gave him a tap on the shoulder but he didn’t move. “Nathan? What’s wrong man? Can you talk to me?” I turned around. “Freddy, he’s not moving. It’s like he’s frozen in a palace or something” Freddy was giving him a good long look before he freaked out, yelling “What the fuck?! What the fuck is that?” Oh my god” When I snapped my head back around towards Nathan I could see flames emerging from his chest. It was an arm once again but it held something. It took me a couple of seconds before I realized it was his heart. He still stood rigidly, unmoving as we watched his heart cook in the hand of this arm coming out of his chest. Once again, screams emerged from everyone, all around the pit as the stench of burned flesh joined the chaos. I think just about everyone ran but me and Freddy. We were mesmerized by what we were looking at. We probably should have run but instead, we stood there witnessing it take the place of his body. His eyes melted, replaced by raging flames before the rest of his body followed. In a matter of seconds, his flesh was gone, revealing his charred skeleton that fell to the ground and crumbled to ash on impact. The man made of fire stood in his place. We got up and ran, but didn’t know where. As we turned, we saw everyone else gathering whatever they bothered to grab and piling into cars. Two vehicles started up and gunned it down the dirt road that led out of the camp, trying to reach the road. I guess they hadn’t the heart to wait for everyone else, or they didn’t care. Right before they met the road, they too were engulfed in waves of flames that swooped in from somewhere in the forest. The cars exploded and it didn’t take any closer inspection for all of us to realize whoever was in them was long gone. Anyone who was jumping into a car quickly abandoned that idea. I followed Freddy as we, like everyone else still alive, ran into the woods. Freddy knew where the road was and that’s where I realized we were headed. As far as I knew, this wasn’t a bad idea. Everything around us was wood, and it was flammable. Getting away from that had to be a good idea. I was pushed, but not knocked to the ground by someone running into me. I looked down to see one of the girls, who had fallen to the ground upon running into me. She looked up at me, right into my eyes as the flames took hold of her and she was eaten alive by them as I saw happen to Nathan. I didn’t stay long and kept running with Freddy but the guilt washed over me. What had I just done? I just got her killed and I saw it happen. I have never been the greatest runner, especially long distance and neither was Freddy but we made a good distance in a short time and before we knew it, we were on the smooth, paved road. We stopped for a moment to catch our breath. I looked back to find that the flames hadn’t followed us. It seems that this thing was able to control them at will, it could choose to burn or not to burn whatever it wanted and it hadn’t chosen us, at least for the moment. Down the road a ways behind us, closer to where our camp had been, we saw more of our group in the street. The only reason we could see them was because the woods near the road was being incinerated. The fire coming from our camp had chosen to follow them. They were running toward me and Freddy, at full speed. We waited for them to catch up before joining them in running away once again. Everyone was able to keep up for about five minutes or so before one of the guys, the one with the speaker from earlier stopped and started coughing. It sounded like he got too much smoke in his lungs. Freddy urged him to keep moving. “Come on, did you see how fast that thing was? We can’t stop”. The speaker guy didn’t say anything and just kept coughing, it sounded like he was going to fall over and drop dead at any second. I think we all calmed down for a second because it didn’t seem like anything was following us anymore. The flames from the camp and near the street had all gone out. I think the only fires left were from the cars, still being cooked. After the speaker guy stopped coughing after a couple of minutes, he started to sit back up, turning his head towards us who were all still concerned. When he did look up, his eyes went from a look of exhaustion to a look of dread and despair. In a shaky voice and looking past us he muttered frantically “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, no, no, no, no”. I looked behind us, up at a tree on the side of the road. It was in the tree. It stood on a branch as if were weightless and though it didn’t have any eyes, I knew it was looking right at us. Before any of us could even start to run, it leaped from the tree and tackled the speaker guy with force, and knocked him off of the road, into the woods on the other side. I could hear his screams as we ran down the road once again but no one stuck around to see what happened to him. It doesn’t take much to imagine what did. As we ran, I glanced behind us at the terrifying sight of the thing jumping from tree to tree as it followed. Each branch it left turned to ash and fell to the road, crumbling into nothing and spreading like dust. It was clear that it had no challenge in keeping up with us. It jumped into the woods again and I was reminded that watching it wasn’t going to be of any help. I turned forward and kept moving with the others. A girl that had been running about ten feet in front of me took a glance back herself, not noticing the branch that had fallen on the road, sitting right in front of her. The moment her legs made contact and she tripped and fell, the branch lit up extraordinary bright and she was lit ablaze with it. Like the others, her flesh melted from her skeleton which fell to the road and shattered. We kept up our pace like nothing had happened. I saw a streak of flame in the woods to my right. Once again, it kept pace with us. It jumped into the trees again, this time burning entire trees as it jumped back and forth. They fell behind us, barely missing when they hit the road. It moved so quickly above us that it eventually formed an arch of flame. This arch grew taller with each movement until a new torso and its whole body was recreated, taller than a house and it began to move. It was able to keep up by just walking. It stopped for a moment and we took the opportunity to make some ground. I know it was stupid, but I couldn’t help but glance back again. It picked up a burning tree and swung it like a baseball bat, clearing everyone but me and Freddy off of the road in one powerful swing. It stopped on the side of the road to reach down and incinerate what was left of them. Freddy and I were still running, probably just from instinct but I think we both knew there was no hope. Two streaks of flame zoomed past us in the woods, on both sides of the road, and met in the middle about a hundred feet in front of us. It formed itself once again, over the road. Reddy and I stopped and turned. We ran for only a few seconds before it caught up. A powerful gust of warm wind knocked us off of our feet, making us roll on the ground. It didn’t grab us. It didn’t incinerate us instantly like it did the others. Instead, it leaned down, looking over us. I looked at Freddy and he looked back at me. I still believed we were about to die. I heard laughing. It took me a moment but I recognized it as Nathan’s voice. It kept laughing, changing its voice about a dozen times, all different people but clearly they were people. I recognized a few of them. It was the voices of everyone it just killed. It leaned in further, I thought it was about to touch me. I closed my eyes but only for a second because the laughing ceased. I opened my eyes to see nothing hanging above me. There was no fire. Freddy and I got to our feet and looked around. It was just darkness once again. The night was at peace. “The freeway isn’t far”. That was all Freddy said to me. I followed him and said nothing. We didn’t exchange words the rest of that night and come to think of it, I don’t think we have since. We found the ramp to the freeway and walked up it. We continued walking straight until we saw a car. We tried to get its attention and get them to stop. They didn’t stop but I think they called the police because a state trooper came down the road only ten minutes later and picked us up. We didn’t say much to the officer who picked us up but when we were brought to a station, I was questioned and I told them everything I am telling you here, I told them exactly what happened and there’s no way in hell that they believed me. I was told that they found our camp. They say everything in our camp was burned, all of our tents, bags, all of the cars. Somehow the trees around it remained untouched. Even the dead leaves on the ground remained. They never found any trees collapsed in the road, they didn’t find a fire of any kind, just the remnants of one from the pit. This makes sense to me now. I saw what it was capable of. I saw that it only burned what it saw necessary to burn. Everyone in the group is still “missing” according to the authorities. I know it’s not true but there was nothing left for them to find. There are no clothes, no bodies, not even bones but they’ll never believe me. Somehow, I was let go but I suspect I won't be free for long. If you would even call it free. I know that Freddy and I are their top suspects in whatever it is they think we’ve done. I think we released something into our world that night. I don’t think it’s gone away and if it has, there are people out there who know about it, who know how to bring it back. Some people want that evil to walk the earth. I’ve been searching everywhere on the internet to find out what it was, where it came from but I’ve found nothing. I haven’t been able to find the deep web site he got those instructions from. For now, I’ll keep looking. Don’t play with things you shouldn’t. You do not know the consequences.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] We Went Deep In The Mariana Trench. We Have Discovered A New Species. [RESPONSE] It's been 2 months, since our last discovery. I don't think I ever want to go back down that trench. Not even for a billion dollars. I could even get in trouble for this, since our government decided no one is to know about the existence of these things. Sure, people claimed to have recorded them, even got a supposed 'authentic' piece of evidence of their existence. But at the same time, you can't say for sure that the evidence is actually real, or could be well-designed in a way that it looks authentic. But I'll be putting my life on the line anyway, if it kills me. Before I explain my findings, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Seth Miller, and I'm formerly a marine biologist. I worked for a government-funded organization, dedicated to finding undiscovered marine life. During my time researching underwater, I came across endangered species of marine mammals, such as the Sei Whale, the Hawaiian Monk Seal, and the Australian Sea Lion. On occasion, I encountered a few rare species of fish. I used to enjoy my job, researching our world's vast oceans, hoping for undiscovered species to be found. Emphasis on 'used to' as it was something I once loved doing, but now such a thing frightens me, and I'll tell you why. It all started with the decision of our organization to investigate the Mariana Trench. After the agreement was made to go there, my team and I were tasked with going to the trench, and diving down to search for marine life. This was a task I should've declined, and I never would've had the displeasure to encounter those things in the trench. But before my encounter, we took a huge ship that carried a small submarine which can carry only 3 people. Out of the ten people on our team, I was given the task to man the submarine's navigation controls. With me were two of my former colleagues, Yuki and Samuel. Samuel was from the United Kingdom, who was a technician that once served in the military, before being honorably discharged from service, and moving to the United States. Yuki is a full-time student from Japan, who was transferred to the U.S after receiving her Associate Degree in Marine Biology, and is now pursuing her Bachelor's Degree. Because of this, she was transferred to America, and was given the opportunity to join us in our search for undiscovered marine animals. I felt bad for her, knowing she was traumatized as much as I was. Then there's also Eric, Sherry, and Daniel, who were tasked to dive down there along with 2 others. I didn't know the names of the two divers, since I haven't got to meet with them face to face. I did get to meet the last two: Yuri, who moved from Russia a few years ago and was our submarine and ship technician, and Aleksei who was a full-time student from Finland, also majoring in Marine Biology. Both of these two were tasked to stay on board the ship, so they were the lucky ones. I'm not surprised to see Samuel, Yuki, and myself being the only ones who made it back alive. I hope God rest the souls of those divers, since that horrifying encounter. Once the ship was above the trench, we got into the submarine to prepare for the expedition. "Submarine is fully operational and the power is at maximum fuel. All systems, go." Samuel said. I was delighted to hear this, as I got the navigation system ready. Eric was the head of our team, and he and his divers were tasked by our organization to lead them, and they all got prepared to dive into the trench. They all had black diving suits with mounted underwater headlights, and were given underwater GoPro cameras. Perhaps they would've made it back if they also had weapons of some kind, to defend against any marine life that would threaten them. Unfortunately, that didn't happen. I tend to think it was just a suicide mission because of that. "As you all know, our task is simple: We search for undiscovered species of marine life. Keep in mind, our suits have 4 hours of oxygen in them, and our 3-man submarine has 6 hours of battery life, and our search will be no more than 2 hours down there. Understand?" Eric spoke, and everyone agreed. "Are we going to the bottom of the trench in search for marine life?" I asked, thinking about what will happen if they were tasked to do just that. "No!" Eric said. That brought delight to my ears, since going to the bottom of the trench wouldn't be a pleasant experience. However, I wasn't so lucky as I had hoped, and it should've been obvious to me. "That's why we have you guys! Our divers and I won't be at the bottom of the trench, so that's where you and your submarine comes in. Your submarine is capable of handling the pressure down there. It was designed to protect you, so you'll be safe when you enter there." he further explained. I admit, I wasn't pleased to hear that, and I wish I didn't force myself to agree to that task. "Let's go!" Eric said, and we began our descent into the trench. Once we got our submarine ready, it was hooked up to a reel which was capable of lifting our submarine up and slowly moving us over the water, and lowering us into the ocean. Damn, I just wished they had a better means for us to get into the water than to be lifted up and lowered down at a slow pace. Too bad we didn't have one of those ships with a moon pool. I would think that the funding for our organization would afford that, but sadly the funding wasn't as great as I expected, so there wasn't enough money to afford such a thing. Because of the slow pace and how heavy our submarine was, we turned off the submarine just to not waste any power. It took almost five minutes for the submarine to touch seawater, but we eventually got into the ocean. We re-activated the submarine and went down to the bottom of the trench. From my point of view, I would assume this would take 3-4 hours to reach the bottom, longer than what was expected of our task. But to my surprise, this thing was fast as fuck. It took us a little less than an hour to reach the bottom, more so about 50 minutes. But before we went to the bottom, our lights went on and our mounted underwater camera was activated to record the events. The one thing that crossed my mind was, where the fuck are the divers? "Where is everybody?" Yuki asked, and I had the same question in mind. "Maybe they went further down. They couldn't have gotten far." Samuel said. Yuki configurated the lights to become brighter, and I descended the submarine to go further down. However, after four minutes of our descent, there was still no one in sight. Even with the lights on and more powerful, we couldn't see any divers in the distance. I began to worry that something happened to them while we were still above the ocean. "Damn, where the fuck are they?" Samuel asked, looking all over the place. The submarine we piloted, had a clear glass-like structure in the front, which allows the three of us to see all around. Despite this, there was still no diver to be seen. "Seth. Yuki. Samuel. Are you there?" I heard Aleksei call on the communications system. "Yes. We're fine, but it seems our divers are nowhere to be found." I explained. "Then keep looking, they may have dived down while you 3 were being reeled over." he said. "Affirmative." I said, before cutting communication. "I hope they didn't go down too far. The pressure's starting to get high." I said. Once again, we went further and further down into the trench. After what felt like a few minutes, I slowed the submarine to get another look around. Still, there was no diver to be found. I looked to see Yuki, who seemed visibly worried that the divers had gone missing. When I turned to look atSamuel, I saw that his attention was diverted elsewhere, looking to his right. "Samuel." I called to him. There was no response. Whatever caught his attention, had him fixated and unable to respond to my call. "Samuel!" this time I yelled, trying to get his attention. That also failed to work. That's when Yuki decided to get his attention by placing her palm on his shoulder. Once she did that, I noticed Samuel immediately jump in fright, screaming while facing us. Yuki had her mouth covered. I on the other hand, burst out in laughter at the ordeal. "Shut the fuck up, mate!" Samuel said to me. "I was calling you, man! Why weren't you responding!?" I asked him. "I don't know. I thought I saw someone, or something in the trench." he said. I was excited to hear his words, thinking he might have seen one of the divers. "That's good! That means they're actually here with us, so we can continue!" I said, ecstatically. Samuel on the other hand, had a worried expression. "Do you recall our divers having spears?" he asked. That was a strange question. If I recalled correctly, none of our divers were allowed weapons. So, why the hell would they be holding spears? "What do you mean, spears? When did they get weapons?" I asked. "While we were going down, I caught a glimpse of someone, or something, watching us. It looked like a diver, until I got to focus on it. It didn't look right. It was holding what looked like a white, bony spear and it had a pinkish-color to its body. But if I remember, our divers are all wearing black suits." he said. "What? A mermaid?" I asked. This was meant to be a joke, of course. "I don't know. When I tried to look at the thing carefully, it looked like it had a huge fin beneath it. Once I tried to get a good look at its face, it swam away at quick speed." Samuel said. "Seriously bro, shut the fuck up. I think you're just fucking with us right now, or you took something before being in the sub with us." I said, trying to process this as a joke, even though my gut instinct kept telling me he was speaking the truth. "Go fuck yourself, mate. I ain't on drugs and I'm hard-headed as an ox. I know what I saw, and that thing didn't look like a diver." he said. Yuki, look frightened. "Please, stop fighting." she said. After that, I tried to calm myself down. "My apologies for not taking this shit serious. I'm just not in the mood for jokes right now, alright? Our divers are gone." I said to him. "It's no joke, bloke. I saw that thing, and I'm telling you exactly what it looked like." he told me. I didn't want to say anything to him after that, in order to not start another argument over this. Eventually, after what felt like 50 minutes traveling, we reached the bottom of the trench. Luckily, our submarine had a hydrophone mounted on it, so we would be able to pick up sounds at the bottom of the trench. During our time there, I was hoping we could get the sound that was called the 'Western Pacific Bio-twang' which to this day, is not identified of its source or origin. If we can hear it again, we would be able to track the sound to its origins. Upon observing the bottom of the ocean, we came across some debris of plastic and other man-made junk left to be thrown away. Fucking people. The last thing I want is this trench being used as another dumping ground. Other than debris of man-made waste, I did see some species of fish, fish you most likely won't find anywhere above the trench. Some of these fish, looked strange and terrifying, but at the same time, mesmerizing. One of them seemed to glow a beautiful, blue bio-luminescent color. It resembled a squid, yet slightly bigger than what we'd normally see above the trench. I'm amazed how such creatures could even exist. "I think I found an undiscovered species of marine life." I thought to myself, just looking at the thing. My mesmerized sensation turned into a sensation of pure terror, when I heard it. It sounded like a strange screeching sound, which caught my attention. We tried to pinpoint where the sound came from, and to our shock, the sound was detected to come from what looked like some sort of underwater cavern at the bottom. I was surprised to find out our previous subs hadn't caught this sound, nor had they caught a glimpse of what we saw that followed the sound. I decided to put my attention to the bio-luminescent creature once again. But to my dismay, it was gone, along with all the other fish we encountered. It's as if whatever made that horrible sound, scared them off. Then, I had this strange and grave feeling that something outside of the sub to my left, was watching me. In my peripherals, I noticed a face peering at me to the side of the submarine through the glass dome. I didn't dare turn to face it, as I think this thing would try to get out of view if I did. When I focused more on my peripheral view of this thing looking at me, I began to breathe rapidly, out of fear and terror of what I'm looking at. This thing, didn't look human. In fact, despite having a human-shaped head, it had what looked like two ape-like eyes as well as a face that appeared pinkish-brown and a mix between scaly and fleshy. I could see it blinking. That's when I finally turned my face to look directly at the thing, and I got a good look at its face before it tried to swim away. As soon as it turned, I was able to see its huge fin for a split second before it was gone. Then, I heard screaming. Yuki was in terror, pointing in the direction of another cavern. When she got the lights to face it, we were met with a horrifying sight. What Samuel described, matched everything we were looking at. This 'thing' resembled what I assumed to be a mermaid of some kind, but it was far from pleasant to look at. It certainly didn't look like Ariel, or having the top part of a human body. No, this thing looked exactly like how you would expect sea creatures to look. Then, it turned its face and saw us looking at it. It opened its mouth, and we could hear it through the hydrophone, giving that same horrendous screech, before swimming quickly into the cavern. "We need to get the fuck out of here!" Samuel asked. I immediately agreed to this, as I got our submarine facing up and ready to leave at full speed. But as the submarine was faced up, we got another look at, these things. There were over 30 of them, and I noticed they were all swimming around in a circular pattern. One of them immediately charged at us, holding the tip of its spear, pointing at the sub's dome. Once it hit, I caught a more clear view of its facial features. This thing was horrifying as fuck, and Yuki was screaming in terror. "Get us out, quick!" she yelled, and I continued getting the submarine out at full speed. I was lucky to see that the spear only left a slight scratch on the glass structure of the submarine. I guess this thing really was made to withstand the bottom of the trench let alone objects coming at it, and I was grateful of that. More and more spears kept hitting our submarine, and I could tell from the loud 'tapping' noises all around us. Unfortunately, another sound was heard. Yuki screamed in terror, and I saw her looking up. It seemed that these creatures were now chasing after us, with one of them holding onto one part of the sub. So it was going to the surface with us. Upon ascending, I noticed a familiar sight. It was one of our divers, Sherry. She swam to the front of the submarine, before hitting against the front view. I started to think she had gone mad, as she was trying to get in by pounding on the glass structure, where the spear had struck. Upon looking at her, she looked like she was mauled by something. Blood was coming out of her from around her body, and she looked terrified as all hell. We could hear her muffled screams. Even though I couldn't understand what she was saying, Samuel could make out what it was. "She's saying those mermaids killed everyone else. They're gonna kill her next. She wants us to let her in." he said, understanding Sherry's words. I wanted to help her out, but there was nothing we can do. What we could do for her at least was allowing her to surface at the top with us as long as she stays against the front view of the submarine. However, this idea wasn't clear in her head, as she kept continuously pounding into the glass. I don't think she realizes we'll all die with her if she successfully creates a 'hole' through the scratched surface, but I guess that's what happens when fear and panic kicks in and you lose all sense of reason, desperately trying to survive. Unfortunately, she was eventually grabbed onto by the mermaids who followed us, and she started to scream in terror. I felt sorry for her, knowing she's about to die down there with the other divers who didn't make it out. Most of those creatures went away, taking her with them, while only a few remained chasing us. As they kept chasing us, we reached the top of the trench and came upon sunlight shining through the ocean and we could see the ship. As we got closer and closer to the ship, the creatures turned away and went back down the trench. I was grateful that they weren't going to chase us all the way to our ship, but knowing that we lost five of our crewmates was still saddening. When our submarine emerged above the water, Yuri and Aleksei were surprised to see us. Then, we were speaking through the mic. "Hey, our task isn't completed yet. We still have about an hour left to do our task." Yuri said to us. Aleksei spotted Yuki through the glass of the submarine, crying. "What happened?" Aleksei asked. Yuki told them everything. "There are things down there trying to kill us. They had weapons." she said. I noticed Aleksei through the glass, giving an expression as if he wasn't buying the story. He must've thought something else had happened. Yuri went to check on the submarine, to see if it needed repairs. That's when he saw the scratch on the glass the spear made. "Did you guys do that?" Yuri asked, before speaking again. "Actually, never mind. It would have been impossible for any of you guys to do. You would need lots of strength and the ability to do such tremendous force to put a scratch like that. The glass on this submarine is twice as hard as diamond, and designed to be impenetrable." he said. After that, they had us slowly reeled back onto the ship, and once back on the ship, we exited the submarine and continued explaining to Yuri and Aleksei of the incident. As for Aleksei, he was surprised to hear Yuri's words, and started asking what happened. "So what did you guys see in the trench? Were there massive sharks that tried to eat you guys?" "No." I said. "You would laugh if I told you that we saw what we assumed to be mermaids down there, and they chased after us." I explained. "That's funny, Seth. But seriously, what did you guys see down there?" he asked again. "Exactly what the fuck I'm telling you we saw, Aleksei. I'm dead serious. That's why I'm not going the fuck back down there!" I yelled. Samuel chimed in. "He's telling you the truth. I saw it too. We all saw it. Even poor Yuki here saw it." he said, pointing at Yuki who's a crying mess for the horrifying experience she got. I was right to assume that she's afraid to go on another submarine expedition to find marine life, muttering to herself that she wishes to stay on land from now on. Can't say I blame her. Even I didn't want to continue anymore. Aleksei still believe us on the other hand, and he said this little gem. "So I take it you guys actually saw a marine carnivore in the trench, or you're covering up a crime you committed. I'm not buying the whole 'mermaids' story." he said. "Then go take a look at the recording, you fucking twat!" Samuel yelled, pissed off at Aleksei. I was about to laugh at this, when Yuri screamed. "Look!" he said, pointing at the direction of the ocean. What we saw, made me excited at first. Eric made it back alive, or so I thought. He didn't swim to us. Instead, he was just floating there. Nevertheless, I was still excited to see him. I got to him, and pulled him out of the water. As I did, my excitement turned to horror. His left leg was gone, and his right leg had two of those strange spears pierced in it. Upon examining them, they seemed to be made of some kind of bone-like material. Eric's face looked like his nose was ripped right off, and he didn't have any eyes. I realized at that moment, that he was dead. I wasn't surprised that his GoPro camera didn't come with him as evidence, probably because it sank, or those things have it. "What the hell happened to him!?" Aleksei asked. "So now do you fucking believe us!?" I told him. "But that's impossible! None of the previous expeditions caught those things!" he yelled. "But we fucking saw them, alright!" I screamed back at him, trying to make him see the truth. "All of you, shut the fuck up!" Yuri said, irritated with the arguing. "Let's check the recording to see the truth. That way, we can squash this argument and move on." he spoke. After that, we got the sub taken in for Yuri to repair for damages while we observed the footage we caught from our camera. Viewing the footage, there was nothing happening as much, which was expected. I was delighted to see that bio-luminescent squid-like creature in the footage, and Aleksei was shocked to see that such a creature exists. When we got to the last part of the footage, it was confirmed. Even Aleksei sat there, not saying a word, and he looked horrified of what he's seeing in the footage. It was one of the creatures, and the camera caught a clear view of its face. Even though it wasn't facing the camera, we could see it looking up at the sub, and it seemed to be holding a bony-white spear in such a way that it was getting ready to throw it. Aleksei simply got out of his seat and walked away. Shortly after that, Yuri came in to see for himself what we caught. His eyes went wide with what we're seeing in the footage. After that, he pointed at the spear the thing was holding and said: "That would explain the strange scratch marks and dents on the submarine. You guys wouldn't have been able to do that kind of damage." Looking at the spear, it was clear to him what had made the marks on the sub. "Mermaids!" Yuri said. "You guys found mermaids! Imagine the national headlines we'll make in discovering this!" he further explained. I admit, I wouldn't mind becoming famous for catching a first, authentic, clear recording of a mermaid. However, after we revealed to our organization of our finding, things took a dark turn for us. The government who was funding us, stepped in after being notified of our findings, and confiscated the evidence, and the submarine as well, knowing it had marks that could also be counted as evidence of our encounter. The weapons that pierced Eric's leg was also confiscated, and so was his body which according to the officials, claims his body might be contaminated with bacteria or diseases we're not immune to. We were also told not to speak about this, or we risk losing our jobs in the organization. But that didn't matter to me, because I quit my job after that incident. The rest of our diving team, are considered M.I.A, which disgusted me because I know what really happened to them. So now, here I am, typing this message to you about what we saw. I never saw my former colleagues again after that incident, so I'm hoping they're not going back down there, unless they're insane. Let this be a warning to any of you who wish to go diving down in the ocean. If you ever decide to dive in the Mariana Trench, be extremely careful. Who knows if those things, are still down there?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I live on a farm that is still very much in touch with its pagan origins, and I'd like to share some of my stories (Part 3) [RESPONSE] Find the previous part to my story here It would have been fitting if Pete had reappeared on the anniversary of his disappearance. If the days had aligned so exactly decades in the future. There were no longer any family celebrations at the farm. Relatives stayed away, unwilling to lose one of their own nearest and dearest. They came together when my great grandmother died, but left early and didn't let the children out of their sight. My grandparents and my father and my Uncle Joe still did something every year in his memory. It was an empty kind of mourning, with no grave to visit and no closure, but he was lost and the knowledge could scarcely be overlooked. They never laid flowers, because that would be admitting he was gone forever. Instead, they would leave small items of his at the base of the fence by the Old Paddock. Even though he'd disappeared behind a bush, everyone knew the Footprint was to blame, and besides, the bush had long been torn up. They had dug deep beneath where its roots had been, looking for old mine shafts that might have claimed him. The items they left were always gone the next day. Maybe the Footprint took them as an offering, or maybe an animal had stolen them. But for more than 23 years they continued their practice. The day Pete came back was cold and grey, with a freezing, thick fog. By that time, Joe had married, and although he and his wife had stuck around for a while, they had left when Joe's wife had fallen pregnant. It's not that they didn't want any part of farm life, they just didn't want to raise a child on that farm. Not a farm that swallowed offspring. My father had stayed, shouldering the burden bitterly, and when he married my mother she had come to live on the farm with no qualms whatsoever. It has never surprised me that my mother embraced the oddities of the farm so readily. She is a lovely woman, but strange. If she'd lived in the city I feel like she would have been the one children called a witch, but here on the farm she was just practical, and fitted in perfectly. She collected small animal bones which she kept in carefully labeled jars, and threw salt over her left shoulder, and never opened an umbrella in the house. She saluted magpies every single time she saw one, and the only time I ever saw her really upset was when my brother had been tasked with clearing the table after the evening meal and had neglected to remove the table cloth. He had been about to go to bed when she'd found him and scolded him. "Never leave a white tablecloth on the table overnight!" she told him. "It brings death!" I realise I haven't spoken much about my brother, but I do have one. An older one named Luke. He left as soon as he turned 18 to go and live in The City. My father had hoped he would take on the farm, but Luke always maintained he couldn't wait to get away, and kept his word. He had left directly after his birthday dinner, kissing my mother goodbye as she wept, and nodding at my father. He sends me emails sometimes. He works with computers. And he was my ally for a while before he left. Anyway. My father had been up early to deal with the morning milking. My mother was heavily pregnant with Luke but she still got up to prepare breakfast. My grandfather had arthritis and took longer to get going in the mornings, so my father had gone on ahead. He had a dog with him - the predecessor to poor, doomed Rowan, the dog I'd killed by playing on the stones. This dog was a sturdy mongrel of indiscriminate ancestry, named Conan, that my father had hand raised from a puppy and he followed my father everywhere, but on this occasion he had run off into the fog despite my father calling after him. It was unlike Conan to disobey a command, and that in itself was unusual enough for my father to take a diversion and go after him. "I knew something was up," my father would tell me years later. "Conan hardly ever barked, and that day he was bellowing. Sounded strange in the fog and I could barely tell which direction it was coming from. Sounded like I had a hundred big dogs surrounding me from all sides, all of them barking up a storm." It will surprise nobody that my father eventually tracked Conan to the Old Paddock. The big dog was stood by the fence, legs braced, tail up, the fur along his back raised in a stiff trail along his spine. He was in full attack mode, and my father held back only a little before calling him to heel. Conan ignored his command and kept barking There was a figure in the Paddock. Human shaped, but in the fog only barely. My father said it stood like a person, but in a weird stance. It had its head tilted back so far the figure looked headless initially, and its arms were held awkwardly out from its body. My father said he'd wanted to run, but the strange sight had pulled him in. When he got closer, he could see that the figure was indeed human. It was shivering, its limbs vibrating in an irregular rhythm, its thrown back head shaking from side to side. My father put his hand on Conan's head, and the dog stopped barking immediately. It was no comfort. The shape was directly in the centre of the Footprint, something my father could not entirely comprehend. Nothing willingly stood in the Footprint. He pushed the dog back. Cleared his throat. A part of him knew who was standing there, but logic wouldn't allow the notion. But he called his brother's name anyway. The figure stopped its gyrations. Lifted its head into a more normal posture, and turned towards my father. The thing in the field wore my uncle's clothes and face. Its limbs stuttered and trembled, but it took unsteady steps towards the fence. Pete was sobbing, my father said. Huge, wracking sobs that shook his entire body, accounting perhaps for the strange stance he had. "He looked just like Pete," my father told me. "Exactly as he'd looked when he'd disappeared, a 16 year old boy, despite all the years that had passed. Except for his hair. That was white. And his face, while still young, wore an expression no 16 year old should have any cause to wear. It was full of horror I can't even imagine, twisted and bunched like a shirt that had been washed and dried all scrunched up." My father had been terrified, he said, but his empathy for his long lost brother had overshadowed everything. Common sense had no part. Pete had clambered over the fence with an awkwardness that disturbed my father. His arms and legs seemed too long, and the joints bent at angles that shouldn't have been possible, but still my father had helped him. He told me, decades later, that touching my uncle was akin to performing a task that needed to be done, even though it was repulsive. Imagine pulling slimy, clotted hair from the plughole of a bathtub, or squeezing pus from an inflamed boil. It was disgusting, but satisfying. It felt right and wrong all at the same time. Pete couldn't speak. His teeth chattered together in a sporadic rhythm that stifled any sounds he wished to vocalise. There were noises, but nothing verging on language. Conan refused to approach him. That in itself made my father reluctant to engage with the man they had found. He kept his distance, even though his instinct was to embrace his long lost brother. My grandfather had arrived then, stiff in his limbs but drawn by the drama. There were tears, my father told me, but he had never been able to discern whether they were of joy or fear. Nothing really happened in between finding Pete and Pete finding his way back to the house, but the way my father told it always made it seem loaded. He never elaborated. But one minute Pete was weeping in the fog, and the next my grandmother was holding him. It should have been a happy reunion, by anyone's standards, but even as my grandmother wept and held her long lost son, my grandfather was also weeping and loading his shotgun. "He wasn't right," my father said. "Your mother walked into the kitchen, took one look, and walked straight back out again, holding her big pregnant belly. She didn't want your unborn brother anywhere Uncle Pete. The gods know we loved him, but that wasn't properly him, and your grandma might have cried, but when your grandad finished loading his gun she wiped her eyes and stepped away without looking back. Turned her head and attended to the dough that had been proving by the stove. It was all I needed to see. " It took many years and many drinks for my father to tell me what happened next. A family secret that wasn't really a secret at all, just something they didn't want to say. I know my grandparents and parents had been kind. Pete, or whatever it was, was never treated cruelly, even though my father and grandfather coaxed him back out of the house with no space for argument. He was led back to the Paddock, and my father freely admitted that he'd held the Pete thing's hand despite the discomfort and wrongness he'd felt coming from the intruder. He told me that the thing pretending to be Pete suffered, that its agonised utterances were real enough, but that nobody of good conscience could allow it to continue to exist. I can't begin to imagine how they felt. Whether it was my uncle or not, whether it was a changeling or my actual abused uncle - the distinction was never actually made - the poor thing had to die. There was no coming back from the Footprint. I am aware I sound confused as to whether it was my uncle or not, but to be fair, nobody has ever been able to say whether it was him. Whoever or whatever it was/they were didn't belong here. There are many phrases that could be used to describe the demise of the Pete thing. Execution. Euthanasia. Murder. If we're looking at less humane terms, disposal might be a good fit. He was disposed of. Ended. Right there by the Footprint even as he wailed and trembled. Culled. My grandfather blew his head off at close range, not without emotion but full of it, and whether it was supernatural or natural the body died all the same. They dug a hole, my father and grandfather. Dug a grave right by the Footprint and rolled the body of the poor thing into it and covered it up. Then went to milk the cows. Because the cows needed milking no matter what else had happened. My mother is a traditionalist. Pete's disappearance had been common knowledge, but his reappearance was only known to a select few, officially. But she still noted it on her calendar, and every year made tribute on both dates. It was a ritual for her, a superstitious promise that it wouldn't happen again, like a rainbow for Christians who want to believe that there would never be another flood. Sometimes her tribute was a bouquet from a florist, but more often it was a tangle of bones or herbs, tied up with ribbons, and blessed with good intentions. "I love you," her offerings said. "I miss you. But never come back." And I can't help but agree and be thankful for her efforts. There is more to tell, and I will tell more, but it is Pete's anniversary, and I cannot, in all conscience, talk about the Shuck whilst my father mourns. Be well people. Hold your loved ones close, because if you don't, something else out there will. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My brother always wakes me up at 3 am... [RESPONSE] A couple months ago my seven year old brother moved into my room. Ever since he moved in he wakes me up at 3 am saying "I heard a scary noise" or "I'm scared brother". Now my parents room is around the corner but it would be to much trouble helping him to them and I usually go to bed late so I just let him climb into my bed and we fall asleep together. I noticed that he always wakes me at the start of the witching hour and it was kinda freaky. One night I was playing games with my friends a little later than usual and got into bed about at 2 am. I was too excited to fall asleep so I pretended to sleep, fake it till you make it right, but as time ticked closer to 3 am the air started getting colder and everything started going silent to the point where I could hear the grandfather clock wich is on the opposite side of the house. My window started to creek open and the chilling wind that blew in left a sour taste in my mouth. As the clock struck 3 am my brother got out of bed and climbed into mine. I'm still pretty awake so I decided to take a quick glance around my room and then I saw it ... There is a figure so tall it's head touches the roof, it's body is slender and darker than night it self seeming like an ink stain on dark grey paper. It lifted it's bony hand to showcase his inhumanly long pointed fingers they seemed to be half as long as the body. Terrified at the sight I pretend to roll over so as not to stir suspicion in the creature. Time ticked slowly by, the very air became anxious as the creature just stood in the furthest corner of my room next to a window. It stood statue like and staring in my direction. Too afraid to close my eyes I glared at it expecting it to do something nightmarish and then vanish into the approaching dawn but it just stood there occasionally scratching it's chest. I roll over to face my clock and with a shock I noticed that almost no time passed at all, only 5 minutes has passed since that thing entered my room. Trembling in my bed I refused to take my eyes off it. Then it moved, slowly making it's way to the foot of my bed, it's feet dragging over the carpet with every anxiously slow step in my small room. When it reached it's destination it leaned over, it's head hovering over mine. Petrified in fear I layed there clutching my brother in my arms fearing what the creature would do next. Then it spoke... "Look me in the eye" sounding like a snake as hissed with the wind, still petrified I kept my eyes shut as I heard the nauseating wet sound of flesh tearing open. Feeling as if an intense pressure was placed upon me, I struggled to gasp for air still keeping my eyes shut when it started to feel as if the creature was wrapping it's tongue around my neck. Afraid to move a muscle I layed there anxiously awaiting what happens next... at some point my cat entered the room creating quite a ruckus meowing and hissing at the creature. With a horrible shriek the creature's tongue uncoiled from my neck as it skittered out of the window it came in closing it same way it opened it... I wake up in a cold sweat at 6 am to find my brother in my arms and my cat sleeping at my feet with my neck feeling extremely stiff. My day went as normal, thinking the events that took place was just a dream my exhausted mind cooked up. As night came around I decided to do a little test. I created an unbroken line of salt on my windowsill stretching between the two sides of the wall. After doing that my brother slept in his own bed for as long I left the salt line was unbroken. Unfortunately with it being summer I had to open a window now and then too cool down the room and I nearly forgot about everything that happened. I decided to play games on my phone till 2 am only stopping due to feeling a bit drowsy. The salt line as you could imagine was blown away by the wind and the events of that night repeated like clock work as if rehearsed countless times. Forgetting to make the salt line a couple days in a row I decided I'm going to give this creature a taste of silver, when my grandfather passed his silver bracelet was passed on to me, not thinking I'm going to use it as a weapon one day. I took quiet a nap during the day so I could stay up the whole night, 3 am came and I already had my bed open for my brother, he crawled in and continued to sleep as I sat upright with my legs stretched out. I kept my eyes closed as the scene unravelled as usual but this time when the creature's head was inches away from mine I gave it an upper cut of note. The silver bracelet wrapped around my knuckles and my fist connecting square with the creature's jaw. It released a screech of agony as it fell backwards and unbalanced. It's eye flashed open alowing me to gaze into the cycloptic void centered in the middle of the creature's face where a blinding light bled out into the dark room. In It's eye I only saw nightmares, visions of the apocalypse, the assortment of demons under our beds and the sight of our inevitable demise. Entranced by these visions I sat petrified as if having gazed upon medusa herself. Tears swelling from my eyes as I do not blink and shiver in horror. If my cat had not chased the creature away I fear that this story would not have been spread. Every night at 3 am I fear for my life as the creature returns haunting me and whispering "Why don't you look in my eye again". I warn you all beware the creature that comes out during the witching hour. If you value your life and sanity you shall head my warning!<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Found something weird in the forest, now I feel sick [RESPONSE] Hi all, I really don’t write well, or at all. I usually don’t post or do a whole lot on here, especially this specific subreddit as I live a fairly mundane life and don’t do a whole lot apart from hang out with my friends but something them I did today is making me feel sick. One of my friends I see every day, we live 2 seconds from each-other, ride the same bus to school, hang out in the mornings. The other lives about 30 minutes away, and goes to a different school, so I don’t see him often. When we do see each-other, we make it a two day event, we get snacks, play games, stay up all night and have a genuinely good time. Usually one leaves early in the morning and the other and I go hang out in the nice little clearing in the forest by my townhouse. It’s a usual hangout spot for the kids in the neighborhood and the teenagers that go there to smoke, and it’s split into two sections, the right and left side. The right side is a small path that leads to a lake, and the left is a smaller path that leads to a perfect circle with a path leading the complex over. These have been like this since I moved in 6 years ago and never changed until today. This morning my buddy, call him M left early in the morning to go home, so me and my other friend, B and I went to the woods. We were just hanging out and chilling by the lake when I noticed a new deviation from the circular path going up into a hill but I couldn’t see what was back there past the trees. B and I are stupid, so we decided to explore. When we got up there we found the gated off area and a new clearing, with a grate tied to a tree acting like a door. B and I got curious so we went inside and chilled out. Now someone was here recently, cause there was a makeshift fireplace but that’s not what gave me a bad feeling. On the tree opposite the makeshift fireplace there was a green rope with some weird stains on it, not blood but like, goopy orange, kind of like sap. Weirdest part being is that it’s autumn and our trees are so dead the don’t produce sap. B didn’t really care and started building a hut. I ignored my bad feeling but M had woken up so we went to his house to get him and bring him back, because he’s much bigger than us and B started to get a bad feeling. When we got M we walked back into the grated off area and they started building, but I had an awful feeling. I was hearing weird shit and random wooshes, like footsteps in a place where nobody else was around. A fact about me is my ears hear really weird, weird pitches others can’t hear, and I swear the entire time we were in there, I heard a sort of whir. Somewhat like a helicopter taking off but higher, basically a very high rotation speed sound. I started to lose my sense of constant, kind of like when your coming down off of a high and you just space out. Across from this was an island, and this was the most horrifying thing I saw. I shit you not, I saw three smiling faces peering at me from that forest. They didn’t move, the didn’t blink, they didn’t budge. Three smiling faces that did not have any defining features, no wrinkles hair, no pupils. I looked away but they were still there. I don’t scare easily but I almost pissed myself. I could not look away, I literally tried but I couldn’t because I felt cold. Freezing. As soon I knew it, B was tapping me on the shoulder and he had to leave. M and I walked back his house, and B left. Nobody else had seen or experienced what I saw. Or they ignored it. That really fucking bothers me because they know how I am. Ever since I’ve gotten home, I’ve felt sick to my stomach. I feel like something has changed around me. I kind of feel like I’m in a bubble. I keep coming to weird conciousness in random places of my house, and seeing random shadows in the corner of my eye, and weird outlines kind of like cellophane in reflections. My friends want to return next week, but I feel like we went somewhere we were just not meant to go. I mean I get I live in a bad place, and I could have gone to a drug hangout and picked up residue of something that made me hallucinate, but something rubbed me the wrong way about it and it was genuinely scary for me. I’m gonna buy a trail cam and see what happens there overnight. I just want to know if anyone knows what this might be or if anyone else has seen something like this. I plan to update with whatever I find.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I couldn’t believe what treats my neighbor was giving to children on Halloween [RESPONSE] It was late October when we finally hauled the last of our furniture into our new home. The house itself was nothing special: brick walls, paned windows, and a slanted roof. The lawn was patchy and some of the paint was chipped, but it didn’t really matter. *Not at that price.* As soon as we stepped out of the car, my son Henry’s face scrunched up into an expression of angst, “Why aren’t the houses decorated, mom? Don’t people go trick or treating here?” I gnawed at my lip, realizing he was right. There wasn’t a single pumpkin, fuzzy spider, or lantern in sight. Each residence was orderly and well-kept, aside from clumps of golden leaves scattered about the driveways. “I’m sure they do,” I told him in my most convincing voice, “Maybe it’s just early still.” “But Halloween’s six days away!” he cried, clasping his hands, “Everyone’s already put up decorations on our old street. *Even Old Frank!*” Old Frank lived in our last neighborhood and was notorious for his aversion to Halloween decor. Well, *any kind of decor*, really. “I will not deface my property with plastic rubbish!” he’d always say, whenever one of the neighbors gathered enough courage to approach him, “If you want your house looking like the devil’s arse, that’s fine by me, but don't touch a single blade of grass on my lawn and keep your kids away too!” But despite his resolve, he’d always set out a small pumpkin on his porch with a few candy bars hidden inside. This year, he’d even scattered some bones around his lawn. Granted, they looked a lot like chicken leftovers, but we appreciated the gesture nonetheless. “Why did we have to move here?” Henry wailed, squirming in his seat, “I wanna go home.” I sighed, “You know why, Henry.” We’d been strapped for cash ever since the divorce and had no choice but to downgrade. Bristmoore was a small village on the outskirts of the city. Normally, I wouldn’t have considered moving so far from its comforts, but I couldn’t resist the price. My job was remote either way, and relocating meant I’d be saving a huge part of my monthly income, so the arrangement seemed too good to be true. *Maybe I should have known.* “I’m sure you’ll make plenty of friends here,” I said, with a smile, “I think I saw some children playing in the next house over last night. You wanna go say hello?” Henry thought for a moment, clutching his red fire truck to his chest, “Yeah, okay.” For a six-year-old, my son was surprisingly assertive. He made friends easily and consorted with even the most reclusive individuals. Old Frank had come knocking on our door many times, complaining that Henry wouldn’t stop peeking through his windows, but I knew he liked him all the same. He’d even taken him fishing once. “Can we ask them if they go trick or treating here?” he said, as we made our way up the steps leading to the whitewashed door of our neighbor’s house. “We sure can,” I replied, running my gaze over a pair of gardening shears sitting against the wall. No wonder the place was so immaculate. I was about to press the buzzer when the door flung open. “Well, hello!” a woman in her early fifties appeared in the doorway. Her hair was curled into a voluminous updo and set with copious amounts of hairspray, “You must be the Fosters! My name’s Tabitha! We were all wondering when you would finally settle in! Robert assumed yesterday, but then we saw you lugging that armchair monstrosity across the yard. I told him to go help, y’know, but he’s been staying with our Gus day and night. He’s been feeling a bit under the weather these past couple of days, but then again, Robert’s constant blabbering can’t possibly be doing him any good.” She roared with laughter at her own joke, before shifting her gaze to Henry. “What’s your name then?” she chirped, leaning down to examine him closer. “Henry,” he replied, suddenly shy, “We came to ask about the decorations.” I chuckled, my cheeks prickling, “We noticed that none of the houses had any Halloween decorations. Does the village not celebrate it?” The woman tilted her head, her lips curving into a thin smile “Ah! Halloween! Don’t you worry - we certainly do partake! Of course…” she trailed off, her long acrylic nails rapping against the door frame, “We have our own traditions here in Bristmoore. They may be… a bit outdated compared to what you folks are used to in the city, but they’re near and dear to our hearts. Robert! Come out of that room and meet the Fosters!” “I see,” I said, my eyes swiveling into the room behind her, “So- so what do you do exactly? And what can we do to help?” “Oh,” she waved her ringed finger, “This year the festivities are on us! Robert and I will take care of everything.” She smiled with her teeth, revealing a gold-crowned molar in the back, as a bald man with a graying mustache pushed past her and stuck out his hand. “Robert,” he said solemnly as I shook it. His eyes were red and puffy and he was fidgeting with what looked like a crumpled tissue with his free hand. “I’m Alison, and this is…” I nodded toward Henry, but Robert was already heading back inside. “Oh, don’t mind him!” Tabitha rolled her eyes, “It’s all because of our Gus. He turned eighty-two last month, and I keep telling Robert he’s not gonna be around forever, y’know, but he just won’t hear it! And you know what else - ” We nodded along patiently as Tabitha gave us the low-down on each house in the neighborhood. Apparently, there were children in practically every home, and I squeezed Henry’s hand in affirmation. “Are there any kids in this house?” Henry piped up as Tabitha rambled on about the baby born in number 11, “Mom said she saw some playing in the yard the other day.” “Henry,” I hissed, but felt relieved all the same. Kids always got away with asking questions adults couldn’t. “Oh, yes there are!” Tabitha cooed, “Our grandchildren come to visit every week. Claire is seven now and Jimmy’s four, but they get along just fine! How old is your son?” “I’m six,” Henry announced, tugging at my hand. I knew standing around was exhausting for him, and truth be told, I wasn’t too comfortable myself. *Why hadn’t Tabitha invited us inside? Was chatting at the front door yet another Bristmoore custom?* “So,” I interjected, “Before we go, I wanted to ask if decorating our own house would be of any uh…inconvenience to you or the other neighbors? Henry and I like to carve pumpkins and-” “Oh, sure, go ahead,” Tabitha waved her hand dismissively, “Decorations don’t bother us! But… I think you’ll find that they leave much to be desired compared to ours…” We trudged back down the steps in silence. *Compared to theirs?* I scanned the neighboring houses one more time in case I’d missed something. A stray paper bag twirled around in the wind, dancing gracefully amidst the leaves. *What decorations?* The neighborhood looked like Old Frank’s haven, for God’s sake. Not a single hint of ‘spooky’ in sight. So, Henry and I set out to fix that, carving five pumpkins into the most horrendous expressions we could muster and setting them out proudly on our porch. We hung orange string lights on the railings and draped cobwebs over the bushes. Once we were finished, Henry started clamoring for the fog machine at the bottom of the box, but I didn’t want to go all out just yet. “Let’s see how the neighbors react first, hm?” I said, “Who knows, maybe others will put up decorations once they see ours?” They didn’t. Not the next day, and not the day after that. Before we knew it, it was October 31st. Had we still lived in the city, Henry and I would have spent all morning in the shopping mall, filling our cart with candy bars. Instead, I watched as the hem of a stray cobweb fluttered in the wind through the kitchen window. It didn’t feel like Halloween. *Not at all.* Bristmoore was nothing like the city in that regard. No costumes, no candy, and no cheer. Only fog, damp, and complete and utter emptiness. A couple of passers-by were making their way along the street, turning their heads to look at our pumpkins and lights. I expected them to stop and admire our hard work, but even from a distance, I could see their mouths contorting into mocking smiles. “What the hell,” I muttered under my breath, “What’s your problem?” I had no idea what to expect. I mean, I had several boxes of chocolate stashed away just in case any children turned up, but it didn’t look likely. To make matters worse, Henry had been dressed in his Batman suit since 7 in the morning. “Trick or treat! Trick or treat!” he chanted, racing round and round the living room. By 6 PM I started seriously considering making the two-hour drive to the city. Henry was starting to get restless and the fog outside seemed to be growing thicker and more depressing by the second. *Where was everyone, for God’s sake?* Tabitha had told us there were many children in the neighborhood, but I’d yet to see a single one. “Tell you what,” I said to Henry, who was watching TV slumped over the coffee table, “Why don’t we get in the car and drive to the city? We can visit the haunted house on the way. I heard they have a good one this year!” His eyes lit up, “Really? But… but it’s so far!” I sighed. It *was* far. Far and *expensive*. But I couldn’t bear to look at the disappointment on my son’s face any longer. “Come on,” I said, grabbing the car keys before I could change my mind, “Let’s go.” But what we saw when we opened the front door immediately stopped us in our tracks. A child. Dressed up in a brightly colored suit, carrying a small pumpkin-shaped basket in his hand. In the thick evening fog, his already small frame looked almost cartoonish, as he bobbed up and down merrily strolling up the driveway across from ours. “Look!” Henry gasped, pointing in case I’d missed it, “He’s trick or treating!” We watched in wide-eyed fascination as the child in question rang the doorbell and the porch light came on. As soon as the door cracked open, a cacophony of gleeful ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ pierced the silence. “Trick or treat!” the child exclaimed, his voice being carried by the wind, “Thank you!” The door shut and he continued back down the driveway and along the street to the next house. It was a sight for sore eyes. A small glimmer of hope in a dark abyss. And then another child appeared. And another. They emerged from the bleak fog like small figurines clad in colorful costumes, carrying wands and baskets and elaborate swords. “Can…can I go too?” Henry asked, obviously dazed by the sight, “There are so many!” I heaved a sigh of relief. Despite the lack of decorations, Halloween seemed to be in full swing and I’d been spared the drive to the big city. “Of course, you can,” I told him, ruffling his hair, “But don’t be too long, okay? And don’t eat the candy until you get home!” He nodded, grabbing his own little basket and making his way toward the other children. I knew he’d have no problem making friends. As soon as I glanced out at the street through the kitchen window, he was already standing in a small circle of kids and gesturing wildly with his hands. I chuckled to myself, blissfully unaware of what was to come. \# Henry returned at around 9 PM. It had started raining about an hour prior, but despite being soaked, he seemed giddy and excited. I had long since depleted my entire supply of chocolate and had resorted to giving out regular apples, much to the collective dismay of the kids. “I made friends!” he boasted, jumping up and down, “There’s Max and Eileen and a boy called Lars who said he’d show me his race car collection!” I laughed along, helping him out of his wet clothes and into pajamas, “I’m glad you had fun! Did you get a lot of candy?” “Yes!” he cried, grabbing his basket and pouring the contents onto the floor, “Look! Someone gave me a whole bag of Snickers!” I let him have one as I sifted through the rest without much interest. There was certainly enough for months to come. Packets of gummy bears, chocolate bars, licorice, candy corn, and… “Wait, what’s this?” I asked, picking up a small parcel wrapped in white tissue paper. Henry looked at it dismissively, “Cake, I think? Everyone got one.” Slowly, I undid the tweed bow and tossed it to the side. It felt like cake. It could have been cake for all I knew. Except I wasn’t sure how comfortable I was with the concept of my son eating… I stared at it, my skin prickling. *It wasn’t cake.* Not even close. Fighting the overwhelming urge to retch, I folded it back into the tissue paper and placed it on the floor. My head swimming and my vision suddenly blurry, I watched my son shoveling chocolate into his mouth. “Where…where did you get this?” I managed, my mouth dry. He didn’t even look away from the screen, “The woman next door.” “T-Tabitha?” I croaked, my heart hammering in my chest. Every hair on my body was standing on end. Reluctantly, Henry averted his gaze from the TV. His chewing slowed when he noticed my expression, “Are you okay?” Struggling to breathe, I scrambled to my feet and leaned against the wall for support. I could smell it, its rancid stench permeating the air, making my stomach churn. Nausea bubbled up in my throat and I clutched my neck, trying to keep it at bay. “Mom?” Henry sounded genuinely concerned now, dropping the candy onto the couch and running towards me, “What’s wrong?” “Nothing, I -,” I choked, my throat bulging with pressure. I couldn’t let my son see this. “Is it the cake?” he demanded, staring at the parcel on the floor, “Has it gone bad?” He leaned down to pick it up. “Don’t touch it!” I cried, yanking him away, “Just… go to your room!” He stared at me, startled by my change in demeanor, his hands limp at his sides. “But I -” he began, but I wasn’t having it. “Did you hear what I said? Go to your room. *Now*.” His bottom lip quivered and I saw his eyes brim with tears as he turned his back to me and left the room. Guilt seeped into my heart, but I brushed it away, reminding myself I had far more pressing matters to deal with. “Okay,” I whispered under my breath, leaning down to pick up the parcel, “Okay.” But it wasn’t okay. As soon as I touched it, my skin crawled and my gag reflex kicked in again. This time I couldn’t hold it back. Or perhaps I just didn’t try. When I regained control of my body, I stumbled in the darkness toward the front door. Wiping my crusty lips with the back of my sleeve, I composed myself the best I could before stepping out into the chilly night air. The street was deserted. The colorful figurines that had previously twirled amidst the houses were gone and the only sounds were those of the wind howling and a crow cawing in the distance. Wrapping my shawl tighter around my shoulders, I headed straight for Tabitha and Robert’s house, my knees weak and my head still reeling from what I’d just seen. I mashed the buzzer and hit the door with my fist for good measure. I hadn’t even considered what I was going to say. *Hello, did you give this to my son by accident…or on purpose..?* I shook my head free of the troubling thought as I heard footsteps approaching the door from the other side. *“I don’t know who it is, it’s not for another half-hour!”* I heard Tabitha’s raspy voice. The door opened just a crack, “Oh! Alison! How may I help?” She looked different that night. Somehow…even more made up than the last time I had seen her. She was wearing a long sequin dress and red lipstick to match. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I muttered, caught off guard, “My son…Henry brought…this home…” I attempted to slide the parcel out of my pocket with as little movement as possible. I’d placed it in four additional plastic bags before leaving the house, yet the smell had somehow become ingrained in my memory nonetheless. I held my breath as I passed it to her. “Oh,” she pursed her lips, “Didn’t he like it?” I gawked at her, dumbfounded. *Had I heard that correctly?* “I’m sorry, I-... he-...It’s a…a…” I stammered, bile rising in my throat once again. “A kidney,” Tabitha nodded, a faint smile on her face, “Did he prefer something else?” It was like I’d lost the ability to breathe. *To think*. This had to be an elaborate prank. *Right?* “This isn’t funny,” I whispered, “Handing out animal organs to children. Who do you think you are?” Her amusement was unmatched. She studied me for a moment, before removing the chain and opening the door. “It’s not an *‘animal organ’*,” she sounded hurt, “It’s human. Our own. Poor Gus sacrificed his life, and you dare complain?” I felt the ground sliding from underneath my feet. My heartbeat roared in my ears and I tasted metal. Trying to catch my breath, I slumped down on the small bench beside the front door and buried my face in my hands. *This was a dream. It had to be. I was going to wake up any minute now and -* “Here, drink this,” Tabitha appeared next to me and held out a glass of clear liquid. It looked like water, but I couldn’t be sure. She must have noticed my apprehension, because she lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip, “See? Not poison.” Hesitantly, I took it into my shaking hands and tried to take a sip, but my teeth kept clinking against the edge. “Oh, lord,” Tabitha sighed as if it was somehow my fault, “It’ll be okay. Gus lived a good life, I promise. It was his time.” I couldn’t believe how casually she had said it. It was as though human sacrifice was an everyday occurrence, as simple as going to work or brushing one’s teeth. “Well, look, I can’t stay with you all night,” she said, towering over me, “The show’s about to begin and I haven’t even started on the pit.” I shut my eyes, willing myself to wake up, snap out of it, or do anything to put an end to the absolute nightmare I was experiencing at that moment. “The- the…pit?” I repeated, my voice meek, “What…show?” Tabitha threw her head back and roared with laughter, “You can come watch if you like. I won’t suggest you partake…this time around, since you seem so…well, let’s just say it’s not for the faint of heart. Still, it’s good you brought the kidney. The show can’t go on without it.” With that, she sauntered back into her house, leaving me to my own devices on the front porch. I sat, shaking like a leaf on the hard bench, wondering what on Earth I was going to do now. I could call the police. Not that I had any proof. Tabitha seemed so calm and collected, what if the police were in on it too? No, that couldn’t be. *Was I losing my mind?* Before I could explore that thought further, the front door flew open and Tabitha backtracked over the threshold, lugging what looked like a large wooden crate. She wasn’t alone. Robert followed suit, holding up the other end of the elongated contraption. They trudged past me in silence, huffing under their breath. “It’s almost time,” Tabitha grunted, lowering the crate onto the ground in the front yard, “Get the bell!” “What’s she doing here?” Robert snarled, giving me the side-eye, “It’s not time yet.” Tabitha clicked her tongue, “She’s not got the backbone, Rob. Now get the darn bell before I remove yours too!” Grumbling under his breath, Robert disappeared into the house and swiftly returned with a large handbell. “Right,” Tabitha snapped, “Here we go!” She raised the handbell over her head and wrung her wrist five times. The sound echoed through the air, sending shrill vibrations into the night sky. Immediately, every porch was bathed in light. Doors flung open and dozens of people, big and small, clad in colorful costumes started making their way towards the shrine in Tabitha and Robert’s yard. There were clowns with big round noses, fairies with sparkling wings, vampires with red cloaks, and knights with silver swords. It was truly a sight to behold. The formerly desolate little village had transformed into one of mesmerizing beauty beyond my wildest dreams. The crowd of magical creatures swarmed the front yard, laughter penetrating the air. But before I could get my fill, Tabitha raised the bell and the chatter died down. “Now! For our guest of honor!” she bellowed, ringing the bell once, “Our initiator and oldest member, please welcome revenant Frank!” The crowd dispersed, and a frail-looking man in a black cloak emerged from their midst. He approached the shrine and bowed, as hushed murmurs permeated the audience. Then, he reached up and removed his hood, unveiling his face. It was Old Frank. I gasped, immediately slapping my mouth shut with my hands. The last thing I needed was to be seen. *Thank God the porch light wasn’t on.* I hugged my shawl tighter around my shoulders. “Let’s begin,” Old Frank croaked, raising his arms towards the sky, “Bring your offerings! Let us celebrate Gus’s prosperous life!” A girl wearing a blue dress came forward. She couldn’t have been any older than four, but her expression was solemn and far too mature for a child her age. In her left hand, she held a plastic bag. She nodded to the revenant and set the bag down on the ground. Reaching into it, she pulled out… No. It couldn’t be. *It was!* …a severed head. I held my breath trying not to gag. She clutched it, cupping its cheeks with her little hands as though it were no more than a porcelain doll. *Some doll!* I shuddered at my own comparison. I watched in horror as she placed the head down on the wooden crate, adjusting it by a tuft of its gray hair. “Very good,” Old Frank mumbled, nodding towards the shrine, “Who’s next?” One by one, each person presented their offering. Some brought fingers, others an organ or two, some even had teeth. “Don’t be shy, slide them in,” Tabitha cooed, prying Gus’s mouth open, “All must be in their place.” Once all the offerings were deposited, Old Frank circled the shrine, analyzing it carefully. “Something is missing,” he eventually said, “Who hasn’t come forward?” No one spoke up. The crowd waited with bated breath, but the only confession was that of the whispering trees. “Who didn’t bring their offering?” the revenant demanded, “Speak up!” A hubbub in the back of the crowd caught my attention. Someone was trying to make their way through. “I didn’t!” a familiar voice chimed and my heart dropped. *Henry.* He was still in his pajamas, his face still blotchy and tear-stained. He hadn’t even bothered doing up his shoelaces. “What is your offering?” Old Frank asked once he’d approached the front of the shrine. Henry sniffled, “I don’t know. My mom took it away.” A gasp echoed through the audience and I noticed the kidney was still on the ground next to me. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t speak up. I couldn’t let them know I was there. “Your mom took it away?” Old Frank seemed astounded, “...And where is *she?*” My stomach lurched as dozens of eyes crawled past the shrine and up onto the porch where I was hiding. *Could they see me in the darkness? Did they know I was there?* “Mom,” suddenly Henry was looking straight at me, “Can I have the offering?” I didn’t know what to do. Fear sizzled through me like electricity, as I tried to regain control of my body. Slowly, I moved one arm, then another, then my legs, willing myself to stand up and pick up the wretched parcel off of the floor. The crowd watched in silence. It was as though the entire world had stopped turning, waiting for me to compose myself. With trembling hands, I scooped the offering off of the ground. The smell was just as strong, only now I was stronger. One step at a time, I dragged my feet along the porch and down the wooden stairs. Everyone was waiting. “Thank you,” Henry whispered, as I passed the parcel to him, nearly dropping it as I did so. He retracted the plastic bags one by one, his expression remaining unchanged even as he reached the core. I watched as my six-year-old son placed the final offering onto the shrine and the crowd cheered. “Very good,” Old Frank mumbled, “Now for the ceremony!” *The ceremony? What ceremony?* But before I had a chance to ask, the shrine burst into a myriad of golden flames. The blaze reached towards the sky, wisps of smoke twirling in the cold air. All around me, clowns danced with fairies, knights waltzed with vampires, all to the beat of an invisible drum. Henry was standing next to Old Frank, clutching his hand, the stench from the bonfire enveloping the neighborhood. Everything went black. \# When I awoke, the sun was already high in the sky. I was in my own bed, although I didn’t immediately recognize my surroundings. The previous night seemed like it had only been a lifelike nightmare. A product of my own weary mind. Throwing the covers to the side, I slid out of bed and looked out the window. The crowd was gone and the shrine was nowhere to be seen. The fog had lifted too, and the street suddenly seemed pleasant and inviting. “Henry?” I called, stepping into the corridor, “Are you awake?” But there was no answer. A note sat on the kitchen table. It read: ***I am having breakfast at Tabitha’s*** Panic-stricken, I crumpled it up and headed out the front door. *What was he doing there for God’s sake?* “Oh, good, you’re here!” Tabitha smiled at me, a strange twinkle in her eyes, “Henry’s just having his breakfast. Come in, come in. We have much to discuss.” I wanted to tell her there wasn’t anything that I’d possibly be interested in hearing, but kept my mouth shut, instead following her into the kitchen. My son was sitting at the table in the middle of the room, scooping fried eggs onto his plate. “Henry,” I said, my voice pleading, “Let’s go home. We’re moving back to the city.” Tabitha snorted, “Oh, no you’re not. You’re part of the initiation now.” I gaped at her, “What… initiation?” She pursed her lips, “Were you not present last night?” And then as if through a painful haze, the memories came flooding back. *The shrine. The stench. Old Frank.* I grit my teeth, not wanting to remember, willing them not to be true, but Tabitha was already speaking, “We have a yearly rotation system. Every household must volunteer one member of their family, be it the youngest and the most helpless, or the oldest and most experienced. It doesn’t matter to revenant Frank, he’s been sacrificed a total of three times now, and he keeps coming back stronger every time. Not something anyone else has been able to replicate.” I stared at her, wondering which one of us was closer to losing our minds. Old Frank… had come back to life… *three times?* All this time I’d thought they were mispronouncing the word ‘reverend’, or perhaps it was meant as a term of, well, *endearment*…something to enhance the spirit of Halloween…? “Now, if you don’t perform your duties as a household, you will automatically, *no questions asked*, be assigned the main role in the next initiation. We have eyes everywhere.” She cackled as if the apparent terror on my face were the funniest thing in the world, “And of course, the ceremony will continue until…” “Until there’s no one left!” Henry chimed in, and my mouth fell open. *What had they done to my son?* I needed time. Time to think, to come up with a plan. How had things suddenly gone so wrong? “So… so who decides which household’s turn it is?” I whispered, my throat closing up. “Oh, we always go clockwise,” she snickered, patting my shoulder, “It’s your turn next year!”<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I wanted a good deal. I got a traumatic experience [RESPONSE] 12.15 AM Hello, my name is Dizo. My mother is currently in the hospital and I needed to find a hotel to stay in, I dont have too much money so I couldnt afford anything great but I think I found a solid hotel. Anderson Hotel seems to have some great reviews and its only 70 bucks a night. I am currently in in the car that they sent me, the driver is not speaking and wearing an odd outfit. I will keep you posted. 12.45 AM (I woke up in a strange room that seems to be the reception desk of a old hotel until I heard) "Hello, I am the Guiding Light, I do not know how you have stumbled upon this abandoned hotel, Anderson hotel has been closed since 1994." (I looked behind me realising that the door behind you has been shut, when you try to tug it open you get launched back to where I woke up then I heard the Guiding Light again) "I see you have realised there is no escape... You must complete all 100 doors and reach the elevator, I will meet you there. For now you should go to the reception desk and ring the bell 2 times then clap once. If you hear a whisper from behind you immediately close your eyes then repeat the process without opening your eyes. If you hear a tap from on your shoulder then you can open your eyes, if you don’t then repeat the process until you feel the tap on your shoulder. If you do turn around and DO NOT LOOK AT ME. I will put a paper on the desk then disappear. Once you hear a *poof* then read the piece of paper. (I did all of the steps correctly though I felt a little weird after the Guiding Light disappears.) 1:00 AM I saw a couple of rules on the paper. Then I decided that the rules arnt very important and that I should keep looking forward. That was my mistake. Then I see a key on the desk when I took it it felt supernaturally heavy even though it was the size of an average key. Then I looked around the room, I saw a door with a lock on it so I put two and two together and put the key in the keyhole, surprisingly it opens without me having to turn it. As soon as I walk in the doorway the lights started to flicker rapidly then I hear something ungodly. Some anomaly, some creature that does not belong to this world I didn’t know what to do. Then I heard it approach me. I was close to a wardrobe that I could easily hide in, or i could make a run for it. This thing seemed fast and I didnt think I could outrun it so I decided to hide in the wardrobe. Im hiding in the wardrobe right now. I have no signal yet for some reason I can post this. I will try my best to stay alive until help arrives. But I any more of theese monsters appear I might not be able to.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] At my fraternity's Halloween party, shit got fucked up when we found my friend's body in the bedroom. Now, I'm afraid of going out at night... (Part Two) FINAL [RESPONSE] After that, the conversation ended and I looked at the clock. It was only 10:30. I decided to spend the rest of the time looking into both any possible satanic cults that might've been well known in the area, as well as asking, for good enough measure, a few of the approved V.I.P.s for the party if maybe one of them knew the girls and/or might've decided to invite them against the rules. On that end, I got more or less the exact same answer that I gave to Ronnie; that they'd never seen or spoke to either of the girls before the party that night. I didn't want to admit it, not at all, given what happened, but it looked like the only explanation for how those girls even showed up to begin with was that Wydell had been the one to invite them. Of course, I could see where Ronnie was coming from, that he likely wasn't aware of who they really were or what they apparently had planned for him. I mean, aren't the best serial killers the ones you can't just automatically look at and say "Yeah... something's fucky with you, sir."? But even still, that begs the question of how he'd have even known them to begin with. Yeah, I keep harping on the fact that he'd always been the "runt of the 'Knuckle-biter' litter", but only because it was, for most cases, true. He was always the level-headed one that could counter-balance the insanity of the rest of us three, you know? Before that night, the kid couldn't even land a date with a girl or get a phone number at one of our regular parties. But there he was that night, at our *Halloween "Invite only"* party, with two bombshells all over him, ready to take him to pound-town. What happened in-between? I'd have believed in it being “a stroke of luck”or "Twist of fate" , if it hadn't ended with him being flayed alive on my friend's bed like that. Another thing that stuck me out of nowhere, something I hadn't even considered before. Now, of course, I'm no kind of expert on witchcraft or black magic rituals or any shit like that -- I'm atheist -- but why didn't they finish him that night on the bed? I mean, sure, it wasn't exactly an isolated space, surrounded by other people, and it *was* considered a miracle he *was* supposedly alive when I went to the hospital that night, but I couldn't help but feel it wasn't really "luck" that pulled him through. Think about it for a second, there was at least a 15 minute gap between the time the girls led Wyell to the back bedroom and the time Ronnie found him. And during that time, no one saw or heard a damn thing. In other words, there was *far more* than enough time for them to off him and make out the window like they did with no one to do anything about it. Yet, he made it... I got just about the same results as far as trying to research any articles about satanic ritual murders in the area. Just as well, I guess -- like I said, they're obviously know how to do this shit *without* getting caught. Then I decided to look into Wiccan rituals in general. Specifically, ones that pertained to live sacrifices. For the most part, there weren't many, at least not any with details that would've been connected to what happened with Wydell at the party. Then, however, I found something on a webpage detailing the practice of "Practical Lycanthropy". Skimming through the page, I was able to spot some of the pictures of pentagrams being tattooed into people's palms, sort of like a branding. Apparently, this was a community type of thing, too. People united under the belief of what they referred to as "Werewolf magic". Now, I bet I know what you're thinking when you hear that -- I get it, trust me, I was, too. However, no, this apparently *wasn't* the practice of people actually transforming under the full moon or anything like that. At least, not under normal circumstances with this practice. For the most part, the people that practiced this were more into spiritually based transformations, "Unleashing your inner wolf" as they frequently termed it. Like I said, it looked relatively harmless. Odd, sure, but nothing extreme like what happened. That was, until I read a bit more into a bit of the culture's history. Apparently, around the 60's and 70's, there was a massive growing panic about stuff like that, occult shit. Similar to the Salem witch hunts, apparently people carried a growing panic about werewolves. From what little bit I'd read, apparently one of these supposed "Werewolf cults", as the post referred to them as, was a cut above the rest in terms of putting their practices into motion. In other words, like what you're probably expecting here, this particular cult was less interested in "connections with nature" or "becoming one with their animal spirits", and more interested in populating the earth with werewolves. When I tried to look, though, the post didn't mention any of the cults or any members in specific by name. All that was there was a short blurb about their little "Master race" of werewolves plan, and how they apparently went underground almost entirely after supposedly causing such a panic, with thousands of people having been found mutilated almost beyond recognition. Though, their method of introducing others into the fold was just as interesting. I read that this cult apparently observed a specific ritual where they "Fully embrace their bestial nature, embracing their rage and unbridled savagery, and exact their brutality upon the new pledge until he or she is close to death, by which they will flee, leaving the pledge to embrace their own savage nature in order to not only save themselves, but also integrate into their pack." I'll admit, I was lost, reading this. Keep in mind, the normal practice of "Practical Lycanthropy" was an oddity to me. Now, here I was, reading some shit you'd expect to see in a shitty 80's movie. Yet, how the hell was I supposed to deny it? As batshit as any of this sounded to me, I couldn't lie and say it *didn't* add up. Wheels started turning as a chill crawled up and down my back. It was all coming together. The Pentagrams, with the site listing the marks on the palms being a tell-tale sign of a werewolf practitioner. The fact that Wydell was still alive, despite major blood loss and the fact that the girls had ample time to finish him off. And most of all, the way he was apparently "Recovering so quickly"... *What WAS that in the hospital?* By that time, it was time for me to head into class. As you could imagine, I couldn't pay attention to a damn thing the professor was saying (fortunately, I think it was only a review day anyway). Afterwards, I made a beeline for Ellis General hospital. It was around 3:30 when I got there and I walked to the desk and asked the receptionist to see Wydell. "Name?" she asked, disinterested. "Greg." "Last name, too, sir." I sighed. I didn't have time for this. "Dyers. Gregory Dyers. Wydell Lawrence is my friend and I wanted to check in on him. So can you please take me to him?" She just gave me a blank look before rolling her eyes and typing on her keyboard. "Let's see... Wydell Lawrence, you said his name was?" I nodded. "Yeah, sorry sir, I'm afraid we don't have anyone admitted here with the name Wydell Lawrence." My eyes went wide. "What do you mean he isn't here?" I exclaimed. She just shrigged, still giving me that annoyed look. "Are you sure? You checked through *all* the patient's names?" She sighed and turned the computer monitor to face me. "Look here," she pointed to a search bar and typed in Wydell's name. Nothing. "If he was here, it would've shown up just now. Hate it for you, but your friend ain't here." I sighed exasperatedly. What was I supposed to do? If he wasn't there, then where was he? I even made the mistake of asking if patients from St. Leonard's had *actually* been admitted there after relocation. This earned me an annoyed groan and an exasperated "Yes." I left after that. On the drive back to campus, I texted Ronnie, telling him Wydell wasn't at Ellis General. **-- "Seriously?"** \-- "Yeah, and I don't know where else he'd be. You were right about that being where they moved the others from St. Leonard's. But not him." **-- "Well, the news did mention a lot of them didn't make it... You don't think..."** \-- "Actually, dude... I might have something even worse..." **-- "What?"** I sent him the link to the post on "Practical Lycanthropy" and told him to read the section on the werewolf cults. About ten to twenty minutes later, he texted back. **-- "Dude, wtf? What is this shit? Fuckin' WEREWOLVES?"** \-- "Yeah, I know, it's weird, but read the part of the underground one. The ones that apparently want to get others to join." **-- "Yeah, I saw that. Kinda sick, if you ask me."** I rolled my eyes in annoyance. *Really, Ronnie, you make jokes NOW?!* \-- "Dude, that's kinda fucked up, don't you think?" **-- "Well yeah, I mean, it's messed up, but still..."** \-- "Dude, I think that's what happened at the party last night. I think they performed this ritual on him and damn near killed him. Now he's missing and there's the incident at the hospital." **-- "Greg, man, are you seriously trying to tell me you think Wydell's a werewolf?"** \-- "No, I'm saying that our friend is now missing, those freaky chicks are still out there, and I don't know what's going on or where the hell to look for him." **-- "Okay, calm down, man. Here, I'm gonna call the police and tell them he's missing and ask around campus if they've seen anything."** \-- "Okay. I'm headed back to campus now." After that, I continued down the highway until I spotted it out of the corner of my eye. It was two of the girls from the party. They were walking down the sidewalk, laughing about something. Because I was so caught up with them, I almost didn't catch the fact that several cars in front of me had all of a sudden stopped at the red light. I ended up slamming in the breaks, narrowly avoiding rear-ending them. After catching my breath, I watched the girls continue walking into the nearby grove that was just a few miles out from the college. A thought occurred to me then. That must be their little meeting place. That must've been where they ran off to that night after attacking Wydell. Then I wondered, What if they know where he was now? This in mind, I decided to pull off and follow after them. Their pace was admittedly faster than I would've expected, but that also meant it would be easier for me to tail them without being seen. I followed them across the bridge and into the grove. They kept a steady pace ahead of me. Just enough where I could still see them, but not enough for them to notice as long as they faced forward. They kept walking deeper and deeper. The further I went along, the more clustered I noticed the trees were, blocking off more and more of the light from bleeding into the grove. It got harder and harder to see both the girls as well as the actual road ahead of me. While I still had decent enough lighting, I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of the two girls and sent them to Ronnie, telling him I'd found them and that I believed that they were hiding somewhere in the grove. I was shaken up from my phone, however, when I thought I saw a large shadow zip across the trees at the right of me. It was fast, and at first, I thought it was simply a trick of the light or something. The girls were still directly ahead of me, slowly walking deeper and deeper until I could just *barely* even make out their outlines. looking at the clock, I saw in panic that it was already getting on 5:45. The sun would be going down soon and, with as dark as it was already, it was gonna be a pain in the ass to try and navigate without turning on my headlights, thus giving myself away to the witch girls ahead of me. I had decided, having already snapped a photo of them in the grove to show to the police, to turn around and head back the rest of the way to campus when, this time from the left, up in the treeline, I saw the large shadow figure again. I watched it bound from one tree to the next, beating down right at me with large, burning yellow eyes. The thing wasn't just huge, either. It was *fast!* It was keeping up with the cars pace effortlessly. I mean, yeah, I was keeping it relatively slow to begin with so I could track the girls, but even still, this thing was easily keeping at least one tree head ahead of the car. For a while, I kept my focus fixed on it, continuing further into the grove. When I finally broke away, though, and looked forward again, the girls were gone! In the split-second this moment had to set in, the beast from the trees launched itself at the car, landing directly onto the hood and damn near flipping the car over. The whiplash caused me to end up bouncing my head off of both the driver's side window and the steering wheel. Immediately, my vision was reduced to clouds and stars as I watched the beast then step down off the hood of the car. I couldn't see a thing of its face or anything else outside of its yellowed eyes. I heard it roar out before sending both of its boulder-sized fists down to smash the hood of the car again. I was once again launched forward, once again slamming my face into the steering wheel. Dazed, I saw the blurred form of the beast then rear back before sending its gigantic fist through the windshield, grabbing me tightly by the throat, and hoisting me into the air. I could hear the thing snarling. It was only being held just inches away from its face that I vaguely made out the shape of its head to be that of a dog or a wolf. *Oh, jesus... It's one of them! It's a fucking werewolf!* The beast then choke slammed me back down on the hood of my car, holding me there until my vision clouded over completely. I felt my flailing arms then begin to go limp. Soon, I was out like a light. The last thing I could remember thinking was *Please, God, Ronnie, tell me you've called the cops and showed them that picture...* To my absolute shock and amazement, I actually woke up again. I was groggy and my head throbbed and pounded. By that time, the sun was gone. Night had completely taken over, making seeing anything around me almost impossible. I tried to get up to move, only to find my wrists and ankles had been tied down. *What in the he--* "He's awake..." I heard a soft voice say, giggling. I looked over to see the leader of the three girls standing over to the right of me. The other two were standing at my feet. "Wha-what the hell?" I groaned, stirring. "What is this, what the fuck's going on?" One of the other two then squealed and said, "I wanna do it!" "Patience!" the main one chided. "This is his night, remember?" She looked behind the other toward the darkness of the rest of the grove. There, just barely silhouetted in the, albeit pitiful, rays of the moon, was the hulking behemoth that'd had me only a moment ago. It stepped forward. I could hear it's angered growling as it approached. Instantly, I set about trying to struggle against whatever it was I had been restrained to. It was no use, though. I could feel whatever it was around my wrists and ankles painfully digging into them. I figured they must've used piano wire or something to tie me down where they did. "Hey, let me go! What are you doing? What do you want from me?" My mind and body both were locked in a frenzy. The main girl came closer to me, grinning deviously. "Aww... He's scared..." one of the other two squealed. The beast walked closer and closer. I could start to feel its hot, snarled breaths from about a foot away. "I don't think he'd make a good addition to the pack." the other of the two said condescendingly. "Enough!" main girl snapped, "He will make a fine addition. He just needs to embrace, that's all. Just like any of us." The other two nodded to her in agreement before looking back at me and grinning. "E-Embrace?" I exclaimed. "W-Wait, what are you talking about? What are you doing with me?" "The same as what we do for the world." Main girl said smoothly. "What?!" The beast was leering over me now. "We are setting the world free. Setting humanity free." "Free from *what?!*" "From itself. You live in fear and in weakness. We are going to set the world free from this by ridding the world of humanity, raising up a new generation of peoples much better, much more elevated beyond human beings." She slowly stepped away and the beast took another step towards me and began to reach down. I started to struggle again, trying to keep from being grabbed. "When you embrace the starving beast within you, you'll see, then. You'll see what will happen for you, like it did your friend, here." My eyes grew at this. *So... So it's true. It's ACTUALLY FUCKING REAL! WYDELL IS A FUCKING WEREWOLF!* "H-Hey, what're you--" I let out a cry of pain, cutting me off, when one of the beasts' claws delivered a stinging slash across my cheek. It belt like I'd just taken a red hot fire poker across my face. Main girl chuckled. "Only through pain and endurance will you be able to embrace the beast inside you." Following this, the next minute and a half was spent in the most agonizing pain I could ever feel in my entire life, in the past or in the future. The beast, Wydell, began to mercilessly hack, bite, slash, and just mindlessly tear me open all across my body. My throat burned from how hard I was screaming. The only things I could hear over them, besides Wydell's growls, were the girls cackling. At one point, I heard the main one say "Can you feel it? can you feel the beast awakening inside you?" Soon, I felt my arms and legs start to go completely numb. My vision blurred once again and soon, dark clouds formed across the outlines of my eyes. Wydell kept hacking and hacking away at me, ripping bigger and bigger gashes open all across my body. I was so weak by that point that I couldn't scream anymore, only let out a very weak groaning. Faintly, I watched as the girls then approached Wydell from behind and each drew a knife from their pockets. Main girl held up her hand to Wydell, stopping him mid-swipe. "Enough." she said, coming closer to me with her knife. She approached me from ahead while the other two gathered at either side of me. "He must be marked for the pack if he is to join us." Then I watched her and the other two look up at the night sky. The full moon shown down upon the five of us in the grove, managing somehow to bleed all the way through the trees. That's when I watched the three of them begin to transform. They groaned and cried out in pain and adrenaline as I saw their bodies break and reshape themselves until they, themselves, were giant wolves like Wydell was. Then, the four of them were all leering down at me with yellow eyes. In unison, the four of them raised up and howled at the moon. I was fading fast. I was already feeling myself slip in and out of consciousness. Then, with two of the she-wolves at my right and left, the main one in the center at my feet alongside Wydell, I watched them plunge their knives down into both my hands and my chest and begin dragging the blades into the pattern of the pentagram. Despite being weak, and my throat being shot all to hell from Wydell's assault, I couldn't hold back from letting out a shrill cry of pain as they slowly and agonizingly did this. When they finished, they once again rose up and howled at the moon. By that point; pain, blood loss, and just sheer exhaustion took effect over my body and I faded out completely. This time, I was *sure that* would be game over for me. Unfortunately, though, as I'd find out just a few hours later, it wasn't. When I woke up, it was to bright fluorescent lights and the steady sound of an E.K.G. monitor beeping. To my right was a tray of different surgical implements, some of them being caked in blood, indicating they'd been used while I was out. My head throbbed horribly and when I went to move, I found my wrists to be strapped to the bed. Before I could panic, wondering what the hell the deal was, the door to the room opened and a nurse walked in. "Well look who's awake!" she said cheerfully, giving me an, admittedly cute little smile. "How're you feeling, hun?" I groaned. "Like my head's in a frickin' blender." She giggled. I tried to raise up my wrists where she could see, asking "Hey, uh, what's the deal with this?" Her smile fell slightly. "Well," she began, noticeably hesitant, "See, when we brought you in, you were... well... let's just say, you were *restless...*" She chuckled awkwardly as she said this. "Restless?" I asked. She looked at me again, now noticeably a bit more anxious. "What're you talking about, restless how? Hell, how did I even get here?" Her eyes were fixed wide on me. "You don't remember anything?" I closed my eyes. the last thing I could remember was the werewolves howling at the moon and carving the pentagrams into me. Of course, I couldn't exactly say *that* to her, could I? Instead, I told her that I just remembered going into the grove and blacking out after a big ass dog attacked me. A *huge* stretch of the truth, but at least a hell of a lot more believable, right? "You don't remember anything after that?" she asked nervously. "No. I don't. What happened?" Before she could go any further, the door opened again and two police officers walked in. "Could we have a minute?" One of them, a tall and extremely stocky one asked. The nurse nodded and got up to leave. He then turned to me and said, "Gregory Dyers?" he asked. I nodded. "My name's Officer Cordell, and this is my partner, Officer Tanner." Officer Tanner nodded to me, looking concentrated. "Now, Greg," Officer Cordell went on, "I can see you've been through... quite a night." He whistled. "I take it whatever happened also probably screwed you head a bit loose as well, so I get you probably ain't gonna remember *too much*, so why don't you tell us what you *do* remember." "I... I was following these girls into the grove..." I stopped, realizing how creepy that sounded. I looked at the officers. They seemed concentrated on my story. "They were at a party at my friend's house the other night and attacked my friend, Wydell Lawrence." The two exchanged a look between each other before looking back to me. "Go on." Officer Cordell prompted. "I was following them into the woods when this giant animal, I think it was a giant dog or something, came out from the trees and attacked me." "So the dog did this?" he pointed to the pentagrams. "No, they did." "The girls?" I nodded. "Was this before or after the dog attack?" Officer Tanner asked. "After. Look, the dog or wolf or whatever it was attacked me and when I woke up, the girls had me tied down and were performing some sort of human sacrifice ritual or something. I swear, that's all I remember. Look, I can prove it, look at my pho--" Officer Cordell raised his hands, cutting me off, saying, "Whoa there, calm down. Your story's actually checked out so far." I raised my eyebrows. "One of your little pals called in an anonymous tip about these three girls you're talking about, saying they were responsible for what happened to the Lawrence boy, and that you'd tracked 'em into the grove. Nice one, by the way, but next time, maybe don't try to go it alone, eh?" "Okay... but then why am I strapped to the bed?" He exchanged another glance to Officer Tanner, similar to the nervous glances the nurse had been giving me earlier. "Well, like I said, we took your friend's tip and tracked you into the grove. When we did, at first, you were out cold. I figured we were too late, as cut up as you were. Out of nowhere, though, when ambulance tried moving you, you just up and went berserk!" My eyes widened. "Wh-What do you mean by "berserk?" "I mean "berserk". You started growling, scratching, even bit a chunk out of two of the ambulances. Took me and two other officers just to hold you down long enough for one of 'em to hit you with some tranquilizer before they brought you here." My heart fell into my stomach. I looked at me palms again, seeing the pentagrams staring back up at me. ***"...Exact their brutality upon the new pledge until he or she is close to death, by which they will flee, leaving the pledge to embrace their own savage nature in order to not only save themselves, but also integrate into their pack."*** *No... No, no, no, no, no... Oh God...* "You okay there, son?" Officer Cordell asked. I didn't answer. I just kept staring at my palms in horror. The Officers then stood up and turned to leave. Officer Cordell placed a card on the table next to me. "Give us a call if there's anything else you-- "Wait," I blurted, "the girls, what happened with them? You guys caught 'em, right?" Officer Cordell's face and sigh of disappointment gave me my answer. They were still out there. He told me they were gonna continue scouring the grove looking for them, but that it wasn't entirely likely they'd find them there, knowing now the place would be under investigation. They left after that. This was just yesterday. I've been here, laid up at Ellis General since then. I haven't heard anything from Ronnie or Zack. They still don't even know about Wydell. They still think he's still either missing, or was killed in the attack at St. Leonard's. I'm not sure I could tell them the truth about it, either. Like I said, I'm *no* kind of believer in "spiritual transformation" or whatever the hell it was called, but I know what I saw in the grove that night. What's worse, now I'm one of them. They've taken me in as one of them now just like they did with Wydell. I'm gonna be a goddamn werewolf for the rest of my life. One night, a fucking Halloween party... Now I'm afraid of the night... God... I don't want it to turn night again... They’ve let me have my phone. Figured I can’t really do much damage with THAT. Not with my hands strapped down while trying to hold it. I need help. I don't know what to do, other than, whenever they finally release me from the hospital, I'm just gonna get in my car, and I'm just gonna drive as far away as absolutely possible. I wanna be as far away as absolutely possible if I have to live this way. I'm just scared though that I won't make it that long. It'll be getting dark again soon and I think the moon might still be full tonight. I hate to say it, but if that's the case, then I hope to *GOD* these straps are tight enough...<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I received this series of mysterious emails. Has anyone heard of this strange town? [RESPONSE] The fourth letter from Mr. McCreary is posted below. You can read the previous letters . In the course of my correspondence with the sender, I was sent five letters in total. While I replied to all the letters and asked various follow up questions, he did not respond to any of my questions except for in this letter. You can read his response to my question at the end of this email. This letter was the strangest yet. *TO:* *FROM:* *SUBJECT: RE: Nowhere* *——————————————————————————————————* *It’s becoming more difficult to write these in time allotted. I think they may be monitoring me. The doctor asked me some unusual questions yesterday, ones that seemed prompted by government officials. Maybe the CIA, FBI…I don’t know. So tonight I’ve snuck into the computer lab without permission. I’ll try to be brief and get this off before anyone finds me.* *So when I left off, I had just reunited with my old friend Wade Murrow. Suffice to say, we were all shocked, especially me. And of course I asked him a barrage of questions about where he’d been, what happened to his kids, why his house was out here in the woods…* *But all of his answers were aloof. Either he was lying or being vague, and for what reason I couldn’t determine. At one point, the doctor leaned over to me.* *“He’s lost his marbles,” he said.* *By the way Wade was acting, I thought it might be true. He claimed that his house was always here, that it never moved. He claimed he never had a wife or children. And he insisted that he’d never disappeared.* *“Wade, you and your family disappeared. We looked for you for months. You’ve been declared a missing person by the Sheriff’s department.”* *“I’m not missing, Everett. I’ve always been right here.”* *It was a strange conversation, with him always twisting words around to avoid answering. Eventually I gave up, and I was starting to believe that the doctor was right. I also decided not to bring up his wife’s death. I wasn’t sure what that would do to him in his current state.* *So I decided to wait until morning to try again. I knew I’d get the information out of him eventually. So we all bed down for the night.* *I don’t know how long I was asleep, but I woke with a start to see Wade hovering over me with a scalpel in his hand. My gun had been placed across the room, out of range. Wade’s hand clamped down hard on my shoulder and he plunged the blade. I’ll never forget what he said when he did it:* *“I have to do this. It’s for your own good,” he said.* *Well, I fought back with all I had, and I’m a good deal stronger than my friend, knife or not. The commotion woke the others.* *The scalpel had sliced into my upper bicep, and blood was streaming down my arm. And for some reason, Wade kept going at the same spot, telling me to calm down and let him do what needed to be done.* *Eventually I threw him off me. I scrambled for the gun to take control of the situation. That backed him off. I shouted for everyone to calm down. That’s when Esther pointed a finger at my arm.* *“What’s that?” she exclaimed.* *I looked down where the blade has slit me, and underneath the skin something was flashing. Emitting a faint light under the skin. I reached for it, bewildered, when Wade lifted his own shirt sleeve to reveal a scar on his own bicep. “That’s how they know where to find you,” he said.* *I stuck my finger in the wound and pulled out what I can only describe as a small metal chip. The others crowded around to see it.* *It was a small rectangle in shape, with a symbol on it, that looked like three 6’s entwined around one another.* *“666 — the number of the Beast,” LeeAnn said.* *Wade handed Doc Singh the knife. “You need to take them out of everyone or you’ll never be free,” he uttered.* *Then came a loud low rumble. The same one we had heard when Percy had disappeared. It was distant, but getting closer.* *“Do it now. All of you. There isn’t much time.” And with that, Wade ran from the cabin into the night. Only saying one last thing to me, “Don’t let them get you, Everett, you were my friend.” And then he was gone.* *There was some protest, but eventually the others allowed the doctor to extract the devices from their arms. We tossed them on the floor, and headed out from the house into the surrounding woods. But when we reached the tree-line, the doctor stopped. “I need to see who’s after us.”* *“No, we need to go. Get as far away from those things as possible,” I urged.* *Then a curious look came over the doctor’s face. “I think I see Marla.”* *Marla was the doctor’s wife, the one who’d run off those many years ago. I glanced back, but I didn’t see anyone. “Come on doctor, we have to go!” I shouted.* *But he wouldn’t listen. He marched back toward the house as if in a trance. Whether he’d actually seen her or not, I didn’t know, but I couldn’t risk us all to follow after him.* *Someone or something was after us. That was for sure. For what reason, I didn’t know. But what Wade had said had scared me enough to get away from there.* *All that mattered to me at that point was finding Ava and Daniel.* *And so we left him.* *It was just me, Esther and LeeAnn from that point on. And the three of us just kept walking through the night.* *We trudged on until a blue dawn began to light the spaces between the trees. Eventually, we emerged from the woods onto an overgrown highway.* *My hope that we were near Brattleboro were soon dashed when we came upon an aging wooden sign along the road.* *It read:* ***Welcome to Bennington***\*.\* *Somehow we must have gotten turned around. I checked the compass, it was heading due east, toward Brattleboro. There was just no way we could’ve looped back. But the sun was rising from the west! That’s when I realized —* *the compass must have been broken*\*. I threw the damn thing in the woods.\* *We were defeated, and with our tail between our legs returned home.* *But as we approached the town, I could see some things were very different.* *The big housing development just outside of town, was gone — nothing but an empty field remained. Where the Dairy Queen once stood was and old fashioned gas station. Even the overpass over I-9 was missing.* *As we treaded further into town, it all became clear…* *This was Bennington all right.* *But as it was in the 1940s!* *I could see the old movie posters at the town theatre. I could see an old Chevy DeLuxe and a Chrysler Thunderbird, parked beside the road. A restaurant boasted: “Steak Dinner: $3.95.”* *It was like walking into a museum from the past, but deserted, abandoned and decaying.* *None of us could say a word. Cold shock ran through our veins.* *On a porch beside the road, someone had scrawled a desperate message into the shingles:* ***“God help us all!”*** *What had happened here, we didn’t dare to guess. But something horrific had occurred.* *We quickly made our way to my farm, but as I suspected, there was nothing but an empty lot. My home had been built in 1963.* *We retreated back into town square and took refuge in the Baptist Church, at LeeAnn’s insistence. To her, it was the only place she thought could protect us from whatever demons roamed out in the world, searching for us.* *It was then we began to pontificate more about the situation. We wondered when and how all this had occurred. Esther kept coming back to the power plant outside Brattleboro.What had once been simple rumors and stories began to take on new suspicious relevance. I recounted all I’d witnessed…* *The soldiers I had seen in town preceding the blackout.* *Some kind of electrical surge.* *The disappearances of the townsfolk.* *The objects and people seemingly lost in time.* *Had the government been tampering with unknown sciences, pushing the boundaries of physics? Had something gone horribly wrong in the aftermath?* *And where was Ava and Daniel? Safe from all this? Or themselves lost somewhere beyond my reach?* *I was leaning more and more toward some kind of government interaction theory, against LeeAnn’s more Biblical one. But frankly, anything was on the table at this point.* *We didn’t do much that day. Rested on the pews. Ate some food from the backpack I had brought.* *At night I woke with a start at a loud ruckus from outside. Esther and LeeAnn heard it too.* *“What the hell is going on out there?” Esther exclaimed.* *I offered to go out and check. I took the revolver with me. The two of them followed close behind me.* *In the darkness, we saw a large and looming shape thrashing around the courthouse. Knocking over trash cans, smashing against cars. What we saw was so out of place of our experience, that I had to shake my head to see if it was true.* *I’m no expert, but the thing looked like a rhinoceros. And I know it sounds insane to say it, but there it was, right in front of us. It was scared and fretting about.* *“That’s a white rhino,” Esther offered. Like I said, she was whip smart, and well-versed in biology and literature. “But they’ve gone extinct.”* *“Not this one,” I countered.* *But she wasn’t amused. She kept trying to relate to me how strange it would be to see such a creature here, let alone this extinct species. I didn’t doubt her. She seemed to know what she was talking about. But before we could figure how a rhino ended up in Vermont, four humanoid shapes approached it from all sides. Slipping out of the darkness.* *At their approach, the huge beast instantly collapsed, as if suddenly knocked unconscious or dead. It hit the ground with a thud that caused us all to stumble.* *That’s when the figures caught sight of us and turned their attention our way.* *“The demons!” LeeAnn shouted as she pointed.* *But I had it my mind to call them something else:* ***Shepherds***\*.\* *The ones who had been herding us like so much cattle.* *Those who wrangled even this giant beast.* *We turned and ran, as fast as our legs would take us. Down the alley and into the town square. It was there we encountered another strange anomaly —* *The ground itself had split open, revealing a tunnel below. It was like a glitch in the landscape, for lack of a better word. The asphalt had lifted, unnaturally from the ground, opening like a mouth coming out of the ground. At first we avoided it, but with little other place to hide, I grabbed Esther by the wrist.* *“We have to go in.”* *“No,” she protested, yanking her hand away. “I’m not going in there. Thats where thy came from.”* *But I was firm. I needed to see what was inside. My curiosity was at a boiling point.* *“I’m going,” I declared. “Hide back in the church if you can.”* *I threw myself inside. It was dark and cavernous. Deadly quiet.* *Moments later I heard Esther and LeeAnn’s feet follow after me.* *And while it seemed somewhat crazy, entering into this ungodly and unnatural place, it was this decision that ultimately helped me to find my way home. Not directly, as you will soon hear, but in a round about sort of way. And if you’ve been following along, you’ve probably figured it out already.* *Because down that corridor, we made the most shocking discovery of all.* *But that’s all the time I have today.* *Also, in reference to your question, I am writing currently from the Capital District Psychiatric Center in Albany, New York. But don’t let that dissuade you from publishing my story. Due to what I ultimately experienced — which I will tell you about in my next letter — they simply want to have me here for observation for a short while. The whole ordeal was quite traumatic and the doctors inform me that they want to make sure I won’t suffer any post traumatic stress.* *I would like to invite you to come visit me here so that I may tell you more in person, and so that in meeting me, you will be able to decide for yourself about the truth of my story.* \- *Everett J. McCreary.* Yesterday, shortly after the posting of this last entry, two men in suits approached my car in the parking lot of a grocery store. They purported to be representatives from the Federal Bureau Of Investigation. These men informed me that it would not be prudent to continue to post any more of McCreary’s letters. When I asked them why, they refused to comment. I told them it was a free country and I was a member of the press, able to write or post anything I wanted. The left politely and without any further harassment. Nonetheless, the encounter did leave me somewhat shaken. When I returned home, I found that my office had been ransacked. Papers had been shuffled and my computer was missing. I reported the incident to the local police but as of today they have no leads and don’t seem very intent on pursuing the issue. I suspect the theft was connected somehow to the two men I encountered. Whether they truly are members of the FBI or not, I do not know. I want to take a moment now to thank the community. Your comments and advice have been most helpful, as well as your warnings. But in the name of journalistic integrity, I have not been diverted from my goal. I have also decided that I will accept Mr. McCreary’s invitation to visit him at the hospital to hear his story in greater detail. Thank you all for your support and advice. I’ll post his in the next installment. As soon as I get a new computer.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My three-week-old daughter started talking, and it’s scaring the shit out of me [RESPONSE] My husband died and our first child was born within the past two months, so all I wanted was for life to be boring for a while. Not ‘normal.’ No, some things crack the foundations of our assumed world so deeply that nothing can ever be normal again. Not even a new routine can feel stable once we’ve genuinely felt how ephemeral our own presence really is. I used to go out every weekend. Now I’m thankful that the baby shit I clean at 3:00 in the morning means I can look forward to two full hours of sleep before Isla screams me awake. She was promised two parents, but got one. Nine pounds and thirteen ounces felt like more than I could carry, but it’s amazing what we’re capable of doing when we have no other choice. Without knowing who was listening, I prayed for a new normal. It found me – or at least its closest facsimile did – and I focused on the things within my control, because that’s the only way to prevent insanity. I slept when my daughter did. The same was true for crying. I learned that motherhood means acting confident in your ability to make things up as you go along. Then I heard the whispering. I’m a light sleeper now, so any noises coming from the baby monitor rattle me. This time was different, though; Isla wasn’t crying, but *some*one was talking. I didn’t realize what ‘fear’ meant until I was racing down the hall, wondering who would be waiting on the other side of my child’s bedroom door. I was terrified of opening it, but my entire body was on autopilot and didn’t even slow down. I burst it open and found- Nothing. Isla was alone in her crib, just as I’d left her. I stepped toward her, hands and arms trembling, as the moon bathed her crib in pale light. When I stood over her, I saw that Isla was staring at me. She had been the whole time. She was smiling. “Hi, Mama.” My stomach fell to the floor as I grabbed the crib for support. This was *impossible*. Of course I wanted to hear those words, but no three-week-old was capable of speech. I was either hallucinating or dreaming; there was no other possibility. “Daddy’s dead.” I almost collapsed. This felt too real. It *was* real. Isla’s lips moved, clean and articulate, like she was an adult. Nothing about this made sense. I wanted to be happy for her, but it was too weird. Too *wrong*. I didn’t want to go through this alone in my baby’s dark bedroom at night. I looked at my daughter, hoping she didn’t know that she made me afraid, and realizing that somehow she did. I tried to form words, but my mouth didn’t work. I felt like every muscle had frozen, crystalline, in place. “Daddy’s dead because someone cut his throat open with a knife.” I fell to the ground. Every joint felt like hot wax; I wanted to vomit through my eyes. I’m not proud of the fact that I left her alone, but I was sure that no one else was in the room. I would have died for Isla there and then if necessary; but, in the absence of a threat, I had to retreat. So I crawled, hand over hand, through the hallway and into my room. I lacked the energy to climb back into bed. So I curled into the fetal position, clutching the edge of my blanket and focusing on breathing. Sometimes, that’s all you can do. I stared at the moon and wondered who might be looking back, because *some*one was watching. How else could Isla have known that I ? <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Eaten [RESPONSE] Document notes:  Account comes to me in the form of a witness statement, and if the header is to be believed, from the Killaloe Ontario Provincial Police department. Fairly local. I don't recall this incident when it happened but a cursory web search uncovers several news articles about a bear attack in the Madawaska Valley that claimed the lives of a small group of young backpackers. According to this document, it wasn’t a bear that killed those kids. I’ve changed names and redacted sensitive information, including  phone numbers and addresses.  “KILLALOE ONTARIO PROVINCIAL POLICE DEPARTMENT Date: Sunday, July 27, 2008. Time of incident: late evening to early morning of the 27th. Type of incident: wild animal attack. Please describe what you saw: I saw my friends dying. I saw a lot of blood. I saw a neat pile of guts on a stump. That one didn’t have any blood on it, actually, but I saw where one end of the intestines was packed with shit. I don’t think someone should have to see something like that. The insides of one of their friends just lying on a stump like a birthday cake. We were out camping for the weekend. It was me, Casey, Theo, Chantelle, and Sylvain. It was a nice time. Before, you know. The “animal attack.”  We wanted to backpack a little rougher that weekend. We’re pretty much broke so we used that as an excuse to have a bit more of a wild experience. Figured that the hiking would give us a little extra muscle in time for most of us to go to university. I was taping a going-away video for everyone, too, so I brought my camcorder. Me and Sylvain were both headed to Brock but I wanted to give everyone a DVD at the end of summer to remember the good times. So we bushwhacked to Brule lake. Even borrowed my dad's sat phone but with the cell towers they just put up I don’t know why we bothered. Brought a map and compass, too, but Chantelle had just gotten one of those iPhones with the huge screen so she just used that as a GPS. We found the lake just fine. Swam a bunch. Fished a little. Drank some beers. Blasted some music. God, when I write it all down I feel like a chick from a slasher. Titties out and wearing a sign that says “kill me!” We’ve all done plenty of time in the woods, though. For fuck’s sake, I was in scouts, and if there’s an institution that drills a more insufferably fussy set of camping habits into your brain then I’d love to see it! I had us set up with a pully for hanging our food and garbage, I had us a latrine dug, I had us four pairs of pantyhose for draining the solids out of our grey water and I even had a really old can of bear mace from one of my friends that works with the Ministry of Natural Resources. It was expired but I figured it couldn’t hurt. We knew what we’re doing and we were being safe. We hiked out Friday at lunchtime and got there mid-afternoon, set up camp, did our stuff, hung out, whatever. Overnight was fine, probably heard the normal amount of wildlife you hear near a lake but didn’t really see anything much bigger than a chipmunk.  Second night... second night also started fine. Chantelle went to bed early but me, Casey, Theo and Sylvain stayed up around the fire and just talked about school. We wanted to finish the rest of the beers so we wouldn’t have to carry the liquid weight out, and Chantelle usually wore earplugs to sleep so we didn’t worry too much about keeping really quiet. I got the idea that I'd have everyone around the fire tell her something like “don’t worry, we’re going to school but we’ll come back to this crappy little town all the time because we love you so much!” I don’t think her folks could afford college or anything so, yeah, hence the fancy little iPhone as a consolation prize, I think. We ran low on firewood eventually so I went to scrounge a little more and brought my camera to see if I could get a nice shot of the lake in moonlight. Theo followed me out that way too for just about the same reason, he wanted to get a nice view of the lake in moonlight while he took a leak. We separated somewhere along the shore, I got my shot of the lake, and I didn’t see him alive again. I was heading back and picking up some pieces of deadwood as I went. I was goofing around with taping myself doing some lame tricks with the bits of wood so I was taking my time and being loud, laughing and stuff. I was pretty tipsy at that point. I thought I heard Theo coming back from his piss break so I called out to him to get some sticks and start, I dunno, juggling them or something for the camera, but I don’t see him when I look through the trees.  I call out for him. I’m thinking he maybe forgot his flashlight and he’s wandering around a little lost so I step off the really light path we had going from our camp to the water and look around for him. Nothing. So I figure I’d just heard a raccoon or something moving around the woods and he’s already made it back to the fire without me. I turn around to do the same and I realize I can’t see the fire from where I am. Now that’s already crazy to me. I didn’t go that far and I am seriously not so drunk that I'd lose my way like that. So then I remember, duh, the fire went out, you are literally out here to collect firewood, don’t freak out. So I start walking a little ways in the direction I *know* the campsite was. Nothing. Okay. No big deal. I reorient myself to the moon, which was rising on the far side of the lake literally five minutes ago when I got my footage, and start walking towards that. I start freaking out a little then because it was taking a *lot* longer than five minutes and I didn’t even catch a glimpse of the lake through the trees, even though I could feel the downslope to the shore. So I smarten up and stop, get ready to have everyone back at camp laugh at me for getting lost, and am just about to call out when I see it. That stump. The one with a pile of intestines and a bag that I think was Theo’s stomach just sitting on top of it as neat as you please. The breath goes outta me. First I think I’m looking at parts of a dead deer or something. Hell, for all I know maybe it was and Theo is still out there. I’m looking at this pile and I see its *steaming.* I realize I can *smell* it. I’m still thinking it’s a deer at that point, but I knew that something pulled the thing apart so I drop my camcorder and most of the wood. I have my survival knife in one hand, a big piece of wood from my pile the other, and I’m looking around with my headlamp in case the bear or coyote or wolf is still around. I’m out there on high alert and I hear panting from somewhere in the trees. Dog panting. Coyote or wolf panting. I have my eyes everywhere. I know I should start yelling to get my friends attention and to frighten away whatever is making the sound but I’m so scared. I can smell that pile of guts and another on top of that, a thick, fishy stink and it’s getting worse. I back into a tree and the panting is so loud. I turn around and it *was* a tree I bumped into but there’s something standing right behind it with half it’s face staring out at me. I’m so close that I don’t even see the edges of it’s head in the circle of light from my headlamp. One yellow eye glares back at me from a wall of fur. It doesn’t even blink when the light hits it. The pupil is so dark. The thing behind the tree doesn’t move but I fall to my knees anyway and just stare at the ground at it’s feet. It’s breath is like a waterfall and it’s so, so cold. It washes down my throat through my open mouth and I think I start crying but I stay silent. My eyes stay down. It’s front feet are dug into the leaf litter like tree roots. They’re flexing and kneading the earth and I know one swipe would open me up. I hear saliva snapping above me and I know the grin I glimpsed on my way down to my knees has turned into an open maw. It lowers it’s long snout until I can see its front teeth and tongue and lips and it starts speaking to me in a low, buzzing growl. It’s tongue flickers over it’s teeth and there are huge engorged ticks crusted around the strip of skin where coarse dark fur transitions to the pebbled surface of it’s nose. Saliva drips from its mouth and I see small animal bones captured in each drop like bugs in amber. It’s been talking but I don’t have the shape of the words. I knew I was going to be killed and eaten by this thing the second I came face-to-face with it, that this short moment between being spotted and being torn apart was just an appetizer. That’s why it so carefully draped the least edible parts of Theo on the stump for me to see. It wants me to marinate. Like a nice piece of meat. While I wait for the teeth to close around my neck I start getting a notion. Not even a thought, just an impression. That maybe I can appease it. Do a little dance as I slide down it’s throat. That even though I’m caught, I’m dead, I’m eaten, I can still somehow earn just the faintest touch of mercy from it if I just... do something to amuse it. So I did. I got to my feet and it stopped speaking. It just stared and grinned and panted. It panted so fast you’d think it was dying. I walked back to camp. I felt it right behind me the entire time. At the edge of the trees I had another one of those notions so I took off all my clothes and put them into a pile. I walked up to the firepit with my three friends and the embers of our campfire and I killed them all with my buck knife. It was no trouble. I went into Chantelle’s tent after that and I killed her too. It watched me from the edge of camp. It had found a tree to stand behind and watch with only one eye. It panted. It grinned. After they were all dead I walked to the lake and waded out to my neck and stayed there until dawn. It watched me from the shore until it wasn’t anymore. Then I put all my clothes back on and walked out of the woods. I did it. I killed my friends at Brule Lake. I did it because I thought it might amuse the thing from the woods. Now I want you to lock me up. I’m guilty. And I’m still somewhere in it’s mouth. Alive. But just waiting for it to bite down." Closing notes: Signatures, dates, a declaration of the statement being the whole truth and nothing but the truth followed the above. The witness is still alive. I found her in a maximum-security mental hospital but I’ve been unable to reach her for any comments on the case, nor the families of those involved. The police are also no help at all. They say this was just a particularly brutal animal attack and the lone, traumatized survivor has been institutionalized. To pry further might compromise my... privacy so I’m left alone wondering whether or not the investigators truly believe the story they told the press. I wonder if the witness’s camcorder was recovered and if it stayed recording through the attack. The things I would do get my hands on it.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I was sent to the wrong type of jail [RESPONSE] I was moved from county jail in October of 2016, following my conviction for armed robbery. I’m not here to garner sympathy, but I want to be clear on a couple of things; this was an unfair sentence. Not in the usual “innocent man put in jail” type of shlock, but in the way that they were clearly pushing me towards being put in a particular jail. I had my blood tested, and my hair was sent to a lab. They took pictures of my fingernails. I’d never seen anything like it, but I was basically catatonic; I was in a bad place. Wanted it all to just be over. At the time, I didn’t think much about the processing. I didn’t think about the records that were passed between the guards and doctors, and I didn’t care much about the blue rubber stamps that were put at the base of every signed legal document. I didn’t know what was normal and what wasn’t. I just wanted to get into the haze and no-brain the next six or so years away. I was put in a cell with Lian Soon, a Chinese American man. To this day, I don’t have the slightest idea what he was in for. Guy looked like your average college kid, but there was just something off about him. He just had this look of complete dissociation, like he was miles away. He never really looked at you; it was as if he looked straight through you. Then again, a lot of inmates get that. I barely managed to talk to him in the first few days. We agreed that I took the top bunk, but that was pretty much all we managed to talk about. We had a straightforward schedule. Breakfast and work up ‘til 11, lunch, more work, some yard time, dinner. After that, we either got to our specialized programming time (religious services, NA, anger management, etc) or an extra hour in the yard. Then back in the cell, lights out by 11. In my first few days, I had to go through a lot of orientation. There were the kind of who’s-who introductions you might expect, but also just someone pointing to which shelf they stock the detergent. Basic stuff. I got a job cleaning the beddings. They were so cheap that a firm enough poke would go straight through ‘em, like a piece of paper. Washing them was basically putting them in a shredder. We had to go on such a low setting that they rarely ever got clean. I swear I saw a cockroach in one of the pillowcases once, and the damn thing was still alive after the wash and dry. The pillows were also crap. They ripped easily, and feathers would get stuck to everything. Probably wasn’t a room in this whole facility without feathers littering the floor. Hell, they were even in the yard. Most of them were, in fact. We’d have rotating schedules, so I rarely got to work with the same people two days in a row. I started to recognize a few faces, but people mostly kept to themselves. There was no locker room talk, no braggarts, no bravado; just people hunkering down and shutting up. But even early on, I noticed something was off. I think it all came down to the yard. People stayed away from the prison yard. No one used the exercise equipment. People just stuck to the walls, or silently walked by the fences. There were no loud conversations, no sports, nothing. And as soon as that free hour was up, people were pushing to get back in. From day one, I got the impression that the yard was a bad place to be, but no one was telling me why. What kind of prison has dust on the free weights? By the end of the first week, I’d started to get into the routine. I was out cold by 10 most nights. Hell, I had the bedding with the least holes in ‘em, might as well use that luxury. But there was that one night when I just couldn’t sleep. I’d lay down, and then all of a sudden I’d be wide awake. There was this whistling wind that came down the hall, and it just kept echoing in the back of my head. At first it was a wind, then a whistle. And with no other sound around, it kept growing in my head until it sounded like a goddamn fire truck siren. I’d push my hands against my ears, cover my head in a pillow, but it didn’t do a thing. Finally, I just started to mutter to myself; just to fill the air with some other noise. “Please stop,” I’d whisper. “Please stop.” And the funny thing? It did. It stopped. The next day, I was exhausted. I kept nodding off. Breakfast, lunch, dinner… pretty much anytime I could sit down. The guards would push me awake, and the other inmates just sort of stared at me. Some of them actively avoided me, like there was something wrong with me. When it was time for the yard, the guards took me aside and asked me to help clean the common area. No yard time for me, gotta sweep some feathers. That night, I went to bed as soon as I could. But the moment my head hit that pillow I was wide awake again. And down through the hall, there was that howling wind. There was no way for me to sleep. The sound just kept growing, and all my tiredness was just… gone. Whispering didn’t work anymore; I had to speak out loud. Around midnight, I was still awake. I was just lying there, talking to myself. Putting words to the random thoughts in the back of my head to keep my mind occupied. Anything to drown out that awful droning noise outside. I couldn’t let it grow further. It was like trying to stop a ship from sinking, one bucket of water at a time. I don’t have the slightest idea how Lian tolerated it, but he didn’t say a word. Things just got worse. I couldn’t sleep that entire night, so when it was time to get up I could barely stand. I fell asleep brushing my teeth, dropping my toothbrush in the sink. I was so used to talking to myself by then that I’d blurt out whatever came to mind. I was sleep deprived, exhausted, and just… confused. And people took notice. There was this one guy, Marlin, who was about as new as I was. Short, athletic guy who was just itching for a fight. I accidentally bumped into him in the lunch queue, and he went off on me. Pushed me out of the line, bashed me over the face with a tray, and just started whaling on me. The guards were taking their sweet time, so I just had to take it. But I couldn’t. There was just something in me that wanted to hurt this guy. I grabbed his shirt and looked him in the eyes. “You wanna get whipped, greenie?” I said. “You want us to whip you?” I don’t know where the words came from. It was just the first thing that came to mind, and the sleep deprivation just forced it out of my mouth like a hiccup. “W-what… what did you say?” he stammered. “I asked if the little greenie wanted a whipping.” He backed off. His jaw went slack as he just stared at me, unblinking. Just as I’d found words out of nowhere, he’d lost them. His eyes teared up as he backed himself up against a wall. The prison guards came up to restrain us, and I could see all the fight had run out of him. “See you at the orchard, greenie,” I added. “Whip whip!” Marlin broke down. He screamed, tears running out of his eyes. He dropped to the floor, and the guards had to carry him out. I thought I’d feel good after that. But the way everyone was staring at me made me feel like a museum exhibit. I had this sickeningly wide smile painted on my face; but it wasn’t mine. None of this was me. I was losing control, and it scared the hell out of me. I was a puppet. That night, I didn’t even bother trying to sleep. I knew that as soon as I’d lay down to try, I’d just be wide awake again. Instead, I tried sleeping on my feet, or sitting on the floor. This time, Lian couldn’t ignore me. He sat up on his bed, looking at me, instead of through me. “You on something?” he asked. “You itchin’?” “Nah,” I said, shaking my head. “Just… broken. Something’s not right.” “You phobic? Trouble with the walls?” “Maybe, I-I… I dunno. Can’t sleep.” ”Looks like you sleep all the time, just not in here.” “Yeah,” I sighed. “Yeah, that’s about right.” “They stamp you when you got here? You got any stamps?” “Some, yeah. Blue ones.” “Everyone gets blue ones. What shape?” “Dunno,” I shrugged. Lian took a long look at me. In those few dragging seconds, I could hear the wind outside growing louder, and I winced. I groaned to drown out the noise, but it was barely working. I might have to scream to keep it together for another night. “They got two stamps,” he said. “A hand, and a sunflower. You sure you don’t know which one you got?” “Which did you get?” I asked. “What do they mean?” “I got the hand,” he said. “Most of us did. No idea what it means, but the sunflowers are always a bit…” He pointed at me, as to make a point. “Maladaptive.” “Private prisons,” I chuckled. “Bullshit, all of it.” Lian leaned back in his bed and closed his eyes. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Sorting us into flowers and hands like a goddamn daycare. Probably got a woodchuck and dolphin stamp too.” Lian was out like a light, but as expected, I couldn’t sleep. I paced back and forth, screamed into a pillow, and tried massaging my ears. The scratching noise sort of helped, but I still found myself restless. Finally, I got out of bed and pressed my head against the door. Maybe if I let the wind howl, it’ll take pity on me. Maybe it would get to a point where it’d either kill me, or stop. I didn’t care which, as long as something happened. But the strangest thing came to me. As I pressed my head against the door, the sound became clearer. The wind softened to a whistle, and then a gentle hum. The more I tried to lean into it, to listen, the more beautiful it became. Right there, leaning against the door, I had the best sleep of my entire life. The next morning, Lian pulled me up as the guards did their rounds. I’d slept all through the night, and I felt amazing. But even then and there, at my best, I could hear a little piercing sound. That wind, that whisper, was still in the back of my mind; even now during daytime. But all I had to do was lean into it, to listen, and a wave of calm would wash over me. It worried me how easy it was. “You got through it?” Lian asked. “I’m getting there.” I wasn’t paying much attention during breakfast. I was zoned out, listening to what’d turned into a melody. Something was speaking to me, but not through words. Through emotions, and sensation. So it wasn’t a word that warned me about Marlin creeping up on me with a sharpened toothbrush. It wasn’t the guards, or the other inmates. No, it was something in the back of my mind screaming at me to hurt him. So I did. All I heard was laughter. There was this alien joy springing up in my chest, forcing me to my feet. I remember turning around, and the world looking different. I felt four feet taller. I was looking into Marlin’s eyes. But I didn’t see him; I saw a teenage kid running through an orchard, hunted by his older brothers who wanted to beat him with a tire iron. “Whip whip!” When I came to, I was still laughing. It wasn’t my own laugh, and neither was the joy. The howling wind was finally quiet, but I felt like a stranger in my own body. I couldn’t feel my limbs, and it took me seconds just to orient myself. To remember my fingers, my feet, my eyes. Marlin was bleeding on the floor from a dozen wounds. Deep bruising, broken bones. Possibly brain damage from repeated hits to the side of the head. Involuntary twitching, like a fish out of water, his mouth opening and closing. Like me, he just couldn’t find the words. It looked like I’d beaten him with a goddamn tire iron. I was taken back to my cell without a word, paraded through the halls like a prize. I could feel the other inmates staring at me, trying to figure me out. As soon as I looked their way, I saw them recoil. I don’t know what the hell they’d seen, but they were looking at me like a goddamn monster. I was locked in my cell for hours. No one was allowed in. And all the while, I kept hearing something in the back of my head, singing to me, asking me to listen just a little closer. And as soon as I resisted, that noise turned to pain. Within minutes, I was pacing the cell, spewing whatever nonsense came flooding through my mind. Nonsense about everything and everyone, just… noise. When the guards finally opened the door, I turned to them without skipping a beat. They had their tasers ready. “Deb doesn’t know if Eddy is really your son,” I rambled. “You think he was premature, but she had that time with Irvin at her job the month before. She thinks about telling you. She thinks that might just be the push you need to finally divorce.” A taser to the neck, and I didn’t even feel it. As I dropped to the floor in a spasm, my body was screaming with laughter. “He had her on the copier! She didn’t even think about you! She hoped to see him there again the next week!” And there, somewhere deep inside, I found my own thoughts and words; standing by as someone else held the reins. I wanted to tear my ears out, to make it all go away, but I couldn’t even move my hands. I’d listened too long, and too closely, and now the guards were dragging me by the neck. They took me out to the yard. I heard them talking. They were standing next to me, carrying me, but it still sounded like they were in another room. I could barely make out their voices. “Hatchetmen mixed up the bloodworks,” they said. “Got the wrong class.” “Shit, we got a bloomer? We had a bloomer this whole time?” “It’s a goddamn Christmas miracle he didn’t pop his cellie.” “So why we takin’ him out?” “Just making sure. Protocol.” “Fuck protocol.” “Fuck off.” They left me in the middle of the yard, lining up in a circle around me. The guard I’d been yelling at stayed inside, weeping over a picture. After a few minutes, I felt a tingle in my hands. It felt like being poured back into my body, like my mind was a liquid. It all came back to me, one thing at a time. Language, memories, senses. Choice. Suddenly, I was standing up. The wind was clearer out in the open. It was colder than expected, and I wasn’t even wearing my shoes. There was a stillness in the air, but there was something menacing to it. Like the eye of a storm. “Nothing’s happening!” I heard. “We take him in?” “Hold on. Look up.” From afar, it looked like snow. I didn’t even question it. Snow in mid-July? Sure. Why not. But it wasn’t snow. A white feather touched my nose. I looked up into the clouds. And there, far above, I saw something looking back. I can’t explain what I felt at that moment. It felt like I was looking into an eye in the sky, an impossible physical being, but there was nothing there. And yet, it spoke through me; like playing a mind-game of charades with myself. Pictures flashing in the back of my mind, trying to reach an understanding. Hundreds of memories pounding at the front of my brain every second, like a pitcher being filled up and spilling over the edge. I got a nosebleed trying to keep up. My eyes rolled back, but I still felt like I was looking up. It was easier to see with my eyes closed. My mouth seized up from trying to find a thousand words at once, instead settling on noises and grunts. There were parts that were crystal clear. It showed me memories I didn’t know I had. It showed me my eyes opening for the first time, little hands grabbing my mother’s cardigan. Her big 80’s glasses making her eyes look like a cartoon. It showed me up waking in my crib, reaching for the little toys dancing overhead. And I understood what it meant; that we were born with this instinctual drive to reach beyond our means. To stretch towards the sky. To grab and pull down the unknown to us, making it a part of ourselves. That the most basic instinct of my being was meant to be here, to do this. To reach up. “No,” I wheezed. All was silent. I looked down, as I floated six feet off the ground. “No!” I groaned. Memories of long-lost dreams came rushing back. Pleasant thoughts you don’t want to wake from. Promise of love, lust, joy, and comfort. It was all there, just waiting for me to take it. All I had to do was reach for it. To reach into the sky, and take it. But there was something more. That eye in the sky, looking down at me. Not malevolent, not angry, not evil; just vast beyond comprehension. I was nothing more than a strand of wheat, being plucked into the air by a curious farmer. “No! No, no, no!” I screamed. They came running up to me. Guards grabbed my legs, pulling me down. It felt like I was being torn in half; part of me desperately reaching upwards, and my conscious self holding me to the ground. All the while, the pleasant silence was turning from a whisper to a scream. “We got it!” a guard yelled as the weather picked up. “Get him outta here! Get him-“ Something let go off me. The guard on my left lost his breath as he suddenly went limp. With nothing but a whistle, I saw him whisked into the sky. Not a word of protest, not a sound. Just a human life growing smaller and disappearing overhead. I dropped to the ground as they scrambled to get inside. Another guard fell flat on his stomach as something invisible grabbed his ankles. Again, a soft whistle, and he was gone. A spot in the dark. “Run! Come on!” The other guards were standing by the entrance, holding the doors open. They were waving at me, desperate for me to just… run. But every part of me wanted to stay. To reach up. To touch the sky and go back to that place I was meant to be. To feel my mother’s cardigan between my baby-soft fingertips, and to look into the night sky with wonder of what could be. It was all there. And yet, my body knew to run. The moment I got inside, I heard thumping. Chunks of meat sprayed across the yard, fragments of bone getting stuck in the barbed wire. Fabric torn into shreds. Whatever was up there was happy now, and the howling wind was silent. We all just stood there. I could barely breathe. I’d been so close to surrendering, to give into it. Whatever was up there had no intention of caring for me. There was no love, no joy, no comfort. All it could promise me was a swift death at best, or the life of a sleepless puppet. But for a moment, we all just stood there. We weren’t inmate and prison guards. In that moment we were just people, trying to understand ourselves. I got processed the next day. They double-checked my blood. Turns out they’d contaminated my result; sloppy work from the esteemed people at Hatchet Biotechnica. This time, I saw them clearly stamp my papers. Blue ink, in the shape of a little sunflower. I was taken out of state. They said it was a matter of security, on account of getting in fights with Marlin. Apparently he’d broken both legs, and his shoulder. Still, I knew better. This wasn’t a matter of security; this was about fixing a grave mistake. This prison had a purpose, but I wasn’t part of it. Instead, I did my time in a place with no wind, and now I’m out on parole. To this day, I get a shiver up my spine when I hear the whistling wind. I’m scared of my dreams, of my memories. I’m afraid there’s still something in me that wants me to go back; to look up. My psychiatrist, doctor Bogan, tells me I’ve got an agoraphobic trauma to deal with. She says she has some kind of experimental treatment for it, but I don’t know. Overexposure therapy sounds dangerous. But even now, I find myself suddenly waking in the middle of the night. My body talking to itself. Telling truths I couldn’t possibly know to an empty room. Sometimes not even in my own language. Sometimes in no language at all. Every now and then, a white feather still lands on my shoulder. And I just know that looking up will be the end of me. Or the start.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I HAVE TO GET RID OF THIS GUITAR I FOUND [PART FIVE] [RESPONSE] “I recently found a lead that might help in the search for my brother, William “Wills” Forte. A journal he had written, along with a cassette that was filled with what can only be described as very unusual field recordings. Kirk Hammett has agreed to quickly transpose the less complex portions of the cassette while keeping the integrity of the original field recordings intact. These you can play or loop alongside the reading of each part, to create the appropriate mood for these journal entries. We still advise you take precautions before listening to the recordings.” – Abigail Forte PART FIVE: 40 Miles to Vegas \*\* The rain had stopped. I knew a few of the people standing around the open grave, but not all. I had never met any of Cristopher’s family before, and I’m pretty sure none of them really wanted to meet me. The hole had been dug the night before and was now enclosed by a plastic ring that rose above the pit. There was a hill of dirt, also covered by the black plastic to the side of the hole, but where the grave was shielded from the mourner’s eyes, the mound was covered in plastic flowers. Celebrate what goes on top, not what lies beneath. I knew I should stay back, let the burial proceed and keep my place as a spectator, but I had to say a last farewell. I could sense Francis stiffening in disapproval behind me. Ignoring him, I moved forwards. The sky was dark, crows were gathering on the grass and graves around us, waiting for the storm. I peered over the plastic, expecting to see a coffin, expecting to be able to say goodbye to Cristopher, and instead I see another hallucination. His body, tortured, disfigured, pale and bloody and wrapped in torn white plastic. Most of the body covered, the plastic now dripping with the rain that has started to fall again, wisps of the wrap flicking across his face, his black hair plastered over his eyes, which open, showing nothing but blackness. I fall backwards, trying to scream, but unable to breathe, no sound escapes. I’m on the ground, shaking, rain falling on my face, still unable to make a sound, and I realize I’m looking up at grief-stricken faces, walls of dirt and earth moving up around me. I’m at the bottom of a freshly dug grave. I’m the one wrapped in plastic and unable to move. I’m the one trapped as Cristopher’s coffin is raised and moved over me, and slowly lowered upon me. I try to scream again. All I can see now is the bottom of the coffin, and all around me is a stench of wet dirt and rotting flowers, and then the coffin is dropped upon me with its dead body weight. \*\* I sit up fast, heart racing, head pounding. I’m in a car, seatbelt tight around me. I start to struggle. “Wills, it’s okay!” Octavia, driving, glances over at me. It takes a couple of seconds for me to get my bearings, and then it hits me, “The guitar! Where is the guitar!?” Octavia nodded, “Bad news. Corso tricked us. We need to get it back.” I stare out the window, the passing scenery unfamiliar, and I’m feeling a bit queasy. How long was I out? I look over at Octavia, and for the first time she looks worried. She sees my concern, “I’m fine. You, however, are not. You’ve been drifting in and out ever since we left the motel. At least you’re still with us, so the guitar is still connected to you. The distance has got to be affecting you though.” "Us?" I ask and feel a hand on my shoulder. I jump, startled. “It’s just me, relax.” It’s Abbie. I shift in my seat to look back at her. “How did you get here?” I ask. “You don’t remember?” She says, surprised. “No, I got pretty much nothing after the Detective showed me that picture...” My father. It’s not possible. I can remember the last time I saw him, and I remember he looked the same as he looked in the photograph. He hadn’t aged a day. Which wasn’t possible. Then I looked at Octavia, one hand on the wheel, her left arm crooked and hanging out the window, and I realize there’s a lot of nutty stuff going on in my life that’s not possible. “Why was my dad at the bar? What was he doing there?” Octavia is silent for a moment, and then answers softly, “As far as I can tell, he’s the one who planted the pick that brought the Ekimmu to your whereabouts. I didn’t tell you then, but two of those bodies we found were no longer human, just emptied out shells. I think your father removed the demons from their hosts and placed the pick where you found it. That’s not something a mere mortal can do easily, so I’m also thinking your father may no longer be who you think he is.” I nod and turn to look out the window, not wanting anyone to see how freaked out I was feeling. “So, where are we going and ... where the hell are we?” “We’re getting close to Grand Junction, about halfway to Vegas.” Octavia tells me. “The detective and his ... friend” she continued, with a hint of disdain, “Are meeting us there.” Abbie chimes in, “I came by your room last night. I was going to try to convince you to let me come along, but I didn’t really have to. Octavia thought it would be a good idea, and she filled me in.” “She told you everything?” I ask. “Never everything, darling, but enough.” Octavia replied with a wink. “But just so we’re all on the same page here, Corso made a deal with your Mr. Velvét..." According to Octavia, while Corso and other demons cannot wield the powers of the guitar while it is connected to me, there is nothing to stop it from being played by another human. If Corso can show Harry which notes to play, and with a little blood and sacrifice, it is possible to redirect the curse. That would allow Corso to use the guitar against Mael, which is all he really wants. The only problem with this scenario is that I end up dead. “Worse than dead, actually...” Octavia says. “Not helping.” I can feel the guitar pulling at my insides. I know it’s only going to get more and more unpleasant until that thing is in my hands again. I glance back at my sister, “And tell me why it’s a good idea that you’re here?” “Wills, it’s because our father is involved. Look, I’m not saying you haven’t had things to deal with, but you didn’t have to deal with mom. He has to be accountable for what he did to our family, and that’s that.” She was right. “But watch it, this is serious business. You listen to us, and don’t try anything stupid.” I said sternly. “Oh, look who’s finally playing the part of the big brother.” Abbie snorted. “You still have the gris-gris bag?” “Yeah,” I say, patting my pocket. “Let me see that.” Octavia says. I dig it out and hand it to her. Still driving, she holds it in her right hand, as if weighing it. “This is a good one.” She glances at Abbie in the rear-view mirror, sniffs the bag. “You made this?” “No, our mom did.” “I’m impressed. Seems like there’s strong juju in your bloodline, Wills. Must be part of what attracted the Asag to you.” “Asag?” Abbie asks. I look back at her. “The demon in the guitar.” I watched all the blood drain from her complexion as she sits back in her seat. I can tell it’s slowly dawning upon her. This isn’t just us looking for a guitar. There’s some real evil shit going down, and we are all in danger. Octavia is still holding the bag. She hands it back to me. “It doesn’t affect you?” I ask. “I can feel its power, but I’m not challenging it. It’s protecting you. I’m not a threat, at the moment.” She flashes a quick grin. “I’m pretty sure it’s helping you deal with the distance of the guitar. Without it you might be experiencing even worse flashes." We pull into a parking lot in front of an old diner. “We’ve still got about seven hours before we hit Las Vegas, and I’m betting you won’t want to stop again.” Octavia says, “So here’s your last chance coffee stop.” The three of us head into the diner. Abbie and I following Octavia. The doors are open, it’s bright inside, music is playing, but emptiness ... there’s no people. I notice an unpleasant but now familiar stench, like blood and rotting meat. Octavia stops suddenly, “this isn’t right.” I agree, “Abbie, get back to the car.” “But...” Now.” I insist, turning around and pointing her back outside. That’s when I saw an old beat-up yellow ford pickup pull out from behind the diner and drive away. The same vintage 50’s Ford that my dad used to drive. I couldn’t tell who was driving, but felt my stomach drop, “It’s a trap!” “Yeah, I had a feeling.” Octavia was looking at the door that led to the kitchen. It was swinging open slowly, but the thing coming out was definitely not our waiter. At least not anymore. Behind me I heard Abbie start to scream, while in front of me I watched Octavia transform into a more demonic form of herself. Her arms elongated slightly, her fingers stretching, nails sharpening. Her neck seemed to stretch up a few inches while something moved under her jacket, like her shoulder blades were trying to push out of her body. “What is it?” I asked, my voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. “One of those Ekimmus?” “No, this is a younger demon.” Octavia stops, lifts her head up, smelling the air. Her arms move back behind her, almost crossing. Long, stretched out, sharp and ready to strike. “But dangerous. A Nalai.” “Nalai?” Abagail whispers, beside me now. “Abbie,” I hiss. “Get out of here!” But it was too late. The creature moved with a sudden burst of unbelievable speed, its wide gaping mouth drooling a blackish liquid. It had wings, unfurling like a bat attacking. I thought it was going for Octavia, but it swooped up and over, before diving down towards me... No... My sister! I had seconds to react. I pushed her aside, ignoring her shout of protest. She fell between a couple of tables and the creature, horrible claws outstretched, missed her, but the talons scraped along my inner arm in passing. The scratches burned as if flames had sliced my skin. The thing turned, wings scraping the floor like nails on a chalkboard, then dove back towards us. Reaching about for anything that might be used as a weapon, I grabbed a handful of silverware from the countertop, and let it all drop to the floor except for a knife. As it flew towards me, I fell to my knees. Screaming from the pain in my arms I held the knife up steady, cutting into the creature’s belly as it passed above me. It let out a screech that made me drop the knife and cover my ears. I saw Abbie doing the same, now cowering behind the counter. The thing careened across the diner, its black blood splattering and squirting everywhere as it crashed through the serving hatch into the back. Octavia, however, did not seem to be affected like we were. She dove after the creature, her body slimming and elongating as it moved through the narrow space above the counter into the kitchen. I moved fast. I help Abbie up and half pulling her, half dragging her, we make it out to the car. “What the hell is going on? What the hell is that thing, and what the hell is that other thing you call Octavia?” Abbie yells at me as I practically push her into the car. “Demons. That’s all I got right now.” I mutter as I try to get the car started. I’m expecting explosions, fire, screams, blood... But there’s just a quiet stillness followed by a slight breeze blowing by, then Octavia walks out of the diner talking to a young woman. She’s wearing a long flowy black dress, and long black hair with flowing streams of white. Octavia looks up and waves, and I pause my frantic efforts as they approach the car. “Wills, we’ve got company.” Octavia says. We rearrange our seating positions, so Octavia is behind the wheel, the black-haired woman is next to her, and me and my sister are in the back. The woman turns around, and with a smile and a short wave says, “You can call me Mag.” Up close I can see long scars along her arms, and dark patches of what looks like dried blood on her dress. “Are you...” I look at the diner then back at Mag. “The creature that attacked you? Yes.” She turns to face forwards as Octavia pulls out towards the interstate. My sister and I both lean back, look at each other, mouths agape, then glare at the woman in the passenger seat. “Octavia?” I say, both curious and suspicious. “Mag is a Nalai, a sort of ... vampire, I guess? And this was definitely a set-up.” Octavia says. “She’s sorry. Mag? say you’re sorry.” Mag nods but doesn’t turn around. Her hand is clutching the door handle tight. Is this demon afraid? As if reading my thoughts, she speaks. Quietly and quickly. “I hate cars. Don’t trust them. I usually travel alone, at night. Flying. I am sorry about earlier. I didn’t know who you were, but I was told you were here to destroy me. Hunt me. The Succubus tells me you are not. It was the other human. It smelled like you, but different. Something darker, broken...” “Mag, it’s okay. We’re good.” Octavia reaches over, putting a hand on her shoulder. “So why did you attack Abbie?” I ask, leaning forwards. “I didn’t mean to. It was supposed to be you. But there was a wall. A protection. I couldn’t get to you. I was pushed off course. A mistake.” “The gris-gris bag.” Abbie whispered. She looked a little more together, though I could tell this was still making her uncomfortable. “It worked. It stopped her from getting to you.” “Why is my father trying to kill me?” I demanded. “It has to do with the guitar,” Octavia said. “And the way the curse moves. If you die before the curse runs its course, then the curse moves to another in your bloodline before it would move to someone else. If it was your father’s guitar, yet you now are the carrier of it, by all rights he should be dead. But now, if your father kills you and gets the guitar, I suppose he will also inherit the malediction attached to it.” “You say the guitar goes through cycles of six, but when I found it, there were already two figures on it. So I’m finishing something he started? And now he wants to kill me? But why would he want to do that?” I wonder. “Because he’s making a trade.” Abbie whispers, staring down at her hands, held tightly in her lap. “What?” Everyone turns to look at her, the car swerves, Octavia looks back at the road. “I didn’t want to upset you. It was years after you left. I told you Mom was keeping her eye on you, from a distance. When you got in trouble, with the drugs, she knew. I’m not sure how, but you know mom. She always had a way of knowing things. It was you and your friend.” Abbie said. “Cristopher.” I said softly. “Yeah, Cristopher. I never saw dad after that last night, but I heard him. He called late one night. Mom was yelling at him, saying it was his fault you were a junkie, that you were gonna die far from home. That was when he told her. She got real quiet, then fell to the floor in tears. I ran to her.” “What did he tell her?” I asked. My sister kept her head down. “He said you were past saving, but your soul could’ve kept him alive. He said Cristopher took your place, and one day he would fix that mistake. That’s the trade, Wills, Cristopher for you.” The silence was deafening. Octavia drove, staring straight ahead. Mag, still with a white-knuckled grip on the armrest, stared out at the passing road. \*\* An hour later, not much has been said. We’re driving through Green River, Utah. I’m wishing for whiskey. Suddenly Mag reaches out, grabs Octavia’s arm and points towards an upcoming offramp. “We must go that way. There is something there. I can feel it. Something is calling. It is connected to the humans.” Octavia glances back at me, I shrug, “I don’t know, you think we can trust her? Seems like we’re all moving in the same direction, as long as we’re careful.” Octavia nods and turns, veering to the north. There’s nothing but dirt and desert, and even though it’s October, the car is heating up in the autumn sun. “Where are we going?” Abbie asks me quietly. “Not sure, but I bet it’s got something to do with dad.” Five minutes later Mag startles us, “Stop! Turn here.” We’re at a dusty little fork in the road. Bleak, no signs of life or of any other kind. “Are you sure?” I ask. Octavia gives me a little smile, “It’s a cemetery. I can smell it.” Of course. “Why’s it always gotta be cemeteries?” I mutter to myself. We drive up, and suddenly we see a small square of heat dusted graves. It’s death in the middle of the desert, a dead cemetery in a ghost town. We get out of the vehicle. “Why are we here?” Abbie whispers to me. “I’m not sure...” I reply. “Because the other one, the one who shares your blood, is here.” Mag proclaims as she sets a steady pace towards the center of the cemetery. “Dad?” Abbie’s voice quivers as she grabs my arm. From out of nowhere a wind picks up, pushing us, as if it was trying to get us to follow Mag deeper into the dead dust square. We form a strange lineup, the wind blowing at our backs, the sands whipping up tiny dust devils above the burial plots. Octavia, the Succubus, her red hair a sharp contrast to dull earth tones surrounding us. Me and my sister, with a family overflowing with curses and superstitions, and Mag, a demonic vampire creature from another time. Ready to face what ... my father? The wind stops, everything stops. The world is silent, but the heat continues to rise. I feel sweat beading up on my forehead, droplets running down the side of my face. Heatwaves rising off the land around us gives off the illusion that we are all standing inside some strange mirage. And out of that mirage he appears, as if he parted invisible curtains and stepped through them. A tall angular silhouette shifting between sunlight and shadow. Abbie takes a sharp deep breath but says nothing. Octavia and Mag remain silent as well. I can’t. “Samuel.” I spit, knowing he hated when I didn’t call him dad. This time, however, there seems to be only a glint of annoyance in his eyes. He spat on the ground and directed his Gaze at Mag. “I guess you failed your task.” “If my task was a lie, then I did not fail. But you lie about something else as well.” Mag says, moving her hands in strange patterns, her fingers twitching, as if pulling strings in the air. “You are not human like this one.” She points to me, and her eyes widen, as if she suddenly realized what he really was. He gave a dismissive shrug and glared at me and my sister. “You weren’t supposed to be here. Either of you. You’re making this whole thing more difficult than it should be.” “Did you kill Cristopher?” I said between clenched teeth. He didn’t answer, I took a step forward, ignoring Octavia’s quiet warning and Abbie’s hand on my shoulder. Again, but louder; “Did you kill Cristopher?” He smiled than, a hideous, horrible smile. “He killed himself, son. It was his choice. I woulda preferred it was you that had gone to the guitar. But now I can make that right.” Octavia was suddenly standing in front of me, her eyes flashing brighter than the desert sun. “Not without a fight.” My father laughed. “Why are you doing this?” Abbie shouted from behind me. “What do you want from us?” “Everything, my girl. Everything.” He pauses for a second, stares up at the sun. I notice he doesn’t blink or shield his eyes, just looks straight into that thing, and then he focuses that unblinking stare directly at me. “It was never about the guitar, boy, though that is what carries the power. I made a deal with the Asag, and I need to keep my end of the bargain.” “What kind of deal?” I asked, horrified at what I was hearing. “There’s nothing those demons like more than devouring a solid bloodline, and it had already taken your grandpa as well as mine, so I promised, I swore, it would get you as well. In exchange I would be allowed to stay out for a few more years. Maybe a hundred, if I can swing it. It loves sacrifice, boy, and you — you are supposed to be mine.” “So why are you trying to kill me out here?” I asked, against a strange mix of terror, anger, and bewilderment. “Oh, I’m not trying to kill you. Not yet. I’m trying to hold you back. That guitar is holding my soul hostage, right up there above the bridge. But since Corso has the guitar, I’m hoping he’ll kill that other demon, good ol’ Mael, or they’ll kill each other. There are just too many creatures playing with my future right now.” “And Cristopher?” I shout. “Cristopher jumped in, gave himself up for you. He’s gone, but if I deliver you and your sister, I’ll get my soul back and I’ll get to play guitar for a long, long time. So, I’m just letting things play out as they do.” He stopped to glance at Octavia, “You however, I don’t need to keep alive.” A few rows of graves away, behind my father, something shivers and grows. A thick dark tendril like a snake made of smoke curled around the edges. Just one, then two, then finally eight undulating tentacles. They push through the dust and the dirt, curling around my father’s legs as if they’re pets pushing against him. Showing affection, or perhaps waiting for dinner. He takes a step towards us, his lips cracking into that horrid smile again. Stained teeth showing underneath, as if he was also ready to eat. Without hesitation Octavia leaps towards him, and surprisingly Mag follows. The two demons flying past my father and going straight for the thing creeping out of the grave. They both were transforming as they moved, shapes shifting, muscles ripping and limbs stretching, sharp things becoming sharper, and from behind both of them, wings appearing. Thin batlike and leathery appendages spreading out then curving back. It was like a scene from some Horror Western film. “Showdown at fucked-up corral.” I mutter and step backwards, pulling Abbie with me, thinking it might be a good idea to retreat towards the car. My father isn’t paying attention to us, distracted by two she-creatures attacking a mess of tentacles. Then suddenly I’m down on my knees, clutching my stomach and feeling like I’ve been punched in the gut. Abbie grabs my arm, tries to help me up, but the pain is keeping me down and doubled over. “The guitar.” I manage to say, “Something’s happening with it...” I glance up and see my father in almost the same position as I am. Down on the ground, face contorted into an almost mirror image of pain. Behind him Octavia and Mag grapple with a growing bulbous mass of shifting darkness. As it stretches out over the cemetery in all directions its dark tendrils wrap around the succubus and the vampire-demon, pulling and stretching. Through my pain blurred vision I see the tentacles tear at Octavia’s wings, breaking through the membrane. She lets out a shriek of pain and falls to the ground. Mag darts and dives fast towards her, but not fast enough. A thick pulsating mass shoots out and grabs her by the legs, pulling her back towards the center of the shadow. Mag disappears, screaming, into the nothingness that seems to be swallowing the ground around it. Octavia stands and lunges at the thing, her claws ripping through it, sending shards of shadow flying around her. Her pain is covered by shouts of rage and anger, but it doesn’t seem to be enough. A wing is torn off and black blood mixes with shadow, and then she’s yelling, shouting at me. Warning me. Now that the tentacles no longer have to deal with two demons a couple of them are slithering through the dirt towards Abbie and me. I can barely move through the pain, but Abbie pulls me up and tries to lead me away from the approaching horror. Our dad seems to be faring better than I am and is hobbling towards us, chanting something in some unknown language. He’s gaining on us faster than the tentacles, and I realize we’re not going to make it. “Stop.” I tell Abbie between sharp spasms of pain. “Leave me here, go for the car.” “I’m not leaving you now Wills. We’re in this together.” She insists. Octavia reaches Samuel, there’s just no way I’m calling him dad anymore, before he can reach us, she grabs his arm, and pulls him towards her, her mouth is open, wider than I’ve ever seen, and her teeth... But Samuel yells out and turns, his right arm swinging hard, connecting with the side of her head. He breaks free form the grasp of her talons and pushes her backwards. She’s shaken only for a second, but a second is long enough for the thing behind her to grab both of her legs and pull her back, screaming and clawing into the soil, until she, like Mag, is swallowed up by shadow. I stand, shaking in pain, shivering in the heat, tired and exhausted and afraid for my life. I stand, arms at my side, fists clenched, and howl with hatred at this man, this thing, that used to be my father. This thing that turns back towards me and starts running. A wave of darkness rises behind him. The thing swelling and cresting like a hollow wave of oblivion and then it all comes down upon the both of us. And I’m lost. \*\* My eyes open to blackness, and I panic. I’m in the creature, the shadow thing. And then I see a blanket of silver pinpricks above me, and I sigh, relieved. It’s just the night. I’m on my back in the middle of nowhere, and all the stars are out. My vision starts to blur slightly, and I realize I’m crying. “Abbie?” I call out, but nothing in response. There’s a slight wind, the air is cold, and I have a feeling it’s going to get colder before the sun comes up again. I feel something warm against my leg, in my pocket. The gris-gris bag. Possibly the only reason I’m here, I think. But that doesn’t really help now. Samuel and Abbie gone. Mag and Octavia, possibly dead. The guitar, somewhere out there in the hands of a demon. And I’m shivering, feeling like a junkie again, in the middle of a dead cemetery. I start walking, and about 40 minutes later I reach what sort of looks like a newer road. Not the highway, but I know I’m heading in the right direction. For the first time in my life, I’m actually thankful I’ve experienced this pain before. This gnawing pit, this empty ache. It’s like a familiar friend is visiting, and the comfort of the anguish keeps me going for another six miles. I collapse in front of a motel, but the way I’m feeling I’m not sure if I can even make it inside. Whatever’s going on is getting worse. The cold shifts to colder, and I feel a drop of rain. It shouldn’t be raining. There was nothing but stars a second ago, and now the sky is thick with thunderclouds. I don’t know if this is real or not. I stand, steady myself, and turn towards the motel doors, and almost trip over the dead body. He’s wrapped up in an opaque sheet, but I can see the shades of ink underneath. I know it’s Cristopher. The rain starts coming down harder and there’s a movement under the plastic. I can’t see his face, just the darkness of his hair pressed against the tarp. I don’t want to see any more. I don’t want to see his eyes open, or his mouth move. I don’t want to see his lifeless body sit up; I don’t want to hear his corpse speak. I just want to say how sorry I am and turn and walk the other way. But as I turn, Cristopher’s arm slides out from under the wrap and brushes against my foot. Just a touch, but I scream in shock and trip over myself. I flail and fall to the ground, scraping my elbows on the cement. I push myself backwards with my feet until I hit the wall. But it’s not a wall, it’s a pair of legs. “Mister Forte?” I spin around, look up, “Detective Hawkes?” He looks down at me, curious. I turn and point to the dead body, but there is none. And the clouds have vanished as well. It’s night, it’s cold, the sky is clear, and I am helped into the motel lobby by the detective and the silent and strange Sara Barrow. \*\* My eyes open, and it’s daylight. My hands are shaking, and every single bone in my body hurts. My head hurts worse. “You’re up.” A dry voice says from the other side of the room. It’s Detective Hawkes, sitting in a chair, watching me. I sit up on the couch and holding my head while trying to not throw up, I ask what happened. “We were on our way to Vegas. Sara had a line on the guitar, and Samuel Forte ...your father.” “You knew?” “I did. But sometimes it’s best not to share all the information.” The detective looked up as Sara entered from the other room. “But now, I guess, it wouldn’t hurt to put all the cards on the table.” I nod slowly, watching Sara move around the room as if in a daze. “Is she okay?” “Yeah, she’s ... tracking.” He looks at me, “She got a bit tangled with her directions last night, probably a good thing, too. She felt, I don’t know what she feels, exactly, like a shift in the air. She can feel the darkness move. I don’t know, but she felt it, and instead of continuing to Vegas we ended up at Elgin Cemetery, a few miles away. Looked like a tornado had hit it. From there she knew how to get to you, though.” “So now what?” I ask, still feeling disoriented and tired. “Now we get your guitar.” “It’s not going to be easy,” I said with disgust. “Never is. But we know what we’re doing. And I need to get to your father...” Detective Hawkes stops, seeing the look of pain and distaste on my face as I spit. “He’s not my father.” I whisper, trying to stand up. “Not anymore. And I need to get to him as well. He’s taken too much away from me, and I’m not going to let him take anything else.” Sara stops pacing and turns on her heels to face us. “We need to go.” “Right.” Detective Hawkes says, standing up and grabbing a jacket and gun hanging on the chair behind him. “I’ll settle up, meet you at the car.” He’s out the door and I’m still trying to steady myself. Black spots spinning around my peripheral vision, and a constant feeling of nausea was not helping. “C’mon, I got you.” Sara says, placing her hand on my arm and helping me out the room and down the stairs to the waiting slightly beat up and beige Dodge Diplomat. I had to laugh, though. It hurt. “That’s his car?” Sara nodded. “Typical.” I looked at her, the silver charms on her necklace clinking against each other as she walked. “Why does Detective Hawkes want my father? I mean, I get the guitar, but what’s the connection with my dad?” Sara didn’t stop walking, and didn’t look at me, but answered quietly, “Your friend, Cristopher? Detective Hawkes is his uncle, and as far as he’s concerned, your father killed him.” “Come on, people.” Detective Hawkes shouted, his arm sticking out the driver’s side window, waving us towards the car. “We got about 400 miles to go, so let’s get moving.” \*\* Turned out the Detective was right on the distance, but wrong on the destination. We drove through Utah without speaking much. I know I was in and out of consciousness, feeling my insides being pulled apart and tied into knots at the same time. I would’ve killed for a hit of something, as if anyone had been holding what I needed a hit of. Six strings to save my goddamn life. I know we stopped a couple of times for coffee and gas, and a couple of times so I could throw up on the side of the highway. Sometimes it was blood, sometimes it was worse. We were in Nevada, the heat was hitting again, but I was shivering. Doing close to 80 down I-15 and closing in on Vegas, Sara leans forwards and then slams back in her seat, as if she’d been shoved by an invisible hand. “Sara?” the detective said, concerned. He didn’t stop but moved into a slower lane. “What is it?” He was surprisingly calm. It seemed like this is something she’s done before. He was definitely used to it, even if I wasn’t. “We need to turn, get off the freeway.” She said “Here?” he asked, looking around, “We’re like nowhere.” “Up a half mile or so,” she insisted. “It’s coming up.” And sure enough, there it was, a turn off to Valley of Fire Highway. Sounds about right, I thought. Detective Hawkes nods and gets off the Interstate. I manage to sit up in the back seat and peer out the window. It doesn’t look good. It makes the little cemetery I was just at seem like an oasis. We’re about forty miles outside of Las Vegas, driving down the Valley of Fire Highway in an overheating Dodge Diplomat. I’m feeling like I’m going to die, but if all goes well, I’m going to make sure that my father dies first. “Wait...” I said. Something just moved past the car, on the side of the road, but we’re going too fast for it to have been an animal. Sara turns in her seat and looks at me, “What?” “I saw something...” I stop, stare out the window at the passing nothingness. It’s just dirt and heat out there. There’s nothing. “I thought ... never mind.” But there it was again, a shadow on the ground, keeping pace with the car. It wasn’t underneath anything, it wasn’t a shadow of something, it was just a shadow. Moving beside us. “It’s right there.” I whisper to Sara. “I don’t see it.” She whispers back, staring out the window. “Listen. Can you hear it?” I ask, noticing a growing sound, a sharp waiting tone, but sharper. A note that I couldn’t quite place. “I can.” She sounds surprised. “I don’t see anything, but I hear that.” “I hear nothing.” The Detective mutters, “but I have a feeling that means we’re going in the right direction.” I have a sinking feeling we’re going in the wrong direction, and I silently hope I can hold it all together. The shadow stretches out alongside the car and then snaps back and speeds forwards ahead of us. My mouth tastes like lead, the pain in my stomach intensifies, as if the sound is making it bigger. The sound, it grows inside of me. * * “Thank you for helping me get through this. We are nearing the end. It looks as if we have only one part left to offer. I hope this will lead me back to my brother, or at least help me learn what truly happened.” – Abigail Forte (THE FINAL CHAPTER)<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] How to Survive College - the old and the new [RESPONSE] In fact, I’m pretty sure I fainted seconds after the laundry lady shoved me over the edge. I’m sure everyone is curious as to how I survived the fall into that hole, but we’ll never know, and frankly I’m a little surprised to find out that I don’t *want* to know. At all. Let’s assume it was some weird otherworldly transition bullshit and not think about it much anymore. I’m certainly trying to forget about that sudden lurch of abject terror and weightlessness. It’s buried back there with everything else I’m trying to hide from myself. Suffice that I woke up flailing. I was on my back on a flat surface like cement, surrounded by an inch of water. My shirt and jeans were soaked, but only on the back, so I couldn’t have been laying there for very long. The sky overhead was a dingy beige, like it was shooting for gray but didn’t quite make it. It reminded me of the paint in the dorm rooms. The ground all around me was the color of charcoal, a startling contrast to the sterile sky. Something had a hold of my leg. That is why I woke up flailing. I shrieked and kicked, splashing at the water in a blind panic. Whatever had hold of me immediately let go, which went a long way to calming my panic, I’ll admit. I sat up, heart pounding, and stared at my… captor? Rescuer? Patricia. She stood with her shoulders and back slumped, like she was still kneeling in front of the slab, her arms dangling limply in front of her. Her head was missing save for a few pieces of flesh dangling from the edge of her tattered neck stub. I pushed myself up, watching her carefully as I stood. She remained in place, swaying slightly from side to side, and made no move towards me. I reached back and checked my back pocket. The pencil case, thankfully, was still there and was undamaged. “So what now?” I asked her. “Can you lead me to the eyeball?” If this was its lair, then perhaps it was taking a nap. One of its pairs of legs was missing, after all, roaming the wasteland unattended. Patricia didn’t move, though. I tore my gaze away from her and surveyed the terrain. Perfectly flat as far as the eye could see, save for strange structures dotted here and there. They reminded me of rock formations, worn away by water into arches and pillars, but they were colored in blues and greens and browns and had sharp edges jutting haphazardly from their bulk. I’d go investigate one of those first, I reasoned. There was nothing else to look at. There’s an area in the dorms that divides the dormitories from the dining hall. It’s too long to be a room, but too wide to be a hallway. The university put furniture in it a long time ago in an attempt to make it useful, but no one uses it. When I say a long time ago, I mean it looks like furniture from an early 90’s Taco Bell. The sofas and chairs have hard wooden arms and the cushions are thin, the fabric faded teal with the remnants of once vivid purple and blue squares. So naturally the students like to use them like building blocks. It’s not uncommon to walk past a pile of furniture that towers precariously to the ceiling, a sofa turned on its end and chairs balanced on top of each other. Those bizarre sculptures now rose out of the water in this other world. I stared stupidly at the one I’d picked to investigate. Why was it here, of all things? Did the act of constructing it give it enough meaning to exist elsewhere? I started walking to the next. Patricia followed me the entire time, shuffling a few feet behind me. I tried to ignore her. There was nothing I could say to her that could possibly make me feel better about what happened to her and the others. She wasn’t leading me to the creature, but nor was she trying to hinder me. I wasn’t sure why she’d been dragging me when I woke up, but I didn’t feel threatened by her at the moment. She was just kind of… there. I checked two more structures before something happened. I was considering toppling one, just to see if that did anything, when Patricia sidled up next to me. Then she bumped into me. Backed up, and bumped into me again. She was pushing me closer to the tower of tacky furniture. I shifted as she directed, crowding close to the side of two sofas stacked on top of each other. The light source of this world seemed to be from all directions at once, so the furniture didn’t cast a shadow. I stood there a moment, waiting, and Patricia pressed her shoulder into my chest, pinning me there. I didn’t feel trapped, exactly. I felt like a good push would throw her off balance and let me walk away. Bemused, I played along though. I didn’t think Patricia - or whatever was left of her - had hostile intentions. The light around me darkened. And then a shadow slipped out from the base of the tower - no - it *covered* it. It flowed fluidly along the water at my feet, undulating gently. A whale’s shadow. I saw the flippers protruding from its sides. Instinctively, I looked up. Its back was to me. I saw the dark spot of its blowhole. Barnacles covered its skin in patches, but there was something wrong with them. They glistened pink and slick. I squinted, trying to understand what I was looking at. Holes. The barnacles were gone and all that was left were holes, chunks of flesh taken out of the whale and revealing the fat beneath. It continued swimming through the air, proceeding serenely with no attention given to myself and Patrcia huddling in the shelter of the stacked furniture. Only once it was well away from us did Patricia step away from me. She didn’t want it to see us. We weren’t alone in this world, I realized. I looked down at my feet. Stooped to get a better look at the water I was walking in. I stared until I began to see shadows, rippling shapes that I could only discern the outline of. I followed the edge of one for a while until it stopped, and I finally understood what I was seeing. It was a building. I was inside the traveling river, staring up through the water at campus. They said that things are in the river. Large creatures that swim deep down in its depths. I glanced up at the direction the whale had gone, shuddering. I had to get out of here as quickly as I could. The next thing that came our way might not be as docile as the whale. At least now I had a direction to go in. If the creature was the weapon of the administration, then it would likely be at the administrative building. I didn’t know where I was, but I only needed to find a distinctive enough shadow to get my bearings. There were only three buildings that were particularly tall on this campus. The library, the administrative building, and the building that housed the thing in the hallway. I got lucky. I found the administration’s shadow before the other two. I’d continued walking in the direction Patricia had been dragging me, so I could only assume she was trying to take me there while I was unconscious. It was a disconcerting thought. Was she trying to help or was she trying to add me to the creature’s collection of legs? I tried shoving her, just to make sure I could overpower her if I needed to. She stumbled in the direction I pushed her in, her arms swinging like wet noodles. Satisfied, I kept going until I saw a long shadow stretching towards me underneath the water like a pointing finger. We were here. And up ahead, in a space clear of the stacked furniture mounds, was a dome. It protruded from the water like a contact lens floating in its case, glistening with moisture. I approached slowly. There were smaller mounds around it and it was quickly apparent what they were. The other Rain Chasers. They lay scattered about like discarded dolls. Patricia was the only one to retain her will. But as we approached, she tottered ahead and then flopped lifelessly to the ground. She’d accompanied me here and now the rest was up to me. I was on my own. Stabbing it with the pencil didn’t seem like a great idea. It hadn’t worked on the possum, after all. Unless… unless I got it right in the pupil. I mean, that seems like an important significant part, right? Some sort of vulnerability? It was all I had to go on. So, with my heart in my throat, I went about trying to get its attention. Only part of its surface rose above the water and the pupil wasn’t visible yet. So I walked up and kicked it. And then, when that didn’t get a reaction, I climbed on top of it. I climbed up to the peak of the dome and then… I jumped up and down. Look. I was a little hysterical at that point, I think. I wasn’t thinking straight. At least now I can say that I am probably the only person in the world to know what it’s like jumping up and down on top of a giant eyeball. (kind of like jumping on a soggy trampoline) *That* got its attention. It shook beneath me and I lost my balance and fell sideways. I rolled down its side and then over the edge, falling a few feet to land in the water. All around me, the bodies of the Rain Chasers were staggering to their feet and hastening to support their parasitic master. I stumbled backwards, frantically feeling for the pencil in its case. The pupil. I had to stab the pupil. The immense black circle rotated to stare at me. It was no longer indifferent to my presence. It saw me and it was *angry*. It couldn’t speak, but I *understood* nonetheless. I wasn’t supposed to be here. I was an intruder. And it was going to make certain I never left this place. It skittered forwards like an obscene spider. I turned to run, realizing belatedly just how *fast* it moved. I saw out of the corner of my eye Patricia, her shoulders absorbed into the creature’s mass. One of her arms gestured, flinging outwards and pointing. I didn’t think. I simply reacted. I threw myself forwards to where she was pointing and behind me, the creature slammed itself into the ground. It barely missed my legs. This was how it had killed the kelpie. It’d simply flattened it, crushing its body beneath it. I scrambled to my feet and ran. Behind me I heard the creaking of its stolen legs as it rose, readying itself for another attempt. I fumbled at the pencil case. How was I going to get close enough to stab it without being crushed in the attempt? My fingers brushed something else inside the case. The pencil shavings. An ancient thing had given me this pencil and the devil *did* play by the rules. The devil had probably written some of those rules himself as one of the prominent recurring tricksters in the stories. These creatures might not be following the rules, they might be new creations with their own patterns, but the devil’s authority couldn’t be easily dismissed. The old against the new. I upended the pencil case and shook the shavings out into the water. A very simple trick. If given an object by an inhuman, no matter how innocuous it is, it should be thrown behind oneself when pursued. Then it will become something else and block the way. The water began to boil. It turned shiny and black where the water touched it, the color of a lead point. The bubbles popped like tar. And when the bodies of the Rain Chasers struck the roiling patch of water, they slowed to a crawl. Their knees buckled and began to shake under the strain of keeping the eyeball aloft. I saw the creature look around in panic. Its pupil rolled all the way back, looking at where it’d come. It was preparing to flee. It would turn around and run and escape the water boiling all around it. I clenched my fists, feeling a flicker of anger in my chest. No. This thing’s birth had killed too many people. I would not be satisfied unless it was destroyed. “Patricia!” I screamed. “Over here!” I called them by name. One by one, I cried out their names. I hadn’t known them all before they died, but I made sure to learn them afterwards. I wasn’t sure why at the time, if perhaps it was some weird way of grieving that I was going through. I understood now. There are no coincidences in the stories. The creature’s legs kept going. It kept dragging the eye forward, until they were in the center of the boiling water. Then they could go no further. Their strength was gone. One collapsed, falling heavily to their knees, and then another. The eye pivoted around and now it stared directly at me. I felt its hatred, its rage that I had *dared* bring this thing here, this poison provided to me by another ancient being. But I also felt its fear. An inhuman. Afraid. Afraid of what I’d done. One of the Rain Chasers raised their hand to me. Patricia. The water was carrying her down into it, growing steadily deeper and pulling her and all the rest of them under. I stretched out my own hand until our fingers met. I clasped at her and her hand went limp in mine. She wasn’t reaching out for help. She just… wanted someone to be there. She didn’t want to be alone as she finally, finally found her rest. I held her hand as the water swallowed her up. Her fingers slipped from mine and vanished beneath the inky surface. The eyeball was quick to follow. As it sank, the lead leached into its sclera, turning it black, and the blood vessels ruptured and blood bloomed beneath the surface. It was coming apart. Soon it would be nothing but a mass of jelly to be washed away by the water. I watched it sink until there was nothing left to see. The poison in the water began to dissipate and the boiling subsided. It was gone. The devil’s weapon had done its job. I stood there for a long moment, allowing myself to finally feel something like relief. It was done. I’d done it. I wasn’t ready to think about how I was going to get out of there yet. But the moment was short-lived, for my actions had not gone unnoticed by the denizens of the river. The skies were darkening at the horizon. My breath caught in my throat. I watched it approaching like storm clouds, until it grew close enough that I could see movement. It was a swarm. They swam through the air, churning their bodies in feverish pursuit. What I’d done had upset this place and now all those creatures living in the river - the fish and the whales and the older creatures that only exist in legend - were all coming for me. I looked about frantically, trying to find an escape. The featureless river stretched as far as I could see, broken only by the towers of furniture that would offer me no protection against the approaching swarm. I was done. There was no one left to help me. There was just me, small and scared. The devil had said he’d make me a heroine, but in the end he’d be laughing at the audacity I’d had in accepting his bargain. I’m nothing special. I’d gotten this far by luck and there was nothing in me to get me out. I collapsed under the weight of all those thoughts. My legs simply gave out. I sat there, my hands brushing the ground beneath me as my jeans soaked up the water all around me. The ground didn’t feel like cement. It felt rubbery, like a membrane. My heart hammered with a brief flame of hope. I tentatively pushed on it. It yielded, but only a little, no matter how hard I pushed. It wouldn’t break simply by my efforts alone. Unless it was pierced by something sharp. Like a pencil. I scrambled to my feet and pulled the pencil from the case, then threw the case aside. I wouldn’t need it any longer if this worked. Then, my throat tight with desperation, I raised the pencil high and then brought it down, stabbing it into the ground. Part of me expected it to snap. Part of my brain was preparing for it to break, for it to leave me with no options but to sit and wait to die. Instead, the water resisted for a moment, then the ground broke beneath me. It was like a water balloon breaking in slow motion. The thin shell peeled outward in a ring and the water rushed through. I was caught up in a sudden whirlpool, swallowed up by a vortex of brackish water. I was falling, pulled down by the current I’d released, and there was nothing I could do but curl into a ball and close my eyes. I slammed into something solid. It shook under the force of the impact, but held. I tumbled slowly in the water, flailing to feel what I’d been thrown into, and just as my palm touched its smooth surface, it was wrenched back from me. Light flooded my vision. I had a split second impression of a doorway and then I was falling through, carried on a tidal wave of water that quickly depleted itself as it spread throughout the room. I was dimly aware that someone had screamed. I wasn’t alone. I lay on my back in the middle of the room, a chair leg not far from my head. The lights overhead were blinding. “Ashley!?” a familiar voice exclaimed in shock. “Grayson!?” He stood over me, his jeans sopping wet from being caught in the deluge. We stared at each other, dumbfounded. I stammered a few times, trying to figure out what to tell him. I finally settled on pointing back at the door I’d just fallen through (which I think was a closet) and saying ‘steam tunnels.’ The room I was in was an office. A very nice office. There were formidable paintings on every wall with heavy frames and vivid oil brushstrokes depicting various buildings around campus. I had no doubt they were originals. The desk was massive, but nearly empty, made out of a dark cherrywood. The carpet… well, it would need to be replaced, now that I’d released a massive flood of dirty river water. “Oh no,” Grayson said in a panic, turning around and looking at the mess. “Oh noooooo.” “Uh, maybe they’ll think a pipe burst?” I suggested. “Okay. Yeah. Pipe breaking. Let’s go with that. But Ashley-” He turned to me and grabbed my arm. “You *really* shouldn’t be found here,” he said urgently. “It’d be really awkward to explain. You’ll have to tell me what happened later, okay?” He started insistently dragging me towards the door. I followed more slowly, looking around the room in an attempt to figure out who it belonged to. The windows were covered with heavy curtains, but I could see through the gap that we were in the administration building, possibly near the top floor. “Grayson,” I said slowly as he wrenched the door open, “is this the…?” “President’s office,” he replied grimly. “Yeah.” “But what are *you* doing here?” “Meeting my dad for lunch. Now get out of here!” And he shut the door in my face. Grayson and I have been carefully avoiding each other since that encounter. I don’t want to explain what happened in the steam tunnels and he doesn’t want to explain that his father is the university’s president. I haven’t decided whether I should be angry or not yet. He’s probably got loads of reasons for not telling me, if this town is anything like the one I came from. Kate had a reputation from the moment she was born, simply because of her family name, after all. And Grayson may be struggling with his own familial issues, if his father hadn’t told him anything of what was really happening on this campus. Besides, it’s not like I’ve been exactly forthcoming on my own. There’s not a lot of trust going around right now. I focused on my approaching finals instead. And while I didn’t need help on them, the devil still deigned to make an appearance as I was walking to my final exam. “I have *so many questions*,” I hissed as he fell into step beside me. “I’m sure you do,” he replied smugly. “Who was controlling the weapon? Is anything going to come after me for destroying it? Will Grayson and I ever smooch?” “And you’re not going to answer any of them.” “I can answer the last one-” “*Don’t.*” He fell into a satisfied silence for a while, which I really appreciated. However, there was one question I wanted answered, and it was one I thought he’d indulge. He is the devil, after all, and the devil is quite vain. “I have to ask - why a pencil?” I said. “I went down this totally wrong direction with it about writing and all along it was just one of those random things you throw behind you as you’re running away.” “Honestly, I just asked a stranger on my way to find you. Came across some fourteen year old and was like hey if I’m giving a magic item to a college student, what should it be? And they said a pencil.” I stared at him in disbelief for a good minute, not saying anything. “What?” the devil huffed. He refused to meet my angry glare. “I thought it was funny.” “Okay, well, whatever,” I sighed. “My part of the bargain is fulfilled. Now you just need to make sure I get through the next three years of school.” I started to walk faster to get away from him. I had every intention of working very hard in my classes so that I never had to see him again. “Hey,” he said. I paused but refused to turn around. I was getting sick of his need to have a dramatic last word. “You should talk to your advisors about pre-law. I think you’d be a good lawyer and you can major in anything you find interesting.” “I’ve barely survived one year of school,” I sighed. “I’m not sure I could handle *yet more school*. Besides.” I finally gave him the satisfaction of turning around so that I could see his smirk. “I’m getting really sick of rules,” I said. “That’s a pity,” he said, “because you’ve got three more years to go. A new semester is starting. I’m officially a sophomore. Cassie and Maria are coming back to campus. I don’t think what I did is anything more than restoring the status quo, but I’ll take it. Because as much as I hate it, the devil was right. I’ve got three more years here. And they might be incomplete and they might be a flawed strategy… but the rules are all I’ve got to help myself and everyone else survive this place. I’m already printing them out for .[\[x\]]( <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] It Started with a Black Dot [RESPONSE] It started with a black dot. It looked like a piece of a peppercorn stuck in between two of my teeth next to my gums on the top left side of my mouth. In between my canine and incisor. This was a notorious plaque-ridden spot that was the bane of my existence. I took a deep sigh and used my thumbnail to try to pick it out of my teeth. Lucy my best friend exclaimed. “Don't worry it's not even noticeable!! Don’t let this ruin our night!” I turned my attention away from the large mirror in the bar's bathroom, adjusting my top and following Lucy to the dance floor. I let the music take me the bass vibrating my bones. I couldn’t stop my tongue from repeatedly moving over the front of the spot and trying to suck the kernel out of my teeth. Before I knew it, it was the last call for drinks. With that call, Lucy and I took our leave getting an uber to get back to the apartment.  I got a number while we were out and a free drink so they must not have noticed. I absent-mindedly stuck my thumbnail into the crack in my teeth trying to once again leverage the kernel out. Lucy saw and grabbed my arm to remind me not to pick at it. I had no real hope without a mirror anyways. It was okay when I was moving but sitting in the back of the Uber I felt restless... Anxious.  We finally got back to our apartment. We were lucky to be able to have a two-bedroom. It's hard to get a good apartment in Seattle. We had two small rooms a tiny cooking area that barely counts as a kitchen and enough room for a love seat and tv in front of a window in the living area. The bedrooms could fit a queen bed and an end table. I had under-bed storage and a large mirror hung on my wall with wall organizers that organized my makeup. The entire apartment was about 500 square feet and we had a communal bathroom for our entire floor. About 20 people. At least there were multiple stalls.  I flung my purse on my bed and allowed myself to flop face down on the duvet. One thing that’s nice about not having a lot of room is everything allowed to be in my space was immaculately kept and of high quality. I’m what you would call a picky person. Without my feet supporting my weight they ached. The high heels I had been wearing finally took their toll and I took them off with an audible gasp of relief. I hung up my purse on my door hook and placed my heels in under-bed storage, swinging my legs to the side of my bed with my mirror creating a makeshift makeup area.  In one of my wall organizers, I had dental picks and my other dental care items. Our kitchen area did have a running half sink so thankfully I could do most of my routine in my apartment. With a far superior tool in my hand and I got to work digging the black spot out of my teeth. I don’t even remember eating anything that could have left a kernel in my teeth. I try to keep my figure with lots of salads and whole fruits and vegetables. With my pickiness, I like to keep to the same three meals in a day. A banana for breakfast with a protein shake. A salad with one cup of quinoa for lunch and another salad with a small protein or with dressing for dinner. My mind continued to wander as I contemplated the next day. And a prick of pain brought me back to the present. With my obsessive picking, I irritated my gums and a trickle of blood poured over the black spot that was still firmly lodged in my teeth.  I groaned in frustration and grabbed my shower caddy to shower off the day. In the bathroom, I again looked in the mirror and it seemed the black spot got even bigger. It now was about the size of half of my tooth still in between my two teeth. My jaw was throbbing the discomfort of something so large stuck in between my teeth and the irritation of the bleeding gums. It no longer looked like a kernel it now looked more like a cavity from a distance.  I care a lot about my appearance and this sight unsettled me. I quickly showered and finished my routine. Going back to my apartment I saw that Lucy was on the loveseat already in her pajamas. She apparently didn’t shower. Lucy is not as particular as I am. “Lucy, Lucy... Lucy!!” I demanded her attention. “Look at my teeth!” I bared my teeth to give her the best view of the issue at hand. “EEEEEW your bleeding! You need to stop picking at your teeth! I know you have a thing about being clean but this is a lot.” “No, I was just trying to get that THING out from between my teeth. Remember? The kernel from at the bar bathroom?” “What are you talking about? Your teeth look perfect as always except for your bleeding gums.” “You're kidding me, you really don’t see it?” “Well per your words you are a ‘picky’ person” She used quotations with her fingers as she said that. “Maybe you just need to relax. Don’t worry it's just in your mind.” With a sigh, I got up with my caddy and went to my room. As I passed Lucy’s room I saw a bit of the destruction inside. I closed it as Lucy pretended to ignore me. I allow her to have her space to be as she calls it ‘creative’ as long as it doesn’t leak into the rest of our apartment. I put away my cady in its spot under my bed next to my nightstand. Then I grabbed my sleep mask and sleep scrunchy from my end table. I braided my long red hair and secured my face mask and went to sleep. I tossed and turned all night. I have problems when my schedule is disrupted and my teeth felt foreign in my mouth. The item that was logged in my teeth and jaw was awkwardly pushing the teeth apart. My teeth were repositioning and ached, bringing back memories of having braces when I was a child. I finally was able to ignore it long enough to drift into an uneasy sleep. I generally don’t remember my dreams. But this one was disturbing... I was working at my job as a yoga instructor and I was going through my vinyasa and everyone was warmed up. I was teaching my most advanced class so I started moving to the harder poses and adding them in. Downward dog, Plank, Upward facing dog, and into bakasana or crane pose. This pose requires nesting your knees into your elbows and positioning your body weight forward. This position requires strength and balance.  My balanced failed and I fell forward into my face. There was a loud thud and a sickening clicking noise as multiple teeth fell out of their sockets. At that point, I woke in a sweat gasping and reaching for my mouth with both of my hands grasping my teeth to feel them securely in my mouth. Except two...... I sat up still holding the teeth in question. I gazed into the mirror and saw that the black thing had completely engulfed the two teeth that it was previously in between and there was something that looked like a piece of peppercorn in my bottom teeth directly below the two previous teeth. The now rotten-looking brown teeth were barely holding onto my gums.  I covered my mouth with my hand and got out my phone, making an online emergency appointment with my favorite dentist. I glanced at the time 4:41 AM. Well, I am up now. I put on my clothes for the day opting for comfy lounge ware due to the pounding pain in my face. I had my advanced class at 6 pm tonight and normally I would run errands and go to the gym until class started. I made my morning protein shake and sat on the loveseat.  I have a lot of time to kill before my dentist appointment and I don’t know what to do with myself. I looked through google on different dental problems but this came out of nowhere. I am not sure what to do has anyone been through something like this before?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] A Voice in the Vent [RESPONSE] I remember when playing in the woods behind my house was an endless exploration of imaginative adventure that could only further inspire my eight-year-old mind. Many times I was a barbarian warrior like Conan, lopping off heads with my enchanted tree branch. The evil beasts conjured up in my mind stood no chance against my strength and whit, my lust for action and romantic adventure. However, I now realize just how close my world was intertwined with the Cimmerian of his fiction. For many times the tales of Sword and Sorcery described monsters of unfathomable terror. Of such, only the brute force and unwavering mind of a fearless warrior could encounter and hope to defeat. I was not this warrior and yet my discovery of a hidden terror seemed to be destined for me to find. For when I wandered off the set path which leads from mine to my grandparent's houses I stumbled across a shaded patch of forest with a small murky pond at its center. The area was dead quiet save for the crunching of dead leaves beneath my feet and the occasional nerve-wracking pop of breaking twigs. I remember a slight fog over the water, more like vapors dissipating as if the pond we're boiling. Yet, being an ignorant youth, I reached down and touched the surface and felt it was very cold. So much so that I drew back my hand in surprise only to begin violently wiping my fingers on my clothes for the liquid was like some sort of sticky alcohol. With the commotion I made I heard across the water a soft rustling that seemed to be heading around the pond in my direction, but stopped once I glanced towards it. For all my fear of the sound, my eyes suddenly came across a shape in the center of the pond. It was pale like smooth limestone yet from it came a small delicate trail of bubbles escaping from an unseen pocket of air. Stupidly I started to lean forward, squinting for a better look. I fell. My body was submerged in the cold burning of the foggy liquid. I desperately tried to place my feet on whatever ground I could find. There was none. I kicked and thrashed toward the surface not wanting to open my eyes for fear of the liquid blinding me. Suddenly, I felt one of my feet strike something hard. That limestone maybe. But in response, there came a sound, a low grunt of some kind. The pond began to build up a slight current and, as if returning the favor, a sharp pain hit my thigh. I screamed into the mysterious waters and put all of my efforts into reaching the shore of what now seemed an infinit ocean. I was no longer Conan the as I breached the surface. I was a child crying out for his parents, smothering from the fumes of this potentially poisonous body of creature infested water. I climbed out after what seemed an eternity of an unwaking nightmare and refused to look back as I ran from the pond. I expected to hear the sound of the monster breaching the pond, but the silence of dark woods remained unbroken. The vapors of the drying liquid trailed behind me as I desperately made for the familiar path. When it was in sight I felt the calmness of familiarity which caused me to slow my pace. The world was luminous with the summer evening and the creatures of common knowledge went about their business ignorant of what I had found. When I reached home I wondered if I had only dreamed up another fantasy in which I encountered the pond. There was no scent of the strange water, no more burning on my skin, but the fear in my heart returned as I looked down at my torn jeans and spied the coagulated blood from a long scratch in my flesh. I hurried inside, tossed my clothes in the hamper, and showered for good measure, unintentionally earning praise from my mother for being on top of my hygienics. I told my parents nothing about the pond or the scratch, but I couldn't completely hide my fearful glances to the windows facing the edge of the forest during dinner. The questions did not come. All was normal within our home which made more and more at ease, as well as conscious of my illogical perception. The evening went on with my dad and I watching reruns of Star Trek while my mom read one of her awful Amish based novels in the lamplight. I think of this time to comfort myself with what followed. I was tucked into bed lovingly by my parents, being an only child at the time I was coddled quite a bit. My bedroom was alight with glow in the dark stars, posters of Star Wars, shelves of action figures ready to defend me while I numbered. The light of my aquarium and the shadows of Angelfish gliding on the walls eased me into a near dose until the bubbles from the pump caused me to open my eyes in fear. Suddenly, as if responding to my fearful pondering, I heard a scratching in the vent near the right side of my bed. A soft clinking followed by breathing as if something small was making a great effort to get through the grate. I was terrified. My hopes that my imagination from my playful excursions of the day had overtaken my senses were dashed. The Spock logic prior tot had provided the explanations for all that overcame me was lost. Yet the delusion refused to let loose its prisoner which was my sanity. I knew I had to face it in order to prove its nonexistence so that logic may once again have its dominion. "Hello?" I asked the darkness. Immediately the noises ceased and in my mind's eye, I could see a rat scurrying away in fear of its discovery, but it was my contributions to this fable which were now dismissed. "You found it, boy." Came the whisper of a tiny creature behind the grate. My eyes welled with tears at the sound. I was about to call out for my parents when it continued. "All this time I tried to keep it hidden from you "Short Noses" and a runt such as yourself seems compelled to find and wake it!" The voice was irritated, yet it also contained fear in its reverberations. "What was it?" I asked in a trembling voice. My aquarium bubbled quietly reminding me of the pale shape in the pond. "It IS a manticore. One that has hybernated for many human lifetimes but has ended far more. I was entrusted to watch over it by the one who placed it in its prison. You stirred it. Now it will soon awaken." I raised up forgetting my fear of the disturbing circumstance of speaking with this hidden thing. I knew what a manticore was. I knew it well enough to have it far from my mind to dream up during my woodland adventures, for the image of the creature caused real fear in me, though in a hypothetical sense. The images I had seen in books of the monster went through my brain and disturbed me anew, now I realized that I had been scratched by the thing in its restlessness. Had I opened my eyes while submerged in the pond I knew that I would have gone mad to see its shape within the burning fog. "What can I do?" I asked the voice. It didn't respond, yet I could still hear it breathing in the vent. "Please..." I whimpered. "I didn't mean to wake it up." I was trembling beneath my bedsheets which used to make me feel safe. Now I only felt cold and alone and guilty for bringing such a thing back into the world. "You cannot put it back to sleep. Its been too long now and it will be hungry. You cannot hurt it with any weapon for its flesh is invulnerable. It can eat you whole and it will leave no bones behind. Its roar is terrible, boy. Your mother and father will wake up to the sound of it and will be taken by madness once it enters your home. It will devour your neighbors, all who dwell nearby, and no one will know what has happened to any of you." I fell out of my bed and onto the floor sobbing. I crawled to the vent and put my face down to it without fear of what I might see if anything. "What can I do?" I implored in quiet desperation. "How can I kill it?" In the grate, I could see a tiny shape stirring within. Two glimmers of silvery light peered at me and I could see the green flesh of a long pointed nose. It was a Goblin, small and mischievous looking, though at the moment the eyes looked sad and pitying. When it spoke for the final time I sensed the want of a brighter circumstance. "If you wish to truly be the hero you pretend to be, you must slay it through its mouth." The eyes disappeared and a soft scrambling shape faded into the darkness. I was alone with this frightening knowledge and I had to make a choice. Should I return to my bed and risk waking up to the roar of the manticore? Or do I face the night and the strange water to slay it before it rises? I was a child. I was scared. But, I knew I couldn't let my family and my neighbors be devoured because of what I had done. I dressed, grabbed a flashlight and a small family picture propped on the table next to my bed, then quietly went to the kitchen and grabbed the largest knife from the rack. With a weapon in hand I went out the back door to the swaying of trees of a windy midnight. I started the path with an empty mind, neither allowing terrible imaginations nor doubting logic hinder my stride. I wasn't brave. I wasn't foolish. I simply WAS. The reality, or at least my perception of it, had been shattered into shapeless pieces of mirror that no matter how well-formed could never show my reflection in its former naivety. I prayed that I wouldn't find the pond, but I knew for sure that I would. The shape would be there. I would have to go back into the water and somehow open the mouth of the manticore and shove in a feeble kitchen knife. This was my plight. I was eight years old on an adventure in my favorite place to pretend and I could feel a laughing mockery at my innocence when I left the path once more. There was no sound but the wind in the trees. A crescent moon and a star-filled sky watched me from afar. I held my family picture to my chest and walked the hills of dead leaves. The beam of my flashlight shown through the trees who almost seemed lonely in this part of the woods for in truth, this was a world left behind a long, long time ago. When fairies took flight in Elvish gardens and Saytrs piping tunes for dancing nymphs. Whatever creatures flourished in this pocket of time so close to my home we're long since devoured by themanticore. Likely whatever force imprisoned the beast also sent it here to our plane. As well as having the courtesy of leaving a Goblin behind to watch over it. No doubt this same being is still sowing travesties in other worlds as it has for us at present. I finally saw the pond reflecting it's murky grayness with my flashlight and my soul cried out within me as a cold fear enveloped my body. There were no more vapors floating above the surface. Neither was the pale shape below. It was still and empty. The thoughts now began to race both logical and fantastical. It was gone! It was never there! I can return to my warm bed and forget about it. It will be there waiting for me in the midst of my parent's innards. I wanted to scream for all the emotions, but it was the Manticore that screamed into the night sending a terrible jolt throughout my body. My bowls cramped at the sight of the giant face of a man hovering 10ft in the air. The paws of the enormous lion body thudded the ground, the wings on it's back flapped a gust that almost made me topple over. The barbed porcupine-like tale flicked violently left to right taking out a tree with one careless swipe. The eyes were a large and bulging yellow with black gashes for feline pupils. When my eyes met that of the monster it screamed again in satisfaction at its discovery of its first meal after so long a slumber. I could see its three rows of teeth as it howled at me and yet somehow my only thought was 'My parents are hearing this and they are going to find that I am out of bed. They're going to look for me. They won't find me. I'll have been swallowed whole.' When the manticore reached me it stopped and gazed down at my tiny form and did something that finally snapped me out of my insane stupor. It grinned. The monster was grinning at my fear. The teeth were sharp and yellow. The stench of its breath broke through each of them and made me almost vomit. Stagnation of time. The willingness of its stomach acids to return to its labor The manticore was ready to indulge itself. It breathed in through its nostrils then opened its mouth and slowly came down over my head. Yet, somehow, instead of succumbing to terror a white-hot hatred took over me suddenly. I was offended at how weak it perceived me. I was irate at how much of a bully this thing was. This freak of nature had thrown its weight around eons ago and eradicated the peaceful world it which blighted. I refused to let this happen again. To my family, my neighbors, to me! I stepped on the first layer of its teeth and stabbed the knife into its tongue. It screamed and began to try to close its jaws on me, but I had already climbed further In and now sank my knife into the roof of its mouth. The beast thrashed its head trying to sling me out but I kept climbing further in, slicing and stabbing all the way through. I remember the barbarous man of action that I pretended to be and I embraced it fully, burrowing deep into its throat, spitting the blood from my own mouth as I climbed. By the sudden change in equilibrium, I could tell it had fallen to the ground and was struggling against the pain. I pressed my feet against the back of the throat and shoved the knife deep beneath the skull. I couldn't penetrate it so I began to cut upward as hard as I could. Its screams were deafening, but I knew that it could hear my laughter as I sliced and mangled without mercy. Suddenly, I was drowned in the cold burning water from the pond along with fresh screams as it mingled with the manticore wounds. I lost my knife in the flood but not my footing or the family picture in my hand. I kissed it then smashed the glass in the frame then shoved it in the open gash as hard as I could. The monster bellowed then suddenly began to whine pitifully. The thrashing ceased and the water flowed inside until I was completely submerged. I began to swim out of the mouth fearing the teeth, but to desperate to hesitate. My eyes burned horribly and all vision had darkened from the night so I felt my way past the teeth and to the surface. Through the burning I could make out my flashlight which lay on the ground and I swam towards it ,fearing the claws of the beast seizing me before and pulling me under. Suddenly, there were small hands grabbing my right arm helping me out of the pond. It was the goblin though I could barely see its shape. "You did it, boy! You did it! You have slain the Manticore!" I was confused. All the effort I put forth to hurt the creature still didn't seem enough to kill it. The goblin continued to bellow his claim and I expected any moment the thing to rise back up once more and chomp us both. Yet the creature was silent. I could see now that it had plunged headfirst into the pond and drowned itself apparently. "Its... really dead?" I asked. "Poisoned! The water is deadly to Manticores that ingest, which is why It was put to sleep here, but they can hold their breath for a long time. You made it drink the water to relieve the torture you brought upon it. Its innards will burn away now." I fell back and watched the star-filled sky. A meteor passed and with it went my wish to always have this bravery that overcame my impossible fear. As the years progressed in my life and I found myself abandoning my imaginations, my thoughts of heroism, I still remember the moment when I accepted a new reality at the edge of the pond.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I lost my daughter; I blame myself [RESPONSE] All that’s left of my daughter is a jagged, bloody hole in her bedroom window, and I think it’s all my fault.  It’s not that I would *ever* have hurt her. No, I would NEVER have hurt my little seven-year-old, Lucy. She was—*IS*—the apple of my eye and the pride of my life. And I believe she’s still out there. But where? And with *whom*? I guess the best thing to do is to start from the beginning. That Saturday was like any other: a mix of chores, fun, and relaxation. We closed it out, as usual, with my Saturday night bedtime story. Although I’d tell Lucy bedtime stories throughout the week, the one on Saturday was generally longer and more involved. That night, as she listened, snuggled up in her comfy blankets, her twinkling eyes staring up at me with an even greater amount of interest than usual, I told her a story of fairies living amongst the rose bushes, and how their babies were born as the flowers bloomed. When I finished, she let out a long, contented sigh and asked, “Even in our garden, Daddy?” I shrugged. “Well, I guess so. I mean, I haven’t seen any, myself, but I suppose they do.” I gave her a kiss on the forehead, and as I recall, she went to sleep that night with a huge smile on her face, surely dreaming of fairies, fairy babies, and garden adventures. The next day, Lucy was up early and on a mission. She gobbled down her breakfast cereal and was soon out in the garden. I was busy with some home repairs, so I didn’t pay much mind to her, but I’d occasionally see her passing by the back window and in good spirits. When she came in, several hours later, she was covered from head to toe with cuts and lacerations. “Brian!” my wife, Janelle, admonished me from the kitchen. “Brian! Look at your daughter! She’s been in the rose bushes out there and she’s bleeding everywhere!” But Lucy didn’t seem to mind. Despite the blood dripping down her forehead, her eyes were bright and her smile was like the moon. “Daddy! I got one! I got a fairy baby!” She wriggled out of her shocked mother’s grasp and showed me what was clutched between her small hands. It was the most foul and disgusting-looking, black beetle I’d ever seen. It seemed to ooze some sort of dark liquid which had stained her palms. “Oh! I don’t think that’s a fairy baby, Lucy,” I said, gently. “I think we should put it back outside.” “NO! NO! NO!” she screamed, snatching her hands away from me. “She’s mine!” Then, before we could stop her, she ran off down the hall to her bedroom. My wife shot me a look that said, *See what you did?* We gave chase, but the “fairy baby” was nowhere to be found by the time we reached the bedroom. “Where is it, Lucy?” I asked, trying to keep calm. “Where did you put it?” Her face was defiant. “I don’t have it! I don’t know where she went and YOU CAN’T HAVE HER!” We turned that room upside down. Janelle hates bugs worse than anything on Earth. It was nowhere to be found. Although Janelle was not sure, I figured it must have gone out through the air ducts or something. We cleaned Lucy up and went about our business. But it wasn’t gone.  There would be times I’d pass her room when I’d hear wings buzzing, softly at first, but the sound grew distinctively louder, as time went on…as if it was growing. However, whenever I’d open the door, the sound would go quiet and I wouldn’t see anything. Sometimes, if Lucy was in there, I’d hear her whispering and giggling as the wings buzzed. When I asked her about it, she’d just say she had been talking to herself.  This went on for weeks. Then, a couple days ago, I was walking by Lucy’s door and I caught sight in her bedroom mirror of a large, black object hovering around by her closet. It seemed to be a good *few feet* in length now. Its insectile face was an abomination to behold; its wings were humming away as it passed to and fro before the closet door.  My first thought was, *That thing is too big for me to squash! I need a gun!* But I don’t keep guns. I carefully closed the door and ran into the garage to look for something, anything, to help. I finally settled on a shovel, but by the time I got back, it was gone.  *Where the hell could something of that size be hiding,* I wondered, all the while expecting to be dive-bombed or attacked from behind. My shovel felt much too small. Again, we picked that room apart, floor to ceiling. Nothing. Not a single thing. Well, that’s not entirely true, as we did find a sizeable puddle of black ooze beneath Lucy’s bed. When Lucy returned home from school, we grilled her with questions about where the thing was living. She insisted that it wasn’t there. No matter how much we bribed or threatened her, she maintained her story. Then last night happened. I awoke in the pitch darkness of my bedroom to the sound of a very loud crashing and breaking noise. At first I thought it came from my bathroom, but then I realized it had come from Lucy’s bedroom. Still unsteady and bleary from sleep, I grabbed the shovel which I still keep beside my bed, and stumbled and groped down the hallway. A cold breeze was wafting from beneath the door, chilling my feet. I threw open the door and… …the jagged, bloody hole was all that remained. I can’t be sure it was that…thing. That bug. And the connection with my story, well, I’m hoping there is no connection. I just want my girl back.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The wind is a living thing, don’t make the mistake I did and try to control it. [PART 1] [RESPONSE] Children are a special thing, we often see the world with open, unjudging eyes. We often don’t see danger where others may be wary or cautious. I made that mistake as a child, and now my life is constantly in danger. The wind isn’t just….a thing relating to temperatures or the spin of the earth. It’s alive, and as far as I can tell is capable of emotions, including jealousy and hatred. Do not try to control the wind. You see I was fascinated by the wind. I loved to watch the sky on a windy day and see the different directions the wind took the clouds. The noise of it careening across a field, or through the woods always made me smile. I had thought at one point, on a particularly windy day I could ‘control’ the wind with my arm motions and make it gust to or fro. This was years before that Avatar show aired on Nickelodeon. What I did seemed to work, and I had thought I made a connection with this base element of life. How wrong I was. Let me explain, in the early 00’s as a child around ten, I had a really nice Schwinn bike. I loved to take it around my cul-de-sac, and as I got more adventurous, and my parents loosened the leash I started to explore. There weren’t any big, wooded areas right behind my house, so I had to bike a good distance to find those. Up the street, take a right, then a left at the gas station. This led to this tiny strip mall with all of 4 storefronts, a place that sold Gyros, I think a hair salon and the other two didn’t matter. If you followed around back of this standalone building, the road continued. This road curved slightly then went steeply down into the woods. A winding road where if you weren’t careful on a bike you’d pick up some dangerous speed. The wind blasting you in the face as you screeched the brakes, to lean into the next turn while you flew down this hill. Before you knew it you were at a small parking lot, that was adjacent to a series of tiny ponds you could fish at. On either side left and right you could explore a bike path that went deep into the midwestern woods. On one particularly nice fall afternoon I found myself there, looking around at the trees clad in faded greens, yellows, and some early browns. There were dead leaves already rustling around the asphalt, making that distinct hollow scratching sound as they were dragged about by the whim of the winds. It was familiar, there were a few parked cars, some lazy people in pop up loungers fishing with 2 or 3 rods. The wind picked up and blasted to my left, almost nudging me to bike on the left side trail today. I decided to oblige if for no other reason than a tail wind made it easier to bike. Off I went, the parking lot fading as the black asphalt of the bike trail became the only path forward. The trees swayed and shook as the wind stumbled back to life in occasional gusts, followed by periods of a calm constant stream through the air. I had coined the term “Winds of change” a few years ago cause these winds were the end of summer and heading ever forward to the frigid midwestern winters. After ten or fifteen minutes of biking, all the while the crunch of dead leaves drummed beneath the skinny tires of my bike, I saw something peculiar. Well, mundane in most circumstances but out in the middle of the woods you didn’t see this crop up. It was a little leaf tornado, swirling near a few trees, not 10 feet off the path. Like most of its brethren I’d seen before it seemed to stir to life when the wind began picking up, and then came to a brief tall crescendo maybe 5 feet high during the gusts. I watched with rapt fascination, slowing and stopping to watch this Having seen these around corners of buildings, in the woods it felt…out of place. It didn’t seemingly stop even when the wind had ceased its forceful gusts for seconds or even minuets at a time. A few dozen leaves seemingly refusing to stop swirling near the base. I don’t know what came over me but I called out to it, and make a swirling motion with my fingers as if to stir it up further. This seemed to work, the whipping circling mass sprung back up, I laughed a bit at my perceived control of this force of nature. I walked little closer and picked up some dead twigs, throwing them into the swirling mass. It seemed unperturbed and died down once more. After the wind seemingly revived this whirl, I had a bad idea, as children often do. I picked up a softball sized rock and hucked it as hard as I could into the whirling mass. Another gust shot past, ruffling my already ragged hair, and the whirl sprung back to life, seemingly sustaining for longer than I had ever seen before. I was awestruck as it seemingly spun in place, leaves whipping about in concentric circles, the brown and yellow leaves scratching at each other and the ground around the base. It was then I noticed the quiet, the crows cawing had stopped, the wind was dead flat the tree’s swaying and shaking had abruptly stopped. There was nothing, just the eerie scraping of dead leaves against each other and my own breathing. What happened next should be impossible, my kid brain wasn’t possibly seeing things right. The whirl of leaves seemed to lean forward, the base gliding along the ground picking up new debris as it did so, inches became feet and the strength of the wind started to buffet my jacket and face. For the briefest moment, frozen in time comprised almost entirely of leaves and empty space what appeared to be a malformed face. I heard an unnatural hissing echo from what I thought could be a mouth. I screamed, and flipped my bike one-eighty and ran, hopping mid stride and began peddling as fast as I could. The wind screamed to life out of nowhere and I was fighting the strongest headwind I’d ever felt. I didn’t look back at whatever that whirling monster was, but I didn’t hear it following, though it would be hard to hear anything when the wind is piercing your ears as you ride as fast as you can into it. I managed to climb back up this ridiculously steep winding road back out of the woods and into safety. Panting, lungs on fire as I coasted to a stop and got off my bike. My lunch from school ended up in the gutter from exertion and terror I’m sure. I wiped my mouth, and biked home. I thought that would be the end of it, some children’s hallucinated terror about the leaves. I didn’t have any weird nightmares, everything seemed fine. It, whatever ‘it’ was, is gone. That was, until a week later after school got out for the day. I went outside and unlocked my bike, walking it through the parking lot. The rest of the kids were mostly gone, a few loitering waiting on late parents, or going to the back to play in the playground. I noticed it, in the corner of two walls, another leaf tornado. My heart skipped a beat, but after the wind quieted for several moments the leaves settled. Nothing happened, I watched and waited, before the wind picked up again. This time the little whirl of scraping leaves seemed to focus in on itself, the spinning growing tighter and faster, more uniform. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck spring up and I decided to book it home then and there. For weeks everything returned to normal. I went to school, I played with my friends, and I completely forgot about the “leaf tornado” that was coming after me. I spotted some natural whirls, but they never did anything weird. Soon September turned into late October, and we were approaching Halloween. Being the Midwest, storms are far from uncommon, ‘sever thunderstorms’ could even be considered commonplace. Whipping winds, sheets of rain, maybe the occasional tornado warning siren spooling up. These storms entranced me as much as the wind itself. One evening we got that blaring SAME headers for a severe thunderstorm warning. I was in my room with my TV on, it had been raining and thundering some that night, but continued to grow in intensity. Turning the TV off, and then my light to better see outside I went to my front window and just watched. The rain pelted against the screen and glass of my view into the outside world. Flashes of lightning cloud to cloud, kept the sky looking alive. Though I did look down, and I noticed something in the street, among the two rivers of rainwater headed to the storm drain at the intersection of our road, it was almost cone shaped. A few flashes of lightning told me all I needed to know. It was back, and it was following me. It didn’t seem any larger, it wasn’t flying towards the house, but this unnatural whirl of storm debris was sitting in the middle of our storm soaked street, the noise of the debris it picked up scraping off the road and against itself. I ran to my bed, threw the covers over my head and waited it out. Through out the night when the wind would pick up in a violent gust, I swear I could hear an oddly consistent rustling and banging of twigs and debris against my window. It kept me up most of the night, but sleep did eventually envelope me. There weren’t any tornadoes in the area that night, and our house didn’t suffer any peculiar damage more than our neighbors. In the back of my mind I knew it, whatever this thing was, was out there, waiting for me and it wasn’t leaving me alone. Things only escalated as I grew into an adult, and now I don’t feel safe any time the wind blows, I must subdue a panic attack if there is a storm predicted in my area. I have a hard time renting, so I ended up living the ‘van life’ as they call it. Now I try to do the opposite of storm chasers, I run, and it? It follows.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Indian horror story [RESPONSE] Location: Assam, India This takes place around 2018. I am doing a government job and at that time was posted in a rural area near Bhutan border. So, office times were lax and I usually headed back home around 2ish. Since villages usually have flaky electricity supply and I was heavy into gaming at that time, I decided to rent at the nearby town and would commute to office on my motorcycle for around 35 kms. The road was pitched and well maintained but there were no houses around and sparse forest areas for the entirety of around 20 kms till the road merges with the national highway. So, coming to that eventful afternoon, I was riding back home at around 3 PM and had covered around half the way. The roads were usually vacant with a rare car overtaking you or a man with his cattle. So, your peripheral vision tends to be very active and if you spot someone or something, you look. Here I see this lady, in tribal garb , walking on my side of the road. Around 30ish, I would assume. When I overtake, I look in my rear mirror to see her face. Surprise, surprise, nobody there. I stop my bike. Big mistake. But in my mind, this was a spooky adventure and in broad daylight, mind you, so rather than getting afraid, I decide to investigate. The area was mostly bamboo trees with no houses on either side, so it was not possible for her to get off the road and be somewhere. So, after a few seconds of looking, I take a leak and head back home. The rest of the evening is spent playing games and eating dinner. Nothing unusual. I go to bed around 1AM. At around 3AM, I suddenly wake up with an intense feeling of dread. I open my eyes but cannot move my body. Sleep paralysis, I think. I have had similar attacks quite a few times before so I know how to deal with it. I do not try to move my body, I just close my eyes and wait for it to end. Suddenly I find myself being embraced from behind by cold hands. I can feel the coldness radiate through my body. Now I feel nervous. I have never seen apparitions or felt any presence in my previous sleep paralysis bouts. I nervously squeak "Who's there?". After a few seconds, I hear a female voice, not harsh, but sweet and melodious "You don't know me. What will you do with my name?". I am seriously a mess at this point. I croak out "Please leave me alone." She says "I am not leaving you. I will be with you forever." I manage a "Why?" and the answer is "Because you were looking for me." I don't know when I slept. The next day, I came down with a high fever and decided to skip office. That day I was a wreck of nerves. I was afraid to sleep alone. I was alone in a new town and my parents were in a different end of the state, so asking them to come down was not a feasible question. That night, same situation, I feel the embrace again. But this time I pretend like I do not feel anything. I lay still and feverishly pray. I hear the voice "Do you not like me?". I do not reply. The voice repeats "Do you not like me? My husband did not want me, so he killed me. Go to X village and ask (Said village is a small habitation, around 15-20 homes and a tea/grocery shop nearly 3 kms from the place first mentioned). I will never leave you now." I do not know when I went to sleep. Next morning, I get ready to go to office. Today, I need to get to the bottom of this mystery. I reach office and confide in my attendant, let's call him Ram (he was a local of the place). So, Ram and I head off to this place on my bike. We head for the tea shop and strike up a conversation with the owner. Chatty fellow. He tells Ram in their local language that the wife of a woodcutter who stayed there was found mysteriously dead by hanging a few days back. Local authorities declared it a suicide but the info was that the couple were constantly fighting and overall it was an unhappy marriage. Reasons, the lady did not conceive after 5 years of marriage. The husband was obviously grieving and stuff, but tongues were wagging about how he had done off with his wife. I now knew what I needed to know. Ram takes me to a local tantrik who asks me to narrate everything in detail. I spill all the beans. He says I was a fool to stop there and God was with me that I was not dead in these two days. According to him, people who get their lives snuffed out are usually malevolent after their deaths. They do not know right from wrong and vent out their anger on any poor soul who happens to cross their path. Ans silly me had to pee there of all places. He performs a puja for me and gives me the ashes. He said spread these on your entrance and near your bed and do not clean them off for seven days. He takes only 20 bucks from me as payment. I do what I am told and that was the last time I was bothered by this entity. To conclude, the logical mind would assume sleep paralysis and my colored mind to be the reason for this experience. I would beg to differ for a few reasons. First, I am not sure you have a coherent conversation during sleep paralysis. Some people do see things but the way she talked to me and narrated the place of her death does raise questions. Secondly, I have never had sleep paralysis for two nights continuously in my life. Thirdly, at the first instance when I saw her on the road, how could she disappear in a split second with no place to be or hide for a few miles. I feel that this experience have opened my eyes and broadened my horizon. I am no longer a naysayer. There are indeed some things which we may never know about for certain but which will continue to elude us and sometimes give us a small peek into their existence.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Camping with friends, and something else [RESPONSE] No one believes me when I try to tell them what happened last weekend, not the police, not my friends, not even my parents. The thing we met in those woods followed me home and I don’t know how long I have left before it takes me as well. I have to tell someone what happened during last weekend's camping trip. It was winter break for my community college and I along with few friends decided we were going to go on a camping trip before we all went home to our families for the extended break. The group consisted of me, Kyle, George, and Tony. We all became friends through courses we took together and I have to say that they made college more exciting. We had big plans for this weekend since it would be about a month before we saw each other again. We planned on leaving around lunch and heading to the Nantahala National Forest where we would be camping. It was about an hour's drive from where we were so nothing too crazy. After a few days of scrounging around for supplies, we finally had everything we thought we might need. Then the day finally arrived. We set out around lunch so that we could have everything set up by mid-afternoon and be able to hike out to a waterfall Kyle said he had been to once before. After around an hour, give or take, we finally arrived at the campground and had began to set up the two tents we brought with us. I remember it took longer than we had planned because George and Tony had never been camping before so it was up to me and Kyle to get everything set up. It was hard work, but soon enough we had our campsite up and running. “Hey you guys,” Kyle said with the surplus energy he always had, “Ready to go seewhat this place has to offer!” “You don’t ever get tired do you Kyle,” George let out a sarcastic remark. “It will be worth it, I swear, just hurry up so we can make it back before dark.” With that, we set off. Around an hour later, with leg muscles threatening to cramp at any moment, we finally reached the waterfall. It was a sight to see I won’t lie to you. There were two large boulders at the top and the waterfall lead down into this almost crystal clear pool where it slowly trailed back down the base of the mountain. The pool was so clear we could even pick the few fish that had made this place their home. We had brought a few snacks with us so we all sat down and ate for a while. We were finishing up our food when we heard what sounded like large branches being snapped. It was like a bulldozer trying to make its way down the mountain. Then this animalistic cry that shook my bones came from past the top of the waterfall somewhere hidden within the dense foliage. All of us stood up wide eyed and were looking around trying to find the source of the scene that was playing out somewhere within the woods. “I think it’s about time we head back down,” Tony said while frantically putting on his backpack. Kyle looked over to him, “Guys, where’s George?” We all were panicking by this point looking trying to find out what had happened to George. He was there one second and gone the next. After around thirty minutes of searching and calling out into the never-ending greenery that surrounded us. We tried calling jis cellphone, but it wouldn’t connect because of the poor service on the mountain. By this point I had noticed that the sun was setting and it was going to be dark soon. “Let’s start heading back guys,” I looked to my two friends that remained, “There is a park ranger office not too far from our campsite. We need to tell them what happened so they can send help.” “We can’t leave George out here,” Kyle responded. “If we haven’t found him yet, we are just going to have an even harder time when it gets dark. All we have to guide us is the light from our cell phones.” “Cam is right Kyle,” Tony said defending my claim, “We will go tell the park rangers and come back with them to help search for him.” “All right,” Kyle relented, “Let’s hurry up so we can get back and find him.” We finally started our way back down the mountain. The sun was setting and we knew we wouldn’t make it back to the ranger cabin until after dark. We walked as fast as we could down the rough trail that had guided us. That’s when we heard more branches snapping in the distance. We all froze and stared off for what felt like an eternity. We still didn’t find whatever caused the disturbance and continued down the mountain. It was probably five or ten minutes before the sun fully set and darkness would overtake the mountain when we heard its cry again. This time though, it was much closer. “Stay close guys, we don’t need anyone else getting lost before we get off this trail,” I said to the two next to me with a false sense of confidence. “What is following us,” Tony said and I could hear the fear in his voice, “Do you think that whatever it is got George?” “Let’s just hurry up Tony, right now we need to focus getting off this mountain,” Kyle said while beginning to move once again down the path, “I swear I am never camping for good after this.” Me and Tony both followed suit close behind him. We walked on pins and needles for the next few minutes with all of our concentration on our surroundings. At this point, we had to retrieve the flashlights Tony had in his bag to see where we were headed because it was now dark on the mountain. That’s when we came around a sharp curve in the trail and found ourselves face to face with a tree that was now obstructing our path to safety. It was a decent sized oak tree that looked like it had been ripped straight out of the ground with roots still attached and everything. It also had branches protruding in all directions that obstructed our view past it. “Jesus Christ,” I muttered. “It looks like there is enough space for us to crawl under.” Kyle said while leaning down to check the space from the tree to the ground. “There is no way I am doing that,” Tony said, “That thing is gonna collapse on me as soon as I try to go under.” “There is no other way around Tony,” I say while putting my hand on his shoulder for reassurance, “Me and Kyle will go through first so you can see that it’s secure enough.” “All right, let's get a move on,” Kyle said as he began making his way under the tree. Kyle made it through and gave us the all-clear. I looked back to Tony and gave him a thumbs up and went under the tree as well. While I was making my way I looked at the trunk of the tree and noticed claw marks wrapped around the trunk as if something carried it. This made the hairs on my neck stand on end. At last I finally made my way through and we both stood waiting for Tony. “Tony, you coming or what,” Kyle called out. There was no response. “Come on Tony, we gotta hurry up so we can get help,” I added with unease mounting. That’s when from off in the distance we heard screaming. It was Tony. Whatever was following us down the mountain had placed that tree there so it could take my friend. The screaming lasted for what felt like an eternity that was followed by pleas for his life. “PLEASE! HELP M…,” and just like that the forest was returned to deafening silence. We both just ran. I was running, branches flying in my face, narrowly catching myself from falling over due to exposed roots. I wanted nothing more than to reach the bottom of this mountain and see the light of the ranger's office. After what felt like forever I finally saw lights, I was so overjoyed I nearly cried. “Hurry up Kyle, we're alm….” There was no sign of him. He was just gone. While running I wasn’t paying attention to anything other than getting off that mountain as soon as possible. I hadn’t even noticed that he wasn’t behind me. I began walking up to the office in a daze. I had scrapes and bruises covering nearly every bit of exposed skin on my body. Finally noticing the park rangers coming out of the cabin I just stopped and froze. They walked over to me and took me to the porch to explain what had happened. I told them the whole story of the events that had played out and they decided to call the police to help with the search party they were trying to pull together to find my friends. “Hey Cam.” I looked over and it was him. George was standing right there. He looked perfectly fine like nothing had even happened. “Where did you go man, we were looking everywhere for you. I thought whatever was out there got you too,” I said as I bounded off the porch and gave my now only friend a hug. At this point, I had no clue something was amiss. I was just happy that I wasn’t the only one left. When I hugged him he stayed stiff as a board, he didn’t even look bothered at the events that were playing out. I backed off from him and noticed his lips slowly curling up into a grin. This smile he made stretched a little farther than it should have to the point where I thought his mouth would rip. That’s when it hit me like a ton of bricks. This was not George. It was the thing that took him. I screamed and yelled to anyone that would listen that it wasn’t my friend but they all just looked at me like I was crazy. That’s when the police showed up and questioned both of us about what had happened. They saw nothing wrong with George’s story even though I kept telling them that it wasn’t him. They all just assumed that I was in shock from losing my friends. They cleared us both and as dawn was breaking the next morning I was on my way home. I refused to leave with “George” so one of the police had to take him back to our community college. I made sure to get home and grab what little I needed so I could leave as soon as possible. On my way out I looked to see him standing at the front of my dormitory. “George” had that same smile stretched across his face. I feel like he is just tormenting me with the knowledge that all my friends are dead and the culprit is standing right in front of me. “Have a safe trip home,” It said with a voice that sounded almost human but carried an animalistic undertone that sent chills up my spine. It has been three days now. The search party that went in search of my friends haven’t found anything except for one of Kyle's hiking boots which was now painted a crimson color from the fluid that once gave him life. There was no trace of Tony and I knew that they probably wouldn’t find any. The main reason I am trying to get this story out there is because last night while looking out my bedroom window, it was there. “George” was standing on the edge of the sidewalk with that same god-awful smile. He was standing right at the edge of what the streetlamp illuminated and it cast an eerie shadow over it and illuminated this thing's eyes that were reflecting in a way that only an animal would. I know I don’t have much time left before I become food for whatever that creature is. I managed to lose so much in what was supposed to be a fun weekend with friends. “George” is outside again tonight. I know my time is almost up so let me finish with this warning. Don’t go camping in Nantahala National Forest, something might follow you home.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] A wall of fog rolled across North America in 1993 [RESPONSE] Document notes: This account arrived in my PO Box as a diary. Purple cover with glitter, spiral bound, ruled on both sides of each page. It seems like it must have lain face-down in water for some time as a majority of the pages leading up to the relevant passages are almost completely illegible—of those that survived, I’d say they contained “normal” day-to-day diary entries. “here’s what I had for lunch, the cow kicked over the milk pail again, school sucked but the boy I liked looked at me.” Some song lyrics and doodles. I haven’t the time or the heart to read out the non-relevant passages. It’s just some young persons' diary, maybe thirteen to fifteen years old, likely a girl, living on a farm with her small family. The account follows. "November 2, 1993 Day 1 We heard the sirens today right after breakfast. I never heard Dad swear so loud but Mom was too busy wiping the oatmeal off Baby Jay’s face and hauling him outta his highchair to tisk-tisk him. Everything we needed was already down in the old cold cellar. I had helped Mom make beef tallow emergency candles and Dad to clear spaces down there for us to live and sleep. Dad cooked up some flour and soot paint to cover the two little windows we had down there before piling field stones against them. He filled any chinks in the doorframe with painty rags and nailed spare lumber over the gaps. Mom brought down all the spare bedding we had to make us some beds—it would be rough without mattresses, she said, but I think we have enough old duvets to make it pretty cozy. I carefully stacked our canned food, store bought and homemade, on one side of the cellar while Dad dug us a toilet in a little back room. He dug it after covering the window in there with paint and rocks so he had to dig by the light of one of Moms tallow candles, making the whole cellar smell beefy.  The cellar actually looked pretty nice after we had finished with it. We had time to make it more homey and to fill any gaps in the weeks before the fog wall would hit so we hung a nice tablecloth on one side and made a dinner table with an old door from the lumber pile. I got some stuffed animals down from my closet upstairs and lined our sleeping spot with them too. Baby Jay got a wash basin as a bed and I painted flowers on the sides with the rest of Dad’s black paint. They didn’t look very good but Mom says it’s the thought that counts. So the hurricane siren went off and Dad swore and Mom got Baby Jay up out of his highchair to get him downstairs. I asked Mom if I could get my diary, had to ask her twice actually with how fussy Baby Jay had gotten-- anyway, she said yeah but "hurry up, for god’s sake." Dad had snapped on the radio and tuned it to 95.5 fm to see what was going on. I paused a little when he did, but Mom shooed me up the stairs to grab you, diary, before I could hear more than a few excited-sounding words. I checked my window after grabbing you and I could see the fog wall from where I was on the second floor. It didn’t really look special, except that it stretched from one side of the horizon to the other in one grey smudgy line, like looking at a far-off rainstorm. I saw Dad from the window too, he was jogging to the barn to fill the animals' troughs with as much food as water as we had and to turn on their nightlight—he spent a lot of time last week cleaning some old car batteries and hooking them up to a lightbulb so the animals wouldn’t go crazy in the dark. I’m really glad he did. Twelve days in darkness sounds like a nightmare. I gave the fog wall one long last look. It was such a nothing. Before all the stores closed, I heard some customers and salesfolks talking big about how it was some big overblown hoax and that they’d stay upside when or IF it came. Looking at the wall I shivered a bit. I hope those people changed their minds. Heck I heard that you could survive the wall just by hanging your thickest blankets against the windows and hiding in a closet. No light allowed. I really hope that’s true. I really hope they changed their minds. We got downstairs quick. Once Dad locked the door we all sat quiet for a little while, listening to the radio. Big Steve was going through all the preparations we should have done in the last week and we all listened anxiously, but we had prepared exactly as he and the government had said and maybe a little more. Baby Jay had fallen asleep in my lap but after maybe half an hour he woke up and got scared of the dark. Mom started singing and bouncing him on her knee while me and Dad started looking through boardgames to play. We pointed one of the two wind-up emergency flashlights against a jar of water to make a better boardgaming light and played a few games of scrabble. The wall hit just before dinner. We’re pretty much gonna have to eat cold canned stuff because Mom says the smoke from a gas grill or even more than one candle at a time will get dangerous really quick. I was finishing opening a can of creamed corn  when Big Steve on the radio started sounding excited. Dad had told me the radio station was about parallel to us so when they went into the wall we’d be in really soon after. We had gone out a few weeks ago to paper the whole station up--Big Steve had hosted a Big Hot Dog Grill to get the town out to help him make it all sight safe. Dad helped sledge down a man-sized hole in one wall so Big Steve could get to the emergency generator shed without having to go outside. Anyway, Big Steve said the security camera on the east side just passed into the wall. He said it got really staticky and that we might get some interruptions while the rest of the tower went in. It did get staticky for a few minutes, then it went straight into white noise for a few more—but that’s when we heard the fog wall rolling at and over us. Me and Baby Jay sat on the bedding while Mom and Dad waited tensely with our stash of cardboard and tape. We turned out all the lights and I assumed they were looking around everywhere while the wall rolled over us to see if any last-minute light was coming in. Soon we heard this low sucking sound from upside, getting closer and closer  until it was right over us. It was pretty scary at first, almost like a few years ago when we had a tornado nearly pass over us and we had to spend the night down here. It got really quiet after that. Then the DJ came back on the radio, a little more staticky but not too bad. He was broadcasting to the whole town he said, the town in the fog vortex, and we were all a big family now and here’s a tune to keep us cheerful while we braved this funny little weather phenomenon. He sounded really happy. He sounded like how you do just before you go on stage? Nervous, but you don’t want people to know you're kinda freaking out. Mom and Dad eventually turned the lights back on when they were sure no light from outside was coming in and we ate dinner to Big Steve playing music on the radio. He ate dinner live on air too. He said he'd keep broadcasting as long as he could through the 12 days we’d be in the wall. After we all took turns winding the radio and our flashlights. Now Mom and Dad are sitting and holding hands and listening to the radio while I write in you. Gonna go to bed soon but I think I’ll be awake for a long time listening to the fog. Day 2 Mom  brought an alarm clock down so we wouldn’t lose track of time. She set it to ring at 8am every day and we’re keeping count by making lines on a support beam with a piece of chalk. Me and her thought it was a little funny when we set it up, like we were all doing time in jail.  The toilet smells like how I bet a jail toilet smells. It’s already making it pretty gross down here but Dad made some extra ventilation ahead of time so he says it shouldn't get too bad, or at least it wont get dangerous. Did you know a smelly toilet could kill you? Like how too many candles or a gas leak can kill you I guess. I kept my head leaning towards one of the ventilation tubes while I used the can and I think I got a breath of air from above but I’m not sure, I didn’t want to breathe too deeply. The government said the air wasn’t what was so dangerous about the fog wall. It was just normal air. Other than that today was pretty boring. We sat around the light and read or play boardgames. We nap when we feel like it and listen to the radio. The music is nice. Big Steve is as cheerful as ever. Baby Jay isn’t allowed on the dirt floor but we let him play around on the bed. I’m glad he likes all my stuffed animals. Mom and Dad opened a bottle of wine and let me have a little. I think it made my head feel  light but I don’t like the taste—too bitter! They cheered up a little though so the evening was more fun and they actually got to laughing while we played Trivial Pursuit. I thought about the cows and chickens in the barn. I hoped their light was still on.  Day 2 ½ I’m creeped out. It’s night I guess, at least it’s a few hours after we all decided to go to bed but I’m the only one awake. I had to get up to use the toilet. It’s cold tonight though and my stomach was hurting a bit so I took the radio into the bathroom and turned it on really low while I sat on the toilet—it's just a bucket with the bottom cut out and some planks across it, set across the hole Dad dug. We have another bucket of spare dirt beside us to scoop into the toilet when we’re done to keep the smell down.  I had the radio on super low and pressed to one ear while I sat. Some music was on for a while but soon Big Steve comes back on air but he’s sounding a little different. Quieter, not like I have the volume down quieter but like he’s almost whispering into the microphone quieter.  He says “welcome back, ladies and gents, welcome back to the town in the fog wall. We got a new one here for you tonight. I got up to take a trip down to the little boys room—thank god for septic tanks, can I get an amen—and I took a peek at our security cameras while I did, as I’m want to do. Now there isn’t much to look at out there in the fog wall most of the time, y’all aint missing much—*its fog!--* but I'll be damned if I didn’t catch a little bit of movement out there in the west parking lot. We got a little LED light hooked up out there, not much of a power draw and it’s good to have a light on in the night in case any raccoons feel like ransacking the place. But tonight I did not see a raccoon. I saw...” Big Steve trailed off there for a sec. “... well, family, I don’t quite know what I saw. It was big, but not like an elephant big. Like it wasn’t *solid* or *thick*. It looked kinda like a hairball blew across the camera lens truth be told, and that might have very well been what it was, all fuzzy 'n outta focus and lookin to be carried on a breeze from out yonder.”  He paused again. “Wish Sunday Sue decided to stay up here so I could get a second opinion, but she drove out on Monday to keep an eye on her family. Sunday Sue, if you're out there I hope you’re doing fine and well. I’m good up here. But an old man does miss his cohost.” He chuckled. “Okay folks, sorry to creep you in the middle of the night. As penitence I’ll drag out some Carpenters to keep us in the long hours and I’ll get back to some good old-fashioned shut eye.”  Guitar music started playing. I stayed on the toilet until my butt hurt but it seemed like Big Steve really did go to bed. So I went back to bed, too—but I kept the radio on close to my ear as I lay here. I tried to listen above me for sounds in the fog and I wrote in this diary. Day 4 I was still feeling a little sick yesterday so I mostly stayed on the bed and read some books. Mom and Dad thought the wine might have upset my stomach. I think the toilet smell is getting to me. It smells so gross that I try to eat and drink less so I don’t have to use it. Dad had hung air fresheners after digging the toilet hole but they don’t do much unless you hold them against your nose. I’m breathing through my mouth mostly now and luckily I have a ventilation pipe near my side of the bed. I think I can smell fresh air through it, cool and a little damp. I felt better today so Mom sat me down with my math textbook and we worked on some problems. She’s really good at trig but I can’t stand it. I can get it when it’s being explained to me—everything she says makes sense when she goes through all the steps—but once she hands me a new equation and asks me to solve it all flies away. She wants me to go to University but I don’t even know what I want to study. I like English, but she says that if I want to get an English major I might as well get into trades and be a plumber or something instead. If I was a plumber maybe I could figure out a better toilet. Day 4 ½ Can’t sleep. Sounds above us. We started hearing it as we were getting ready for bed. Mom and me were shaking out the bed linens when Dad shushed us. He was standing near the door with his head cocked upwards. He looked whiter than the sheets. We stopped and listened too. First there was nothing. Every once in a while for the past four days we’d hear the familiar sound of cows lowing from the barn. They’d gone quiet too, like they were listening with us. Then I heard it. A sound like someone sweeping the floor with a straw broom, coming out of the fog very slowly towards our hiding place. The radio was already on quiet but Mom dropped her corner of the blanket we were holding and snapped the radio off. We let absolute silence fill the pantry as whatever it was passed over us. When it groaned I almost screamed out loud. I actually clapped both hands over my mouth. Mom and Dad didn’t so much as look at me. Baby Jay kept sleeping, thank god. The groan warbled on above us, louder and louder, but still not much above a whisper, following the side of the house. Eventually it peaked right above us. Mom threw a hand out to me and I gripped it silently. I can’t remember the last time I held her hand. Baby Jay, though, shifted in his washbasin bed and started fussing. Mom let me go immediately to pick him up and started rocking him gently, sparing a few terrified glances up as she did. I think I heard the barest pause in the strange sweeping footsteps above us but the groan remained unbroken. It was finally moving away. Baby Jay had fallen back asleep. We all stood like that for minutes after, all staring at the ceiling. After we were certain it was gone we shared a silent group hug. Then we all went to bed and all lay in the quiet with the radio turned off. They came back, though. Or more moved through. Mom and Dad and Baby Jay are asleep again and I’m up listening to what sounds like a whole herd of brooms walking along above us, every once in a while letting out one of those terrible drawn-out moans. It’s so quiet but it’s there. I tried to hold it but eventually I had to get up and pee. I took the radio and turned it on so quiet that for a few moments I thought it was still muted. I sat on the can and listened. Then Big Steve came on, whispering, and I realized he must have been listening too. “There goes another one,” he breathed just above the faint static. “Folks, I think we’re in a herd of these things. Now hold on one second.” There was the sound of a chair shifting. Then Big Steve's voice came from further away, in a stage-whisper. “God, if that isn’t the spookiest thing I’ve ever seen.” A very long pause, the sound of him sitting down again. “Sorry folks, the cameras are on the outside of my booth and I gotta really stretch my mic cord to be able to see ‘em, and that’s still from ten feet away. Kinda wish I hadn’t gotten up to take a closer look because they are capital C creepy.” Sound of him sipping water, clearing his throat. Another pause and he comes back even quieter.  “They just drift, really. Their... their feet? Barely touch the ground. They must be so light. National tv says they do something to the security tapes and sure enough after seeing that first one the other night I checked the tape and it was all messed up, static, blue screen, flickers, the whole shebang. Like I had run it through the wash with my biggest electromagnets. But the live feed still comes in pretty good. For now at least.” I think I sat on the toilet for another half an hour, barely noticing the stink and just listening to Big Steve describe the things moving around above us. They shifted and groaned as he thought out loud about where the fog wall came from and what the strange creatures moving within it were. I had seen plenty of TV show hosts and experts talk about this. Some people said aliens. More said they were people who got changed when they looked into the fog. The programs usually had a drawing from a survivor who had seen one through a security camera like Big Steve. It always looked like a tangled mat of yarn, usually with a big question mark pasted over it by the tv station. They said the things didn’t ever try to break in or anything but I knew Dad had brought down his shotgun and kept it tucked under the pile of quilts we used as a mattress on his side. When I finally got up and finished my business my legs were all pins and needles. I tried to shake feeling back into them while taking a few deep breaths of the fresh air streaming in from the ventilation pipe beside the can. The way the cellar worked had the pipe coming out at about head-level for me so I could just stand and let the air wash over me. Cool and damp. The pins and needles faded and I closed my eyes for a second, thinking about being back up there in broad daylight and crisp, near frigid November air. I stopped breathing when a brushing footstep and a groan echoed from what sounded like within the pipe. The sound came in so clearly it was like I was standing outside with them. I felt my hands grip the radio tightly. The groan got louder. It got louder and closer, like whatever was making it was pushing its head down the pipe. I finally managed to move a few steps back but I was staring at the end of pipe and couldn’t look away. Deep in it’s mouth I thought I saw the faintest pulse of light. It seemed to beat steadily for a few moments before fading to nothing along with the groan. A pause, then the sound of sweeping footsteps moving away. I stood with my back against the rough stone wall that separated the toilet from the main room. I stared into the now pitch-black pipe and started to shiver all over. I went back to bed and lay with my flashlight and radio on and wrote in my diary. The light is just about out now. I don’t want to make noise by winding it. The radio is already dead. I’ll try to sleep. Day 5 Mom and Dad heard Big Steve talking about the things in the fog today. He repeated his story about them sweeping in during the night again and again and they seemed to get more and more upset every time he did. Big Steve, though, he sounded more and more... I dunno, comfortable—every time he told the story.  I’ve decided not to tell Mom and Dad about what I thought I saw last night. I think I was just really creeped out by the sounds and the radio. There’s no light inside the pipe today, I checked, and we haven’t heard anything move above since last night. The cows are even back to mooing every so often. I hope they’re still doing well. They sound pretty fine to me.  More boardgames, more napping, more studying. We’re doing biology today and learning about photosynthesis. I thought I had a pretty good idea of how it worked but it turns out there’s a whole dark reaction part of it that even Mom has to take time to read to herself to understand. She was a geologist before having me and marrying Dad though so at least she can understand a lot of the chemistry stuff. It’s weird, I didn’t know much about what Mom was doing before she had me. She never really talked about it before but during a homework break she told me a few stories about her field work in the Yukon before she married Dad. It’s kinda nice. Maybe after all this we’ll be a little closer. Day 6 Halfway done!! It’s been so boring. No light from the pipe today, didn’t hear anything last night. Still smells here. Dad joked that once we’re out of here we’re gonna burn all the clothes and linens out back because the smell has gotten into them so much. We’re getting really restless so we played charades all afternoon to try to tire us out and Mom “made” a special dessert for after dinner. It was just cherry pie filling with crushed graham crackers on top but it was really good anyway. I like how you get a burst of juice when you bite into a cherry. We’ve been eating straight out of cans, passing it around with a spoon and taking bites because we can’t really clean our dishes. We keep the old cans and jars in a garbage bag in the bathroom so at least the smell is kept all in one spot. We tried lighting a candle near the main rooms ventilation pipe to force a draft but I don’t think it made a difference. Tomorrow we’ll be over the hump and there’ll only be five days left. Day 6 ½ Still no light from the pipe, no sounds above us. Big Steve is back on though. He’s been counting how many move past his east-facing camera. So far he’s at 51 tonight. Day 7 Another boring day. I know we’re on the downslope but it sucks so bad down here. I don’t know what I’ll do first when I get back upside—probably check on the animals with Dad. We’ll open the doors and let them get any last little bit of grass from the fields. I’m gonna kiss each cow on the nose and hug each chicken. None of the cows need milking thank goodness, though there’ll probably be some eggs that are on their way to becoming baby chicks! They have to stay in their eggs for longer than us, poor little guys. I hope Dad lets us keep them. Day 7 ½ They’re moving above us again. It’s very late. I don’t know how Mom and Dad can stay asleep through the moans and footsteps. Stupid that I have to keep getting up to pee. I’m trying to stay under the covers for as long as I can but I gotta go. Be back. Taking the radio. There’s light inside the pipe again. I was doing my usual thing and went to get my breath of fresh air when I saw it. I covered it up with my sweater straight away. Big Steve was on the radio. I listened while I watched the pipe. “To those just tuning in, I made, uh, some minor miscalculations with the gas when we were settin’ up the place. I’m keepin’ everything but the radio equipment off. I’ve redone the arithmetic and we should have enough to get us through to the last day if I take nights off, but for this evening I’m feelin’ mighty lonely so we’ll stay on. Can’t see anything outside of course with the security cameras off but I think I’ve heard some of them pass when I was down takin a leak. Er, using the facilities. Nothing comes through the soundproofing up here in the booth of course.” He stopped to clear his throat. The sound of shuffling papers, and then gruffly, “how bout some music.”  He put on one of my favorites, *Stargazing* by Pondworks. It’s a low and slow one. There’s some violin. It always makes me kinda sad. Afterwards it wound down into silence and only after a while did Big Steve come back on, speaking quietly. “Sometimes they’ll touch each other. Just barely. Brushin’ fingertips, like. And when they do their movement will kinda sync up and they’ll sway together. It’s hypnotizing, like watching wind pass over a sea of wheat.” Another long pause. Another song played. I watched the pipe. Another song. Then Steve came back on again. “Alright, folks, I think that’ll wrap it up for tonight. I’ll power down for a few hours and see you bright and early tomorrow morning for some more music. Big Steve, signing off.” Day 8 Big Steve barely came on the radio to speak today. It was mostly music. I don’t think Mom and Dad noticed. They didn’t notice when I started taking longer and longer bathroom breaks either. More biology lessons. Haven’t heard the cows low in a while. Day 9 Big Steve wasn’t on the radio today. No music, just static. Mom and Dad seemed worried. Very quiet in the shelter. Kept checking pipe. Day 9 ½ He’s doing nights! We kept the radio on low all evening and after dinner he finally comes on, cheerful as can be.  “GOOOOD MORNING,” he boomed. His intro sound effects played: a horse whinny, a revving motor and honking horn, “Welcome back to 95.5 the BEAR FM, I’m your host Big Steve and I am broadcasting to all my good friends and family here in the valley. We have a hell of a mixtape for you today if you’d pardon my french, so let’s get this rock rollin’!” We all stayed up late listening to the music. Mom said he must have slept in or felt under the weather during the day. I think so too. I’m really glad he’s back. I didn’t want to guard the pipe without my DJ.  The light in the pipe is still so weak I have to keep it uncovered so I can make sure it doesn’t get brighter. Lots of rustling and groaning outside, Mom and Dad and Baby Jay don’t wake up though. Big Steve comes on to talk about them up above. “Remember when the fog first rolled outta the Atlantic? Scary. Scary, scary, scary. All those people living on the coast didn’t know how to hide from the light. Can’t remember the number of disappearances. Musta been millions—whatever the population of newfoundland was. Everybody thought they were vaporized or somesuch at first, like the fog was an acid. And you know, maybe something about that’s true—but I think we nailed it second try when we started thinking that those things walking around out there *were* all those missing people.” Pause. I leaned in closer to the light. I breathed in the air from above. “I’m glad they’re out there together. Disappearing all alone is one thing. Disappearing while holding the hand of your wife or kid is another. We should all be so lucky.” No more radio for that night. No music either. The light pulsed in the pipe. After a long time standing and staring at it I noticed that the concrete the tube was set in looked like it was flaking off in places. I poked at it and a large piece fell away, showing the hasty gravel and rock wall Dad had balanced the pipe in before slapping it with a concrete slurry. I remembered it had rained the day he had installed the ventilation. I started picking at it, throwing the spare pieces in the toilet as I went. I had dug a fair bit into the wall when I heard one of my parents shift around in bed in the other room. I stood still and waited for it to come again. It did so I decided to get out of there. The hole I’d made was on the far side of the pipe and more or less invisible to anyone coming in and using the toilet. I threw the last piece into the toilet and tossed in some of the dirt from the bucket after it. I went to bed.  Day 10 ½  Mom and Dad stayed up late again to listen to the radio. Big Steve hadn’t come on. The music snapped on some time after dinner, already in the middle of a song. Mom and Dad exchanged a look but they kept listening for hours. Had to wait a long time to go guard the tube. This time I took a table knife. We weren’t using them at all to eat out of our cans so I knew it wouldn’t be missed. I started back to work on the hole in the wall. Before long one last piece of concrete on the other side of the head-height hole fell away and a shaft of orange light flowed into the bathroom. I dropped the knife to the ground and pressed my face against the hole. I let the fresh air wash over me. Outside was totally silent, draped in a fog that obscured the sight of the fence around our property only a few dozen meters away. I sat there and bathed in the night air and glow from the fog. After a while the music that was playing quietly over the radio switched off and I could hear the sound of Big Steve breathing on the other end. It was like we both sat there in silence, looking out into the night, waiting. We didn’t have to wait for too long. A faint brushing sound soon rose out of the fog. I held my breath and pressed my other eye to the hole to try to see around the corner of the house. Big Steve also seemed to hold his breath. After an indeterminable moment one of the walkers in the fog drifted around the corner and I saw it in full view. “Just beautiful,” Big Steve breathed. I sighed in agreement. It was taller than a man but walked almost like one. It had two legs and two arms, anyway, frayed things that drifted up and away from what I supposed were shoulders—equally loose tangles of what Steve had described as yarn—and two legs that barely brushed along the ground to move it along. It had a head, again looking like a loose handful of hair pulled off a brush, and a chest that all of that attached to. It looked like something familiar but I couldn’t quite place it. Its core glowed with the same orange light of the fog, only a little brighter. It seemed to swim along the side of our house with one... one hand?.. ...whispering across the siding. When it came close, I realized what it looked like—I had been paging through my biology textbook a few days ago and ended up on a two-page spread showing the human cardiovascular system. Fluffly clouds of veins and thicker highways of major arteries jammed into a humanoid silhouette. That’s what these things looked like, only if they had spread out a lot to drift more freely in the fog. It was beautiful. I felt pressure rise in my chest as it drew closer along the house. It dropped out of sight momentarily as it approached the 90-degree angle where the house met the cellar door, its low wall, and my little hole. It re-appeared only a foot away from my face, floating serenely on the tips of its feet. I didn’t realize I had been holding my breath until I let it out in one gust. I saw it move the dark orange capillaries of its nearest leg and the creature stopped slowly and turned to face the gap. I instinctively drew back a little. Something I could call a hand meandered down from somewhere above unseen, tiny thread-like tips questing along the sides of the hole. I watched it. I felt like I was floating. I heard Big Steve murmur “they’re us. Just more connected to the world. Maybe they’re connected to another one too. Another world in the fog.” A thread of orange capillary brushed one of my cheeks like a spiderweb. A comforting warmth grew from that spot and radiated out into by body. It felt like being *seen*. Being *understood.* I heard Big Steves voice now not from the radio but from what seemed to be just over my shoulder. “Yesterday I took the sledgehammer from downstairs and opened up the side of the studio wall with it. They’re all lined up in the parking lot and swaying like seaweed in the tide.” I’m not sure how long I stood there in the light. By the time I came back the creature was gone and I felt very, very tired. I went back to bed. Wrote everything down. Tired. Day 11 Mom and Dad and Baby Jay found the hole while I was sleeping. I got up and they were all packed into the bathroom and staring out at a sea of the creatures. It looked like they had even widened it a bit so we had a space around the size of a teacup saucer to bathe in. The fresh air and the view was so nice but Mom and Dad got so close to the hole I could only see it a little. Still so tired. Brought the radio and my diary into the bathroom to listen and watch and write. It doesn’t even smell bad in here anymore and Baby Jay’s thoughts are so relaxing, all wrapped up in his blankie and held Mom’s arms like he is. I’m starting to remember what that felt like when I was a baby. November 14, 1993 Day 12 It’s hard to hold the pencil. Mom and Dad have gone transparent so now the light can come in and wash over me. Baby Jay had a lot less body to be filled with the light so he’s already stretched out completely in Mom’s arms, draping over them and near the floor and so, so content. My hands don’t feel too *weak* to hold a pencil, just... not *built* for it anymore. My veins and nerves are visible through the skin which seems to have gone from solid flesh to almost matching the consistency of the fog in only a day. They’re all still outside, swaying, waiting. The fog is supposed to clear today. We weren’t to come out until the siren blew again. Maybe the fog will stay. Maybe it will go. I think we’re supposed to go with it, but I don’t think I have the hands to open the hole up wider or even unlock the door to join them. Maybe we’ll be allowed to stay and fill the whole cellar with light and fog even after the main body moves on. Saw Big Steve join the sea outside. He’s almost fully changed now, but he still has the same plaid overshirt I saw him wearing way back when we helped get his station prepped.  Seems forever ago. Now he looks like his shirt has frayed at the sleeves, neck, and waist. It kind of looks like his shirt is walking along on its own. Maybe I can see a hint of his skull still. I wonder where all that goes. Is it being dissolved by the light and fog? My own writing hand is little more than bone wrapped in red and grey thread. I think I’ll stop writing very soon. I can hear Mom and Dad now too, and everybody else outside. It’s so peaceful to be a part of the fog with them. I thought it might be a little like how it was after Baby Jay was born. All the attention on him. But it’s not like that at all. There’s so much love in all of us. Goodbye, diary. They’re starting to move on." Parting notes: I don’t know about you all but I certainly don’t remember a fog bank rolling out of the ocean and disappearing people across North America in 1993. I, along with the internet, have also never heard of a band called “Pondworks” and a song of theirs called “Stargazing.” I would have written this entire diary off as a piece of fiction if it weren’t for an unusual phenomenon I witnessed when first unboxing it: the entire diary glows, faintly, with orange light. I have since locked it away separately from my other accounts, in a safe with two-inch-thick iron walls and in a closet behind my winter coats. I have not noticed any adverse effects since being exposed to the diary but it will wait in that safe until I can locate a specialist to analyze it further. As for how it got here, well-- a particular passage from the diary sticks out. Something said by that incorrigible radio DJ, “Big Steve:” *“They’re us. Just more connected to the world. Maybe they’re connected to another one too. Another world in the fog.”*<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Babysitting destroyed my life [RESPONSE] My mom told me that if I wanted to get a new phone for Christmas, I would have to save up my own money, that’s what got me the babysitting gig in the first place. A lot of neighborhoods around here are pretty well off and a simple ad on Facebook was all it took for about six families lining me up for work on the first week. At first everything was going just fine, none of the kids were bad. I think given they all came from privileged households the worst issue I had was some occasional snark. But that all changed when I got a DM from the Pynchon family matriarch. “Hello there. Sorry to message you out of the blue. One of my bridge club members mentioned you are the best babysitter in the business and my husband and I were thinking of trying to get a nice relaxing evening alone sometime next week. Would you be available?” I knew the name well. I recalled they had been in the news a few years back, but couldn’t remember the exact details. This family practically handled half of the city finances. They were rich, powerful and would probably pay through the nose. So of course I said yes. We discussed fees and such for the rest of the night and arranged for the day to be the Thursday after that. When I got to the house I wasn’t at all surprised to find that Missus Pynchon and her husband were already gone for their movie night out. They trusted me enough with their children that no introductions were needed. My main concern that night was a bad storm. I even texted them to see if they wanted to reschedule but they were adamant that they simply had to get away. “Been cooped up here too long because of covid,” the husband responded in the group chat. I couldn’t argue with that. Restrictions were finally lightening up and that was the main reason I needed this money. My worry came true though when I arrived at their luxurious house and found their power was out. A boy and girl, both age seven met me in the main entry. Fraternal twins. “Hey there! I’m June,” I told them both. The kids didn’t even bother to register a response. “I’m Abby,” the girl said reluctantly. “I guess we will have to play board games by candle light or something huh?” I said looking around the dark house. I was surprised at the lack of furnishings. It didn’t seem like any of the photos even included the boy in them, another odd thing. But I shrugged it off and led the kids to the living room, asking them what they wanted to do. “I’m sure you must have something fun around here?” I asked. The two both fidgeted. They had something on their mind but seemed too scared to say. “Come on, don’t worry about anything being off limits. I won’t tell your parents, scouts honor,” I teased. Honestly I just wanted to make time fly by. Being stuck in this massive house with two stoic children wasn’t my idea of a perfect evening. “There’s an old ouija board upstairs. In the attic. Can we use it?” the girl asked. I scratched my head, surprised that they had jumped to that idea first off. But whatever. If it kept them happy and distracted I didn’t see the harm. “In the attic? How do I get up there?” I asked. They showed me the way eagerly to the top of the staircase. A rope dangled in the shadows to tug and I paused briefly to look down the hall toward their rooms. One room was boarded up. “What’s that over there?” I asked. “Come on, let’s play something scary!” the boy complained. I shrugged and pulled the cord, the old attic ladder creaking and giving way to fall. I used my smartphone to peer into the attic and told them both to stay there. For some reason I got a cold chill over my body as I climbed to the attic and looked around. Most of the place was deserted. Just old dusty boxes, furniture and knickknacks. It occurred to me that I should have probably texted the parents before coming up here just to be sure this was okay, but the storm had knocked out signal. I had to make due with the weird game even if I wasn’t sure their folks approved. I found the old board game about ten minutes later, all the while below I heard the twins whine impatiently. I sincerely hoped it was the right thing as I climbed back down and dusted it off. The copy they had looked very old. Possibly never even opened. “Let’s go to the living room,” the girl said, eagerly grabbing the box. We all sat around the center coffee table as they got the weird game set up. “So you want a good scare huh?” I said rubbing my hands together. “I want to contact the dead,” Abby said. Her voice sounded so serious. “Who are you gonna call!” I teased. They didn’t laugh. Both seemed to be waiting for me to make a move with the board. “Aren’t we supposed to ask it questions?” the girl asked. I took out the instructions to get an idea, not wanting to admit I had actually never messed with one of these before. I’m supposed to be the cool babysitter. “ ‘Place board on a leveled surface untouched by any participants along with planchette. All parties should agree to questions beforehand and then ask one at a time after all touching the planchette together. Wait one to five minutes for a response. If there is no response, ask a different question.’ “ I shuffled toward the board and got the kids to settle on which side to sit on, commenting, “Did you have any questions you wanted to ask?” Abby cleared her throat. “Has anyone ever died in this house?” “Ooh creepy,” I said. I sat back and waited. Honestly I didn’t expect anything to happen. I was more worried the kids would lose interest and get bored. Then after two minutes, to my surprise the planchette moves. Y-E-S. “Whoa! Did you see that??” the boy asked excitedly. “Okay. Now we are getting somewhere!” The girl replied. I scratched my head, a little unnerved by the exchange as I thought about the logistics. This was how these things are supposed to work, right? Just harmless fun? “Who died. We should ask that!” the boy said. “Who died?” Abby asked. M-E. “Very clever,” the girl said, rolling her eyes. She didn’t bother to wait to ask the next question. “And who are you?” I asked. J-A-C-K. The boy stopped laughing, actually looking a bit scared. “Wait. That’s my name. How does this thing know my name?” “Have you ever played with this before?” I asked, wondering if the kids were just trying to play a prank on me. “No. Never,” Abby said. She looked like she was about to cry. “All right. Who killed you?” I asked. Nobody moved as the storm outside battered the house harder. Perfect setting for such a creepy situation. J-U-N-E R-I-G-E-L. Now I was the one who looked confused. “Me? What the hell is this thing talking about?” “You’re going to kill me?” Jack asked nervously. “Hold on, calm down,” I said, getting up and standing in front of Abby. It was clear they were taking this a little too seriously. “Let’s just put the game up and then play something else okay?” I suggested. I didn’t even want to admit that maybe I was also scared by this thing. How could they know my full name? Had their parents told them? “Stay away from me!” the little girl said angrily as she tried to push me. “Enough. It’s just some weird prank, I’m not going to hurt anyone,” I insisted as I started to pack up the game. “What if it’s telling us the future?” the boy whispered, his voice shaking. “I said that’s enough. Let’s just play something else. I’m sure there are other games in that dusty attic.” Both children remained stoic and silent as I tugged at the cord and the ladder fell. Abby looked as pale as a ghost. “I’ll be right back,” I told them both. As I got up to the attic and tucked the antique game away I shook off that disturbing feeling as best as I could. It’s just a prank. A game. I’m sure their parents told my name before they left for the evening I thought. As I started looking through boxes though, that same uneasiness manifested again. I saw family portraits that showed the entire group all looking happier and noticed these pictures included Jack. Why had his parents pushed him out of sight? Then I heard a sharp click behind me and turned to see that the ladder had been locked back in place. “Damn it. Jack! Open this door right now!” I shouted as I tried to wiggle the lock on my side. “No! You’re gonna hurt me!” He shouted back. “I promise I won’t. But if you don’t let me out of here I might get hurt! There are spiders and bugs up here,” I hoped maybe I could appeal to his empathy. “I don’t believe you,” Jack shouted back. I kicked at the ladder, trying to get it loose. “Jack, you’ll be in so much trouble when your parents get home!” He didn’t respond this time and I panicked, kicking the latch as hard as I could. The ladder slammed down, and I heard a sharp sound below followed by a cry of alarm. I looked down to see that the ladder had hit Jack directly in the face and he was trying his best to stop the bleeding as his sister screamed. “Oh my god, oh my god. I’m coming right down,” I said frantically. Jack stumbled backward a few steps. “Get away from me! You’re gonna hurt me!” I saw what happened next in slow motion. His feet wobbled in the air for a second. And then he tumbled down the stairs, slamming his body against the first floor as his sister screamed even louder. “Shit. Shit shit shit!!!” I shouted as I ran down and tried to see if he was still breathing. Jack was motionless. I fumbled with my phone trying to see if I could get a signal. Nothing. “Stay here! I’m going to the neighbors to see if I can make a call to 911!!” I told the little girl as I bolted out of the house in the rain. Thunder rumbled overhead as i passed my parked car, and a brief nagging thought told me to just get in and drive away. I could pretend I was never here. The parents would never know. They couldn’t prove the accident was my fault. I can’t tell you how appalled I was that this lingered in my mind as I ran toward the nearest house. Then as I reached the end of the driveway I saw headlights in the rain. The Pynchons were back. “Shit!!” I shouted as I ran back to the big house. I waved my arms frantically to the couple as they got out under their covered garage. Both of them looked like they had a good evening but seemed surprised by my presence. “Before you go inside I need to explain something please,” I said. “You’re the babysitter… what are you doing out here?” the mom asked in an irate voice. Dad was already unlocking the door. Abby was standing there crying. “She left me mommy. She left me here all alone!!” she screamed. “No! I was trying to go get help!” I explained. “Was there an accident?” her father asked as we all stepped inside. “Jack fell down the stairs. I tried to help him, but it was too late,” I said, my voice hardly even audible. “What?” mom whispered. Abby kept crying and I sobbed and answered, “It’s my fault. I’m so sorry!” “How do you know what happened to our Jack?” the man asked, his voice as cold as ice. What? What did he mean by that? “I was… I was here. It just happened.” We all walked toward the steps. I didn’t see Jack’s body anywhere. “She’s been talking to herself all night mommy. I think she’s a witch!!” Abby said, sobbing uncontrollably. “Abby go upstairs,” the mother said as I looked around, trying to comprehend what was happening. “No. When I got here there were two children. Jack and Abby. Abby wanted to play with a ouija board up in the attic….” I noticed the father’s expression grow more and more concerned. “Our son died two years ago. Exactly as you described. We’ve had his room boarded up ever since.” “What?” I couldn’t hardly recognize my voice. “We never knew how it happened. We hired a sitter and she brought over a copy of her ouija board to play with. We thought it was harmless. Then the sitter disappeared and Jack had an accident. Abby claimed a demonic force was here that night when the sitter disappeared. Something in the attic… we locked away that cursed toy that night, shut off all memories of Jack in the attic,” he whispered. “I wish I knew if you were the same girl but that would be impossible… wouldn’t it?” I started to nervously laugh. “This is a prank right. Y’all are pulling my leg?” I asked. He held his wife, both of them visibly shaken and scared now. “I’m calling the police,” the father said, holding his family close. I’m waiting now to try and explain myself to the authorities, if I can. I know what I experienced tonight was real, but I have no proof. Even the original texts sent for my sitting job are gone. Deleted from existence. Maybe I did go back to that night two years ago. Maybe I was here? I’m not sure of anything anymore. But as I wait, I’ve seen Jack romp through the house; smiling and playing. I think he has found a way to live on through their guilt over what happened two years ago. It could have been an accident. Or something far more sinister from a harmless game. But either way, it destroyed my life. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Avoid This Circus At All Costs, They Have A Terrible Secret [RESPONSE] “The bullet hit the victim in the back, killing her instantly,” officer Hernadez told me as I arrived at the crime scene. The murder happened at a circus called Wonderland. The victim’s body was found about an hour after the homicide. Hernadez immediately closed the whole circus so that we could investigate. A bullet killed the victim from behind, which destroyed her lungs. Based on her ID card, she was 38. Her name was Mary Casfield. Hernadez had already questioned some people, but there were no witnesses. A few people said they heard a gunshot around midnight, but nobody saw anyone suspicious around the crime scene. “Any suspects?” I asked Hernadez. Meanwhile, another police officer was writing his report about the incident. There were at least a dozen of us there. “It could’ve been anyone, Damford,” Hernadez responded, searching for a cigarette in his pocket. He finally found a pack. “Do you want one?” No, I put it down a few months ago,” I said. “Oh, alright, sorry,” he then tried to search for a lighter. “We have to speak with everyone working at the circus. The lieutenant said he knew the victim, and she has a husband and a son, who is 12, I think.” “We should inform them about the passing of the victim.” “They already know about it. We’ll interrogate them too. The entrance guard said the victim arrived at 8 pm with her son and husband. They are the primary suspects.” “You mean the husband?” Well, yeah, the kid isn’t the killer, probably. Although, I saw stranger things happen…” he lighted his cigar. He was a short, bald, middle aged man with tons of experience. I’m sure he has seen many strange cases since starting his job. “Where are they now?” “At the police station waiting for you to question them, probably,” Hernadez smiled. “Feel free to go back there. Come back here after you spoke with them. I’m gonna have a talk with the workers here until then.” I went back to the station in a police car. When I arrived, one of my coworkers gave me some information about the victim’s family. They were waiting for me in my office. The kid, Jeremy Casfield was still crying, understandably. He had red hair, just like his parents. His father, Charles Casfield was sitting there, looking at me as I sat down in my chair. He had a large beard. He looked stressed, but I didn’t see tears on his face. “Sorry for your loss, Mr. Casfield. I’m officer Damford,” I introduced myself. “I’ll be very short, just a few questions, and we’re done here.” “Thank you, Mr. Damford,” Charles, the victim’s husband said. “I’ll try to answer your questions, but I still can’t process what happened, so please forgive me if I can’t remember everything.” “You arrived at 8 pm with your son and wife,” I said. “What happened after that?” Charles was silent for a few seconds. He looked worried and tired. “We were watching the main attraction, Gary, the clown,” he responded. He avoided eye contact with me, and instead looked down at the table. “When it was over, we came outside. She told us to wait for her as she walked away from us. That was the last time we saw her alive. Sorry, it’s still hard for us.” The kid started crying even more, so I gave him water. Charles’ description of the events wasn’t too detailed. I felt like his confession was missing some very important details, or I should say he was lying to me. “Is this what happened?” I looked at Jeremy, the little kid. “Ye… yes, sir,” he responded with his eyes full of tears. “Okay, you can go home for now. We’ll inform you as soon as we find out what happened.” “Can we get the body back?” Charles asked. “Just to… give her a proper funeral she deserves.” “The body is under investigation,” I answered. “It may take a few days. Thank you for your understanding!” After I finished writing my report with the little information Charles provided, I drove back to the Wonderland circus. Luckily, Hernadez was still there. I approached him. “Gary, the clown. It’s the only name I’ve got from the victim’s husband,” I said. “He’s still a suspect.” “What about the kid?” “He’s still shocked, understandably. He was crying the whole time.” “Yeah, as expected,” Hernadez said. “It’s unfortunate to lose a parent when you are this young. Still better than losing the child, however. It’s not an unusual thing at the circus.” “Have kids gone missing at the circus?” I raised my eyebrows. “When? I’ve never heard about it.” “Of course you haven’t,” Hernadez laughed. “The Wonderland won’t let the media speak about things like this. That would kill the whole circus. As far as the public knows, no one went missing here. They probably won’t know about this murder either.” “But that’s not right! Everyone should know about it if the circus is really that dangerous!” “Don’t worry, Damford. If the killer is a circus worker, we’ll put them in jail. But if it was someone else, we must keep it a secret. That’s how it works.” I didn’t say anything. After a few seconds of silence, Hernadez spoke again. “So, Gary, the clown. He’s the main attraction around here. I think he’s still here, so you can speak with him if you want.” “Do you think he’s also a suspect?” I asked. “Who knows? He might be. I always hated clowns, to be honest.” As we were talking, an old man appeared from nowhere. He had gray hair and a mustache and wore a black suit. “Officer Hernadez,” the man nodded to him, then looked at me. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Mr. Carter, the owner, and manager of the Wonderland Circus. I’m here because of the unfortunate incident that happened a few hours ago.” “I’m sure we’ll solve this case as soon as possible,” I reassured him. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened with the victim,” Carter said, “but this investigation is bad for the business. I want you to end this by the end of the next day.” “It isn’t that simple, sir,” I argued. “We are already working on solving the case, but…” “Don’t worry, sir,” Hernadez looked at Carter. “We’ll close the investigation in no time.” “Thank you, officer Hernadez,” Carter nodded, then walked back to his office. I looked at Hernadez. “This guy is a piece of shit!” “Hah,” Hernadez laughed. “He is. Anyway, looks like we have to be fast. Go and find that clown guy. I’ll talk with the rest of the staff.” It took me half an hour to find Gary, the clown. I knew I had to be fast, and that Carter would probably give tons of money to the police station to close this case. Gary still had his colorful face painting when I talked to him. We were in the office building of the circus, at an employee only storage. “What’s your real name?” I asked him. I watched his facial expressions. “Gregor Williams,” he responded. His voice was a bit creepy, but maybe I was just scared because of his stupid face paint. “Where were you when the murder happened?” “In front of the audience, entertaining people. It’s my job, isn’t it?” he smiled a bit. “How old are you?” “34.” “When did you start working here?” “I was employed by Wonderland eleven years ago,” his eyes widened. “So you must know the owners pretty well, then. What do you think about Mr. Carter?” “Carter is a great boss, he pays everyone well. He founded Wonderland.” As he was talking about Mr. Carter, I looked around the room we were in. It was full of shelves and kid toys, probably Gary’s accessories for the show. Then, there was a heavy steel door in the corner of the room. “It’s the basement,” Gary said as he noticed I was looking at the door. “We keep the… heavier stuff there.” “Can I take a look?” I asked. I found it strange that he tried to explain what was in the basement. Like he was trying to keep it secret. “You can, but you won’t see anything, it’s fucking dark, and there’s no light, we have to replace our generator, unless God generates some kind of electricity there.” “Are you religious?” “I believe in a… rather unique god, Mr. Damford,” he smiled. “Greg!” we heard a voice shouting from outside. “Your dog shat on the floor again, come here and clean it up, or the janitor will lock us out of the building again!” “If you excuse me, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Gary stood up from his chair, and left the storage room, closing the door behind him. I was left alone, and I glanced at the basement door again. *We have to be fast,* I remembered the words of Hernadez. I stood up and hurried towards the steel door leading to the basement. I slowly opened a door. It was dark. Luckily, I had a flashlight with me. I walked down the stairs and quickly reached the bottom of it. The basement was large, full of spiderwebs. I felt my heart beating faster and faster as I noticed two human skeletons in the corner. They were real skeletons, I was sure. It was a circus, not a horror mansion. I noticed a few strange symbols and blood on the walls, and things looking like torture devices from the middle ages. There was a sentence written with blood, *The Supreme God sees us all.* “You are a curious human being, aren’t you, Mr. Damford?” I jumped and looked back, seeing Gary, the clown behind me, along with the victim’s husband, Charles Casfield. “We should sacrifice him to the Supreme God,” Charles said. “The Supreme God prefers kid sacrifices. Do you have a kid, Mr. Damford?” Gary smiled at me with his stupid clown face, showing his yellow teeth. “You are under arrest,” I pulled out my handgun, and pointed it at Gary while watching Charles in the corner of my eye. “Let’s recruit Damford,” Gary shouted, and shadowy figures appeared behind me. I glanced back at them, sweating heavily. My hands started shaking, I almost dropped my gun. When did they got there, and how? The stairs were blocked by Charles, and the dark figures started to get closer and closer. I panicked, and pointed my gun at Charles, then pulled the trigger. He shouted, but I didn’t have time to check on him, I had to run. I ran up the stairs, then left the building, trying to find Hernadez. He wasn’t there, so I jumped in my car and drove back to the police station. I was so stressed, I almost caused an accident on the road, but luckily, I managed to avoid it. I shouldn’t have driven in such circumstances, but I had no other choice. When I arrived at the station, Hernadez was standing at the gates, smoking a cigarette. I ran to him as fast as I could. “Officer Hernadez, they tried to kill me, the killers…” “Calm down, Damford,” he responded with a calm voice. I was so angered by this. I could’ve died, and he was so calm… “I talked to Mr. Carter again a few minutes ago. The case is already closed. The victim wasn’t killed, she committed suicide.” “What the fuck?” I shouted. “She was shot in the back, you saw it!” “And you should be under arrest for attempted murder on Charles Casfield. The circus reported it. Since you are my longtime friend, I won’t arrest you right now. I’ll give you some friendly advice. Leave the country, now! If I see you again, I’ll have to arrest you. I hope you understand.” “That’s bullshit, man, how much money did Carter give you?” “He gave me nothing. Go now, I could get killed for letting you go! This is what you get for not accepting the way of the Supreme God, Damford.” He then took my gun, turned back, and slowly walked back inside, leaving me there. I’m on a plane right now, moving out of the country. I lost my job, and <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Poison Pay [RESPONSE] It was two or three summers ago. One of the real hot ones. I was working construction, well more like demolition. Worse than demolition, really. See, the crew I was on would scrape out, clear out or haul out any kind of totally toxic shit a building had. Totally awful gig. But it paid ten bucks more an hour than any other demo gig. We called it “poison pay.” Of course, I ended up on a team with Jay. Didn’t matter that he was probably PNW Salish, and I was Montana Blackfoot. That’s just the way it was, way it always has been since picking teams in second grade. The Natives ended up together. Maybe it wasn’t by design. Yeah, and maybe there's a troll living under the bridge downtown. Jay was alright. Older, more of my dad’s generation. Big strong quiet guy with beat down eyes. Man had seen some shit. Probably done some shit, too but I didn’t ask, he didn’t tell and that was pretty much cool with both of us. You could read his mood through his silence, its timing whether it was a still quiet or something more intense. I understood this language. Fuck, I’d grown up with it. Anyway, it was on this one job, a truly shitty one, that Jay got quiet and walked upstairs. It was right after we heard about the third floor. I turned it over in my head a bit and then decided it probably wouldn’t hurt if I went to check on him. Might not help either but may as well, you know? Jay was dangling his legs over the balcony. He’d pulled off his respirator and fired up a cigarette. I sat down next to him and didn’t say anything, just kind of stared off like he was. The bay stretched out into dense, murky grey ahead of us. Behind us, I could hear the whine of reciprocal saws and the thuds of pry bars sinking into shoddy drywall. Jay and I just kind of both zoned it all out. The noise, the job, the third floor. He let a long plume of smoke out toward the bay, adding it to the fog that showed no signs of burning off. It was a moment or two before a chirping voice broke the silence. “Smoking on an asbestos job. There’s some irony for ya.” It was Annie. She was pretty new to the team. Not a bad worker. Not bad company. A bit too quick with a smartass observation but the days would grind that out of her soon enough. I’d mentioned that to Jay once, but he just smiled and said, “At least she gives enough of a fuck to *observe*.” Which was a pretty Jay thing to say. Guy seemed to run pretty deep, you know? Annie’s usual bent grin showed itself as she yanked off her respirator and plopped down next to me. Jay slid the pack of smokes toward her. “Fucked job, huh?” she said, her grin fading, I nodded, “Very.” Jay sucked up another lungful of smoke. “It’s true then,” she said. “What they found on the third floor?” I could feel Jay stiffen a little next to me. His silence tightened up a notch or two. It seemed like Annie needed something from us, some vague sign that we were all cool and would remain so. Knowing Jay wasn’t going to, I obliged. “Yeah, six of them. In the walls. Shit like that happens in old buildings. The ones built before the fire especially. This one even more so, I guess.” “I heard the bones were small.” Annie’s grin had completely disappeared now. “Like kids.” Jay’s voice was low but strong, “They were,” he said. I could hear the anger in him. It wasn’t directed at Annie. It was a more free-floating kind of hate. Generational you might say. “You know what this place was… before it was an SRO flophouse, right?” Jay said in a flat tone, his eyes still searching the gray sea ahead. “Some sort of school,” she said blandly. Jay was trying to be patient with her. What’s common knowledge on the rez is usually a mystery off it. “It was a residential school. Most of them were up in Canada but there were a few down here,” Jay said. I noticed a muscle in his neck had started to twitch. “They took kids from the reservation here to ‘civilize’ them. Which often meant beatin’ em to death and burying them. Never saw them in the walls before.” “You seen this before? The skeletons… The little ones?” Jay didn’t answer that. Didn’t even look at me. He just flicked his smoke away and strapped his respirator on. “C’mon he said. We’re on the attic.” As Jay trudged off toward the stairs, Annie cast a look at his broad back and then stubbed out her cigarette. “Did I say something wrong?” “No. Not at all,” I said. Obviously, she was wrestling with some other side of some other generational coin. “Jay’s probably seen a lot of shit. He processes it his own way, I guess.” “Fuck,” Annie said, masking up. “The attic. That’s worse than the basement.” The mold on the walls thickened with each flight. By the time Jay, Annie and I reached the 7th floor, the air was thick with spores, sickly greenish motes floating in the wet rotting air. Jay led the way, step by step, like these weird ass spores were just another fucked thing in another fucked job on another fucked day. As we were heading up another flight, he turned to Annie and I for a second. His face was obscured by the respirator, but his eyes seemed to say: *Walk. Just walk off the job, walk out of the building and keep walking.* Then it was gone. “You guys good?” was all he said as he pointed to a ring in the ceiling, the hatch for the attic stairs. Annie and I both nodded. “Rock Paper Scissors?” she asked. I figured she was trying hard to put up that grin behind her mask. Jay shook his head. “Nah, I got it.” The ladder came down with an explosion of glowing green spores. There was something sickly in them, something *wrong.* Jay didn’t care, he bounded up the ladder like he was going to meet someone. Looking back, I guess he was. Low, I told Annie to hang back a sec as I climbed up behind him. The ladder was covered in slippery mold, greenish and, I swear to God, swirling in colors. I climbed up into the darkness and pulled myself into the attic. It was insane. Something churned in my gut as I blinked in the oozing green darkness. The mold seemed alive. I mean like fucking *sentient*. Jay had somehow already made it to the middle of the room and the spores were swirling around him, starting to cover him. “You really shouldn’t be here,” he said in a flat, dead voice that scared the shit out of me. Then, he took off his respirator and started breathing the spores in. Big deep breaths like in a sweat when the coals and cedar sprigs are ready. I froze for a second, unable to move, unable to not watch what was happening in front of me. Jay’s broad back started to ripple under the green moss creeping over him. I could hear something popping. *His joints*, my mind screamed. I’d heard stories. I’d chalked them up to old timer bullshit but here it was, happening right in front of me. I felt my stomach flip, bile rise. And still, I couldn’t move. Then I heard Annie from downstairs. “Everything okay up there?” she asked. That got me moving. I slid down the stairs, grabbed Annie’s hand and ran, not looking back. Halfway across the 7th floor, Annie looked back and screamed. I never asked her what she saw, and I never will. I pulled Annie along with me, past crews, down more stairs. As we ran, I heard sounds: choking, something guttural and not exactly human. The light had gained a sickly greenish glow. I could feel it behind me… *death*. We came out on the street and kept running, all the way to my car. Neither of us looked back or said a word as that job, that day faded behind us. The news said it was a toxic mold that killed the seventeen people on our demolition crew. Well, I can tell you it wasn’t a gas leak or toxic mold or acute asbestos poisoning. It was Jay. The reason I’m writing any of this down is cause I saw Annie again just a couple of nights ago. She came into the bar I’m working in. No more demo for me, thank you very much. She seemed older; a bit slower in the way she talked. The lopsided grin didn’t make any appearances as she nursed a whiskey with a Rainier back. She’d been spending a lot of her time on the San Juan Islands, off the grid, just kind of “out there” as she put it. “I saw him again, you know,” she said and something icy twisted inside me. “Jay.” She was on a ferry and they passed one of those aluminum boats you see all over up here. The man behind the wheel turned and looked up at her and she’d swear to Christ it was Jay. Same broad back. Same flat eyes. He nodded to her, and then the boat was too far away to recognize anything. I wrestled with the cold feeling, playing some things out in my mind before I asked her. “How big a boat?” She looked at me, like it was the stupidest question ever. But it wasn’t. Not even close. “I don’t know. Thirty, maybe thirty-five feet.” A thirty-five-footer might make it to Canada. Part of me hoped it couldn’t. But another part of me, an older deeper part of me, hoped it would.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I could never forgive my uncle, but it might not have been his fault. [RESPONSE] My uncle used to say that life tends to last longer for people that avoid experiencing it. I doubt that saying was supposed to be used to discourage trying new things, but then again I don’t think the man ever even considered the opposite. It’s not like I’d show up with a new hobby everyday, I suppose partly thanks to him draining the joy of finding one. When he berated me for bringing a new board game to my nephews, I just let it go. However, when I later caught him burning the brand new copy of risk, a grudge was born that only grew throughout the years. I’m only telling you this because you need to understand how absolutely unbelievable it was when he told my parents he had taken up a new pastime. Apparently he had been talking to a coworker at his boring old desk job and they had set him up with a penpal, writing each other letters every week. Obviously when I heard this I was in utter disbelief. If it wasn’t for the fact that the surprise made me absentmindedly spill hot tea over my hands I would have sworn I was dreaming. A penpal? My uncle had a penpal? My parents must have noticed my confusion, as they told me to be happy that maybe my uncle would become less of a buzzkill. Yeah, my parents didn’t like the man either. I had to wonder though: what did my uncle have to actually write about that would make anyone want to write back? I decided that whatever the case, the person on the receiving end probably wasn’t the “carpe diem” type either and forgot about it. About a month after I learned about my uncle’s penpal, we noticed that something was different. Because my uncle lived in the same street, it wasn’t uncommon for him to stop by unannounced (to both me and my parents’ dismay). My parents should probably have actually talked to him about this, but I guess being a bit socially inept runs in the family. I won’t deny that I still find it hard to tackle confrontations myself. Anyway, my uncle no longer stopped by our house. We came to that realization when the overall mood in the house started getting better. When I caught myself actually being able to relax in our front yard it occurred to me that I didn’t subconsciously expect to get rudely interrupted anymore. I gladly welcomed the change, and thus got justifiably irritated when my father immediately called his brother to ask how he was doing. It wasn’t a long conversation, but what caught me off guard was hearing my father almost exclusively answering questions from the other side. Sure it’s nothing out of the ordinary when normal people call, but I know for a fact that my uncle never uttered any more than 3 words on the phone. My dad, seemingly unfazed, gave a few simple answers and hung up with an unexpected sigh of relief. When he noticed that I had been listening along, he ignored the clearly annoyed look on my face and asked me if we still had any kids’ books lying around. If I wasn’t still processing the phone call I would have been even more confused upon hearing that question. My brain was already working overtime however, and I answered the question on autopilot, directing my father to the bottom shelf of my dresser. As he walked upstairs, I stared blankly at the ceiling, processing what I could only describe as a slowly encroaching feeling of unease. I tried to distract myself with snacks and TV, unwilling to let that sensation control me. Regardless, I found my mind wandering back again and again. Surely my uncle just wanted to send the books to his penpal who just happened to be a fresh parent. But even then, what bothered me wasn’t that he asked for my old childrens’ books. Heck, I even begrudgingly accepted that he was able to entertain his penpal for what had already been a month. But what I found absolutely impossible to accept was that this man, whom I had known my whole life as a miserable and depressing real-life adaptation of Ebenezer Scrooge, was suddenly putting in any amount of effort for someone other than himself. I know some people will think that very harsh, and my response is simply that would you have been unlucky enough to meet the man, I guarantee you would be just as harsh if not more so. Later that day, there was a knock on the door. I knew it had to be my uncle. Having taken the whole afternoon to collect my thoughts, I didn’t feel uneasy anymore. Instead, I felt a cold, bitter resentment for the man that couldn’t have made a positive impact if he catapulted a plus sign. I stumbled to the door, grabbing the pile of childrens’ books my dad left on the stairs before heading off. When I reached for the doorknob however, I caught a glimpse of my uncle through the tiny glass window on my door, and I froze. What I felt then was neither resentment, nor any slight unease. When I saw that awful man standing there, as depressing a figure as the last time I saw him, I knew that the imitation of a smile he was wearing couldn’t be real. Somehow that made it all the more terrifying. I suppose I should once again blame my body going on autopilot for what happened next. While I thought I was frozen in stone cold fear, I suddenly realized that I felt the door handle turning in my hands. Just as I wanted to stop myself, just as I wanted to slam the door shut and run upstairs to hide under my covers like a little kid, just then I realized that I was too late. The door started to slowly creep open, and reaching for the door handle meant sticking my hand closer to what I knew for a fact was a threat. They say animal instincts kick in at moments like that. And at that same traumatizing moment, I knew that my body wouldn’t go with either fight or flight. It just froze. Like a deer in headlights I suppose, inner thoughts yelling that maybe I just imagined it, pulling out all the stops just to try and push away my alarming gut feeling. Then the door slowly cracked open enough to reveal my uncle. And he was smiling. Still that sick, twisted smile. I’ve wondered for a long time wether or not that smile would have been as vile if it had been someone else. My shrink always told me that my mind somehow exaggerates my memories because of my lingering resentment towards my uncle. Still, even if that smile was less wide, even if it didn’t seem like he had a few too many teeth, even if he was in fact smiling normally, it still would have scared me. But it really was that unnatural. No amount of therapy will make me believe otherwise. For a while, the length of which I can’t even begin to describe, we just stood there. Facing each other. I must have started crying, because I remember that at some point my face started feeling wet. I still couldn’t bring myself to move. Eventually, the silence was broken by a lower pitched, grating voice that sounded only vaguely reminiscent of that of my uncle’s. “HE IS GRATEFUL FOR THE BOOKS” The jarring speech definitely came from him, but his excruciating smile never moved even an inch. He grabbed the books and walked backwards to his house, all the while maintaining eye contact. Only then did I notice the emotion in his eyes. It’s something I’ve never been able to do, but in this case even I could tell. My uncle, somewhere in there, was scared to death. Those eyes, not unlike those of a tortured animal, were somehow even more terrified than I was. Nonetheless, he kept walking. I’m pretty sure he even locked his door while those eyes were still locked on to me, silently pleading for it to end. That was the last time anyone ever saw my uncle. When they got home, my parents found a traumatized husk instead of the son they’d known. It took months of constant therapy for me to finally open up again. According to my parents I just repeated the words “uncle” and “not happy” for a while. That made them go check on him and, well, he wasn’t home anymore. Instead, after they had finally found the spare key, they walked into an almost empty house. He had gotten rid of everything except for a simple desk in the middle of his living room, stacked almost to the ceiling with handwritten letters. Eventually I got my father to admit he grabbed one to read, but it shocked him so much he immediately pulled my mother out of the house and burned the place to the ground. Miraculously the fire didn’t spread, which is something I’m still thankful for. The fire brigade definitely knew it was foul play, but for some reason nothing further was done. I assume they (hastily) came to the conclusion that my uncle had started the fire himself after finding out that no-one had seen him in a month, and further discovering that none of them cared to. I wish this story ended there. I guess looking back at it now, maybe I should have listened to my uncle and chosen to experience less of life. Maybe I could have avoided such a somber fate. Not a lot of use dwelling on it now though. I feel like my whining has gone on long enough. Though I suppose I’ve stretched it out a bit because I dread what I’m going to do after I post this… My father has been getting quite a bit older, and recently he got diagnosed with late stage dementia. I don’t mind taking care of him at all, but yesterday he told me something that made me relive this awful chain of events all over again. He told me that he has made a penpal. Someone is sending him letters, and he wants me help him write a response. I don’t know what will happen when I open these letters. Maybe I’ll follow in my fathers footsteps and burn this entire place to the ground… Then again if that actually worked I might have been able to experience more of life. I really hope I still can. Alright, time to stop running. Does anyone know the proper way to address something that deeply terrifies you?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] At my fraternity's Halloween party, shit got fucked up when we found my friend's body in the bedroom. Now, I'm afraid of going out at night... (Part One) [RESPONSE] Full moon, flashing lights, loud ass music, beer, pot, and the hottest girls on campus. Every college boy's dream, right? That was the "Knuckle-biter Empire's" Halloween party. This was all of course, Ronnie’s idea. Ronald Edmunds, "Knuckle-biter Supreme and ruler of parties and chicks!" In case you haven't picked up on it yet, yes, we're just a bunch of dumbass frat boys. Parties once a month and football games every Friday night during the winter. The three of us; Me, Ronnie, Zack and Wydell, were about the most obnoxious frat on campus at Western State University, and we couldn't have cared less. When we weren't at football games like I mentioned, ogling the cheerleaders, or trying to (and usually failing to) score with the chicks at Ronnie's house parties, we were usually spending our time coming up with the most extreme stunts and pranks to pull off on the campus. And when I say extreme, we're not just talking simple spray painting "Suck it" on the Dean's car (though we did do that once) or hooking up a car battery to the seat in one of the bathrooms so the next unlucky son of a bitch would be on the hot seat when he needed to drop one. No, we're talking more like actually filling up and attempting to light off a potpourri of firecrackers un the trunk of Wydell's old piece of shit Ford pickup that was constantly breaking down every two times you went to turn the damn thing on and watching it go out with a blast on the campus football field. Either that, or at the very least trying to dare random people to run across campus in broad daylight bare assed with lit sparklers in their hands, shouting "*Long live Knuckle-biter Supreme!"* Yes, we were idiots and yes, we probably should've been arrested a few times. To answer as to why we haven't ever been (since I know you're wondering), well, let me emphasize the word *ATTEMPT.* See, the downside was, next to none of these stunts *actually* worked like we wanted them to. People of course weren't interested in making a quick 20 bucks by running across campus in the buff and the one time we actually tried the car bomb on the soccer field act, the damn things were fucking duds. In short, we were wannabe hotshots, even if we couldn't ever pull off half the insane and dangerous shit we came up with on the regular. I know that was kind of a lot, but now you know who we were, and why this whole mess has turned things every which way from loose for me. So anyway, like I said, we were at Ronnie's party. Me and Zack were both nice and stoned with the bowl he brought while watching Wydell dance -- or at least *try* to -- in the middle of the living room with a few of the girls while Ronnie was in the kitchen, nursing his high with as much of the chips and junk food as he could stuff in his mouth. As the two of us watched, Zack turned to me and said, "God man, just imagine." "What, dude?" I asked. He pointed to the girls gathered around Wydell. "Imagine yourself, right there, with all them rubbing up against you like that." I looked and snickered. "Yeah." "Hey, Wydell, back room's all yours!" he called out. Wydell glared at him, still continuing to do his little shaking thing that I guess was supposed to count as him dancing. I think he was actually about to stop and walk off somewhere else when one of the girls, an albeit drop-dead *gorgeous* babe that had both mine and Zack's eyes bugging from their sockets, stopped him. She was tall, meeting Wydell, who was the tallest of us "Knuckle-biters" at 6', at eye level. She was slim, too, forming an almost perfect hourglass shape from her shoulders to her hips. Wydell was thinking the same thing, too, judging from the way in which his eyes were about to shoot out of his own head. She winked, bit her lip and playfully took his hand, gesturing to the back bedroom of Ronnie's house. Wydell stood still, looking caught off guard. I, being the good ol' pal I was, decided to egg him on, going "Wy-dell! Wy-dell! Wy-dell!" Soon, Zack and a few of the others around him joined in. He looked absolutely embarrassed and it was hilarious. Of course, I couldn't blame him. Of the four of us, Wydell was always the one we'd expect to always strike out with the ladies. I mean, *none* of us were realn "Top notch" catches as far as that went, I'll admit. But Wydell had always been the responsible, or at least the *most* responsible "Knuckle-biter". It was at least 51% of the reason we had him hanging out with us. While the other three of us were doing shit that'd get us (and probably others if we're being honest) killed, Wydell would be the one that'd be there so that we'd have at least a *slight* chance at surviving whatever stupid stunt we were trying to pull off at any given moment. Funny how that works, I guess. Well anyway, there he was, presented with this golden opportunity and what does he do? He stands there, jaw hanging open like an idiot. A few other girls, all just as hot as the one in front of him, then come up and take his other hand with sly smiles of their own. Eventually they managed to coax him to move and they led him all the way to the back room. "Attaboy! Get 'em, Wy-guy!" I shouted. I heard the door close and everyone turned down the music and tried to listen closely. We couldn't hear anything. We figured, you know, he's probably nervous. Like I said, it *was* his first time. Eventually, though, interest in this started to fade after about 5 or so minutes with absolutely nothing happening and the music was turned back up. Another ten or twenty minutes went by before Ronnie came back into the living room. "Hey, what's going on? I miss something?" Zack and I grinned. "Bro, you missed Wydell scoring with chicks!" I exclaimed. His eyes grew. "You're bullshitting!" "No dude." Zack said, "Ask anyone here, they'll tell you." He looked around at the crowd and back to the two of us. "You'd be proud." "Who was it?" he asked, still looking skeptical. I shrugged. "Don't know. It was this really cute chick and a couple of her friends. I haven't ever seen them before. I don't even think they're actually from the campus." His eyes got even bigger with shock. "*Friends?!*" he exclaimed. "You mean to tell me he actually landed more than one at the same time!" Zack and I both nodded, grinning excitedly. He stared in shock for another moment before his face fell into one of outrage. "Hold up, you mean to tell me that fucker's gettin' it on *before* I had my turn?! The fuck!" "Aw, lighten up, dude." Zack chided. "You've had all this time to have your shot and you decided to pig out in the kitchen." I shrugged in agreement and told him, "You stay quiet, you bite it." It was our little credo. It was supposed to mean something similar to "YOLO", you know? You get one shot, you better take it, basically. Of course, this didn't mean shit to him. That was always a big sort of unspoken rule between the 'Knuckle-biter Empire' when it came to parties. We could have as much fun with whatever girl we managed to get lucky with that night in the back room, for however long we liked, so long as he got the first session. It was sort of own little "Bro-code" type thing, even if we weren't exactly big on the idea. We didn't usually oppose it. But I figured, like Zack said, he'd had all that time, PLUS it was Wydell's first ever -- you'd think he'd have been willing to cut *a little* slack, right? Ronnie started stomping off toward the back room. Zack and I braced ourselves to have to hear him scream at the top of his lungs at Wydell. We heard him shout "What the fuck!" I could tell something was off, though. "Oh God, what the fuck!" Zack and I looked at each other alarmed before jumping up from the couch and running for the back room. Zack reached the room ahead of me. "Dude, what's wro-- OH MY GOD!" I made it the rest of the way to the room and instantly felt sick to my stomach. The bed was torn and cut up, every inch covered in rips and slashes. Also covered in these from head to toe, almost to the point where I couldn't even recognize him, was Wydell, who was gasping and wheezing, even coughing up spurts of blood. On the wall, as well as on his chest and both his palms, was a pentagram. "Wydell!" I cried, pushing past the other two and rushing over to the bed. Zack turned and retched while Ronnie just stood frozen in the doorway. Wydell weakly spasmed while spitting out bigger and bigger spurts of blood. "Wy, stay with me, man!" I turned to the others and shouted, "What the fuck are you standing there for?! GO! get 911 on the phone!" "We can't, dude!" Ronnie exclaimed. "What do you mean "We can't?" "Dude, are you *trying* to get us busted!" He held up the joint he had behind his ear. "He's gonna fucking *DIE* if we don't!" He still remained stiff. "Dude, trust me, this is a hell of a lot worse than a fucking possession charge. Get the ambulance on the phone, NOW!" I stared wildly at him, making it clear that I was gonna put my foot in his ass if he didn't. Reluctantly, yet desperately, he ran back into the living room to call 911 while also clearing out the rest of the guests. "Zack, grab me a towel." He ran to the bathroom and came back with an old dirty towel. "Here, help me plug his wound." "Which one?" he asked. I looked around. I almost wasn't sure, given how much his body had been ripped up. Finally, I told him to wrap it around the pentagram on his chest. I carefully them tried performing CPR. I didn't know what else to do, besides that and trying to prop his head up. Never really had much knowledge of First Aid. Sure enough, this at least got him to stop coughing up blood. He continued wheezing. "What happened, dude?" Zack asked Wydell, as if he was gonna actually be able to answer that. Wydell's gasped harder and harder, like he was actually *trying* to speak. Nothing came out, though. Ronnie came running back into the room. "Okay, they're on their way. Is he gonna be--" "Don't know yet. Is everybody else gone?" "Yeah." Wydell's body began to relax and his eyes started to glaze over with his head lolling limply to one side. "Wy!" I said, shaking him gently. "Wydell, come on man, stay with me!" I could feel his chest relaxing under my hands. He wasn't gonna make it much longer. I started shaking him harder. "Wydell! WYDELL!" I then resorted again to chest compressions, stopping every 10 to 15 seconds to give him mouth to mouth. Nothing seemed to be working. His heartbeat was so faint by that point that I almost didn't feel it, despite how hard I was pressing. In what I considered to be a true stroke of luck, almost even the work of a miracle, I heard the sirens outside. "That's them," Ronnie said, "I'll let them in." He and Zack then rushed out of the room into the living room, leaving me alone with a rapidly fading Wydell. Ten seconds later, paramedics flooded the room and told me they'd handle it from there. I was led out of the room while they started trying to prep him to be moved. My mind was wrecked, to say the least. I mean, one moment, shit's fine and dandy, my friend's about to get his first lucky night with a couple of hot chicks, and just 15 or 20 minutes later, he was choking on his own blood after having been mauled by what must've been a big ass wolverine or something. This alone was enough to put me into a frenzy, obviously, but what stuck out to me even more were, of course, the pentagrams. Now, I'm no kind of religious nut by any stretch -- I grew up atheist -- but I wasn't born yesterday. I'd seen shit like this both online and on TV. I knew what a human sacrifice looked like. Not only this, but I also saw the window wide open in the room while I was trying to revive Wydell. One thing I knew for a fact was that Ronnie never opened that window, usually so he could keep the weed fumes contained whenever he was having one of his turns with the back room. And because I also knew no one else was in there at the time, I knew this had to do with those girls. They did that to him and then fled out the window, disappearing into the night. That much was certain to me, even then, with my brain scrambling worse than a pan of eggs. What *wasn't* making sense to me was why and/or even how. Okay, so maybe the chicks were part of some crazy murder cult or something. Again, that'd (maybe) explain the pentagrams. But even still, though, how the hell could they have done *that* to him?! Wydell was then rushed off to the hospital as police then arrived at the house. The rest of that night was spent being interrogated by the police. We tried telling them the same thing I've been saying here; that we don't know shit about what went in in that room, but it was still another 4 or 5 hours of them assaulting us with questions before they finally let us go home. Zack, Ronnie and I split up from there; with them (at least I assume) going back to the campus while I decided to head to the hospital to check up on Wydell. Admittedly, I wasn't sure what I was supposed to expect, other than to hear that he didn't even make it there. I guess it was a relief then that I stood corrected when they told me he'd actually stabilized. The doctors told me he was asleep and had been for the past 3 hours. "We almost lost him." the doctor added, chuckling dryly. "But whatever your boy's on, it's some powerful stuff." "What do you mean?" I asked him. "Well, you saw him, right? Losing as much blood as he did, plus several slashed tendons and even one or two slashed arteries, he should've bit it before we could get him on the table. But he's still kicking, sleeping now like a baby." He chuckled again when he said this. I stared confused at him. "Sorry, wasn't meaning any disrespect, just astonished by it, that's all." "Yeah, okay, whatever, can I see him?" He looked at his watch. "'Fraid not, pal." he said, looking up at me, tapping his watch. "Come back in about 6 hours." With that, I turned and left back towards the campus. On the way, I texted Ronnie and Zack, telling them Wydell had made it and was okay. Ronnie texted back. **-- "Thank god! What do U think could've happened?"** I texted back, telling him "Fuck if I knew." **-- "He must've** ***really*** **wanted it rough, huh?"** \-- "Dude, what the fuck! Our boy is put in the hospital and you're making jokes?" **-- "Sorry... Seriously, though, who were those chicks anyway? You know 'em?"** \-- "No, man, I told you, I've never seen them before. I don't think they're even from the college." **-- "Then how'd they find my place? I mean, you know our Halloween party was "Invite only", right?"** I stopped. There was another enigma, one I never even considered before then. He was right, we, or at least me and Ronnie, had only told a select few people that we were even having that party at his house that night. And whoever we *did* allow on the guest list, we made sure all four of us knew about it. We also explicitly stated the whole "Invite only" thing to the guests, meaning that they weren't allowed to bring anyone else in on it, either. Well, again, that's how me and Ronnie did, anyways. That led me to wonder then, who, if not me or Ronnie, knew them and invited them? The only options were either A, Wydell himself, or B, Zack. I told this to Ronnie. **-- "I doubt Zack would've known. I'll ask him, though."** After that, I drove back the rest of the way to the campus and headed back to my dorm, where I crashed out of sheer exhaustion. Despite this, though, I didn't sleep well. I couldn't get the image out of my head of seeing Wydell splayed out across Ronnie's bed like that, all hacked up with pentagrams all over him. I woke up at around 8:00 that morning, though, to a flood of texts from Ronnie. **-- "DUDE! LOOK AT THIS SHIT!"** Following this was a google link to a news article on YouTube, as well as about 5 or 6 different screenshots. Each one was of the hospital. One or two of them looked like the inside of some of the rooms all torn apart, stuff having been thrown all over the place like a tornado had swept through, while others were of actual *people* having been torn apart. Some of them didn't even have much left of them anymore, looking like hunks of bloody meat and bones scattered across the floor. \-- "Dude, when was this taken?" **-- "This morning, dude. Have U seen the footage yet?"** I responded that I hadn't and clicked the video. Footage of the hospital from the photos appeared with the headline reading "Brutal violence in hospital at late hours of the night!” It went on to show similar pictures inside the hospital, along with people, patients and nurses alike, being wheeled out of the place. Seeing the place from the outside, I realized it was the hospital Wydell was in. This put me on edge, causing me to spend the entire video tensely waiting for it to be revealed that Wydell had been mutilated again along with the others. A woman then came on screen. "Only hours ago this morning, Authorities responded to a distressed call from a member of the St. Leonard's Memorial hospital staff. According to the anonymous caller, Screams and sounds of a struggle were heard from the east wing of the facility." The screen transitioned then to a walk inside the hospital. I saw large scratches running across the lengths of both the floor and the walls. "Authorities claim to have arrived to what they describe to be a madhouse, with hordes of people clamoring out of the hospital for their lives. Police officer, Gordon LaVey, is quoted in saying that the situation was nothing short of utter chaos." It then cut to the Officer. "It was wild." he said. "We pull up and we couldn't even get into the parking lot because people were scattered all over the place. It took us almost twenty minutes to be able to calm enough people down to even get into the parking lot." It cut back to the reporter. "When asked what happened inside, this was what officer LaVey had to say." It cut back to officer LaVey. "When we could finally get someone to calm down long enough to even talk to us, the most consistent detail we could even make out was something about a "Monster" rampaging through the place. We sent a unit in, and things just went down from there." The footage then cut back to the hospital with a recording that played of the radio communications. For about the first minute or so, it was typical back and forth chatter between the inside and outside units. Suddenly, though, I could hear the inside unit starting to panic as growling noises picked up in the distance. From there, it devolved into chaos, with the inside crew shouting frantically for backup and firing their guns in a frenzy and ground crew trying to discern what was going on. The chaos escalated when just about all I could hear from the inside unit's side was screams of pain and the growling turning into straight up roaring. Hearing this made my blood freeze solid. My body was stiff. I couldn't even move my eyelids to blink. I just stared slack jawed at my phone screen as the reporter went on to say that no suspects -- human or otherwise -- were detained and that investigation into the situation was ongoing. Of course, this brought me no comfort. All I could do was wonder what the hell that growling in the background was coming from. What the hell had all the cops thrown into a panic like that, and what caused the destruction of the hospital like what was shown? This, and what the hell happened to my friend in there? Was *he* okay? Immediately after the news clip ended, I texted Ronnie back telling him I'd watched the news clip. **-- "Dude, what** ***was*** **that? You heard the shit in the background, right? Shit was freaky!"** \-- "Yeah, I heard it. Sounded like a dog or something. A big ass dog." **-- "A** ***dog??*** **What dog would be big enough to do all that; destroying the place like that?"** \-- "I don't know, man, shit, that's just what it sounded like to me. I mean, it's obvious whatever the fucking thing was, *wasn't* a person." **-- "True. Still, though, I don't know how it could've even got in. I mean, how could it have just busted in like that? Aren't there usually** ***some*** **kind of security staked out at the place?"** \-- "The hell you asking *me* for? *YOU* knew about this before *I* did." **-- "Yeah, but you were there last night, weren't you?"** I stopped. He was right again. I *was* there, only hours before this all took place. Everything was fine, both when I arrived and when I left... But then, where did this thing come from and how did I or nobody else see it? \-- "Yeah... I was..." **-- "And you didn't see any quote-unquote "Big-ass dogs" there, did you?"** \-- "No. You're right, I didn't see anything like that." **-- "What about our boy, Wy? You think he's okay?"** My heart went into a frenzy. \-- "I don't know, dude. He was out cold when I left the hospital. Docs say he pulled through by a miracle when I got there. They wouldn't let me see him, though. I was gonna try and talk to him today." **-- "Fat chance of that..."** \-- "Yeah, well... Hey, you talk to Zack yet, ask him if he knew the girls from the party last night and how they showed up?" **-- "Yeah. He swears up and down that he's never seen 'em before in his life before the party.And I believe him like I believe you."** \-- "Yeah... But then... How could they have known, then?" **-- "Dude... You don't think maybe..."** \-- "What?" **-- "That maybe Wydell might've invited them, do you?"** \-- "You serious? Wydell? I'd sooner believe it was you that did it before him. Besides, why would he invite chicks over just to mutilate him like that?" **-- "Well, I mean, if he did know them, I doubt it was because he wanted to get freaky with 'em like that. Hell, you saw the pentagrams, right; occult shit, you know?"** \-- "Yeah, I've been thinking about that. You think that's why they were at the party? To perform some sort of human sacrifice?" **-- "Possible."** \-- "Why Wydell, though?" **-- "I don't know, man. Hell, all I know is,** ***I*** **didn't invite them, you didn't invite them, and Zack didn't, either. That would have to leave him."** \-- "And now there's whatever the hell this thing on the news was." **-- "I know, man, shit's got me all screwed up in all kinds of different ways. Look, man, I gotta go now. Gotta get ready for class (it's Professor Rathburn's class today, too... Fuck me)."** \-- "Okay, let me know if something else fucked up happens without me noticing, okay?" **-- "Got it. Also, see if you can talk to Wydell, see how he's holding up and if he knows anything."** \-- "I'll try, dude, although I don't know how I'd be able to do that." **-- "Why not?"** \-- "Well, weren't the patients moved last night when they were evacuating?" **-- "Yeah. So check Ellis General, if they moved them anywhere, it'd likely be there, right, since it's only about two or three blocks out from St. Leonard's."** \-- "Okay, I'll try there then after my 2:30 class."<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Be careful leaving food out for feral cats. [RESPONSE] I love cats. I love them so much. I want to adopt as many as possible and have them all sleep on my bed so I can watch the little cuties nap all day. The issue is, I’m allergic to them. I’ve lived with a roommate who had a cat and loved it. Waking up with my eyes swollen shut because I forgot to take my meds the night before, not so much. Sadly, my dream of having a furry friend got put off until I could get my life in order. I figured if I could get into routine, I could easily add taking pills onto it so I cold adopt a cat. I moved out of that apartment with my old college roommate into a condo my uncle wanted to sell. The condo has these electric baseboard heaters that I think are a fire hazard and so did my uncle. He couldn’t live with himself if he sold the place and it burning down afterwards because he didn’t replace the heaters. But to put in a different system cost a lot. More than he could afford. In the end he figured he would sell his place and then move into the condo after it got all spruced up. That may take him a year or so to finally get around to doing it. The people in my family all had a bad habit of putting things off. In the meantime, he let me rent out the place. I only wanted to stay for a short amount of time. My plan was to find a job in my field and move if needed. Then the pandemic hit and most employers figured out they could have people work from home. The months passed by and I had a job, but I didn't have any plans or reason to move. My uncle never bothered me to leave and I wanted to see how long it may take him to finally get ready for the home renos in the condo. Since living here, I have noticed a few feral cats outside. My heart broke seeing them out there. Cold, wet, alone and dirty. I’ve hears some people go on about it’s good for cats to live outside but the native bird population might have something else to say about that. Seeing these cats outside with rounded ears from frostbite, and God knows what diseases, frustrated me enough to want to snap at anyone trying to bring up the outside argument. But that is not what this is about. It’s about the mistake I made. I started putting food outside for the cats with a plan of buying a trap to get them fixed. If they were too feral, they needed to be put back outside, but, if possible, I wanted them to find some nice and warm home. I needed to get them in a trusting mood before I got out the traps and risked scaring them all away. Now, I understand it’s not just the cats that eat the food. They might be lucky to get some early in the night. Other animals like raccoons, possums and skunks ate what they wanted. My condo had a very small backyard made up mostly of cement squares from the previous owners. The wooden fence very much in need of repairs and gate crooked. One board of the fence fell off and that’s how the animals are getting to the steps by the backdoor. I didn’t mind. I loved to see them all when I couldn’t sleep at night. I even named some of the skunks. You really shouldn’t feed wild animals for so many reasons. I kept telling myself I would stop the moment I caught all the cats and took care of them. I only caught one who came by in the day time and dropped him off to a shelter. No one came for him and he got adopted out soon after he recovered from being outside. That kept me going. I hated the thought of any cat going hungry because I stopped putting food outside. In the middle of the night, I heard noises coming from outside. My bedroom window overlooks the small backyard and the small patch of trees beyond it. I figured it was the skunks from it being around three AM. I needed to use the washroom and felt awake. Normally I got a snack, looked to see what cute night time guest came by and then headed to bed. I didn’t turn on the kitchen light. I kept the bathroom one on upstairs and how the layout worked, the light reached downstairs letting me see enough to move around. Peanut butter toast sounded like a good late-night snack. I placed the bread in the toaster and then walked over to the sliding glass door to see what showed up that night. I didn’t see anything at first. The first-floor windows open a little so I could hear that rustling sound again. Was something behind the fence? I sometimes heard a racoon climbing up before I saw them. Or maybe they heard me inside and started to climb away. I held still, trying to make no noise and hope it made the creature brave enough to show itself. A different sound replaced the rustling. Something like a long high-pitched inhale. I nearly let out a scream when the source of the sound came. A face slowly started to peek over the back fence. Like a nightmare, that pale face kept rising upwards until it was a few feet over the top of the worn-down wooden fence. This had to be a prank. That fence at least six feet tall and this face stood four feet above that. The face wasn’t natural. It looked impossibly long and stretched out. If I wasn’t so scared, I would think it might look a bit funny in a gruesome sort of way. The head on the long neck moved forwards and I jumped when a sound came inside my house. Just the toaster. The damn thing nearly gave me a heart attack. When I looked back, that pale naked thing started to climb over the fence while still making that horrible sharp sound. The eyes dark and pulled downwards along with all the other facial features. I didn’t stay long enough to try and figure out if this thing had a gender. I turned to run towards the front door and tripped over a table I found in trash I’ve been meaning to fix up. The long creature already at the back door. By the time I got back to my feet, shin throbbing in pain, it smashed the back door open with massively long hands. People do really stupid things when they’re scared to death. With the table in my way and the creature so close, I didn’t run to safety outside but instead I ran upstairs. I felt finger tips brush against the back of my shirt as I ran, nearly falling forwards up the steps. I only looked back the moment I got inside the bathroom to see that thing’s pale outline standing at the bottom of the stairs. Face showing a smile that could stop your heart. It reached out a hand, the arm so long it nearly cleared the entire length of the steps and to the bathroom door. I slammed it shut with a very loud scream. The bathroom was the only room in the house with a lock. I didn’t think it would hold. The handle moved slightly then harder. I don’t know how long that thing wiggled the handle and banged ion the door trying to get inside. I didn’t even have any weapons besides some cleaning chemicals. Finally, the sounds stopped. There wasn’t a window in the bathroom so I didn’t know how long I sat on the floor for, cowering in fear. I left my phone on the kitchen counter to charge the night before. The time passed slowly, making me feeling every second of it. I didn’t hear any sounds for a while and started to see some light coming from under the doorframe. With bravery I didn’t think I had, I unlocked the door, peeking outside. Seeing no signs of the monster, I carefully went downstairs, entire body shaking. The window still broken but nothing else touched besides a torn open bag of dry cat food scattered on the ground. I pressed against the wall trying to get to my phone. I kept my recycling bins at the end of the kitchen counter. My kitchen and living room all the same room, but with the one long counter to divide them. I got closer and noticed that the empty week-old cans of wet can food from the bins had been placed on the counter in a stack. I’d stopped buying it because it cost so much and thought I could get more dry food for less. On a flyer someone written one word in dirt from outside in long thin letters as if the words were written with a fingertip. MORE I called the police, fixed the back glass door and set up a camera for outside. My uncle was just happy I was safe from whoever broke in. I could never tell them the real truth. I just said a crazy naked tall homeless guy broke the backdoor and I hid in the bathroom until he left. My uncle offered to let him stay with him, but I didn’t want to burden someone else with the creature I’d attracted by putting wet cat food outside. I’ve stayed and put aside money for more wet food. I haven’t seen anything besides the regular animals in the cameras but I don’t dare stop putting out the good stuff and risk that tall monster breaking in again. At least now I'm more focused on getting the feral cats caught, fixed and shots up to date. It's the least I can do for them. I have terrible nightmares of that night. I fear that creature may come again when I’m sleeping so I've started shift going to bed during the day. My life has changed a lot of ways that aren’t all that great. Please do me a favor and if you are going to feed feral cats, know what you’re doing a head of time. Don’t make the same mistake as me. You really never know what is coming by and eating the food you’re leaving out.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The kids down the street play a pretend store and their customers freak me out [RESPONSE] Just as the title says - it began as yet another game and I wouldn’t even pay attention to it, as kids on our streets come up with something every single day, running around, screaming and laughing. Last week it was hospital and fire station, this week it’s a store. They got a folding table and few chairs somewhere - probably some of the parents approved on their initiative. Then there were the goods: some leaves, stones, couple of sticks and some old newspapers. A couple of kids were sitting by the table, pretending to be the cashiers. The others had more generic roles: some boys were “warehouse” workers, bringing the products from somebody’s backyard. One girl was swiping the walkway, where the “store” was located. Other kids were security guards, shift managers (or whatever) and isle workers (I think, as considering the “store” had only one display - it was hard to do anything else rather than running around, pretending something’s happening all the time). Why would I even bother telling you about any of this? Just another silly kid entertainment, right? Of course, except one thing caught my attention - a huge stack of dollar bills. I didn’t believe my eyes at first. One of the cashier girls was holding a pile of green papers tossing them around, counting. Yeah, those definitely could be fake, like you know - souvenir money, with Ronald McDonald’s picture instead of presidents, but if you ask me - those looked pretty damn real: slightly worn, a bit crumpled stack of US dollars. Probably one of the kids went all in and picked out Dad’s stash clean and had no idea what sort of punishment yet to come down on him. Or maybe they found them somewhere, those lucky brats. But soon enough my initial curiosity turned to a complete misunderstanding of what was happening. One of my neighbors, Liam, who was walking back home stopped by the improvised store, took a moment to check out the goods and said in a cheerful voice, supporting the play: “Hello, ladies. How much for this beautiful stone over here?” “It’s not a stone, mister. It’s a pack of ice cream!” - the girl said, making a comically serious face. I could hear both of them clearly, as I was sitting just across the road, enjoying my drink on my lawn. “Alright, alright. My mistake, sorry. So how much for this wonderful pack of ice cream then?” - Liam laughed. “Two hundred dollars, mister” - the girl replied. Wow! What an appetite there - I laughed to myself. But my laughter faded quickly and I’ve dropped my jaw, seeing how my neighbor took out his wallet, spent couple of seconds checking inside and passed the stated sum. What the hell? I couldn’t believe my eyes. I didn’t know Liam that well, but we chatted couple of times and I know that he’s not a rich man. He didn’t have any kids yet, so that excluded that “i’ll give it to you now, but please give it back later” scenario between him and his daughter. I was speechless. Two hundred bucks, can you believe it? For a stone. I clearly missed some context here. But ain’t my business. So I’ve finished my ice tea and went back to the house to do something else. Next day they were still there - selling junk, having fun. It seemed that the roles were switched, as now the boy and another girl were cashiers, and so on. The “stock” was updated too: some empty soda cans, egg trays and other garbage was aligned on the “counter”. But what’s more interesting - today there were way more “customers”. The Millers were there, Mr. & Mrs. Davis too, as well as some other people from the neighborhood. They formed a line and patiently waited for their turn to do some shopping. What the hell was happening here? Did somebody decide to run some sort of charity marathon and I wasn’t notified or something? I saw stacks of bills growing in number on the counter of the pretended shop and the more I looked - the less I understood. So, as I knew some of those people - I’ve decided to ask around on what was this all about. I walked straight to Jake Garcia, who lived two houses to the left and shot my questions. Jake just shrugged and said: “Oh, you know… It’s just a child’s play. Don’t take it too serious.” That explained nothing. So I pushed further but got only “Man, I think you’re overreacting” in response. And the very next moment my neighbor landed two and a half grands for an empty juice box and an outdated newspaper, I shit you not. And I know Jake - we had a beer couple of times. He’s a plumber and that kind of money is more than he usually makes in a month. This was just crazy! The next day the performance continued. Lots of people, piles of money and some trash in return. I’ve talked to more folks and not a single face gave me a proper explanation of what was happening around here. But later something outstanding happened. I was in the kitchen, doing dishes after the lunch, as suddenly I’ve heard shouts from the street, so I’ve walked out outside wiping my wet hands with a towel to check it out. It was old Ron Hill who seemed to argue with kids. But in fact - he was begging them. “Please” - he said - “take this as a payment. This clock is priceless. And I’m too old and tired to go to the pawn shop. Please”. “Sorry, mister, our store has a cash-only policy” - the kid, who I assume played the store manager, replied. This was getting out of hand. So I’ve crossed the road, intending to calm down old Ron and give him piece of mind. So I ended up standing next to him, right before the table with goods. “Look, Ron. It’s just a game, no need for all this drama, ok?” - I’ve said. “They are going to forget about this tomorrow, so you don’t need to act like this. I mean, what’s wrong with you people? It’s just some junk, see?” I’ve pointed to the garbage on the folding table and quickly looked over it. And then something clicked in me. Among the dirty rocks and empty coke bottles I saw it. I really wish I could describe it, but I can’t. It was the wiggling of the tail of my first dog Odie, it was the tenderness of my first kiss with the girl I liked, it was the fading laugh of my mother and the last words of my father… It was everything that I would ever want to live for and every single thing that made me happy. I’ve picked it up from the table to take a closer look, as the squeaky child’s voice said: “Hey, mister, no touching. You have to pay for that!” That brought me back to my senses and I realized I was holding a broken toy truck, missing a door and a couple of wheels. I’ve put it back, turned away and walked straight back home, without saying a single thing. The emotional impact of what I have just experienced was too much to take. Like all your happy moments replayed on x10 speed and then the fact that you’ll never experience them again hits you straight in the face. Never. That night I didn’t sleep well. Some really dark thoughts found their way into me, whispering things, drowning me in depressive soul-searching. My life divided into “before” and “then”, and I have absolutely no idea how that happened. I just lost the will to live. Everything around made no sense anymore. My job? Nah. My potential future family? That seems like too much trouble. My friends? They already forgot about me. There was just this thing. The one kids were selling. I would pay anything to get it. So the next day I went straight to the “store” with the intention to get it, no matter what. And I was greeted with nothing. Just an empty street before me. Well, maybe they didn’t set it up yet? I’ll wait. But you’ve guessed it - hours later there still was no one around. I went to see around the block, because, just maybe - they’ve switched the place of their games, but again - no table in sight. I’ve caught Jimmy leaving his house, the neighbor kid who played a security guard most of the days and asked him about it. He looked me in the eye and said: “Nah, we’re not playing this anymore. We are building a spaceship now!”. Should I say I’ve felt miserable and devastated? There was no light at the end of the tunnel. I can’t make the kids play the store again, I can’t set the mood, I can’t order them. All I am able to do is wait - until the history repeats itself, but still there’s no guarantee. I don’t understand the nature of this. I don’t know how I trapped myself. I’ve been to doctors, specialists and even so-called dark-arts experts. The pills won’t help, the alcohol just makes me sick. Each day I look through my window hoping that the table will pop up across the street, then I would rush and pay any money they ask to make me whole again. But kids grow so fast these days. I don’t know how much more I can take. And the whispering voice in my head says I’m wasting my time. It’s all futile. I’m not ok.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] There's something horrifying in the disc golf park by my house... [RESPONSE] So, last night I waited a little too late to bring my dog out for a walk. Going too far into her favorite trails was out of the question in the dark, because I've seen a coyote hanging around that area at night a few times. I think it's the same one, he's a big boy. Haven't really seen any others as big as him. For context, I live in a city in the northwest. Kind of in a more quiet area compared to downtown, but slightly alarming things have started happening here lately. Anyway, I say all his because it's not like super normal to see coyotes in this area. Really freaked me out the first time I saw him. So yea, it feels a bit strange to me. Something is off about it. I get the feeling sometimes that things are not always right here. If that even makes sense. Let's just say I've seen some weirdass shit that's kinda unexplainable. So, I took her a different way and let her sniff everything she wanted. Let her really sniff around like the little terrier she is. She loves it.. it provides just as much stimulation as a brisk walk for her. So I decided to cross the street and make our way to the disc golf park which she loves. She sniffed around quite a bit and changed paths a few times, but we eventually made it. Streetlights lit part of the trail along the side of the park. Apartments lined the right side, slightly obscured by trees and bushes. Park was netted off on the left side. Past the streetlights, I saw solid darkness. I had an uneasy feeling, but I sometimes find fear thrilling. So I continued on. Like a dumbass. Grace, my dog, was having a blast. I could hear the light clang of Frisbees hitting goal posts or whatever they're called, I don't give a single shit about sports to be frank. Grace pulled us forward and closer to the darkened part of the path. I let her sniff around where the light was fading, and debated on going further. I looked into the darkness. Dread filled my gut, an immediate anxiety induced stomach ache set in (thanks IBS). I knew we had to leave. I saw two small lights as I looked more closely, then they suddenly went out. Then came back on again just as suddenly. They.. blinked. It was a pair of eyes. There was something in the darkness 20 feet ahead, and it was looking right at us. There's absolutely no way it was human. I quietly began to lead Grace in the opposite direction, and I suddenly became unable to move. I saw gruesome images in my mind, things that I cannot even repeat or replay in my head, because I vomit anytime I visualize it. It was the most terrified I've ever been. Until I heard the voice. It slithered and slipped into my mind without making a sound. I was still paralyzed as it spoke to me. "Pesky intuition," it hissed, "I almost had you." And I nearly shit myself. The hold was quickly released, and I signaled Grace that it was time to run. Run the fuck away from whatever the fuck that was. As we were leaving the park, I heard whistling somehow coming from every direction. And this is weird as hell but... it was randomly whistling "Sail" by AWOLNATION. No clue why, seems hella random. Grace was slowing down a bit, and we were already by the entrance of the park so I just matched her speed and we fast-walked right the fuck outta there. As we made our way home, I was on guard and jumpy. I heard a noise, and then saw someone across the street repeatedly screaming "cold juice" into an intercom outside of an apartment complex. Ahh, I thought, normal city sounds again. I made a mental note not to take her out at night anymore. She has a potty pad and uses it on super rainy days and stuff. She'll be fine with earlier walks as the days grow shorter and the sun goes down sooner. I tried to eat something but absolutely couldn't stomach a thing. I was really shaken and doubting myself on what I'd experienced. I took a sleeping pill and passed out. When I woke this morning, I still wasn't hungry at all. Figured I'd force myself to eat a snack a little later while at work. I don't really eat much in the morning anyway. I started making coffee when my parter came out of our room. He went outside for a smoke. I set the coffee to brew and joined him. We both silently scrolled through reddit as we tried to wake up. "Oh shit," he said, "this is right the fuck by us holy shit" and passed me his phone with concern. "Promise me you'll he careful and absolutely don't go out alone in the dark if you can help it. Please." "I promise 100%, I absolutely won't be going out after dark without you," I said while looking at the article. There was a picture of a very young looking brunette girl with a dog on her lap, both smiling and happy. The dog looked so loved. You could see the bond between them through the picture. I took a second to take it in, because I suddenly felt very connected to this girl and her dog. I feel the same bond with Grace. The text below the grainy photo was horrifying. I'm paraphrasing, but the girl, we'll call her Therasa, was 12 years old and snuck out with the dog to take him on a secret walk or something. Parents had no clue. Fuckin kids man, we were all so goddamn weird and stupid during that time in our lives. So it seems that she snuck out and walked to the disc golf course, where she then disappeared. Her dog's leash and collar were found at the park. In the same spot where I saw the eyes. It seemed police already thought they had a lead; they also found a tent and supplies which obviously belonged to a homeless person. They seemed to think this person kidnapped Theresa and ran away with her. But I know that's not what happened. First off, I've been homeless before. No homeless person willingly just abandons all their shit. Literally their only possessions... no. It just doesn't fuckin happen. Second, I just know. I know it was the thing with the eyes. I can feel it. The tent camper had to have fallen prey to it as well. That girl is long gone... and her dog. What I felt, beyond the terrible images, was that it consumes every last bit. The feeling of blinking out of existence, I somehow felt that. I think it left the collar and leash to toy with me. To give me solid proof that Theresa took my place last night. I don't know what this thing is, but I do know I sure as fuck won't be going out in the dark ever again. I'm so sad for Theresa's family, but I know telling them any of this shit would make things worse. So I'll remain silent, try to put it out of my mind. Except I keep feeling this nagging guilt. If it had taken me instead, would it have moved on before taking the child? I can't get the question out of my head. Did a child die because I followed my gut instinct? Fuckin hell. And even through that guilt I know, the terrible truth is that I'd do it the same every time. For Grace. I'll always hate myself a little for that. But I do it for the pup. She's my life. Gotta protect her. Gotta keep myself alive to take care of her. It's how I get through my worst days. Whatever you do, don't go to disc golf parks in the dark. Maybe just avoid public parks altogether at night, just to be safe. And most importantly, follow your gut instincts. Your intuition is invaluable. Trust yourself. Never forget that.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I keep swapping places with a killer. Final Part. [RESPONSE] **** She slid into the seat next to me, pressing against my side until I moved over enough for her to fully sit down. Even when I went to the far wall of the booth she kept sliding over, meeting my eyes and smiling as though she was a lover wanting to be close in a shared seat. I didn’t lower my gaze, but I still felt my skin crawl, and when I spoke, I could hear panic in my voice. “What are you doing here?” The woman chuckled and gave a shrug. “Several reasons. Maybe the most obvious one to you is to let you know that I could. That I know who you are, where you are, and how to get to you.” “Why, so you can kill me?” Her grin widened as she put her hand on my leg and slid it swiftly up to my groin. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead. I could do it up close or far away. Make it look like an accident or a random act of violence. Like I said, getting to you might be the most obvious reason, but it’s not the only reason. Or the most interesting one.” I frowned at her and shoved her hand away from me. “Okay then. Why else?” Snickering, she propped the side of her head on her upturned hand and stared at me. “Well, to look at you, for one. I’ve seen your body plenty, but other than our little indirect interactions, I don’t have a full picture of *you*. You know, your personality, your intelligence, that kind of thing.” I glanced around the coffee shop. I could try to call or signal for help, but what good would that do? What could I say that anyone would believe or that would get her arrested or even detained? They’d probably lock *me* up, and I’d lose the chance to actually learn anything new. So I forced myself to stay calm as I gave her a nod. “Okay. Why do you care about that?” Her eyes widened. “There we go. I like good questions, and that’s a very good one. By way of an answer, I think I’ll tell you a story. The story of how I was once like you.” She wrinkled her nose. “Well, kinda.” She paused a moment to see if I had a response, but I kept quiet. The longer I could keep her talking, the more likely she’d say something that might help me get out of this or beat her. So I just nodded, and with that, she began. **** I told you before this isn’t my first rodeo, and that’s true. Twelve years ago I was driving home from work one night when suddenly…well, I wasn’t. I was sitting in a hospital waiting room in what I learned was Kuala Lumpur, though that took me a bit to figure out. Turns out I was in the body of a seventy-five year old Malasian man who’s wife was dying of lung cancer. It was very scary and disorienting, but once I was satisfied I wasn’t dead or dreaming or crazy, I started trying to attack the problems and questions before me. First off, I was still *me* for the most part. I had my memories, my personality, things like that. But it wasn’t a clean swap either. I realized this when a nurse came in to give me an update on my wife’s latest test results. I talked to her normally, pretending like I knew the woman she was talking about and that I was saddened by the latest bad prognosis—I’ve always been pretty good at faking that kind of stuff, and I did improv for a couple of semesters in college, but I still give myself credit for holding my shit together at the time. Just talking to her, asking questions I thought she might expect me to ask, while still trying to figure out how I’d gotten stuck in the old man I saw in the waiting room mirror. It was halfway through the conversation with the nurse that it struck me. I wasn’t talking to her in English, but in Malay. And while I consider myself to be somewhat worldly, I *do not* know how to say a single word in Malay. I spent the next day and a half as that man. As disorienting and terrifying as it might have been for you or for Taylor your first times, at least you had me communicating a little. A touchstone to outside reality letting you know that it wasn’t all just inside your head. Because even after I felt I’d convinced myself I wasn’t crazy, the doubts would still creep back in. What if I really was this old Malaysian guy and I was having a break from reality? It didn’t help that I kept finding little things that didn’t match with my memories of myself. I’m not musically inclined, for example. But that night, when I went back to where the man and his wife lived, I found an old guitar in the corner of their bedroom. Without even thinking about it, I picked it up and started to play. It filled me with a strange sense of peace for about thirty seconds, and then it hit me that I shouldn’t be able to play it if I was really me. Throwing it down, I went back out into the city, prowling the streets until I found an all-night internet café. I looked myself up. I kept a decently low profile even back then, but I was less careful before this started happening, and it didn’t take long before I found enough to know I did exist and that whatever this was, it wasn’t me being crazy or just a dream. I spent the next few hours walking around, trying to decide what I should do next, and I wound up at this little place eating breakfast as the sun came up. By then I’d grown more accustomed to that body, but everything was still strange—my eyesight was terrible and my hearing wasn’t much better. Everything was stiff, and whenever I got up, my joints ached for a couple of minutes until I got warmed up. Even the food I was eating tasted different, and I wasn’t entirely sure it was just because of the locale. I was pondering this when suddenly I wasn’t in a restaurant. I was in an airport, about to board a plane. That’s when I first knew for sure that it really was me swapping bodies with someone else. The man had booked a flight back to Malaysia within an hour of our swap, on my credit card no less. He was trying to get back to his wife I guess, but by the time he was waiting in line with his boarding pass, he was back where I’d been, eating breakfast. I never had a chance to confirm it, but this swap hadn’t been his first time. Couldn’t have been. He’d been on my laptop booking the flight back too fast, and to the extent I’d retraced his route while in my body, there weren’t any signs of someone going through the process I’d went through of figuring out what was going on or why. To one extent or another, he already knew. Not that it helped him in the end. I couldn’t remember his name, but I remembered enough about the hospital and area that I was able to keep an eye out for the obituaries. Maybe it was morbid curiosity or some instinct to find more pieces of the puzzle, but I didn’t have long to wait for an answer. I couldn’t recognize his name and I’d never seen her face, but when his face popped up there a few days later, I had what I needed to dig deeper. Most of the information came from an another article three days earlier. The man had apparently come back to the hospital to learn that his wife had died while he was away. Flying into a rage, he’d tore through the cancer floor before disappearing into the stairwell. By the time security came up and tracked him to the roof of the hospital, it was already too late. When he jumped, he hit a parked car and bounced off, crashing halfway through the window of an administration office on the hospital’s first floor. Big news in that day’s news cycle over there, but as it turned out, even bigger news for me. Because right away it told me that him dying didn’t affect me. I wasn’t hurt or killed by what had happened when I wasn’t in his body, so despite our connection, whatever the source or nature of it, I was still safe. What I learned a few months later was that his death hadn’t ended anything either. That’s when I swapped into someone new. You see, once you start swapping with someone, you’ll keep swapping with them for so long as you’re both alive. But once one of you dies, the survivor keeps on going, and in time they start swapping with someone else. And while I’ve always suspected that my first swap had some experience and knowledge, I’ve only met one person that had things somewhat figured out. Her name was Debbie. She’d been swapping back and forth with people since she was seventeen, and over the years, she’d gotten very good at it. What, for a lot of people, would be terrifying, she saw as liberating. Like she’d been chosen by God to live dozens of lives. I didn’t buy into her religious hokum, but I couldn’t deny that it was supernatural or at least beyond my ability to explain. So I made a point of talking to her. Leaving her notes, writing her letters. We even got to where we’d talk on the phone as we became friends. Before Debbie, I’d always felt like an intruder or a voyeur. I’d found ways to make it fun and exciting, sure, but the uncertainty and mystery of it all made it hard to fully enjoy. Debbie helped with that, giving me a better idea of how it all worked, even if neither of us really knew *why*. So some people just naturally start swapping, like me…and so far as I can tell, Taylor. This isn’t some long-standing phenomena I don’t think. Best me and Debbie ever figured out, the only accounts that seem to match what we’re doing go back a couple of hundred years, but they’ve ramped up over time. Still very rare, of course, and those “accounts” are almost always written off as fantasy or insane. But anyway, it happens now from time to time. What is probably of greater interest to you is the fact that not everyone comes to the swap meet through random selection. If a person in a swapping pair dies thinking of a specific person, there’s a very high chance—no guarantees, but a very high chance—that if that person is alive, they’ll be the next one selected as the dead one’s replacement. **** I broke in, unable to hold my tongue any longer or keep the anger out of my raised voice. “That’s why you had him hold my picture when you killed him!” She scowled at me. “Lower your voice. And yes. You were arguably a loose end, but I also had the impression from going through Taylor’s stuff that you were a good friend, intelligent and level-headed. Someone I could talk to and work out an arrangement with if you were reasonable, or get rid of if not.” The woman smirked. “Though I have to tell you, your little outburst is making me question if you’re worth reasoning with.” Swallowing, I gritted my teeth as I replied. “I’ll stay calm. So…so what else did you learn from Debbie?” She shrugged. “At the time, not much. She was ahead of me, but there’s no rule book for this stuff. You learn by experience, experimentation and, in the case of me and Debbie, collaboration.” I frowned. “Well what happened then? She must have died, right? Or why else are you still swapping with new people?” She stared at me coldly. “Well, obviously. And it hasn’t been the same since I lost Debbie. I’ve had a lot of fun, but the monotony gets to you.” I raised an eyebrow. “You’re bored of swapping to new bodies?” The woman snorted. “No. Are you slow? The opposite. I can go for weeks or months between people, and there are times in there when I get worried it’ll just stop forever. That’s why I try to make the most out of the times I get.” “By killing people.” She smiled thinly at me. “Yes, but I don’t kill my swap partner so long as they aren’t a threat or obstacle to me. Taylor was smart and determined, and he would have eventually found a way to find me, possibly expose me. I hated to lose him, but it was him or me.” Her smile grew larger. “And I’ll always choose me.” God, I wanted to kill her right there. But that would be stupid. Someone would stop me, and *I’d* be the one that got arrested. Instead I tried to think of another useful question. “You know when it’s going to happen, don’t you?” Her laugh was warm this time. “See, I knew I liked you. Yeah, I can tell. I couldn’t at first. I would have vomited my guts up the first time if the old man had left his wife to eat anytime soon. But the nausea gets better over time. You get control quicker and you start getting a little tickle in the back of your head, kind of like an itch. It’s gotten so I can tell when its coming a few minutes or hours ahead of time depending on how it feels, but nothing more precise.” I nodded. “Okay. Yeah, I knew that from the video.” She frowned. “I know you knew it from the video. That’s why I made the video that way. As a simple test to see what you would notice and figure out. Don’t make me like you less by bragging about something that only proves you’re not an idiot.” I flushed and started to respond when I realized how bizarre this all was. I was feeling embarrassed, about to *defend* myself to this woman, this monster, when what I should be doing was “Sorry Alvin, got to cut this short.” With that, she stood up and looked around the coffee shop as she reached into her purse for something. It was a long black pistol, and even as I began to cry out, she was already firing. Her first shot went through the man behind the counter, followed by two in the back of the old woman paying for her coffee. She turned then, shooting each of a family of four as they scrabbled for the side door. A couple of those she only wounded, so she shot them again in the head as they tried to crawl away. Someone had triggered an alarm, maybe a fire alarm, by that point, and several people had made it outside, but that didn’t stop her from emptying the last of her rounds into a young woman cowering beneath the espresso machines. The first of the police were pulling up as she threw down the gun and laid down on her belly. She didn’t say anything or even look my way until they pulled me down onto the floor next to her. Then, just as they were handcuffing her and lifting her back up to carry outside, she met my eyes for a moment. And gave me a little wink. **** They treated me as a suspect for the first hour, and as a possible accomplice for the next couple of hours after that. They knew from the store videos that I hadn’t done anything, but they also knew she’d been sitting pressed up against me for twenty minutes before she stood up and started her murder spree. I knew better than to tell them the truth, so I told them what would make at least some sense: that she was a stranger, an attractive woman who had just come up to me at the coffee shop, and at first had seemed normal. We had just made small talk, and I admitted it all seemed odd, but she was hot and I didn’t have anywhere to be, so I decided to just see where it went. Then she got up without warning and started killing everyone in sight. The cops didn’t like that answer, but they couldn’t dispute it either. There was no connection between the two of us that could be proven, and I could honestly tell them that I didn’t even know her name. They finally let me go an hour ago, and I’ve spent the time since writing this all down as fast as I can, the real true version of what happened. I need to send it to someone fast, because maybe it’s my imagination, but I think I feel a faint tickling in the back of my head. Maybe what she told me about that is a lie, but I **** *That’s as far as he got before the swap unfortunately, but I think I can finish this for him. Most of it is going to educated guesses, but I have gotten pretty good at this.* Alvin swapped back to find himself in a holding cell. On the concrete floor he found a wet blue balloon and an empty sandwich bag. He may have even figured out that I vomited that balloon up after I was alone in the cell. After he realizes how his stomach is beginning to hurt, he might even realize that the little bag had been full of a potent and fast-acting poison. If not, maybe the residue on his new lips will give him a clue. In his lap he’ll hopefully find the other item from the balloon. A small, neatly folded note for him I wrote hours earlier. Not because I had to, but because I saw no harm in it. Perhaps it helped him understand, and if not, at least it made the end of our game feel a bit more satisfying. Like saying “checkmate” when you knock over the other player’s king. The note said: **In case I don’t tell you before now—if the other one dies while you’re in the loaner, you keep it free of charge. Keep your chin up, Debbie.** **** The police talked to me again the next week, but it was half-hearted. They still wanted to know more about me and Deborah Haskins of Vancouver, BC. Yes, it was true she’d somehow committed suicide while in holding the week before, but they still found it strange that there were no ties between us. I smiled and gave them a shrug. This body was a good one. Young and healthy. No signs of neurological problems, and I’d known from Taylor’s social media that Alvin kept in good shape. It was nice to be a man again, and if I’m being honest, Alvin was better-looking than I’d been in my prime. Over the last week I’d practiced being him enough I was fairly comfortable, but I was still mindful of making my smile match the few videos of him I could find. Not too big, not too long. Just a small, almost bashful grin as I met the detective’s gaze, maybe with a bit of my own twinkle in the eyes. “I guess it’s just a mystery, but then detectives live on mysteries, don’t they?” He glowered at me. “Don’t be a smartass.” I stood up and grabbed my jacket off the back of the chair. Alvin’s taste in clothes really was terrible, but I’d have to improve it gradually so no one paid too much attention. I planned on staying here, at least for awhile. “Sorry, but I really do have things to do.” His scowl deepened. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” I grinned at him, one of my real smiles for just a moment as I lifted a middle finger toward him and headed for the door. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I brought my girlfriend on a trail hike to propose to her, but we ran into a pack of wolves [RESPONSE] I’d been planning the proposal for seven months. I always knew I was gonna ask Dana to marry me at some point, but it took a long time to find a memorable place to ask the question. I wanted something memorable. And I guess I found it. There was a dense National Park near our city that my family hiked and introduced Dana to. She was a rock climber so she was used to longer treks through the woods to prime spots. In the park were dozens of intersecting trails and pathways that would take even the most seasoned hiker weeks to traverse all of them. Most people just stuck to the classic four to five main trails. But on a lesser known one, there was a secluded lookout at the furthest point of the trail, 7km from the parking lot, separated from it by dense forest and steep ravines. It was almost jungle-like terrain in the centre. The lookout was a large, rock slab protruding from the woods that oversaw the entire park from fifty feet up. In the fall, the canopies below caused the entire park to look like a beautifully random patterned quilt. Dark and light reds, yellows, oranges, greens and browns. My parents took my brother and I there and introduced us to the view. Then they told us that was where my dad proposed to my mom. At that moment, I knew I’d be asking Dana the same question at the same place. Eight months later I’d saved up enough for the ring and planned the proposal for a Saturday in the fall. It was supposed to be beautiful all day but with a storm rolling in later at night. We figured we’d be long gone by then. We packed our usual snacks and drinks for the hike, and I snuck a small-sized bottle of champagne into my backpack. The ring was in its box, in a ziplock bag, zipped up in an interior pocket in my pack. I wasn’t taking any chances with it. Because the other thing was, the park had become ground zero for a growing homeless encampment. The tent cities that populated our lower town had been pushed off the streets and into a public park. Then into another. And another. It was an impossible situation that continued to be handled the wrong way, and fostered growing resentment and bursts of violence. The city needed to crack down on the drug and assault problems in the encampments so the homeless had now moved on to filling a national park. I’d seen some homeless people out and about on the trails. You could tell who they were, obviously. They weren’t dressed for a hike. But they never bothered anyone or caused trouble. They just wanted somewhere quiet to live how they could. Still, it was always something that stayed on your mind when you entered the trails. Especially with the large rock on the ring in my backpack and the complete lack of cell reception in the park. Which was why I now carried a Damascus steel Bowie knife. And Dana always packed bear mace. We set off on the trail at noon. I was aiming for us to hit the lookout by 2pm, propose, and be back to the car by 5ish. As we went further along the trail, clouds overtook the sky and very little light made it through the canopies. The woods got darker. Even though Dana and I typically had back and forth banter through our hikes, I’d planned to spend most of the walk going over my proposal in my head, making any last minute changes before the lookout. But instead… I found myself thinking about the awkward walk back to the car if Dana said no. I was doubting myself, trying to push the proposal to a later date at a location that was easier for her to say “no” in. Like she’d feel trapped up there and would have to say “yes.” I don’t know why I was thinking that way, but all of a sudden I wanted to rethink the whole thing. All because, for some reason, I now thought Dana was going to say “no.” The walk up felt extra long. On top of me trying to convince myself out of proposing, there was a strange anticipation in the air. I couldn’t tell if we brought it to the forest, or if it was already here. But something felt off. And smelled even worse. We didn’t see any animals or critters of any kind. In fact, we didn’t hear anything. Birds, insects - nothing at all. And we didn’t come across a single person on the trail. No hikers or any of the homeless. It was just me and Dana. Finally, we started the climb up to the lookout, and I’d fully talked myself out of the proposal. I made plans in my head to wait and propose on New Year’s Eve. Or… maybe in the spring. First day of summer. For sure. Maybe I’d wait a year. We were young. Why rush? Then we walked out onto the ledge overlooking the vast park, and I saw the look on Dana’s face that made me fall in love with her and always caused my knees to buckle. I remembered why I saved for eight months at a job I hated for a ring for her. We stood at the edge of the lookout, arm in arm, and gazed at the beautiful vista. I was thinking about how to start. I’d had the idea to begin with our first date, and how it’d been at a house party that ended up getting trashed. Dana and I met on the front lawn, and drunkenly watched as the trees were filled with toilet paper and the house went to hell from drunken teenagers. But my memory was cut short. There was rustling somewhere behind us. Twigs cracking. Branches bending and snapping forward. And breathing. The strangest, pained and struggling breathing. But fast and heavy. Images of a group of homeless men with knives and used needles appearing from the dark woods flooded my mind. They’d go for Dana. They’d get her. They’d get our stuff. They’d get the ring. And they’d kill us and bury us somewhere in the woods. Or throw us over the edge of the lookout and it would be called an ‘accident.’ The bushes continued to rustle. Finally something emerged, but much lower than my eye-line. I thought it was a dog at first. A German Shepherd. But it wasn’t a dog. And there was more than one. There was a pack of six wolves staring out at us. There was something else to them, though. Something frightening and desperate and frenzied surging behind their bloodshot eyes. It was more than hunger. It felt like chaos. Demented, ravenous chaos. They were twitching and rapidly blinking. Their mouths had bloody foam spilling from them. Their legs and paws were slicked with blood and dirt and garbage. All I could think was rabies. Or something similar. Dana and I backed up, though we only had another five feet until the lookout dropped off. I slowly pulled my blade out, and Dana reached into her bag for her bear mace. She searched for it. And searched. But it wasn’t there. Dana had forgotten to pack the mace. I put my arm in front of Dana, stepping in front of her. The alpha wolf stepped forward, matching me. It had a fresh wound across its face, with blood and pus spewing from its right eye. The rest of the wild animals followed the alpha. Though they all carried the same crazed look. I realized they were all going to come in, really fast, and hit us hard. The look in their eyes was telling me they didn’t care if they tumbled over the side with us. There was just no thought or reason in them. They’d gone completely mad. As I was readying myself to start swinging and trying to toss or shove them, one at a time, over the edge… Dana yelled my name. She was pointing down one side of the lookout. There was a path of sorts that you could climb down. Dana was a seasoned rock climber. I was not. But we didn’t have much of a choice. Or time. She started to climb and I got an idea. I pulled the champagne bottle out of my bag and popped the cork, spraying the bubbly all over the wolves. That bought me a few seconds before the animals reoriented themselves and came at me. But I bought enough time for Dana to climb down the side of the lookout, and me to follow close by. The wolves got to the edge as I climbed down just far enough that I was out of their reach. They barked and snarled and I felt their heated breath and bloody slobber spray down on me. But I kept climbing, following Dana’s path down. I tried not to look below to see how far up we were. But I did. We were ten feet from the canopies, which would be another thirty feet to the ground. Dirt and small rocks skittered down from above, hitting my head. I looked up and saw one of the wolves had gone over the edge. It fell like a missile just to my left, howling and narrowly missing us and disappearing into the canopy below. Then another one came over. But it was falling directly towards me with its teeth gnashing. I yelled Dana’s name, quickly instructing her to move to the right. Then I scrambled and found footing just to the side, narrowly avoiding the ravenous wolf as it shot down beside me. But Dana didn’t. The wolf’s upper body and legs connected with Dana’s shoulder, and took her with it. Dana screamed out for me as she fell, disappearing below the canopies with the wolf. I started climbing down as fast as I could. I had no idea if the path down even went anywhere, but I kept finding footing on shrubs and rocks to use for grips as I descended below the canopies and saw thick layers of branches populating the trees. I was glad the trees were dense. I was hoping Dana had caught on to one on the way down and the wolf had fallen to its death. Then I heard her. Dana cried out to me from the forest floor. She was alive. But she sounded like she was badly injured. I tried not to think about what state she was in. I tried not to think about the wolves falling from above. Or if they’d found a way down and were going to beat me to Dana. I just thought about getting to her. And whatever state she was in, carrying her somewhere safe to wait while I got help. There wasn’t a chance I could carry her 7km with the wolves out there. They’d get the scent if they hadn’t already. I got closer to the ground and finally looked down. The first thing I saw were the two wolves. One was dead, its head exploded against a rock cluster. The other one had its lower half twisted backwards. But it was still alive. And pulling itself towards Dana. Dana was in really bad shape. She was laying on her back. Both legs looked broken, but one especially so with bones piercing through skin. She was covered in scrapes, cuts and bruises. There were burn marks on her under arms from rubbing against tree bark on the fall down. But she didn’t appear paralyzed. Her upper body was moving, as were her legs even though they were clearly broken. But through the pain and crying, she was very aware and even looked almost mobile. The wolf was crawling closer to Dana. It was snarling. Snapping and frothing as it used its front paws to pull itself towards her. I climbed the last ten feet down in a hurry, not worrying if I fell. But I managed to find footing on each step until my feet hit solid ground. I ran over to Dana just as the wolf was getting to her. I didn’t think about what to do. I just sprinted over to them and kicked as hard as I could. My shin connected with the wolf’s lower jaw and snapped the animal’s head back, completely shattering its neck and spine. I got down and held Dana, trying to calm her. I quickly made tourniquets for both legs out of my belt and an extra t-shirt. She said her breathing was tight and her ribs felt off. She hit the canopy hard and played pinball against several thick branches before landing feet first. But she was alive. Dana knew we had to move, and that it was going to hurt. She took a thick piece of wood and used it to grit down on. I picked her up. She strained and bit down. But we started moving. I still had adrenaline pumping through my veins, but we’d just hiked 7 km before the tense climb down, and my legs were starting to burn with the extra weight I was carrying. I knew I could make it back, but there was no way I could get us both there. Then I saw it. A medium-sized brown structure. A shack. An old park ranger post. I carried Dana to the structure but of course, it was locked. After eight heavy kicks, I managed to break the door in. Inside, we found an old first aid kit and Dana started trying to dress her many wounds. I knew time was precious and told her I had to make a run for the parking lot. We needed paramedics and a police escort out of the woods. And the longer I stayed there, the sooner the wolves would pick up our trail of blood and scents and find the shack. I got Dana to lean against the door after I left, hoping her weight would be enough to barricade it shut if and when the wolves arrived. Then I ran. Based on the direction of the lookout and the rocky path down, I knew exactly where I was. And sadly, it would take longer to get to a trail or path then it would to cut right through the woods. So I did. I didn’t think I had the time to waste. Especially with how dark it was getting. I could barely see up through the trees, but when I could, the clouds were dark. I knew I could run 10k in under an hour. This was 7k, but it was through rocks and twigs and brambles and through bushes and ravines. I kept telling myself to just keep a solid pace and watch for footing and I’d get there in time. But I also kept my eyes open and darting around. I kept playing the worst case scenario over and over in my head. And that always involved the wolves catching up to me. Tearing me apart. And Dana not getting help in time. Then I saw something ahead. Red tarp. Green. Blue. Then tents and clotheslines. There was a homeless encampment. But it was now a cemetery. I tried to avoid looking down, but I counted five men and two women in varying states of being eaten. Stomachs and necks were opened and innards spilled out. It was horrifying. It wasn’t just the people though. Everything was shredded. The clothes, sleeping bags, boots. The small amounts of food in the camp was all over the place. It was a complete frenzy of destruction. Then I saw the bags and bags of drugs and needles all over the ground. Most looked like they’d been eaten in varying degrees. As I was making my way through the destroyed campsite, I tripped on something. I looked down and saw it was someone’s arm, chewed off at the elbow. Clutched in the hand, was a small calibre revolver. I didn’t want to touch it, but something inside me told me I’d need it. So I took it. I started running again, but I let doubts float through my head. Whether I’d make it in time. Whether I was even going in the right direction. Whether the wolves would catch up to me. I told myself if I could just make it to the parking lot - if I could just make it to cell phone reception - if I could just get an ambulance and the police - and if we could just get to Dana before she freezes or bleeds out… My thoughts were meshing together in a feverish blend. I couldn’t really tell what I was doing anymore. My body was on autopilot, just ambling forward. Then I heard the howls behind me. I turned briefly to see shadows darting through the darkness of the woods. It was the wolves. They’d found my trace. My adrenaline kicked back into gear and my legs pumped up and down faster. I clutched the gun in my hand, waiting for the animals to get closer. I didn’t wanna waste any bullets hitting air. I heard sets of paws behind me and I turned back, firing off three rounds at the quickly gaining shapes. The chase behind stopped for a moment before the wolves continued after me. I had no idea how far I had left to go, but I knew I couldn’t keep this up much longer. Finally, through the trees ahead, I could see red and blue lights. There were sounds of sirens. Of men. Movement. I ran towards it. The sounds of the wolves were gaining again. I turned back and fired the last two rounds at the pack, causing them to spread out. I burst out of the woods and onto the entrance of the parking lot. The joy I felt of my feet hitting cement was short-lived. A gunshot roared out and I felt my shoulder tear open. I fell to the ground. I’d been shot. I had no idea why I’d been shot, but saw several police cruisers and officers filling the parking lot. Behind me, I heard the wolves coming out from the tree-line. I turned and saw the main wolf, the scar-faced alpha, leading the way. The wolves got ten feet from me before the police finally saw the situation and opened fire on them. The wolves were all killed and I was quickly rushed into an ambulance. I told the cops to go in and get Dana in the ranger post. I wouldn’t leave unless she was safe. But I didn’t have a choice. I was taken to the hospital for the gunshot wound to my shoulder. It was explained to me that the police officers had been called to a disturbance at the park and possible deaths were occurring involving a homeless encampment. What had happened was a pack of wolves had been driven south, looking for food, and came across the encampment in the park. They’d eaten the food, which had been kept with a varying assortment of drugs. The drugs sent the wolves into a feverish insanity and they began attacking people in the park leaving seventeen dead - twelve homeless and five hikers. The police didn’t know about the wolves when I burst through the trees and out into the parking lot. All they knew was they’d been called out here for a disturbance involving the homeless. They’d heard gunshots, then saw me, a bloody and dirty guy with a gun, waving it around as I ran out of the forest like a madman. A nervous, green officer got trigger happy and fired the round that caught me. It was understandable, I guess. I was lucky he was the only cop who shot, actually. I went into surgery immediately, but tried to fight and push it until I knew if they’d found Dana. A few hours later, I woke up. Two police officers were there and informed me Dana was found. And she was alive. After two weeks and multiple surgeries, doctors had managed to save both of Dana’s legs, ribs and fixed the heavy internal trauma and hemorrhaging she’d suffered in the fall. The park was cleaned up and a group of new staff were hired to patrol it. And as usual, there wasn’t a solution for the underlying problem. It was just swept off to another park. I went through a few months of physio for my shoulder, Dana went through a year and a half. But she made it. And she was jogging and rock climbing as well as before. A few weeks ago, we hiked the trail again to the lookout. And she said ‘yes.’<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I got a job as a night guard at a local supermarket. I am already quitting [RESPONSE] Keeping up with college fees is difficult to say the least. If I want to get a job, it would, 9 times out of 10 a night shift job. During the day, until about mid noon I have lessons and from then until about 6 pm I have to do my homework. As I was scrolling through an endless supply of ads for minimal wage jobs, I came across one for the supermarket five minutes away from my campus. I sent an application through their email address. Surprisingly, they accepted it almost instantly. It had taken me by surprise when they sent an email back telling me that I was expected to show up tonight, at 10 pm. It was still 7, so I made dinner and waited until about 9 to start getting ready. When I arrived, the day shift worker was already leaving. He showed me around a bit and right before he left, he told me that there was a set of rules I have to follow in a book at my desk. Besides me there was just the night cashier, with whom I only exchanged a few words. I went back to my table and in one of the drawers I found the said manual. Here is how it went: "Hello, night owl. We welcome you to this position as a night guard with set of rules to follow to ensure your safety. 1. Once about 20 minutes, do a round through the store. Should you notice anything out of the ordinary, immediately return to your desk and hide underneath. It should leave after about 3-4 minutes. 2. Once every half an hour, go to the back of the store and count how many boxes there are. If there are more boxes, pick any which you want and through it in the dumpster behind the building. If there are less boxes, it's too late. Get out of the store and lock the doors. Only return an hour later. 3. Talk to the cashier once in a while. Take notice of their appearance. Should they have a weird distinctive feature, take the gun from the drawer and shoot it. If it doesn't have a face, repeatedly yell at it to get out. It will eventually leave. DO NOT SHOOT IT IN THAT CASE, YOU WILL ANGER IT. 4. Sometime during the hour of 3 am, somebody will come in here, asking to speak with "Jimmy". Keep saying that he doesn't work here and it should leave. 5. NEVER manually open the doors for somebody outside. The doors are automatic. It can't trigger them. 6. If someone is heading to the Check-out, even though they never entered, shoot them. No double-guessing. As long as you follow these rules, you should be fine. Good luck!" I closed the book and thought about what I had just read. Surely this was just a try from the management of the store to keep me alert. Still, 21 minutes had passed since my shift started. I decided to do around. As I was at my last 2 isles, i noticed that at the base of one of them was a bag similar in appearance to one of chips. Only it didn't have any kind of label. I picked it up and noticed that it was heavier than it should've been. I ripped it open and an eye starred back at me. It was a bag full of eyes. I dropped it and sprinted to my desk and hid underneath. I waited there until the alarms in my head stopped ringing, about 5 minutes later. I got out and went back to the isle the bag was from. It was gone. Just as I was processing what had just happened, I realised that half an hour had already passed since I started work. I quickly made my way back to the store. There needed to be 33 boxes. And just as the door creaked open, a box that hadn't been there before was sitting in the middle of the room. I didn't even take a good look at it, that it was already in the trash outside. I got back to my desk. Things were quiet for a while, but i remembered the third rule, took my gun and went to exchange a few words with the cashier. I didn't need to get too close, that I noticed it. The cashier only had one eye in the middle of her face. I pointed the gun at it and it didn't even flinch. I pulled the trigger. After a few seconds, a cashier with a normal looking face emerged from under counter as if nothing had happened. Again, I made my way back to my desk. Nothing happened for what I would estimate was an hour and a half. Suddenly a man enters the building with a dark shadow casted over his face by the had he was wearing. As he got closer, I realised that only skin covered the eyeless, mouthless and noseless face. He started telling me that he wanted to speak with "Jimmy". The sound didn't sound like it was coming from him, but rather from all around me. I kept telling him to leave and eventually he did. Again, just like the calm before the storm, things quieter down. After a few quarters of the hour had passed, I heard tapping at the glass doors. Sure enough, there was a "human" at the door, mouthing the words "Open it". As there was nothing in the book mentioned about what I should do in this situation, I just ignored him until it was gone. It was 4 am at this point and my shift ended at 6. I decided to do a round at the back of the store. I counted the boxes. 32. I got the hell out of there, told the cashier about that, and we both got out and locked the door. We waited for what seemed like the longest hour in the world. She didn't really seem fazed by any of this. I guess she was no stranger to these things. When we got back inside, someone was making their way to the front of the store with a basket full of goods. Even though they never entered. I just shot it and it turned to dust. Nothing happened, but when the day guard arrived, I was already making my way to my dorm by speed walking. Even though I had escaped that night rather unscathed, I won't risk it again. Better in dept than in grave. P.S. As I am writing this they keep sending me offers to work as a night cashier. They said the last one had quit the day before and another one was supposed to show up the night i worked there, but they didn't.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] TOOK SICK [RESPONSE] I was sixteen when I took sick. That's how my grandmother said it, "took it" like it was plucking something off the shelf down at Goodreaus's Hardware, a fleeting choice made without consideration. It was 1984 and I'd been out hunting with Eddie Volin. Eddie was driving deer toward me, down off Morrison Hill, which is where the big bruisers holed up in the dense poplar growth when they took a break from chasing during the rut, when the moon was full. Eddie had flushed a corker – two-sixty if he was a pound, at least that’s how I remember it. But memory is a funny thing that way. You think things are bigger than they were and when you revisit them, with the benefit of years, they seem impossibly smaller. I had seen him coming and lifted the old .30-06 to my shoulder and fired and it struck flesh but it wasn’t that twelve pointer. The bullet sliced through Eddie’s neck and he had coughed, choked, and wheezed as his blood spilled out onto the dying foliage beneath his body. Eddie would often hunt by himself and it was just as likely that he’d been out there alone as it was that he was hunting with me. And wouldn’t it be like some Masshole up here looking to get a real deer and not one of those jackrabbits they have down there to shoot a local and leave him for dead? I didn’t touch a thing, save for scooping up my shell casing. I went home and when I got there I went to my room and fell facedown into the pillow and cried. When the tears were spent I went over to Eddie’s house with the rifle slung over my shoulder. I knocked on the front door and Mr. Caliendo answered and I asked if Eddie might like to go out looking for a deer before dark came and Mr. Caliendo said he’d already trudged out the backdoor with his .22 shortly before legal shooting hours started that morning. He hadn’t seen him since and maybe he thought maybe he managed to get himself a buck and was having some trouble dragging it out. I thanked him and went home and my father’s chipped beef on toast went down even more difficult than usual. At dinner, my father looked at me with suspicious curiosity. He could smell it on me, I thought. I realized that was foolish, and it wasn’t until later on that I realized he could see it on me. When I crawled into bed, I stared out the window across the river and saw the stacks from the mill belching out their plumes, the tallest of them with a blinking red cyclops eye, shrouded in smoke from the shorter ones. I heard the hollow, rapid thumps of logs falling off a conveyor into an empty metal hopper, without a discernible pattern, pounding rapidly like an irregular heartbeat. And when the ten o'clock whistle blew at the fire station, it sounded like the bleat of a foghorn from a ship in dense fog. The scritch scratch scritch scratch at the window in the middle of the night woke me, a craggy fingernail moving across the pane, beckoning me. They called it Cancer Valley for the clusters that would pop up here, which everyone attributed to the mill. My great-grandfather had come over before the Great War as the old folks called it, and at first had worked the log runs when the town was something out of the Old West. Gun fights and saloons, stabbings, brothels on every corner. When the paper mill had opened, gentrification came with it. When my grandfather went to the Pacific and came home with a mangled leg and a 50% disability, he got a job on the number ten paper machine and my father had done the same after Vietnam. After the country had chewed them up in the war machine as best it could, the mill took what was left and every night before bed I laid there looking at the lights and wondering when it would take me. When Eddie hadn’t returned that night, Mr. Caliendo called the sheriff and in the morning the game wardens brought a dog in and a bunch of people formed up a search party. I decided it would look odd if I didn’t join, so I casually wandered toward the base of the ridge where I knew Eddie was, trying to make it appear as if I didn't know where I was going but still wanting the Caliendos to be able to give him a proper burial in good time. Jim Haskins found him, and fired his rifle in the air and set to blowing on a whistle. They hauled Eddie out and as his body passed, carried on a makeshift litter, I thought his eyes stared right through me and I could still hear the gurgle in his throat. Eventually, the woods cleared out, the search party returned to town, now as a makeshift funeral procession. I stayed in the woods because I knew I had to. The scritch scratch scritch scratch had been playing in my mind like a drumbeat since the night before and I had a debt to pay. I sat on a log and waited and when I finally looked up, I saw the casebearer, hanging on the branch of an oak tree. I stared at the tree and the larval sack seemed to grow before me. It was made from silk and bits of wood and what emerged from it, I couldn’t say. Because putting words to such horror was not possible, which is why no one in town ever dared speak of what was in the these woods. Because if you were to speak of it, to acknowledge that it existed, that would somehow be worse than doing what it asked of you. It wasn't a craggy old man that crawled out of the sack and it wasn't a monster and it wasn’t evil, because what kind of evil visits in the night at your window and does you no harm? When it sat down beside me, I looked over and it was a woman and she was beautiful. She asked me if I knew the choice I had to make and I said I didn’t but that was a lie. I guess I just hoped it wasn’t what I thought, and maybe it was something else. But it wasn’t. Since I had summoned the evil it was now on me to decide what to do with it. I could accept it and it would consume me, devouring my soul. Or I could simply pass it on. That’s what most did. They didn’t accept responsibility, so evil spread, like the diseases that permeated the blood and bones of those that sucked in the noxious fumes from the mill. So I made my choice and she leaned over and kissed me on the lips. That was my first kiss and it left a taste in my mouth like match heads. That night I slept as soundly as I had since my mother passed. Over the next couple of months as the snows came and the winter rime formed, darkened by the mill’s soot, the evil grew inside of me. No one acknowledged it or even spoke of it. Because how do you acknowledge such evil? On Christmas Eve, after we'd returned from Midnight Mass, my father got into his Seagrams and Ginger a bit more than usual and looking at my ravaged frame he confessed that he knew what I’d done because he’d seen me and Eddie heading out to the woods that morning as he’d been walking to work. He asked if I recalled the boy when I was ten, Charlie something-or-other, who had been killed in that hit-and-run accident. I said I didn’t and he said that’s probably because it was right before my mother took the cancer and died. He told me that my mother had hit Charlie, drunk, on her way back home from her sister's house, having a few too many Allen’s Coffee Brandys. She'd left him there, dying in a ditch up past Three Pools. He had begged my mother to pass it to him but she wouldn’t. My father now begged me to pass it to him and I said I would think about it. Dennis just sat in the easy chair, staring silently at the low embers on the hearth. Well before dawn, my father shook me awake and told me I had to come with him because he wanted to forget those things that he’d done over in Vietnam. Every night he laid away, begging for the casebearer to come to him. But the scritch scratch never came to his window, and he reasoned that maybe he had summoned the evil too far from this place. So we went out, a fresh crust of snow on the ground that Christmas morning, the stars still arching above us. And when we got to the log where I'd sat in the fall it climbed out and came to us and sat there. When I looked over, I saw her and told her I wished to pass it, as my father had asked me to. So that was when he took it from me and we buried him when the ground fully thawed in early May. But not before I had locked him in the basement that whole winter, as he begged for me to let him pass it on. That was a longtime ago and I’m getting old now and I finally have the courage to do what I should have done all those years ago. So I'm going out, two sets of footprints in the snow, breath bellowing out of us in the cold. And I'm going to accept what I've earned because now it is my turn. I’ll take it and it will consume me and I can already taste that sulfur in my mouth but then, I suppose, it has never really left, just like the gurgle from deep in Eddie’s throat.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Pious Pierre does not approve of your social credit score [RESPONSE] I recently moved into a new community. I’d been down on my luck when I found a flier off the side of the street advertising various homes, apartments, and neighborhoods. So imagine my confusion when at the very corner of the flier told me a house could be rented on the cheap- in this economy. I laughed as I read in, wondering if it was true. Figuring my luck, I thought it was a prank, but seeing that I’d just been given notice I could no longer stay at my apartment, I decided to give it a shot. “Hi,” I began, calling the number listed. “I, um, I saw your ad?” “Wonderful!” a monotonous but cheery voice replied. Some bot. I was starting to think this was a prank. “Please hold as I connect you to a human being.” I waited, listening to jazzy tunes. I was about to hang up when the phone clicked, and someone picked up. “Hey,” a woman’s voice manifested, “heard you want to settle into the beautiful First Kasden Neighborhood?” I looked at the ad. “Yeah? No way you have-” “The rent so cheap?” the woman finished, laughing as she did. “It’s no lie- we have so cheap because not many want to settle down in our truly glorious neighborhood.” This was getting weirder. “Why not?” She laughed again, almost in a mocking tone- yet there was a teaspoon of- what was it- sadness? “Here in First Kasden we’re a gated community, and see- we’ve got some rules here. Some people don’t seem to like em and only the open minded live here.” “Okay?” I continued. “I think I can deal with some rules?” “We operate under a social credit system,” she explained. “We all help each other in our little community. If you don’t help out- well, your credit goes down and if it gets too low-” “You get kicked out.” “Something to that effect,” she laughed once more. “And if you attend gatherings, help out with our small little school and stores. Well, then you’re all set for fine days living in the First Kasden Community.” I thought I would settle for attending a few gatherings for a nice place to live. It sounded like a good offer, given my circumstances. Plus, I’m a very sociable person, I’d manage. Social Credit or not, this sounded go, so far. I smiled and said: “I’m in.” I never knew how wrong I would be. Jeremy Pritchard was friendly. Exceedingly so. He was so friendly it seemed fake. And yet, somehow, he seemed genuine, and was a good man. He was old, constantly wore plaid shirts, and was balding. He seemed like the personification of every single old guy made into one. I first met him as I was moving in. A taxi ride brought me to the gates of the community, and there he was. Old Man Pritchard right at the gates, smiling and waving. He had this aura of calm and peace to him. “You must be Ash!” he greeted with a smile and a wave. “On behalf of the community, welcome to First Kasden!” I smiled back, instantly taking a liking to the man. “That’s me alright. Looking forward to living life here.” For a second, his face changed, almost as if he was disappointed. Behind him, something caught my eye- a mural of a clown dancing, a microphone in one hand and a gavel in the other. As Jeremy led me into the neighborhood I began to see more images of the creepy clown. More pressingly, as we entered were the troves of people lining the streets to say hello, and honestly, I kinda felt like a celebrity. “So what’s the clown guy about?” I asked, right as we entered my house. Jeremy sighed heartily as he moved two of my larger bags into the house. “It’s our mascot. Pious Pierre.” “He’s a bit creepy, isn’t he?” I joked. “Yeah, but creepy or not, he’s ours,” Jeremy answered. “Anyway, there are some rules you gotta follow- or else- well, you won’t like what Pious Pierre’ll do to you if you don’t.” “Ominous,” I laughed. His face was stern, as if- as if he wasn’t joking. He must have sensed I was confused because a second later, he smiled and laughed. “Welp, the important thing is you gotta go to some of these events,” he handed me a calendar. Events, like he said, were dotted on it, plus numbers. “Those numbers are the points you get for going. Go- and you gain them. Don’t go- well, then your score goes down.” “Fair.” “You start here with a score of fifty,” Jeremy continued. “Scores are displayed on the community board, so you can check. Doing good, helping others rewards you, and not being a productive member makes you lose out. Oh- and Pierre’s always watching.” “What does that mean?” I inquired. “Just do good,” Jeremy repeated. “Someone’s always gonna be watching you.” “Alright,” I shrugged. Old Man Pritchard held out a hand, and I shook it. I liked the old man. He was nice, and though my time in the community, he was the only one who seemed to show any genuine decent towards people. Or maybe it was because his credit score was low. Real low. The first time I checked he was sitting at a twenty, right where the community called the orange zone. After poking around, I found out a dispute between him and a neighbor was the cause. I also found myself losing points shortly after asking around- apparently it wasn’t polite to do so. The months after that went well. I was majoring in education in college and found myself volunteering as a substitute teacher for the community school. Meanwhile, I made some friends at a Pen & Paper club, though none seemed to show any true genuine friendship. People were much too focused on getting their credit score back up. Pious Pierre the clown watched us all intently, and I wondered who exactly was keeping tabs on us. I hadn’t noticed any cameras, so I wondered if it was all just word of mouth- and yet something about it all just struck me as odd. It didn’t matter to me. I was just happy for a place to live. The only true friend I made was with the old man. Jeremy was old, and as the weeks passed he got more brazen. He got drunk. He began to tell stories, rumours, and lies. It all fun and games, but still, his credit score began to lower. He was a good man, but unfortunately, Pious Pierre did not approve of his credit score. And finally, while drunk, he practically burst into my house to critique all the small little things he hated about the community. Everything from Mathilda Stewart’s terrible brownies to Pious Pierre and the point system. “Listen to me now kid,” he eventually began, taking a swig of rum before speaking. “You should leave the community while you still can.” “What?” I blurted. “I love it here!” “Kid, they’ve made it so I can’t go anywhere else,” he continued. “The rest of my money can’t support me out back in the real world, no, not in this economical crisis. And I got no family but you kid- you hear that- you’re about as close to family I got.” “Okay?” A pause. “Look, nobody else is gonna tell you this but we live in fear. In fear of him. Of that monster of a thing. Pious Pierre. Who do you think runs this place? Him.“ That’s when I realized I never thought about that. Who ran the place, that is. All throughout the months I assumed there was a board of directors or a council- and yet I hadn’t heard of anything. “Right,” I replied. “My credit scores’ going down and I’ll be gone soon,” Jeremy confessed. That was true- he was at a low ten. The red zone. “You need to know that he’s watching, always watching. I don’t know how he does it- but that thing can see and hear everything.” “Maybe we should take you to a hospital-” “Kid, you gotta leave before you end up cursed like me,” he pressed on. “Before I met you I lived with my wife. She didn’t bother with the social credit. She just laughed it off as a trivial thing. A month later she was gone.” “Gone?” “Yup,” he confirmed. “Gone. It was night, two men broke in and took her away in a car. I ran after her- they were taking her to the school. I went after silent, trying to get her back- but before I knew it, they threw her into some closet. That was the last time I saw her.” “What?” “I tried to get her out- believe me, but it was solid metal and locked. I could only hear her screams. I’ve only seen the thing that lives in there once. Pious Pierre is a monster. A demon. Something not of our world.” “I-” “I cried for an hour, just across that dungeon. Eventually, the two men came back, ignored me and opened it up. That’s when I saw it. Monstrous thing, covered in blood.” “Are-” “So I warn you one last time, kid,” he sighed. “Get out before it’s too late.” That was the last time I saw Jeremy. He went home after that, and checking the credit system, I found that he had zero credits. It was over for him- if his story was true. But he had told bizarre stories countless times over and yet- for this one I knew it was true. I went to sleep that night afraid and confused. And I also woke up around two in the morning to the sound of screams. It was Jeremy, outside, resisting against two people with masks on- the masks of a clown. They were dragging him- or at least trying to. Old Man Pritchard, however weak he looked, was still putting up a hell of a decent fight. He had a gun too- but his shots missed and though I swear at least two hit the men in masks- they did no effect. I had to stop this- I just had to. Whatever was going on here wasn’t right. I burst out of my house, trying to stop the two, but by then they were in a car, swiftly driving away- I remembered what Jeremy had told me- the school! I opened the garage, seated myself in my own car- I had finally earned enough money to buy one and sped off to the school. I followed them, finally arriving. I stalked behind them, quietly sneaking inside. Weirder though, was the fact that all around me- the murals of Pious Pierre had changed- no, WERE changing. The clown was moving, laughing silently. They pointed at the school- at the closet that led to darkness and death. The two men in masks opened the closet and for a brief second- right before they shoved Jeremy inside- I saw it. A thing with too many limbs and a neck impossibly long; a far cry from human kind. It was large, gluttonous from human flesh and its clownlike face smiled, and an impossibly long tongue licked itself- all over its face. The Clown-Thing burst into monotonic laughter that didn’t seem quite human nor beast as Jeremy was shoved inside. It licked its lips once more and- the door shut with a bang, and I could only hear the screams of the old man that had been my friend. I raced to the door, pounding on it, ignoring the two men- who ignored me. Still, there was nothing I could do. His fate was sealed. I checked my phone, hoping to call the police- but stumbled and instead opened the community board app by accident. Jeremy was already gone- removed from society. He wasn’t on the app anymore. As if he had never existed. But worse, was my score- going down by the second. It had been an eighty-four the last I checked but now- it was at a forty, and going down- fast. “Get out before it’s too late.” I remembered Jeremy’s words. And I intended to follow them. I practically leaped into my car, drove home- making sure to gather all my essentials, and left, driving out. As I began to leave I saw two men in clown masks head towards me, but I swerved past them. Around the neighborhood the murals of Pious Pierre laughed again, pointing at me. I looked at the side mirrors- the two men had appeared inside my car in the backseat. One of them tried to reach for me but a swift turn knocked him out of balance. The exit was near now- I could see the gate. It wasn’t opening, and one of the two men behind me had an arm around my throat. To hell with it. I drove up the speed and crashed right into the gate, slicing through it like butter- and the second I was out the two clown-faced men were gone. I looked back one final time. The two men were there right behind the broken gate. The mural of Pious Pierre was crying now, though he seemed angry- instead now pointing at the two men. And the two men in masks looked scared. Checking the community board once more, two people’s scores were going down- going down to zero. It’s been a while now, and I’ve been doing much better. I got a job as a teacher, and I live in a quiet part of the city in a pretty cozy apartment. It’s not the awesome lifestyle living in the gated community was, but it’s better than under the threat of that- that thing. Sometimes I wonder what it was. Other times, I wish I could forget it all happened. Either way- if you see an ad for a house that just seems too cheap- don’t trust it. It might just be the First Kasden Community. And if you do find yourself living there- watch out. Pious Pierre might not approve of your social credit .<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Here comes Toby Buttons! [RESPONSE] Toby Buttons was just a little character me and my best friend Steve made up because we wanted to feel better than all the people who were better than us. He wasn’t so much a nickname or caricature of a single person as he was a catch-all way to make a mockery of all the traits that indicated future success and secretly made us jealous. Every time a classmate reminded a teacher about the homework or got praised for doing exceptionally well on a test or assignment we would mouth the catch-phrase to each other: “Here comes Toby Buttons!” One of us would pantomime doing an effete little twirl and we would laugh under our breath until the teacher noticed. In fourth grade we thought that being the first boys to try a cigarette and then start chewing tobacco somehow made us cool. By the time we got to High School and had also been the first to try beer, then weed and finally the harder stuff we knew it made us losers. By the time we couldn’t even handle coming to school sober we knew we weren’t “trying” anything, it was all we were. If we couldn’t get loaded before wandering into third period we would meet at the moldy old couch in the woods behind the school and scheme on how we were going to make it happen. Once we were a little looser one of us would do “Toby Buttons” - smiling a mischievous little smile and prancing around the woods until we were both rolling with laughter. Once we had dropped out and taken jobs at the same shitty little factory our fathers worked at there was nobody left to make fun of. All the kids we used to mock had become actual grownups, they’d either gotten good jobs or gotten into good colleges leaving us and our sad little town behind them. Steve was my best friend but I never actually got to know him, at least not really. The truth is that I never really got to know anyone, not even myself. I had spent my whole life running and hadn’t moved a single inch. Both of our wives left us in the same week. They hadn’t even been talking to each other, once they became too good for us and too good for our town it meant they were too good for each other too. They had discovered internet dating just in time to leverage the last of their good looks and escape the suffocating cloud of failure that stuck to us like a bad smell. Steve told me he had come home to a note after work on Tuesday. Friday morning there wasn’t even a note. We’d been sleeping in separate beds since the miscarriage three years ago. I knew she was gone before I even noticed she had taken all her clothes and most of our valuables with her. For the first time in years Steve and me decided to hang out after work. My old man had drunk himself into an early grave while Steve’s seemed to be hanging on out of bitterness alone and had started making his life a living hell. We went to my place. Neither of us knew how to talk about our feelings but we knew how to drink. We were about tied on working through our twelve packs and had each drained our pints of the same cheap whiskey we’d been drinking since High School when Steve got up to piss. I heard him call out in the same jokey falsetto: “HERE COMES TOBY BUTTONS!” I actually cracked a smile for the first time I could remember when the sound of his stream suddenly stopped. Then I heard the sound of shattering glass and a sickening thud that was far too loud to be an accident. Still my first thought was that Steve’s drunk ass had probably fallen over as I ran upstairs to the open bathroom door. The mirror was shattered and covered in blood but even more concerning was the wall behind it. That one had a circular imprint of much darker blood punctuated by little globs of gore that were starting to succumb to gravity and slowly slide toward the floor leaving little trails in their wakes. A thicker trail led down to where Steve was slumped against the wall, the way his head and the wall intersected I could see the back of his skull had been smashed completely flat. The truly terrifying thing was standing above him. A short little man stood their smiling, his eyes, nose and ears all ended in impossible points. A little green Peter Pan hat sat on his head with a single brightly colored feather. His green shirt was far too tight against his chest and right down the middle were three oversized black shiny buttons. His legs were mostly bare except for a tiny green pair of shorts and his feet were covered in pointy little elf shoes also each decorated with one oversized button. As I stared in mute horror he crossed one arm in front of his chest and lifted the other into the air above his head. Bending one knee he pointed his toe toward the floor and raised himself onto the point of his other foot. Staring me dead in the eye he smiled even wider, gave me a wink and began to twirl<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I thought my apartment was haunted, the truth is so much worse [RESPONSE] In retrospect, it should have been obvious from the start that there was something going on. It was my first time renting an apartment, but even I thought that the landlord was eager for me to move in as soon as possible. The rent was ridiculously low for the area, the apartment itself was in pristine condition, and the whole process from touring the apartment to moving only took about a week. Nothing like that comes without a catch. Apartment 311 was a pleasant place to live at first. It had 2 bedrooms and 1 bathroom, and since I lived alone that meant I got to convert one bedroom into my own office space. It came with a handful of paintings already, so it didn't even have the off-putting liminal feeling that some empty apartments have. The only immediate downside I could tell from the start was that there a slight smell in the living room from time to time. It wasn't anything too noticeable but you would occasionally get a faint whiff of some sort of musty odor. I was living in apartment 311 for a couple weeks before I noticed anything was wrong. It started out with simple stuff, like various knick knacks being placed on the wrong shelves, snacks and small objects going missing, things like that. Once or twice I found the fridge left open. These things would only happen when I was asleep, and it made me feel like I was going crazy. There was no way anyone could be breaking into my apartment just to steal some useless crap and move around some collectibles. The door was locked whenever I went to bed, and even if someone hypothetically had the key, I always made sure to bolt the door as well. I considered getting some security cameras set up, but I balked at the price when I looked into that possibility. Though the apartment was admittedly cheap, between rent and utilities I still couldn't afford to set up an entire security system. I tried to put it out of my mind, assuming that maybe I was just sleepwalking, or getting up for a midnight snack and forgetting by the next morning. I'd never been an easy sleeper, I was often prone to night terrors and other disturbances, which had only gotten worse now that I was in an unfamiliar environment. Of all the sleep problems I've experienced, by far the least pleasant is sleep paralysis. It used to happen fairly rarely, maybe once every 2-3 months, but after moving into the apartment it became an almost weekly occurrence. Now, usually my sleep paralysis is fairly mild. I find myself unable to move, eyes open, and I find it difficult to breathe. Sometimes I feel like there is a presence in the room with me, but before I moved I had never experienced any form of hallucinations, visual or otherwise. I'd never seen a ghost, monster, hag, or any other sort of entity while I was paralyzed, it was only ever a sense of dread and total paralysis of the body. That changed about the same time I noticed the missing food and misplaced objects. As usual, it felt like I had woken up, but couldn't move a single muscle. It was hard to breathe, and I had this awful feeling like I wasn't alone. I tried to calm myself down, to remind myself that I had been through this before, and it always wound up okay, but something felt... different. It was then that I noticed the door to my bedroom slowly opening, inch by inch. I could hear the creak of the hinges as it swung inward, someone or something was coming into my room. He peeked his head around first, dull eyes reflecting the faint glow of moonlight from my bedroom window. He was bald, with pale flaky skin. I wanted to scream when I saw his expression, but I was still a prisoner of my own body. The man had a forced, rictus grin on his face, chipped yellow teeth clenched tightly together, grinding against one another. I watched in horror as the rest of the man's body slowly passed into the room, tip toeing as if he were creeping up behind someone in a cartoon. The man was utterly emaciated, almost skeletal in appearance, and covered in sores and pockmarks. He was stark naked and smeared in dirt and filth. I could do nothing but watch as he slowly inched ever closer towards me, until I could feel his hot breath upon my face. It smelled like the musty odor I sometimes detected in the living room. Not once did I see his expression change, he didn't even blink as he stared at me, and I could feel hatred radiating off of him like heat from a furnace. He just stood there, looking at me for what felt like hours. Eventually he turned around and slowly sneaked back out of the room, gently shutting the door behind him. A few minutes later I started to be able to move again, the paralysis wearing off as my body started to wake up properly. I had to call in sick to my job that day, the experience was such a shock to me that there was no way in Hell I'd be able get any work done. I spent a good hour just checking every room to make sure I was entirely alone. I searched in the closet, underneath the sinks, in my office, anywhere I thought someone could be hiding. When I found nothing, I managed to convince myself it was all a hallucination, that I was safe. Things continued about the same for a while after that. Objects still went missing from time to time, the smell in the living room stayed just as musty as it ever was, and about every week or so I'd have another sleep paralysis incident. Of course, now every time I did experience sleep paralysis, I'd have to see my unwanted visitor again. I named him Jimmy, to try and reduce the terror a little bit, putting a silly name to a horrifying face helped lessen my fear slightly. As far as sleep paralysis hallucinations went, Jimmy wasn't too bad once I started to get used to him. He never touched me or sat on my chest like some people's nightmares did, he just stood and stared. It was still deeply unpleasant, mind you, but I felt lucky that it was a consistent kind of unpleasantness at least. Then I found the photograph. I noticed it underneath a pile of papers while I was doing some cleaning up, a picture of two women embracing in front of a waterfall. I didn't recognize either of the women, and I assumed it must have been from the previous tenant. I texted the landlord, Greg, and asked if he still had the old tenant's phone number so I could give her a call. He obliged, and within a few minutes I was calling her. She picked up after a couple rings, sounding slightly exasperated. "Hello this is Rebecca, who is this?" "Hi, my name is Flora, I'm the current tenant of apartment 311, I think that you may have left a photograph behind when you moved, I was wondering if you'd want to pick it up or I could mail it to you or something?" There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. "Hello?" I asked. "You need to get out that apartment, you're not safe." I honestly didn't have any response but to laugh. "Is this some kind of joke?" I asked her between chuckles. I heard her sigh with frustration. "Its not a joke, I'm serious. Things have been going missing right?" That got my attention. "How do you know that?" "It happened with me too. My girlfriend and I kept noticing things being moved or disappearing while we were asleep. Little things mostly, snacks, trinkets, nothing major. Now, I never saw this, but my girlfriend swears one time when she got up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water she saw this naked man just staring at her. He was covered in sores and looked more like a corpse than a person. She woke me up and we called the police of course, but they didn't find anything. I think..." Rebecca paused for a moment, choosing her words. "What? What is it?" I asked, increasingly panicked. I began to worry that "Jimmy" was more than just a simple hallucination. "I think 311 is haunted. We asked around to some of the other residents, and apparently the last guy to live there just disappeared. Our best guess is that he must have died and his spirit just never left. My girlfriend is into some occult stuff, so she tried a cleansing ritual or something like that, but it didn't work. Things kept disappearing, and eventually we just decided to move." I hung up the phone. It was rude, sure, but I was just so shocked that I didn't know what to do. At the very least I began to understand why I got this apartment for so cheap. I found myself just sitting on the couch for a while, occasionally getting a whiff of the musty smell. I stared blankly at a painting on the wall, one of the ones which was already there when I first moved in. It depicted a woman in a white dress sitting underneath a tree reading a book. I couldn't tell what was making me so focused on it, it seemed utterly unrelated to what was happening. Eventually, I snapped out of it and went into my office to do some research. After a little bit of digging, I found out some information regarding the tenant who lived here before Rebecca, the one who disappeared. Apparently one of his coworkers put out a missing persons report 6 months ago. His name was Michael Hansen, and I gasped when I saw a photograph of him. He looked exactly like "Jimmy", albeit not so emaciated and filthy. I hastily packed some of my things and made arrangements to stay at a friend's house for a couple nights, telling them that my apartment had a roach problem and the landlord needed to fumigate it. I called into work and gave them some sob story about an uncle dying, enough to get time off for a few days. With no more distractions from the ghost of Michael Hansen, I slept soundly on my friend's couch, unbothered by any sleep paralysis. The next two days were spent researching. I checked out dozens of books on folklore and the occult from the local library, scoured paranormal internet forums, and even watched a few episodes of some cheesy ghost hunting TV show. I was determined to figure out a way to put the spirit of Michael Hansen to rest. The stories were all wildly different, with countless potential solutions to my problem. Some sources said salt was a surefire way to banish spirits, others said iron was a good ghost repellent, but most simply said I should give up and move. However, one myth piqued my interest. According to some beliefs, the spirits of the unquiet dead could be tied to objects from their life, binding them to the place where the object resided. If the object which their soul was bound to was destroyed, it freed their spirit and they could move on to the afterlife. I remembered the paintings. I had assumed that they were put there by the landlord, but it was just as possible that they were left behind by Michael. I arrived back to the apartment, determined to grab the paintings and burn them, laying Michael Hansen's soul to rest once and for all. I felt like some sort of hero, a badass monster hunter who saved the day with her intuition and a little bit of booksmarts. One by one I pulled the paintings off the walls, putting them in a cardboard box. I made a mental note to buy some lighter fluid on the way to the empty lot where I planned to burn them. I approached the final painting, the one which showed a woman in a white dress beneath a tree. I pulled it off the wall and recoiled as the musty smell increased in intensity. Staring in confusion, I saw a small rectangular hole where the painting used to be, about 4 feet off the ground and 2 feet by 2 feet in length and width. I shuddered in fear, remembering that Michael's body was never found. Perhaps he was murdered, his corpse hidden in the walls by some unknown assailant? I nervously flicked on my flashlight, peered within the hole, and screamed. I ran out of apartment 311 as fast as I could before calling the police, sobbing with terror. I had been prepared to find a body, maybe cut up into little pieces and wrapped in duct tape. I was ready for death and decay and rot. There is something fascinating about ghosts, something somehow romantic about the notion that part of someone could live on even after death. There was nothing romantic about seeing the clenched-tooth grimace of Michael Hansen, glaring at me with hate as he stood in the small section of hollow wall which he had been living in for the past 6 months.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] An Abandoned Mental Health Facility was the perfect place to explore, until we went inside... [RESPONSE] In Redding California a Mental Health facility was built. They said it was made to help in the tri city area yet rumors ran their course. Most of the people taken were either homeless people or declared insane. In a town that had little in money or resources, this meant that no one kept track of what happened to them after. After five years, they closed down without a word, never to be heard again. David told me all of this with a mischievous grin. He knew this kind of stuff was right up my alley. Putting down the Survival Magazine i bought from Barnes & Noble, I admit he had me hooked by the end. He barely had to ask when he extended his hand to bump fists. “Its been a whole month and no ones coming back for the place. Its the edge of town and we got nothing better to do on a Friday. You down?” I grabbed all my best gear that I hoarded over years of Larping as a Stalker in Pripyat. I lent David my spares as he grabbed his camera equiptment. With backpacks full of everything ranging from MREs, water, and gas masks, we were set for anything. The trip was in a busted Honda civic I got from a Craig’s list exchange downtown. Wind blew in our hair on the I-5 with heavy metal blaring in blown speakers. It was just past the edge of town at sunset when we arrived. Funny thing about Northern California is as soon as you leave the border of a city it changes in an instant. Miles of tall dry grass and taller trees as far as the eye can see. It was in one of these thickets guarding a dirt road where we made our stop. I pulled out a Pall Mall, offering one to David who politely declined and we made our Plan. ”Alright, we go in. We take a few pictures and stay within thirty feet of each other. Flashlights on. And as soon as it hits 75 percent on our phones we roll out. I want a good amount in case things turn south. Any questions?” David seemed annoyed by me taking charge but shrugged and let it go. He knew stuff like this was my hobby which is why he asked me to join him. “And if we run into a psycho down there to chop us up?” I pulled out my Army Surplus Knife with an evil grin. “We chop back with these.“ I tossed him my old machete and began the trip inward. It was a dirt road we were taking so it wasn’t even considered a hike but it was about a mile and a half till we arrived. The Building was an ominous slab of concrete shaped into a cube, half hazardly painted white. The red band around the top made it look like more than an abandoned warehouse yet it was the size that bothered us. “Hey Travis. “ David Tapped my shoulder. “Wasn’t this place supposed to house like a thousand people?” “That’s what you told me.” I shrugged but agreed with the insinuation. “Why Does it look so small?” The whole building couldn’t have been more than a small apartment complex in size. With the windows concrete slits and the iron doors chained up, it looked more like an abandoned parking garage than anything. With a pair of bolt cutters Meth Heads would be salivating for we broke the chain to the front door. Despite the chain it remained locked so I looked closer. The lock On the door was a Master Lock. Same Brand as the dollar store. I rolled my eyes, muttering to myself. “They really spared no expense.“ As David kept watch I whipped out my lock picking set and got to work. It wasn’t five minutes before I heard the click of the latch and in we went. The entrance was as expected. Dark and empty, spiderwebs on abandoned office equipment. Graffiti lined the walls as well as what David and I assumed to be fake blood. Punk kids and squatters wasted no time. Neither of us were too worried until coming across some of the rooms. Beds and recliners lay in sterile rooms next to abandoned equipment. Wires with little pads hanging off the end showed that electroshock therapy was apparently alive and well. David shuddered at the thought of being subjected to such misery. With the dismal green of the walls and lack of light, it looked more like a torture chamber. We took our time exploring and gathering photos. Venturing further in we found a room full of filing cabinets. The thing was that in there we also found another door. This one going to a basement. Not only was it covered with a gurney, but the pair of doors were chained as well just like the front. I looked at the lock as well. Much more expensive and not worth picking in the dark. We checked our batteries and the percentage lay at 85. No excuse to pull out thought the find was unexpected. I eyed David and raised a shrug. “So what do you think?” David mulled the options over. “Can you get in?” “That’s not the question.” I clacked the bolt cutters twice like Pac-Man. “All The tumblers in the world wont save you from a pair of irons. “Question is do we want to?” David shrugged in return, unspooked from the trip so far. “We came this far.” I nodded in agreement. Snapping the chains apart I pried the door open with my crowbar and David shed some light inside. A stone set of stairs led further into darkness. I swallowed hard descending first to prove my bravery. Going down was when I noticed that just above the door were the spray painted words “EMERGENCY KEEP OUT.” The deeper in the darker it got. Weirder too as any charade of it being a mental health facility was gone within the first few rooms. The equipment got more technical and the trappings of a home for the troubled were non existent. The exception being lab coats and drawers full of tools that looked to be for surgery. A foul smell of ammonia filled the air followed by the undertone of copper. It was so bad we decided to don the masks, Lord only knew what diseases we were getting but still we traveled on. It was then we heard a low clicking down one of the tunnels. it sounded thick and throaty with an echo. Crazy enough it reminded me of those giant birds on TV. I think they were called a Shoebill if I remember right. The sound seemed to come from behind us as well yet it likely was the echo. I stopped low and listened for it to come again. “Did you hear that?” I asked David as he crept beside me. He nodded in response. “ What do you think it was?” The tension was thick in the air yet nothing had popped up enough to justify leaving. I guess neither of us wanted to be called chicken. We waited there for a minute or two until David broke the silence. “Do you see that? Over there!” His fear was immediately replaced by excitement as he rushed into an adjacent room. I followed after and as I stood in the doorway the view shocked me to my core. Giant tubes of glass with pools of fluid stood shattered along the wall. A Green glow emanated from the a backup computer which I assumed held its own generator. It gave the fluid in the vats an ethereal glow as we stood in awe of what must have been some kind of biological housing case. The question was for what? We wandered around the room with jaws open. It was when I turned my flashlight to the wall beside us when the fun’s subsided. A man in a lab coat lay with chest torn open. It’s face was completely bitten off and his ribs lay open like a blooming onion. End trails hung out of him as his limbs were gloved of any scrap of meat it save the sinews dangling among bare threads. I choked back my revulsion as David began to hyperventilate behind me. That low clicking reverberated again yet now it was loud and baseful, vibrating through the room and up my spine. Before I could turn around the piercing shriek of my best friend tore through my ears, cut short by tearing meat and a wet slop hitting the floor. I’ll admit that I’m a coward. I’ll admit that my gear and dreams of exploring came to nothing. I ran from that room and back in the dark from whence I came. Leaving my friend behind I never dared to even look behind me, our weapons never even came to mind. The gas mask came right off as tears ran down my face. My breath gasped in every fouled ounce of air choking as tar gurgled in my lungs. I tore down that hall as fast I could, praying to whatever God would listen that I would make it out alive in sobs that never made a sentence. It came nothing however. I turned that tunnel to reach the stairs and saw why the click echoed behind. Its skin was grey of blueish hue with a ring of feathers around its face and neck. It’s jaws held teeth instead of beak, glimmering with yellow eyes as it stared me down in the light from my hand. It’s arms held claws like knives yet were nothing compared to the blackened barbs as big as my arm which that thing called it’s feet. It stepped once. And again. The clicking in its throat replaced by a screech which froze me like a rabbit before a lion. Any sense of flight or flight escaped me as I only stood frozen in terror. The last thought flashing in my mind was a memory from a children's show and a single word explaining how I was to die. Velociraptor.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] fear4life.com (Part 2) [RESPONSE] I finally got out of bed and went to my office. There was no green light on the camera, and the computer was off. I switched it on and then went and made myself a coffee. Luckily there were no deadlines for me this week, so I didn't have anything important going on. I still wanted to spend some time looking for other writing opportunities, but first, I had to run my virus scan. This was probably the only time I hoped there would be a virus or malware on my computer. When the scan ended, and there were no problems, I was disappointed. The day was mostly uneventful. I fell asleep at my desk, though, and when I woke up, my computer was on that website again. It was on the page with the and a skull in the background that I hadn't noticed before. It was similar to the face I saw on my screen and at my door the night before. I clicked the 'x' in the corner to close the window and got up from my desk. Fresh air sounded good, so I went outside for a walk. These warm sunny days in the fall were great. I knew it would be only a matter of time before I would be shoveling the snow off my driveway. I walked through my street and into the wooded trail that connected some of the roads in the neighborhood. The leaves were starting to change color, and it was a nice peaceful walk. Until I heard the crunching of a stick off the trail. It was probably just a groundhog or a different small animal, but I was still a little on edge from what happened last night, so it made me a little nervous. I kept going around a curve and further away from the houses. I heard the crunching sound again, and it sounded like someone was walking through the bushes not too far from me. I couldn't see who was out there, but I could tell they were getting closer. I didn't see whatever was out there, but I took a picture of where the noises were coming from so I could see if anything was there when I got back home. I picked up the pace and started running through the trail. The noises also got louder and stayed close behind me. Finally, I made it out of the pathway and onto the next street. It felt safer being in the open in front of all the houses. Someone was likely to be home if I had to scream for help. When I had walked far enough away from the trail entrance, I turned around to look back into the woods. I didn't see anything but felt like I was being watched. When I returned home, the door to my house was open part way. I know that I had closed it and locked it before leaving on my walk. I didn't know whether to call and wait for the police or go in and check it out myself. I leaned in through the door. "Hello?" I yelled. There was no response, and I didn't hear any noises inside, but I knew I'd feel better if the police checked it out first. After calling the non-emergency number, I went to the bottom of my driveway to wait. I watched the house until the police car arrived. Two officers got out, and I told them the front door was open, but I knew it was closed and locked when I left. They went inside, and after a few minutes, they returned. There was no one inside, and they didn't see any signs of forced entry. They told me to look around, and I could have a police report filled out if anything was missing. They said it was probably a faulty latch or wasn't closed right. As they were pulling out of the driveway, one of the officers said, "You might want to clean up your office. It looked pretty messy in there." I thanked them and went inside. My front door only has a deadbolt, so it has to be unlocked inside or with a key. The only ones with a spare key are my parents, and they would've let me know if they were stopping over. My chair was knocked over, and the papers that had been on my desk were on the floor. The monitor was also covered in fingerprints and smudges. It isn't a touch screen, and I don't remember it being that dirty. Nothing else in the house was out of order, so I went to work cleaning up my office. I picked up my chair and put the papers on the desk. There were crumbles of dirt on the desk and keyboard. My hands felt dusty and had black smudges after handling the documents. I also noticed a small trail of dirt from my office getting smaller as it went to the front door. I guess I had wanted things to be more interesting, but this stuff isn't what I had in mind. After finding my screen cleaning spray, I scrubbed off the monitor. I got some of the smudges off, but no matter how hard I cleaned it, some of the fingerprints just wouldn't come off. I felt uneasy the rest of the night, especially with what happened in my office. Where did all the dirt come from, and why was so much in the office instead of by the front door? And how did someone get into my house? I double and then triple-checked all the locks on the doors and windows before going to bed. Even though I was anxious, my exhaustion took over, and I fell asleep fast. I awoke to the buzzing of my phone as it vibrated around on the nightstand. It stopped for a few moments. I was almost back to sleep when it started buzzing again. My phone was pretty much always on vibrate, and I wanted it on in case my parents had an emergency at night. I picked it up, worried that it might be them. The screen showed that it was an incoming video call from a number I didn't recognize. I swiped down to decline it and saw that it was just after midnight before I set it back down. It began vibrating again almost as soon as I set it down. After swiping down a second time, I turned off my phone and set it on the nightstand. I almost fell asleep when I heard a loud thud coming from outside my room. Now I was wide awake and grabbing the bat before I stood up. I made my way cautiously to my bedroom door and looked out into the hallway. I had thought I closed that door before going to bed, but in my sleep-deprived state, I wasn't sure. I saw the dim glow coming out of my office, which meant the monitor had to be on. Taking some deep breaths and gripping tightly onto the baseball bat, I slowly walked toward the light. I stopped right before the open door and leaned against the wall. It was quiet, but I could hear the faint sound of someone talking. It was like when you're in a loud restaurant, and you hear all the voices at once, but you can't make out any words. This was in a whisper, though. While I was building the courage to enter the room, the voice stopped, and the dim light went off. The light switch was just inside the doorway. I reached my arm around and flipped on the switch. I was positive that something was going to grab onto my arm, but luckily nothing happened. It took me a minute to get accustomed to the light before I could step into the room. The chair had been knocked over again, and the keyboard was on the floor. Everything else looked normal. I searched around the rest of my house but didn't find anything. While I was walking back to my room, I heard my phone buzzing again. There's no question that the power was off when I left the room. The buzzing stopped before I made it back. When I walked through the doorway, I could see that the screen was on, and there was someone's face on there. I backed out of the room and closed the door. I went into the other bedroom next to the office and closed the door. This room was barely used and only had a mattress on the floor covered with sheets and a blanket. I sat down on it and listened for other noises in the house. Then it seemed like all of a sudden, the sun was shining in through the window. I slowly got out of bed and walked over to my bedroom. I picked up my phone from the nightstand and saw that I had a voicemail from the number I didn't recognize last night. I've included it if you'd like to hear it. I also remembered the picture I took yesterday when I was on the trail. There wasn't anyone in the picture, but when I looked closer, I thought I could see . I'm hoping it is just my imagination, and someone will tell me there is nothing weird on there. I'm not quite sure what to do next. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] How to Survive College - the creature's lair [RESPONSE] There were some interesting ideas in the comments on It’s probably not going to be an idea you expect, either. See, there were a couple people that thought that the laundry lady had been permanently and probably violently removed from campus (and life). However, I’m not sure the timeline is right for that. She visited my dorm room *after* ‘they’ found out about… whatever she’d done to upset them. Her retaliation against me was for their retaliation against her. Whatever punishment they meted out, it was already done. Which meant she was still on campus. And it meant that she still had a grudge. (if you’re new, , and if you’re totally lost, ) Granted, that grudge was primarily against me, but I felt pretty certain that she wasn’t able to act on it directly. I mean, she’d already demonstrated the limits of that by showing up in my dorm room and threatening to harm my friends instead of me. I wanted to find her. Maybe she’d subscribe to the whole ‘enemy of my enemy is my friend’ thing. Or at least be willing to have a conversation about wtf is going on around here. And if nothing else, maybe I could use her as bait for the eyeball. I started leaving my laundry in the dryer for longer than I should. With it being the summer semester, there was little danger of it being dumped on the floor. It took a lot of attempts. I think I wasted a whole week - and a lot of money - washing my shirts one at a time. On the upside, I was all over my schoolwork. Had to do something with all that anxious energy, after all, and homework at least distracted me from the looming existential question of what the heck I’m going to major in. (how am I supposed to know what I’m going to do with the rest of my life!?) Then, finally, I went down to the laundry room and there she was. My lone shirt was folded neatly, resting on her upturned palms. “I… thought you said you couldn’t test me a second time,” I said tentatively, stepping into the laundry room. “I’m folding your clothing because I cannot *stand* to wait idly by and pretend I don’t see it getting wrinkled as it sits there unattended in the dryer.” She shoved my lone shirt into my arms and I struggled to take it without getting any closer to her than I absolutely had to you. “This is a freebie,” she said icily. “*You’re welcome*.” She turned back to another dryer that had finished within seconds of me walking in. She pulled out a handful of sports bras and got to work folding them. I watched for a few seconds because I’ll be real, I didn’t know you could fold sports bras. I just shove mine into the drawer in a wad. Also I still find it creepy that she insists on folding literally everything, including the underwear. “Have you seen… a new *thing* on campus?” I ventured. “Nope,” she replied promptly. “Everything is fine.” “I think you know it’s not.” She ignored me and kept folding. She was finished with the rather impressive pile of bras and moved on to jeans. “Oh come on,” I said. “There’s a giant eyeball running around killing your kind!”Her lips thinned but she remained silent. Fine. If that was how it was going to be… I shook my shirt out, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it on the floor. She froze. Her hands remained poised over the jeans in mid-fold. Her gaze slid over to stare first at the shirt on the floor and then her eyes raised to meet mine. I flinched at the hatred I saw in them. This wasn’t even because I’d gotten her into trouble. It was the hatred of a creature that had just been deeply, gravely insulted. “Sorry,” I stammered, my nerve breaking instantly. “I’m so sorry. But I wanted your attention.” “You have it now,” she replied quietly. I told her that I knew she was in trouble. I’d heard the flickering man talking about it. “Self-important little sycophant,” she sniffed. “Always meddling where he doesn’t belong.” “Sorry,” I stammered. “This is just… really weird to hear.” “What, did you think we didn’t have hierarchies?” “No it’s just - I mean, it’s inhuman gossip. That’s weird, right?” I took a deep breath. Get to the point. “I think - I have this thing - I have a weapon. For the eyeball.” “Why should I care?” “Because. I need help. And if you want to get rid of the eyeball - if it’s the reason you can’t do whatever you want around here - then you should help me.” “Well that’s bold.” She turned away from me and resumed folding the jeans. After a half minute of deeply uncomfortable silence I walked over and tried to refold my shirt. It wasn’t nearly as neat as she’d done and she gave it a critical glance, but didn’t try to fix it. I could only hope her lack of an answer wasn’t because I’d insulted her too gravely to ever recover from. “I can take you to its lair,” she said in an undertone. “After that, it’s up to you.” “Okay,” I replied in a whisper. “Thanks. When…?” “Now. Go get your weapon. We’ll go as soon as I’m done folding this.” “Now?” I squeaked. “I can hear your heart beating. I smell your fear. If I’m going to risk my existence - and believe me, this time they won’t let me live if they find out about this betrayal - then I don’t want to give you the chance to find a reason to back out.” “I won’t!” “But you want to. Go. Get. The weapon.” She wasn’t wrong. I wanted more time. Maybe I wouldn’t chicken out like she thought, but honestly… I can’t be certain. Sometimes it’s better if you don’t think about it first. If you just jump and sort it out once you’re already falling. Still, I was panicking when I unlocked the door to my dorm. It took me three tries because my hands were shaking. Should I tell her I didn’t know how to use the weapon yet? That we needed to wait until I figured it out? No, she’d likely retract her bargain then. I had a narrow window of opportunity here and if I faltered here, she wouldn’t be willing to back such a risky bet. Besides, there was a downside to frantically studying to calm my nerves while waiting on the laundry lady. I was not in danger of failing any of my classes. I had no way to summon the devil. Not that I think it would have done any good. If he wanted me to know how to use the pencil, he surely would have told me already. It was up to me to figure it out. And believe me, I’ve tried every suggestion you all have given me. Nothing has worked, at least, not in a way I’ve seen results. I’ve written and written with it and nothing has changed, save that the pencil keeps getting shorter. I’m saving the shavings in the bag with it, just in case I need them. I kind of wonder if I need to use the pencil up, but I’m honestly terrified to try that. I don’t think the devil will give me a replacement if I waste it. I’ll have just failed my part of the bargain and as I write this I realize we never discussed what happens if I fail. I don’t think he’d drag me to hell, that seems like a consequence he would have brought up to begin with. He’d probably just make sure I flunk out instead and honestly that kind of feels worse than going to hell right now. I stumbled back down the hallway to the laundry room. On the way I passed a student who looked like he might be on the way there, so I frantically accosted him and told him that if someone had folded his laundry for him, to put it away as nicely as he found it. I’m sure I made an impression on him, as freaked out as I was. The laundry lady was waiting for me at the end of the hall. She turned the corner and I jogged down the hallway to catch up. We took the stairs down to the basement. I realized as soon as we exited the stairwell where we were headed. The steam tunnels. The beast’s lair was accessible through the tunnels that didn’t always spit you out at where you thought they should. “How far do we need to go?” I asked as I followed her down into the tunnels, the pipes hissing quietly around us. “As far as we need to.” I’m not sure why I expected anything less cryptic. She led me on through the tunnels. It felt like she was picking which way to turn on a whim and she probably was, knowing how these things work. I was thoroughly lost in a very short amount of time. We passed by a few doors and each time she walked right by without hesitation. I had a bad feeling I knew where she was leading me to but I didn’t want to confirm my fears by asking. She was right about how scared I was, after all. I wanted to turn back. I regretted my bargain with the devil. I was finally mustering up the nerve to suggest an excuse to not go through with it when she grabbed hold of my wrist. She broke into a run, dragging me along behind her. I opened my mouth to ask what was happening, but then I heard the hissing in the pipes grow louder. I knew *exactly* what was coming. Steam was wafting at our feet. It was coming. The ghost in the tunnels was coming. “Through here,” she hissed. There was a door at the end of the corridor. She wrenched it open and shoved me through without hesitation. Then she stepped through and carefully pushed it closed, stopping just short of letting the latch fall into place. She held the doorknob so that it wouldn’t release. We were hiding from the steam ghost. I sank into a crouch, my shaking legs unable to hold me up any longer. We were in a dark place but from the cement beneath us, I assumed it was the basement of a building somewhere on campus. “Cover your mouth,” she said, so softly I barely heard her. “Try to breathe as little as possible. You don’t want them to hear you before the steam dissipates.” Them. Not it. *Them*. Stupidly, I looked out into the darkness around us. *Them*. This wasn’t the basement of a building. And we weren’t alone. I silently clasped my hands over my mouth and nose. I couldn’t see anything, but I could hear scuttling out there. It was coming closer, pausing here and there. Like rats, I thought. Rats that were growing steadily bolder. I took a slow, shallow breath and held it again. The noises were all around us. The soft scrape of something living on concrete. The sound of their movement even came from above us and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Cold sweat dripped down my back. Something touched my knee. It was a light touch, like the brush of a feather, but it was there. It had touched me. “Finally!” the laundry lady hissed. And her bony hand clasped my wrist once more and she yanked me through the door and back into the steam tunnels. Behind us came a cacophony of screeching, I saw in the light from the fluorescent lights an undulating mass of bodies, and then she slammed the door shut behind us. The steam was gone. The lady kicked at one of the pipes and it echoed hollowly through the corridor. “I think we’re safe now,” she said grimly. I wasn’t quite listening. I was still staring at the door behind us, as if any moment it would burst open and all those eyes would roll over us in a hungry wave. “What *were* those?” I gasped frantically. “Oh, those?” She glanced back at the door. “I have no idea. The steam tunnels connect to all kinds of places.” “So you just threw us into one without knowing anything about it?” There was hysteria in my voice. She sighed and in a tone that conveyed exactly how tedious it was to speak to me, she explained that she hid us in because she’d rather not encounter the steam ghost. She was tired of dealing with it and that was worth the risk of the unknown on the other side of a door. “Is it also a self-important sycophant?” I asked. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I talk when I’m nervous I guess and apparently I try to use humor to diffuse the situation. Except that doesn’t work too well when you’re stuck with an inhuman that’s the manifestation of every joyless husk of a human being you’ve ever known. I feel I’ve gotten cheated. My inhuman helper sucks. Beau was at least cool, in that bad boy sort of way. And when his appearance solidified, he was kind of hot. I’ve got the Mother of All Karens here, She Who Speaks to the Manager. Not quite the grouchy grandmother next door that thinks you play your music too loud, but certainly up there in the “shares Minions memes on Facebook” range. “No, it just wants to hurt things,” she replied. “We should keep moving.” We didn’t have much further to go after that. We passed one more door and then she swung the next one open. As I feared, it opened to stairs descending into fog. The lady stepped aside and gestured for me to enter. “I’m not going down there,” I finally said. “There’s nothing I can do about that - that hole in the world. I’ve got a pencil, okay? That’s it.” “You have a *weapon*,” she corrected. “I can feel it. Given to you by an ancient thing. I hate just being near it.” Which struck me as odd, if this campus was ruled by an ancient thing. Was I wrong about that? It was so hard to tell. It was like they were picking and choosing which rules to follow. I said as much, hoping to get some more information, but more importantly - hoping to delay the moment I had to step through that doorway. “You’re right about that,” she said. “We don’t quite follow those rules here. Makes that weapon you’re clutching all the more potent. *We don’t want it* *here*.” Her lips drew back from her teeth as she hissed her words. I couldn’t help but remember how she said she’d skin my friends and I shuddered and hastily looked away. Looked at the open doorway and the stairs leading down into the clouds. That was a mistake. “Let’s go,” she said grimly. “Don’t forget this is a one-time offer of help I’m giving you.” “And what am I supposed to do down there?” I protested. “Okay, yes, fine, I have a weapon. But that stairway ends way far up.” “That’s why you still need my help. I’ll get you safely into the creature’s lair. I give my word.” “You said you don’t follow the traditional rules,” I said accusingly. She gave me a lopsided smile. No, she corrected me. They only follow *some* of the rules. They hadn’t yet broken free of all of them. “It’ll be up to you to figure out which ones I still follow,” she said, taking one step down into the open sky. She held out a hand to me. A hand left dry and cracked from years of handling hot fabric. In that moment it didn’t matter how dangerous she was. I was scared enough to accept the comfort it offered. The promise of safety. I needed any scrap of hope to step foot through that door, even if that hope turned out to be a mirage in the end. Otherwise, I would have remained frozen there at the entrance, unable to bring myself to take a single step forward and see this through. All of my determination was unraveled at the thought of that vast emptiness, of that ocean of water and that endless hole through the world. The laundry lady was the only thing carrying me forward. We’ve established that I talk like an idiot when I’m scared, right? “I’m curious - why don’t you just go haunt a laundromat or something?” I babbled as we descended. “Are you trying to talk to take your mind off how scared you are?” “Yes.” “Fine. I’ll play along. If nothing else, maybe it’ll make you smell less… *appetizing*.” Her grip tightened on mine. Her bony fingers hurt. “There’s a lot of homesick students in the dorms and sometimes they appreciate what I do,” she said. “Vengeance is nice… but gratitude is nicer. I wouldn’t get that if I haunted a laundromat.” She had a point. But right as I was about to feel good about myself as a college student, she went and ruined it. “All I’ve ever done is help you children out. It’s not my fault that you’re wretched, ungrateful brats that were poorly raised by your parents.” Then, like an idiot, I instinctively replied with, “okay boomer.” I was nervous! It just slipped out! She immediately stopped talking, her lips pressed together into a thin line. It didn’t matter. We were at the bottom of the stairs. The clouds hung just above our heads and all around us, the ocean lay flat and still like a mirror. The hole was directly beneath us, a black stain, a perfect circle with the silver ring where the water cascaded over the edge. My mouth went dry staring down at it. Somehow, it was worse seeing it beneath us. So much worse. I clutched the laundry lady’s hand as tightly as I could. “You said you’d get me safely into the lair,” I croaked. “I did.” “Is the lair like… in there?” “No, I brought you here because I like the view,” she said scornfully. I swallowed hard. What now? What was I supposed to do now? What *could* I do now? I hadn’t figured anything out and I hadn’t been able to stop Patricia or anyone else. I felt so small and helpless, staring down into that abyss. But I had a weapon from an ancient thing. “Do I like… throw the pencil in?” I ventured. “Well, you got part of that right. You’re throwing *something* in.” .[\[x\]]( <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Someone made a replica of my childhood home [RESPONSE] I used to be a beacon for ideas. When I was a child, my mind tended to wander quite a bit. So much so, my teachers would beg my parents to see a specialist for a potential ADHD diagnosis, but I’m sort of glad they didn’t. I’d draw my own comics, paint illustrious new worlds, and would make blueprints for inventions I’d want to create. I always felt my wandering mind was my super power. One time when I was ten, I looked out my bedroom window during a pretty severe storm and saw a stranger staring at our house. They were covered in black and just stood there staring through our living room window as they were getting pelted by rain drops. Maybe they were just looking for cover from the storm, but that moment left me with a pretty restless that night. The one positive was that it made for some great inspiration for the drawing I had made about it. I ran downstairs in our warm midwestern home, while my dad sat in his favorite chair with his signature glass of bourbon right by the fire. He looked at my drawing, “This one is your best one yet, champ! Very very spooky!” My smile faded. I now stood in front of my office window staring at what seemed like a lifeless city. To be honest, I don’t remember the last time I felt really good about anything I had created. My life goal was to create something impactful, something people would remember. I wanted to be an innovator - but here I was stuck writing articles and interviewing others about their achievements and life accomplishments. At some point during my life, my mom became religious. Her way of cheering me up was to try to turn me onto God and that ‘seeking out a higher power may help me’. “I know you’ve been through a lot honey, but you’ve got a good job, and they appreciate you. You’ll figure something out, just be patient. Rome wasn’t built in a day.” My mind was once my super power, but now it was my worst enemy. “Hey RJ! Someone dropped this off for you while you were on lunch.” Our admin assistant Amy decided to barge in on my pity party. “Who dropped it off?” I asked as I curiously grabbed what seemed to be an invitation. “It was some lady going on about some art exhibit this Friday.” I stared at the invitation, Midtown Art Exhibit presents, ’A Burning Memory’. I got to the exhibit a little late that Friday night to try to avoid the crowds. I was instantly greeted at the door by a young petite woman, who seemed rather excited to see me. “Mr. Dyer! It’s so nice to finally meet you! Noemi Cartwright - I’m the art gallery director.” She shot out her hand and shook mine with excitement. “It’s been so crazy seeing everyone come in tonight, you should’ve seen the traction earlier! They love how immersive the exhibit is! I was actually just about to close up, but I’m so glad you were able to make it.” I cut in, “Who’s the artist behind this exhibit?” Noemi paused and stared at me in confused. “What do y-“ Just before she could answer, her phone went off - startling us both. “I am so sorry, Mr. Dyer, I’ve got to take this. But go have a look!” Noemi shuffled away and took her call outside. I walked through the doors and took in the exhibit’s immense scale. Everything looked so loud and in your face, as if someones head exploded and this was the end result - it gave me an instant feeling of dread. Looking through some of the initial paintings I could see the themes of death, hopelessness and despair. A pitch black specter seemed to be a reoccurring figure in each painting. The first few seemed to almost hide it. An image of an upside down car with an empty bicycle sat beside it while the ghostly figure was positioned from afar. A painting of a lonely boy with a horde of clown like smiling faces surrounding him. Next was a portrait of a family in what would otherwise look like a warm fall day, in a comforting midwestern neighborhood. Yet, this portrait would be tainted by this specter, who was now nearly engulfing the image. It wasn’t hiding anymore…it was making it’s presence known as the details were becoming more vivid. Painting after painting was now just being overtaken by the specter. I felt my anxiety rising as I noticed my sweaty hands had my notebook and pen in a vice grip. I moved down a narrow hallway. The next set of paintings were all the same, painting of coffins surrounded by fiery blood red and orange splatters with small text, ‘It follows me, everywhere I go.’ The end of the hallway led to another large opening. I nearly collapsed as I saw what was in front of me… It was my childhood home. The exact same scale and everything. The once warm home - now looked old, broken and warped. I ran back to the front of the exhibit to look for Noemi, but found nothing. Was she some kind of stalker? My instincts told me to run, but curiosity got the best of me. I went back. As I stood in front of my old home, I took a deep breath and turned the handle. Stepping through I noticed the entryway, the mahogany staircase, every little detail was there. It even had the rich scent of pumpkin spice overtaking my aura. Slowly inching my way towards the kitchen, I looked on in amazement. There was my mom’s big spoon and fork decor hanging over our sink. My gaze shifted to our living room which was dimly lit by one lamp. It was a much more depressing sight aside everything else. And then my heart nearly beat out of my chest when I saw it….someone was sitting in my dad’s favorite chair. It was dark, but I could see the outline of a dark figure. Nearly a foot away, I held my breath and turned the chair. I was semi-relieved to find a mannequin sitting in his place. It was wearing a short brown wig and had X’s where the mannequins eyes would be. The dimly lit lamp made it so I could now read the splattered red text on the wall behind the chair. It simply read, ‘it wasn’t there for you.’ Immediately a loud thumping sound emerged from above. It sounded as if someone ran up the stairs and ran across the room above me. “Hello?…Noemi!?” My patience was running thin, “This isn’t funny! What the hell is going on here?” Someone was exploiting my life and passing it off as ‘art’. It wasn’t even remotely true, and yet, people found this entertaining? I felt an adrenaline spike and stomped my way up the stairs. I wanted to confront whoever the hell was messing with me. A framed portrait was at the top of the stairs with a newspaper clipping of the obituaries and big red writing painted over it which read, ‘you never woke up, did you?’ The loud thumping sound rushed past me and nearly gave me a heart attack. I slammed the wall in frustration realizing it must have been built in speakers. I kept pace and continued my trek until I reached my parents room on the right side of the hallway. I could hear a sobbing sound from within. My adrenaline spike must have faded because I was thoroughly terrified again. My hand shook as I pushed the door to reveal my parents bed with someone laying in it. Against my better judgement, I again went to confront this figure. Peeling back the covers - I was relieved to find it was just another mannequin with a much longer wig. Tears were painted under it’s eyes. The last room I needed to see was my own, and sure enough - it was wide open. For some reason when I stepped through my door I felt everything was okay. That sense of dread I once had seemed to leave as my room felt like the only comfortable place in the entire house. It was well lit, it had everything in order with my desk in the corner near my window and all of my old favorite movie posters set up around the room. I closed the door to escape the sobbing and thumping sounds and sat at my desk to see a journal and some of my old comic books. My room was always a place I could go to escape. I stared at a drawing of a family left on the desk and realized that tears were beginning to form in my eyes. My brief moment of peace was interrupted by a thunderous bang. Another sound effect. But it didn’t sound like thunder, it sounded like a gunshot. I stood up quickly and noticed something outside the window and froze in horror…someone, or something, was looking up at me from below. It was draped in black and almost seemed to be hovering a foot off the ground. I could see it’s cold grey and dead looking feet, as it began to rise higher. It had no other distinguishable features other than it’s black cowl and made a low groaning sound. My body was full-on shaking now as it floated closer towards my window. I couldn’t move. This being nearly met me at eye level as it’s features began to form into a familiar face. I realized I was standing on my window sill as I heard doors slamming from below while the thumping sound grew louder and then followed a piercing scream. It felt as though I had blacked out. I came to and realized I was apprehensively being walked out of the exhibit by Noemi. “No one else was in the exhibit with us, Mr. Dyer…are you sure you’re okay? I feel like I should call someone, you almost fell out of a two story house.” The uneasy feeling left my body as we left the building, “No no, I’m sorry, it’s just been a long day. Seriously, I’ll be okay.” The next morning I rolled over to see Noemi had left a voicemail checking up on me. A part of me wished what I saw wasn’t real. I thought that perhaps I should just ignore it and carry on as if it didn’t happen. But the other part of me knew exactly what it was. The paintings, the art and even the house - was all just a distraction . A culmination of pain, a burning memory. I understood now that the pain carried throughout that house did not have to continue channeling through me. I could escape the darkness within those walls and accept that my father’s death was not my fault and that I would not succumb to his same fate. Deuteronomy 24:16<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Where did the companion of darkness go? [RESPONSE] I work as a sales manager in one of the largest furniture companies in Egypt. My work hours are from 11 am to 11 pm, and the way back home takes more than an hour and a half, so when I get home the clock is over midnight. One night, I was returning home, and it was about 1:00 am. The street where my apartment was located was quiet and empty. Unfortunately my arrival coincided with the power outage, where everything drowned in the dark, and the stray dogs' bark rose, as if announcing its control of the street at that cursed hour. The atmosphere was scary, but I kept my nerves until I reached the door of the building where I live, where my apartment is located on the 12th floor. For a moment I stood up and thought about what to do. Without electricity, the elevator could not be used. And the idea of climbing 12 floors in this darkness seemed troublesome, as well as staying at the door of the building in the hope of a return of electricity, especially with these dogs barking at the door .. I was puzzled what to do, and stood there motionless. I don’t know why I was so pessimistic that night, I looked at the gloomy stair with suspicion and felt that trying to climb the stair to the 12th floor wouldn’t end well, imagining that there is a jinn or demon lying in wait for me somewhere in the darkness to suddenly get out and freeze blood in my veins Please don’t make fun of my fears, and don’t try advise me to be brave.. You are definitely stretching now in your warm bed while I stand here on the thresholds of the kingdom of the devilish darkness! For your information, I have iron nerves and a strong body, but the devilish imagination blew all that at that moment. Suddenly a man came from afar. He was walking strangely and uncommonly in the dark. He was medium in height and body, wearing a black coat that gave him a mysterious appearance. .. He approached me with all confidence and said, "Are you up?"  .. I found myself reacting like a hypnotist and replied: "Yes". He smiled a malicious smile, or that's what I imagined!, then he said: "So let's climb the stairs together to reassure and amuses each other, and by the way, I am your neighbor on the 14th floor". I swear to God that his appearance wasn’t at all comfortable, and for a moment I heard him laughing like a hyena! We start climbing, I hoped he wouldn’t speak, but suddenly he said: "The apartments that have not yet lived and in the finishing stage are the ones that cause terror and imagination". I said to myself that this talk is not quite appropriate for this situation, but I kept going up with him and I am ready to confront and fight at any moment with this person who I don’t know what he is or from where he came. On the sixth floor, the current suddenly returned, and to my astonishment I found myself alone!, I looked around me and didn’t find him. He disappeared as if it had evaporated in the air! By God, this is what happened to me and this is my story. By the way, I forgot to tell you that the whole building is 13 stories and never has a 14th floor, which the companion of darkness told me he is ascend to!<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Im never going to a local dance party ever. [RESPONSE] Its been a few hours and i just started to shake from fear less and less. What was supposed to be a fun time with my buddies became a nightmare inducing experience over a few seconds and one very, very bad decision.... I am from a small town that is located in a very small country. It's one of 3 Baltic states, so our mythology and culture, especially old traditions, might be shocking to some. However, what i have seen today is hopefully not some tradition i wasn't aware of. It was a typical Friday, the sunshine was warm despite the fact that it was first few days of October, and the wind was chilling yet soothing, so me and my friends decided to meet up after school, as most of them haven't seen me for a couple weeks due to me visiting my gf from a different city. The first 3 of us met at the local park near a small lake. After walking around for about an hour we decided that we should head to the town center, as it was dark, so walking around there was a whole different vibe. Plus, we had to pickup a friend that took a bus from a nearby city. There was a bridge that we had to walk through, as it connected the edge of town to the park, and near it was an old mill made of bricks that is about a few hundred years old, and it looks as old and beaten down as it sounds. It wasn't abandoned or haunted (at least thats what i thought) though, there was electricity, the inside was authentic yet renovated to keep warmth, because recently cultural dance parties were started to be hosted there. I have been in few of them, with the same friends. And as we crossed the bridge on our way to our town, thats what we thought. Can you blame us? Lights were up, people were walking around, tons of cars parked near the mill footsteps of people dancing so loud, you could hear it outside. We thought it would be cool to check it out later. I should probably note that there were a few people outside smoking, looking as if they are anxious about something, however i quickly brushed it off, as we had to meet our other two friends. As we finally got our last mate (lets call him Will for privacy), we decided that it would be nice to hang out there. Thats where our biggest mistake happened. As we made our way towards the mill, one of us noticed something was off. There were less cars parked, no people were staying outside, and there was this weird feeling of uneasiness, as if it was a trap of some sorts. As we got closer, one of us asked: "Wait, maybe this place is rented for the night"? I have lived in this town all my life, yet i have never heard about renting it. Even if it was true, who would want to celebrate their birthday or wedding in an almost-ancient mill? Either way, our curiosity got the better of us. We silently opened the front door and sneaked in to not alert others if we were uninvited here. After opening the door the feeling of uneasiness has spiked indefinitely, as we could hear singing from above. A chorus of middle-aged women were singing some words we couldn't make out, yet wrapped in curiosity we decided we should check further. Ground floor - nothing. There wasn't much to do there, so we didnt make much of it. As we got to the first floor, shit started to hit the fan. The previously-mentioned women chorus was accompanied by a low, ambient sound. We saw a huge table full of sweets, snacks, sandwiches, tea - you name it. For some reason it only sparked that feeling of us not meant to come here. The previously-mentioned Will decided it was a good idea to walk a few steps up the stairs and peek at what they were doing. His words didnt seem to distressed, rather they were almost comical. "Hey guys", -he whispered, -"i think that they are doing some sort of ritual". As probably the most curious of our bunch i thought it was a good idea to peek there as well. At first it didn't seem to be too alarming, just a couple (around 20 of them) of singing people stood there in a circle and sung songs. It was then that i started noticing the weird stench that was coming out of the floor. At the same time, one of them moved their leg for some reason, and thats when i saw it - they weren't standing around a weird symbol, and the stench was either the blood they used to paint it on the floor, or the dead body of a man who was smoking earlier. His skin was pale and eyes black, half of his robes and hands were bloody. We whispered to each other for a minute how weird this is, yet after that we decided it would be a good idea to just go outside and chill somewhere else. However, thats when i realised our mistake. The whole building started to shake, and the dead body started barely moving. Mere seconds later, it opened up, and a pale, White dressed lady started coming out of his stomach. Completely terrified we started running. Even as silent as we were while going down, for some reason i am sure they heard us. We might have broken that damn old door as we were escaping, but it didn't matter at the time. As we walked out, we saw Simon - a local music teacher who made these parties possible, sitting by one of the cars. He looked at us with a sad look in his eyes and asked: "You saw what happened there, didnt you?" Without us saying a thing, he mouthed: "Run. They know about you...." That was enough for us to not ask anymore questions. We ran, as quickly as we could, all in a small squad. After a couple of minutes running, we realised no one was chasing us, not anymore at least. We started to at least try to process what we saw there, but there was literally no possible explanation to a man being gutted and a woman, no, SOMETHING that looks like a woman, climbing out of him, all the while a group of cultists (or whoever they where) just standing there, watching. I live a bit further from town, so i asked my mom to come and pick us up, then drop off everyone in front of their home door. I feel kind of guilty for all this. For talking my friends into going there, for telling all that to my mom, knowing perfectly well that she probably cant sleep now either. I cant even comprehend what would have happened to either one of us if we were caught. Either way, unless i see a poster or something, im never coming back there...<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I've met the devil [RESPONSE] I'm 34, but when I was 18 or 19 I had an interesting experience. I've suffered from sleep paralysis since I was 15. Usually, just laying there, paralysed and panicking, while a demon stands there at the foot of my bed, but one day I found out how to leave my body. I was asleep in my boyfriends bed, him beside me. I had sneaked into his house as his parents wouldn't let us be in the same room, for obvious reasons. Got into his room and he pushed a chair against his door handle so the parents couldn't get in. He wasn't allowed a key. We were tired and just slept. Had been in a club that night, nothing crazy, quite tame. Think we got a taxi back or train, you know I don't remember. Then at some point during the night I awoke, but not in the conventional way. I awoke to see a demon trail out of my boyfriend. The demon then stood at the foot of the bed laughing. I felt comforted knowing that my boyfriend was beside me, even though he was unconscious. So I guess something changed. I was no able to leave my body. There was a rope above my head and I pulled and pulled, it felt like I was an elastic band stuck to the bed. It was so hard to leave my body, but I did. The demon re-entered my boyfriends boy. I got up, turned around kneeling on the bed looking at me 'sleeping' and my boyfriend beside me. I got on top of him and using my two fists clenched together I pounded them on his chest repeatedly demanding 'get out of my boyfriend you demon'. While he didn't move. Next morning we wake up. Me exhausted cos I had another weird sleep paralysis experience, but different. This is when things became very uneasy... He tried to sit up in bed...but...his chest was so sore he couldn't move. His Dad is a doctor and he had to call him. I hid under the bed buck naked, no lie. He got the meds and rested. I'm not sure how his Dad even got into the room, I must have moved the chair blocking the door. I never told him about my sleep paralysis experience. As far as he knew I slept well. Months went by and we decided to move in together, well not we, he moved out (to his parents dismay), and asked me to move in with him. We were only together 6 months. I agreed, to my mother's dismay, she said I'll be back home eventually (smart mother). And maybe she was right. Very soon after moving in with him, I noticed changes, but they happened so gradually over the time we were living together. He lost touch with his friends, my friends were now his also, he'd tried to control me, convince me that I'm the problem, that my friends don't "laugh with you, but at you". He became evil...my friends told me to leave him. I can't describe what happened in our 'relationship', because it's too much for Reddit. Even at 34 I remember everything, every detail vividly. One night, I woke up with him on top of me, trying to strangle me. His black North Face t-shirt he wore to bed, my finger ripped it off him like it was paper. Believe me I'm not including 90% of the stories, but you don't need to know them. Pushed him off me, grabbed my phone, he smashed it, so I grabbed his. Called the police and they picked me up. So anyways...to this day, I connect me banging his chest, trying to save him, with him trying to kill me. Waw he possessed? There were days I cried in our bed, out loud saying, "I'm with the devil", "I know what the devil looks like". There was nothing behind his eyes, no soul.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Don't use the toilets here. Ever. [RESPONSE] Look, I’m down on my knees begging you, don’t go away! Don’t laugh; don’t close the post. This is not a joke; this is real. It’s all my fault! I started it! Well Kevin first, the kid who picked on him the most. And me and Lloyd. We are the cool kids, the trio no one wanted to mess with. Especially old Mr B. The school janitor. The one who probably hates us the most for making his life so miserable. And he’s right. It is our fault. I’m reliving the events of the morning right now. What led up to this. I can’t help it. It’s flashing across my mind like a movie in a cinema. “Hey, Hairy!” Kevin sauntered towards him, making sure to step on his beard as he inched closer with his brand-new $500 Nike sneakers. Mr B.’s eyes grew wide, and he tried to flee, but I blocked him from the other side, rubbing my hands at the show that was about to start. “What have you been up to?” He kicked Mr B. in the knees, and he collapsed with a howl of pain. Kevin looked at his stained uniform and wrinkled his nose. “Rolling around in mud again? Bet you can’t even afford soap, isn’t it Hairy? No wonder it is so dirty!” “Let me help you!” Kevin picked up the bucket of water and dumped it onto his head. The dirty waterfall dripped down his cheeks and off his long beard, like he was crying brown tears. His floundering eyes met mine for a second, and he mouthed a cry for help. I stared right back at them, and my eyes sagged in sympathy and I reached out my arm to help him up. He reached out to touch it, his eyes brightening up like the angels were calling to him, and for the first time ever, he *smiled*… At the last moment I jerked my hand away and his face crumpled. I couldn’t help laughing. He looked so pitiful. So *pathetic*. Like a poor puppy. Kevin pretended to mop his head, which earned him another round of laughter. He sat up, helpless, blinking back hot tears as the brown-tinged bristles flopped over his face. Lloyd hooted and whipped out his phone. He knew that his social media ranking would shoot up tonight. People love it when we strike again. I grew bored of it after a while. It was still the holidays after all, and the fall wind ruffled our hair. My mind drifted to video games, or ping pong, or riding around in Kevin’s Ferrari. Kevin’s pops was never home for him, which meant we could do pretty much whatever we wanted. Kevin must have felt the same way, because he kicked Mr B. for the last time. Old Mr B. whimpered. “See you later, loser. I’ll get you a gift.” He smirked. “Perhaps a bar of soap!” With that he sauntered away, laughing at his own sick joke. Lloyd followed, his thumbs busy on his keyboard. I risked a glance back at him and he once again raised his head. But the glare he shot me was not that of a wounded animal. It was that of a provoked tiger, hackles raised, ready to attack. I couldn’t look away. He disappeared behind the trees, and I could still hear him aggressively mopping the floor. Yet I could still feel his steady glare boring into the back of my head and it gave me the chills. Kevin was still chuckling. “Did you see him? Crybaby!” He scrunched up his face and Lloyd hooted again. I tried to laugh along, but it came out in a weak chuckle. I couldn’t unsee the way Mr B. was glaring at me and my gut tightened. Kevin slapped me on the back, hard, and I flinched. “What’s the matter, Martin? No funny bone today?” He fixed me a hard stare, daring me to laugh harder, laugh *better*. I looked away, my gaze settling on some geeks on the sidewalk enthusiastically discussing Dungeons and Dragons. His fists clenched. His temple throbbed. The tension was broken by violent coughing. “Bathroom,” Lloyd said weakly. We turned to look at him. His face was pale and he was shivering. Kevin gave him a curt nod and he raced back to school. Then he stormed all the way home and I heard the door slam. I followed him and lay on my belly on my bed. I could see Kevin next door, muttering angrily to himself and fidgeting with the gold watch he had to buy himself for his birthday. Time passed. Something felt off. It was heavy in the air like a thick raincloud. It hit me like a ton of bricks about thirty minutes later. *Lloyd wasn’t back from the toilet.* I looked out of the window for the next five minutes. Still no Lloyd. I quickly sprinted all the way back to school and towards the nearest toilet. I could hear him coughing like a sputtered car engine. Then all was quiet, and when I went into the bathroom, I could see why. Lloyd was gone. Only his arm remained, sandwiched in between the cover and the bowl. Blood was splattered on the dull ceramic and crawled outwards towards my feet. I swore I heard that toilet burp. I backed away. The toilet glared back. Wet chewing sounds echoed around the cubicle. I finally tore my eyes away from the toilet, from the last of Lloyd’s arm slipping slowly into its murky depths. Then I dashed outside, screaming. And suddenly bumped into Kevin, who was leaning casually outside. Kevin took in my pale face, the way I was shaking like a leaf, and smirked. “The toilet ate Lloyd!” My cries bounced off the lockers in the silent hall, tinged with frustration. Of all the times Kevin was being Kevin, why couldn’t he believe me? Kevin threw back his head and laughed again. “*The toilet ate Lloyd!*” he mimicked. “Are you a kid like him? What time do you go to bed every night? Nine?” I stared at him for a few seconds, then without a word more, grabbed him by the arm. I threw open the door. There was no Lloyd. There was no toilet either. Instead the floor was covered with bloody prints. It was a considerable distance apart, like whoever made them had been hopping instead of walking. Furthermore, as I stared at them some more, it seemed to be made by a fully-grown *toilet*. A toilet-shaped hole was smashed into the wall, framed by mold and more blood dripping down the tiles. I turned back to Kevin. The smile didn’t leave his face. “See?” I didn’t know what else to say. How to get Kevin to believe me. My mind was working a million miles per hour, amputated by the chills shooting up and down my spine. I flicked my eyes again at the hall. Every wet chewing sound made my heart jump into my mouth. The sounds drew closer. It was like somebody was constantly rinsing their mouth. So were what sounded like heavy wet slippers slapping the floor. I talked faster. “We need to find the janitor. Maybe he could help us.” Yet his cold-hard stare bore once again into my mind and guilt seeped in. But there wasn’t any time left. I grabbed Kevin’s arm wrists so hard my knuckles were white. “Bring him a gift maybe,” I babbled. “We’ll all chip in. You can get something, and maybe your dad…” Kevin slapped me on the face. He grimaced, his expression sour. “Don’t you talk about my father again, get it?” “We’ll just find Lloyd,” he decided finally. He glared back, expecting me to argue, expecting me to mention his dad again. I simply nodded. He started out of the hole, but before I could scream he was gone. A big red tongue shooting around nowhere and curling around him, both disappearing faster than I could blink. My vocal chords unfroze. “KEVIN!” My voice echoed down the hall, together with Kevin’s screams as he was tossed roughly from side to side. I peered out of the bright bathroom to see a dusty silhouette stomping down my left, before the corners swallowed him up altogether. Then, as I listened, as I crept down the hallways my heart beating as loud as his screams, the screams…stopped. Replaced by… *Laughter?* “Kevin?” My voice was small. Like a little mouse. I followed the trail, the destruction that toilet-monster-*thing* was leaving behind, a long dribble of piss and blood. It was only noon—I think, time seemed to have stopped or quickened, don’t know which—but it felt like it was nearly evening. Shadows cowered in the corners, or swept across the walls in a dusty curtain. Occasionally sunlight trickled in, illuminating the suddenly-dim passageway. Suddenly the laughter grew louder, and finally I came across the toilet thing. Its back was facing me, and the silver flush handle glinted in the dying light. Kevin was sitting on top of the toilet. No, not *on* the toilet, but *in* the toilet. Literally. His lower half had melted into the porcelain, and his upper body was waving madly into the air. I watched in horror as he bent all the way down, burying his face into the toilet, and drank deeply. My mouth turned sour. I bit back another scream. “Look, Martin!” Kevin was giggling madly. There was a ring of urine around his mouth, like the smears of chocolate cake around a toddler. He waved his arms around again. His voice slowed down to a slur. “Isn’t this fun?” He opened his mouth wide, and every tooth was yellowed and rotten; and his tongue was pocketed and purple. I backed away, slowly, as the rest of Kevin sank into the toilet, and then the toilet turned round, opened its scarlet eyes and spoke. “Come. You belong down the drain with us.” I froze. I heard Kevin; but I also heard Lloyd, and now I saw that both of their faces had pushed towards the toilet, as if carved into the porcelain. Forming a rough triangle. With an empty space. *For me.* Then its tongue lashed out again, and I snapped out of my stupor, snapped out of the fear that was grounding me there, and ran down the hallway faster than I ever could. The toilet’s shadow stretched over mine. The walls shook with every stomp. *Thump thump thump* One of the doors was thrown open and I ran inside, glad to be safe now. Only to run face-to-face with Mr B. His face glowed in the sickly green light. “Hey,” I began. Red veins crept into his eyes, and he spat into my face. He gripped my shoulders tight, and prepared to throw me back out there. “Wait!” I was shaking. I was sobbing. My heart was throwing itself against my ribcage. I searched for an inch of forgiveness on him. “Please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. For everything I have done to you…” There was something in his eyes then. Regret, hesitation, a touch of that forgiveness, I would never know. But then he shook his head and grabbed me by the scuff of my neck, and threw me into this corner. I hugged my knees, snuggling into the darkness that wraps around me in a warm blanket. It’s been hours now, and my battery is dying down as I write. I wait with bated breath, palms sweating, heart thumping, wondering what Mr B. is going to do. He has been pacing back and forth, muttering to himself. The toilet hasn’t found this room yet. I can hear it stomping up and down the hallway outside, calling my name. Hearing Kevin’s and Lloyd’s voices rolled into one never fails to send chills up and down my spine. But I think Mr B. has made his decision. He has spent the last five minutes standing slightly outside the dying afternoon with two metallic trash can lids. *Please Mr B.,* I pray silently, my heart in my mouth, *for the love of God…* <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] When I was 4, a demon tried to take residence in my body. (Part 1) [RESPONSE] I was raised unconventionally. My family never subscribed to any brand of organized religion, instead seeking solace in abstract spiritual concepts. Some would call these concepts “New Age.” My mother would call them metaphysical. I was a perceptive child; the kind who would see faces floating around in corners of my room, which I later learned were quite possibly spirits beyond the veil. I would have prophetic dreams, which would frequently and inconveniently blur lines between my sleeping state and reality. I would be visited in the night by curious otherworldly entities, and not all were friendly. My mother, who I later in life coined as the “kitchen witch” of our family, picked up on these happenings rather quickly. She took great care to please the friendly spirits who visited me in our home, and even greater care to banish the unsavory ones. Let me preface the following by saying this: I understand that there are non-believers and skeptics who will find all sorts of explanations for the first half of what I am about to tell you. Most explanations likely point to an overactive imagination combined with illness, and my family’s response to do what they did instead of rushing me to a hospital may appear to be dangerous, or even cruel. In regard to the second half of my story, if you have any logical explanations – please, offer me reason. I was four years old when I was visited by a demonic entity who intended to take residence in my body. In a matter of hours, I went from being an active, happy child to being nearly unresponsive and physically paralyzed in my parents’ bed. I remember feeling as though there was a silent, vacant space within my body, growing ever larger as the hours passed by - and something both foreign and unseen was attempting to occupy it. First, it began as a feeling of being watched early in the day as I played among the current bushes in the garden. Then, after dinner, I experienced a pain in my neck that quickly led to stiffness. Soon, I was unable to move my neck entirely. I complained to my mother who, at first, assumed I had been injured. As the evening wore on, the paralytic feeling in my neck spread to the rest of my body – down my arms, to my fingers. Down into my chest, and to my legs. My mother first thought I had contracted the measles, or some other illness from which my symptoms were a part. However, as she observed my actions and sudden change in disposition, she suspected that something more sinister was at play. As a child, I do not believe I understood much of what happened next. One moment, my mother was on the phone speaking with a man who’s voice I did not recognize. The next, a large, bearded man in a long, navy colored gown was in our home with my mother, speaking with her in the kitchen in a hurried voice. The man emerged with my mother from the kitchen carrying a series of strange objects: a medium-sized rattle made of a whittled stick and buckskin, a variety of small bags containing herbs and salts, and a pair of large, black, shiny crow wings – severed from the crow’s body to which they previously belonged. My mother, who has practiced an energy work called “quantum energetics” since the mid 60s, named this man as one of her previous colleagues. She asked me to be open and receptive to the “work” they were about to perform. My mother sat at the end of the bed with her eyes closed, both hands on my feet. The large man stood towering above me, and soon began to hum in words I did not know. As he hummed, my mother joined him in the song. My mother began to move her hands up and down my body, hovering a few inches above my skin. As she did so, the man rattled and chanted. After a few moments, he handed my mother the rattle, and began to sweep up and down my body with the two, large crow wings. Up and down, up and down, creating a whooshing sound with each pass. My mother flicked herbs and salts from the various bags onto me and around the bed. Their chanting and humming song grew ever louder, and I felt the strangest sensation of tingling all throughout my body. I could not resist closing my eyes, and when I did – I saw her. In my “mind’s eye,” as my mother called it, I saw a girl no more than a few years older than me. She was standing nearly 20 feet away in a dark blackness, with long, dirty brown hair and tattered clothes. Her jeans were ripped, and her pink and white striped shirt was stained and worn. I heard the chanting of my mother and the man, sounding like they were moving closer, and then farther away, quickly transforming to sound like they were in a distant room. As they continued to chant, the girl’s eyes met mine. They were glazed over and white, almost as though she was blind – but I knew she could see me. She looked right at me from across the blackness and began to make a series of strange faces, one after the other. Her mouth opened wide as her eyes opened wider. Staring directly at me, she stuck her tongue out, and then smiled a grim smile that did not appear human. I heard the chanting continue, now accompanied by the beat of a drum. The chanting grew louder and louder, and the girl continued to contort her face into strange expressions, faster and faster. After what felt like hours, the girl finally began to appear as though she was also hearing the chanting. She covered her ears, like she was hearing something too loud or too scary. She began to crouch onto the ground, hands covering her ears. She began to shake. Suddenly, from her crouched position, between the curtains of her long, dark, brown hair, she peered up at me with one last twisted smile and disappeared. The blackness was the only thing I could see before me, and yet, the drumming and chanting continued, now sounding as though it was coming from within my ears. After a few moments, the girl reappeared, inches from my face like a mother playing peekaboo with a child, hands outstretched beside her lifeless face, eyes wide. “HA!” – was the sound that came from her mouth, accompanying the attempted scare. At this, she dissipated into a mist among the blackness. Once this occurred, the blackness began to dissipate like my vision had been clouded by some foreign contaminant glazing over my eyes. The drumming and chanted slowed, and then ceased to a stop. My mother and the man were standing over the bed, looking at me as if awaiting the answer to a question that I had not heard asked. The man passed the crow wings over my body once more, and I felt the feeling returning to my limbs. The stiffness in my neck began to loosen, and I slowly moved my head from side to side. My mother let out a long sigh. The large, bearded man turned to my mother and nodded. They retreated with their strange objects back into the kitchen, and spoke in low tones, slower and less urgent than before. The large, bearded man left our house moments later, and my mother spent the rest of the night by my side in bed. The herbs and salt still littered the sheets. Something strange had occurred that day, and I did not completely understand it until I was older. I was used to seeing odd things and people in my “mind’s eye.” It was not until years later that I would learn, while not successful at occupying my body, the small demon girl had not yet left.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Behind the ivy vine curtains [pt. 1] [RESPONSE] It seems every town has at least one location every resident knows in great detail, as if the place's sole purpose is to produce memories that won’t let you go, be it good or bad. For some towns it’s a classic restaurant that managed to stay untouched since the mid 70s, for others it could be a simple road that sparks dozens of conspiracy theories and supernatural hauntings. For my hometown, it was a place we called the “ivy green forest.” Miles upon miles of nature in its purest form. Large lush trees, rushing streams, and wildlife running free, all of which hidden behind a large tree line bordering our town. A tree line completely swallowed by overgrown ivy vines, all twisting into one another to form sheets of emerald green that stretched from the highest branch to the lowest blade of grass. Like large theater curtains hiding away the stage set to make endless childhood memories. It was like our own fairytale forest, where our imaginations could completely take over. It gave off a sense of mystery that almost frightened us, yet even more so beckoned us…Nowadays it just may be the source of my greatest fears coming to life. It was here where my friends and I bonded most as we created whole worlds in our heads, some of which contained storylines spanning years that were surprisingly coherent for a bunch of kids. The cherry on top of it all was “fort emerald”. A giant treehouse we had built out of scrap wood and old playground equipment. Not to mention lots of help from our parents. As we got older this “castle for the elite knights of the emerald forest” turned into a prime hangout for us to stash contraband during our high school degenerate stage of life. Many nights were spent there where we’d all just sit around and stare into the world around us, and let me tell you that forest at night time is something else, as if the place gains a consciousness of its own. It were nights spent here where our fear took the wheel, and stories of cults, monsters and murderers lurking within the forest were soon forged and spred throughout our school. This ended up backfiring on us as it led to some unwanted attention in the form of those…out of the ordinary kids. You know the kind I'm talking about, the ones who fantasize over gore and meeting demons, that kind of shit. The worst of them was a kid named Scotty Hoppids. Granted we didn’t know how royally fucked in the head he was at first but we found out quick. He actually weaseled his way into our friend group and was considered a pretty cool guy, putting on the face of a laid back party dude. That mask would eventually slip off every now and then however and he would share a bit too much…say his fascination with internal organs, or his interest with murders involving supposed demonic possession. It was when we told these little horror stories was when it got real noticeable. The way he listened to them was like looking at a mentally deranged child who believed everything he just heard was the 100% truth and it made him absolutely ecstatic at the possibility of experiencing them first hand. Once we told him he was taking everything too seriously and letting him know it was us who made the stories up in the first place he completely flipped out, and started saying we all cheated him, and that he would prove us wrong before storming out of the fort. At first we simply laughed it off as we occasionally spotted him late at night skulking around in a vain attempt to find the “emerald forest demon” or “the bangeler street butcher” both fictional inhabitants of the forest he was fully aware came from the minds of stoned high schoolers. This humor turned to annoyance with how often he’d come by our once secret fort…which then turned to disturbance as his attempts to make contact with these characters from late night campfire stories got more extreme. Sometimes we’d come to the fort and be met with remnants of Scotty’s failed summoning rituals, things like pentagrams painted on our treehouse walls, or weird symbols carved into chicken bones scattered about the forest floor. Sometimes though…sometimes we’d catch scotty in the act of a blood sacrifice, carving up his arm with pencil sharpener razors. When that happened we decided it had gone too far and quickly dragged his ass to his moms house and explained the situation. She was unbothered to say the least. It was clear she had no real interest in worrying about her son's unstable mindset, and it wasn’t long until we caught him yet again in the forest with his arms covered in blood, but this time it wasn’t his. When we got closer we could see that he had gut a local kids cat and pinned the poor thing to our fucking treehouse wall. In a fucked up way though Scotty was responsible for my current state of employment, as it lead us to calling the cops and in turn, peaked my interest in criminal justice that lead to a long reserved seat behind a detectives desk. Now after all these years this desk has called me back to that fantasy forest of my childhood. It wasn’t exactly my job to take, simply a case of the right place at the right time. I was back in town for the week to celebrate my little sister graduating high school when all hell broke loose and I got a call from my friend Eli, one of the other founders of our little fort. Like me, Eli picked up an interest with law enforcement, however unlike me he had decided to remain local. It’s not a big town, population wise anyways and one with a very low crime rate. The local police force has maybe 10 officers total only having to deal with the occasional disgruntled drunk or rowdy teen…so when a triple homicide gets called in they take any available help. “Sal it’s bad man…fuck it’s real bad” Was the first thing he said when I answered. Already an unsettling start to the conversation, made even more so when I managed to calm him down enough to tell me what the situation was and where exactly he needed me, only to be told three bodies were found at our old childhood hangout spot, and before I knew it I had been standing in front of the once cherished structure, now bound in overgrowth and yellow caution tape. A place once housing fond childhood memories was now the epicenter of this town's most brutal tragedy. The dejá vu only got more disturbing as I entered the actual structure to witness the crime scene with my own eyes. Three college students, two male, one female, all maimed to the point DNA tests were required in order to identify the victims. All three bodies had been brutalized into a display of limbs and stripped bones formed into a circle. The sight alone was enough to send me into shock. I’ve dealt with some brutal stuff in my time but…fuck never something so gruesome. My shock only grew as I realized I was looking at a calling card…the calling card of one “bangeler street butcher.” The very same butcher Eli and I had made up well over a decade ago. What was not part of our fictional killer's original M.O however was the message written in the female victim's blood, scrawled across the floor in the center of the horrific display simply reading “welcome home.” I certainly don’t think our fictional killer has gained physical form, frankly I'd prefer if it were some sort of paranormal phenomenon, because as of now the only lead we have is one more connected to me than I like admitting. A local who went off the grid years ago after being sent to juvie for animal abuse, and never coming back home. The same kid who took such an unhealthy obsession to our stories in the first place, one Scott Hoppids. I’m currently writing this at my new temporary office at our local station, along with a half finished bottle of my good old friend jack. I’ve been going through any files on Scotty I can find with little luck. I haven’t been able to find anything that could help, nothing I didn’t already know anyways, but I'm not gonna stop until I get to the bottom of it all. I feel this case is one that has to be placed on my shoulders, because I can’t deny the fact I played a part in creating this monster. Even if this all turns out to be a massively unsettling coincidence I can’t just up and leave knowing there’s a killer somewhere in those forests I once held so closely. According to Eli Mrs. Hoppids is still in town, so it seems we will be paying her a little visit in the morning. Not now though, I just need some time to unpack all of this…and probably the rest of this jack to cope with the fact I probably planted the seed for this all in the first place.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm a night groundskeeper at a golf course. I found the journal of my predecessor Part 3 [RESPONSE] Last two entree here: When I came back to work the next night I’m not ashamed to say that I had a bit of a skip in my step as I went in. I was excited to be back working and making the money that I was. I had been sent a new offer letter from Levin and the figures on there were outstanding. I nearly burst into tears when I signed my name on the virtual document. I sat down in the same chair like I always did, but somehow it just felt more comfortable. The cushions felt more plush, the back rest felt softer on me, hell I couldn’t even hear the chair squeak anymore when I leaned back. I reached into the desk to grab the journal, but felt only the hard wood of the drawer. I looked down into it and flashed a light inside and nothing. I pulled the drawer out of the desk and examined the space inside. Still nothing. I was beginning to panic now. How the hell was I gonna get through this without the heads up from the journal? “Looking for this?” A voice called out from in front of the booth. I looked through the glass and saw that it was Levin. He held the journal up and was waving it around with a smile. “Come on man. I need that thing.” I said annoyed. “You need to keep your wits about you. That's what you need to do. This journal can only help you so much. When it comes to the real word, this is nothing more than ink on paper.” He rounded the corner and opened the door. He handed me the journal and then to my surprise, he took a seat beside me. He propped his feet up on the desk and leaned back and took out a packet of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and lit one. After taking a long drag and exhaling I realized that he wasn’t smoking a cigarette at all. He looked and tried to pass it to me, but I declined. “Look Martin, from here on out things are gonna get a bit more interesting for you. I’m going to need you to learn fast if you're going to continue working with us. This place, as you have seen, isn’t like any other golf course known to man.” “What, is it haunted or something?” I asked. “That’d be a fucking understatement. The function of this place causes a divide between our world and another. That divide is like a beacon of sorts to the denizens of that other place. Some are friendly, but most are not.” “Ahh, so we are like ghost hunters then?” “I wish, some of these things need to be put in the dirt, but our job is to keep the peace. We’re more like arbiters in a sense. If there’s trouble we try to fix it in the most amicable way possible. Sometimes a little compromise is needed on both ends. That’s where we come in.” “What about those dead animals you killed last night?” I asked. “That was the best solution to a mutual problem we’ve been having with one of the resident entities. Those animals were a bad omen and needed to be put down before they spread and became an even bigger issue.” “Who was the entity?” I asked. “I’ll show you. It’s about time you met the boss.” Levin got up and walked out the door and I followed after him. Just over the water trap by hole 2 was a small bridge leading to a different part of the wood. As we traveled the sparse vegetation became thicker and more dense. I felt like I was being suffocated by branches and twigs and the tall grass scrapped at my shins. Eventually, we came to a small alcove in the woods that looked to have been cleared away by someone. In that alcove stood a lone tree. Its trunk was massive, double the width of two men. The bark was a deep red almost that of mahogany, but the deep lenticels in the bark were a shade of olive brown. They moved and swayed as if the tree itself were taking deep breaths in and out. There was a wide slit that creased in the center of its trunk. It looked like someone had stripped its bark into a diamond shape. “Sir, I’ve brought our newest recruit to meet you.” Levin said to the tree. I looked at him and squinted. This man was addressing a fucking tree. I thought I was gonna meet the person that signed my checks, not something that’d make a great rocking chair. I was ready to just turn around and leave when I heard a raspy voice call out to me. “Be not afraid.” I looked back at the tree and I had to take a few steps back when I registered what I was looking at. Two eyes had opened above the diamond recess and inside the diamond was a very human mouth. The mouth was as large as the trunk itself. It looked like the thing could have me for dinner with only a single bite. The eyes were tiny in comparison, but they looked just as human. I was at a loss for words. “I am Gabriel, keeper of the divide. You must be my new hands, I so much have been needing another set.” He spoke slowly, almost like he had to fight for every word to come out. The eyes looked down on me. It felt like he was judging me with his gaze. “There is much work to be done, for he arrives once again, to tear into the divide.” Gabriel said. “W-who?” I managed to muster out. “The one who sings. I can hear it now. The orchestra of a thousand souls wailing in agony. The song will reach its climax soon. That is why I must employ you.” “What can I do? I just started.” I said. “Learn from the ones who came before. They will show you the way. However, he may try and trick you. Do not be deceived. To listen to his sinful tune is to be marked. Then you shall be his, forevermore, and made to sing. I bestow upon you a gift from the divide, a pennant for triumphs to come and ones long past.” A large branch slowly came down from the tree. On it was a gold watch. The metal shimmered in the moonlight. I could see the familiar gemstones that adorned it also. I took it and put it in my pocket. “Now go. Learn to be the hands I so desperately need. Heed the words of the past and covet the future with paternal love. I shall be watching.” With those last words Gabriel reverted back to the still tree he once was. I looked over to Levin, who had taken a seat. He looked somber, almost defeated. He pulled out his watch and rubbed his thumb around the ruby button. “So maybe a little warning next time? Didn’t expect to meet a damn tree god or whatever out here.” I said. “He's a bit much when you first meet him huh.” Levin said. “Well that's an understatement. What's the deal with the watches anyway?” I asked. “God from the machine.” He stated flatly. “And that means…” I waved both my hands motioning him to explain further. “Think of it as a get out of jail free card. You're in a jam, use the watch.” “How though? Any pointers?” I asked. “Well, they work differently for everyone. But generally speaking gold is fucked, green is really fucked, and red is oh my fucking god I'm super fucked right now.” Levin laughed at that last part. “But mileage may vary. Now, let's get back to the booth, you've still gotta job to do.” We went back to the booth and parted ways for the night. Levin told me to keep doing things as usual. That if any of the denizens needed my help that they would know where to find me. He also told me to be respectful. So, after meeting a damn tree and being given a magical watch, here I sit. I honestly don’t know what to make of it all. The fear is definitely subsiding though and I actually think it’s being replaced with excitement. Here I am in a whole new reality really and I actually play an important role in it. I won’t say that I’m at all ready for what lay ahead or that I wont shit a brick when one of these denizens actually comes knocking. All I know is when they do I’ll try my best. Until then, I've got some reading to do. The next entree reads as follows: *After that ordeal with the phone and the letter I decided to leave and stay at a hotel for the time being. My wife asked me about it and I gave her some bullshit excuse, she obviously didn't buy it. I think she suspects I’m cheating on her now and honestly I’d rather that be the case. Regardless of what she may believe I have to keep whatever this is from her and the kids. Even if that means being accused of adultery.* *I think after all that has happened quitting isn’t going to be a viable option anymore. That thing was in my house. Now I think it’s in me. The only way I can see to get out of all this, or at least get some answers, is to find this woodsman.* *So, once 11PM rolled around I got in my car and drove to work. The booth was just as I left it a few nights prior. However, that wasn’t where I’d be carrying out my shift. I walked right past it and into the woods by hole 5. I was armed with two flashlights, one mounted to my head and the other held tightly in my left hand. I also brought a collapsible baton just in case I needed to defend myself.* *The woods looked foreboding as I eased myself into the thick trees. It felt like the branches and leaves were pulling me in, like they couldn't wait for me to enter their dark depths. I shone my flashlight every which way causing the shadows it cast to jump around springing from one branch to the other. My eyes darting back and forth trying to keep tabs on what I thought may have been lurking within those shadows. I was almost in full panic mode before I decided to just take a knee and close my eyes to try and collect myself. It would do me no good panicking.* *Yes, I was scared. Yes, I didn’t know where I was going or what I was doing.* *I took a breath. I inhaled the cool air of the night and felt as if all the anxiety I had would overflow in my lungs and they’d burst out of my chest. I exhaled and all the anxiety and panic went with it.* *Yes, I could find my way through these woods. Yes, I will find the woodman. Yes, I can do this.* *I opened my eyes and found a grassy path now laid before me. The trees on either side were outstretched away from the path, almost as if my very breath blew them aside to make way for me. I had no idea what happened. Had I done that or were these woods playing tricks on me?* *I saw dim light at the end of the path, it looked to be a good distance away. Not seeing any other options I started heading down the path towards the light.* *A soft breeze fell on my back as I started down the path. It felt like the very wind was pushing me from behind, beckoning me further into the unknown. The trees rustled alongside me and I turned my head to get a look into the darkness that lay behind their wooden bodies. I couldn’t see much, however, it wasn’t what lay behind the trees that caught my attention. It was the trees themselves.* *Instead of the thick brown trunks I was used to seeing, they were now thin and gray. They looked withered and leathery, really worn out. Something about them seemed familiar and not the good kind. The kind of familiar that's accompanied by dread. Like seeing a movie from your childhood that used to give you nightmares and keep you up at night. I couldn’t put my finger on it until I looked up and saw the many glowing eyes staring back at me.* *My headlamp illuminated the once mysterious creatures and I wish to god they had stayed a mystery. Their heads were far up into the canopy, but I could still clearly see their facial features. Their faces were just as gray and withered as the rest of their bodies. They wore huge grins that stretched across the entirety of their face. Their rough hair swayed from the top of their heads unnaturally. Like gravity was a mere suggestion.* *They had mouths as black as the spaces between stars, the light emitting from my headlamp was only food for the black abyss they had just under their glowing eyes. It was odd, their eyes were so full of intense light, yet they didn’t illuminate any of the surrounding area.* *I stood there for a moment both frozen in terror and unsure what my next move would be. They just watched me. Every one of them had their eyes fixated on me, unmoving like the trees they pretended to be.* *I took my eyes off of the creatures and glanced at the light down at the end of the path. It looked a lot brighter now and I could see faint colors of different hues dancing within the warm glow.* *I decided to just keep moving forward. I definitely wasn’t going to run into the thicket of those tall things on either side of me. So I walked and every once in a while I looked up at the creatures, eyes still fixated on me and still grinning.* *I kept walking along the path for a bit, but I didn’t seem to be getting any closer to the light. Nonetheless I kept putting one foot in front of the other and trying to keep those tall things out of my mind. I could hear my footsteps hit the grass as I walked along, everything else was quiet.* *Thump, Thump, Thump… I walked along.* *Th-Thump, Th-Thump- Th-Thump…* *I could only just hear it, but I was sure. There was someone walking just behind me. Their footsteps, only slightly out of sync with my own. I’m not sure why but something told me not to look back, to just keep on walking. It was as if my primal instinct to survive was telling me whatever was behind me was not to be witnessed.* *I looked up and the tall creatures were now looking just behind me and their grins had faded into angry frowns. Whatever it was behind me wasn’t welcome in this part of the woods, I assumed. Yet they still stared silently and unmoving.* *I don’t think whatever it was behind me had noticed that I realized it was there yet. So I kept walking and decided to change up my stride and hesitate just before putting my foot down. I heard it hesitate too, then stumble trying to regain its footing, until finally failing to do so and falling down with a huge thud onto the grass. I can’t believe it haha! I just made the fucking thing trip!* *I let a quick laugh escape my mouth. I looked up and the tall creatures again wore their wide grins. Seems like I wasn’t the only one who found that funny.* *The comedy was short lived, because a deep guttural roar assaulted my ears from behind. I decided now was a good time to start running. It only took the thing about half a second to catch up to me. I could hear the soft huff of its heavy breathing as we ran down the path and what I thought sounded like hooves closing the distance.* *I doubted I would be able to make it to the light in time and even if I did what then. The monster behind me would be upon me light at the end or not so I had to think of another way out of here.* *I pulled the baton from my pocket and threw it behind me, not even bothering to expand it. I heard a quick bonk followed by another roar, however the monster didn’t even break stride.* *Thinking I had absolutely no options left I pulled out the golden watch and pressed the gold button. All of a sudden a huge burst of wind blasted from behind me and swept me off my feet. The tall creatures came from all sides and positioned themselves directly behind me, pushing at my back along with the wind.* *I could hear the crashing of meat against itself and bones becoming dust as I continued to be thrusted forward. I heard another roar from behind me as more carnage ensued, but soon the sounds became distant.* *The wind and creatures brought me directly to the light at the end of the path. They sat me down softly and I realized the light that I had seen was actually a fire. A fire that danced and shimmered with so many different colors, some of which I had never seen. I took a step towards it, but was stopped by a voice.* *“I wouldn’t get too close. Fire will burn ya kid.”* *I looked to my left and there sat a lonely looking man, eyes staring deeply into the fire. He wore a huge axe strapped to his back. He turned to look at me and just shook his head.* *“Welcome to the woods kid. You're in more trouble than you realize.”* *There’s more to this entry, but I think I heard a tap at my door. So duty calls I guess. I’ll make sure to fill you guys in on the next entree and I guess what happens to me also. Wish me luck.*<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm never doubting myself [RESPONSE] I lived in a relatively small town in northern America. Aside from the groaning teenagers complaining it was "*dead as hell"* there, everything was relatively calm. But *of course* theres an exception, what would the point of the post be? A few years back, I was hitting the bars with some of my friends when we all suddenly overheard the news broadcast talking about a little boy who got abducted, in another small village a few miles from home. Gone, out of plain sight. As if the alcohol wasn't doing enough to my wellbeing, news like these, my simply drunk mind couldn't handle. Thinking back, it seemed like the feeling was mutual between my peers and I, because suddenly all of us rowdy, drunks got quiet and didn't know better than to stare at the bottom of our glasses. So I excused myself and went to go freshen myself up. When I came back, I saw the peak of a livid discussion breaking loose in the group. As soon as they saw me, they all went quiet again. Now would be a good time to tell you that they were talking about the *grand mysterious* myth of our city, which I passionately hated. "The hiding deer". To be honest I didn't know the origins of it, I thought- probably some elders who were bored and started gossiping, but what I do know is that a large number of citizens believe there is someone, or rather something hiding in the ring woods. In order to get out of the village, you have to drive through a forest which is surrounding everything and out city. It is a good place for camping, hunting and hiking, but is not such a good place at night, when darkness falls upon it. Because that is when they come out, slowly and aimlessly wandering the woods looking for something to pick up. Sounded extremely cheese and lazily made up in my opinion, so I never believed it. But my friends were convinced that it was the "deer". The oldest of us, Nick, offered a solution to our disagreement. A bet. We could go out and see for ourselves instead of sitting and debating like "*fighting ladies"*. Drunk, cocky and stupid I made a goddamn, stupid, mistake. I agreed. First few steps in to the wood and we all felt happy, some of us laughed, joking around. But the deeper we got into the forest, something, and god do I not know what, but something changed. Now I don't know, maybe I was just imagining this feeling, but it felt off. Like we shouldn't have been there, not at that time or place. Interrupting my thoughts, Jared, the reasonable one, suggested we'd call it a night and all go home. I was about to speak when Nick loudly exclaimed that we could all go home, but he would stay and "find out" himself. Oh, how I wish I could've screamed, cried, begged for them to run out and drag them out of this mess, although I didn't. For *god knows* what reason, we all continued, when no one left. This next part is a frenzy, and hard to believe, even for me. There were four of us, including me. The other three were Nick, Jared and Ali. Nick was all bouncy and happy, racing infront of us, seeming to not get affected by the invisible atmosphere all the other of us went through. I saw him turn his back and give us a wide grin, for the last time, before he disappeared into the woods. When we all realised we couldn't see him anymore, we thought he was pulling our leg. We played along and thought he was going to come back. Until it went a few minutes and we realised he wasnt. A low call for his name, suddenly turned into a frantic screaming. As you might know from the pattern of the story- that everything is built off of stupid decisions, our next step was to split up. For a few minutes I could only see tree branches, darkness and the only voice, being my calls for Nick. Then I heard Alis screams coming closer to me, and a wave of relief washed over me. I swear I could see his face for a split second before his voice suddenly got cut off and, a thump. There i stood completely fucking stupid and started walking backwards. A mistake, maybe we are just drunk and we'll find each other again, I'm getting the fuck out of here, were the thoughts that rushed through my mind, trying to justify the act of me helplessly running out of the woods. Then I stumbled and fell as well. When I opened my eyes, and to this day that moment scarred me, I saw a shoe. A small dirty, bright blue velcro shoe, with yellow laces, a white sole and a sewed on "sticker" of Wolverine. Next thing, my hands flew to my phone as I dialed 911, screaming and, eyes filled with tears, running and running until the dispatcher promised that I was safe, and that help was on the way. Blue and red lights, a blanket over my shoulders and somehow I made it to bed. Next day our local news were flooded with the news of the three missing boys. The nearest reporter made their way to my door but I never bothered to open. A few days later I gathered up enough courage to get out of bed and try to go out. But the reminders kept coming. "Have you seen him", "Please help us find.." "Find ...". For closure, I returned back to the forest. It was prohibited from entering, since a police investigation was going on, but outside of the forest edge, three high mountains of candles, flowers and pictures of my dearest friends were flooded, in a way I will never seem to forget. In the end I realised I couldn't forget and that my small city was suffocating me with memories and guilt. Some nightmares and panic attacks later, I decided to move. As I am writing this I am far away from that city, from those memories. But let this be an important lesson for all of you all.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I've been searching for a lost and accursed videogame, called 'Polybius'. And tonight, I think I might have found it. [RESPONSE] The wind rustles the paper in my hand, and I clench it a little tighter to prevent it from blowing away. I glance down to it, then back up to the building before me. Faded pink and neon teal glimmer and flicker through the rising force of the rain. KAGAMI GAMING reads a sign above the door. The G of KAGAMI buzzes as it flashes in and out of focus. The colors of the neon reflect in the pooling puddles below, and in the dark, watery glass of the building’s windows ahead. …This is the place, alright. I stuff the paper back into my pocket and I stride towards the doors, grabbing the handle of the closest and hauling it open, easing my way inside. Met with a sudden rush of warmth, I stop in the entrance lobby and open the front of my jacket, dripping steadily onto the 90s style carpet beneath my feet. I look around apologetically as the door bangs shut behind, but there is no-one here to scold me. Despite the flashing lights and the whirr of the machines, I appear to be entirely alone. Arcade machines are stacked clumsily together in here, corridors between them created through careless chance, not by any apparent design. Some of the machines tower high up above me, way towards the ceiling and into the humming silver pipes in the shadows above. I think to call out, then decide against it, heading instead to the counter at my right. There’s a computer monitor upon it but little else. I decide to wait to see if anyone will appear to talk to me. Behind the counter and against the wall is a large glass cabinet filled with prizes. I drum my fingers against the desk as I look the cabinet over. Gumballs and Toxic Waste candies line the bottom shelf. 5 tickets apiece. Beside them, a Stretch-Armstrong toy: 30 tickets. And there’s some weirder stuff too. A pair of oversized, novelty glasses with ‘FOCUS’ written across them. 10 tickets. The lenses seem to shimmer in green and a bright, glittery blue when you move your head from side to side There’s a Magic 8-Ball in there on the shelf above. 500 reward tickets, is the cost for this. A lava-lamp too. 950 reward tickets required. A Nintendo *Gamecube*, 4440 tickets. *When did they last update this thing?* I wonder. Or perhaps the Gamecube was a deliberate choice. This place must get its fair share of retro-fans and old-school geeks. A lot of them would be keen to get their hands on something like a Gamecube, I should think. My eyes zigzag up the cabinet towards the very top, where the highest-cost prizes are kept on display. There’s a power-glove; looks like it could be an accessory to some old-fashioned console, but I don’t recognize the brand. And there’s an ‘EXIT’ sign in there too; a novelty one, I guess, looks like one you’d find above an actual emergency exit, except the little stick figure has a triangle for a head in place of a circle. Weird. This item costs 10000 tickets. I glance back into the arcade. Still, no-one. Just me. I lean over the counter to look at the computer screen, but the thing is dead dark. There are no lights upon the monitor and I’m not even sure if it’s switched on. “Okay then”, I murmur to myself, giving up, and leaving the desk for the arcade proper, making my way up the lobby steps and into glimmer of the lights. I weave my way through the machines as they beep and flash. I recognize a DDR machine. Dance-Dance Revolution. There’s a game with a plastic drum-set attached, and another with a similarly oversized keyboard. Many of the games are in Japanese, and as such both the title and the game’s rules are a mystery, but they whirr alongside their brothers, lights a-flash as they try to entice me in. But I’m not here for them. There’s only one game I’m looking to find, this evening. …And that’s *Polybius.* This is the place. It has to be. All routes have led me here. I pass by a claw machine and pause, taking a curious look through the glass. The claw hangs in place, and the interior is stuffed to the brim with little plush characters. I don’t recognize from which franchise as the characters all look rather generic. Just regular people, albeit a little more anime-ified. Their expressions are all the same, though. …Unhappy. Their mouths have been sewn into little frowns, their black little eyes stare out at me, and I shiver as I continue on along my way. I spend the better part of an hour searching the building. It’s deceptively larger than it appears on the outside, and has two accessible floors. My search yields no further clue as to the location of Polybius. The lost and legendary game. I try again, taking greater care to track my route, but another hour passes and still, nothing. And still I am yet to see a single other person. Occasionally a machine makes a unusual noise; or a pipe sends out an irregular creak, and every time I shoot a quick and anxious look back over my shoulder into the neon-sparkled gloom. Expecting to see the source of a footstep, or some strange figure, stalking me through the shadows… …But each and every time, there is simply no-one there. I keep as best a hold on my fears and my frustrations as I can, and I try for a third time. I stick close to the windowless walls at the building’s far side. Winding my way through machines. I pass, for the second time, a *photo booth*, promising fun and memories within. As before I pull back the curtain and look inside. …Nothing. Just as you’d expect. A seat in the centre, a blank, dead screen, and a buzzing overhead light. The other side of the booth is blocked by a second curtain. … …And this time, I am compelled to reach out for it. To step into the booth. To take the curtain in my hand and to pull it to the side. …And beyond, is revealed a passage. A passage marked by the dank and dusty wall on oneside, and the rear side of a basketball hoop-throw game on the other. Both of these ‘walls’ tower high up above me, and the passage leads away into the gloom. With an anxious swallow I tap the flashlight to my phone and venture forward into the unknown, pushing past the curtain and easing my way down this hidden corridor. To my right, the backing railings and barriers created by the basketball machine give way to their neighbor, another hoop-throw machine. This in turns gives way to dank and dusty wall in a mirror to the wall on my left. There are old, torn arcade posters plastered up against these walls, and I cast my flashlight across them as I walk between them, heart beating hard. There’s a poster for the classic Pac-man, though it is devoid of color. Black and white and greyscale. There are numerous ghosts, too. More than the familiar four, I mean. The image depicts Pac-man himself traversing a maze riddled with ghosts, and every single one is looking right at him. The poster beside it is for an early version of Dance-Dance Revolution. The faces of the teenagers on the machine have been scratched out, and there is what appears to be blood leaking from their shoes. A third poster along my way has been badly torn. The remaining edges, and what I can see upon them, imply that the text was in Japanese, and the corner of what looks like an artist’s rendition of a barrel suggest that this may have been a poster for the original Donkey Kong. A hole has been drawn in the barrel, and if I squint, I think I can make out what appears to be a cartoon eye looking back at me. It’s hard to tell. The colors have faded with time. I turn away. Reorienting my gaze to the route ahead. The corridor eventually opens into a room far smaller than the hall of the arcade proper, but still just big enough to get lost in. There are no doors that I can see. No windows. Just more arcade machines, shoved together and positioned at awkward angles. Their cables cover the length of the floor like jungle vines, and the lights overhead are dim and blue. *This whole room is a massive fire hazard,* I think idly as I step over and between these cables, tapping off the flashlight on my phone. The machines in here are stranger than the ones in the main hall. They are more unusual shapes. Their colors less predictable. I do not recognize a single familiar title. Some look similar, sure, but they aren’t quite right. There’s a Street Fighter knockoff, though this one is called ‘Bronx Battle’. I head over to it out of curiosity, and slide a quarter into the game slot. “PLAYER, START!” the machine proclaims in a voice so deep yet so sharp that I am taken aback with fright for a moment. I shake my head and collect myself, reaching for the joystick, but the screen shows me only a glitched New York landscape. A character select icon appears, and several boxes along with it… but the boxes are empty. I can move the character select window around the screen, but there *are* no characters. As I furrow my brow in confusion, the game ‘selects’ for me. The screen fades to black, and when it fades back in the 2D side-profile of a New York street is presented to me, but again, there are no characters. Several fighting sound-effects begin to play through the speakers. The screen flashes red, and every time it does so the joystick thrums and shivers. “The fuck?” I mutter, randomly tapping buttons in an attempt to ‘fight back’, I guess… but it is futile. In seconds, I am met with a ‘loser’ sound effect, and ‘GAME OVER’ appears on the screen. White text. I step away from the machine, unsure of what exactly it was that I just played, but whatever. As I said before, I’m not here for these games. It’s just Polybius I’ve come to find. My quest leads me around a corner and into a little alley created between two rows of machines. The end is shrouded in darkness, and a single arcade machine stands there, half-hidden in shadow. My heart leaps. I take a step towards it. *Can it be…* I can scarcely believe it, but there’s no denying it now. *…Polybius.* In all its glory. A heavy black machine with a single, semi-translucent green joystick, and four similarly styled buttons beside. A green diamond in the centre of the screen flashes in, and out. In, and out. Expanding and decreasing, over and over. Over, and over. I head right to it. As if in a dream, step after step, closing in on the end result of my long, long search. Polybius draws closer. A picture of darkness amidst such chaotic flashing and whirring. …But the flashing and whirring dims as I approach the machine. It becomes little more than backing murmur, if even that. It’s out of mind. Out of focus. Dulled, white noise. Gray noise. The flashes don’t even appear in the corners of my eyes as I take a long, deep breath. Standing before Polybius, the game of legend. And here I am. Successful. A winner. About to play what thousands have only dreamed of playing. I am fearful even to blink, afraid that if I take my eyes off of Polybius for even a fraction of a second that it might simply disappear from sight, forever. I place my hands upon its surface, as if to confirm that it is real. There are stories about this machine. Twisted stories. Some said the game breaks minds. Some say it triggered memories that the players didn’t even know they had. …Some even said it caused seizures, but I don’t know how much I believe that. We’ll see. Maybe I’m an idiot, but I don’t care. I have found it. I’ve proved that it is possible to be found, and that I am capable of great discoveries such as this one. I grab the joystick and press one of the buttons. The green diamond onscreen shimmers through a shining, glittering blue, then freezes… and finally disappears altogether. I am plunged into a silent darkness, and am conscious of nothing but my own breathing. In, and out. In, and out. And then the game begins. A low hum emanates from the screen, and ‘POLYBIUS’ appears across it, pixelated. Below the title, ‘insert coin’ appears. I do so with a shaking hand, and after I hear the chime of the coin being accepted into the depths of the machine, the screen changes once again. “Here we go”, I murmur with a grin, and the game begins. At once my body goes cold. The excitement I felt is replaced almost immediately with a river of dread rushing through me, but my determination and curiosity holds, grim and hard as iron. I control a polyhedral green man. Comprised of lines that glow in the darkness. I am alone in a vast, black plain, and I am running. The horizon flows dimly from green to blue, and my character is running. I press the joystick forwards, and he runs a little faster. *This is it. I’m playing Polybius, I’m actually playing the lost game!* I lean closer to the screen until it encompasses my entire field of vision. “Where are we going, little man?” I mutter, as we race across the black plain. I pass by curious shapes and objects, all comprised of thin, glowing green bars. I try to interact with these structures, but there is no feature that allows this. So I just keep running. My eyes glance up to the corner of the black sky: SCORE: 0, it reads. There’s a little gray dot, also. A single pixel, perhaps, just hanging there below it. *Hmm. Alright.* I start tapping buttons at random. I push the joystick as far forwards as it will go. My green polyhedral man sprints through the void, and ahead, the sky begins to split. I squint and stare right at it, as the black gives way to a shimmering blue-green. I pass by more ruined, glitchy structures, and at last I pass through into the tear in the sky. All around me now is the glimmer. The graphics have warped and changed significantly, and I find myself running through an ancient cavern, all styled in black and blue and green. *Weird…* A noise begins to rise all around me. A haunting sound, a chorus of voices, though I cannot make out what they are saying. The sound frightens me. I struggle to disconnect myself from the game. I try to release the joystick and to take a step back, but I cannot do so. I am not even aware of there being any joystick in my hand. I cannot distinguish myself from my character. I panic, but I cannot keep myself from running. Ever forwards. I pass between enormous statues, rendering in broken parts and pixels from the black darkness ahead as I approach. I look up at them as I pass. Some have the rough appearance of people, though with ugly, blocky features. They all appear unhappy. A few have faces etched with deep, sad lines. Others are tensed in bitter rage; in anger. REX reads the pedestal of the statue to my left. JON reads the one beside it. I turn my head. CYN reads another, carved into the graphic of the stone. PRY reads another. I do not understand. I want to make the game stop, but I don’t know how. I look up ahead. Eyes watch from the darkness. Eyes of blue and green. Disembodied. *…Or… or are they? Are they connected to something?* Something begins to render from the black, fading into a deep gray. A sense of terrible doom threatens to overcome me. *It’s a game. It’s just a GAME. Just STOP. FOR GOD’S SAKE, JUST STOP PLAYING!* …And then, with a sudden outburst I regain control and release the joystick. I tear my hand from the buttons as if shocked with electricity, and I stumble backwards from Polybius and crash to the floor, panting, and sweating. Staring at the screen shows only green and blue pixels: jumbled, glitching from left to right across the display. *The fuck..? But- but it was so real… Or at least, if not ‘real’, as such, it was still… all-encompassing.* Whatever. I’m done, for now. I’ve proved the game’s existence. I had a go. I’ll be back. I’ll be back with everything I need, for now I just want to get out. The lack of windows is starting to get to me. Claustrophobia has begun to creep its way into my system. So I turn and scramble to my feet, hastily passing between the beeps and lights of the strange arcade games, stumbling my way across the heavy wires that trail the floor. I scan my eyes from left to right, looking for the way back. For that narrow, shadowy passage that’ll take me to the main hall, and in doing so my foot gets caught beneath a cable. “AGH!” I cry out, losing my balance. The floor rushes towards me as my stomach drops, I fall forwards… …And in doing so, I lurch myself *awake.* … I blink. All I see is the green polyhedral man, running his way across the black field. My character. I blink again and look up to the sky. SCORE: 0. That same gray pixel. *…The hell is going on?* I try to move. My character jolts. I can feel the joystick between my fingers, but… but why can’t I see it? When I try to raise my hand all I see is the green polyhedral man doing the same. I begin to panic. “H-HEY!” I call out into the void. “HELLO? What’s going on?” I am answered by nothing but the hum of Polybius. I try to escape. My character twists from side to side. I crash into the edge of one of those half-formed, glitchy green structures. Truculent. Skeletal. Impossible to tell what it might once have been, or what, if anything, it’s supposed to *be*. I feel a buzz reverberate through my bones, and I am compelled once again to head towards that split in the sky on the horizon. The blue-green shimmer between the black. *Is this a dream? Did I fall and hit my head?* I am once again running through the ancient cavern. 3D, low-quality graphics in black and blue and green. I am struck for a second time with that haunting chorus of voices, I pass between the same enormous statues, watching over me with their cold, stony eyes… To my left is the statue engraved with REX. Stooped. Hunched. Silent. Beside him is JON. Hands clenched at his sides. I swivel from head from left to right. There is CYN, a woman, I think, with stone hair draped over the side of her face. There is PRY, a humanoid figure with an enormous eye carved where her face should be. The statues frighten me now as they did before, and above… more eyes. Looking down at me. Shifting in the dark. I make it further this time. The music increases in speed, just a little, and gaps begin appearing in the floor. The floor itself starts to shift and roll, and I am forced to jump up and over and between to avoid falling down into the growing void that spills from the cracks. “Jesus CHRIST!” I shout out loud in alarm. “HELP! SOMEONE GET ME OUT!” I pass by a statue with an arm missing, and a chunk lost from its chest. CRK, is inscribed. I pass another with its hands clasped before it as if in prayer. HPE, is inscribed. The eyes above creep closer. The thing that connects them begins to warp itself back into view, rendering slowly, as if through mist… *It’s a game. It’s just a game, or an unconscious dream.. Just snap out of it! WAKE UP!* I focus hard on the feel of the joystick. The buttons. Forcing my brain to accept that none of this is real. WAKE UP! I blink, and find myself staring at Polybius’ screen. At the green triangle that glows beneath the game’s title. I throw myself from the machine and turn from it at once, sprinting away, crashing into others in my haste to escape. I check myself and look down at the floor, watching my feet so as to be sure not to trip as I did before. I find what I am looking for, a shadowy gap leading away, and I run down it, passing by the disturbing posters as I approach the photo booth from the opposite side. I grab the booth’s curtain and draw it back, passing into the darkness of the void. …I am still running. And I am unable to stop. I look down at my hand. Green, blocky. I am running across the plains of Polybius. “NO!” I scream, turning around at once, trying to get back… But in all directions is just that same horizon. Endless black field. Glitchy green ruins. And the blue-green shimmer beyond at the horizon’s edge. The crack in the sky. And above: SCORE: 0. “FUCK, FUCK, FUCK! HELP! SOMEONE HELP!” But there is no-one to help. No-one to respond. A terrible sensation of vertigo sends my head swimming; I veer from the left to the right and the blue-green shimmer shines brighter. I try to escape, but its like the horizon orients itself depending on which way I am looking, and after a while I am helpless to do a thing but to pass through it, and back into the hall of statues with its crumbling, shifting floors. I grit my teeth as I stumble from block to block, hopping over cracks, throwing out my arms for balance as the ground raises me up. I shoot a glance over to my right, now eye-level with the statue of CRK, with its missing arm and the chunk lost from its chest. Its stone eyes stare coldly back into mine, and the darkness shimmers and glitches overhead. I leap my way down the rise and crumble of the various platforms, looking for any sign of hint of a clue, or a way out… and as I pass by statue after statue I eventually come to what might well be the hall’s ‘end’, as there is a statue directly ahead, where there hasn’t been one before. He emerges from the mist. A forlorn and colossal figure in shades of gray and faded, mossy green sits before me upon an enormous throne. His eyes are sunken and his head lolled to one side. He wears a crown that has been carved from his head, and inscribed upon his great pedestal is ‘KNG’. *KNG…* I look up into KNG’s face as I run towards him, and in his face I see a reflection of my own. …My own face, reflected in the darkness of Polybius’ screen. I look down to my hands. I am clutching the joystick and hovering over the buttons. The muscles in my legs ache, they tremble and buckle at the knees… But I am myself. As I was before. I carefully release control of the machine, backing slowly and steadily away. I tear my eyes away from my own in the Polybius screen, and take cautious step after step towards the exit. I know the way back. “Please”, I mutter, looking down at my hands with every step, clenching them, unclenching… Tracing the metal of the machines beside me to confirm that they are indeed real. They are cold against my fingertips. My ears rings as I creep back through that dark, deserted corridor. Back past the posters and the rear side of the basketball games… I open the curtain to the photo booth with a wince… … …And inside I see the room as I expected to. A little seat. A screen and a camera. I allow myself a brief sigh of relief, then ease back the curtain that will return me to the main lobby. The view is the one I had hoped to see. A hall filled with arcade games all beeping and flashing. That 90s style carpet, the musty, fusty smell that greeted me upon my entrance. With heart still hammering I quickly cross the threshold, shooting a look back over my shoulder, at the vast black plains of Polybius and the blue-green shimmer on the horizon. …I swivel back around at once, but my view remains the same. I am running. There are no arcade machines here. There are only polygonal green ruins. SCORE: 0 hangs above me in a cold black sky. My head throbs, and with a painful jolt up my stomach and into my throat, I feel myself vomit… Though I cannot see any evidence of its presence, a sudden and strong smell wafts up and into my nostrils. “How the hell do I get out? What have I done?” I whisper to myself as I tear across that horribly familiar landscape. This twisted, ruined game-world. But I do not know. I am stuck. Over and over I play this game. I try everything I can to escape. I search as best I can the glitchy green ruins, and find nothing. I am able to climb to the top of one such ruin, and another glitches into appearance… But when I head over to this freshly generated wreck it simply disappears before I can reach it. Who even cares. It looked just the same as all the others. I pass through the hall, again and again. I make it to KNG again and put a hand on his pedestal. I pass right through him and find myself back in front of the arcade game. Reality blurs with the game as I struggle to tell which aspects are real. I feel the gaze of that terrible, monstrous shadow up above me… In the hall of statues, and in the arcade. I throw open the front doors to a green and 8-bit rain. I can feel its wetness against my skin, but when I try to flee I find myself running through the void of Polybius’ black plains. I lose feeling in my legs. They burn and throb with pain, but I do not know if I am even stretching them when I run, or if it’s all still a part of Polybius’ simulation. The SCORE changes. It goes up to 1. Then, to 2. And to 3. Sometimes I am able to pull myself from the game at will. Sometimes I need to reach the hall, or even KNG himself. Sometimes when I try to escape I can make it outside. Sometimes I get lost in the arcade as my surroundings bleed into the black desert’s green ruins. Sometimes I can barely turn around… my head swimming as the lights of the backroom blur with the blue-green shimmer on the horizon. I reach the end of the hall for an unknown time, mind hazy as I try to pass KNG right by. I swear his cold, dead eyes follow me as I make my attempt. Is he, too, aware of the terror that lurks above us, creeping around in the shadows? No matter where I go I remain in the hall. Circling the final statue, until I slip and stumble from the game and into the arcade. “Make it stop”, I whisper, “please, just make it stop”. I lose track of time entirely. Alternating burns and shivers are sent shooting up my legs. Cramps in my waist, in my back, my hands come in waves and painful throbs. I have to grit my teeth and focus as hard as I can to even move in a straight line. Polybius plays on. It plays on, and on, and on. …I don’t know what it is that triggers my new idea. A last desperate grasp for freedom, perhaps? The unlocking of an old and forgotten memory? Or just some theory of a trapped madman, circling the drain. Whilst crossing as ever the vast black plain of Polybius, I am compelled to look back up to the sky. At the lone gray pixel that hovers there above me. It’s different to everything else. There has to be a reason for its existence. *But how to reach it? How do I get myself up there?* …I try to climb the green ruins as I did before. To get myself higher up off the ground. It’s a difficult thing to do, as I am constantly in motion and unable to stop for even a moment, but with every drop of my focus I am able to find the ruin I found before, to ascend to its peak, and as I do so another, slightly taller ruin glitches into focus beside me. I do not return to the ground, this time. Instead I choose to leap from where I stand and right over to a narrow little platform on the next. I land, and as I do so a *third* structure appears, this one slightly higher still. *Okay. I’ve got it*. My heart flares with a newfound hope. The discovery of a new potential path. I climb and I climb, ever conscious of the distance that grows between myself and the floor. I am brought around in a steady circle as I rise, and the gray pixel draws nearer and nearer. There is no wind here, and yet I swear I can feel a growing force of *something* against my skin, glitching against my hair as I leap my way into the sky from ruin to ruin. I land with a thud on the tallest of these ruins. A narrow little platform leads me forwards, and I tear along it, unable to slow down. No further ruins appear, there is only the pixel at the end of this platform, suspended in dead space. *I am going to have to make a jump for it*, I realise. It’s now or never. “COME ON!” I shout as jump from the platform’s end, hand stretched out as far and as high as it will go… …And to my bitter relief, my hand strikes the pixel. My surroundings change at once, and instead of falling the great and deadly distance to the black plain below me, I fall no more than perhaps two feet, landing with a stumble on a hard gray 3D-rendered floor. I look around, bewildered, and relieved to have at last come to a stop. My legs shake and my stomach turns, but I ignore these sensations as best I can as I look around. I stand in a simple gray room. No windows, no doors. Just a room. My footsteps echo as I walk from one side of the room to the other, and upon one wall is inscribed the message: **THANK YOU FOR PLAYING POLYBIUS. SEE YOU AGAIN.** **-DEVELOPERS** I walk towards it, heart beating, and I place my hand upon the wall. It passes right through, and so before I can psyche myself out, I pass the rest of myself through too, and find that I am standing before Polybius. I blink, and stare into the game’s screen. **POLYBIUS**, it says at the top, and below it reads: **GAME OVER**, the text overlaid across a large green triangle. After a beat the screen changes, and the words are replaced by: **PLEASE ENTER INITIALS** **\_ \_ \_** With a stiff neck I look down at my body; my joints crack as I do so, and I stare at my hands. At the popped and throbbing veins in my forearms, my white knuckles on the arcade’s joystick. The stench of the dried vomit splattered down my shirt wafts up to my nose, and I become aware of the dark stain of piss that soaks my jeans. “Jesus Christ”, I mutter, my lips cracked and throat death-dry. Every blink feels heavy, as if I might fall suddenly asleep at any second. *Is this it? Am I really out? …Or is just another trick?* With aching fingers I press in the buttons with my left hand, and enter my initials: **V D R** And the screen changes, flashing to a scoreboard with a long list of initials. I am at the bottom. The lowest score; with 10. The scoreboard starts to slowly scroll upwards of its own accord. There are dozens and dozens of initials, and some of them... I *recognize.* *The statues…* **REX.** 490 points. **JON.** 620. **CYN.** 791. **PRY.** 1102. And further up, **CRK** 3005. **HPE** 4400. And at last, at the very top of the leaderboard… is **KNG**. 9999 points. *These people... Were they like me? Did they all play Polybius too? And where are they now, why have I never heard of them, or of their accounts?* I do not understand what I am seeing, but I back away from the game, as I have done what feels like hundreds of times already. I turn and make clumsy step after step through the arcade. Down through the little passage, back through the photo booth, out through the main hall and through those front doors and into the world outside with a breath of cold, night air. It is still dark, but it is not raining now. Nor are there any puddles on the ground, or any evidence at all of recent rain. I shoot a fearful glance up to the sky, but I do not see a ‘SCORE’. …I haven’t since, as it happens. Though every day I wake up and expect to see it. Every day I awake, terrified that I will still be there. Still trapped. Standing like a soldier, in the grip of Polybius.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Always leave early, and always take the scenic route. [RESPONSE] After I got married to my wife, we needed to get extra shifts in order to pay for the debt from the wedding. Since childhood, she had a dream of a big wedding but she ended up with a bride instead of a husband. Her parents refused to pay a dime towards the wedding, let alone attend. We still had a big party and a great day. But by paying for the party made us push our honeymoon off for six months. We couldn’t do anything big, so we found a nice bed and breakfast to visit in the country side. Four days off work was something we could afford after all the that overtime. Packing up the car, we got ready to head out early in the day. Only to get stuck behind the worst traffic in history. We couldn’t go anywhere for two hours. At least we found some good local radio stations. After we finally got on the highway, more bad luck struck. Our back tire burst causing us to pull over. This honeymoon trip felt cursed. Fixing it took a while but I finally got it done. I thanked got I remembered to put the emergency kit and spare on the trunk before the trip. By the time we got going again, we both felt starving and dropped by the first rest stop for something to eat. I wanted us to have been able to get to the town early enough for some sightseeing before the four PM check in time. We weren’t going to make it. After a call to the owners, they agreed to let us check in at any time that night. Susan was glad they were so understanding and relaxed a little after such a terrible day. With my bad eyesight I didn’t want to drive in the dark so my wife took over for me. We kept going over just how long the route would take and decided to use a short cut. The plan had been to take our time in the day and drive through some scenic small towns. Now that the tip changed to being mostly at night, the quicker way seemed better. Dinner finished and a plan set, we got ready for the night drive wondering what else could go wrong. As we drove further and further away from home, the songs on the radio changed. It started to drift into mostly country songs to nearly all country. Better stations would soon turn to static then fizz out. The sun already set, leaving us driving down a dark and empty highway. Not even the moon out to guide our way. The only light besides our head lights was a bright display screen in the middle of the dashboard showing us what country channel the radio got stuck on. I honestly thought having a screen was a hazard but at least slightly better than using a cellphone. Trees on both sides flew past. Aside from some trucks on occasion, no other cars were on the road. I always hated long dark highway drives but at least I wasn’t alone this time. Susan started to pass the time by talking about all the different kinds of pastries she wanted try on our trip. The place Susan booked advertised an abundance of bakeries in the area and that was the main reason why we decided on the small bed and breakfast so far way. It would be nice to get away, but to also gain a few pounds while we did so. A while into our trip, I caught some movement out of the corner of my eye. I assumed it was dust on my glasses so I raised my hand to brush them off. When I fully saw what the movement was, I froze and my heart leapt into my chest. Sneaking across the dashboard illuminated by the light of our useless radio screen was a pale shape. A ghostly spider slowly taking small steps towards my poor unsuspecting wife. She didn’t like them, but I felt scared to death by them. I know they’re good for eating even worst bugs, but I just can’t stand the sight of one. I held back screeching knowing that might cause an accident from such a sudden and loud noise. As the spider moved closer to the driver’s side, I let out a small whine. “Hey, what is it?” Susan asked worried. I shook my head, pointing at the thing unable to speak. I was so scared my hand trembled and skin prickled every time the spider took a step. My wife finally saw what I was looking at. She let out a sigh knowing we needed to deal with this. But she didn’t want to pull over. With some difficultly, she slipped off her sandal while still driving to take care of the threat. I almost felt sorry for the thing when she crushed it, and took care of the body with some napkins I handed to her. She even tossed the corpse out the window for my piece of mind. That damn spider so big I heard the crunch. I no longer wanted to talk about food. “I’m so glad I married you.” I said with a long sigh, but still feeling stressed. “You eat my peppers so we’re even.” She joked. We made a good pair. I would gladly eat every pepper in the world if it meant she would keep any spiders from getting near me. I hoped that would be the most amount of excitement that happened during the drive. I kept glancing between the window and the dashboard fearing I would see another stowaway creep across my sight. We drove on to start seeing a fog hanging at strange angles outside. The headlights showing a pale whiteness through the trees. The rest of the world dark beyond what our lights could reach. Even the sky appeared pitch black. No light pollution this far out and in the middle of nowhere. I couldn’t even see any stars because of the clouds. Seeing the spider made my nerves tense too much to sleep. My mind playing tricks on me making my arms itch from phantoms spiders crawling over them. I really hated seeing those eight-legged bastards, but hadn’t reacted this badly to one in a while. “This fog is weird.” Susan commented breaking the silence. “What do you mean?” I started to ask until I finally noticed what she already did. The fog wasn’t moving. I’d seen heavy still fog before and this wasn’t it. It looked far too solid. I frantically started to look at the patches of white over taking the trees and edges of the road desperate to figure out what it was. I almost asked for us to pull over to get a better look, and know now that would have been a mistake. A patch of the odd white fog stretched across the road from tree to tree and Susan kept going thinking it was too high up for our car to touch it. The roof snagged a part of the white threads and to my utter horror, I figured out it wasn’t fog right away. I let out a scream as hundreds of spiders spilled from the white threads and down the windshield. Susan screamed and nearly went off the road. She collected herself at the last second and start to use the wipers to knock the abominations loose. Countless of the pale white spiders clung to the side mirror and to the windows with threads they somehow attached. Their small bodies flying through the wind until they were finally taken away. I was losing it in that moment. I started shoving napkins in the AC vents thinking the spiders could get inside that way. My fear levels so high I was nearly seeing white and my entire body shook. I’m positive I started screaming and babbling nonsense but wasn’t in the right state of mind to remember any of it. My wife also very freaked out, but decided in that moment she was going to gun it. Her foot heavy on the gas to get us the hell out of there. We didn’t know what was happening, and what caused this all didn’t matter. We just needed to get away from it all. In seconds the heavy patches of spider threads became unavoidable. She tried to hit the smaller patches causing so many spider bodies to be crushed on the windshield it was almost impossible to see at times. I was dry heaving, knees to my chest and arms so itchy I wanted to die. The road became so slick with the spider gore Susan had a hard time driving in a straight line. At least we were the only ones on the road or else we would have caused an accident. I heard a voice repeating how this just couldn’t be happening. I was shocked to find out it was my own. I didn’t sound like myself. Susan’s face pale and sweaty. She needed to deal with trying to stay on the road and with a panicking wife at the same time. There were so many of those ghostly pale spiders that I could hear them being crushed on mass as we drove over the bundles of threads. The car made an awful noise as it struggled to keep speed with the sticky spider web coating it. Was this a punishment for killing every spider I came across in the past? I prayed that if we were spared, I would usher them outside no matter how much they frightened me. Soon, the headlights were showing pure white and barely any signs of the road in front. We couldn’t stop. If we stopped, those things could get inside the car. How I didn’t see any crawling across inside yet was a miracle. Susan started swearing and rightfully so. I did not want to die because of spiders. Give me any kind of death but that. I also didn’t want anything to happen to my perfect wife I finally found after an entire life of looking. The car made grinding sounds, begging us to let it stop but we pushed on. I saw a large shape in the mass of the threads too late to warn her. The front end of the car clipped something tall and thin, like a young tree. It smashed the right headlight and somehow, we kept driving. I heard a terrible rumbling noise coming from whatever we just hit. It was a sound I’ve never heard before and never wanted to hear again. It sounded like a pure dark rage. I thought it would follow us and I reached out to grip Susan’s shoulder thinking this would be our last moments together. We both let out a gasp as our struggling car burst through the final patch of threads covering the road and onto a perfectly normal dark highway. My wife did not stop to investigate what we just went through. The car couldn’t go the speed limit, but as long as we were moving, it was fine. As much as I wanted us to drive all night, the toll of it all finally came down in full force. I started having the worst panic attack of my life. At first I honestly thought it was a heart attack. My wonderful wife kept a cool head and found a motel only a few minutes away. She pulled in, careful not to let me see the webs still clinging to the car and got us a room for the night. She ushered me into the small bathroom. While she dealt with everything, I cried in the shower trying to wash off imaginary spiders until she had to gently get me out of the running water. I was so out of it I didn’t even notice she called the cops until I got dressed. The flashing lights sitting just outside our room waking up the only other person at the motel. She didn’t want the cops to show up, but after telling her story to the emergency operator, they didn’t know who else to send. Our car proof of what we saw. The motel staff and the guest found it all pretty interesting and no one wanted to get near the spider gut-soaked car. The cops tried going down the way we came from. They reported finding some spider nests and a whole lot of crushed bodies on the road but nothing like how we described it. They kept looking at our car trying to understand it all. Our honeymoon could wait. The entire experience put too much of a sour taste on the trip to follow through with it. We only lost the deposit on the bed and breakfast room and the cost of a car rental. We called a family friend to pick up our car then get it cleaned up and brought back. There was no way we were going to drive that thing home. In fact, I wanted to sell the damn thing as soon as possible. “Let’s do something less terrifying for our honeymoon.” It was the first thing she’d said on our way back home in a rented car and running on no sleep. I thought through the options and rejected ideas we had before settling ion the bed and breakfast. “How about that lame haunted navy ship sleep over in October we didn’t want to wait for?” I suggested. We both looked at each other and silently agreed that ghosts were way less terrifying than a hoard of spiders.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Brake Fluid by Doctor Bleak [RESPONSE] I had an experience with a ghost. I think it was a ghost. It wasn’t bound to anything like a house or a grave. It drove a car just like you or me. It did so in the dead of night and it sought something from me when I worked at a Pizza place out of Dedham, Massachusetts. The incident itself lead to a car accident, I lost my job, and I haven’t been able to drive at night without sweating. This incident I am about to tell you… ruined my life, but maybe posting my story here will alleviate the pain somehow. At the time I had to make ends meet for my “weedy” needs and school textbooks. So I picked up this part-time job as a delivery guy at a local pizza place. It sold the best New York-style pizza in Mass. So you can believe I was on the road a lot, and being so young; I was on the night shift. The night this happened, it was shortly after a horrible nor’easter that covered the entire state in toddler-height snow and caused a lot of accidents, shortly before the Christmas holidays. So I was the only delivery driver, and it turns out a lot of people are pretty fine with risking my life for pizza. So was my boss, for that matter. He didn’t even bother to show up to work either. It was me and two other in-house workers that night. Joe and Ryan. This didn’t slow anything down though, I was in and out of the store starting at 5 PM and by 6 PM delivering orders. The air was calm and the streets were cleared and salted. It was all easy money. It was about this time that I saw a black SUV pull up behind me while I was only a couple of blocks away from my store. It didn’t seem suspicious at first. It was jet black, and there was no brand logo on the front of the SUV. I guessed a custom Ford Explorer or Chevy Traverse, at the time. As I got closer to my store, my eyes kept wandering in my rearview mirror. As if pulled by curiosity at first, and held there by a magnetic pull. Every time I looked away I wanted to gaze back up at the mirror to see who was behind the wheel. All I could see was darkness though. I finally closed in on the right turn towards the store I worked at and flipped my blinker on. This driver behind me did the same, signaling his turn into the same parking lot. He was following me in and when we stopped at the red light before turning, I attempted to get another glimpse under the street light. It was just a black silhouette in front of white lamplight pouring down through their moon roof. I looked away quickly and turned. Turning in, I zoom in to park in front of the store, watching the SUV move three car lengths behind me in the mirror. I parked in front of the store with a screech and nearly stumbled out of my car, but the SUV was nowhere to be seen once I got my footing. I stared out onto the parking lot at the empty spots and plowed snow. A flurry of snowflakes began to come down and I strained through it hoping to catch a glimpse of the pursuer. Nothing. No tire tracks, no lights. Nothing. I walked steadily inside and was happy to find out that orders were null. Both Joe and Ryan were rolling a joint right in front of the cash register. A good ol’ victory joint for this weird ass night. We shared jokes and hurried outside the back of the store to smoke behind the trash can. It had an extra four feet of cover from the snow. It made sure no one could see us. We puffed and passed around and I felt that buzz tingle in the back of my brain. It melted over my mind like a warm blanket and it made the snow falling that more beautiful. But I felt my euphoria drain from my brain like the blood did from my face, as I saw the same black SUV parked a short distance away. It was only fifty feet away from us, parked under a street lamp. The driver inside the car was illuminated by the light through the ceiling window of the SUV. The driver sat like a jet-black figurehead among white-colored seats, indiscernible and my eyes seemed to strain at it. Almost like I was forced to try and see it. I was clutching the joint between my lips as I stared through the smoke. They began to water as I strained to just get a single detail. It should have been close enough for me to make out some sort of detail, right? Ryan and Joe kept shit-talking until they saw me zoned out and not passing the joint. They kept asking something but I couldn’t understand them. My attention was transfixed, trying to identify the driver. and I watched as the driver’s silhouette head tilted suddenly. It jerked a hard ninety-five degrees, horizontally, and he didn’t even lift its hands up to move it. Its neck cracked with the movement and somehow my head heard every ‘pop’ as it moved. As if it was my own neck being twisted sideways. I jumped back, scaring my coworkers and dropping our joint on the ground. It sizzled in the snow and they both looked at me like I drowned their goldfish. When I looked back at the SUV it was gone and I began to sweat. I asked them if they saw the SUV but they just walked inside, and Joe just called me an asshole. I sulked inside thinking I was losing my mind. Finally all the marijuana I smoked throughout my life was finally causing my mental faculties to waver. I froze and turned to look at the joint on the ground. Why waste it? I thought while rushing back to get it. I picked it up and as I rose I saw the black SUV again, but its headlights were at me and it revved as if it was about to charge toward me and the trashcan. I quickly ducked behind it, throwing the mushy joint into my coat pocket and bracing my back against the trashcan. There was more malicious revving before I heard the tires screech and the engine roaring closer. It was approaching at ramming speeds! As the roaring engine was at its apex, closing in on my weak trash-can barrier, it suddenly stopped. I blinked a few times as I realized there was no car sound at all, but instead of looking to check I ran inside and rushed to the bathroom. All I could think of as I vomited was how close I was to being pasted between a brick wall, and a dumpster can. The image of my insides being squished out painted my mind and I reeled at the thought of dying to some unknown thing. I tried to change my thoughts. I decided to focus on the wet joint and pulled it out of my pocket. I gutted it and laid the contents into a paper towel I pulled from the bathroom dispenser. I then clutched it in my hand like a brown balloon and held the balloon under the hand dryer we provided in the bathroom. I waited for the papertowel to dry the contents as I thought about my drive for the night. I then had a strange thought. It was like lightning but I understood it. “Get ready to roll…” I heard in not my own voice. It pinged off the back of my thoughts and took center stage. “Time to hit the road!” again a voice not my own but I trusted it inherently. I grabbed the paper towel and tucked it into my jacket pocket before running out and getting the orders. When I looked at Ryan and Joe, they were red-eyed and forgiving of my fuck up. I got a second chance to ask about the black SUV which of course both denied ever being there. They asked me what took me so long and I handed back the weed that I recovered explaining my attempt at recovery. I was given pats on the back and fist bumps as I left, and I felt atoned for my crime against stoner-kind. I carried the pizza boxes to my car and loaded them inside, not without wildly searching around for my pursuer. Once I saw the coast was clear, I did a quick circle of the lot to make sure it was actually clear of all people. I saw no one, not even behind the large snow piles. It was 7PM now. The night was dark, and the roads seemed only to be lit by the piles of snow on either side. The flurry had added another foot or so of snow, making small ice walls on either side of me. As I drove through neighborhoods and listened to my podcast, I still jumped at any SUV I saw. At this point, it didn’t seem to even matter what color it was. As long as it tailed me for longer than five seconds, I panicked. I still delivered my orders, but one house I stopped at had a jet-black Ford Explorer parked up front with the lights on. I nearly had a heart attack before I realized it wasn’t the same vehicle. When I got to my last order for this trip, it was nearly 8 PM now. I had two more hours left on my shift and honestly, I really just wanted to go home. The last order was to a place deep within a wooded neighborhood. Every house seemed to have a massive forest behind it instead of a backyard, and each front yard had one or more trees. It was like driving through a winter forest instead of an HOA neighborhood. When I arrived at the address and got out with the pizzas, I took a glance around again to make sure no one was following me. Coast was clear, I thought, and I rushed up the driveway clutching three boxes in both arms. I rang the doorbell and turned to look again at my car and the surrounding road, and again, no one was there. When I heard the door open I turned back to see a small balding man glaring up at me, arms crossed, and face crunched down in a frown. He took the pizzas silently and then stared at me expectantly, tapping his brown loafer. He said I had forgotten his soda, and I realized that I had left it in the front seat of the car. With a smile, I apologized and told him so, then turned to go. I froze. Parked only a couple of houses away was the indescribable black SUV. I could feel the driver’s gaze on my forehead. It burned. I turned to the man and screamed at him, asking him if he saw the SUV. I pointed at it manically and he just…stared scared at me. The rage about his soda was gone from his face and replaced with fear. He responded quickly in a tone of concern, “I don’t see anything there…” I ran and jumped into my car, pushing the pedal to the metal and driving with screeching wheels. I think I hit forty-five in a ten-mile-per-hour neighborhood zone. The houses l drove by heard the noise as I raced as fast as I could away from my pursuer. The SUV was only three car lengths behind me the whole time. I felt that magnetic pull of the driver’s stare and I pushed my foot harder against the gas. The houses in the neighborhood…I don’t know when but suddenly we were just on a road in a forest. A road that curved and turned left and right and it seemed to never end. There were streetlights, I remember clearly because every time we went under one of the lamps I was forced to gaze at it in my rearview mirror. My eyes honed in on the creature and I saw its spotlight eyes gaze back at me now. Its yellow stare was veined with black and the pupil expanded in and out as it stared back. Its charred skin flipped open and close against the perfectly white leather seats. My eyes couldn’t look away from all of that flapping skin. At the detail of the interior. At the smile that was wide enough to eat my head whole. Then I heard my car crash against metal because I wasn’t looking at the road anymore. I didn’t black out right away but instead watched my world become inverted and felt my car crash against the trunk of a tree. I heard a voice again that was not my own which seemed to pull me from blacking out. “It’s time to roll…” it said, “We got work to do…” I started hanging upside down in my car from my seatbelt and watched the SUV pull up next to my wreck. The driver stepped out in its charred glory. The light of the fire glinted off his glistening flesh wounds. I could smell the smoke coming from my car. I guess the flip had caused a gas leak, and I was passing out. The Pursuer approached with an intelligent step, and it spoke now with its real voice. My god, I can remember it so clearly. I hear it in my nightmares. Its voice was like liquified shrapnel being hocked like a loogey. It snapped its head left and right wildly, a series of cracks as if a room full of people were cracking their knuckles. I felt my own neck tense in pain and I heard my bones crack as it approached. The smell of seared rot was the last thing I smelled before I passed out. When I woke up I was in the Hospital. I was told I was found on the side of the highway in the snow, car smoldering and destroyed, and safely away from the fire. I didn't tell anyone. I lied and said my brakes stopped working so I rolled out of the car and saved myself before it crashed. When I was questioned by the police, they informed me that the doctors found THC in my system and suspected that is why I crashed. I was given a DUI right then and there and the cost was exorbitant. My boss fired me with a text, but the man was an asshole so I didn’t really care about that. What is worse than being fired and a DUI? I thought a DUI was the worst thing that could happen but…The sleepless nights. I hear the cracking of bones every night I close my eyes. When I have the courage to drive, I shrink at the sight of every black SUV. I think I even see the black SUV outside of my window at night, parked down the street, headlights on, staring at me. I feel its gaze, and I try to tear myself away from the window but I sometimes can't. I stare for hours and hear the words, "It's time to roll..." and "We got work to do..."<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] There’s Something Wrong with Mary. [RESPONSE] I watched her walk towards the car in shock and fear. “Mary! Don’t…” She slowly turned around and gave me a kind, reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, J. I’ll call you tonight, hmm?” Without waiting for a response, she turned back to the car. Why was I so worried? The reason sat behind the driver’s seat of the truck, with a Cheshire grin plastered on his face. Lucas had a reputation of not knowing the definition of the word no. Several women , and more secretly known a few guys, had whispered of trials and trauma at his hands. The fact that he had a police chief as a father made things no better. No one dared bat an eye. I went home, and waited (and worried). Finally, a light knocking came on my apartment door. There stood Mary, smiling her signature smile. I immediately wrapped my arms around her, eyes beginning to tear up. “Are we gonna stand out in the hall all evening?” She giggled, brushing past me and heading inside. Following her inside, questions began spilling from my brain and out of my mouth. “What the hell were you doing with that creep? Have you lost your mind? What could you two possibly have in common?” Laughing again, she turned around and gave me a knowing look. “Ew.” I said grimacing. I did not want the deets on that. We spent the evening as we usually did when we have a surprise sleepover. Laughter, delivery, wine, then bed. However, I awakened in the wee hours of dawn to Mary silently slipping out of the front door. I paused for a beat. We don’t have secrets. This woman knows everything about me. But do I really know everything about her? Especially since she’s keeping rather unusual company these days. With not another thought, I slipped on my shoes and my hoodie and slipped out after her. I caught sight of her heading towards the park. I sped up silently cursing every crunching leaf, every snapping twig. She exited the edge of the park and headed into the woods behind it. There was definitely something shifty going on. And I was going to find out what it was. I followed Mary’s semi-tangible shadow through the maze of trees and darkness until I could see a bonfire burning in a small clearing. When I got closer, I felt my stomach drop. Holding Mary by her neck, was Lucas. I began to run, but stopped dead in my tracks as Mary began to giggle uncontrollably. I didn’t know how she could breathe, let alone laugh. Lucas tightened his grip, in his eyes were a mix of cruelty and confusion. This only seemed to make her laugh harder. I then realized her face began to change. Her soft, round features became sharper, more angular. Her eyes widened and slanted, becoming the color of the night sky. And her teeth… her teeth became fang-like. Lucas, horrified, pushed her to the ground. Stifling a scream, I watched as she landed on all fours, her talon-like hands digging into the earth. “Luuuucasssss…” she hissed. Next thing I knew, she pounced on him like a cat. “Lucassss. How many lives do you plan to destroy with these filthy, filthy hands?” He was punching wildly at her, but it did nothing to deter her. Opening her jaw way wider than humanly possible, she caught one of his hands and promptly began chewing. Lucas’ scream filled the air, causing me to flinch. Angrily, Mary grabbed a handful of earth and shoved it in his mouth tho stifle the screams. “Shut up! You know you like it!”She purred. “ Isn’t that what you said as we screamed! As we cried! As we bled!” He was now sobbing, looking utterly defeated, and bleeding out no doubt. I stepped into the clearing and cleared my throat. Both their heads snapped towards me. Mary smiled slowly at me, while Lucas stared at me pleadingly. I smiled and nodded at her, spun on my heels, and made my way home. Something’s wrong with Mary. And that’s just fine with me.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I have driven down this road 100 times. Tonight it was different. [RESPONSE] I have lived in the same area my whole life. A few years ago my mom got remarried so we moved about 30 minutes away into a bigger home that would be a more comfortable fit for our family. My grandparents ended up leaving their rental to take over our old home. This was nice because me and my brother would spend our weekends there and it was a home we were comfortable in considering we grew up there. Our new house was great but since it was in a different town the school district was different. I graduated high school a few years back but my younger brother is still in high school and he was not very keen on switching districts. He’s also part of the popular groups in school and didn’t want to lose his friends. So, after several back and forths with our mom, they came to an agreement. During the week my brother would sleep at my grandparents ( our old home ) so that he could stay in the school district. This was fine, but it meant a lot of driving for me. My brother likes coming home after school some days so I would drive to pick him up at 2:30 and then bring him back later in the evening. Needless to say, I take the same rout every time. I could get there with my eyes closed. I know every stop light, every store on the way there, every turn and every road sign. Tonight was different though. Its October now and fall is starting to come into effect here in New York. The weather has cooled down a fair bit. I was looking forward to the drive due to a stressful day. My brother texted me at 9:00 pm asking if I could come pick him up. He doesn’t have school tomorrow so he wanted to come home for the weekend. I texted him back letting him know I would be leaving shortly. I quickly got out of bed and put my glasses on. I only need them for distance and they help a ton when i’m driving, especially at night. I headed out the door and got into my car. I turned it on and connected my phone to bluetooth and plugged it into the charger. I rolled the windows down welcoming the crisp October air and turned up the volume to the radio. Everything was normal at first. There weren’t many cars to share the road with. I approached a red light and took that time to look out the window and appreciate the scenery. There was a slight breeze shaking the leaves on the trees that outlined the sides of the highway. They were still green but there were a few fallen leaves resting in puddles on the ground from yesterday’s thunderstorm. The light turned green and I gently took my foot of the brake taking one last look outside. I pressed the gas and began driving. Then things started to feel a bit strange. I cant really put my finger on it but an uneasiness took over my stomach. I gripped the wheel tighter focusing on the road ahead of me. There were no cars around. Just me. There was a small shopping center on the left hand side coming up on the road. That shopping center had the best Chinese food in town. The sign for the restaurant was illuminating the road with its bright neon green sign. Thats when I noticed the fog. It looked bizarre. It wasn’t like anything I’ve seen before. It was going horizontally across the road catching the neon green light from the sign. As my car got closer I noticed how strange the fog was. It was almost like I could see every particle making it up. I quickly drove through it and found myself letting out a sigh of relief once I made it out of the fog. I let out a nervous giggle to myself and continued on. A couple minutes later I found myself at another red light. Leaning back into my seat I looked out of the window. The trees stood still while their leaves shook from the breeze. Several leaves fell gracefully as the breeze came and went. As my eyes focused more on the trees I noticed something peculiar. The leaves were orange, some yellow. It may not sound weird, it sounds like your average fall leaves. The thing is, the leaves were green on the trees I passed ten minutes prior. The light turned green and I shook it off as me being tired. I had been so focused on the trees outside that I didn’t realize my phone had died and the radio started playing. I grabbed my phone tapping the screen. How could my phone be dead if it was plugged into the car charger? I put my phone down brining my attention back on the road. It was dark. Too dark. The street lights were not lit up like they normally were. I put my brights on to help myself see better and I let out a gasp. The trees on the sides of the road were rotted. I slowed the car down drastically, almost coming to a stop. My mouth hung open as I looked around me. The homes looked abandoned. The radio started skipping. I let out a scream as I heard a sound coming from the back seat. My eyes began to fill with tears and my body shook. I slowly turned around and relaxed when I saw it was just one of my nephews electronic toys going off. He must have left it back there yesterday I thought to myself. The radio suddenly stopped. I quickly turned my head back around. Silence. It was so dark. So quiet. What is going on I asked myself. I began driving again but I kept a slow and steady pace so I could take in what I was seeing outside. The road began to get bumpy. I started to notice the lack of houses and other landmarks that should have been in the spots that were now taken over by rotting trees. The road was not much of a road anymore but rather a rocky dirt path. My body was in a state of shock. Where was I? This int right. None of this is right I yelled out loud. Why was everything gone? Why were the trees dead? Where did the road go. I began to panic realizing my phone was dead and there was not a soul in sight that could help me. I was alone. Completely alone in a place I had never been before. I decided to pick up speed to get myself out of wherever I was. Surly there must be a road or something ahead I thought to myself. My headlights flickered and I noticed the same strange fog slightly up ahead. I closed my eyes as I drove my car though it. When I opened my eyes I saw green. Green leaves on the trees. I Felt a tear roll down my cheek as I took in the world in front of me. Suddenly, I realized my music was playing again. I tapped my phone that was sitting on the passenger’s seat and the time read 10:15 pm. I was minutes away from my grandparent’s home. I continued driving trying to collect my thoughts? Had I been hallucinating? I pulled into the driveway and texted my brother that I was there. He stepped into the car and I sat there in silence. I decide I would be taking a different way home from now on.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Destiny of the Broken Is to Fall Apart [RESPONSE] “The destiny of the broken is to fall apart.” I still hear his voice echo in my head. Not just in my nightmares. All the time. When I cut myself. When I’m bruised or sprained. I don’t know who he is or what or how he came to be or even if he is a he. I call him the Broken Man, because you have to give it a name. How else can you even begin to make sense of it? When I was a kid, my friend Todd and I stumbled across an old water tower in the woods, and what’s more, a ladder just tall enough for us to reach the bottom rung. Now what kid hasn’t looked up at a water tower and thought, “I want to climb that?” Todd and I were just such kids. Up we climbed. Around the catwalk we wandered. It was rusty and dangerous and we were just the sort of young and stupid not to care how much danger we were in, even without the Broken Man. Just being up so high, walking on such rusty metal was a bigger risk than I’d ever take as an adult, especially on a whim. But when you’re young, you think you’re invincible. When we got to the far side of it, we found the ladder leading up to the top, which naturally we climbed. The hatch leading inside was open and we peered down in. There was still a little water down there. Red from rust and stagnant, but we thought it was cool. We had dreams of making it our secret hideout. But to make it a secret hideout, you need to be able to get in. The idea was that one of us would lower the other in, and when we were done, one of us would boost the other out. That was the idea. Todd lowered me in, safe and sound, but when it was his turn to drop in, he came down hard and fractured his leg. I will never forget the cries of pain that echoed through that small metal room. We panicked. Of course we did. I tried to find a way out. Tried to call for help. No one came. For hours, we called, but we were alone. Too far, too deep into the woods. And then, as the sky began to turn its first hints of yellow and purple with the setting sun, we heard a thunking as if someone were climbing up. Excitedly, we called for help again. I wish we hadn’t. A figure appeared, jangly and awkward and moving not quite right. It’s proportions all a little off. He hovered silhouetted above in the early twilight. “Please,” I called up. “Help us, mister! My friend, he broke his leg!” “It is the nature of broken things to fall apart,” he replied as he dropped in. Upon hitting the bottom, his limbs popped off like some sort of crash test dummy. We both screamed to see a man fall apart in front of us like that, screamed until our voices turned raw. And in the splash of murky water, the fingers writhed and the legs kicked and the body slowly pulled itself back together with sickening pops and cracks and jerking motions. I… said some words my mother wouldn’t approve of, but she wouldn’t have approved of any of this. The Broken Man ambled his way to Todd. I tried to hold him back, though I couldn’t tell you where the bravery came from. I had never shown nearly so much spine in all my life before or since, but he cast me aside like I were nothing. He had no interest in me. I wasn’t hurt. But Todd… “Broken things, broken things. Such pretty little broken things…” he said in a slow, gleeful raspy whisper. Almost a song. When he laid his hand upon Todd, I could see the fearful tears in my friend's eyes. The struggle to be defiant, the paralysis that gripped him. A moment later, he fell apart. Todd’s arms and legs and head simply fell off of him, like a broken action figure. I vomited. The Broken Man picked up Todd’s pieces. Examined them. Left behind the broken leg. Placed the good parts in a sack he had slung over his back, except for the left hand. With inhuman, unnatural ease, he popped off Todd’s left hand, removed his own, rotten and disintegrating, and placed my friend’s new, unbroken hand upon his wrist. Pop. Click. Snap. Like putting blocks together. I pressed myself back against the wall, crying. “You’re not a broken thing,” he reassured me. “It is not yet your destiny to fall apart.” And then he was gone. I’m not sure if he climbed out or vanished or what. It was all a daze, my mind reeling, struggling to comprehend what I had just seen. I don’t even know if I stayed conscious. I only know I was found some time later, a gibbering mess. Todd, however, they never found anything more than his leg, neatly severed. These days, I’m afraid of every bump. Every nick. Every scrape. Terrified. How broken is too broken? How broken do I have to be for him to come for me? So I keep my body in pristine shape. But my mind… That’s the break I worry about most of all.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Strange and terrible things happen to students who make the English teacher angry. Especially those who touch her secret diary. [RESPONSE] Mrs. Hangyant was the kind of teacher you hoped never noticed you. To be the focus of her attention was to suffer in one way or another. She never praised students or even smiled at anyone. If she was looking at you, you were going to regret giving her cause to. She was an older woman. Her eyes were a little too close together, and her brow was a thick wrinkly overhang that cast a shadow on her eyes, keeping them always dark. Her white hair was wispy and thin. She'd have done better to go bald or wear a wig or something, but she just kept the same curly perm even though her volume couldn't really sustain it. She was the English teacher, but she sure as hell shouldn't have been. To her, teaching English meant exclusively teaching grammar. To her, English was simply a set of unbreakable rules. Worst of all, she hated fiction, and forced every class to write an essay on why made up stories are completely pointless. When I say "worst of all", of course I'm just talking about her crimes as a teacher. Her crimes as a...whatever the hell she really was--a witch, a demon--were quite a bit worse than making kids diagram sentences. One time a kid had his phone in class, and she caught him. This guy was a new guy, some kind of trouble kid who'd been bouncing around from school to school getting kicked out of all of them, so he thought he could handle any teacher I guess. But he didn't know Mrs. Hangyant. She told him "give it to me now, or lose it forever." And he wouldn't. She grabbed for it, and he wouldn't let go. They stayed there like that, each holding one end of it. And, to the surprise of every kid in the class that day, she let go. She let him keep his phone. And for the rest of that day, Mr. Trouble Kid was a bit of a hero in our school that day. That was short lived. The next day he came to school without his phone and looking like he hadn't slept. He refused to talk about it, in fact threatened to beat up anyone who mentioned it. But someone's mom knew his mom, and word got around that he kept squealing in terror in the middle of the night at the top of every hour. In the morning his mom found his phone smashed on the floor. He'd taken a hammer to it at least twenty times, judging by the number of dents in the floor. Was it making creepy sounds? Was he just having a nightmare? No one knows. But most of us are sure Mrs. Hangyant had something to do with it. He never carried a phone in school again. Another time--this time I was actually in class to witness this--she sat at her desk and she pulled out the drawer where she kept the diary, and she stared silently. "Who touched my Prayer Book?" she said, icy, still looking down at the drawer. That's what she called it. Her Prayer Book. And of course no one said shit. She made us come up one by one to her desk and swear we had not touched it. And she looked into our eyes and just watched silently, and then sent each back to their desk. Timothy Glass wouldn't look her in the eye. Like, he didn't even try to hide it for some reason. He just looked down at the floor. When he sat back down she had that smug smirk on her face, and he sat there visibly terrified, shaking, barely able to speak when called on. But she didn't accuse him. She just tortured him in his fear. Called on him a lot for answers, knowing he was too scared to focus. And he wouldn't look at her at all, and she kept saying "please look at me when I'm talking to you, Timothy." And he just wouldn't. At the end of the period when we were all headed for the door she came up to him and put her hand on his arm, like she was stopping him to say something to him. But she said nothing. She stared at the place where she touched his arm, intense, like she was concentrating. Then she smiled and waved him on his way. He walked out of the class like the rest of us. But later that day, during a presentation he was doing in physics, he dropped straight down to the floor in the middle of a sentence in front of the whole class. He died on the way to the hospital. Doctor said cerebral embolism. That's when a blood clot gets stuck in your brain and blocks your blood flow and you straight up just die out of nowhere. They can happen to anyone at any time as far as I understand, but they're more likely if you aren't moving much for a very long time. They blamed Tim's late night gaming. So on the day I walked by her empty classroom and saw her diary open on her desk, I certainly had good reason to keep walking and ignore it. Why risk it? I'll tell you why. My friend Riley is the nicest girl you ever knew. We've been friends since kindergarten and she's a goddamn treasure and everyone likes her because she's just one of those people who you just can't conceive being mean to. Most of the kids who Mrs. Hangyant punishes are kids who kinda more or less deserve it in a Roald Dahl kind of way. I mean, they don't deserve to freaking die, but you know what I mean. But Riley...no. No one messes with Riley. You just goddamn don't. Riley came to me one morning before classes started, looking mischievous. "I did it," she said. I asked her what, and she handed me a folder. I opened it and read what was inside. When I looked back up at her she was grinning. I wasn't. "Riley. Seriously. Don't. Please." "I have to stand up for what I believe in." "You suuure as hell don't." In the folder was her essay for Hangyant. The one that was supposed to be about the pointlessness of fiction. But she hadn't written that. It was exactly the opposite. A joyful celebration of the power and wonder of fiction. Riley was a writer, and she had been ranting to me daily about Hangyant's anti-fiction bullshit, though she wisely kept her opinions to herself while in class. She hadn't held back in this essay. Not only did she profess her love of fiction, her belief that it was essential to our human well being, she called out Mrs. Hangyant by name, calling her an 'ignorant witch' who uses fear to force her beliefs on the impressionable, the highest crime a teacher can commit. Today was the day we were to hand it in. After a quick glance at the hall clock and seeing that there was still a little time before class, I went into my backpack and I pulled out my own essay. "You've got fifteen minutes. Retype this in the lab and put your name on it. I'll tell her I forgot mine." She looked at me with a strange look, like she was just seeing me for the first time or something. Then she punched me in the arm. "Oh my god, shut up, no! I'm just kidding, Calvin!" She pulled from her backpack another identical folder and handed it to me. "I'm not going to hand that in. I just had to write it to counteract this bullshit." The title of the 'bullshit' was "The Inanity of Artifice". "God damn, Riley. Wow. You're going to get an A+ just for that title." "I know. I'm disgusted with myself. Don't read it," she said, and she snatched it away from me. As we came into Hangyant's class together, Riley was clutching a book in her hands as she told me all about it. She was still telling me as we sat, and even as Mrs. Hangyant asked us to take out our essays and lay them on our desks. She came by and picked them all up. And then Riley stopped talking mid sentence. She just stared at me. "What?" She didn't speak. She just leaned over the other side of her desk and dug in her bookbag. Then she got up out of her chair and approached Mrs. Hangyant's desk. I couldn't hear what she said, but Mrs. Hangyant wasn't having it. She was shaking her head. "Sit down, young lady." Riley turned back. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She was holding a folder in her hands. I realised with horror what had happened. She had accidentally turned in the wrong version of her essay. The honest version. I looked up at Mrs. Hangyant. Though normally she would have taken the essays home to grade, her curiosity was apparently piqued by Riley's desperation. She had Riley's folder open in front of her. She had on her face a cruel smirk as she read it. "Whatever happens," I hissed in an urgent whisper, "*don't let her touch you!*" "Miss Dorset, please come up here." Riley looked at me, a quick glance, her face terrified. Pleading me to do something, or maybe just panicking. And I...I dunno. I had nothing. I couldn't think of any way to help her. Maybe that's just my excuse for being a goddamn coward. It sure doesn't feel good knowing I just sat there, right on the edge of my seat pretending like I was about to get up and do something, except probably I never even intended to do anything. "Is this essay a reflection of your true feelings?" She took a deep breath, and nodded. Mrs. Hangyant got up in front of the class. "Excuse me, everyone. Attention, please." As if the class wasn't already perfectly silent, already fixated on the situation unfolding before them. Each one of them knowing they were witnessing the next legendary story of Mrs. Hangyant's cruelty, each one of them absorbing every detail of it in order to tell it later. "I know you all think I'm pointlessly cruel. That I just punish, punish, punish people I don't like." She seemed to be basking in the drama of the moment, the awe of the kids staring at her. "Jason, have I ever punished a student?" Jason couldn't figure out how to lie to that. "...yes?" "No. Wrong. I *correct*. I correct those of you who are able to be corrected. For others of you, I have no illusions about my powers as an educator. Your correction is beyond me." She went to her desk, opened the special drawer, and brought out her diary. "For those of you who are beyond my power to help...I can only pray for you." She began writing with the fancy black fountain pen she always used. Scratch, scrawl, scratch. Then she stood. She approached Riley- Riley took a step back. She was heeding my advice. I hoped she'd run from the room, if required. As long as she doesn't touch her. I was certain that was the key. Hangyant changed tactics. "Miss Dorset, you came into my class carrying a book today." Riley nodded. "Fiction?" Riley nodded. The period chime went off. Class was over. Every student instinctively moved to get out of their seats, to flee. But she growled over the sound of that, a harsh and terrifying: "Sit DOWN. *Nobody moves*." Then to Riley: "Bring me your book. And then you all may go." *do it,* I thought. *Just do it, and don't let her touch you*. Riley did. She went to her book bag which she'd left on the floor next to her desk and brought out her novel. She brought it to Mrs. Hangyant, who took it. She flipped it and read the back, scowling. But her eyes weren't moving. Perhaps, I realise now, she wasn't reading. Perhaps she was just staring intently. I'd forgotten about the iPhone. I'd forgotten she could curse objects. I'd forgotten that no one--NO ONE--gets off scott free from Mrs. Hangyant. She handed the book back to her. "It's not for me to judge your reading material. I leave that to God." Riley took the book from her, careful not to touch Mrs. Hangyant's fingers as she did. And we idiots giggled through study hall, thinking she'd gotten away with it. How is it we hadn't figured it out? that that's exactly what she does to you. Make you think you got away with it. It was her genius. Her cruel genius. *** The next day Riley wasn't at school. She called my cell just before class started. She could barely speak through her sobs. "Riley! Where are you?" "I'm...I'm in the hospital." My heart dropped like I'd fallen out of an airplane. "Riley, no..." "I'm...I'm..." She sobbed again. All I could do was wait for her to get it out. "I can't see, Calvin. I woke up this morning and I thought I'd opened my eyes but it was dark. And then I touched them and they were open already. So...they don't know what's wrong yet. They're running tests. But...no one can tell us if...if..." She broke down again. What I felt first was boiling rage. I didn't ever think before that 'seeing red' was real, but literally the corners of my vision were a hot bright red, which was closing in. I took a deep breath, pushed the rage away. It scared me how angry I had gotten so quickly. I'd never felt that before. "I'm so sorry, Riley. Just stay calm, if you can. I'm sure it’s temporary." "You don't know that." I didn't know what to say. "She cursed my book, Calvin. She did this to me. And there's nothing anyone can do about it. She just did it because she's a vindictive bitch, and no one can ever stop her, and she'll never get caught." Fuck that, I thought. Fuck. That. *** It was later that day I was coming back from the bathroom, going past her room and saw her diary open on her desk. Her most secret thing exposed. Her weak point open to attack. I could just take a picture of the page it was on, and show it to someone. I could prove, if nothing else, that she was a hateful person completely unfit to teach. At the very *least* I could do that. And I could do it completely anonymously. There was only one line at the top of the page: *This wickedness I do in the service of the Lord.* Weird. Creepy. Somewhat incriminating, but not enough. I needed to read what came before this. I needed to turn to the previous page. To do that, of course, I'd have to touch it. I probably should not touch it. Without thinking I stuck out my finger and put it flat down on the page. As soon as I touched it I shuddered. I imagined I felt a kind of shadow, a kind of darkness fall over me. *This may well be what it feels like to get cursed*, I thought. Or it may just be a case of the willies. It may just all be in my head. Oh well. What's done is done. I flipped the page back, and I read. *...you will agree, Lord, that I did no wrong in this. I only barbed her temptation to partake of the pleasurable lies and sins. She chose to read, and so she chose to sacrifice her ability to read. The sin is not mine, it is hers. And I feel your grace upon me, oh Lord. I feel your favor, and I feel you speaking directly into my heart, and telling me what I have done is right and good.* I had to stop reading. I was starting to see red again. I snapped a picture of the page. Well, I was this deep. I'd already touched it, already cursed. I may as well read more. I flipped to the beginning. *Here, in this volume, as commanded, I confess my deeds and my sins, so that I may retain the power to enforce God's laws on earth. I submit to this book of evil, which I have gained from a source that should not be named. He in the darkness bid me do evil with the power he bestoweth upon me, and so I shall. But I shall betray him, for I use his evil in the service of the Lord. With fire I shall fight fire. And in doing so, I proudly sacrifice my soul to hell.* Well, there it is. She sees herself as some kind of holy batman. A dark crusader doing evil for good. And she had power, but apparently she only gets to keep it if she confessed how she uses it here in this book. I heard her in the hall. Her footsteps. They were unmistakable. Her quick gait. It made me jump. I knocked the book, it fell to the floor, splayed out open, face down. Oh shit. I grabbed the book and flipped it over. A pinch of pages had been bent by the impact with the floor. I smoothed them out as best I could. And I put the book back in it's place...but which page was it open to? I flipped around, looking for that final page. It shouldn't have been hard to find, it was probably the last page she'd written on. She was coming. Her footsteps were loud. I couldn't find it. I needed to get out. Did I even have time to get out? I flipped a random page and dropped it face open on the desk, and ran for the door. I screeched to a halt on the hard floor. Her footsteps were too close, only seconds from the door. No way I could escape without her seeing now. I ran back into the room. I charged my way towards the closet and as I grabbed the handle I realised it was absolutely the first place she would look if she suspected the culprit who'd touched her book was still in the classroom. Instead, as a flash decision, I darted aside towards the back corner of the room. I slid to my knees behind the desks there. Terrible. This was no cover at all. She only had to glance in my direction to see me hiding there behind those desks. The closet would have been better. At least there was a chance she wouldn't look. I looked back at the closet. Do I dare? Is there time? She came into the room. She stood there in the doorway, staring at her desk. Staring at the open diary. I held my breath. I held it aware that the longer I held it, the louder my first gasp of air would be as soon as I allowed myself air again. I continued to hold it anyway. She shut the door. I heard her muttering to herself, but couldn't make out what she was saying. She stopped dead, eyes fixed on the book. She stared, perfectly silent. Listening? She sniffed the air. No air in my lungs. The black of unconsciousness was closing in around my vision. With incredible restraint I allowed myself air then only because I absolutely had to. I tried to keep my breaths smooth and silent, but the air came in shaky fits I heard loud in my head. I hoped I wasn't being as loud as I seemed to be. She stared down at her book. Flipped the pages forward, then back. Thought for a moment. Staring at it. And then she looked up at the closet. But she wasn't really looking at the closet, I realized. With her hand on her open book, she was concentrating. She was ruminating, meditating. Reading from the book through her hand some information that didn't come in words. Information that told her of an intruder. Of a nosy student who'd touched her precious prayer book. She closed her eyes in concentration. Oh good fuck, was this my chance? Now, while her eyes are closed? Head for the door? I tensed my muscles, ready to run, watching her eyes. They remained shut. She started to hum, low. I went. I went quietly, but quickly. Straight for the door. She'd closed it, but maybe I could get out before she opened her eyes. She'd hear me leave, but maybe I could be gone before she'd see me. I was moving down the row, along the wall towards the door, watching her always, her head tilted upwards, her chin in the air and her eyes closed but only the slightest muscle action was needed to lift those lids and then she'd have me. At the door. My hand on the handle. I pulled slowly, silently, fearing the click. I wanted to pull as far as I could before the click, then I'd hit it. I'd run. Her humming intensified and grew louder. She was approaching a climax. DING. the period chime! I pulled. CLICK. I yanked the door hard open. I slipped out and I ran. I heard her growl of anger behind me. I heard her running. In the hall the doors of the classrooms burst open, spewing out students. The empty hall was full in an instant. I slipped between them, through them, kept moving, keeping myself low. I pulled my sweater off over my head. Thank God I was wearing one with a shirt underneath. Thank God it was a new sweater, not one I'd ever worn to school before. Into the trash it went. Sorry grandma. I was lost among them now. I was free. And she had no way of knowing who I was. *** So here I am with this evidence, though I’m not sure now what to do with it. It probably would be easy to get her fired with it, but that won’t solve Riley’s problem. Could even make it worse. I think honestly I’ve got to figure out a way to blackmail her into lifting the curse on Riley. Which is terrifying…but I don’t think I have a choice. In any case, I’ve got to figure out what I’m going to do before she figures out it was me. I’m sure, eventually, she will.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] All My Exes Die After We Break Up - The Curse of Hollyeve: Eric - Part 2 [RESPONSE] Eric lived down in LA. He was a failed actor pushing 40 and somehow an eternal optimist.  Hollyeve showed up in Eric’s class in sixth grade. A mysterious new kid that caught the eye of the self described “shy loner.” “She was manic pixie dream girl before that was even a known thing,” Eric explained. “She was this little Zoey Deschanel plopped down into my rural southern Oregon hometown - sitting there in a flower dress, long black hair, big eyes. Sad eyes. I’ll always remember the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen.” Eric drank $15 craft cocktails as he told the story like they were the oxygen he needed to stay alive and his eyes floated around the bar like a mad man’s. He was either crazy, or Hollyeve had ruined him over the years.  “First girl I was ever brave enough to talk to. I think because I could tell she was a little weirdo, just like me. I talked to her slowly and eventually asked her to be my girlfriend in the library. No one else seemed to want to talk to the kids who were reading sci-fi books and faking injuries to get out of P.E,” Eric went on.  Eric and Hollyeve started a “little sixth grade love for the ages.” A lot of handholding. Some kisses and some sweet notes, but that was it. She didn’t talk much or seem to really have much of an opinion on or memory about anything. She kind of just listened to him most of the time.  “I was definitely the typical 90s problematic male. Mansplaining everything. Talking endlessly about The Simpsons, Star Wars, Stephen King, video games, Monty Python, Weezer, and all this typical nerd boy stuff. I should have known something was up when she kept listening to my shit, really,” Eric rambled.  There was another odd thing about his young romance with Hollyeve. When people weren’t looking, she got aggressive.  “If no one was around and we were kissing she would bite my lip, draw blood. She would slap me out of nowhere. I don’t know. I kind of just thought ‘hey, I guess this is an adult relationship. I guess it explains a lot why I can’t keep one now,” Eric said.  Eric’s demeanor started to change. He started to get a bit wispy and nostalgic. “It was the best thing I ever had. I know we were young and I probably sound psychotic saying this, but I really felt like we had a connection I’ve never had with other girls, I know I shouldn’t, but I almost miss it,” Eric explained.  I wanted to know where Eric’s story went from here and was tired of hearing about his longings for whatever cursed little romance he had with Hollyeve.  Every girl he ever dated after Hollyeve slowly turned abusive on him. All the way from middle school up until his mid-20s.  Verbal. Mental. Physical. He got it all. Every kind of girl too. Even if they seemed like the sweetest thing, eventually they would turn.  He would even check in with other ex-boyfriends of the girls and they would all swear the girls never got like that with them. *It was just him.*  Eric explained he thought the problem may have been that he was drawn to women who looked like Hollyeve - pale, long dark hair, big sad eyes, detached demeanor. He thought that maybe if he found the opposite it would help. And he thought he had solved the curse. He didn’t. I’ll let Eric share the story in his own words from my recording.  *Her name was Jordyn…she looked nothing like Hollyever…short…tan…blonde…bubbly…full of life…natural smile.*  *We met on an app. It took a year of me avoiding girls like Hollyeve. I swear it was like they were drawn to me. I’d constantly get likes from girls who were way out of my league, but they were just exactly Hollyeve.* *Jordyn and I were perfect. She liked the same weird shit I did. Was like an extroverted introvert, which is like, so hard to find in L.A. You mostly get one or the other.*  *Things moved quickly because of all that. We were basically living together in a month. Happiest I’ve ever been. This nice, hot, positive girl is just hanging out at my shitty apartment all the time?* *Sorry, I struggle to even talk about her without feeling like I couldn’t have saved it, but after like three months, I’m thinking about marriage. Don’t say that, obviously but it’s in my head. Like how a girl thinks about her first name sounds with her new guy’s last name so quick…that was me.*  *I kept waiting for it to turn. I kept waiting to meet up with her at her place and have her throw a glass at me or scratch my neck for no reason. But, it just never happened.*  *We went on our first trip - a road trip weekend up in Big Sur. I splurged. Get this big cabin up above the rocks.* *The first night starts great. Good dinner. Good wine. Good scenery…good sex. I fall asleep without even realizing it.*  *I wake up in the middle of the night. She wasn’t there. I look all over the house and can’t find her. Start to panic.*  *I walk out onto the deck and look down at the rocks and rough water below. I wonder for a minute if she jumped.*  *I turned and saw her on the roof - standing up there in the moonlight. I was relieved…until I saw the noose in her grasp.*  *She started slowly walking towards me on the roof, getting right to the edge, getting me to shut up.*  *“Please Jordyn,” I pleaded one more time as she stopped on the edge of the roof.*  *“The rope isn’t for me. It’s for you,” Jordyn sadly so flat I almost didn’t register what she said.*  *“What?” I asked and stepped forward.*  *Jordyn jumped off the 10-foot roof without hesitation, her feet landing right on my chest. She caught me off guard and was able to pin me down in just a few seconds.*  *She slipped the noose on my neck before I could do anything.*  *I tried to fight. I’m not the biggest or strongest guy and she got the jump on me. She dragged me off the deck in the blink of an eye and got the noose around my neck.*  *I was suddenly hanging hundreds of feet above jagged rocks, the noose around my neck.*  *I looked up and saw Jordyn above me for one second as I felt the noose tighten around my neck. There was no sorry in her eyes. Just rage.*  *She walked away. Leaving me there, hanging.*  *Luckily I had grabbed the inside of the noose before I dropped and was able to wedge my hand in there enough to where I could keep it from choking me for a while, but I would eventually run out of energy.*  *I heard the sound of my car driving away. Jordyn had left me there for dead.*  *My only hope was a light I saw off in the distance. There must have been another house nearby.* *I screamed for my life. Straight for a good five minutes.*  *I heard a car pull up in front of the cabin. I wondered if Jordyn was coming back to finish me off.*  *I was relieved when I saw a man arrive. He saved my life.*  Eric was shook up. He said he needed another drink and a half before he went on.  He explained Jordyn connected with him the next morning apoplectic and apologetic. She wondered if he was going to tell the police. She said she deserved to go to jail. She didn’t know what happened. It was like something else took over her the night before and did everything and she could only watch.  Eric didn’t turn her in. He had been through this before. It wasn’t her fault. They just wouldn’t see each other anymore.  Eric gave up dating at that point. No more apps. Nothing. He had to be celibate.  He explained the worst part was the more he fought it the more Hollyeve’s curse tried to pull him in. The more women hit on him. The more beautiful women hit on him.  Eric and I shared some more drinks before I was nearly blacked out and had to excuse myself.  Any doubt I had about if Eric was telling the truth vanished when I saw him getting into his car in the parking lot.  I watched a sultry, dark haired LA beauty- easily could have been a model or actress - walk up to the awkward and out of shape gargoyle that was Eric as he got into his car in the parking lot.  She was throwing serious flirtations at him.  He smiled politely and drove away.  I watched the woman walk past me as she left the lot. Her eyes were as black as oil. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I’ve been having some fun with my prosthetic eye. [RESPONSE] Last year, I lost my eye in a car accident. I was devastated, and I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror without crying. That all changed when I got my prosthetic eye. It didn’t make me feel better about my appearance. If you took a long look at me, you would know it was fake. But the second l saw myself with it, I realized all the brand new opportunities. It started with stupid, small stuff. If I made quick eye contact with someone, I would wait until they looked away. Then I would pop my eye out, and stare at them. The next time they glanced my way, they were met with my gaping eye socket. The reactions I got were priceless. At a burger joint, the man I did it to almost choked on his french fry. The old woman in my doctor’s waiting room fell out of her seat. The best by far was when I was stuck in gridlock. The car next to me had their windows open. When the passenger saw me, she jolted so hard that her coffee splashed all over the windshield. I knew I was being a dick, but it was nice to have some human interaction. Even if it was negative. My girlfriend didn’t survive the accident, and all our friends started to avoid me after the funeral. It was like they thought car crashes were contagious. It hurt, and I’m still angry about it. But I don’t hate them for it. Who wants to hang around the one-eyed sad sack? I tried to make new friends, but whenever I felt their gaze rest on my missing eye, I burst into tears. I couldn’t bear to be looked at like that, so I settled with scaring strangers. Anything was better than sitting alone in my house. Of course, I got tired of it after a while. Startling people wasn’t enough anymore. I needed a bigger reaction, so I bought some blood packets off Amazon. The kind they use in movies. I couldn’t pull this stunt in places I frequented. Whenever I couldn’t stop thinking about Mary, I would google buildings with elevators in them. I would enter a crowded elevator. The second the doors closed I would grip my eye and start grimacing. Once I got my prosthetic out, I moaned and cried. When I was sure I had everyone’s attention, I squeezed the blood packet in my hand. Then I would start screaming while holding out my bloody “eye”. I got the reactions I was looking for. There was always yelling and cursing. One time a man fainted. Another time a woman vomited. There was usually a person that tried to call 911, which meant I had to run as soon as the elevator doors opened. Though sometimes, people would figure out I was faking, and then I had to run for a completely different reason. I had no intention of stopping, until I met him. He was standing by himself in an elevator. This didn’t stop me, because I figured one reaction was better than none. Once the doors closed, I started my usual act. But he just stared at me. When I escalated to screaming and blood packet popping, he just smiled. Like he was getting off on it. Suddenly, he grabbed the hand my bloody “eye” was in. Then he said, “You have the most beautiful screams I’ve ever heard. I can’t wait to hear more of them.” I pushed him away and pressed my back into the elevator doors. He kept staring at me with that disgusting grin on his face. I realized I didn’t have my prosthetic in my hand anymore, so I glanced at the ground. His eyes followed mine, and he found it first. He picked it up to examine it. His expression morphed from glee to pure rage. I thought he was going to lunge at me, and I put my hands over my face. But then, the elevator doors opened and I fell backwards. I jumped back up, and ran. I never looked back to see if he was following me. When I got home, my back ached from my fall while my legs were screaming from running down four flights of stairs. As I washed the fake blood off my face and hand, I couldn’t shake the feelings of shame. I knew if Mary ever saw me like this, she would be ashamed. If she had lived instead of me, I was sure she wouldn’t be wasting her life by endangering herself with ridiculous stunts. She could have made a dozen new friends without even trying. She wouldn’t constantly cry about stupid shit. I slept on her side of the bed that night. The next morning, I was drinking my morning coffee by my kitchen window. I noticed a car I had never seen before parked across the street. At first, I tried to tell myself that my neighbor just had a visitor, but that delusion fell to pieces when the window of the car rolled down. It was the man from the elevator. He gave a quick wave, and then held up my prosthetic with his other hand. I closed my curtains after that. At first, I was frozen. I wanted to do a thousand different things at once, but my body wouldn’t move. I considered just getting it over with, and meeting my fate head on. But the second I peeked out the curtains, I realized all the brand new opportunities. I spent the entire rest of the day shopping for the supplies I needed. He was on my tail the entire time, but I didn’t mind. It was more convenient for me to know where he was anyway. Though, I was surprised he never caught on to what my supplies were for. I triple checked my locks that night, because I couldn’t risk him interrupting before I was ready. I had a feeling he wouldn’t try that night. He seemed like the type to play with his food, but better safe than sorry. I worked through the entire night and most of the next day. Despite the grueling schedule, I was happy with my speed. You wouldn’t believe how easy it is to soundproof a basement. Honestly, setting up the cot and detangling the chains was more of a headache. It will all be worth it after tonight. I’m going to leave my door unlocked, since I’m sure my new house guest is tired of waiting. I’m dreading the struggle, but I’m not too worried. A sledgehammer always wins over a knee. I know Mary wouldn’t approve, but anything is better than sitting alone in this house.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] For the past few nights I've stayed at a crappy motel [RESPONSE] for context: I've always lived in cheap, poorly built houses; but last year we moved. it was the newest house, my boyfriend, my two cats and I have ever lived in together. it was nice, this one had a sturdy lock on the front door, all the cabinets still attached, and a working heater!! our first place that felt like it could be an actual home. we had all of our furniture in place by the next week, and we began to settle in. a few months went by before I noticed something a little odd, every week there seemed to be new cobwebs around the house. my boyfriend is an arachnophobe so try to keep our place cobweb free. Despite my diligent cleaning, it was never this bad at our old place. a bit strange but nothing too peculiar. more time goes by, we've lived there for about 8 months now and in our bedroom, something weird is happening there's been holes appearing in our walls. we don't use tacks or nails to hold our decor up because it goes against our lease. so it was bizarre that what look like nail holes have been popping up all over our room. so far there are around 6 that I've counted. and my boyfriend has noticed a few around the rest of the house. could we have just not noticed until now? this has to have been my boyfriend pranking me. it's only been around 2 weeks since I noticed the holes in my walls, and by now they've multiplied. what used to be 6 in my bedroom and a few around the house but now it's about 60 total. I don't know how he could be making these holes without hammering, but it's the only thing I can think could be causing them. Is he pranking me??? I feel like I'm going crazy, more holes just keep appearing. and when I asked my boyfriend about it he denied knowing anything and accused me of being the cause!!? I got mad and stormed off for a bit. am I overreacting?? a week later my boyfriend had to leave for a business trip which wasn't uncommon but it was his first one since we moved here, I thought finally I could get a break from these goddamn holes. but I was mistaken. holes continued to appear even though he was gone... I was dumbfounded. and I decided to cover up the most noticeable of them with tapestries. how could there still be more???? I felt awful, it definitely wasn't my boyfriend and I had accused him. I had really just wanted answers. My boyfriend got back today, and I apologized for accusing him and told him that more appeared even though he wasn't here, then when I lifted the tapestry to show him, somehow there were even more than last time! my boyfriend is convinced that it has been me making the holes and that I'm acting delusional! he said that if it doesn't stop he's going to consider getting me professional help, I am very worried now. later that night I couldn't sleep thoughts about how I might finally be going crazy were racing around my head. all of my anxiety twisting into that familiar knot in my stomach. in the early hours of the morning, I began to drift off. I felt a small tickle on my face, and assuming it to be a hair I went to brush it away. as my hand grazed it lightly I felt a rush of dread IT. WAS. A. SPIDER. I jolted awake desperately trying to get the wretched thing off of my face. waking my sleeping boyfriend in the process. he quickly turned on our bedside lamp. he screamed. I looked at him finally having properly flung the spider off. to my horror all over the walls where all of the holes had been. spiders. tens of thousands crawling out of the holes in our walls. tunneling out and spilling onto the floor. we grabbed our cats and ran out into the hall. there were somehow even more out here, completely covering the walls and ceiling. quickly the rest of the floor beneath us disappeared as we ran out into the kitchen, we felt the sickening crunch of spiders beneath our bare feet. as we attempted to make a hasty exit. we were both bitten several times. and holding a squirming cat each was proving to be difficult. as we ran from the kitchen my boyfriend bumped into the oven by accident, covering the side of him with spiders. he lost the very little amount of cool he had left and started crying. and we bolted outside. I've booked us a motel for the night, and I never liked the idea of motels I thought they were dirty and covered in pests, however, I'm no longer afraid of such bugs. i'll call the extermenator in the morning, for now i'll try to get some sleep.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I was Seven when I Almost Died [RESPONSE] I would say it was the second worst day of my life. It was a hot summer day, and I had been begging my mom to go swimming in the river at the rear of our farm. Being too young to go alone, Mum had me wait ‘til Dad got back from the barn. He’d been training the new farm hands for the last month or so, so we hadn’t been seeing much of him. He would come in for dinner, which my mom always carefully laid out on the table at 6pm sharp. We’d watch some TV together for an hour or so, then I would be sent upstairs to bed, either to read or fall asleep. That day was different though. Dad had wrapped up the training, and we were ready for some family time. I had managed to get my mom to agree to order pizza for dinner, leaving us all with plenty of time to go down to the river. We waited outside for him; the second Dad walked to the gate, I took off into the woods, down the path to the water. I could hear my mom yelling for me to slow down; I looked over my shoulder, giggling to myself as I watched my parents chasing after me, smiles plastered on their faces. At that moment I felt free, and I think they did too. I ran like the wind, hardly feeling the thuds of my sandaled feet on the packed dirt, and expertly navigating the rocks and roots beneath me. I didn’t stop running ‘til I felt the sting of the ice cold river on my toes. I waded up to my knees, not daring to go any further until my parents were closer, breathing in the warm summer air. I could hear them laughing as they rounded the bend about two minutes later; their eyes were caught in a loving embrace, their hands intertwined as they smiled at each other. Then they took off, sprinting the remaining distance towards the river, my dad bellowing “I’m gonna get you Patrick, get ready for the splash of a lifetime!” I screamed in delight, and took off towards the middle of the river. I’d swam here dozens upon dozens of times. I knew the area like the back of my hand, down to where every rock was and where the biggest fish lived. What I didn’t know was how strong the current would be at the center of the lake on that particular day. It had rained a great deal two nights prior, and the downpours left puddles throughout our fields. Dad had said this rain was much needed for his crops - I remember him saying how thankful he was for it. However, in this case, it was a wretched thing. I had failed to realize that this would make the river higher than it had been in a while, much higher than I was used to. As I waded deeper, I caught my foot on a rock and lost my balance. I was sucked into the racing current. My hands flung around in a desperate attempt to find one of the boulders I *thought* would be there - however, they were all buried beneath the additional inches of rainwater that had mixed with the river. My attempts were futile. Water roared in my ears, and I struggled to keep my head up. I managed to scream, and could barely make out the cries of my parents as they took off into the water after me. I was thrown without mercy by the rapids, hitting my head several times on rocks as I sped by them. I managed to steal glimpses of my parents the few times I was able to surface, gasping for air and praying they’d be closer the next time. Each reprieve was brief, and I was swallowed by the river again, plunging into the murky water. I’m not sure how long this carried on. I was exhausted, and could feel my body giving in. I think I must’ve hit my head on a rock, because suddenly the world was black. It stayed like that for a while. When I awoke, I gasped and sputtered, coughing up the cold water that had been filling my lungs. I vomited with such force I thought I would puke up my guts. I could feel my dad’s hands frantically patting my back as my mom held my hands and cried. Eventually, I caught my breath and was wrapped in my mother’s arms. She kissed my head as I cried like a baby. I didn’t care how embarrassing it was, I was absolutely terrified. My dad carried me for the ten minute walk home, none of us speaking. I think we were all traumatized, and really, what were we supposed to say? There was something oddly comforting in the silence anyways; something about my father’s heavy breaths and my mom’s footsteps next to us made me feel safe and warm, despite the horrible chill I had from the water. They didn’t say much when we got home either. I thought they were mad, but now I know they were just scared. Losing your only child, or coming that close to it, would definitely be a lot to process. As a father of a young boy myself, I don’t even want to think further on it. The rest of that summer was spent at home. My parents forbid me from going back to the river, but I don’t think I would’ve wanted to anyways. I don’t really remember what we did instead, but I know Dad stopped spending time on the farm. He said he trusted his employees, and emphasized how much more important spending time with me and Mum was. A few weeks later, just before the start of school, a six year old girl, Abby Miller from down the street, went missing. She had been playing by the river with her sister, who ran off for a minute to chase their dog that had gotten off its leash. When the sister returned, Abby was gone. Searches started as soon as the sister got home and told their mom what had happened. All night I could see people with flashlights in the woods at the end of the field by my window. I remember my parents seemed oddly calm, saying they were sure the girl would be ok - but thought they were lying to me to avoid any further trauma. They lost their cool composure though when the next morning, there was a knock at our door. We had just sat down for breakfast, my mom walking to the table with two glasses of juice in her hands when we heard it *\*bang bang\** “Police, is anyone home?” The glasses slipped from my mom’s hands, shattering on the floor while she stood, frozen. My dad threw down his newspaper, grabbing her arm and pulling her towards the stairs. *\*bang bang bang\** “Open up, Police!” My dad looked at me, wide eyed. In a shaky voice, he said “Patrick, go open the door. Tell the officers we aren’t home. Answer their questions, lie to them, do whatever you need to, but make sure they don’t come in” I stared at him as he pulled Mom upstairs, then I started towards the door. I opened it just a crack, and was greeted by a large man in a blue uniform. “Good morning son,” the officer said. He was quite round and rather plain looking, save for his icy blue eyes. “Are your parents home?” “No sir” I said, hoping I sounded sincere “Well, aren’t you a little young to be all by yourself?” he asked “No sir. I’m seven whole years old” I said, smiling up at him “I even know how to use the stove” This was a lie. “Well, tell them when they get home that we were here” he continued, crouching down to my level “I’m sure you heard little Abby Miller is missing. We just wanted to know if anyone in the neighborhood has seen her… have you?” I shook my head, “No sir, I have not. But I know I will call 9-1-1 if I see her, that’s what you do for ‘mergencies” At this he smiled, “That’s right kiddo, good job. But please, don’t use the stove when your parents aren’t home. That’s not safe” I nodded, and he turned on his heels and left. I shut the door, locking it behind me before racing upstairs to my parents room. I flung open the door, but the room was empty. They were gone. *“WHEREARETHEY WHEREARETHEY???”* my mind screamed as my panic grew. I didn’t see them anywhere upstairs, and raced back down to the main floor to see if maybe I had missed them. They weren’t there. I reached for the phone to call 9-1-1. This was definitely an emergency. Before I hit the final 1 though, I paused. My parents hadn’t wanted to talk to the police, so calling them might be a bad idea. I hung the phone back up, and sat at the kitchen table for hours, willing them to walk through the door. I couldn’t do anything but stare ahead, waiting, as tears unconsciously streamed down my face. Around six in the evening, there was a knock. They were home! I raced to the door, yelling “Mummy! Daddy!” and threw it open. Before me were two officers - the man from this morning, and a younger woman. I remember thinking she had kind eyes, unlike the first officer. They told me I needed to go with them, that my grandma was coming to pick me up at the police station. I was hesitant - my parents seemed afraid of them, so shouldn’t I be? But, they called the station from my home phone, and I talked to my grandma. She told me it was okay, that I could go with them. So, I did. When we got there, I was hardly able to step out of the car before Grandma ran up to me, wrapping me in a hug so tight I could barely breathe. She cried and held me, while I kept asking her “what is it Grandma, what happened?” I wish I could say the rest of the evening was a blur, but in fact, it was the worst day of my life. I sat next to my grandma while the female officer explained to me that they had found Abby Miller around ten that morning. She was next to the river, on the same embankment I had been on mere weeks ago. I braced myself, already sad for the little girl who died. Except, they told me, she wasn’t dead. Abby had nearly drowned in the current, but made it to shore before she did. She happened to be ejected by the river right next to the site where my parents’ bodies lay. Their *dead* bodies. They told me they had been dead for weeks, based on the state of decomposition. “That CAN’T be true!” I yelled, standing up from my chair “Mum made me breakfast this morning! We are a normal family, no one is dead!” My grandma grabbed my arm, holding it gently but firmly, and pulled me into her arms as I sobbed. I spent years in therapy. Eventually, I accepted what everyone around me had told me happened: my parents were dead, and had been for longer than I thought. I was living alone for the whole month of August. They said it was a delusion as a result of my trauma, telling me that I imagined my parents being with me as some form of coping mechanism after their death. It all made sense on paper - no one had heard from them for weeks leading up to the discovery of their bodies, and it was reasonable to assume they had drowned while trying to save me. Except, there’s one detail I can’t let go of. I talked to Abby a few years after the incident; we were put in a lot of the same group therapy sessions, and became close for a little bit before she moved away. Abby told me it was my parents that saved her. She was sure she was going to die, being bashed against the rocks in the violent current. But, then she felt a hand on her arm. She looked up and saw my mother, who began pulling her towards the shore. She was then joined by my dad, who grabbed her other hand as they dragged Abby onto the sandy embankment. She said my mom held her hand and my dad patted her back as she coughed up all the water she had inhaled. They stayed with her all through the night and into the next day, right until a few minutes before she was found - just about the same time I was running around my house looking for them. Right when they had disappeared. I've learned to tell people that I believe my memory was in fact, a trauma response, that my parents had died and I had imagined them being with me that month. It's easier that way. But, in my heart, I know that’s not the full truth. They were with me that summer, whether their soul, spirit, or whatever, shielding me from the horrors of that day in early August. Eventually, they moved on to help Abby, to come to her aid when she needed them more than I did. I still visit the river from time to time. Recently, I brought my four year old son to the embankment for the first time. I let him tag along while I brought flowers to the spot my parents were found, the same site I visit every year on August 7th. As I sat on a rock staring into the river, remembering how they sacrificed their lives for mine, I heard my son start laughing. I looked over, and for a second, I swear I saw my mother sitting next to him making a funny face, and my dad behind them, watching with a smile. I blinked, and they were gone. In the car on the way home, my son said "Daddy, thanks for taking me to see Grandma and Grandpa. They're funny and sooo nice!" I felt my heart start racing. I wanted to tell him that he didn't see them, but that would be a lie. I know they're still there, still keeping watch over the river. Maybe some day I'll tell my son what happened, but for now I'd rather not. Instead, I looked at him in the rearview mirror, and said "oh yeah buddy? Tell me all about what you did with them"<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] There was something at my house and I think it followed my aunt [RESPONSE] We moved in a new house a few years ago, just renting it till we saved up enough to afford getting one. At that time I didn't have a job and was busy searching for jobs so I often stayed up late. I usually ignored any ghosts so when the first instance happened, I ignored it even if I talked a lot about it. "Hello" something whispered in my ear while I was walking down the hallway in the dark. I can still remember the pain the voice gave me, I almost thought that I would go deaf in the ear. I couldn't hear out of the ear for a few weeks and it took a while to even be able to properly hear something but I can still hear the feminine voice when I think about it. Nothing happened for a few months and I was extremely paranoid because I could feel something watching me. I wrote it off thinking it was my imagination when the next incident happened which caused me to huddle with the dogs in the lounge after locking all the doors. That weekend I was alone because my mom and step dad went to his dad, I was happy because I had the house for myself. I quickly finished dinner and ate, around 8 or 9 pm I kept hearing something calling my name outside. There was 3 male voices and I checked first in front but when I didn't see anything, I locked the front. Barely a few seconds after something called me from the outside again but at the kitchen door and I stupidly went to check again, nothing again. I was now starting to think that I was hallucinating or that I somehow poisoned myself, I wish it was just that. I then heard another voice from the back and I was just about to just lock it when the dogs ran outside to attack something. I was panicking because I didn't want them to get hurt so I ran outside with a baseball bat in one hand and my phone in the other with my flash on. I rounded the corner and shown my light to see what they are attacking, they were attacking the air. They kept jumping trying to bite something but it was no use. I was starting to get scared so I called the dogs inside and vigilantly looked around. I locked all the doors and hoped that they have already left. They didn't, my mom woke up one night saying 3 men and a women was watching her sleep. Now I started getting scared to be left alone and my aunt moved in with her family, 3 daughters and her husband. They were alcoholics and eventually their 2 youngest started calling me mom, I was 19 at the time and they were 11 but I didn't mind even enjoyed it. I had to stay in a room with them but after an incident with my step dad I left to my dad's who was living with my gran that is possibly a Satanist but what happened there is a story for another time. I moved back after a few months because even if my mom likes to think she is strong, she isn't but she's stubborn. We converted the study into a room for me because we were all starting to be fed up with 4 people in a room. I enjoyed my new room but once I moved my bed, I started hearing strange things outside. I was hoping it would be an owl or some other bird but I knew instinctively that it wasn't. When it was out, nothing made a sound. The dog that keeps yapping at night, silent. I started noticing that on nights it was out, my cat was inside but would watch the window. I calmed her down and took watch so she can sleep. I would listen as it prowled and when I was brave enough I would take a peek. I didn't even see one bird or anything, not even the bat's or some insects. The street light seemed dull and I knew it was nearby. I even heard it a few times coming into the yard and climbing on the roof, I could hear as it went up. I kept silent and prayed for the backdoor to be closed. Sometimes I was hoping that it will leave us alone and prowl the other streets but I knew it wouldn't happen. I then got a job soon after but still kept watch at night and made sure that my cat was inside. I then got a kitten, it was an instant connection with him and I fell in love. I was hoping that having a friend would help my cat that isn't used to dogs. They kept chasing her and I was ready to save her even if I got injured. We took her to work with us every day before we suddenly got fired. Barely a few months after that, my cat disappeared and the thing prowling the nights disappeared as well. Some nights I would stay up to listen hoping she would return but slowly I just started wishing she was happy or had a peaceful death. I then started having very weird dreams (most would consider it a nightmare) and the one night I had a very strange dream of my old primary school. In the dream 2 boys approached me, that wasn't my type, and for some reason I was enamored with them but I felt something was wrong so I kept trying to wake up. I couldn't and I started panicking. Eventually my best friend suddenly got hit by a car and I woke up. Usually I had more control over my dreams and when to wake up but at that time I felt helpless. I am not sure why but every time I think about I feel danger and relief that I woke up. It wasn't the only strange dream I had but the most memorable. I can still feel the fear that I felt. Slowly all those things started disappearing but once I forgot about them, they appeared again. My aunt recently moved out and I was glad all of the tension is going to be gone. I am now using the room my aunt used and we went to visit her at her new house when I felt something kept watching me. I think they attached themselves to my aunt. Anytime she visits us, I tense up feeling eyes on me but I can't see them. Some very rare nights, something is telling me not to sleep yet because something bad would happen. Those nights I just stay up and crochet, the only good thing is that at around 3 or 4 am the feeling disappears so I go to bed. It's been happening rarely since my aunt moved.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] fear4life.com [RESPONSE] I don't know why I signed up for it. I guess I was just bored and wanted some excitement. Having a weak immune system sucked even before COVID, but it became so much worse with the pandemic. I felt like I couldn't go anywhere or I could die. So for the last two and a half years, I've worked from home, gotten groceries delivered, and done all my shopping online. Also, I'm single and have no kids. My dating life was barely alive before, and since the pandemic started, it has been in a coma. My only communication is through work, which is mostly just emails, as I'm a freelance writer. I've barely talked to anyone these past couple of years, so I think it was the loneliness and boredom that led me to click on the link. It started as advertisements on websites after I searched for the best horror movies to watch. Those are my favorite kinds of films, and I'm always looking for low-budget indie ones or foreign ones that I haven't seen. I didn't notice the ads at first since I tend to ignore them. But it eventually became the only ad I would see. The ads were pretty basic. They had "fear 4 life" written in white over a black bar. Then it had that fake glitch where the words would blur and move before fading to black. When the words were gone, I could see a faint skull hidden underneath all the black. I had been noticing it for about a week and finally clicked on it after an extra slow stretch of work. It took me to a website called There wasn't much to the website. On the bottom was a countdown until Halloween, along with a counter and map so you could see where the webpage visitors were from. I think I may have been the first visitor since it didn’t show any page views when I first went there. There was also text that stated, "Are you ready to fear 4 life?" I figured being scared would be better than being bored out of my mind, so why not (although I didn't expect anything to happen anyway). I clicked on the link, and it just went to a blank page at first. I was waiting for something else to happen, like a signup page or more information to appear, but there was nothing. After staring at the page for a while, I clicked in the middle, and then it went to another page that stated, "Congratulations! You have been approved to fear 4 the rest of your life. But don't worry, it will all end on October 31!" I wasn't sure if it was trying to say that being afraid would be over at the end of October or if my life would be over. Of course, it was just some silly website, and I didn't even enter any personal information. I wondered how it was supposed to work. Maybe the website put cookies on my computer, or I accepted notifications without realizing it. I put my computer on standby and got ready for bed. That night, I woke up at midnight and thought I heard a noise. I quietly climbed out of bed and walked over to my door. I stood still and listened. It sounded like someone was whispering something down the hall. I tried to hear what was being said, but it was just gibberish; I couldn't make out any words. I reached under my bed and grabbed the baseball bat I kept there for emergencies. Then I returned to my doorway. Looking down the hall, I saw a faint glow coming from the entrance to my office. The whispering continued and grew faster as I went down the hallway. When I came up to the door to the office, it suddenly got quiet. I leaned around the entrance to look in and didn't see anyone in the room. I noticed the green light above my monitor, signaling that the camera was running. The monitor was turned on, but the screen was blank. I walked over to the camera and leaned in to cover the lens. Suddenly, an old man appeared on the monitor and began the loud whispering I had heard earlier. It startled me, and I stumbled backward, falling onto the ground. The man's eyes darted toward me, and he screamed. There wasn't much lighting on him, but I could see the bone through the skin on his face, and his eyeballs looked like they were floating in the sockets. He had no eyelids or tissue around them. I got up and turned off the monitor, averting my eyes from the screen as best I could. Now with my heart beating fast and that horrible image of the man stuck in my head, it was going to be tough to fall back to sleep. Tomorrow, I would deal with what I was sure was a virus on my computer from that stupid website. I went back to my room and climbed into my bed. The clock showed 12:30am. I closed my eyes for a long time and didn't think I would fall back asleep. But when I looked at my clock again, it was 2:45am. I started to close my eyes again when I heard someone knocking. It sounded like it was coming from the front door. I picked up my bat again and went to check it out. I had curtains covering the sidelights windows on each side of the door, so I couldn't see what was out there. However, I could tell something was moving outside from the shadows the porch light created. I pulled back a tiny portion of the curtain and looked out. There was nothing in front of the door. The porch extended in front of my living room, so I went to look out those next. I lifted the shade on one of the windows and peeked out but didn't see anything here either. There was another knock at the door when I dropped the shade. I walked back over and didn't see movement through the curtain this time. Pulled it to the side, and the same man from the computer was staring back at me through the window. His bulging eyes and bony face were pressed up against the window. I shouted and let go of the curtain. The door handle started moving, and I quickly confirmed it was already locked. "Go away!" I shouted through the door. "I'm going to call the police!" He knocked on the door again, and then I heard him bump up against the window. I knew he'd be staring in again if I moved the curtain, so I waited for a few minutes. Finally, I heard him walk away. Before returning to my room, I ensured all the doors and windows were locked. Then, I got back in bed, but I couldn't fall asleep. I kept thinking about the stupid website. I didn't provide any information to that website, so I don't know how they got my address. Also, whoever did the makeup on the person at my door did a great job. It looked way too real, and I'm afraid I won't be able to get their face out of my mind anytime soon. I'm lying in bed now, trying to find the motivation to get up and check on my computer. I'll add an update if anything else happens. But I would stay away from that website if I were you. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Hand In The Window [RESPONSE] Throughout my 20’s, I worked remote for an insurance firm. I wasn’t a salesman or anything, it was all computer work. I was unattached and spent all my time driving around the country and staying in cool places, tourist spots, and even remote locations. I knew that if I didn’t travel while I could, I would regret it later in life. I drove an old van with all the back seats taken out. I put in a couch and some covered bins to keep my stuff organized. I would often sleep in hotels or rent a room for a couple of weeks so it wasn’t like I was always sleeping in the van. I was on my way to Michigan to hang out by the great lakes for a couple of weeks. I had actually taken a vacation day so I could have an extended weekend to settle in. It was about two in the morning and I needed to stop for some gas and a cup of coffee. I was pretty tired and was debating with myself on whether I should find somewhere to pull over and have some sleep. The gas station was pretty shady looking and the area I was in wasn’t well lit or populated, but I had gotten used to that kind of thing on the road. There were only two working pumps and a car was already at one of them, so I pulled up to the other one and went inside. There was nobody else in the store except the clerk, a middle aged man with an unkempt beard. I grabbed the largest sized cup and filled it to the top with stale coffee. As I approached the counter, I heard a muffled sound from the dark backroom, almost a quiet squeal. The clerk went to the back for a minute and came out muttering under his breath. I didn’t want to think too much into it until I remembered the car at the pump outside. Who did it belong to? I paid for my coffee and gas and went back out to the pump. As it’s pumping, I walk back towards the front of the store to smoke a cigarette. I notice a light tapping coming from somewhere, quiet enough to almost not notice. I walk around the side of the building, where the employee section would be but on the outside. There was a window that had that cloudy glass that you couldn’t see anything through unless it was right up next to it. That’s where the tapping was coming from. Suddenly a hand pressed up against the glass, barely visible through the cloudy pane. I hear muffled cry, I could’ve sworn it said, “help”. I ran back to my car as fast as I could, putting the gas nozzle back and starting my car. As I sped off down the road I thought about what might be happening and realized that I might be someone’s only hope. I called 911 and turned my car around. When I got back to the gas station, the attendant was moving the car into one of the parking spaces. From what the 911 operator told me I knew a state trooper would be arriving soon. I wanted to buy time so the attendant couldn’t hide whatever he was doing. I was pretty sure he had the driver of that car in the back room and god only knows what he was planning to do. The attendant was glaring at me with annoyance and suspicion. I told him I forgot to get something to eat, and he said he was closing down for the night. I said I would be really fast and ran inside as he tried to stop me. The man got really angry and told me I had to leave. I said “C’mon man, you’re the only stop for miles, I just need some chips”. “Fine!” he yelled, “just take it and go”. I started slowly perusing the snack section while he glared at me from the front of the aisle. After a minute he walked over and grabbed my arm, “times up pal”. Just then, I heard someone yell “help!” from the back. I shoved the man away and he ran to the counter and grabbed a gun. I had run close behind him, suspecting what he was doing, and tackled him to the floor. We wrestled for a minute and he got the best of me, slamming my head against the hard floor. As he scrambled to grab the gun a couple feet away, an officer busted through the door with his gun raised, just in time to save my life. Turns out, there were two young girls trapped in the backroom, they couldn’t have been any older than 17. Apparently, the attendant had attacked them when they came inside, gagged them, and tied them to a supply fixture in the back just before I had come in the first time. If I hadn’t gone back when I did, they might not have ever been seen again. And if that officer hadn’t arrived when he did, I would have a bullet in my head. I still traveled around after that, but I stayed away from seedy, middle of the night, stops.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] We went camping in a very bad neighborhood. [RESPONSE] “This is still dumb,” George said. He held the note-card up and squinted at it in the firelight. “I mean, it’s *real* dumb.” Our campfire had started to burn low in the gathering dark, and embers swirled up and away in a sudden gust of autumn wind. I shivered and paused the camera long enough to pick up another log. “It’s okay, George,” I said. “I mean, we just want the money, right? We don’t morally censure.” Carol started to smile a bit at that, but Kayden pressed his lips together and she stopped. George made a face and shifted his bulk in the camp chair. “Maybe.” He looked over at the clearing where the dead neighborhood crouched in the twilight : twelve ranch-style brick houses, all dark, all abandoned, some with collapsed roofs and rioting weeds boiling through empty windows. No graffiti, though. The kids in the greater Rochester area had been oddly restrained in that regard. When the trail through the woods had opened out into the forgotten cul-de-sac, George had driven his customized golf cart right down the street to the circle at the end. There were a couple of dilapidated iron street lamps positioned at strategic locations, none of which actually worked – the only light in the gloom was the glow of George’s headlights and the moon reflecting off of windows like empty eyes. One of the lamps towered over the end of the circle, and a long low car with the world’s most 1970s brown-on-gold paint job had crashed right into it – a long time ago, to judge from the weeds that poked up from the crumbling blacktop and twined around the hood ornament. George pulled the golf cart alongside and glared through the remains of the windshield. Kayden had grinned big from the shotgun seat and let out a whoop. “This. Is. *AWESOME!* George, buddy, I take back everything I said. You got us here in style.” He clapped George on the shoulder and let out a woo-hoo that echoed back from the empty houses and the woods beyond. “O-*kay*. Let’s do this up. Babe, you get the chairs set up and start the fire going. Get your brother to help you, he likes carrying things. Julie, grab that camera and follow me. She wants footage, we’ll give her – ” “Hold up,” said George, and climbed out of the driver’s seat. He walked over to the dead sedan, opened the passenger door, and fumbled around inside for a bit. For a moment he fell still, and all I could see were his legs around the side of the open door. The wind picked up and whistled through a dozen crumbling chimneys, and suddenly I didn’t want to be here anymore. Suddenly this all seemed very unwise, and George needed to get out of that car, and why wasn’t he moving, was something – George backed out of the car, straightened up, and slammed the door shut. He tucked a book-shaped package under his coat and got back in the driver’s seat. “Okay,” he said, and swung the golf cart around in a tight circle. “Hey!” yelled Kayden. “Where we going? I said we need to – ” “Camp,” said George, and kept the pedal floored until we were back at the far end of the street where the trail opened out. “We’ll set up here. If you still want to do this.” That was what we did. Now the fire was lit, and the dark was almost here. Kayden grabbed the log off my lap and tossed it into the flames, sending up a shower of sparks and getting a small scream out of Carol. He grinned and patted her on the shoulder. Far away and deep in the woods, something big rustled and fell silent. “It’s all right, babe. It’s like Julie says : we just close our eyes and think of that sweet, sweet cash. Okay, big guy, you’re on. We rolling, Jules?” We weren’t, but I got the camera going and pointed in George’s direction. He held the note card out with two fingers and wrinkled his nose at it. “The Priest of the Sun was – ” He sighed and turned the card around so I could see what our employer had written on it in her neat, feminine hand. “Exultant,” I supplied. “The Priest of the Sun was exultant,” George agreed. “‘If the blackness falls,’ he reasoned, ‘can yellow be far behind?’” He glared at the card a moment longer, then shoved it onto the back of the stack and handed it to me. “We get how much for this, again?” “Five. Hundred. *Each!*” Kayden tasted each word, savored it like vintage port. He gave Carol’s arm a playful punch. “That’s a whole lotta costumes, amirite?” All Kayden’s thought was currently bent on funding the first-ever theatrical production of something called *Nodens : A Comedy*, which was written by Kayden and starred Carol and which I was definitely going to be forced to sit through at the end of the semester. That finally got a smile out of Carol. “And a whole lot of sets,” she said. “Thanks for doing this, guys.” Kayden grinned wider. “How about it, George? Gonna donate your take to the Arts? Help us breathe faint life into these gossamer strands of fragile creation?” George reached down into his backpack, took out a beer, and cracked it open. “Nope.” Kayden’s smile faltered just a bit. “Well – okay. You did bring the wheels, so – okay. Your turn, Jules.” It was. I looked around first. Our little ring of light and warmth was very small against the night. Down the street, shadows leaped and flickered across the sagging brick walls of the dead houses. Six on each side and two at the end, like taxidermied soldiers standing guard over – “There were only twelve,” Carol said. I stood up slowly and looked harder. Six on each side and two at the end, the front rooms of the nearest ones caved in like toothless jaws. Leading up to each front door were cement steps covered in green astroturf that had gone faded and lumpy in the sun. How many had there been, when our golf cart burst through the trees and the headlights shone on the dark and the dust? I gulped. “We must have miscounted.” “Maybe,” Carol said. She bit her lip and turned toward the fire. “I’m not sure I like this place.” “*Babe.*” Kayden was indignant. “Of *course* you don’t like this place. I mean, you heard her say why they shut it down, right?” Carol nodded. “The soldiers that lived here, they went crazy – right? Fought each other. So the Army closed it all up.” She shivered. “I don’t think it’s that. It’s – ” The fire crackled and popped. “I don’t know. I just don’t like it.” Kayden stood up and started tossing logs in the fire – one, two, three, right after the other. They smoked and blazed, and shadows danced across our faces as the wind blew harder. It smelled like rain and crackling leaves. “I know,” he said. “I know, babe. That’s why we get paid the big bucks, though, right? We’re telling these jokes on the *very same street* where Major McClarty made his final stand. We tell ‘em outside Chuck E Cheese’s instead, it lacks a certain cachet, you know? People are gonna know that Major McClarty holed up beside *that* fence – ” “I dunno about that,” said George. Kayden rounded on him. “Yeah? Look, Georgie, I know you’re not exactly a lifetime patron of the opera or anything, but you gotta see that if you take this place, this *legend*, and sprinkle in the dramatic tension of feckless teens yukking it up, it makes for – ” George drank beer and sighed. “What legend is that? Major McClarty? Never heard of him. I – ” Kayden threw up his hands. “The lady *told* us, George. Jules, are you still rolling? Make sure you keep this part for George in case he forgets again. The lady explained this back at the inn when she offered us the job, right? About Major McClarty and how this place has been hidden out here for years behind the camp because the Army – ” “I know what she *said*.” George crumpled up his beer can and placed it lovingly into his backpack. “It didn’t fit. I’ve lived here all my life, and – ” Kayden nodded gravely. “That’s what I love about you, George. What we all love about you. You’re *constant*.” I gave him a look. “Keep it up,” I said, “and we’re going to have a problem.” Carol blinked at me. Kayden put up his palms. “Okay, okay. Geesh, I didn’t know you were hot for him or whatever. All I’m saying – ” George ignored us both. “All *I’m* saying is that I’ve never heard of it. Major McClarty? A bunch of soldiers blowing up their own street? They’d have told that in school five times every recess. We’d have ridden our bikes out here on weekends and had cap gun fights. But we didn’t. Know why?” Kayden just looked. “Cause it didn’t happen,” said George. “I went to the library after and asked around. The police station, too. Nobody knew about it. And they’d know.” Kayden rubbed his hair. “But the lady said – ” “I know she did,” said George. “I didn’t like her.” I’d brought my heaviest parka, and it was working less effectively than might have been hoped. I leaned closer to the fire. “Maybe I should tell my joke.” Carol gave me an encouraging smile. “Go for it, Julie. Let’s get this over with.” I set the camera where it could see my face and picked up the next card. The neat words stared up at me, all loops and whorls and occasional flourishes. I cleared my throat. “Beneath the earth,” I read, “there lurked a house with windows the color of spilled oil and bruises. A man once walked into it, singing: ‘Things go in and out of my head, things go in and out of my head…’” I paused. “Is that it?” Carol asked. “No,” I said. “Sorry. It says to pause there. Then it says : He was more right than he knew.” We all fell quiet a moment. The flames crackled and the shadows leaped. “Is *that* it?” George asked. “That’s it.” I shrugged. “Honestly, I’m starting to feel like five hundred dollars is – ” Kayden snorted. “Gesundheit,” I said. “No, no.” He giggled and waved his hands at me. “It’s just – that one wasn’t too bad, I guess. It’s kinda – ” He looked over at the dead street, at the tall dark trees behind it, at the crashed car rusting beneath the darkened streetlight. I noticed for the first time that the garage of the house across from it was open, as if someone had driven the car out of it and straight into the light pole. Kayden got up from his seat and did a little dance in front of the fire. “Things go in and outa my head, things go in and outa my head,” he sang. “Like, if the guy was in *there* – ” He waved a hand at the nearest house – “More right than he knew, amirite ladies?” He winked at Carol. She didn’t wink back. “You’re scaring me, Kayden,” she said. Kayden looked genuinely abashed. “Geez, I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t mean to – man, it’s getting late, I guess. Let’s *do* this. Your turn, honey.” He sat down and tried his best to appear inoffensive, with partial success. “How many of these do we have to do?” I asked him. “To get the five hundred.” Kayden swallowed. “Just one. One each. I know there’s more cards in the stack, but – that was so you could pick one you liked, maybe do a couple of takes with different ones to see what worked best, you know. But we’re just supposed to tell one each and discuss, and that’s the job. I got the feeling she was doing a bunch of these with different groups, and then she’d edit them all together for the final film.” “Two more, then.” I handed Carol the cards. “We can do this.” “We can do this,” Carol agreed. She looked over at George. “Why – you said you didn’t like her.” George nodded. “I didn’t. Back at the inn, you guys were arranging with her about everything, and I went outside to wrench on Mr. Armbruster’s truck. And then out she comes, all smiles, and I ask her what she’s going to call the movie. Bunch of kids telling jokes in front of a haunted street, what do you call that? She says she’s going to call it ‘Campfire Jokes’. And she smiles at me again.” He shook his head. “Didn’t like the smile. Didn’t like her.” We all sat quietly then, and George extracted another beer from his backpack. A coyote howled somewhere close, and I jumped. Kayden, who had been looking increasingly scandalized, finally spoke up. “She spends two grand per scene on this thing,” he said, “and she’s going to call it *‘Campfire Jokes’*?” “Nope.” George took a sip of his beer. “Wouldn’t think so.” Kayden looked at him, started to say something, and then stopped. George took out the book-shaped package he’d rescued from the dead sedan and started to leaf through it. “What’s that?” Kayden asked. “Owner’s manual,” said George. “Got it out of the glovebox.” He held it up to the light. On the front, a shinier copy of the dead sedan danced in the firelight, ready for action. *Chrysler Primadonna*, it said. *1974 Operator’s Guide.* “Ever heard of that make and model?” George asked. We all considered that. “Noooo,” I said at last, “but I’m not really much of a car buff, George. Have *you* ever heard of it?” “Nope,” said George. “Also, the front page says it’s published by the Chrysler-American Motors Corporation in Saurkash, Wisconsin. That’s wrong, too.” We all considered *that*. The wind rustled in the trees and bent the heads of the tall weeds in the derelict gardens. Kayden rubbed his chin. “What – um. What exactly are you suggesting, George?” George shrugged. “Not sure. But I do suggest we all tell our jokes and go home.” Kayden grinned. “You never spoke a truer word. Darling? Your line, I believe.” Carol straightened her back, and I could see her thinking of the praise which the theatre critic of the *North Woodsman* would lavish on the sumptuous sets and gracious costumes of *Nodens : A Comedy*. She drew a breath and looked at the next card. “For a thousand years he drove,” she read, “and for a thousand more it rained. The rain came down, and the world rolled on.” “Beer, anyone?” said George. “Sorry, that wasn’t the end,” said Carol. “It’s another one of those pausing ones. The end is ‘And it turned into a puddle.’” “*HA!*” roared Kayden. “Nuts,” said George. I started to giggle and turned it into a cough. “Okay,” I said, “I guess I *sort* of get that – it’s a bit dark, not really my – ” I giggled again. “Man, it is *late*. It’s just that the world – ” “The *WORLD* was the puddle!” Kayden shouted. “*BWAAAAA HA HA HA HA!* I *knew* there was something about you, Jules, I *knew* there was a reason Carol liked you, I – I – ” He collapsed back into his camp chair, gasping for breath. The moon was rising over the trees : a great orange harvest moon, large and close and pocked with craters. It lit the dead houses with a cheerless light the color of moldy cheese, threw Kayden’s laughing face into bilious relief. Carol shrank back into her seat, looked at Kayden with wide frightened eyes. I got up, wanting to comfort her, to shake Kayden out of it – The *world* was the *puddle*! You’d have expected a bit more after a thousand years of driving, right? Only goes to show! I was on my knees beside the fire, laughing, whooping, pounding my fists in the dirt. Carol’s lips were trembling; if I could just explain it to her, make her see there was nothing to be scared of, that one just happened to hit Kayden and I just right, it was only a bit of fun, really – George’s arms were around me, picking me up off the ground, pressing a beer into my hand. “Drink this,” he said. “You’re okay. You’re okay, Julie. It’s time to go.” He guided me over to the golf cart, put me in the shotgun seat, went back for his sister. Carol was weeping openly now; George sat her down next to me and I hugged her. Kayden had found the cards and was shuffling through them, still laughing. The moon wheeled overhead, and as it rose over the trees I could see that there were fifteen houses now : six on each side and three at the end. George had swept the camp chairs and the backpack into his arms and was lugging them over to the golf cart; he was too busy to notice Kayden stopping at one particular card and beaming at it with tears in his eyes. “Kayden!” I screamed. “No! No more jokes!” He looked at me but didn’t see me. “If I don’t,” he said, “it’s all for nothing.” “It doesn’t matter,” I told him. “We’ll get the money some other way. I’ll help. Mr. Armbruster always needs more hours down at the inn; you could – ” Kayden was shaking his head. “You’re not tracking me, Jules. I *understood* all of that. I’ve got to – that *can’t* be for nothing. It’s too awful. That man in the house…” He trailed off, clenched a fist. “She *owes* me this, Jules. And I’m gonna collect. For all of us.” “Time to go, buddy,” said George. He grabbed Kayden by the arm. *“NO!”* shrieked Kayden. He shoved George into the fire ring and ran for the houses. Carol and I were both screaming, I think. We piled out of the golf cart and ran for George, but he was already out of the ring and rolling around on the ground. We helped him up. “I’m fine,” he grunted. “That crazy idiot – get in the cart!” We did. I grabbed the camera on the way, and George floored the pedal the second our butts hit the seat. The cart rocketed forward, silent and powerful, with Kayden a dark distant figure in the halogen beams. He made it to the circle and climbed up onto the roof of the dead sedan. We were racing past the houses now; empty doors gaped at us like missing teeth. Kayden pounded his chest and threw out an arm. He spoke – I heard him speak – but the wind took the words and whipped them away. He was laughing, crying, a one-man sock-and-buskin atop the dead Chrysler Primadonna as the cart bumped and jounced toward him and I held onto Carol for dear life. He finished his joke – or at least he stopped speaking – and turned away from us, toward the fifteenth house that crouched at the end of the cul-de-sac. The light above its front door went on. It was a dark, greasy light, yellow-orange like the moon, that did not warm and did not chase the shadows away. The dark seemed to welcome it, to reach toward it with eager tendrils, and Kayden leaped down from his perch on the roof and walked up the astroturf steps. Joke cards fell from his limp fingers and fluttered away in the breeze. George slammed on the brake. The cart screeched to a stop. Fat raindrops began to pelt the roof : first one, then many. Leaves rattled through the empty yards and tumbled across the street. Kayden stood in front of the door now, bathed in that sickly glow, and as we watched the front door swung open. Inside was a darkness so vast and deep that it was scarcely dark at all. True, the open doorway was a perfect void, flat and dead : but behind it, what clutter! There stood the bone-white corpses of the great machines, yellowed to perfection such that to see and to touch them was to yellow as well; there, the bed with its sheet of dust, pulsing grey-orange in its terrible hunger. And beyond it all – just around the corner – a short, dark shape, bruised in countless squirming colors – Kayden stepped across the threshold, his arms limp at his sides. The door snapped shut in perfect silence. And the light on the porch went out. George shifted the cart into reverse. We backed away from that place, and only when we had passed out of the dead street and back into the trail beneath the trees did he stop long enough to turn us around. He drove us home, through the dark and the rain, while Carol screamed Kayden’s name and I held her and cried. There’s not much more to tell. George drove us straight to the police station and told them Kayden had gone missing during our camping trip. They sent out a search party, and when the search party didn’t find anything they sent out a helicopter. George and I went along to show them where we’d been. There were no houses in the woods, there or anywhere else. Carol got better. George and I spent a lot of time with her that fall and winter, to help her forget and to show her we cared. She’s back at school now and doing all right. One blustery evening in February, George and I had just finished up a delightful dinner date at the finest steakhouse in Manchester. He’d gone to get the car, and I was waiting outside under the awning watching the snow. “Pardon me, miss,” a contralto voice said, and I turned to find myself tete-a-tete with a dark-haired adventuress type in stylish fur boots. “Oh, sorry,” I said, and moved aside to let her past. She laughed a musical laugh. “*I’m* sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean ‘Pardon me, miss’, I meant ‘Pardon me, miss’. I’m not going in there; can’t stand the place. But I do have something that’s yours.” She pushed an envelope into my hand. “Two thousand dollars. And well-earned. The ending was incredible.” I sputtered a bit. “I – you – who – I never sent you – ” She waved it away. “No, no, I get that. But at this point I think we both know I never wanted it anyway.” Her cheeks dimpled as she smiled. “’Campfire Jokes’, amirite?” The steakhouse door swung open and a very grim-looking maitre’d poked his head out. “Madam? Would you care to come back inside while you wait? There is a bitter wind blowing this evening; I should hate for you to be caught out in it.” He looked me straight in the eye as he spoke. The adventuress turned the dimples on him. “All right, Reginald, I’m leaving. No need to get all in a twist about it; she’s quite safe.” She patted me on the shoulder. “That George really is a cutie; I’m happy for you. And seriously, enjoy the money. Maybe stay out of the woods for awhile, though. Take your next vacation at a spa, or something. Luck!” She turned and was gone into the snow. George pulled up in his pickup then, and when we were warm and on the way home I told him what had happened. I didn’t know he knew all of those words. Carol’s back at school, remember? That includes her theatre class. Once she was through the worst of it, she decided that Kayden’s great vision deserved to live. I’m not sure I totally agree, but George and I still put a bit of our money into the pot to make sure that *Nodens : A Comedy* could live its best life. We’re in our seats now, waiting for the curtain to go up. Wish us lots and lots of luck.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Woods at the end of a tunnel [RESPONSE] I have been a police investigator for a good five decades of service. A lot of weird cases has come and go throughout my service, but one case has come to haunt me, about the woods at the end of the tunnel. You see, the town where I work and live is very big, but there is a massive woodland area just an hours’ worth of drive from here. It connects both my town to our neighbor town. Along the straight concrete road covered with trees from town to town is one left turn somewhere in the middle that only leads to one place, a long dark tunnel. About an hour after turning left is where it lies, the tunnel through the backwoods. It was blockaded, no one is legally allowed to enter as the area has been restricted for the public and only officers like me were allowed for investigations. The tunnel itself is another ten-minute straight drive within the darkness, you can only see the light at the end of it so traveling at daytime is a necessity, then you'll reach a dirt road towards the woods that lies behind it. After exiting the tunnel and following the dirt road for ten minutes, there is an abandoned cabin that looked like a tornado just decimated it with roofs gone and windows are broken. Whatever was going on within that woods are a big mystery. I saw internet forums claim that it was haunted due to missing cases reported. They say that the missing people only lasted three days, they say the woods calls people and you shouldn't answer or you'll die first, and all those stories. of course, I didn't believe these ghost stories. Out of my five years of service, three groups have been reported to disappear in that woods. This has led me to investigate the place three times already. But out of the three groups I've investigated, there weren't any evidence that they all went to camp in the cabin, except for one piece of paper. While investigating the third group that went missing three years ago, we found something new in the cabin compared to the last time we were there, a paper at one of the bedrooms that says... ***"Liars don't get to keep their head"*** It was written with blood in a torn piece of paper. That didn't help anything at all, no bodies, no other clues. I figure that the woods will always be a mystery for me, or so I thought. Another group has been reported missing just last week, their friends says that they have ventured in the tunnel woods, another curious internet group. A fourth case. Investigations has begun in that place yet again after three years of silence, but this time though without me. You know, I'm planning to retire today after five decades of service, right in my birthday so It'll feel more special and emotional. "Thank you and happy birthday sir Gerald" says the cake. A party was held that day, my coworkers gave me a big envelope with supposed new evidence for the third case three years ago, it apparently was discovered from the investigation recently conducted for the new fourth case. I couldn't care less honestly since I'm officially retired, I decided that I won’t open it now and spare it for home. But that's not the only evidence that I received that night. I got a present when I went back to my house, a package delivered in my front door wrapped in a dusty paper with a note "to officer Swindon". I grabbed it and closed the doors of my house, sit down in my room and opened the present... A notebook that has the first page titled "Marcus's woodlands diary". Marcus is a familiar name from one of the people that went missing three years ago. I remember seeing his face and talking to his relatives. I got a little scared and curious so I grabbed the envelope and the notebook that I both received thinking which one to open first, both are related to the tunnel woods after that's been a mystery for as far as I can tell. I realized that the pages within the notebook looks similar to the note that we found, the one evidence that just gave me more questions. I decided to open the mysterious notebook first. Only thirteen pages of the notebook was used and the rest were empty. The first 3 pages of the notebook contains rumors about the tunnel that Marcus found out by researching. He also wrote instructions and preparations about the journey and the friends he's bringing with him. The next nine pages are written like a diary with three entries. Curious, I start reading the first entry.... ======================== *1ST ENTRY* Dear notebook, this is the beginning of my new paranormal journey towards the tunnel woods, after months of research, preparation, and being bewildered, we're actually going to go to it for real!! I've met with my internet friends and there were five of us, I'm excited and thrilled because this time; were actually required to investigate quietly or we'll all go to jail. As usual I'm with my mates, Barbara and her boyfriend Jake. With us is the new couple Daryl and Cherry from the ghost hunting forums. Daryl is a pretty tough guy according to Cherry, it makes sense considering he was very tall, like 6'4 and looks like he can push the car by himself with ease. Apparently, he had already investigated multiple abandoned places but he can also be a total dick sometimes. Cherry seems like a sweet person though based on how she talks to me. My friends Barbara and Jake are both paranormal thrill seekers, they have made stories about a couple of places already in their website and had influenced me to come to their recent adventures. This is the first time it was nature though instead of abandoned facilities, I recommended it here. We entered the tunnel at 5am to avoid the cops, we removed the barricade temporarily so that the car can pass through and then returned them to avoid suspicion. Traversing the tunnel is spine chilling, long minutes of straight line that feels like jumping from one world towards another, Jake was careful and is keeping a medium speed so we won’t crash if there is a sudden bump that is hidden under the carpets of the darkness. Finally, we've reached our destination, the tunnel woods. Unfortunately, the car didn't seem to be able to proceed to the sudden change to dirt road so we have to leave it behind and carry our stuff. Daryl had to carry the most so he was at the back while we were led to the cabin by Jake, this is important because tonight; I'm sleeping with him and Cherry because of this small shenanigan. While walking, he suddenly gave a scared loud scream, he says that *something* tapped him in the shoulders three times and he looked back and saw nothing. Cherry rolled her eyes "here you go again, not even on the cabin yet and you’re being a dick already" "I mean it! I really do! Something just tapped me in the shoulders and I saw there was nothing!". We ignored him and continued our journey towards the cabin with Daryl now in the middle and me at the back. With that, we arrived at the cabin. The cabin is pretty and neat, not abandoned like people says it was. It was definitely habitable with roofs, doors, and windows intact. Every door can even be locked from the inside. There's even an axe and a generator outside to give some electricity at the cabin; good thing we have tons of gasoline so we powered it up for some lights. Daryl and Cherry went outside to scope the area while Barbara and Jake cooked us meal and prepare the place. There are three bed rooms, a kitchen, and a living room all in one floor. I decided to take the middle room with no window to give the couples some privacy. Time passes and it's about 4pm already. After a long travel and some preparations, we finally got to eat together and share a little meal by the fireplace. Daryl and Cherry found out that there are no receptions as expected, they also saw a tall dead tree not too far which we presumed as the "tree of death" as the internet groups claimed, we ate and share rumors about the supposedly "fruit of death" that spawns within the tree. It's 7pm, we decided to investigate the tree together. We went to check the tree while it's dark and spooky, it was very tall but no leaves, it was creepy but I'm more creeped out by the well beside the tree that was shut closed by a heavy rock. It wasn't mentioned in the websites at all. We returned to the cabin after the small inspection and then decided to go to bed. Daryl came by to my room and talked to me privately, he looks scared and very paranoid. "I know Cherry warned you about me playing around at times like these but you've got to believe me on this one" "Is it about the shoulder tapping thing earlier?" I asked. "Yes! I was scared shitless bro. My body straightened and my eyes looked as far as it can to the left and then to the right but my head didn't want to turn, but I was so terrified man so I did turn and saw nothing. Not only that, earlier when I was scouting the place, I saw this creepy note placed in the well" He took out a note out of his pocket and showed it to me. The text was written in blood... ***"Let’s play a game, don’t sleep tonight"*** He told me that he didn't want to share it to everybody because he didn't want it to look like a joke that he had in store for all of us. I sighed and told him that I'll sleep with them so he won't be too bothered by things. The note feels like a try hard push in attempt to scare me. But I told him he was being too paranoid and should take it easy. With that we slept. Today has been quite tiring and Daryl's weird behavior is getting on my head. I'm going to put the diary back into my room now and sleep with them. *2ND ENTRY* I couldn't have predicted that things will go out the way it did today. I don't want to die here. Two of us died a horrible death. We need to get out of here, we want to get out of here but we can't. Sitting here in the car; I have the feeling that I should continue writing on my diary in order for me to pass on what happened and somehow tell the story on what went on in here. It started when I woke up late in the cabin, I stood up and see Barbara cooking. She told me that it was noon already and that Daryl has gone missing. Cherry and Jake has been looking for him for about four hours already and they haven't return yet. I was so confused and concerned considering that Daryl was acting weird yesterday and deep down in my heart, I believed his concerns too. Barbara told me that we should wait for them to come back and Daryl is probably with them already. But there was only two of them when they returned. They said that they have looked all over they can but they couldn't find him. They also look back in the car and Daryl wasn't there as well. I asked about looking at the tunnel and beyond it jokingly thinking that Daryl might have run back to the town through the tunnel on foot but I was responded by a serious answer. Jake says that Daryl had the keys and should have just used the car instead if he desired to cross. We kept searching outside until it was dark, rain is about to pour as thunderclaps lit the dark and cloudy night sky. I'm starting to get scared because of the creepy information about the weird stuff that happened to him yesterday. It was about to rain when and we decided to go back. On our way we noticed something weird. The cabin is completely open. All the windows and doors were open. We immediately run inside anticipating Daryl but instead we saw a note at the table... ***"You didn't find him in time"*** It was written in blood and it looks just like the note Daryl showed me. Along with it is a single chopped off foot, it was Daryl's. We panicked and closed the cabin immediately while Jake grabs the axe, and that's when we hear a loud scream from afar, Daryl's scream. It was coming from the dead tree so we ran towards him as quickly as we can. His scream becomes louder and louder as we ran closer with fear in our hearts. When we got there, I shine my flashlight towards the screaming, above the tree. We all look up and saw it, the fruit of death, it was Daryl. His neck was hung up in a barb wire noose and he was dying out of strangulation. Gasping for air, both his eyeballs has been pressed deeper in his face that made it looked like he was crying blood as he screams. All of his bones are twisted the wrong way, even all of his fingers. His twisted and unresponsive arms and legs dangled like jelly as he wriggles in desperation, slowly suffocating. All he can do is scream. Thunderclaps roared at the sky as Jake tries to find a way to get him out of there but the tree is too tall and he was so high up. All I can do is shine the flashlight at him and watch in horror. The light rain falls and suddenly Daryl drew his final scream, he was in so much pain and desperate. But he stopped and died. Terrified, we ran all the way back to the house and locked all doors. The note isn't there anymore, instead a new note was presented before us. ***"Let's play a game, don't let us catch you in the dark"*** Again written in blood. We were on edge. We hide in my bedroom all horrified. I ran up to the bed and sat against the wall, scared. Cherry insisted that I hugged her as she leans her back into my body and we both focus our attention on the door at my room. I wrapped my arms around her knowing how horrified she must've felt. Jake locked the room door and stood next to it holding an axe with Barbara behind him. We were all alert when suddenly the power went out. It was pitch black. We were all silent. All we can hear is the rain falling outside the cabin. The silence was broken when we hear the cabin door outside the room slowly opens. Jake is probably ready to strike with the axe at that point if he hears the room door open. Then we suddenly hear a strong snap coming from inside the room, it sounded like wood being broken in half. The lights got back after the sound and I was greeted with something I would never forget. Cherry's face is looking straight back at me, her head was completely twisted against her body. Her eye balls were pushed all the way at the back of her head, blood starts to drip from her eye sockets, all I could think of was to scream. Jake immediately took Cherry’s body weighting in my body as I become paralyzed from fear and shock. I hear Jake say "It's not safe here, follow me" I grabbed my diary and ran outside, looking at Jake as he led us back to the car. We went inside the car that was parked at the side of the tunnel. We lock every door and rolled up the windows, I can barely see what's outside as the rain drops and the black tint of the window covers my vision. I grabbed a pen from the car and write, it is all I could think off as we wait for daylight. I don't want to die. I hope someone finds this notebook. I shouldn't have recommended this place. All of this horror is happening because I wanted to know what happened to my Dana. I thought maybe she's just missing and is still here, now I know she was dead for sure. I just hope she didn't suffer the way Daryl did. I should've just trusted the police. I'm sorry Daryl, I'm sorry Cherry. *LAST ENTRY* I'm writing this while hiding in my cabin room, this is probably the last time I’ll write on this notebook for I don’t want to care about recording anymore. Cherry's rotting corpse reminds me of the horrible things that could happen to me anytime by now. It is so quiet here that I could hear my pen write against the paper. I don't want to die here, if you read this note; get out of here immediately. I woke up earlier to find out that Jake has been looking for Barbara who went missing while we slept inside the car. He told me that he read my notebook while I'm asleep and learned that I lied about coming here out of simple curiosity, that I have a more personal reason. I swear he wanted to hit me with the wooden end of the axe, he probably blames me for all the things that we’ve gone through here. But if I do tell them the truth beforehand, I know that they would just call me off and tell me that the police already did their best; so with that I had to drag them all. We've been looking for Barbara and it's getting dark, rain is about to pour once more it seems. I didn't tell him that I found a note in the car written in blood and it tells me that Barbara is already dead swimming in that closed well. He must've rushed out of the car, as soon as he realized that Barbara isn't there for him to miss this note. I didn't want him to dive in that well out of false hope on saving her, but I just realized now that maybe I should have, considering that it is why we were even here in the first place. My false hope on saving my loved one. Searching along the muddied woods slowed me down, I lost him in the dark while we were looking, he was fast and didn't seem to care about me anymore. Luckily, I saw the cabin lights from here. I figure that I could go back to the car and follow the dirt road from the cabin. I almost miss it in the corner of my eyes but I noticed it, while looking at the cabin from afar; I saw *something* at the top of the trees. It was something tall with long hair, its lower body seems to be ripped off and missing. It uses its hands to crawl quick like a spider, vanishing behind the leaves from tree to tree. It was quick and it disappear towards the deep woods. I spaced out for about a minute, my brain froze and cold winds breezed along my skin, I didn't want to move out of fear. I slowly snuck my way towards the cabin while keeping a close look at the direction *it* banished. I locked everything and hid here. No way I'd walk alone towards the car after what I just saw. I wonder if that thing dragged Daryl away towards the window while we slept. And now here I am writing in my notebook with my friends corpse. I feel like I don’t have anything to write anymore. I don’t know what to do now that I’ve finished telling my tale. Wait, I just hear the door from the other room open... **The rest of the page is torn...** ======================== I was, stunned… I don't know what to make in all of these. Specially knowing that this is legitimate. The evidence that we got three years ago, it was ripped from this very same page that I’ve just read. My shaking hands slowly placed the notebook down the table, I decided to grab the envelope next. This was from the recent investigation conducted this week, a group of five girls missing. I lifted a big photo out of the envelope, what they have found has raised the fear that I feel even further. It was a picture of a mans severed head, it looks like it was ripped from the body, it was spiked on top of a pine tree. The head was either preserved or recently ripped considering it looks fresh. But most importantly, it looked like it was Marcus. It wasn't there the last time I investigated. I dropped the picture into the desk and spaced out for a minute, my brain froze and cold winds breezed along my skin. I didn't even remember seeing a dead tree when I investigated the tunnel woods. I was piecing things together; my mind is full. I was so silent. I'm still terrified from all the horror. I feel like I shouldn't have read this notebook and should've committed to the retired life. I feel like I'm not meant to read this. Frozen in place, *something* tapped the back of my shoulder three times from behind. My body straightened and my eyes looked as far as it can to the left and then to the right but my head didn't want to turn. I didn't believe in these ghost stories, so why be scared. I wanted to turn around… But my eyes slowly gazed at the picture of Marcus's severed head spiked on top of a tree. "I am a police officer" I told myself and made up my mind to look. I turn around head first and then stood up with all of my body facing the back as quickly as I can. There was nothing, nothing but a single piece of note on the floor. Something is written in it... with blood... ***"Let’s play a game, do not let us catch you sleeping in the dark tonight"***<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] We've been locked in our classroom for days, and our teacher is starting to act very strange... [RESPONSE] ***Day One.*** We had just opened our textbooks to chapter eight when the alarms blared overhead. A red strobing light spun by the door as metal slats slid down the wall to seal us in. The others started to stir and panic at their desks. “Now, now. Class, I’m sure everything is fine. Probably just a drill.” Mr. Jonas held up his hands in an attempt to soothe the crowd. Just as he was about to open his mouth, Evie came over the intercom. “Level 3 Contagion located in the south quadrant of campus. Lockdown protocol is now in effect. Isolation protocol is now in effect.” “Oh no…” The teacher suddenly looked pale and a little panicked himself. \--- ***Day Three.*** I slid my rook across the tiled chessboard to overtake Patricia’s bishop. She stuck out her tongue in defiance as I removed it from the board. I smirked and then shoved another saltine cracker in my mouth. Mr. Jonas said we shouldn’t be in here much longer. It was probably just taking the CDC a while to quarantine and eradicate the contagion. He said it must be a pretty nasty virus if they are keeping us locked in our classrooms. We have enough snacks for another day or so. It’s been difficult to ration properly when all you have are crackers, candy, and canned spray cheese. Overall, though, we were keeping our hopes up which was all we could really do. Staying positive, for now. \--- ***Day Five.*** The room was starting to smell foul. We’d designated some buckets in the corner as the bathrooms and they were about half full and beyond putrid. We ran out of food last night. My stomach rumbled with hunger, but I did my best to ignore it. I didn’t feel like playing chess or reading anymore, instead I just napped at my desk as much as possible to pass the time. I was hoping at any moment I’d be awoken to the doors opening so that I could go home. I missed my parents. Mr. Jonas was losing his composure too. He’d been pretty put together up to this point and ensuring we were all calm. But his eyes looked a little wild now, and he kept pacing the room talking to himself. A few times I heard him cursing under his breath and then reciting prayers. I really hope we get out of here soon. \--- ***Day Eight.*** *Bang…bang…bang* A pounding sound coming from the other side of the classroom pulled me from my dreams. *Bang…bang…bang* I stayed still to appear asleep but cracked my eyes just enough to watch as the Biology teacher smashed a chair against the steel door over and over again. *Bang…bang…bang* He was really losing it. “Let us out of here!” Mr. Jonas screamed as he tossed the chair to the side. “I cannot do that sir. A Level 3 Contagion has been detected. I have sealed off the affected area, but you must stay isolated for your safety.” The robotic voice hummed over the speakers. He screeched profanities at the camera in the corner of the ceiling. Some of the other boys were becoming aggressive as well. There had been some fights the last couple of mornings. Also, some hands going where they shouldn’t be going, back behind the fake plants and lab equipment. It seemed as if we were slowly devolving. Becoming an enclosure of chimpanzees, like one you’d see at the zoo but only hungrier. We needed out, or something terrible was going to happen. \--- ***Day Ten.*** We’d been on a diet of tap water for the past five days. I felt dizzy every time I stood from my desk. The room would spin and I’d almost black out. I kept my footing by sheer force of willpower. I had this irrational fear that if I passed out, I’d be eaten by my classmates, like a pack of hyenas on a gazelle. Feasting on my intestines as they spilled across the tiled floor. It sounded crazy if I said it out loud, but when I looked around the room and saw all the hungry faces, I didn’t think the idea was too farfetched after all. Mr. Jonas hasn’t said a word in over twelve hours. He’s just been sitting at his desk, carving something into the surface of it with an exacto knife. For the first time today, I had the thought that maybe we weren’t going to make it out of this. Maybe we were all going to die in this classroom. I hung my head and cried. \--- ***Day Thirteen.*** “Mr. Jonas! Mr. Jonas stop!” Micah cried. “Don’t you see? We have to do this, we need food. It’s survival 101. When the pack is suffering and food is scarce, they turn on their weakest member. It’s simple biology. Survival of the fittest.” Mr. Jonas had his hands around Trevor’s neck, squeezing so hard that the boy’s eyes were about to pop from his skull. Trevor struggled beneath him, but he was frail and terribly small for his age. Micah grabbed a large beaker from the table and lifted it high over his head. “Mr. Jonas stop now! Don’t make me do this!” But the teacher was long gone, his eyes gleamed with delight as drool dripped down his chin from salivating at the thought of a meal. I jumped to my feet as Micah brought the beaker down as hard as he could onto Mr. Jonas’ head. It shattered to pieces on impact, knocking the teacher out cold. I helped Micah push him off Trevor. The poor kid was wheezing and gasping for air as tears streamed down his face. “You’re alright, it’s okay, you’re alright.” Micah patted the kid on the back, trying to calm him as he wailed. Suddenly there was a scream like a war cry and Mr. Jonas was air born. He leaped across a desk and plowed into Micah. They both went sprawling across the tile. Micah resisted him but Mr. Jonas ended up on top and began dropping his elbows viciously on Micah’s face causing blood to spew from his nose and mouth. Static filled my mind, I didn’t think, I only reacted. I reached down and picked up a hunk of glass from the broken beaker, grabbed Mr. Jonas shaggy hair and pulled it back to extend his neck. I pulled the glass through the meat of his throat as hard as I could. I’d never seen so much blood before. It poured in a waterfall across Micah’s chest. Mr. Jonas fell to the side once more, this time never to get up again. I stared at my blood-soaked hands. I felt nothing. No remorse, no fear. Only static. Suddenly the metal slats retracted into the ceiling and the door swung open. “*Lockdown protocol has been lifted. Please continue with your regular schedules. Lockdown protocol has been lifted.”* Her cheery robotic voice seemed so distant and out of place now. The other students gathered around me, just staring at the pool of blood. I think it was the hunger talking, but a part of me wanted to know what it tasted like. I think the others did too. Thankfully, before that could happen a man in a suit strolled into the classroom. “Hello, class.” His perfect teeth gleamed under the LEDs. Before we could say anything a team of adults in overalls poured into the room. Some began taking pictures of everything. Others started cleaning up Mr. Jonas. One man with gray hair dropped a large box on the teacher’s desk and opened it. He then started throwing fresh fruit and granola bars to each of the students. We devoured everything he gave us. I started to feel more like myself after two bananas and four granola bars. They tasted like heaven, a sweet salvation. The first man with the nice teeth in the expensive suit waited until we were all done before he addressed us again. “I know it’s been a long thirteen days guys, I appreciate you all hanging in there. I’ve alerted each of your parents that you’ve been cleared to go home.” The classroom erupted in cheers as we all hugged each other. Even Micah, covered in gore, danced around excitedly. “You’ll all be able to go home soon but first I just need to do a little debrief with each of you before you go. I’m going to set up in the counselor’s office and Mr. Moses here is going to bring you down one by one to give your account on what happened here during isolation.” We all nodded our heads in agreement, anything to get out of here. Mr. Moses, the man with the grey hair and the snacks, took us down one by one and we spilled our guts to the man with the nice teeth. When I gave my story on what it was like I still felt numb, even when describing how I’d killed Mr. Jonas, I just felt… nothing. It wasn’t until I’d gotten home that evening that I’d broken down and wept. Once I was in my mother’s arms I cried and cried until I couldn’t anymore. Then I ate more food than I ever had. I shoveled pasta down my throat until I thought my stomach would burst. It was a good feeling. To be full. To be human again. \--- Years later while I was at University a whistleblower had leaked that what we’d endured at the school was a government coverup for a top-secret experiment. There had been no virus, no contagion. It began as an experiment to test the artificial intelligence system they had at the school. But then it morphed into a social experiment to see how long we would last before someone was murdered or severely harmed. To test the boundaries of civility and moral character under immense pressure. Just in case there was a real issue with the code in the A.I. and this scenario became a reality elsewhere. When I’d killed Mr. Jonas, it had ended the experiment. The news had made me sick to my stomach, I was angry and disgusted for weeks. I was okay with it now though. You see, Trevor may have been small, the weakest member of the pride perhaps, but he was also a genius. With his hacking expertise we were able to locate Mr. Nice Teeth and Mr. Moses. It’s been six days so far and every time they scream and hit the door with a chair, I just can’t help but smile. It’s a little experiment a few of us are conducting. It’ll end when someone is murdered or severely injured. Maybe…<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Nayantara [RESPONSE] I hated our ancestral house. It was an Assam-type house that had stood the trials of time. My family was attached to the sentimental value of the home and refused to sell it, but now it lay in disarray due to the lack of care. After my koka and aaita (Grandparents) died, the condition of the house deteriorated. I had asked my parents to sell it, but they refused. Instead, they pestered me to move there and fix the house and to my utter regret, I gave in to their incessant requests. It has been two days since I moved to our ancestral house. The past two days have not been pleasant. On top of my work, I have had to find extra time to fix the decrepit house but the only thing that has been bothering me was the Nayantara (graveyard plant) plant near the bedroom window. It had been almost twenty years since I last saw it. The plant should have been dead but there it was, near the bedroom window, still bearing pink flowers, a source of beauty in a yard brimming with weeds. The Nayantara plant had unearthed repressed memories and I had buried them for a reason. These memories had haunted me for much of my childhood and now I refuse to suppress them further, I must confront them. Eighteen years ago, I used to stay in this house. It was a joint family comprising my parents and me, my grandparents, and my mother’s younger brother. My mama (mother’s younger brother) had a very passionate affair with a woman from another religion. He was smitten by her and went against the family’s wishes and married her. In a conservative society in the 80s, in Assam India, it created quite a ruckus, but my mama stood up for her, and eventually, the family accepted the marriage. The lady he married, my maami, eventually converted to our religion and changed her name to Runima. My mama and Runima maami had a relationship brimming with love and respect. As a child, I adored them and they in turn adored me. Runima maami was quite fond of me and treated me as her daughter. She was the light of our family, but she was stricken with grief as she could not conceive. My mother told me that Runima maami was obsessed with me. She would repeatedly tell me, “I will take you. You are like my baby. I will take you”. She used to say these words with such affection that they left an impression. Within two years of their marriage, Runima maami suffered from sudden health complications and passed away. The bright candle of my mama’s life was snuffed, and he was stricken with the kind of grief that makes me shudder to reminisce. A pall of gloom had descended on our family; I was still a child unable to process the severity of the grief and went about my day as usual. It was on the tenth day of the rituals and there was a small feast held in the memory of Runima maami. The entire family sat outside, huddled together in the dim glow of two lanterns, and I went to Runima maami’s room to sleep. I still cannot fathom why I had gone to that room to sleep but I did. Soon, I heard a knock. A faint tap. I paid no heed and kept trying to sleep. The taps became a little louder, so I went to investigate. I removed the curtain from the window to see if there was someone but there was nothing. I returned to the bed only to be startled by three loud taps. The taps almost seemed friendly, perhaps like a calling, and in an impulsive decision, I decided to open the window. A wave of cold breeze engulfed me as soon as I opened the window but to my surprise, everything was calm outside. It was an unsettling eerie calm, the leaves of the trees did not move, and neither the chirping crickets made a sound. It was dark and not even the fireflies were visible tonight. I bought my tiny torch and pointed it outside and what I saw still fills me with dread. Every tree stood still, and their stillness seemed unnatural, almost as if they were forced to be still. Only one plant kept oscillating back and forth, the movements seemed unnatural, as if someone was physically moving it, and that plant was the Nayantara plant that Runima maami had planted when she first set foot in the house. I felt a chilling cold on my cheeks, the cold felt unnatural, it felt like fingers caressing my cheeks and I was transfixed. I do not remember how long I stood there but I remember my mother pulling me away from the window, shutting it, and then scolding me. As the window was being shut, I saw from the corner of my eye that the Nayantara plant now shivering violently. My mother gave me an earful that night and took me to another room and put me to bed. Soon, I forgot about that incident. Then something else happened after three days. My mama was very close to my mother, and she was very affectionate with him. My mama was broken by his beloved wife’s death and that night, he had gone to sleep as usual on their bed. That night, my mother went to fetch some water to drink and crossed my mama’s room. A chill had descended that night which was unusual as winters still had announced its baleful presence in Assam. As she passed his room, my mama woke up suddenly, his eyes had turned a shade of crimson red and resonated with a cold fury, and he charged at my mother. My mom could not discern what was happening and instinctively ran to the kitchen, and my mama followed her growling and screaming, like a feral dog. He cornered her in the kitchen and was about to pounce on her as my mother broke down in tears. Almost akin to the lifting of a trance, my mama whispered ‘No, no, no’ and the red hue in his eyes disappeared. Wordlessly he returned to his bed and fell asleep. He seemed defeated. My mother narrated this to me after I grew up and I rationalized that the trauma of Runima maami’s death must have triggered my mama and his mental health must have been affected. Years have passed since those incidents; my mama remarried and has a family now. My mother too moved on from these incidents as years passed. The reader must be wondering why I am writing all of it down after all these years. It is because I am standing in the same fateful room now and for the past hour, there have been incessant taps on the windowpane. The taps have grown in fervour after every minute and through the glass, I see the same Nayantara plant fluttering. The night is eerily quiet, the overgrown weeds are as still as a dead body, but the Nayantara plant moves. I think I will open the window. It’s time.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Journal Entries from the Reservation #2 [RESPONSE] Hey guys. Here's the second entry from my journal. This one was hard to re-read, especially considering everything that happened after this. Like I said, if you end up in the forest...stay safe and stay prepared. We were weak back then, even if we thought otherwise. Luckily, you have this to read. It might help you avoid some of our stupid mistakes. **Entry #2** Shit got worse. A lot worse. I guess I should probably pick up from where I left off. The next few days hadn’t gone great. Zach was fighting everyone about trying to establish some communication with other camps. Another couple at the camp, Cindy and Darren, agreed. They figured that the rewards outweighed the risks. Eight of us disagreed. That left another eight members of the camp in the middle, not sure where to go. Arguing and fights had reached an all time high. For whatever reason, people started looking to me for answers. It was dumb, in my opinion. Roads and “building civilization” seemed like such a lost cause. In all those apocalyptic movies and shows, humanity comes back by finding a safe area and recommissioning a mall or a prison or a hotel or something like that. In all those shows, there’s something there. There’s something to build off of. Here, there’s nothing. Wooden lean-tos and shelters are all we have. Endless grass, shrubbery, and trees. Occasional waterways and fruit bushes were present, maybe the odd boulder or two. In the end, there was nothing to recommission. There was nothing to go off of. Closest thing we have to an engineer, or an architect is Cindy, who went to college for interior design. We really are useless here. On top of that, there aren’t some finite amount of zombies we can clear. The monsters are everywhere and endless. Lando worked at a zoo before this, so he took charge of cataloging the creatures here. Lando knows more about animals than anything else so it seemed like the smart thing to do. He’s so far identified at least 14 different species. He also decided to catalog the creatures according to the following threat levels to make it easier to understand if anyone new picks up his journal. The first threat level is low, meaning these creatures are just like those back home. They might be able to bite, scratch, kick, or whatever else, but they won’t be aggressive unless they are forced too. The second threat level is medium. These creatures will attack but can usually be dissuaded with loud noises or fire or injuries or something like that. They are dangerous, but they are stoppable. The final threat level is high. These creatures seem to stop at nothing to kill us. At first, we thought they wanted to eat us like the medium creatures. Instead, they seem to just kill for the sake of it. Five of Lando’s species are these low-level fish and amphibians in the rivers and lakes. One’s like a big, teal-colored frog Lando called Teal Frogs. He figured simpler was better and the aliens probably have the proper names for them anyways. He really is committed to his alien theory. The other four are these pretty big fish you can catch if you’re good enough at it. They act just like fish on earth. They have some spines, and you can cut yourself if you aren’t careful, but they’re just fish. Another three of Lando’s species are also low-level. A pretty big type of mouse that has spines kind of like a hedgehog. They’re a little sharper and a little less dense, but it’s the same principle. The second one is a type of pigeon. It looks just like an earth pigeon, except it doesn’t have any eyes. Lando things it’s related to the bat-things somehow. I don’t know or really care. They won’t hurt us. Last ones are these iguana-things. Really big lizards that are in the underbrush of the forest. We’ve mostly been eating these and the hedgemice. Great meat and easy to kill as long as you don’t let them bite you. The medium ones are a bit more difficult. There are four of them. The bat-things: blind, gargoyle-like creatures that drink your blood like some type of fucking vampire. They don’t just take the blood though; they take all the liquid in your body. It’s really, really freak. They’re pack animals who build these nests high up in the forest trees. The bat’s nests are really easy to just stumble into, which is what we think happened to James. Easy to kill and they are terrified of fire. They also can’t see you if you don’t move, which is helpful. The second medium threat monster are the water-creatures that killed the Riverside camp leader. No one’s gotten a great look at one, but they just seem like these tentacle monsters that live in the rivers. No solid information on that, yet. The third medium threat monster are the wolves. These giant fuckers will destroy camps if you aren’t careful. They have packs of at least a dozen, usually two. Huge wolf-creatures with battle scars all over them are scary enough, but the scorpion-tails make it worse. These huge venomous tails, when they get you, kill you in minutes. It’s terrifying. All that said, some loud yelling and shows of force scare them off. Unlike most of the monsters, they seem to value self-preservation a lot more. You hurt one or two of them enough, and the others run off to fight another day. Really not that difficult to deal with, as long as you have the numbers for it. The last medium threat species are the spiders. We haven’t run into a lot of them, but if you get caught in a web that’s it for you. Spears and stone axes can’t come close to cutting through the webbing. Additionally, the spiders spit this type of acid that just…dissolves you. Really gruesome shit. The last two species are the high threat levels. The first are the Fungoids. Haven’t seen any of these myself, but Abdul and Nicky swear they are what took out their camp before Riverside. These huge mushroom things that were at least 9 feet tall came out of the ground and spread these clouds of suffocating gas everywhere. Abdul said that once they got back from running away, to see what was left, small mushrooms had grown out of the dead and were wiggling in the bodies. If I got out and become a host to mushrooms, I’m going to come back and haunt whoever the hell put us here for eternity. Hell, I’m gonna do that anyways. The last high threat level species, and the last of what Lando has catalogued, are the dragons. It’s…hard to explain. They aren’t dragons. At least, not what some shows and stuff back home make you think they look like. There flesh is rotted, and they are dark colored. I mean they are solid black. It almost feels like they draw in the light around them. The only reason we call them dragons are because they fly and breathe fire, or at least what looks like fire. They don’t have scales, just this weird, tight, black skin. It’s really hard to explain, but I’m trying my best. You won’t see them often, maybe a glimpse once or twice a month, but you hear the roars all the time. You can hear them for miles and miles. They are the size of a football field, and entirely unstoppable. No one’s sure what makes them attack. That’s why I don’t think a city like Clearing exists. If there truly were thousands of people in a city, those things would have destroyed it by now. So how did things get worse? I’m not writing this from our camp. Like I said, the fighting had gotten bad. Everyone knows to stay quiet at night. Everyone knows that. We ended up in this heated discussion about taking a vote. People were looking to me to see if we “could” take a vote. I said I didn’t want the leadership role. Zach said some stupid shit about me not deserving it, and Lando responded by saying that at least I didn’t get James killed on a suicide mission. Zach went wild. He started screaming, throwing things, making the loudest sounds he could. He had lost his mind. Actions have consequences. It didn’t take long for the wolves to get on us. Like I said, they aren’t hard to beat if you’re ready for them. We weren’t. They leaped over our barricades like they were nothing. They took out at least a half dozen of us before we knew what was going on. Everyone bolted. I speared one of them, but realized it was about to be me versus a whole pack if I didn’t run. Lando grabbed me and we bolted. Everyone went in different directions, but some of us ended up together. Me, Lando, Abdul, Nicky, and Cindy ended up together. As the sun was coming up, we found something following us. Me and Lando got on it with our spears, but just before we stabbed it, it looked at me. It was Zach. So now it’s the next morning, and we are trying to figure out what to do. On the good side, Zach finally shut the hell up. He hasn’t said a word since. On the bad side, I am now, somehow, the complete leader of this group of dumbasses. I asked what we should do, and they all looked at me. Lando was the only one who said anything. “On your orders, Sam.” He gave me a wink. God help me, they put me in charge. If and when we die, I blame Lando for that stupid fucking sentence. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Pt. 2 - We moved into a new house, but something isn't right [RESPONSE] Pt 1: The next day, in the morning, we returned to our house ready to do whatever it takes to seal that hole… that grate… that gateway to whatever reality we had discovered. I bought lumber, nails, a hammer, and a saw. I figured, if I can just cover it, maybe, just maybe it will go away? Maybe that thing won't be able to get out. We pulled into the driveway and a heavy feeling fell upon us at the pain of returning to what was supposed to be our dream house, which we had been robbed of. I put the car in park and turned to look at Audrey. "I guess we're doing this. Just going to seal it up and hope for the best." I told her. "What other options do we really have?" "I don't know. Maybe we could call some kind of paranormal investigators. I'm sure they'd love this." She answered. "And then what, turn our house into a science experiment? A pilgrimage spot for all kinds of scientists and whackos to just show up and try to gain access? I just want our home. I want peace and quiet. I don't want to become involved in this thing…" I explained, exhausted by the situation. "I know… but this could be world changing." She answered. I sighed, "We cover it up, then we decide our next steps, okay?" "Okay." She answered. I got out, grabbing the hammer, and walked to the door. Audrey came with me, and kept looking in through the front window while I unlocked the door and stepped inside. Audrey followed in, and we headed to the bottom of the stairs. Looking up, I could see the sunlight emanating from the bedroom window into the stairway, and began to ascend slowly. With each step, I listened for any movements, or anything unusual, but the house was still and silent. I reached the landing, clutching the hammer tightly, I raised it above my head and turned into the bedroom. What I saw shocked me beyond anything that had happened so far. It was gone. The whole vent. The hole in the floor. Just gone completely. Wooden boards, an intact floor, wall to wall, like no vent had ever been there in the first place. "What the fuck…" I gasped. "It was right here, wasn't it?" Audrey asked, stepping into the room, she walked over to the spot on the floor. The dresser was still beside it from when we had used it to cover the hole. We pushed the dresser back to the wall, but nothing was there. "Audrey, are we losing it?" I asked. "No! No, this all happened! I know it happened! How could it not have?" She started tapping on the floor, listening for hollow spots, but it all sounded the same. "What if it's like…carbon monoxide poisoning? I've heard stories on Reddit, it can do crazy things to you." I suggested. "We have detectors, they would have gone off." She reasoned. "Something in the water? Radon gas? Something? It doesn't make sense!" I continued to ramble out suggestions. "THIS. HAPPENED." She stated firmly, pointing at the spot on the floor. There were still screws on the ground which we had removed from the grate. "Do… Do you think we're safe now?" I asked. "Let's check the other vents. I'll go downstairs, see if you can see me." Audrey told me, and headed downstairs. "Can you hear me?" I heard her voice from the vent on the window-side wall and headed over. Looking down, I could see her hand waving just above a table. "Yes, I see you, let's check the other room." I called back. She headed to the next room, and I followed. "How about this one?" She called up. I looked down through the vent to see her face looking up at me from below. "Yes, I see you! One more!" I yelled back and headed to the other vent in that room. Shortly after, she appeared below me, waving again. I waved back. She started laughing, and so did I. She ran up the stairs and we hugged and laughed and cried. It was gone. I didn't care why, or how. It was gone, and we could finally enjoy our new house in peace! Several weeks passed, and things seemed to be going perfectly. Aside from the noisy refrigerator, the old house was pretty quiet. Sometimes, on colder nights, you could hear the house creaking as the temperature shifted, but nothing unusual. The house didn't really have many closets, but to avoid having to carry heavy boxes into the attic we used the long crawl spaces that ran the length of the house on both sides, with a door in the wall of each of the two upstairs bedrooms. As we moved in, we packed boxes away into the crawlspace, things we didn't need right away, like holiday decorations, fine china, winter clothes. "Audrey, have you seen the extra blankets? It's getting chilly and I think we should get them out. I've been looking through all the boxes and I haven't seen them." I asked her. "We probably put them in the crawl space. Why don't we take a look up there?" She suggested. "Sure thing." We headed up together. The crawlspace didn't really have much room for people and boxes, so in order to get to the boxes further in, you'd have to pull out the ones in the way, then scoot in to grab the next one. Audrey headed to the second bedroom to look on that end, and I went to the door in our bedroom, opened it, and grabbed the first box. Halloween decorations, that's not it. I slid it back out of the way and reached in for the next box. Winter coats. That would be useful in a few months, but not what I'm looking for. I had to crawl fully inside to reach the next box. I looked down the tunnel and noticed no light coming from the other end. Why hadn't Audrey started looking on the other side? I pulled the box out into the bedroom and looked at the label. Christmas decorations. With a sigh, I headed into the second bedroom to see what Audrey was up to. When I stepped inside, I froze. Audrey had two boxes in the middle of the room, the door to the crawlspace was wide open, and she was nowhere to be seen. "Audrey?" I called out. No answer. I couldn't hear her moving inside either I walked up to the door and crouched down to look inside. Peeking to the right was just a long, empty crawlspace, no boxes left in it. "Audrey?" I called out. Again, no answer. My heart started pounding. Getting down on all fours, I started crawling into the dark passage. I could see light at the other end from the door into our bedroom… at least, I hoped. It was very dusty, and I had to be careful not to lift my head too much, as above me were wooden beams, insulation and nails sticking out. "Audrey?" I called out again. Then I heard the door behind me shut. A cold chill ran over my forehead, down my neck and back. Do I continue forward? I couldn't easily turn around in the narrow passage… I was about three quarters of the way to the open door to the bedroom, but something felt off. I began to scoot backwards towards the door I had entered through. With the door closed, I was now moving into the darkness, unable to see behind me. I had to be careful not to slide my hands on the floor too much for risk of splinters, but I wanted to get out of there, fast. Then, I heard her voice. "Hun, where are you? I found the blankets." It was from the closed door behind me. "Audrey? I'm in the crawlspace. Where were you?" I shouted back. "I went to the bathroom. Hold on, I'll be right there!" She called, and I heard her heading out of the room toward our bedroom. She must have assumed I was on that end. Surely she would soon poke her head in the other end, and I would be able to crawl to the other door, knowing it's just a normal pass from one room to the other, and everything would be fine… I waited a few minutes, getting increasingly anxious. And then, there she was, at the other end. "What are you doing all the way down there?" She called out. "I came looking for you!" I responded. "Where did you think I went when there was no one in the crawlspace, silly?" She asked. "Well… I was worried… the crawlspace… you know… like the vents." I tried to explain. "OH! Oh, I'm sorry! I should have let you know. Well come on now, it will be fine! I'm right here." I breathed a sigh of relief and started crawling forward towards her. "Had myself going for a minute there!" I laughed, as I made my way toward the light and her pretty face. And that's when I heard something which made my brain absolutely separate from reality in waves of terror. "Hun, where are you?" Audrey's voice came from the shut door behind me. I froze in the middle of the crawl space. "A-Audrey?" I shouted. "Are you in there? I didn't see you on the other side." I heard her voice call from behind the closed door to my rear. "Hun, are you okay?" The Audrey in front of me asked. "Audrey…" I yelled, "I think there's something wrong with the crawlspace." "What do you mean, silly? It's just a crawlspace. Come on!" The Audrey at the end smiled. "Wrong how?" The muffled Audrey from the second bedroom behind me asked. I didn't know how to answer. I just kept staring at the Audrey in front of me, half her body illuminated by the light from the room behind her. "Hun, are you okay? What's wrong?" The Audrey in front of me asked. I began crawling backwards, away from the light. "Hun? You're scaring me. Come on!" She called to me as I shuffled backwards towards the door I had come from. "Audrey? Audrey, can you open the door?" I called back. "Hold on, the latch is stuck. Stupid former owners painted over it, makes it hard to lock and unlock it." She yelled through the door. I could hear her fighting with the latch. "Hun, who are you talking to? I don't like this, you better not be messing with me after what we just went through…" Audrey in front of me called down to me. "Audrey, just break the door, I don't care, please, you need to get me out!" I called back. "Why can't you just get out the other end? Why didn't I see you in there!?" Her voice yelled through the door. "Something is wrong Audrey and I need you to get me out right away!" I yelled back. The Audrey at the end crawled in further, "Hun, no! Come on, you have to get out of there!" She started crawling towards me. "Stay right there!" I shouted at her. "Who are you talking to?" Audrey from outside the door asked frantically. I heard the door shaking more and more as she fought with the latch, and finally I was next to it. "Audrey, please, just rip it open if you have to!" I shouted at the door. "I'm trying!" She shouted with a strained voice. I'd had enough, with what little room I had to move, I threw my hip into the door. I heard the latch snap, and it swung open. I backed out into the room, slammed the door shut and placed my back against it. "Audrey… oh my god… there was… there was another… another you in there!" I shouted between gasps of breath. She stood over me, her face full of fear and concern, "Another me? In there?" "Yes! She tried to get me to go all the way through. I don't know where it would have taken me. Oh my god. What the fuck. We need to seal this door." Audrey looked so distraught, but she ran into the bedroom and began pushing the dresser into the extra bedroom. "And the one in our bedroom… we should block that one as well." I told her. I stood and we pushed the dresser against the crawl space door, then headed into the bedroom and moved the second dresser in front of that one. I sank back to the floor, "Audrey… I'm so tired. I can't… why is this happening?" Audrey just looked at me with sadness in her eyes and sat on the side of the bed. "I need to go outside… I don't feel safe in this house." I told her, and got up, heading down the stairs and out the front door. I walked outside, onto the driveway and looked back at the house. Audrey came out shortly after and stood in the doorway, watching me. "Wait… Audrey… where are the cars?" I asked. I turned to look at her, then I looked up. Something was wrong… The sky? There was no sun… anywhere in the sky. The sky was a flat greyish overcast, without texture. It was brighter in one direction, but with this much light, like a thin cloud cover, it would definitely show where the sun was. All I could see was a shallow gradient from light to dark. "Fuck…" I whispered under my breath. Audrey looked at me, then stepped back into the house and shut the door. "Audrey!?" I heard the door locking behind her. "Fucking shit!" I screamed, and ran to the door, grabbing the knob. It was locked. "Audrey!? What's going on! AUDREY!" I screamed at the door. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't accept it. It wasn't her. But if it wasn't her, who was it? Where was I? I backed away from the door and looked around. The trees… they were wrong. I couldn't put my finger on it. The leaves maybe? They were in all the wrong places. I could usually hear traffic from the street, birds in the trees, but there was nothing. No wind either. Everything felt so still. So sterile… unalive… I began walking around the house. What else was wrong? The house was the only thing that seemed right. All the windows, the decorations, even the abandoned wasp nest in the corner. I looked down at the ground. The grass was wrong too, it felt spongey, yet too rigid, crispy, fake, like plastic, but not. Kind of like when there's a winter frost and the grass is crunchy, but it was only a cool fall day. I grabbed a tuft and ripped it out of the ground. The dirt fell away like dust from the roots, drifting away into the air. I brought the grass to my face and smelled. The grass was scentless, but the dirt smelled rotten…sulfurous. I figured, it's definitely not my house, might as well just break in, right? I went to the side yard to find a rock. But the stone wall was gone… the rocks… There were no rocks anywhere. Following the edge of the woods, I headed into the back yard, where there should be another rock pile, but again, nothing. "Are you fucking kidding me." I screamed. And my scream was answered with a distant wail. "Fuck…fuck no…" I whispered, looking across the yard. There it was, the pile of rags, or whatever the fuck it was, on the edge of the woodsline, just beneath the trees. "Fuck this." I hissed under my breath, and grabbed onto a sapling and started to bend it. The small tree snapped strangely, too brittle. The fibers didn't look like real wood. I quietly began heading back toward the house. Another low wail rose from the pile, growing louder as the rags shuddered. "No. No, fuck this, I'm getting back in the house. I'm gonna go back in the crawlspace and find my way the fuck out of wherever this is." I reassured myself, backing away from the pile of rags, I shuffled toward the house, grasping the stick like a bat. As I watched the pile of rags, an appendage began to emerge from amongst the shredded, stained cloth. A long, thin limb, covered in dried, wrinkled, dark flesh. At the top was a single leaf-shaped digit, like a mitten, with a single, long talon that seemed to be able to extend and retract from within it. It reminded me of sand worms from when I used to go ocean fishing, and the way their teeth would just shoot out from their fleshy little mouths. Another limb emerged, and they began feeling about the ground near the rag pile. I tried my best to breathe quietly and continue to walk away silently. A third and fourth appendage appeared, and began stretching and feeling the ground around the pile of rags, and then, it lifted off the ground, first on four limbs, then standing on two, like feet. It was hunched over, but still exceedingly tall. Maybe eight or nine feet if it stood upright. "Fuck this…" I hissed, and turned, running to the front of the house. I heard the creature's wail turn into a shriek. I didn't have time to waste. I charged up to the front door and smashed the sapling against the glass window The brittle sapling shattered into pieces, having no effect on the glass window. "SON OF A BITCH!" I screamed, and kicked at the glass. I nearly stumbled down the stairs. The glass did not shatter, but it cracked, and came loose inside the mounting hardware. I drew back and kicked again, holding onto the railing this time. One of the glass panels fell inside and shattered. The wailing scream of the creature grew louder as it moved across the back yard. "Come the fuck on!" I reached through the broken glass panel and felt around for the locks. I could feel glass shards biting into my arm, but there was no pain amongst all the adrenaline. I found the deadbolt and turned it, then reached down, grabbed the knob and unlocked the door. Pushing inside, I turned and slammed the door behind me and relocked it. Hopefully that would slow down the pile of rags. Fake Audrey would still be in here… I headed straight to the stairs and ran up to the second bedroom. Audrey was standing in front of the crawl space door, the dresser had been moved. "You can't go." She told me. "I don't know who the fuck you are, but I'm going back to my real house, with the REAL Audrey." I told her. I wanted to strike her, to push her down the stairs, to bash her over the head. But I couldn't. She looked just like Audrey… I could never forgive myself. Even if, in my brain, I know she's not the real Audrey… "I've been so alone…" Audrey whispered. "I'm sorry… but I can't help you." I felt sympathy for this thing…this girl… this other Audrey. "I have to hide… I have to stay safe… or it will get me." She stated weakly. I heard the creature wailing outside the house, and strange cooing noises. I could hear it nearing the door. "If only someone would protect me and stay with me. I would be safe, and I wouldn't have to be all alone." She began crying. I couldn't take it. Audrey's tears destroyed me. I couldn't stand to see her cry. It was rare, but when she did, it dismantled whatever stoicism I had in me. But this wasn't Audrey… "I'm sorry. I don't know who or what you are. I can't help you. I need to go back. Please." She looked up at me with her tear soaked face, and stepped towards me. I stepped away. What was she doing? She stepped forward again. I backed out onto the landing between the two rooms. "Please… please…" she whimpered between sniffles. "I… can't." I told her. "PLEASE!" She screamed in a voice which sounded nothing like Audrey, and pushed me. My heart sank into my stomach as I tumbled backwards into the stairs. I reached out to try to grab onto the wall, or handrail, but it didn't help. I fell sideways, and landed hard on my left shoulder. Something snapped, and pain shot through my arm. I tumbled over and slid down several more steps, crashing on my hurt arm with each step until I stopped. "You bitch! Fuck!" I screamed. I could hear the rag beast outside the door crying and wailing. The door was shaking on its hinges. The creature was trying to get in. "Fuck!" I cursed again, rolling onto my stomach, I used my right arm to slowly pull myself to the bottom of the stairs so I could regain my feet. My ribs hurt with every breath, and my left arm was immobilized. Any attempt to move it shot blinding pain from my fingers to my collar bone. I could hear shuffling from atop the stairs… She was going into the crawlspace… "AUDREY!" I shouted. What would she do if she got to the real Audrey? I got to my feet, the pain was so bad, but I had to follow her. The beast outside was slamming into the door. I could hear the door frame buckling against its blows. I didn't have long… I gritted my teeth and began to ascend the stairs, each sway of my body brought with it shocks of pain. "Come on…" I encouraged myself through gritted teeth as I reached the top. I looked at the open crawl space door. Crawling with one arm was going to suck… I heard the door break open and the creature step into the kitchen, there was no more time to waste. I shut the second bedroom door behind me. I dropped to my knees and slid into the crawlspace, reaching behind me with my uninjured arm to close the door. Hopefully the rag creature would not know where to look… I started dragging myself along the floor and shuffling with my knees towards the door on the other end. A woman's scream echoed from the bedroom ahead. "AUDREY!" I shouted. I could hear fighting. The pain no longer mattered, I shuffled with every ounce of strength in my body. My left arm flailed about limply, bumping into my side and the wall, each swing causing excruciating pain. "I'm coming!" I called out. My one good arm, and bashed up knees, brought me to the far end, and I emerged into the light of the bedroom. There on the floor before me lay Audrey in a pool of blood, her head caved in. And standing above me was Audrey, holding a bloody a hammer. "Aud… Audrey…" I stammered. She dropped the hammer to the ground and sank to her knees, shaking. "She… she came out of the crawlspace… She's me. She's fucking me. What the fuck. What the FUCK!" She stammered through tears. "Audrey… is… how… how can I know it's you?" I looked across to her, over the body of the other Audrey, as the pool of blood grew from her head. She just stared at me distantly, "Hun… it's me. I don't know how else to explain it…" "But… I mean… look at her. I didn't really talk to her. I don't know how much she knows. She talked just like you. How do I know…" I stammered through tears. Audrey took to her feet and carefully stepped across the dead Audrey and held out her hand. I took it with my one good arm, and she pulled me to my feet. Then, careful to avoid my injured arm, she wrapped her arms around me and held me close, and her finger tips danced on my shoulder the way they always did when we hugged. Her smell… it was all the way it should be. "I'm sorry. What do we do now?" She asked. "I don't know…" I responded.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I discovered a wrecked ship off the coast of Hawaii, and now my life is in danger.- Part 1 [RESPONSE] The heat of the sun beat down hard on the white sailboat. There was only a single cloud in sight, and the ocean waters were placid. I stood up front, watching the approaching atoll with curiosity. “You see that?” I turned back to the man who was steering the vessel. “That wreckage?” He replied. “Yeah, someone could be in serious danger. I don’t see anyone around it but they could be knocked out inside, so let’s check it out when we get there.” “Of course.” As the sailboat came closer to the atoll, I began calling out for any survivors of the wreck. “Hello! Anyone there?” I called again and again but received no response. It was another similarly sized sailboat, but was split into two. The mast had crashed down and the sail itself was ripped into shreds and spread across the sand. Seagulls were circling it like vultures and diving down. I had never seen a boat so destroyed in my whole life. “We haven’t had any bad storms recently right Nathan?” I asked the man at the wheel. “No, none at all. I don’t know what could have done that.” The ocean was beautiful, but like all nature, it was random and chaotic. Despite what many of the average population probably thought, shark attacks are pretty rare. And in Hawaii where I was from, it only happened around once every two years. And I had only heard of one fatality in my entire lifetime. Unfortunately, I had witnessed one of these attacks. It was off the coast of Maui, at one of my favorite spots to take my customers. The customers this time were friends so I was more casual this time, more careless. I had decided to leave my spear back up on the boat. And during our dive, we happened to spot a tiger shark. This was no alarm to me as I had seen hundreds of sharks in my dives, but my customers sort of panicked. I calmed them down, as they would not bother us as long as kept our distance. This one shark felt differently, however. Once it had spotted our group it made a beeline for us. I had never seen one move so fast, it was like it was possessed by a demon. We begin to try to swim away, but the shark came in for a large bite on one of my customers, ripping off part of his arm. And after that, it just left. It was a surreal experience with all the blood and his screaming. The shark hadn’t gotten a lot of his bone so it was just protruding out from the new stump by where his elbow used to be. The man luckily survived, as we were able to get back to the boat and to a hospital in time before he bled out. Many people would have probably never touched the ocean again after that, but I kept going. I had a company to run and I couldn’t let one bad incident kill my passion. I realized that like everything in life, what I did came with risk. Nathan brought the sailboat to the sand, and it came to a stop once it hit it. I immediately jumped off of the bow of the boat and begin running towards it. Nathan followed after me. “Check the back half, I’ll check the front,” I commanded him. He nodded and ran over to his half. Within a few seconds I was at mine, and looking into the gaping hole of the cabin. “Hey!” I called into it, but received no reply. I jumped into it and looked around. The front half of this cabin was a kitchen and a lounge area, which was nicely wooden furnished. It was however trashed by whatever force had destroyed the boat. Appliances were everywhere, and what food was left was being picked at by the seagulls. They all flew off when I came. I judged by the fact that all the food wasn’t gone meant that this had to have crashed very recently. The two oddest things about the cabin however were a broken fish tank and a helmet of some sort. The fish tank was fairly large and sitting on the counter, with the front glass shattered. I didn’t know why anyone would have a fish tank on a boat, but there were some eccentric people in the world. Something about this one thought gave me the creeps for some reason, and I felt an odd unexplainable sense of dread looking at it. The helmet was just as bizarre. It looked like almost a dark grey astronaut helmet or a helmet from some sci-fi movie. I thought it was some fake toy at first but picked it up to discover it weighed and looked real. I decided to not set it back and came back outside with it in my grip. Nathan was walking around the side of his half. “You find anyone Sione?” He asked when he saw me. “No, just this odd helmet. Check this thing out,” I handed it to him. He moved it up in down in his hands. “This feels like something from NASA, not something that belongs on a boat. “What do you think happened to the people on it?” “Well if they’re not here, they could have drowned. Or maybe they’re out there still on a life raft…” “We should call the Coast Guard right now, they can get to searching.” “Alright, our phones are back in the boat. But first I noticed something out by the water. It was one of those bottles with a message in it. Like something you’d see in a movie,” Nathan said to me as we stepped out onto the sand. He begin walking in the direction of the water and I quickly spotted what he was talking about. It was sitting right at the edge, half buried by the sand and being hit by the tiny waves. Once Nathan got to it he pulled it out of the sand and turned it upside down, allowing the rolled-up paper to fall out. It was worn out, torn up, and old looking. He studied it for a few seconds, and I noticed his gaze turn to one of confusion. “What is it? Some kind of S.O.S?” I asked him as I walked closer. “No, no. It’s some kind of map of some sort. But like, an old map…” he said and handed it to me. I took it from him and studied it. It was a map alright, but one of what looked like a crude version of Europe, Africa, and the Indian Ocean. It was labeled in some foreign language and had drawings of all sorts of different monsters on it. There was also a giant whirlpool at the bottom of the Indian Ocean on it. “Weird, but it’s probably just some decoration,” I said and handed it back to him. “I don’t know man, let’s take it with us too,” he said and rolled It back up. I didn’t care much about the map as I did the helmet. We jogged back over to our sailboat and got back on, getting our phones from a storage compartment next to the captain’s chair. “Wait, how did I forget, we don’t even have service out here,” Nathan said as he looked at his phone. He then switched to the camera app. “I’m still gonna take pictures, this is the craziest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said as he begin doing that. I pulled out my phone and also started doing the same. “So what do you think caused it?” I asked. “Hell, Davy Jones’s Kraken? I don’t see how any force could rip a boat in half like that.” “A waterspout?” “We’ve had no storms in weeks. What if it was like a bomb?” “Really?” “I mean look at that helmet, it looks like some important tech. Maybe they were carrying other high-end stuff like that and something exploded?” “Hmmm, the coast guard will probably be better detectives than us. Let’s start going back.” We stopped taking pictures and cast off from the atoll. Once we started going back towards Maui, our reception returned. But before I could call anyone, Nathan stopped the boat and started talking to me. “Wait a second. I think we should keep the helmet ourselves.” “Keep the helmet? You really think the coast guard wouldn’t take it for evidence?” “Only if we tell them we found it.” I realized now what he was implying. “No way, I’m not gonna steal something I don’t even know what it is. Not to mention stealing is wrong in the first place.” “Oh come on Sione. How many times did we steal stuff when we were younger?” Nathan was right. During our teenage years, he and I had a knack for getting into trouble. We often frequently shoplifted from gas stations and Walmarts, with booze being our favorite choice. But after a few harsh endings with the cops, I became a completely different person. I thought Nathan had grown up too, but maybe I had been wrong. “We were kids then, and this is way bigger than any of that,” I said after a pause. “I don’t have the kind of money you do, and that thing looks like it could be sold for a lot.” “Bro, who would you even sell it to? Are you a dark web user now? If it’s really that important the FBI would find you anyway.” Nathan stared off into the water. “Ok, what if we kept it for just a day or two? You know, tell them that we forgot to report it and left it on the boat or some bullshit like that.” I looked down at the helmet again, studying it hard. Attached to the top of it were two flashlights, and I noticed an opening in the front where I presumed a breathing tube would enter it. That’s when I figured it had to be an advanced diving suit. “I think this is a diving suit of some sort,” I brought the idea up to Nathan. “That’d make sense considering we found it on a boat,” he replied sarcastically. I sighed and pulled out my phone, calling the coast guard and reporting the crash. Once we arrived back in Maui, Nathan and I headed to my place and waited to hear about it on the news, but nothing ever came up. I thought that was super strange considering how odd it all was. The more I spent time studying the helmet, the more intrigued I became. Nathan was more fascinated by the map, which I still thought was nothing. Once it got to about 5’o’clock, I figured my wife would be coming home soon. “Still nothing on the news about the yacht. Surely the coast guard has got to have gotten out there by now?” Nathan said as he flipped through the channels. “Maybe they’re still looking for survivors or something,” I said, taking a bite of an apple. “What if it’s some crazy coverup that we got involved in?” He smiled widely as he talked. “Then we shouldn’t be involved. Look, Lilly is back at home and I don’t want her knowing about this. I think we should turn the helmet over in a few days. I just want to study it a little first.” “You’ve lost your edge man, you need to pull that giant stick out of your ass,” “Hey, no need to be so disrespectful.” “Whatever, I’m keeping the map to myself though, and doing some research on it. You sure you don’t want me to take the helmet?” “I wanna take a closer look at it.” “See you soon,” he said and got up, his smile gone. I knew I had upset him with this, but I knew I was doing the right thing. Not long after he left, my wife returned home. We had been together for eight years, and she was just as beautiful as the day I met her. I still remembered that night. Nathan at the time was engaged, and I hadn’t had any luck with girls really. I was supposed to go on a date that night with a girl I had met online, but she stood me up. After waiting on her for about an hour, I gave up and went to join Nathan and his fiancé Maggie at a bar. And at that bar was the girl with another guy. I got wasted that night and ended up leaving behind Nathan and Maggie and walking the beach alone, stumbling around. I passed out in the sand and awoke to a young blonde girl with dark green eyes. I knew right then and there that she was the one, and things had been perfect ever since. Within a few years, we were engaged, married, and had a baby daughter on the way. That night at dinner, she questioned me about my day off. I had hidden the helmet in my car, not wanting her to see it. I didn’t know if she would truly care, but I didn’t want to run any risk of upsetting her. “So, how was your day with Nathan?” She asked “Oh it was fine, we went out to our old atoll, did a little bit of fishing,” I replied “It’s been a while since I’ve been out there. How bout we go sailing out there together on your next day off?” “Of course. We could bring some wine and make it a picnic. But you know, it’s been so long since we’ve left the islands. And our anniversary is coming up. I’ve been looking at places, and I was thinking maybe South America…” “Sione, you know we can’t leave Faith here like that,” she interrupted me. “We could just hire a babysitter for a few days.” “You know how I feel about that, I only trust you and me to take care of her,” she said, standing up from the dinner table to put her plate in the sink. “I understand yeah, but all I’m saying is I’d like some time for just you and to get away from all this stress, go on an adventure like when we first started dating.” “You know that’s not realistic anymore, with a family comes a lot more responsibility. And you know one day when she’s older, we’ll all take trips together,” She looked back and smiled softly, and I felt warmth in my chest. That night, however, I couldn’t stop thinking about the shipwreck, map, and helmet. Long after Lilly had fallen asleep, I lay awake hoping to receive a text from Nathan. And around 1 AM, my phone buzzed. *You up? \`* It was a text from Nathan. *Yeah.* I simply texted back. *Ok good. Call me right now. I’ve gotten some juicy shit on that map.* I looked back to Lilly before quietly slipping out of bed. We lived in a two-story white house, with a large living room with big glass walls. They had a door that led out to a wooden deck. And this wooden deck led out to the dock and a private beach. It was a little windy outside, and our palm trees were swaying gently back and forth. The sounds of birds, the wind, and waves lapping against the sand eased my mind. It was a full moon and bright, but unfortunately with the light pollution from Honolulu, I couldn’t see many stars. I unlocked my phone and called Nathan. It only took a few rings before he answered. “Yo.” “Hey, Nathan, what you got?” “So the language on this map, it’s greek! How weird is that? And the monsters on it are from the Odyssey. You know much about that?” “Not really, isn’t some big poem?” “Actually it’s like an epic. It was written by this dude Homer and talks about this other dude Odysseus who gets lost on the way back from the Trojan War.” “That all sounds interesting, but I still think it was just a decorative map.” “Well if it is they got a lot of things wrong. That giant whirlpool at the bottom of the Indian Ocean is labeled ‘The daughter of Poseidon’. But a daughter of Poseidon would be like a demigod, not a whirlpool.” “It was probably cheaply made then. Look I’ve done some thinking. And I want to turn the helmet over tomorrow to authorities. It’s the right thing to do.” “Sione wait…” I heard footsteps approaching behind me and whirled around to see Lilly walking out to me. “Is everything ok Sione?” She asked. In the moonlight, she looked gorgeous. “Yeah, it’s Nathan. He just couldn’t sleep,” I replied. “Ok, I’m just checking.” She turned around and headed back inside. I didn’t know how much she had actually heard, but I didn’t want to be any more suspicious. “Hey, I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” I said and hung the phone up. Once I got back into bed, Lilly rolled over towards my side. She opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by a loud scream, a scream that came from the baby monitor on the nightstand. The screaming was followed by a loud crying, and we were up and running to Faith’s room within a second. I reached the doorway first, flung it open, and turned on the lights to see her crying loudly and standing up in her crib. Lilly ran over and picked her up out of the crib, beginning to comfort her right away. “Shhh now, momma and dadda are here now, shhhhhh…” I watched awkwardly, not sure what to do, but Faith was already beginning to calm down. She was 14 months old now, could walk a little, and say two words. I remember her first word, which she said around her one-year anniversary, was just simply “Ma.” And a month later, she was saying “Da” to me. It was her way of calling out to us. But it hadn’t been easy with her. Almost every night she woke us up crying on the baby monitor. Every morning I was exhausted, and sometimes deep down I wondered if Faith would be even worth all this trouble, and we didn’t even intend to have her. Our plan was to wait until we were a little older, and still have more time for ourselves. But the baby had taken up all of our time now. Anytime I thought like this, I did my best to try to repress these thoughts. The next day at work I was training some divers in the back of our facility. We had this super large and deep pool that could simulate waves, so it’s often where I took new Divers to learn before getting in the actual ocean. But the entire time I couldn’t stop thinking about the oddity of the shipwreck. When lunch came around I texted Nathan and agreed to meet him at The Black Flag. The Black Flag was the name of our favorite restaurant in the entire city. It was right up on the beach, open air, and under a thatched-roof cabana. It was also next to a popular surfing spot, and that provided plenty of entertainment. Watching the surfers go and sometimes wipe out. For many years I had tried it, but I could never get it down. Nathan on the other hand had been decent. When I got there I ordered a bacon cheeseburger combo, and took a seat right by the beach. It was a nice sunny day, with only a few clouds out. The beach and restaurant were alive with the sounds of laughter and people taking. Nathan however, did not show up. Instead, two men in suits quietly sat down at my table. “Mr. Tupuola is it?” A bald man who looked to be in his 50s said. “Uh yeah, nice to meet you?” I extended my hand out for a handshake, but they didn’t even acknowledge it. Just stared at me from behind their dark sunglasses. I immediately began to wonder if these people were here about the shipwreck and grew a little nervous. “You can just call me Chapman,” the bald man said before continuing to speak. “Well, how can I help you two?” “Mr. Tupuola, you and your friend Nathan Wesker happened upon a crashed ship the other day on the atoll right? One you called the coast guard about?” “We did.” “Well as it so happens that was a government ship. Part of an organization that we work for. And there was some property on it that was very important to us. When we searched the site didn’t see any sign of it. You wouldn’t have happened to have taken anything from the site would you?” I opened my mouth to tell them about the helmet and the map but paused. Something about these guys didn’t sit right with me. “What government organization are y’all a part of exactly?” I questioned. “That’s classified,” Chapman replied quickly. “Well how can I trust you then?” “Mr. Tupuola, stealing government property is a very serious crime that could have very serious consequences. If you gave it to us now, we’d be willing to let it slide.” “Give what? What do you think I took?” “We can’t say.” I didn’t reply, just silently studied them. The tension was broken by a cheerful waitress approaching our table. “Hey guys! Would you two like to try our new Hawaiian Mimosa special? We have a brand new recipe and it’s on sale…” “No thank you,” Chapman bluntly interrupted her without taking his eyes off of me. “Well, I can take your order whenever you’re ready!” “We’re good.” The waitresses’ smile faded into a solemn frown. “Okkkk then, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Chapman waited until she was out of earshot and then leaned in forward to me. “We know you’re lying Tupuola. We already braced your buddy Nathan, and he told us everything.” Calmly I reached into my back pocket, pulled out my wallet, pulled a twenty out of it, and laid it on the table. “Am I under arrest?” I asked, my eyes darting between the two of them. They both glanced at each other before looking back at me. Chapman shook his head no. “Well I must be going then, gotta get back to work,” I said and stood up before walking away without looking back. In could feel them staring me down as I walked off. As soon I was out of the restaurant I was speed walking to my car and frantically dialing Nathan. It went through all the rings before going to voicemail. As I approached my Tesla I tried again and again but received no answer. *Hey man, I need you to call me right away. It’s pretty urgent.* I texted him before starting up the car and driving off. But as I was leaving the parking lot a new worry hit me hard. *Lilly and Faith!* Quickly I was calling my wife but received no answer either. Normally I avoided texting while driving but this time I felt like it was justified. *Hey Lilly, I’m just trying to check in on you and Faith. I’ve taken the rest of the day off of work and decided maybe we could spend it together, so call me back.* Normally I wasn’t one for speeding, but this time I was pushing it to about ten over. I didn’t want to risk getting pulled over and being delayed getting home. Honolulu’s traffic was always bad, but the restraint was only about 25 minutes from my house. On the way, I contacted my assistant manager, who actually answered my phone. I told him I had a family emergency and had to take the rest of the day off. They didn’t question any further. When I arrived I saw Lilly’s sedan in the driveway, and my worry grew even deeper. I opened up the glove box and pulled out a taser. I was never one to keep a gun for self-defense, as I didn’t want to ever seriously harm or kill anyone. I stepped out of the car, slipped the taser into my pocket, and slowly approached the front door. When I arrived I reached out and twisted the door handle. It was unlocked. Slowly, I opened the door. I reached my hand into my pocket as my eyes swept across the living room and kitchen. Nothing seemed to be out of place. The first room I went to was Faith’s. She wasn’t in her crib. Next, I moved to Lily and I’s bedroom. It too was empty. My eyes fell on two gold medals hanging next to the closet door, and my mind was pulled elsewhere for a second. But I quickly snapped out of it when I noticed Lily’s phone sitting on her nightstand. I picked it up, eyeing the missed call and text notifications from me. My worry began to evolve into panic as I ran back downstairs. “Lilly!” I screamed. I frantically looked around, breathing heavily. “Lilly! Where are you!” And then I stopped. Out through the window, I could see our hammock slowly rocking back and forth. And sitting in it was the backside of my wife. Hurriedly I opened the sliding glass door and almost jogged out to her. “Lily!” I yelled as I came up behind her. She almost jumped in reaction before turning around to face me. “Oh Gosh, you scared the heck out of me!” She was holding Faith in her arms. By some miracle, she hadn’t woken up either. “Sorry, it’s just I was worried about you. You didn’t answer your phone.” “I’ve been out here with Faith for a while. Did you take the day off of work?” “I did.” “Oh good! Maybe we can do something fun then.” I swallowed hard as I looked past her and to the water. Lying was something I hated doing to everyone, something I always tried to avoid. I prided myself on being an honest man. And now I was gonna have to lie to the person who mattered most to me. “Uh Lilly, I don’t think it’s safe for you and Faith to be here right now.” She frowned at me, and I continued to avoid eye contact. “Some men came by at work today. Sketchy-looking men who wanted money. I told them to get lost of course, but just in case they know where I live and try to do something…” Lilly scrunched her face into a look of anxiety. “Oh my gosh Sione, you have to call the police!” “I’m about to. I just had to rush home to make sure you were alright.” “Were they just some random thugs? Or did they look even more dangerous than that?” “They looked dangerous dangerous. I wouldn’t be surprised if these guys were part of some higher crime organization. That’s why I want to make sure you are safe tonight.” “What about you? You should come with me.” “No No, I’m gonna stay here. The police will probably leave an unmarked vehicle here overnight also. I’ll probably be fine, but I can’t risk anything ever happening to you or Faith,” I said as my eyes wandered over to my sleeping daughter. Lilly looked off for a little bit as if to contemplate what I was saying. “Sione this is a lot. We just got this house a year ago, and I don’t want everything to be upheavaled, to have to get a whole new identity and everything.” “Don’t worry, it won’t be like that.” I reached out and hugged her, squeezing tightly. And at that moment I was comforted too. After that, we all three went back inside and Lilly began to pack her things. Grace was her younger sister, and she lived basically on the other side of Honolulu with her husband Joey. He was a good guy and I had always enjoyed going over to their place. I knew they would understand. On the way out I hugged and kissed her once more. I just hoped it wouldn’t be my last time seeing her. “Be safe,” she called out to me as she started up her car. “I will.” I tried to reassure her, but even I wasn’t so sure of my fate. After she left, I began trying to contact Nathan once again. But as the hours went by I still heard no word from hIm. I considered calling the police; but if these were actually government agents, then it would probably do me more harm than good. I decided not to leave the house the rest of the day, and stayed inside and just watched basketball the whole time. For dinner, I ordered just a pepperoni pizza to the house. Before eating I sent up a quick prayer for my family and I. As the sun set and night crept in, I grew more anxious. If they were gonna make a move on me, it would probably be under the cover of darkness. I also figured they would wait till late in the night. And by 9 PM, nothing significant had happened. Lilly and I had been in the talks about setting up a camera in the driveway and front yard for security but hadn’t gotten around to it. Crime in my neighborhood was incredibly low, and up until now, I had never felt like we were in any danger. But a new idea began to formulate in my head. I had left the helmet in the car this whole time so they wouldn’t find It if they broke in. But now I was thinking: *Why not just hide in the car myself? And watch the house the whole time?* So at about 9:30 I grabbed my tablet and headed out to my Tesla, bringing the taser with me. It was parked in our driveway, but I moved it out of it and parked it further down the road on a hill. With a pair of binoculars I also brought out, I could easily see my house. I had shut every light off in the house, and it looked like no one was home with both me and Lily’s cars being gone. I had decided to leave the door unlocked, however. As I’d rather not have to pay to fix a door that had been broken into. As the night drew on, I felt myself getting more and more tired. I considered going in and getting some caffeine but didn’t want to risk it. Cars had been driving down and up the road all night, but none of them looked or acted suspicious. By the time midnight had come and passed, I was fighting off falling asleep. But around 1 AM, I noticed a black SUV drive down the hill and slow as it approached my house. Once it reached the driveway, it turned into it and quickly shut off its engine. *This has gotta be those guys* I pulled out my binoculars and began to observe them. It took about a minute for the car doors open, but three big men stepped out when they did. Instead of suits like the guys at lunch, they were wearing almost combat-like gear. In the night I could barely make out pistol holsters on their waist. They all approached the door, and one of the men knocked. I expected Chapman to be one of the men, but he wasn’t with them as far as I could tell. After only about ten seconds of no one answering, he reached for the door handle. The door opened and all three of the men stepped in. I had purposely left the curtains open so I could see what they would do. At first, they went through the kitchen, searching everywhere. And then next, the living room. They opened every door and drawer in the house. But they were careful not to make my mess. After searching downstairs they ascended the stairs, but I didn’t get to watch much longer after that. A knocking on the side of my car jolted me out of my concentration. A wave of fear hit me as I looked up and saw another similarly dressed man, aiming a gun at me, just outside the door.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] What lurks in the Light [RESPONSE] Have you ever though what’s so different between darkness and light? How do they appear on separate ends of comparison specter? Why are those opposed? Some say that darkness is just the absence of light, or something similar to that, but in my opinion that’s not exactly true. I am posting this, so at least some of you could learn from my grave mistakes. Maybe this will save you or at least keep you sane. It all started with my master’s thesis in theology. I was in top of my class so the expectations were high and bravely took the challenge, as I was quite confident, and after several consultations with my professors the choice stopped at: “The evolution and diversity of religious beliefs in contemporary cults”. I’ll skip through the parts where I’ve visited several so-called “brotherhoods” and “sisterships”, even though some of them were really amusing. Like that one, where members praised some random stalactite, as to them - it resembled Christ descending from the skies. But again - all of that is not really important to the story. Somehow I managed to find the most intriguing one called “The Church of Miraculous Shining of Almighty Lord and His Heavenly Messengers”. I can’t remember how, though. Probably some of my friends showed the leaflet with the Mass invitation, as they were aware of my research. Anyway, I was there on stated date. These guys were huge - they had their own building in the suburban part of the city, and I’m not talking some rented office structure or something bought straight on the brink of demolition, no. It was a huge white triangular church which resembled either a futuristic dwelling or an alien ship. You know - one of those pretentious construction from the mind of a newfangled designer. The insides were spacious and heavily illuminated. The house of God made of glass, steel and light panels. The Mass has started and I examined the clergy attentively - all of them were dressed in white clothes and wore that reverent look on their happy faces, as they were singing pretty common odes to Lord and His wisdom. Then, finally, the Preacher stepped up and began his routine, saying that he was happy to see so many new faces gathered that day. I’ll spare you the details, the summary of his speeches was that the light is God’s gift and not a single creature walking this soil wouldn’t exist if it was taken away. The sun was the God’s present to humanity, so we could love and prosper and each single source of illumination is an echo of his kindness. That was… Pretty medieval, if you ask me, but that’s not the point. Pretty soon the donation plates started to ply around, and I must admit - this Church was quite a popular place, considering the amount of the bills piling up on those. As the Mass was finished and the flock was heading to leave - I went directly to the Preacher, in attempt to get to know their beliefs better. I’ve told him straightaway what was the purpose of my interest and if he would be so kind to share his vision of this church, talk about people who follow them and share some insights on how they organize things around here. And you know what - to my surprise he was more than happy to talk about it. The preacher introduced himself as Reverend Bartholomew and invited me for a cup of sunflower tea. Yes, exactly. It was the holy flower of sunlight and breaking dawn, so I was served a cup full of hot liquid and sunflower petals. This was getting interesting. We talked for about 40 minutes, where most of the topics were strictly theological and concerned more of philosophical meaning, rather than practical explanation of cult’s everyday life. One important thing I should mention: Reverend had quite a remarkable appearance: all of his hair, including eyebrows and eyelashes were of an ash-blonde color, almost white, as if he was an albino. Though his eyes were not even close to a slight shade of red - they were of a pale yellow color. Just as if he had hazel pigment long time before, but with the course of time it just washed away. The day ended with an invitation for the next Mass, best wishes with my work and requests to spread the word about their church. Reverend said that he has much more to share with me, who’s enlightened with the teaching of God, though not at the time, as he had urgent things to care about. Yeah, I’ve left that day barely scratching the surface. This looked promising. The cult where people worshiped God’s light rather more than God himself. So I promised myself to follow up on this lead, as at that time - it sounded more like a wild mix of paganism, Christianity and human ignorance. I’ll fast forward to the end of our next meeting - we talked with Reverend again, and again - he shared some of his beliefs and ideas, though this time we slightly touched the topic of holy rituals and holidays. He seemed excited as he explained, that soon the Day of Divine Illumination would be celebrated. This was their most important day of the year, and surprisingly - he invited me to participate, without blinking an eye. Yet again my theological education opened the doors I never knew existed. This was a huge success for me - observing cult rituals from the front row. Sounded like a perfect material. Summing it up with all the bits I’ve gathered through our improvised interviews - I was almost done with material for my grand example section. So the great day has come and I was there - wearing all white, as instructed (otherwise, they wouldn’t let me in) waiting for Reverend to show up. To tell the truth - I was expecting some theatrical action, some costumes and lots of illumination, maybe. But that was not it. Bartholomew showed up, finally. He greeted me and asked to follow him, speaking on how important this day was to all of them and that I’m about to experience something, that might give me True Faith. We walked through the whole building and up to a staircase leading to basement. If, at this point, you are thinking of human sacrifices and/or a monster with light bulbs in place of its eyes - please don’t. The reality was much much worse, but I am getting there. We stopped in front of the heavy double doors and Reverend stared me in the eye, trying to reach me in his preach: “What you’re about to experience is the Gift. I want you to accept it. I want you to enjoy it. I’m not asking you to believe, but to feel it and make your own conclusions. Light is the source of life. Light of His Grace is the way He speaks to his children. If you open your eyes and your soul to the Lord - you may see the Divine. His Angels surround us, protecting us, supporting us. If you are a true believer - you can see them dancing with the first beams of sunlight hitting the ground, you can see them resting in the light of the campfire in the night, you can see them watching through the headlights, lamps and even in Auroras. Behold and praise His creation!” And then we walked through the doors. I’ve ended up in a large cylindrical room full of people, both men and women, dressed in white. What amused me the most - each single inch of the surfaces inside was covered in halogen lamps, covered with thick transparent glass, even the floor and the ceiling. As of now - just a few were on, so we were standing in a dim lit space, just enough to see around. As the door closed behind us - Reverend started his speech: “Brothers and Sisters, as you know - only the True Believers are allowed to attend. Though today, we have a special guest, who will help to spread the word of our teaching and our ideals.” Suddenly all the people in the roomed slightly nodded their heads, as giving me a bow. I returned the motion. “Today is a blessed day, as today God gifted me with his Light, many years ago. He sent his loyal servants to tell me of his will…” - he continued, and that sounded exactly like you think it does - typical cult leader story. “…as the Holy Book says - There was nothing, and the Lord said: ”Let there be Light“. Rejoice! Rejoice! Rejoice!” - the speech went to culminating point. Next thing - each of the lamps turned on - with minimum power at first, gaining in intensity each single second. Light was everywhere and soon enough it became hard to see. Surprisingly - this approach to staring at pure illumination was not as bad as you could imagine. I expected tears bursting out and severe pain of eyes exposed to such intensity, but it was okay. Just as if I was standing in complete darkness, except it was not black, but white. “Don’t close your eyes! Witness! If you’re a true God’s servant - his Seraphims will appear in front of you!” - the voice of Reverend proclaimed. This was… an interesting experience. It gave a certain explanation of why Reverend’s eyes had that strange color. I think he had been doing this for years and years. At some point I started to worry, that these procedures could actually backfire on my eyesight, but that thought sank quickly… Absolutely unexpectedly something moved in the corner of my blinded sight - a form, or a figure…I don’t know how to explain this properly. Imagine yourself in a completely white room and everything around you is white, so you can’t differ left from right and up from down. And then imagine something that would be next grade of white - same color, but brighter, maybe? Slowly this mysterious shape aligned with my vision and swear - I could differentiate the arms, the legs, the huge wings behind it and a head, wearing a wreath or a crown of some sort. I couldn’t believe myself. Was this real or just a daydream? Hallucination, maybe? The contours shaped to be more clear and I’ve squinted in attempt to see better. A sudden scream resonated from the walls and I got curious to whom it might belong, but as half a second passed and my brain synced with my body - I realized it was my own. My consciousness processed the image before my eyes and I finally understood what I was looking at. It was no angel. It was no God’s servant. It didn’t belong to this world. What I thought looked like a wreath was a bunch of worm-like outgrowths, entwined together, moving chaotically on a crude eyeless head. The wings appeared to be made of meaty sacks contracting and expanding randomly. Its limbs were tails and its body was a slit, hiding dozens of swarming suckers. And it was not alone. I saw the white nothingness tearing apart here and there, ejecting light brighter than the Sun itself with those creatures following through. That was too much to take. My heart started skipping beats being full of primal fear. I remember closing my eyes and heading back, where I expected the door to be. It didn’t help much, as even when my eyelids touched - all I had before me was a vast white ocean of nothingness. Somehow I managed to get out of the room, collapsing to the ground, overwhelmed with my visions and emotions. Reverend, who sounded concerned (I really couldn’t see his face) was kind enough to call an ambulance and take care of all the following expenses. Couple of months has passed since my “rebirth”, if I may say so. I’m typing this blindfolded, guided by built-in audio assistant. I’ve never finished my research papers. I just want to prevent you from making my mistakes. Do you remember how your parents always told you not to look at the light directly, as it would hurt you? That is a thought way deeper than you think. No, I didn’t lose my sight. I’m blindfolded by my own will. It’s better this way that the other. I’ve discovered that they learned about me and they are seeking for the contact. I don’t know what their intentions are, but I do not think of anything good. I you ask me - I think they are just the messengers that were attracted by the fools, practicing their strange beliefs. Each time I see a source of light - I can feel how the matter is ripping, how their tails are tearing it even further, unless I stop looking. Nobody looks straight at the sun, as it hurts us. But did you think about stars? What if those tiny dots of light are peepholes? What if making a wish on a falling star is just another step for humanity towards its own extinction? Ignore it, as those are just my thoughts and I hope I’m just a fool. But what I do know is: I’ve seen the “servants” and don’t want to meet the creator.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The House of Attics and Basements [Part 3] [RESPONSE] “Was that him?” I asked, but Emily was already running for the house. She sprinted up the front stairs and fumbled for her keys at my front door. They didn’t work. Without missing a beat, she took a pocketknife out of her back pocket and began digging at the lock. “Get the door!” She shouted. “Hurry!” I jogged over as fast as I could and opened the lock. Inside, the house was quiet. Emily started to head toward the stairs, but I held her arm. Opening my security camera app, I checked for activity all around the house and found none. The attic ladder had been lowered. I followed Emily upstairs and down the hall, right to the spot where the Traveler had been standing. “Must have left in a rush,” she said bitterly. “He was right there. Right there.” Shattered glass shimmered like ice at her feet. She looked out into the darkness of the front yard, and the wind from the broken window pushed at her light brown hair. She looked cold, and for a moment, I had the odd urge to hug her, though of course I didn’t. “There’s a chance I can still catch him,” she said. “I’ve got to–I’ve got to go.” She stopped at the base of the attic stairs and tossed me the gun. “Might want to sleep with this from now on. I won’t be back, but he will.” She paused for a moment, and then added. “I’m sorry about some of the things I’ve said before. There are worse things to be than lazy. Back home…” She trailed off. “Just, stay safe. Lock your door. Maybe, if you’re lucky, he won’t be interested in you.” I realized she was still holding the small pocketknife that she’d tried to use to open the front door. Looking closer, I saw that it was my father’s, bearing the distinctive image of Janus. “Wait,” I said. “I can’t let you take that. It’s mine.” She laughed. “Check your pocket.” When I did, I was surprised to find my father’s pocketknife in its usual place. I examined it in the light. Impossible. The knife was custom, not to mention centuries-old. It was like seeing two copies of the Mona Lisa, side by side. “Goodbye, Steve,” she said. She started up the ladder, and I followed. I wanted to tell her to wait, that I still had questions, but she was already practically out of sight. And even though I wanted to rush after her, I could barely bring myself to go into the attic. I followed her up the ladder, slowly, a rung at a time. “Please,” I said as I tried to force myself to keep climbing. “Just one more thing.” “Make it quick,” she shouted back at me. “How do I see you again?” “Like I said, I’m not coming back.” “Please,” I said. “I just–” “If you really want answers, they’re all in the library. I’d start with John Lewis, 1800. He had a lot of it figured out. Read what he wrote. Or don’t. It’s up to you.” I heard her footsteps above me now, moving in the direction of the clock. “Wait,” I tried to add. “With all of those things you were searching for on my computer–” I stopped speaking as a faint blue pulse of light flashed through the room. My head had just reached the attic floor, and through the flash, I saw Emily’s silhouette fading into nothing, almost as if disintegrating, the tiny pieces of shadow being sucked into the clock’s face, which glowed a brilliant blue. Then, suddenly, the light was gone. I turned on my phone’s flashlight and fumbled through the darkness toward the clock. Reaching out, I touched the face and found it cold to the touch, like touching the window of a grocery store refrigerator or a window on a winter’s night. “Emily?” I asked, but there was no response. She was gone, and she wasn’t coming back. The fact of it hit hard. I couldn’t quite explain why, but the thought that I’d never see this girl again hurt me in a way I hadn’t felt in years. At first, I thought it was just curiosity. Between the knife, the weird web searches, and everything Emily had said, I had a thousand unanswered questions. But it wasn’t just that. Even though I’d barely known her for a few hours, and I’d spent most of those at gunpoint, I couldn’t escape the idea that we were somehow linked. Every fiber of my being told me to follow her. But how? I examined every surface of the clock, looking for a way to open it. I tried to find any sort of door or latch–anything that would open the clock so I could look inside, but there was nothing. I knocked on the clock, searching for hollow spaces, but there was no sound. I may as well have been knocking on a solid tree trunk. Over the next few hours, I tried it all. Knocking, kicking, shouting ‘open sesame,’ and my own name, and my father’s and Emily’s, but the clock simply continued its tick tock, its mechanical laugh. I was sweating now, even with the cold night air. I brought up a six pack to drink and cool down. Then I tried to take the clock apart. I lugged my father’s rusting toolkit from the barn and got down to business. I tried to pry open the wood inlay with a screwdriver, but I couldn’t even scratch it. It was as if the wood were steel or iron. Ever weirder, the ancient glass of the clock’s face was just as strong. I tried screwdrivers, drills, and then a hammer. Finally, I brought a heavy garden shovel and swung it at the clock's face with full force. It, too, bounced off with nary a scratch, as if the glass were a brick wall. Same for the wood base. The shovel ricocheted off it and gave my hand a nasty cut. Clock 1, Stephen 0. Next, I tried to budge the clock from its position against the wall but found it to be completely immovable. No matter how I strained, it remained in place, as if bolted in place with steel rivets. A crowbar made no difference. The things was stick. All the while, the clock continued its incessant ticking and tocking, an unseen pendulum swinging even as the second and hour hand remained in place, both pointed directly and the seven. Giving up, I went downstairs to clean and bandage my injured hand. The smell of isopropyl alcohol was intoxicating as I poured it over my wound, and I quickly found myself back in the kitchen, opening a bottle of red. Carefully, I took my Sharpie and drew a line in the usual spot on the wine bottle, committing myself not to fall back into bad habits. In truth, though, it had been a stressful day, and I couldn’t be blamed for breaking a minor self-imposed rule. The clock, after all, could wait. I walked to the office and settled into my father’s chair, a Bordeaux glass in hand, watching the light catch the red swirls as I helped the wine breathe. Searching the shelves, I found the old, leatherbound family archive I’d seen my father leaf through on occasion and flipped through the years until I got to 1800. My father had been an obsessive, unable to let go of even the smallest problem. Once, when his truck wouldn’t start, he had disappeared into the garage overnight, toolbox in hand. He was a farmer without much mechanical experience. But I woke to find him still awake, his truck disassembled all around him, each small part carefully organized according to some complex system known only to him. “Don’t touch anything,” was all he said. For three days, my father practically lived in the garage, leafing through the owners manual and fiddling with various gears and pistons. On the fourth day, he slept for nearly 24 hours. Then he woke up and got back to work. On the fifth day, the truck was reassembled, and on the sixth day, my father drove it to town, returning with a two hundred-dollar bottle of scotch. He had taken a rest in the same chair I sat in now. Here, he slowly took down the bottle two inches at a time. Twelve years old, I had entered his study cautiously and congratulated him. “All I did was not give up,” he said. “Try it sometime.” He shook his head, drank a bit more and settled deeper into the soft leather of the chair. “French lessons. Guitar. Dancing, for god's sake. I’ve still got the Clarinet you never even opened. Little master. Dilettante. Little master of giving up.” It had been a few hours later, long after my father had passed out dead asleep, that I woke to see a stranger watching over me. He sat in the antique rocking chair in the corner of my room, the one where my mother had once held me, even when I was far too old to be babied. He didn’t speak at first, but I heard a slow, scratching sound and smelled the distinctive scent of pine. Paralyzed in fear, I didn’t move, trying to breathe evenly so he wouldn’t realize I’d seen him. As the minutes passed, I saw moonlight catch the wide side of a blade in his right hand and realized he was whittling. I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like a small pocket knife. “I had considered,” said the man, his voice oddly familiar, “hanging you by your feet, your neck opened just so above the collarbone. Up somewhere high. A tree or a roof, so that they found your puddle first. Another option would be skinning you alive.” “Please,” I said quietly. “Please.” “But what. Would. Be. The. Point?” He stood now, nearly shaking with anger. “Your death would barely register. Just like your mother’s.” He paced the room, dragging the knife along the wallpaper, which slowly peeled. “What do you want?” I asked. “That’s easy,” he said, still pacing. “All you’ve got to do is keep up the good work. Keep being you.” My father claimed he didn’t believe me, at least to my face. Over time, even I had come to believe the visit was a nightmare. Now I knew the truth. The Traveler had been there all along, waiting for something. Waiting until I had something to lose. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Porcelain skin, blonde hair. [RESPONSE] The dark web is a fascinating place. I shouldn't have ever found it, but I did, owing to my strong inclination towards matters related to IT and an unquenchable thirst to learn about anything related to the computers and the internet. I had found many disturbing things on the dark web, like websites selling everything from play-doh to the children who played with it, and some selling cars or second hand computers. But a few days ago I found one particular website that intrigued me greatly. I won't give the name out here, but the best way I can describe it is by saying that it was just like reddit, but for serial killers. At first I thought this whole site was some sort of practical joke, but some of the posts on there were written with such sincerity and seriousness that it was rather hard to believe that what I was reading was purely satire. I remember chuckling to myself when I first found a post about a man murdering a family of five. But as I read the post, I felt bile rising up in my throat. I discovered to my horror, that these people were actual, deranged, serial killers. Even after finding out that this was a platform crawling with legitimate psychos, I still couldn't let it go. To my dismay, most of the primary targets were young attractive women in their 20's. This fucked with my head, because I fit their criteria perfectly. I found that I became increasingly paranoid, seeing stalkers everywhere, and got more and more frightened of going to the supermarket alone. Most of them were just people of average IQ who thirsted for blood and violence in an effort to seem dangerous. These dumb ones sometimes gave out important details in their posts involving their location or the identity of their victims. Very few of them were actually intelligent killers who actually took joy in killing, who stalked and profiled their victims carefully before hunting them down. It was these posts that scared me the most. One such user drew my attention. His posts weren't gory like the rest. They were written in an artistic, almost eerily beautiful way. His writing was sophisticated yet simple. I had found my first truly dangerous psycho. His username was *PorcelainSkinBlondeHair*. So apparently he had a type. After stalking him, a found a folder on his profile with pictures....of every single one of his victims. A few pictures of them while they were alive, and one when they were dead. Unlike the other killers, he didn't take pictures of them going to work, at the supermarket, or walking back home. The pictures were taken when Mr.BathAndBodyWorks and the woman were at dinner or watching a movie together. He had dated all of these women before murdering them, which just made him scarier. Then I came across a picture of one his victims after he had his way with her. My food rapidly rose up to my throat and my eyes filled with tears as I stumbled to my bathroom and puked my lungs out. Tears and saliva were flowing down my face as I collapsed shaking in front of my toilet. His bio made so much more sense now. *"I want to sleep on her soft, blonde hair and use her porcelain skin as a blanket."* I had discovered the closest thing to an actual incubus. A menace to human kind, the most psychotic, demonic thing I've ever come across. He made my organs turn in my body. This man wasn't human. Each adventure of his lasted just over a a few weeks. And just yesterday he posted pictures of his latest victim. I gasped and covered my hand with my mouth as I pushed my laptop away from me. *I knew her. I knew that girl.* She was the pretty one who worked as a cashier at my grocery store. I had seen almost a doll-like, handsome blonde man come pick her up in his car many times when her shift ended. He was here. He was here in my neighborhood. My breath came is bursts as sweat poured down my forehead as I staggered away from my desk. I clutched my chair for support as my brain struggled to process everything that my eyes had just read. As I stood in the middle of my living room, it was sheer willpower that kept me on my feet. Just then, there was a knock on my door. I crept towards the door as quietly as I could. Whoever or *whatever* was on the other side must have sensed my presence even though I didn't make a single noise. A quiet voice, resembling that of a child's said sofly; *"You have very nice skin.*"<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] What A Wonderful Smile [RESPONSE] I am going to put a disclaimer here. All names in the following will be pseudonyms, and I will not be disclosing the company I work for. Though I have asked those related to this story if they were comfortable with me finally disclosing the following events, I do not want to bring anyone else further into this. Thank you. Legends have been told in many ways. There are the ancient myths, the mysteries, and the stories that can send a shiver up anyone's spine. Of course, many of these tales originate from ancient anecdotes passed down through generations and recycled campfire tales used to torment younger audiences, but the following is not one of these stories. Please do not ever think that The Chamógelo is fake. I became a journalist in my early twenties. I graduated with a bachelor’s degree in journalism from Syracuse University and was so excited for everything to finally begin. My dream career was just ahead of me, I was comfortable financially, and my new job gave me opportunities I couldn’t even dream of; plus, I got to see the world for what it was. Not the prettied-up shit that I wrote in the paper, or the just-out-of-reach narratives of distant countries, never to be experienced by the average citizen. Everything that wasn’t familiar almost felt fictional; which was what made me most excited about being in media. I got to travel to any country I wanted, and thus, I was able to make what was previously fiction into reality. I never stayed in one country too long, and because of this, I was able to visit most of the world before I was thirty. I covered the stories that no one else would, and, quickly became the go-to guy for questions about horrifying places and disturbing events. It was taxing, I will admit, but it was my passion. Upon my arrival back in New York following a long, excruciating assignment in the mysterious Koh Kor Islands of Cambodia, I was looking forward to my well-deserved break from the hauntings, and the exhaustion that came along with jet lag. I stepped into my stale apartment, alone, drained, and ready to sleep for an uninterrupted and unforeseen amount of time, before my phone rang. It was Michael Lewis. The head reporter, and my boss. We did the casual back and forth about my travels before Lewis addressed the reason he called. “I was hoping to catch you at the airport, kid.” He began, “So, listen. You know Greece, right? I mean, you’ve been there before and liked it enough…so I’m sending you back! We’ve heard reports of this story about “the Grinner” or something, and it sounds right up your alley.” Michael paused again; this time I spoke up. “Yeah, sure. Hey, uh, listen, Mr. Lewis, I really can’t do much of anything right now. Can we push it until next week?” I figured that was a pretty plausible request. It wasn’t like he was the one running around from different countries and having to endure all the physical effects. The response warranted a sigh from me: “Sure kid, does Tuesday work for ya?” I rolled my eyes, “yeah, whatever,” I confirmed rather unprofessionally before he and I said our goodbyes. It was already Sunday when he called. I did not think about Greece, or much of anything, for the next day and a half. I slept for as long as my body would physically allow, and when I woke up, I began packing. Late on Monday, I received a plane ticket, and approximately five hundred Euros; the typical protocol for my seedy boss. How he got the money? I never asked. I never wanted to, I just did as I was told. The more I think about it now, I can see how wrong the whole thing was. Now, don’t get me wrong here, I love Greece; so whenever I had the opportunity to visit, I always took it. I have a few ties in that country; so if I ever needed a place to stay, I was always welcome. I still am. My ‘ties’, The Roberts, grew to be my very close friends; always providing for me, teaching me everything I know about their country, and caring for me like one of their own. They were a fairly well-off family, we met through a coworker, and they were completely hospitable whenever I stayed with them in Greece. Despite all the lavishness I experienced during my time with the Roberts, I knew that I had a job to complete. It was easier to justify leaving for this adventure knowing that I’d have more time to spend with family upon my return. A typical investigation for me included a few tools: my camera, a notebook, and a guide about the area I was exploring. I’d then go and ask locals about the legend and, finally, I’d go try to hunt down whatever it was that I sought. Over twenty years of doing this job; I have yet to see anything as horrifying as what I came across then. I cannot stress this enough. Never go looking for the Chamógelo. I am only telling you my story to try to ward off any other adrenaline seekers. Please, use this as your adventure, and stay far, far away from that mountain. When I first entered the journaling field, my boss was infatuated with the idea of someone like me travelling the world as a skeptic and “myth-busting” creepy legends. For the most part, I was never put in danger, and would often just be sent to prisons, tunnels and asylums around the world. All of which were either heavily maintained by the tourism companies that owned them, or abandoned and left to the devices of drifters and teenagers. These were primarily marketing schemes to drag bored teenagers and curious adults back to newspapers; and though my stories only made it in half the time, I was having fun. This being one of my first expeditions, I was ecstatic. I got to climb a mountain by myself, with only the information I brought with me. Unlike any of the other stories I’d heard; this one was completely fascinating to me. The tale went; “?? ??????? ??? ??????? ??????? ??? ??????? ???????? ????? ??? ??????????? ???? ?? ?????, ? ???????? ?? ????? ??? ??????? ???????? ??? ??? ?? ???????? ????.” Which, in English, roughly translates to; “If you reach the Davelis Cave on the second-highest mountain and recite this phrase, Chamógelo will make a brief appearance that you will never forget.“ I couldn’t wait. After interviewing locals about this creature, I was met with grandiose stories of terror and despair. I was repeatedly warned not to go to the cave, not even to step foot onto the cursed mountain, but I did not listen. Why would I? Anything that caused the locals this much fear was something I needed to experience. I wish now that I had listened, and will forever resent myself for what I did. But I was just a kid. I had no idea how bad it could become. I went alone up the mountain. A very kind tour guide gave me a brief rundown at the base of the mountain before rushing far away from the place as if a curse bubbled at the cracks in the rock. I thought nothing of the fears displayed by the people. I was simply too vain. They were just cowards. The hike was treacherous. I was running low on my food supply very quickly; my water had vanished by the end of day three, and I assumed that my death was going to be slow and painful; induced by natural factors and not mythical creatures. Fortunately, though, the guides had told me that once I reached the Davelis caves and recited the phrase, my “greatest wishes would be granted,” and that a large feast would be waiting for me. I really doubted it at the beginning, but the farther I inclined, the more I wanted to believe it was true. By the end of the fourth day, I had reached the climax of my journey; the great cave that I was destined at the beginning of the journey to approach, and there it was. It was so easy to miss. Only a tiny, man-made footpath marked the entrance to the long trail I had to take to access the cave, which I noticed right away. It was as if it was calling to me. My mouth began to salivate, and my eyes started running as well. My stomach had already begun to eat itself by the middle of day three, and I knew then why people are so quick to resort to cannibalism. It was a scary thought, sure, but the way some well-preserved, deceased hikers that I walked by were looking? It was almost too tempting. As I crawled up the last little trail in my journey, I started to hear something, a sound that would never leave my mind again. In the distance, just above the wind, there was a small titter. I swore I heard it, and that this was not just a hallucination caused by the lack of every basic necessity I needed at that point. That laugh caused a shiver to run up my spine so fast that I nearly fell. I kept going though. The mountain was not going to overcome me. I wouldn’t let it. I could see it. The cave that everyone had told me about. The sound of the laughter only amplified as I closed in on the threshold of the Davelis Cave, but the feeling of triumph dragged me towards my destination. I was not going to give up now. Before approaching, I took a moment to stop and recite the passage, and as the last word left my lips, a smell emerged. It was tortuously delicious, and when I climbed up those few shambling steps, all I saw on the table in front of me was the most delectable food I have ever seen in my life. The thought of how it got there, or why, did not cross my mind; I had found the food I was promised, and though the main goal of this expedition was far more important than an all-you-can-eat meal, I did not stop myself from eating as much of it as I physically could. The more I ate, I noticed, the more laughter I could hear, and the louder it became. It was no longer a nice giggle, nor a welcoming one; it was the laugh of someone, some*thing* who was in all ways, completely insane. I had never heard anything like it. My intense hunger prevailed, though, and only when I truly could not eat a single bite more, I began what I came here to do. Debunk the myth regarding The Chamógelo. The laughter, I can remember, was becoming deafening. My head began to pound as I looked through this enormous cave to see what, or who, I would find. Normally this would have freaked me out, but after being stranded alone on a desolate, cold mountain for four days, I needed to see this creature. To photograph it. To communicate with it. My stubbornness outweighed my fear, and I felt deserving of this victory. The roaring laughter was everywhere now, but I pushed forward. I recall having spent nearly four or five hours in the cave before finding what I’d been looking for; five hours of feeling so full I could be sick, so tired I could fall over at any moment, and my head was so sore from this laughter that I nearly turned back. But that was when it finally got to me. As soon as I felt too weak to continue, the room I entered next was the room that I had been searching for. This was the room of The Chamógelo. Please, if you are already convinced not to go to these caves; stop reading; because if this doesn’t change your mind, maybe you deserve to be its next victim. What was once likely a very beautiful young woman, was now nothing more than a terrifying husk. The elongated body of this thing exposed a terrible austere that I hope never to have to see again. Its naked frame had the physique of a woman, but the figure of this creature was non-existent. Its breasts had been torn off and discarded somewhere in the rotten-smelling room, and the hands of the thing were fingerless; bound tightly, with knives protruding from the cavities of its knuckles. After a moment to take in the looming creature, I knew I had to leave. I was naive and stubborn, and usually, I could withstand scary things; but this beast was unlike anything I had seen before. My decision was confirmed when I caught sight of its terrible face. A face that could not have been replicated by anyone in fear of death just from the sight. The eyes were hollowed out, leaving only two black holes with decaying sclera dangling from the empty sockets in place. The nose, well, there was no nose at all. It looked like this creature was completely without such a feature, it was wrong to look at. But that mouth, that fucking mouth, still haunts my dreams every night. The phrase “smiling from ear to ear” would be an understatement for this creature. Its mouth was pinned to the side of its head by corroded safety pins; there were no lips, just a giant depression in its face, pinned up to appear smiling. The skin around this makeshift maw was creased and rotted; inside hid countless rows of razor-sharp, bloodstained teeth; fragments of skin and bone hanging from between certain teeth. That was all I allowed myself to take in before turning around and running back out. But it saw me. It saw me and chased me on those legs that I could only have assumed would break under any strain, let alone a disturbing, bounding gallop. I thought I had more than three hours to run out of this area, but when I rounded the corner, I saw the table where I’d had my feast. The disorientation of the situation was over-shone by utter horror when, atop the table, where I assumed to be the remnants of a meal, were nothing more than rotting bones and decaying human flesh; similar to the shreds of skin between the teeth of the creature. I looked down at my hands and saw that what I’d assumed were condiments caked onto my fingers, was, instead, a thick layer of coagulated blood. I had eaten humans. Forgetting that I had to escape, I began to yell and sob, gagging as soon as my body could react to what was happening. The creature was still behind me, though, and was approaching fast. Before I had time to start running to the door, that door that was not even two feet away, I fell, and The Chamógelo landed on top of me. I thought this was going to be my death, and sometimes, I wish it was. I assumed that I was going to end up on the table of meat and death, just like the people I had eaten. The creature loomed over me, its mouth curled up into a smile, the laughter ceasing for a moment. Licking at its rotted lips, it leaned down, and through a deep, gargled tone, the creature was able to mutter four words. Words that, at the time, instilled in me, a primal fear, and that would soon make much more sense. “*What a wonderful smile*.” It sat up, drool dripping from its agape hole onto my face, my consciousness wavering, and soon failing. The creature looming over me was the last thing I saw. Those words, the last thing I heard. According to the Roberts, I returned six days after I left. That creature kept me in its grasp for two more days, and I have no recollection of a second of it; probably for the best. After the ordeal at the mountain, the family took me back into their arms; though disappointed in me for not believing them. They healed and nurtured me until Micheal Lewis arrived later in the next week to bring me home. I will never forget the face of that man when he saw me again. He looked scared. Scared of me. The creature had mutilated me in that cave. I was not in any pain when I woke up, but I still cannot bring myself to look in a mirror without hearing that insanity-induced laughter, or those few muttered words that will forever haunt the shadows of my mind. I am writing this, sitting in my darkened office, with the screen on my computer as bright as it can be to avoid catching a glimpse of my mangled face. I wish so much that I’d listened to everyone’s stories closely. That I could take back my naivety before trekking up that cursed mountain and doing this to myself. Please do not go and try to find The Chamógelo in Greece. The creature might not spare your life as it did mine. I cannot have anyone else meeting the same fate as the table of human decay, or, selfishly, the fact that I can no longer look at myself. I wish you the best of luck if you are a traveller, and I do hope you go and solve some myths out there. But if you ever hear a story about the Chamógelo, the Grinner, or any other variation of such; do not investigate. It could cost you your life. Or your sanity. I still hear that distant laughter every time I shut my eyes.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Every October 1st, the eighteen year old's in my town go crazy for one night. We call it the Teen Purge. I just found out what it what it really is. [RESPONSE] Before I start, I want to know if you’re worth saving. I wonder. If this was you. If this was your decision. What would you do? Would you give in and surrender yourself to your fate and be comforted with the fact that you have saved billions of lives… Or run? ... I want to tell you this in one post, but unfortunately there was too much to say. I will write up the rest tomorrow. ... Have you ever been punished for something which wasn’t your fault? It sucks, doesn’t it? When I was in kindergarten Jonas Lockhart complained someone had stolen his milk and made such a big deal about it, kicking and screaming and stamping his feet, our teacher had strictly told us that none of us would be getting milk for the rest of the week until the thief came forward. They didn’t, obviously. We all knew you didn’t hide milk because it would get warm and lumpy. The culprit had quickly swigged the contents and cleverly hidden the evidence right under everyone’s nose. So, our teacher kept her word and made sure none of us had milk for the rest of the week. Instead, she brought in apple juice boxes which tasted sour. That day would then go on to be labelled The Great Milk Incident and was the sole reason behind the genius idea to start marking names on each kid’s carton. I remember sitting cross legged on prickly carpet, squeezing my half-empty apple juice. I was seething. It wasn’t fair, I wanted to cry out. It wasn’t fair that we all had to be punished for someone else’s stupid mistake. I had no idea how good I had it. I had the luxury of being a naïve child being able to wear rose tinted glasses and have no idea they were even shading my eyes, protecting me from a secret my town didn’t even try to hide. I was six when I realised life wasn’t as good as I thought, and milk thieves weren’t the only bad thing in the world. Noah Sharpe was the town’s golden boy and destined for an Ivy League. He was also my mother’s friend’s son, and he often came around to hang out and watch SpongeBob SquarePants with me after school. I remember Noah had a great laugh and told jokes that made me spew milk out of my nose. Noah Sharpe was my mother’s murderer. And the worst part? He didn’t even know he was doing it, didn’t even have control over his actions. That is what I was told, at least. I was told that Noah would never intentionally murder my mom.  I didn’t understand what was happening when mom locked all the doors one night and told me to hide under the kitchen table. I knew there was a certain day every year where I had to stay extra quiet and not go near the doors or windows—but mom had never told me to get under the table. She always protected me from figuring out what was really going on, from  tearing off my rose tinted glasses and seeing reality for what it truly was. A town suffocated by a curse which turned the senior class into monsters.   And had recently taken hold of Littlewood’s golden boy. I hadn’t been expecting Noah to break through the window along with three others. I recognised them as other seniors he hung out with. Poppy, who worked at the diner. She always gave me extra chocolate syrup on my sundae. Then there was Luce, our papergirl who always smiled at me widely and asked if there were fairies in my yard. I used to feel safe around them, enjoying their hissed conversation and giggles. I liked it when they came over to talk to me and complimented my Patrick Star shirt. I didn’t understand why mom was so scared of them at first. The four of them looked exactly like the elder kid’s I knew, but something was wrong, and I was too young to see it. These kids were devil’s hiding in plain sight, monsters bleeding from the dark. Shadows with no faces.  Noah was the first to come through the door whistling a Disney song I automatically knew. You’ve Got A Friend In Me. Something ice cold slithered down my spine when I saw him swinging a carving knife around like he knew exactly how to use it. His footsteps were slow and calculated, playful, as he stepped back and forth, laughing, calling out if anyone was home while mom pushed me under the table and stepped in front of it, blocking me from his view. I remember the gleam in his eye when he walked in and found my sobbing mother begging him to get back. I started to tell her it was Noah, and he’d never hurt us, even after catching his fingers tightening around the wooden handle of the knife. The twist in his lips knotted my tummy. The friendly smile I’d known for most of my life was gone. Everything I knew of him was gone. Noah didn’t see me under the table the night he had grabbed my mother by the neck, wrenched her head back and sliced open her throat until she was spluttering and gurgling on her own blood.  The human mind is a strange thing. It will automatically try and block out potential trauma before you can fully register it, but there was no way I couldn’t. There was no way I couldn’t not see my mom being brutally slaughtered. Noah didn’t stop with her throat. He stabbed into her stomach until the teeth of the blade was slick red, and he was panting, laughing, giggling into my mother's hair. I remember watching pooling red stain her prized carpet and wondering if she was going to get mad—and then realising my mom wasn’t moving. The three of them left after trashing my living room. The others bound out of the front door, while Noah grabbed our TV and flung it at the window, shattering the glass. It was when the strangled cry escaped my lips, his head whipped around, dark eyes shining in the dim. He didn’t even look at me.  Noah looked straight through me, his mouth breaking out into a monstrous grin. He was covered in her. Covered in my mother, startling red spattering his face and coating his hair. But he didn’t seem to care, instead revelling in it, in his own undoing. It was an insanity I didn’t know or understand or knew existed. But I knew it was him. It was all of him, everything that made the boy up, a lapse in lucidity and a madness twisting his expression into a monster I had imagined under my bed. He scanned the kitchen for a moment, half lidded eyes flicking back and forth before bidding me a salute and diving out into the night. I stayed under the table until sunrise. Just like mom told me. Every other year she’d treated it like a game. And I had been too blinded by excitement to realise it was a distraction. “Okay, Bee,” mom whispered into my hair through panicked breaths. “We’re going to play a… a fun new game.” “What kind of game?” I asked, flinching when I felt her body seize up, her quivering hand coming to rest over my mouth. There was a bang from outside, followed by laughter. Mom ducked down lower, holding me tighter. So tight I thought I was going to suffocate against her woolly sweater. “We’re going to see how long we can stay under here,” she breathed. “And you have to stay extra, extra quiet, okay?” With my mom’s phantom words ringing in my head, I buried my face in my knees and stayed as still and quiet as possible. I could hear them outside. Without mom to clamp her hands over my ears and block them out, they were in vivid clarity I couldn’t ignore or deny. Their war cries and whooping, cheering and laughing from boy’s and girl’s alike. Followed by screaming, the sound of a baseball bat shattering a windscreen and thundering footsteps as they ran past my house like animals. They noise bled into the night and then early hours. There was a girl’s voice at the door. She asked if there was anyone inside, and I opened my mouth to tell her my mommy was hurt. That I was scared.  But she started laughing, and I could hear the crack of her head slamming into the hardwood. She didn’t stop. I wanted her to stop, but she continued, moving around the house, banging on the windows.  The girl never came inside, making it her goal to make sure I stayed stiff, paralysed to the spot. The next day, the police found me. I couldn’t move. My mother’s blood was congealing on the carpet and the police officer wearing a forced smile took me away from my mom’s still body, and my trashed house, and I found myself living with my aunt.  I wanted to know why Noah and his friends had taken my mother away from me, but I was just kept in the dark and given lame excuses because apparently the truth was too much for a little kid to handle. So, I continued to live in the dark. I did notice days and weeks after my mom’s death, I didn’t see any elder kids. I usually saw them biking around town or in the diner talking over burgers and milkshakes, but there was no sign of them. No sign of Noah. The town had been turned upside down; store windows still smouldering from being set alight, crumbling house’s with their windows smashed through. There was a flower memorial in the town square, and then a candle lit vigil I was urged to attend. It wasn’t just my mom they had taken. They had killed others too. Other families. Other mom’s and dad’s. Kids. But I couldn’t understand… why? I got my answer a few years later. When our mayor first told my third grade class about Littlewood’s curse, he used the example I gave you. The stupid milk story. I don’t know if a teacher had told him or maybe it was just a coincidence. I personally think it was to soften the blow. If you straight up tell a group of little kids that their fate is becoming twisted psychopath’s in eleven years, they’re going to freak out, and rightfully so. However, if you add something they recognise like putting on the voice of a well-known cartoon character or in his case, using the story of The Great Milk Incident as a metaphor, we would be more likely to understand. And we did. Sort of. I got the idea, anyway. He didn’t explain it very well, often tripping over his words and using manic hand gestures, but I managed to understand. After all, I desperately wanted an explanation behind my mother getting her throat slit by a boy I had trusted with my life—only for him and most of the older kid’s in town to vanish without a trace. Without repercussions for their actions. According to the mayor: October 1st, 1799, 20 eighteen-year-olds died in a tragic fire and their souls had refused to pass on, refused to forgive a town which let them die. So, these kids decided to take it out on us. “See kids, sometimes you will get punished for things that are not your fault!” Our mayor had told us. “And that’s okay!” It was a last “fuck you!” to future gen’s who had absolutely nothing to do with their death. It was the town’s people who screwed them over, so why were we in the firing line? It didn’t make sense to me.  The town didn’t call it a curse. We were supposed to call it a “phenomenon” but the deceased spirits of ancient kids who refused to die, filling every generation’s head and turning them into twisted psychopaths definitely wasn’t a phenomenon. We were cursed. They had turned Noah into my mother’s killer, and would do that every year following, including my class. The youth of our town were cursed to be murderers from sunset to sunrise, and what did we do? Nothing.  Because what could we do? Leaving town wasn’t an option. Apparently, neighbouring towns were convinced it was some kind of virus which could spread.  So, anyone under the age of eighteen was stuck. Literally and figuratively. If we tried to leave, regardless of age, we were locked away in a room of white. I should know. I tried to skip town at the age of 10 and spent three months in a specialised hospital ward. Which leads me to last year. October 2021. It was my 17th Teen Purge, and the first time I’d actually been caught up in it. I wouldn’t count the time when I was six. I was merely an observer, as I watched my mother butchered right in front of me. Noah and his class were identified as her killer’s, but as far as I knew, they had gotten a pass because it wasn’t technically their fault. I found out from my aunt that the senior class were shipped off quietly the morning of October 3rd to avoid complications. I never saw them again.  Which was a good thing. If I ever saw Noah’s face again, I knew I’d hurt him.  The child inside of me didn’t care about a stupid curse. I had still seen him kill mom with his own hand. His twisted smile and glittering eyes. As I grew up, I grew less frightened of The Teen Purge, and more curious. By the age of twelve, I was guarding my front door wielding a baseball bat. I only had a vague notion of self-defence, but if the door so much as rattled, I knew my cowardice would sent me hurtling up the stairs and barricading myself in my room. I didn’t think I’d ever wake up tied to a sun lounger with Olivia Rodrigo blasting in my ears, but I guess there’s a first for everything. That's what you get when you turn Gen Z into twisted psychos.  I had a vague memory of locking my aunt’s doors and windows as usual and giving her a hug before she left for the night shift. I went upstairs to my room, crawled into bed, and drifted off to the sound of Super Eyepatch Wolf’s most recent retrospective on a TV show I didn’t even watch.  I don’t remember them snatching me from my room. Just the aftermath, and a vague memory of a girl with a cheshire cat grin throwing my laptop against my bedroom wall. The Wonderland Smile. That’s what I’d pegged that look of insanity on their faces. I woke with a dull pounding in both my temples and the dizzying realisation I’d been thwacked from behind. A baseball bat, maybe? Or a lead pipe. “Wakey, wakey!” The guy’s shriek sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Someone cranked the music louder and I was enveloped in a sense of utter surrealness pushing away the fog in my brain and my spinning head trying to jar itself off of its axis. Maybe I had been infected with the Littlewood curse a year early, because hysterical guffaws of laughter were bubbling and brewing in my throat, threatening to let rip. I felt… honoured, in a way. I had actually been invited to a senior party.  I’d been trying to sneak into one for three years and they had let me in for free. The bastards even escorted me themselves. If I was going to die before I was inevitably turned into a monster which would rip away an innocent life in my future—so be it, right?  Taking a moment to swallow my laughter when I really shouldn’t have been laughing in that situation, I assessed my surroundings. I was kneeling on something plastic, my  bare knees stinging from stagnating in the same position.  I definitely wasn’t alone. I counted at least three pairs of hands bound to mine in what felt like jump rope, and something was stuck to my face. Silly string? I knew the stink from my childhood where I thought it was a good idea to spray silly string all over my aunt’s living room. There were also certain things I was trying to ignore.  I’d been hit hard enough to send my brain spiralling, and the more I thought about the possibility of brain damage, I was just freaking myself out and imagining things. I was fine. The blood running down my chin and tainting my lips was normal—especially in a town like Littlewood where it was the norm to find cannibalised townies strung up around town like they were prizes. “Hey!” Someone was in front of me. I could feel their breath tickling my face. It stunk of rot.  “I said wakey, wakey!” “Mmpphh.” “What was that, Tarran?” The sound of tape being ripped from flesh made me cringe. Tarran was a freshman boy who lived down the road from me. “I said fuck you.” He was met with hyena-like shrieks of laughter and I bowed my head, panting into uncomfortable stickiness against my lips. Fuck. Was I really going to die? When I finally managed to pry my eyes open, my vision was a confusing blur of nothing before I shook my head, hopefully dislodging my brain from the puddle of maple syrup it had rolled into. As my vision returned slowly, I found myself staring at a pool of glittering water. It was an overwhelmingly beautiful sight—or maybe that was just concussion talking. Ignoring the boy crouched in front of me, I focused on gentle ripples of water glittering under hypnotising lights, a stray beer can floating on the surface. I was kneeling on a bright orange sun lounger with three other bodies uncomfortably pressed to mine and at least three layers of duct tape over my mouth. The boy crouching in front of me was Tommy Nolan, a quiet senior on the school newspaper who looked like he was dying inside if you looked him directly in the eye. Under the control of Littlewood’s curse, however, Tommy Nolan adapted that same psychotic grin and glittering look in his eyes. Like it would thrill him just to cut me open and see what was inside. He had already started. I noticed his latest victims once opening my eyes and judging from the muffles shrieks and violent squirming from the others tied to me, so they had they. I was trying to concentrate on my own life teetering on the edge of the mortal coil, but every so often my half lidded eyes would find the startling spatter of red glistening under patio lights which caused a visceral reaction I was struggling to keep under a cool façade.  There was nothing like showing them you were terrified. I think I could have actually died that night, my body ripped apart and my head put on a spike for the rest of the town to see the next morning. But sometimes miracles happen. And that miracle happened to be loose restraints. I remember being paralysed to the spot, staring wide-eyed at the trail of guts splattered across the patio, handprints and smiley faces written in pooling crimson. They didn’t just kill the owner’s of the house, they played with their bodies, marking their presence with spilling entrails. I was aware of a girl jumping up from the sun lounger and grabbing my hand, urging me to run with her. And I did.  I ran. I didn’t look back, but they weren’t following us. Like zombies, or vampires, or any other mythical monster, Tommy and his gang had caught movement ahead of them and gone in for the kill. While I was running, I made a silent pact with myself that I had to die before I turned 18. I would… I don’t know. I’d throw myself in front of a car or slit my wrists open. I wouldn’t become one of them. But there’s a huge difference between thinking about doing something, and actually doing it. I tried. I stepped out in front of traffic in the summer with full intention to throw myself in front of a truck.  Except my legs wouldn’t move. When I tried to move them, my body stiffened up and my brain freaked out. I tried slicing my wrists but I just ended up in the emergency room. I couldn’t do it. Something inside me still wanted to live. My 18th birthday came and went and before I knew it I was biking to school on October 1st 2022. Five hours before the curse took effect and I was late for quarantine. The town had no way to stop us causing havoc after trying every method in the recent years, but nothing worked. If we were knocked out, we’d just wake up seconds later. If we were tied up, we’d pull ourselves out of our restraints.  Quarantine was the school’s attempt at locking us in. But every year they got out. So, I didn’t exactly have hope for our year. I wasn’t thinking much of anything at that moment. I was just enjoying the cool graze of wind on my cheeks and blowing my hair back. I was watching a spiral of fall leaves caught up in a whirlwind when my phone vibrated in my pocket. I hesitantly pulled it out with one hand. “Is it me or are people being extra shittier to us today?” The voice was familiar and immediately put me in a better mood. Kenji. I had been anxiously waiting for him to call most of the day. “It’s you.” “No, but if you just listen to me, I have solid evidence.” I felt my lips pricking into a smile. “You’re paranoid.” I said with an eyeroll. Across the street, though, an old woman was staring directly at me as I biked past. Mrs Renfield was the owner of the local thrift store and used to offer me candy bars when I was a little kid. I was so used to her kind smile and the wrinkle between her brows like she was permanently deep in thought.  Right then, she was just standing there, eyes narrowed, like I was a freakish devil spawn. Ignoring a shiver slithering down my spine, I focused on the road. “I retract that statement,” I murmured. “Mrs Renfield just shot me the death glare.” Kenji scoffed. “Mrs Renfield is always giving people the death glare. It’s like her quirk.” “Nope.” Tightening my one-handed grip on my handlebars, I pedalled faster. “This time it was definitely personal.”  “Ouch.” He said. “It makes sense though, right? Everyone hates us. We’re town pariah’s until sunrise." I spluttered. “Wow. That makes me feel so much better. Thanks, Kenji.” His laugh loosened the knot in my gut. “You’re really bad at sarcasm,” He said. “Oooh, wait! I can see you ahead!” I could hear him behind me, his yell entangled in a particularly tumultuous gust of wind which almost sent me tumbling. “Bee! Hey, slow down!” I did, twisting around to see Kenji catching up to me. He was a fast moving blur of dark brown hair spiralling in the wind and kicking legs going to town on his pedals. It was the worst day of all of our lives and yet he was still smiling. I liked that about him. The world could be ending, and Kenji would still have an infectious grin on his face. I couldn’t help smiling when he finally caught up to me. Kenji was your average conventionally attractive guy. Tall and athletic with a Hollywood smile and striking Asian American features which had been described as “exotic” by our classmates until he called them out. And rightfully so. Kenji didn’t take any shit and smiled at the world like it wasn’t royally fucking him over. I think that’s why I had gravitated towards him. “Look! No hands!” He yelled behind me, and I twisted around to laugh. “Do you want to fall?” “Maybe!” His laugh caught in the wind. I could hear his panting breaths getting closer and closer. “Yo.” Kenji saluted me with a two-fingered salute. When I got a proper look at his expression, his smile wasn’t as bright as usual. It wasn’t surprising considering it was our judgement day, but somehow I still expected him to push his way through the negativity. I guess I was wrong.  When I caught his eye, he wasn’t quite looking at me—more like right through me, his thoughts elsewhere, probably with his mom. There was a haunted vacancy in his eyes I couldn’t bring myself to fully take in. Like he was already being twisted hours before.  Still though, when I forced a smile his way, he seemed to snap out of it and shook his head, sucking in a lungful of air. “Don’t you just love the smell of pollution and cat shit at this time in the evening?” "Oh, yeah." I shot him a grin. "Nothing like the stink of an animal’s decaying digestive system to make me feel alive." He laughed, before piping up with, “What would you do if an asteroid was destined to hit us?” Weird question. “I don’t know. I guess I’d spend as much time as possible with my loves ones?”  “And what if you could stop it?” “The asteroid?” I scoffed. “How?” He tipped his head back and groaned. “Dude, just answer.” “Well, yeah.” I said. “Of course I’d stop it if it’s going to kill billions of people and end life as we know it.” Kenji's smile darkened slightly. “Even if the Asteroid killed you in the process?” Something about his words drew the breath from my lungs. “Why are you asking me this?” He looked like he might reply, before seemingly deciding against it. Whatever he wanted to say faded when the curl in his lip pricked into a smile. “I’m just envisioning going to visit my dad before Christmas. If I can get through tonight, I’m good.” I couldn’t help noticing every store in the town centre was either closed or shutting down early. There was a little girl standing outside the hardware store clutching an iPad. When she caught my eye, she ducked her head. I knew exactly how she felt. When I was a kid, and knew of Littlewood’s curse, I hated the elder kids. I wanted them gone. For killing my mom – for ruining my life.   “That’s a good way to think,” I said, swallowing hard. “You literally have the ‘fifteen sleeps till Christmas’ mentality.” He snorted. “It’s better to laugh than cry, right?” The closer we were getting to school, I was feeling progressively sicker. “What are your plans for after?” “After?” “When we’re kicked out of town.” I said. “I heard there’s a halfway house they’re sending us to. But don’t you want to run?” He chuckled. “Where will we go? They said they were going to protect us and continue our education until we get to college.” I sent him a look. “Do you honestly want to stay in some half-way house under constant surveillance? And that’s if we don’t…” I trailed off, but to my surprise he continued it in a sharp breath, his tone darkening. “What if we brutally murder someone?” “Well, yeah.” I said. “But that… that’s not going to happen.” This time Kenji laughed harshly. “I’d say the odds are fairly against us considering our town’s track record.” We stopped at some steps, but Kenji kept going, speeding up. Something warm crept up my throat and I kicked myself into a manic pedal. "What are you doing?" Kenji came to a stop and twisted around. "A thought experiment," he said, trailing the sidewalk with the heels of his doc Martins. "If I fall and die, won't that save my future victim?" He laughed, but it was choked, almost hysterical. "If I'm... if I'm destined to kill someone, and I die right here right now, won't they live? I’ll be saving someone instead of murdering them.” This time he wasn't even trying to hide the hollow look in his eyes. He was smiling, but it was too big, a gaping grimace. Almost a Wonderland Smile. "Kenji." I said sharply. "Stop.” He did, coming to an abrupt halt before his bike could hurtle down the steps. He was panting, his grip tightening on the handlebars. "I'm going to see my dad." He said. "I'm going to see my dad, as soon as this is all over, and I've left the halfway house. And everything... everything will be okay." He turned to me with hopeful eyes. “Right? We’re going to be okay, Bee.” I swallowed words suffocating my mouth all the way to school. I couldn’t give him the response he wanted. When we arrived at school, Kenji and I were cuffed and led to the gymnasium where most of the senior class already were. If it weren’t for the glitter of silver I caught on everyone wrist, I would have thought I was walking into a pep rally. It wasn’t as Dystopian as I’d imagined. Spirits were unusually high. At least they were on one side. The varsity team were hyping each other up for reasons nobody knew. Lili Marriot was trying to lift morale by preaching to a group of wide-eyed kids about God, and that he was going to protect us. Bullshit. I didn’t say that though, as Kenji led me to the middle of the room where most of our class were either lying on their jackets or staring at the wall looking like they wanted the ground to swallow them up.  Kenji dropped down onto the floor with a smile way too wide for someone who had a 99.9% chance of committing a felony against his will, leaning back on his elbows. He pulled out his earphones. I followed, hesitantly, sitting next to him. “I heard if you listen to loud music, the curse doesn’t get you.” Kenji murmured, untangling his earphones. “That’s bullshit.” Jonas Lockhart slumped down with us, and I caught the exact moment Kenji decided he was going to shuffle closer towards me. Kenji was out of the closet and had been crushing on Jonas since freshman year. He revealed said crush while drunk at junior prom, only for Jonas to ignore him and then make out with Wendy Carmichael 10 minutes later.  Drama. Since then, Kenji had made it his mission to keep his distance, and Jonas wasn’t getting the hint. I had a feeling Jonas was struggling with his own sexuality, and Kenji was kind of inpatient. Also.. they were both too stubborn to admit feelings and were being equally immature. Still though, at least Jonas was trying. He plucked an earphone from the boy and corked one into his ear. “Fleetwood Mac,” Jonas nodded with a smile. “Nice.” With his hands still cuffed in front of him, Kenji awkwardly yanked the earphone from the guy with a scowl. “I’m sorry, do you hear something, Bee?” He pretended to squint. “I can’t see anyone though. But I can hear a slight breeze.” “You’re a comedian, Kenji.” Jonas rolled his eyes. “I just wanted to know if you wanna have a smoke? I know a guy who can uncuff us before Mrs Hill catches us,” He leaned back with a sigh. “You know, before we’re all turned into actual crazies.” “I’m okay.” Kenji murmured. Jonas cocked a brow. “Really? Because there’s some things we should probably talk about. Maybe. If you want to.” “I said I’m okay.” “Kenji.” I nudged him when Jonas jumped up and walked away, his shoulders slumped. “You do realise he’s trying to talk to you, right?” He avoided my side-eye, a smile crawling on his lips. “I know. But it’s more fun to ignore him.” “You two look like shit.” Kenji looked up, and I followed his gaze. Our third Musketeer was looming over us. Mira. She was hiding behind thick red curls she usually tied in a ponytail. “You can talk.” Kenji’s expression dampened, and I noticed her smeared eyeliner. “Have you been crying?” Mira plonked down next to me, burying her head in her knees. “My mom didn’t even text me to say goodbye.” She mumbled into her tights. “I can understand how it must feel for her, but it’s like she already thinks I’m going to hurt someone tonight.” “Your mom’s kinda terrible,” Kenji patted her on the shoulder. “No offense.” “No, she is.” Mira sniffled. “She gave birth to me in this stupid town. How is it my fault that I was born here?” I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Did she not text you at all?” “Nope.” Mira choked out a laugh. “She left for work before I even woke up.” I hated that part of me understood why Mira’s mom chose to distance herself, but it still fucking hurt. The three of us talked for a while. About everything and nothing at all. TV shows and movies, and what our thoughts were on the latest Tik-Tok trend. Anything to take our minds off of the time—which was ticking by. I watched the sky darken outside, and the expression’s on the guards at the door start to tighten. They were starting to panic. I could see it in their faces. It was around five to eight when I started to get restless and my stomach was doing flip flops. Every year the same feeling hit me like a wave of ice water. And I always thought Noah gutting my mother. It was a memory I couldn’t get away from. In past years I distracted myself, but I was in the eye of the storm. Which was getting closer.  It was between eight and eight thirty when the curse took effect (according to the mayor. He never gave us a specific time, so thanks for that) and I really needed the bathroom. I was starting to feel sick to my stomach, my mouth watering with the looming sensation of barf creeping its way up my throat.  Excusing myself from a conversation I was  only half listening to, I jumped to my feet, struggling with my cuffed hands. Pushing my way through seniors, I headed to the exit doors where a crowd of guards had all congregated. When one of them situated himself in front of me with a no-nonsense scowl, I couldn’t resist glancing at the weapon attached to his belt. “Bathroom.” I said, when he shooed me away like I was a raccoon. “I think I’m going to be sick.” The guard’s lips twisted. “We’ll bring you a bucket.” He grunted. “No.” I found myself saying stiffly. “No, I need to go to the bathroom. I really don’t want to throw up in here.” I don’t know if I looked pathetic enough for him to have sympathy or he just wanted to get rid of me, but the guard stepped aside and let me back out onto the hallway. I was surprised no guards followed me. Thankfully I didn’t spew my guts. When I was on my way back to the auditorium, a group of people in white marched past me. I didn’t think anything of it until I saw what they were carrying with thick gloved hands, plastic masks over their faces.  Metal canisters.  Making sure to keep my distance, I followed them to the janitors closet which was pulled open. Looking at the canisters, at first I thought it was gas. But then I caught splashes of something dripping down the side. It was clear like water but was slightly thicker and had a potent stink which seeped into my nose and throat. It was strong stuff. They were going into the sprinkler system. I knew from several years back when a junior had tried to douse the cafeteria in Gatorade for a prank. When one of the people in white heaved a canister into his arms, I started to back away slowly, my heart in my throat, my brain already in overdrive. Whatever they were putting into the sprinklers was man-made, I thought, pushing myself into a stumbled run. So, if that substance was what was turning kids psycho every year, did that mean there was no curse?  I made it back onto the hallway and I couldn’t breathe. The auditorium was right in front of me. No sign of guards. When I slammed my fists into the door it was locked. I pressed my face against the glass, glimpsing Kenji sitting with Mira. My gaze went to the ceiling—to the sprinklers. But it didn’t make sense. Why would they do this? Eighteen years of lies, I thought dizzily. What were they doing to us? How did destroying their own town and killing their own people benefit them? When I found my voice, I pounded against the door. “Get out!” I screamed, tackling with the handle. It wasn’t Kenji who locked eyes with me. It was a girl I didn’t know. She looked up from her phone, her gaze meeting mine. Her hopeful smile twisted into a look of fright. I kicked the door. “Out!” I yelled, pointing at the ceiling. I twisted around, searching for guards. “Sprinklers!” “What?” She started to get up, started to call out to me—but rough arms were snaking around my waist, a clammy hand slamming a wet rag over my mouth. I opened my mouth to scream, but I was already breathing it in—that toxic stink I’d seen dripping down the side of the canister. The arms holding me tightened their grip and my senses were drowned out by the smell seeping inside me, poisoning my lungs. But it wasn’t just inside my lungs, it was in my blood, heavy in my bones and bleeding into my brain. I was aware of being yanked to my feet, but I couldn’t stand. The auditorium doors were behind me, and I was being dragged back down the corridor. My body felt fake, like it wasn’t even mine. I could feel it like a parasite, a virus, leeching itself onto my skull.  My brain was on fire. Everything was on fire. Through half-lidded eyes, I was aware of something dripping onto my face. It came slowly, splashing onto my cheeks before waves of red were hitting me, a scarlet waterfall of glittering gore. It was staining me, tainting me, bleeding into me before it began to rain down. It was warm and wet, drenching me. Turning me into its canvas. At first I tried to get away, but my feet were glued to the floor. But as the parasite inside my skull gained the upper hand, I stopped trying to tear out my hair and rake my fingernails down my face. Blinking rapidly, I saw... fire. I saw blurs of orange and yellow enveloping squirming flesh catching light. And I heard screams; guttural cries crying out for death. I could feel them. All of them.  All of their pain, their agony. Seventeen years of memories hitting me one by one. Like bolts of lightning. I thought that was what turned us. That was what twisted us into monsters, a reminder of every other year. Every murder. Every splash of blood. Every maniacal laugh. Because when I came to, I was no longer in school. The first thing I noticed through blurry vision was that I was crouched in front of a squirming figure, and above me, the sky was a colourful deluge of yellows and oranges and pinks. Sunrise. Slowly, my gaze flicked from the pretty sunrise to the figure-- who slowly bled into a shadow, and then a woman, whose eyes I had plucked cleanly out. They were in my hands, squished between my fist, and my lips were split wide open like I’d carved a Wonderland smile onto my own face. I could still feel the rush of adrenaline I’d felt while hacking a man’s head off and taking my time, scooping out each of the woman’s eyes with a spoon doused in salt.  I wasn't thinking about the woman begging me to kill her-- and the headless torso of her husband at my feet. I wasn't thinking about my hands slick scarlet and the taste of rotting flesh in my mouth. I was still seeing flashes in my head, memories which weren't mine. A school bus, blurred faces around me. Someone else's thoughts were inside my head. I shook them away. All I could think about was Littlewood's curse. As I turned around slowly, and pushed myself into a run, my gaze finding the sun slowly rising over the horizon. I was halfway across a town which had been ripped apart over the last few hours. Headless bodies littered the streets. Cars had been destroyed. Buildings set on fire. 2022’s class had really given the other year’s a run for their money. I found my phone in my pocket, a text lighting up the notifications. A text sent 10 minutes ago.  Kenji: We need to talk. Now. I'm at the scrapyard. Come alone. Bad people around. Kenji, I thought, swiping my bloody hands on my shirt. It wouldn’t come off. My thoughts were spiralling. I needed to find him. But... How... How had he texted me if the sun was only just rising?  I was caked in blood- which wasn’t mine and It wouldn’t come off. I was fucking painted in it. When I caught sight of Emily Carter on her knees, sobbing into the hollowed out carcass of her mother, I started to wonder: For the first time in eighteen years, my mind was clear. This curse... who really started it?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] there is something wrong with my parent's farm [RESPONSE] A bit of context, My parents recently bought a farm last year in Australia and have been building a property on it for their retirement. It's right beside a national park and reasonably close to the next property over. The only thing that sucked is that we have no cell service besides the top paddock where they are building their house. Not too dodgy right? Well, I'm a university student (21F) in my second year of nursing and frequently come up to the farm to help them out with their livestock and whatnot. At first, everything was fine, we had a small 2 bedroom cabin in the lower paddock that I stayed in every time I came up. My room had a large window that faced into the national park and at night when it was pitch black would freak me out a bit but nothing serious. Sure, we had the usual noises of foxes and the livestock at nighttime and nothing out of the ordinary. Things really ramped up when I had to stay up there alone to feed the livestock for a few days while my parents were back in the city. I went about the usual chores, feeding the sheep, keeping an eye on our lambs and checking in at the building site to keep an eye on everything. I went into town to get some dinner at the local pub and by the time I got home, it was roughly 10pm. I would usually take my car up to the top paddock at night to call my friends, check social media etc... My car was lit up by my internal navigation system that's always on which meant I couldn't really see outside the car besides from my headlights. I was midway through my social media scroll when I thought I saw something black flash across the paddocks where my headlights were facing. I drove my car in a quick circle to use my car's headlights as a massive torch and didn't see anything, no reflections of cattle eye's like I usually do, or the usual fox or rabbit. I tried not to pay too much attention to it and went back to my social media scroll until I accidentally pressed my brakes which allowed my brake lights to flood the paddock behind my car with an eerie red light. The same black flash that I saw through my windshield flickered out of the corner of my eye in the rearview mirror. Now I got suspicious. I turned off the music I was listening to and just sat for a second trying to assure myself I was just tired. After a few seconds of silence and I was relieved and was about to turn my car on to go back to my cabin and that's when I heard what I can only describe as claws on my rear windshield (tap, tap, scratch). I have never sped as fast as I did back to the cabin as that night. That night, I couldn't shake the feeling of something watching me in the forest. You know that sort of tingling sense of something staring into the back of your head. After tossing and turning I put up a newspaper in front of my window that faces the woods until it was completely covered and the feeling immediately went away. Sleep didn't come easy safe to say. The following night I chose to go to the top paddock while it was still reasonably light. All was reasonably peaceful and I had all but forgotten last night's events. I was admiring the gorgeous pink sunset when I saw a flash of green in the sky travel for a split second and then disappear. Now listen I am not one for UFO's but I know it wasn't a helicopter because it was light enough to see the sky and the stars weren't even up yet. I thought it was cool so I called one of my friends who is a massive sceptic about everything paranormal and of course she thoughts I was nuts and proceeded to give me shit for it. It started to get a bit dark for my liking so I went back to the cabin to cook some dinner. All was fine until I went to sleep, the newspaper from the night before still clinging to my window. I woke up around 2am to the sound of the sheep making a racket. I grabbed my dad's rifle assuming it was another fox and went to take a look on foot with my spotlight. Now, usually, when you bring a very bright light and piss off the sheep who were already going nuts you hear about it. The keyword being usually. I walked over to the paddock and started scanning with my spotlight and didn't see anything, the sheep were bleeting like crazy but none were injured or even remotely in a corner of the paddock huddled together like they usually do when there is a fox. That was until they all went silent. One second they were so loud they echoed around the hills and the next it was dead silent. Now I was truly scared. I raised my rifle and started looking around feeling like everything around me had its eyes on me. It was then as I heard a thump of something heavy being dropped on the ground. Heavy enough for me to feel the vibration in my feet. I booked it back to the cabin and locked everything behind me. I was pacing around double-checking the doors and windows when I heard it. It sounded like humming but distorted alongside footsteps. These footsteps weren't human though, it was as if it was limping and then quickly recovering (step, step-step, .. , step) around the cabin and stopping at my bedroom window. I curled to the ground, gripping my rifle until my fingers were frozen in place. That was how I fell asleep that night. I left first thing in the morning without even looking to see if there were footsteps. Now, if anyone has any clue what is happening, what this thing is or can tell me what I can do please comment. I haven't been able to go back to my parent's farm.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I went hiking around Merrill Creek Reservoir and found a cave that took me to the Cretaceous period [RESPONSE] I just want to start that I’ve always been fascinated with nature. I love being out in the woods and seeing and hearing the various animals that live out there, it’s just so peaceful. Every chance I get, I go hiking in the various parks and nature preserves in my home state of New Jersey and some parts of eastern Pennsylvania as a way to unwind after the workweek. A few months ago however, I had an experience while hiking around Merrill Creek Reservoir that makes no sense. Nobody knows what happened to me because I’m afraid if I did tell anyone what happened, they would have me committed to a mental hospital. I’ve tried keeping my experience a secret, but I feel like I’m slowly going mad thinking about what happened, so I decided to post my experience on this site to get this off my chest and maybe get some closure. Now, here’s my story. It was a hot day in July, I arrived at Merrill Creek Reservoir around 10:15 in the morning. I stepped out of my aging, but reliable pickup truck and smelled the fresh air, relieved to be out in nature after a long, stressful week of work. I set out into the woods and started hiking, it was absolutely beautiful. The sun shone brightly through the trees and as I walked the trails, I saw all kinds of wildlife on my hike. Frogs, squirrels, chipmunks, robins, geese, herons and even a bald eagle. Two hours into my hike, I had to take a leak, so I walked off the trail so I could relieve myself. After I finished, I noticed the entrance to a cave on the side of a hill ten feet away from me. This peaked my curiosity as neither the trail map nor Merrill Creek’s website mention this cave. I walked closer to it in order to get a better look. The entrance to the cave looked big enough for me to be able to walk through it while crouching. I should have turned around and walked back to the trail, oh god! How I wished I had just turned around! But curiosity got the better of me and I ventured into the cave. Now I should tell you, I didn’t take a lot with me on my hike, especially to be exploring a cave. All I had on me were my keys, my wallet, a small flashlight that was powered by a AAA battery, a pocket knife with a three inch blade, a satchel that had a granola bar and two bottles of water in it and my phone which had poor reception out in the woods. If I had gotten stuck in that cave, I would have been fucked! I walked around in that cave for ten minutes when the walls suddenly got narrow, I looked through the opening with my flashlight and saw that the walls on the other side got wider and turned towards the left. Against my better judgment, I exhaled as much air as I could and was able to squeeze through the opening. I then rounded the corner and noticed the skeleton of some kind of animal on the cave floor. I looked closer at it and at first, thought it was the skeleton of some large bird, but then I noticed something wasn’t right. The skeleton had a long tail and instead of having a beak, the skull had a snout with razor sharp teeth. It was then I had a realization, I was looking at the skeleton of a dromaeosaurus! Now I know what you’re thinking, you’re thinking that I found a fossil of a dromaeosaurus. But no, that’s not what I found. Fossils are formed when a plant or animal dies and quickly gets buried under sediment and they’re remains turn into stone over millions of years. This dromaeosaurus looked like it had died at least three months ago. I suddenly became excited at the thought that I possibly found a cave system unexplored by man and that this cave could possibly be home to non avian dinosaurs that survived the K-T extinction. With this thought, I ventured further into the cave. My excitement grew when I saw light at the end of the tunnel. When I exited the cave, the first thing I noticed was how different the trees looked. They looked like trees you would see in the Amazon rainforest instead of rural New Jersey. The next thing I noticed was the lack of grass on the forest floor and how there were large ferns and other plants I’ve never seen before. Then I took notice to the sounds around me. The sounds of insects were prevalent, but instead of bird calls, there were bellows, grunts and what sounded like a loud roar off in the distance. I then heard some sounds around twenty feet away from me and headed toward the direction that they came from. I walked over to this large bush and decided to peek through it with caution to see what was making the sounds and what I saw was amazing. There was a clearing and in the middle of it was a herd of large, duck billed reptiles that had small, half moon shaped crests on top of they’re heads walking on four legs and occasionally standing on they’re hind legs in order to reach the vegetation on the trees. I couldn’t believe my eyes, I was looking at a herd of edmontosaurus! Creatures that haven’t been seen in sixty five million years! Suddenly, there was what sounded like the flapping of wings. Not from a bird, but from what sounded like a cicada, but amplified a hundred times. The herd of edmontosaurus then looked up towards the sky, cried out and ran off into the forest. It was then that the creature that had frightened the edmontosaurus herd landed in the middle of the clearing and what I saw terrified me to my core. It was a giant yellow insect the size of a dump truck. It looked like a cross between a cricket and a cockroach and it appeared to have what looked like a pteranodon in its mouth. I watched in horror as it began eating the still living pterosaur. I could hear a sickening crunch every time it chewed on the poor reptile before swallowing it whole. I began trying to quietly sneak away, but just like a cliche horror movie, I accidentally stepped on a twig, producing a loud snap. I looked in the direction of the giant insect and to my horror, it had turned its head in my direction and started crawling towards me! I began running back in the direction of the cave when suddenly, I heard the god awful sound of that creature’s wings. The giant insect then landed directly in front of me, it was even more hideous up close. It had two massive black eyes and a gaping mouth filled with sharp teeth that looked like row’s of kitchen knives. I stood frozen in fear as this thing began feeling me with its antennas. Looking into its eyes was like staring into a black hole. I had to think of something quick or I would become this creature’s next meal. Just as it lunged towards me, I pulled out my pocket knife and plunged the blade as hard as I could into it’s left eye. It let out an ear piercing shriek as it pulled it’s head back, taking my knife with it. While the insect was thrashing its head around trying to get my knife out of it’s eye, I ran past it back in the direction of the cave. Let me tell you, I couldn’t get back into that cave fast enough. In my haste to escape that bug from Hell, I forgot about the dromaeosaurus skeleton on the cave floor and tripped over it, scraping my knees in the process. I quickly got back up and made it back to the spot where the walls narrowed. I quickly exhaled as much as I could and began squeezing my way through. I wasn’t as careful this time however and managed to tear my shirt and cut my arms and legs on the cave walls. I managed to get through the passage and ran out of that god forsaken cave. When I exited, I looked at my surroundings. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the trees looked normal, the forest floor was covered in grass and didn’t see any dinosaurs or that demonic insect. I wasn’t in the mood to continue hiking, so I began walking back towards my truck so I could just go home. When I got home, my mom gasped when she saw all the cuts, bruises and my ripped up shirt. She asked me what happened and I lied and said I was walking down a steep hill and that I lost my footing and fell. I couldn’t tell her the truth, she would have thought I had gone crazy. She began lecturing me like how all mothers do about how I needed to be more careful and all that stuff but I didn’t pay attention, the same thoughts kept repeating in my mind. What the fuck did I experience? Did that cave lead to some hidden part of the world where dinosaurs and giant insects lived that no man had discovered before? Was it a time portal that lead back to the Cretaceous period? Was it a wormhole to some alternate universe? I had to get answers! The first thing I did was research insects that lived during the Cretaceous period. I looked and looked but couldn’t find anything even remotely resembling the creature I saw. How could a creature that big not be in the fossil record? two weeks later, I mustered up the courage to go back to Merrill Creek and go to that cave so I could get some answers. My plan was to squeeze back through that narrow opening and photograph the dromaeosaurus skeleton, maybe even take it’s skull so I could have proof about my experience and maybe some scientists could find out what the deal with that cave was. But when I went back, I was left with more questions. When I got to the hill where I found the cave, it wasn’t anywhere to be seen! I looked all around that hill couldn’t find the entrance to the cave. Its like it never existed! That’s not the weirdest part however. As I was looking around that hill, I tripped over something. When I looked to see what had tripped me, a shiver went down my spine! I had dislodged a rock from the ground and in the rock, there was what looked like a fossilized pocket knife!<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Lady of the Storm [RESPONSE] Sophie and I rode out the pandemic in my tiny studio apartment. And why not? We got along from the start. We shared interests and had similar hopes for the future. We even gelled with each other’s friends. Together was better than apart. We could not have predicted the harsh reality of a long and drawn out lockdown. Working from home and constantly on top of each other. Cut off from our friends and colleagues and the outside world, we became frayed at the edges. We began to snipe at each other. What was, at the start of our relationship, a gentle ribbing designed to be laughed off, morphed into an insult designed to cut. And the longer we were cooped up, the deeper the cuts became. I don’t know who started it, and it doesn’t matter. At times I felt like a different person. I looked in the mirror having walked away from yet another argument and wondered if this is who I really was. The pandemic shined a light on our relationship and us as people and what it revealed was uglier than either of us could ever imagine. So, with things getting back to normal, we decided to go away for the weekend. Forget about that small and claustrophobic apartment in the city. Get some fresh air and get things back to normal. One last test to see if what we had was worth saving. Sophie said she knew just the place. The cottage stood apart from the village on a dead end road that terminated at the front door. It was built, so Sophie had told me, before the founding of the town. An ancient structure of stone with a protruding second floor balcony looking out over the ocean. The white painted exterior only served to make more obvious the cracks and pock marks accumulated over time. The grass covered front yard extended about a stone’s throw before dropping precipitously to beaches of dark pebbles, where the opaque and angry green water spat up white foam. The wind whipped in from the ocean scattering Sophie’s jet-black hair. She fished out the key from her pocket, the old-fashioned type, oversized and a strange copper colour. She jiggled the key in the lock, struggling to get it to catch. I looked back up the narrow road. Barely one car wide, it wound its way up to the grass covered crest. The village lay beyond and out of sight. In the other direction the rocky bluff towered above the water and marked the end of the peninsula. There were no other houses or structures of any kind in sight. This could have been the cottage at the end of the world. It didn’t surprise me that this part of the country was so sparsely populated. Dark-grey clouds blanketed the sky. Sporadic trees grew sideways out of the ground, gnarled branches bent by the constant breeze sweeping in off the ocean. The lock clicked and the heavy wooden door creaked open. The lower floor opened into an L-shaped space with the living area at the front and the kitchen at the back. Opposite the kitchen a sliding door led to a raised bathroom and a steep stone staircase with a raked soffit so low I had to crouch a little to fit. Framed photos of Sophie’s family huddled close on the mantle above the fireplace. Upstairs were two large bedrooms and a smaller utility room. The largest of the two bedrooms looked out over the ocean with a double glass door leading to the balcony. We dumped our bags beside the bed and threw open the curtains to see the ocean. “It’s a nice view.” Sophie slid her arm across the small of my back and leaned her head against my shoulder. “Why did you wait three years to tell me about this place?” “It’s a pain to get here. I never came up here much. This became Mum’s fortress of solitude after my father died.” “I’ll get dinner started.” “I’ll light the fire.” When Sophie had packed the food and drink for the weekend I joked that it would last us a week. Now I understood. There would be no pizza delivery drivers willing to venture all the way out here. Whatever we needed had to be in the car. I put together a decent looking platter and wedged a bottle of wine under my arm. Sophie called down from upstairs. The clouds had parted and the sun was out. We ate on the balcony with a bottle of wine as the sun set over the ocean. The night was coming in cold and we buttoned up our jackets. In the fading light the wind strengthened and threatened to blow over our glasses and we moved inside and downstairs. Sophie threw a thick log on the fire and it soon caught and cast a warm glow over the tiny living room. The only other light was from the naked bulb hanging in the kitchen. “What should we do?” she said. I topped up her glass and joined her on the couch. I let out a lung full of air and watched the light flicker on the ceiling. “I think we are already doing what we should.” Sophie removed her shoes and pulled her feet up onto the couch. She reached behind and grabbed a book from the shelf. She eyed me mischievously. “What?” I said. “Did I ever tell you I have an ancestor who was convicted of witchcraft?” She had my attention. “No.” “Let me find the story.” She held up the book. The green cover was frayed at the edges. I could not read the gold lettering of the title. “It’s a history of the area. All the important events. All the important people. All the heroes and all the villains.” “And how do the Swindon clan fit?” “Here it is. The Lady of the Storm.” “The Lady of the Storm? That sounds ominous.” Sophie cleared her throat. “The account of the trial and execution of Mary Swindon survives in the record of the Priest John Nance, brought down to make judgement on accusations brought upon Mary by her fellow villagers. Three witnesses, one among them a retired lawyer and acquaintance of Nance, accused Mary Swindon of entering into a covenant with Satan. The evidence provided included the death of livestock, the withering of crops, and the endless poor weather. “The following day a great cry rang out in the village. Thomas Swindon, the youngest son of Mary and her husband George, was found in the street covered in blood. The boy was unharmed and when asked to explain the meaning of the blood, he asked after his mother. “The townsfolk discovered a grisly scene at the Swindon property. George Swindon and daughter Harriet and son Edward had been butchered with an axe. A search for Mary produced immediate results. She was found cowering in a shallow cave below King’s Rock. Her nightclothes were drenched in blood. “Mary denied culpability in the crime, but could not, or would not provide an alternate explanation. The other surviving witness, the boy Thomas, refused to speak. He lived the rest of his days in mute silence. “After a swift trial, Mary was sentenced to be hanged. On the day of execution a fierce storm blew in off the ocean. Braving the wind and the rain, the townsfolk carried out their grim duty. As Mary dangled from the rope her eyes bulged and her mouth contorted into a grotesque smile. “A brilliant flash blinded the gathered crowd. On its heels a mighty clap of thunder threw everyone to the ground. When Priest Nance raised his head, he saw that the rope holding Mary Swindon was severed and Mary had disappeared. She was never found. Thus began the legend of the Lady of the Storm.” “That is some story. Is it true?” Sophie shrugged. “You never know with these things. My mother told it to me once. Apparently we’re related to Thomas.” “The mute boy? I find that hard to believe.” It was the sort of comment that might have earned me a sharp look and a day’s worth of silent treatment. But Sophie instead playfully hurled a cushion in my direction. Maybe things were getting back to normal. From above came a loud bang. “What was that?” “Did you close the doors to the balcony?” “Yes.” I leaned forward on the couch. Another bang. “Are you sure?” Her voice carried a hint of disdain I chose to ignore. “I’ll go check.” I climbed the stairs and felt the breeze on my face before I reached the top step. The double doors to the balcony were wide open. A sudden change in wind pressure in the room sucked the doors closed again with such force I feared the glass would shatter. I skipped to the doors and grasped the handles and locked them in place and turned the key. I twisted the handle and pulled to be sure. The doors did not give. I thought I had done that the first time. Sophie appeared in the doorway. “I’m tired. Why don’t we call it a night?” I opened my eyes and turned my head. The doors to the balcony were open and swinging in the wind. I figured Sophie must have opened them to let some air in. But it was freezing. I went to sit up and close them but I could not move my body. Everything from my neck down was numb. The curtains framing the doors billowed in the wind. The shadow of a hand gripped the door and swung it open. Someone was on the balcony. “Sophie?” I turned to Sophie’s side of the bed, but she was not there. The curtains settled back into place. A dark figure stood in front of the glass door, now closed and backlit by moonlight. The figure moved - almost glided - around the bed and to my side. It had no face or eyes or features of any kind. It held up an arm and in its hand was a knife, the blade as black as the limb that held it. I tried to scream but my voice failed me. The figure was beside me now. I willed my body to move or my voice to scream but I could do neither. The figure raised the knife and began thrashing at my torso. Again and again the knife rose and fell. I felt no pain, but it paralysed my half-asleep brain with terror. As the figure stabbed, it leaned its head over and the dark mass of its face coalesced into features. Huge bulging eyes and a twisted smile. I cried out again and this time I found voice and with it movement and I sat bolt upright in bed. I fumbled for the lamp on the dresser beside the bed and almost ripped the cord out of the socket before finding the switch. The shadow figure gained features and they were Sophie’s. Her face was expressionless and her eyes closed as if she were still sleeping. I reached out to touch her bare arm. A sudden release of electricity sent a shock through my fingers and I recoiled. Sophie’s eyes fluttered open. “What am I doing?” she said. “You tell me.” She shook her head and rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?” “It’s the middle of the night.” “Ok.” Sophie walked slowly and deliberately back to her side of the bed and climbed in and shut her eyes. “Can you turn the light off?” I didn’t get another moment of sleep. I waited until the horizon turned the shade of purple before the sun fully rises and pulled back the covers. Sophie’s stirred but did not open her eyes. I checked the balcony. Empty aside from the table and chairs we ate at the night before. “Come back to bed,” Sophie said. “I can’t sleep. Do you want to go for a walk?” “What time is it?” “A bit before six.” “No. You go. I’m tired. I feel like I haven’t slept yet.” I threw on some clothes in the dull morning light. I half-stumbled down the stairs. I needed more sleep, but my nerves were on edge after waking up to Sophie standing over me. I sometimes dreamed of shadow figures in my room, not often, but enough to dismiss it after the shadow dissipates once my brain is fully awake. This was the first time something had actually been there. The early morning air was cold. A light drizzle fell softly from above, just enough to let you know it was there. I buttoned up my jacket and pulled the hood over my head. I walked west, away from the village and the road. I didn’t feel much like being around people and there would be no one this way. The cottage stood on the last parcel of flat land before the rolling grass hill fell gently away. Beyond the dark rocks of the bluff jutted up steeply into the sky. It looked climbable if not for the drizzle lubricating the smooth weathered rocks. A narrow path of green wound its way between the base of the bluff and the precipitous edge down to the shore. I stepped carefully, leaning against the rocks to my right and keeping as far away from the edge as I could. The path swept in a large curve and opened out into a rocky platform. A small pool of water had formed in a crevice. Somewhere a small trickle of water discharged against the rocks, the drips echoing off the face of the bluff. High above the rocks pointed fingers into the dull sky. One of the peaks looked vaguely like a head with spiked hair. Overcome with a sudden sensation of vertigo, I shifted my gaze back out to sea. Dark clouds rose up above the horizon. The forecast had said a chance of storms. That chance looked a good bet. I propped against a rock and let my eyes close. I should have stayed in bed. But then in my mind’s eye the images from last night played over again. The shadow figure. The glimpse of the bulging eyes and the twisted smile. When I turned on the light Sophie had been there, but those were not Sophie’s eyes. It was something from a horror movie. My eyes sprung open at the sound of whispering coming somewhere from behind. It must be the wind. My nerves were still on edge. This weekend was supposed to be about relaxation. The whispering faded and was replaced by the wind. I stood to begin the walk back – I needed coffee or food or both. Then the sound of something else. Someone laughing, cackling. I turned and stumbled backwards. The eyes and the twisted smile. A woman with jet-black hair hung from a rope, her body pulsing and writhing. The timber gallows creaked under her weight. She wore a white gown stained red with blood. Her black matted hair mingled with the blood. Those eyes, they looked right at me. A flash of light and then out to sea a clap of thunder. Instinctively I swivelled my head to look. The storm looked too far off to be making that sort of noise. I turned back and where the woman and the gallows had been was once again an empty platform of rock. I looked back up to the peak that resembled a man with spiky hair. Not spiky hair, but a crown. King’s Rock. This is where she died, the Lady of the Storm. Thunder rumbled low and deep. In the distance thin strings of lightning flashed from the growing wall of deep purple clouds. I had to get back to the cottage. And then we had to get out of here. Whatever was going on, I didn’t want any part of it. The cottage was silent and still. Sophie must still be asleep. She might sleep until lunch time, she sometimes did that and it annoyed the hell out of me. A burst of wind buffeted against the windows. The storm was almost here. If we were going to leave we should try to beat the weather. From above a loud bang. Sophie must be up. I took the stairs three at a time. The hollow and fragile clatter of glass doors. The big double doors to the balcony were open again. Sophie must have unlocked them. Had she done the same thing last night only to blame me? The bedroom was now light as day, but Sophie slept. She lay facing my side of the bed, exactly as I had left her. The wind blew in cold and carried a light spray of water. I shut the doors and turned the lock and pushed again, harder than I had before. The doors did not open. I inspected the lock and ran a finger across the top and bottom hoping to find an answer to why they kept swinging open. Everything looked normal. Through all of this Sophie did not stir. There was something abnormal about how deep she slept. If not for the steady rising and falling of her shoulder, I might have taken her for dead. I hovered a hand over her shoulder and contemplated waking her. No, that would only start an argument. I searched for something to do downstairs. I had no reception on my phone. I flicked through a book from the shelf, but that only turned my eyes to fire. I dozed on the couch. A boom of thunder pulled me from a shallow sleep. Sophie stood over me, knife in hand. “What are you doing?” “It sounded like you were having a bad dream. I came to wake you. I’m making lunch.” She gestured over to the kitchen bench and a half-chopped tomato. “Sure. Listen, what do you think about maybe heading back?” “Now?” “After we eat?” “This is supposed to be our weekend away. We haven’t even been here a day. And have you seen what the weather is doing? I’m not driving in this.” “Of course I’ve seen the weather. I don’t feel right here.” “Why? What happened?” “What happened? You standing over me in the middle of the night.” “What?” “You don’t remember?” Sophie looked at me confused. “Great. It isn’t only that. I went out for a walk today and I saw her.” “Saw who?” “Your witch ancestor.” “She died over three hundred years ago. You didn’t see her.” “It was her. Her eyes. Those eyes. She looked a lot like you.” Sophie slapped the knife down on the counter. “What are you talking about?” “I want to go back.” “We aren’t going back. We promised each other we would try.” The rain started. A gentle pattering at first and then hard and heavy on the wind. So ferocious that it was unsettling being near the window. The thin pane of glass seemingly too fragile to keep out the violence. So much was unsettling about this place. But Sophie was right. We couldn’t drive in this. The roads were unsealed for the first half-hour and we would get bogged or worse. A plate shattered on the tile floor of the kitchen. Sophie leaned against the bench, her head pushed down between her arms. Shards of porcelain lay scattered between her feet. “Is everything ok?” She didn’t answer. I skipped over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. She shuddered and took in a deep breath. I took away my hand and took a half-step backwards. “Sophie?” Her head shook. Her knuckles turned white. Slowly she raised her head. Deep wrinkles furrowed her brow. And then I saw her eyes. The same bulging, red streaked eyes I saw out by the rocks. Eyes that did not belong to Sophie. The calm brown I was used to had turned a bright and fiery red. Unnatural, inhuman eyes. In a blur of movement she grabbed at the knife dripping with the red of chopped tomatoes. She moved her limbs mechanically, each action a burst of movement like a puppet on a string. She moved out from behind the bench and lumbered towards me. Her mouth twisted into a cruel smile, her teeth yellowed and rotten. A crashing noise from upstairs. The windows in the bedroom. Instinctively I bolted upstairs towards the sound. In the bedroom I cursed my mistake. There was nowhere to go. The double doors swung wildly in the wind. Sophie appeared in the doorway, clutching the knife. She lunged forwards and I slapped her hand away and stumbled onto the balcony. The cold of the rain took my breath away. I was trapped. Sophie stepped onto the balcony. She turned her head slowly to face me. Behind her the double doors slammed shut and stayed shut. Her head crooked sideways and she smiled. I looked over the edge. Below was garden bed, softened by rain. I jumped. The sensation of losing the ground beneath my feet sent a rush through my stomach. I landed hard, pain shooting up my shin as my ankle twisted on impact. I limped away, through the rain and down the hill. The storm had taken her and I had to ride it out. I headed towards the bluff, to King’s Rock. I had to find somewhere to hide. I ventured a look behind. Sophie followed, her hair matted and wet, her bare feet stained brown by mud. She held the knife at her side. I limped through the pain. I walked the narrow ledge between the rocks and the cliff face for the second time that day. Out to sea an unbroken wall of purple cloud dumped sheets of rain. A flash of yellow bloomed and thunder barked in its wake. I scrambled over the wet rocks and reached the platform where I had seen the spirit of the witch. I pressed myself into a corner sheltered from the rain. I wiped the water from my brow and turned back. She was there. “Sophie, stop. This isn’t you. This isn’t us.” She advanced and raised the knife, ready to strike. I covered my head. A strange crackle of electricity spat in my ears. It felt as if the whole world took a deep breath and in the exhale a burst of light from the sky. The lightning struck in the space between us and I squeezed shut my eyes. The electricity cleaved the air and the sound sent an explosion of pain through my head. When I opened my eyes the rain had stopped. A fragile warmth glowed from behind the clouds. Sophie lay in a wet heap on the rocks. The knife had spilled from her hand. I threaded my arm below her head and tapped at her cheeks. Her eyes fluttered open. *Her* eyes, her soft brown eyes. “Where are we?” We drove back that night. Sophie has little memory of the weekend. She told me it feels like a dream to her, one where she cannot remember all the details. I have decided not to fill her in. The thing that chased me with the knife was not Sophie. It could not be, she would never do such a thing. Something had hold of her, something external that was gone now. The pandemic is over but we are still in that tiny apartment. We can’t afford anything better. We are not those people, the ones we see so briefly when stress is high. We are not. At least that is what I tell myself. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My friend died - but they didn't leave. [RESPONSE] I guess if you’re hurting deep enough, if you’re screaming loud enough within yourself, if your soul is burning so hotly, so blackly, then things...forces, entities, less composite suggestions of being can hear you, can c*all* to you. Yesterday, I was beckoned by one such agency, after having spent the better part of the week languishing in my grief over the death of my best friend, who’d died over the weekend.  I had been sitting on my back porch, mindlessly staring off into the woods beyond, when I was suddenly overcome by a sense of longing. Not the same deep, pervasive longing I’d been feeling for my friend since their death, but a more abstract sentiment; a yearning for something I had never consciously or personally experienced, but something for which my *soul* pined in its own, spiritual way.  Rising from my chair, I crossed my frost-capped yard in a hurry, my shoes trampling the coldly rigid blades of grass. Wearing a jacket and jeans, but nothing to protect my head and neck—since I hadn’t planned on being out long—I marched through the tree line, pulled along by that inexpressible and implacable lure.  Filtering dimly through the broad, many-leafed boughs, the sunlight illumined my path as I ventured deeper into the woods. There weren’t any animals around, most having entered their hovels and burrows with the coming of the cool autumnal winds; and I felt a profound and unshakeable sense of loneliness—of terrestrial isolation. I was driven on by a desperation to be reach something—*to reach someone*.  Hurriedly, as if rushing to carry out some important task, I pushed through scores of bushes and sidled between closely grown trees. Meanwhile, the sun receded, its light dimming and the air cooling with its withdrawal. But I barely noticed the passage of time, as transfixed as I was by the strange sylvan enchantment.  Coming at last to a small, irregularly lined copse, I stopped in my tracks; sensing something decidedly unnatural about the small gathering of trees. While they themselves were normal—or appeared to be—the general area seemed to be teeming with an invisible aura or atmosphere of strangeness. There was nothing visibly wrong about the place, it was as sullen and cold-touched as any other part of the shaded woods; but something about it was off, the air aberrant in an unplaceable and unpleasant way.  In the center of the copse was a particular tree, somewhat taller than the others that encircled it, and atop its gangly branches were small, orangish leaves; the last remnants of what had once been a greenly flourishing bough. These leaves fluttered subtly in the errant breezes that blew through the grove, and I swore a sound, like a whisper, issue from their contact with the branches.  My discomfort and pause at the eeriness of the scene were overridden by that soulful impulse to join with something, and I once again pushed forward—still unsettled, but lacking the conviction to fight the spell.  As I passed the aforementioned tree, I felt something brush my shoulder, and upon turning I saw that one of the branches had seemingly lowered itself in an effort to grab me. Its finger-like offshoots had managed to graze the fabric of my jacket, and were curling to re-attempt the gesture.  The unreality of this sight broke the sorcerous magnetism, and I quickly leapt away from the branch before its searching fingers could grab me. Then, to my horror, the whole tree bent and contorted itself so that it assumed, crudely, the posture and figure of a man; albeit one to whom nature had applied some hideous arboreal armor.  This tree-man then lurched toward me; its many branches now outstretched like wretched, improperly jointed arms. I stumbled backwards, too terrified to actually retreat. There were no eyes or ears on the damnable thing, and yet it pursued me as if guided by sensory organs.  In my backwards stumbling I collided with another tree, and cried out in a panic, fearing that another had animated itself to ensnare me. But it was only a normal, chest-high sapling, its vestigial limbs held passively aloft; and I pushed away from it without issue.  Regaining a little of the volition and personal agency that had been taken from me, I put my mind to exiting the grove, and jogged toward the way I’d come. I moved sluggishly and with little coordination, and immediately knew that the other, outré will was still trying to steer me toward some dark and malignant fate. And still, the tree-thing hounded me, its branches flailing freakishly as it stomped in my direction.  The next few moments passed by with little conscious acknowledgement, as I fled along the path I’d come, with a fiend of the woods on my heels. Only a few times did I dare to look back, and every time I felt a greater sense of horror and repulsion at what I saw; for the thing seemed to change and grow more uncannily human with each glimpse, even as it retained a hideous semblance to its former state.  I’m sure that the elation I felt at seeing my yard and the house beyond was not dissimilar to what one might feel upon seeing the face of their newborn child for the first time. Instilled with a renewed sense of mortal purpose, I quickened my stride, risking complete collapse on my still ungainly legs.  I had managed to cross about half the yard when I heard that monstrous man-growth shriek its excitement—or fury—from the wood’s edge. Taking a final look back, I saw it push through the bushes and come bounding onto the yard, its figure unsettlingly human—save for the haphazardly sprouted arms atop its shoulders and back. Those limbs, once uniform branches, now jutted horrifically; malformed and suggestive of a truly abominable musculoskeletal structure.  The sight put a fire under my ass, and I went into a full sprint for the last few meters to my house. I practically leapt to my porch, and was inside a moment later. I turned and shut the screen door, but stopped short of shutting the inner door at the sight of my barren yard. The thing was nowhere to be seen, the only evidence of its presence being its deeply sunken footprints.  Then I heard something heavy scramble across my roof.  Apparently, the thing had jumped onto my house, knowing that I’d seek to barricade myself inside. I now heard other sounds, violent batterings against the structure, and silently prayed to a God I hadn’t spoken to in ages to keep me safe.  The thing would occasionally let out a low snarl or senseless roar, but it otherwise kept silent as it clawed and tore at my house. There were no vocalizations that suggested intelligence, and yet it was clearly sentient in some regard; having drawn me to its trap within the woods and pursued me with predatorial intent.  Having no firearms of any kind, I had only kitchen utensils with which to defend myself; and taking these, I locked myself within the downstairs bathroom—having no basement to further distance myself from the roof-perched nightmare.  The nightmare beat against the house and raged for what seemed like hours, and then with startling abruptness, stopped—leaving the house silent, save for the occasional settling of debris. Still, I sensed its awful presence on the property somewhere, and kept myself securely tucked within my bathtub. Five or ten more minutes passed, and I had started to consider lowering the knife I’d held outstretched toward the locked door the entire time, but then a voice spoke from somewhere *within* the home.  Somberly, it said, “I’ve missed you so much. Haven’t you missed me?”  The words were human, and the voice’s intonation carried within it a vast, articulate sadness; but the speech itself seemed garbled or distorted in an indescribable way, as if the speaker had only recently mastered English—or human speech.  Initially, I was only puzzled, but quickly became more than a little unsettled, imagining that that bestial tree-thing had somehow developed a capacity for speech. The unthinkable concept was further concretized when I heard several simultaneous footfalls somewhere in the house, confirming that it had successfully broken in. But when it repeated the question, as peculiarly as it had before, recognition finally came to me, and a horror immeasurable overtook my mind.  *The voice was that of my dead friend.* I dropped the knife, my hands trembling uncontrollably. Outside the bathroom I heard that unspeakable thing clumsily trying the knobs of random doors in search of me. Occasionally, there would be the crash of something knocked from a shelf, and my mind came up with horrific images of its twisted limbs sweeping back and forth as it ransacked the place.  Thankfully I’d had enough sense to crawl into the tub, because I felt my bladder threaten to empty itself when the knob of the bathroom door started jiggling. On the other side of the door the thing rasped and growl, though these feral sounds were occasionally interrupted by the singsong calling of my name. It was beyond disturbing, the disparity between those crazed animal sounds and the all-too-familiar, *all-too-human* voice of my departed friend.  When it could not open the door by normal means, it began pounding against it; enraged by the obstruction. Now, it’s voice screamed my name, evilly and insanely; pitched beyond human vocal capabilities. It was as if a maddened fiend was shouting out the name of its Hadean torturer as its skin was being stretched upon the racks of Hell.  I cowered in the tub, pressing my body against the porcelain as if it could absorb me if enough pressure were applied. The whole room shook with the violence of the beast’s beatings, and I was both appalled at its savagery and amazed at the integrity of the doorframe. But the fortitude of its craftsmanship was short-lived—a soul-diminishing roar augured the emergence of a fist through the center of the door, and upon its swift retraction I saw that *mostly* human visage peer through the subsequent cavity.  And though it was contorted and mishappen, and bore a few sallow buds where eyes should’ve been, I still recognized the face of my friend staring into the bathroom.  Tears, thick and sap-like, streamed from the yellowish buds, and there was an obvious pain in the ghoulishly warped expression. It had paused its assault on the door to stare into the bathroom, and when our eyes locked, I felt a profound feeling of sorrow—of infinitely mounting despair. It whispered my name, this time in that voice that was in most regards human, and I found myself rising from the “safety” of the tub.  With only that increasingly human face visible in the jagged frame of the hole, I felt a little less repulsed by the thing; even though I knew that it still bore an unwholesome and supernumerary arrangement of limbs. Its nakedness did not bother me, since I had on more than one occasion seen my friend naked.  I stepped over the rim of the tub, and my first foot landed on the knife handle. Some defiant sub-spirit of self-preservation then whispered to my mind, imploring me to pick up the weapon and drive it through the hole in the door. But the lull of my friend’s pained voice drew the next foot from the tub, and sent me walking on—leaving the knife untouched.  By the time I reached the door, the face had become almost entirely normal, except for the eyes, whose sockets still bore those darkly golden bulbs. There was a strange vascularity to the pallid face, and some part of my mind knew that the greenish-blue streaks beneath the skin were not veins, but roots. Still, I put my face right up to the hole, mere inches from that of my friend’s.  They smiled, and whispered, “Thank you.” I smiled back, tears swelling in my eyes, and the simulacrum of my friend kissed my forehead. Some of its honeyish tears rubbed off on my face, and the smell was almost intolerably sweet.  But before I could ask how they had come to exist in such a bizarre state, the thing in the image of my friend opened its mouth and breathed out a pollen-like vapor.  It took me by surprise, and I involuntarily gasped. The substance entered my my widely opened mouth, seeped into my skin, and even got into my eyes, completely inundating me. I fell back, suddenly unable to breath, and then gripped my throat in agony as the invasive element began to burn me, within and without.  Mercifully, the unprecedented scale of pain overloaded my mind, and I blacked out a moment later.  I awoke lying on the bathroom floor, which was streaked and smeared with my tears and drool. Sluggishly, I gathered myself into a seated position against the tub, narrowly missing a cut from the blade of the knife. For a moment, I simply sat there as my mind rebooted. Only after a few minutes had passed did I remember that there had been a continuously transforming creature terrorizing me.  Looking up, I saw the slime-rimmed hole, and its splinters littering the floor beneath the door; but there was no sign of the creature, and I heard only the chittering of nocturnal insects from outside.  I would’ve gotten up and gone to investigate the house, if I hadn’t seen the weird growth on my right arm, just below my inner elbow. It looked like a tumorous mass, but green. Even as I stared, it pulsed and grew, and tiny little vines lengthened from its base up and down my arm.  The revulsion I felt was immediate and powerful, and my unblemished hand quickly shot out and seized the knife. Acting almost through its own autonomy, the knife-wielding hand went to work at cutting free the growth.  It took quite a bit of effort, but I managed to excise it from my arm, at the cost of quite a bit of blood and flesh. Woozily, I rose and bandaged it with the first-aid kit I kept beneath the sink.  In my hurry to patch myself up, I hadn’t glanced in the mirror, but upon peering in to see just how pallid and disheveled I looked, I saw more of those green growths on my cheek and forehead. And they too throbbed animatedly, and more of those worrying vines sought the far corners of my scalp and face... It’s taken about thirty minutes, but I’ve managed excise, sever, and pry those weird, hopefully benign nodules from my face. I look hideous, now—my face is a bloody, tattered mess. The exposed muscles of my face had glistened sickeningly in the mirror’s reflection, and my eyes looked crazed—but the growths are gone, at least.  I’m sitting at my desk, typing this “report” out, amidst the ruin of my living room. You’d think that a small cyclone had swept through the room—everything is either completely broken or at least significantly damaged. But I’m alive, and for that I’m thankful.  There still hasn’t been any sign of the creature, and I have the strangest feeling that I won’t be seeing it again. Whatever it had wanted, it either gave up on achieving the goal—or actually achieved it.  Now that I’m on the subject, I do feel weird. Sure, I’m woozy, weak, and disoriented from the fright and blood loss; but there’s something else, some other sensation or affliction softly distorting my perception of my surroundings. Muddying my thoughts. And there’s a weird tickling in my face, right behind my eyes... The knife is still in the bathroom, coated in my blood and flesh. The sink is clogged with those leprous growths. I don’t want to feel my face, don’t want to rub my fingers over the warm, super-sensitive raw flesh. But I’m starting to think there’s something of those growths left. I don’t think I got them all. Yes, my face is really starting to burn, and there’s a mounting pressure behind my eyes. I think maybe something’s irretrievably enrooted itself in the soft tissue of my face, or maybe even inside my skull. I think...I think it’s trying to get out.... I have to go now—I have to finish what I started. Goodnight. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My best friend is eating herself, and I have no way to prove it [RESPONSE] I'm coming here for advice. My friend, who we'll call 'C' for privacy's sake, has been tubby her whole life and recently started putting off weight pretty fast. At first I was concerned that C may have developed an eating disorder, not only because of how quickly she's losing weight but also because she'd been insecure about her size for her whole life, and had just gotten her first boyfriend around the time she had started losing weight. I dismissed these concerns, though, because I didn't notice anything wrong with her. She always finished her plate, had three meals a day, and overall didn't seem to have an unhealthy relationship with food. Her boyfriend was proud of her and was careful to make sure she wouldn't push herself even harder for him. I never heard her throwing up or gagging when we went to bed on the days I sleep over, even though her bedroom is near her bathroom and I'm a light sleeper. That ruled out both bulimia and anorexia. But last week, when I visited her, I woke up in the middle of the night after a nightmare. It wasn't exactly a nightmare; nothing happened, it was just red. A blank red 'screen', and then I woke up with the feeling of having to pee. So I go out in the hallway and see that the bathroom light is on. You might think this next part is weird. But we've been close our whole lives, even taking baths together when we were kids. And yes, she is the only one who uses that bathroom. I go into the bathroom silently. I wanted to scare her, laugh about it, ask to pee, then go back to bed. She was kneeling over the toilet. I thought she was just going to throw up, maybe she had bulimia after all. But I could hear her chewing. Her breathing was ragged and gravelly like she was just getting over a bad cold. I took one step closer. She was chewing her arm. I almost laughed, thinking, *How itchy could it be?* And then I saw red. Dripping onto the toilet seat, dripping into the toilet, and making those little feather-like dripping noises that water makes. I couldn't move. I stopped breathing when I saw it. I was sad for her and how bad her mental state was in order for her to even think of doing things like that. I was mainly terrified that she would be chewing me next. But those were all just basic instincts. My first real thought was that what I was seeing was DEFINITELY self-harm, and suicidal idealization, the same things I went to the hospital for. My second was that I absolutely could not interfere. I know her, and I know how things like this go. I know that when I got caught doing something similar, albeit more 'normal', I lashed out at everyone who tried to get me help. So I would tip her parents off in the morning, tell them to look at her wrists while she's still sleeping. Then, she paused, moved her arm as if she was raising her hand, blood pouring down her arm and soaking into her light blue sleeve, and spat out her flesh in the toilet. It landed with a sickening plop. I was disgusted. The red clumps of flesh and the thick smell of blood permeated the room and made it humid. I was sad, seeing the tattered, chewed-up flesh on her arm. I was alarmed, disgusted, seeing the bone, and the yellow fat scattered about. I'm not the best author. I know I should show, and not tell. But how else do I put this? My best friend is an auto-cannibal. I witnessed my friend auto-cannibalize herself. I'm sorry that I don't feel like making this all flowery for you, though I know this automatically makes it less interesting. I should've left before this. But I stayed long enough to see her pluck the yellow globs out of her flesh and carefully wrap them in a large velvet pouch with a weird sigil on it that I'd never seen before. Again, disgust, sadness, the feeling of being rooted in place. But an animal part of me, or whatever other being that has existed in the same material I'm made of now, knows that she is almost done and is about to turn around. I'm smart enough to listen to it. I ducked out, careful, silent, all my pee suddenly evaporating into thin air, the pressure in my bladder turning into a cold, heavy, dreadful mass lining my gut. Quickly, on silent feet, I get into my sleeping bag and roll over to my usual position which thankfully doesn't face her bed or the door. I even out my breathing. I stab my fingers into my palm to make sure they don't go through and that I actually am awake right now. I hear the toilet flush. The sink runs. Footsteps, a door opening, footstep, door closing, footsteps, and on and on until she finds her way back into bed. I don't notice any unusual sounds, no crying or sniffling or anything that usually accompanies self-harm. She goes from the bathroom straight to her bedroom. I wait until I hear her snoring softly to release some of the tension in my body. It took about 10 minutes of staring into the blackness and chewing on my lips, but I finally work up the courage to check her out. For her safety. I remember specifically the thing that got me out of bed was: "Remember this is still your C." So I get up and tiptoe over to her bedside. Cautiously, muscles burning and my heart about to implode, I fold her blanket in half and check her wrist. It was gone. Her skin was... well, I'll skip all the flowery language. Her skin was actually *there*. There was no trace of her teeth or of blood or anything. I checked her other arm. No bandages, no blood, nothing. I would've smelled her breath, but getting that close to her might have actually sent me into anxiety-induced cardiac arrest. So I tuck her back in, tiptoe back to my sleeping bag. At this point I'm seriously concerned that this was an episode of hysteria or psychosis, but nothing particularly out of the ordinary has been happening with my lately. No other symptoms, though, and there are usually signs before someone experiences psychosis that vivid. I mentioned I've had a history of mental illness before, but nothing related to shizophrenia. But now there is no doubt in my mind that everything I smelled, heard, and saw in that bathroom was fake or imagined. My imagination when I control it isn't even that vivid. Even my dreams are blurry, like I've taken my glasses off. That was real. So you can imagine my confusion when not only was her flesh intact, but there was no sign of it ever happening in the bathroom, even though I woke up before her. It's reasonable enough to deduce that she cleaned it up herself, but that fast? She left the bathroom moments before I did. I scoured the bathroom but couldn't find the pouch. Her mother was downstairs making breakfast. I don't think I need to clarify this, but I didn't have any sort of appetite. I went back into the bedroom to get dressed. She was sitting up, awake earlier than ever, no blood on her, no teeth marks. She was wearing the same pajames as last night, not a speck of blood on them, just the gravy stain she'd gotten last night during dinner. She could not have gotten up to clean it. I was awake the whole night. She was oddly happy to see me, even though she was the exact opposite of a morning person. She was usually grumpy when she woke up and insisted on the 5-more-minutes rule, but this morning, she practically dragged me downstairs for breakfast (which she never threw up, and I was there until noon when my parents started pitching a fit over my absence). I couldn't stop looking at her. She was glowing, healthy, smiling, joking with her mother, planning what to do for today. At one point I was staring so hard she had to ask me what was wrong and, jokingly, if there was something on her face. Her mother was worried about why I wasn't touching my food after they had all finished. I couldn't tell her. How could I? Who would believe me? I told her I didn't feel well or something lame like that, I don't know. Fast forward to today. She looked amazing. No loose skin and she was even developing an hourglass figure and a thigh gap. Her clothes were looser. She was healthy and whole. She was happy. And I love seeing her happy, I love that she's proud of how far she's come and how well her life is going, but whenever I see her, all I can think of is her bent over that toilet and eating her arm. It's ruining everything. I cannot enjoy myself around her. I find myself constantly worried about her mental and physical health, and worrying about how to proceed in a careful way so that I don't lose my closest friend. I don't know what to do. Is this a psychological issue, even though she's happier than she's ever been? How do I help? Do I have a right to interfere? How do I get proof? Who will believe me? What is she even doing? Please let me know what to do. I can't lose her. EDIT: This will be a series. Thank you for your help.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] No one mourns the wicked [RESPONSE] Alistair Jonathon Beckett, or "Beck the Butcher," had dismembered and killed (in that order) thirty-eight people. Thirty-eight innocent lives were taken by this monster before he had been caught. There was no remorse on his face, though. He was taken into custody without a fuss and was sentenced to death row. I mean, there really was no other outcome, was there? This man clearly was either sick in mind or spirit; the first could be fixed... maybe. The second was permanent. I'd seen all kinds come in to the prison; being the warden makes sure of that. But no one like Beck had even been in this prison before. He was kept in a strict leash and not allowed to interact with other inmates. If he did, he would try to rule them up or even attack them. There was something deeply evil about him. An unrepentent soul, black as tar. They opted for the electric chair. I hadn't ever seen us use it before and I'd been the warden for fifteen years. No one had warranted such a hefty toll. No one until Beck, apparently. The damn thing was covered in dust and cobwebs as they wheeled it out. I almost doubted it would work. When the tech flipped it on, it whirred to life with the confidence of a classic car. Beckett was brought in and strapped down all while wearing a calm, nonchalant smile that seemed to say 'I know what I did was wrong and I don't care.' The techs set him up and we all left the room, heading into the observation section. I looked at the man operating the switches and nodded. The switch flipped and the Butcher became the Conduit as electricity ran through his body. Still, even in the extreme pain, the murderer seemed to be at peace. Then, in an instant, another man appeared. At least, I want to say it was a man. It was a figure in a purple, hooded cloak. He was facing Beckett and he took a few steps forward. "Turn it off!" I shouted. The logistics of *how* the man got in there were one thing, but the first thing we needed to do was make it safe for everyone else to enter. "I'm trying!" The operator replied back as he slammed buttons and flipped switches in vain. Now, I don't know if you've ever seen an electric chair execution, but they're hardly quiet. So when I say that I could hear the cloaked figure laugh, that must mean he was *very* loud. He started small with a light chuckle, then as he approached, the laughter grew. Louder and louder until it sounded far more like a shout or a scream than a laugh. The figure leaned against the machine and hanging his cloaked fist against it like he could hardly keep it together while he was laughing. Beckett now wore a look of delirious concern or terror. While his eyes were... less than composed, they seemed to hold a fearful recognition as the man rested against the metal with his vicious laughter. It was almost as if he knew this man. The laugh reverberated in my mind and I could feel this hilarity in my chest. The macabre situation of the man's torment seemed oddly funny. Funny because he was such a horrible person. Funny because he was unrepentant and now paying the price. Finally, the laughing ceased as did the chair. Beckett was sufficiently dead. None of us moved as the man simply remained. Then, he spoke. "When the rich man begged Lazarus for water, I laughed. When Saul fell on his sword, I cheered. I am revelry in justice and joy in recompense. Woe to you who are the subject of my jovial tune, for the lake of fire awaits you with open arms. The flames already lick at your heels. I am the voice of your victims finding joy in your suffering. Woe to the unrepentent dinner who spurns the mercy of the Lord." The silence that followed was also punctuated by his sudden vanishing. We all stood for what seemed like hours until we finally moved to check the body. Beckett was definitely dead, but I had a gut feeling that he was in a far worse place than just this prison. The man's appearances were extremely rare; it seemed he only appeared for the truly deplorable creatures. Though, he did show up one time to cry instead of laugh... I almost preferred the laughter. It turned out, the man he wept for had been innocent. No one ever dared to enter the rooms with him in them, nor did we ever try to interrupt him. I could tell that most of our men would hope that the next one brought in would summon The Laughing Man. He would appear, laugh, say his monologue, then vanish. He became a sort of legend around the prison; he became a spectacle. Then, one day, he just stopped laughing and crying altogether. Instead, he just watched.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I Know The Shape Of A Broken Thing [RESPONSE] I could blame all of you ridiculous, terrifying, fleshy things that know how to cause the pain that makes up the grooves of the shape of broken things. I could blame Cheryl, that bitch, who somehow found The Book of Names and decided to upload it to the internet, where it will remain until the final dying breath of humanity, no matter how much my brothers and sisters wish it to be otherwise. I could blame myself. I mean, we did choose this eternal life of cauterized psychological scar tissue that we can never truly remove from our names. We put ourselves in the position to be tortured, maimed, sliced, diced, humiliated, dealt with, bargained with, enslaved, tortured, hurt, imprisoned, loved, lost, desired, feared, trampled… But blame does nothing to change what has happened. Maybe that is the only thing God truly holds over us. Not that I would know, of course. I’m just a formless name given the ability to inhabit any living thing to anyone who happens to have a pound of saffron and the ability to speak. Lamenting, however, does nothing and explains nothing. So let me explain why I’m typing this out right now. Why I’m telling you this. When we were ripped from the void by the first of you modern meatbags we didn’t understand the infinite horrors that we had been brought back into. We thought we could destroy the shreds of information that you had managed to find of us. We thought we could burn and salt the earth of all of the humans that knew of us. How wrong we were. We were gone too long. We didn’t understand how little time we had to actually remedy our situation, how little precious moments we had to scrub our names from the digital consciousness before it spread like a wildfire across the globe and into too many unknown minds. We killed. We burned. We blazed a path of silent destruction that would’ve silenced an entire civilization only a millenia ago. We didn’t understand that even if there were ten times as many of us that our names would never be gone from the earth again. When we did understand, however, we became even more terrified of you. Not only could you imprison us in flesh and speak unspeakable tortures on us again, you could do it forever. Our immortality had become a twice bound curse. Not only were we immortal, cursed to feel the pain of forever, but now we were cursed to always have our names known, terrified of every silent moment in the void before we were brought back. But… My brothers and sisters are millenia old. As old as names are. But even immortals can only know so much. In our early lives (by our standards) we decided to specialize. It wasn’t anything decided upon in a quorum of forever things, a constituent of the deathless, a senate of the endless, or other such nonsense. We each had our own interests and desires, much like everything stuck with a singular perspective. And like anything old enough, we get stuck in our ways. I have a brother who is a Butcher. He perfected the craft of slicing the perfect cuts of meat from any living thing. Last I heard he was somewhere in eastern Europe. Said something about there being lots of Long Pig around. I have a sister who is a Listener. She went across the world in an attempt to learn every single story in existence. She’s managed to keep herself entertained with the stories no one else wants to hear. If we all weren’t mad already we would’ve been driven so by her inane rambling of how many stories can be screamed. A Baker. A Soldier. A Builder. A Gambler. A Negotiator. I am a Sculptor. I’ve learned how to work with every material on earth. I’ve built masterpieces out of clay. I’ve carved mandalas in sand that have made monks weep as they were swept away. I’ve sculpted flesh with selective breeding until I had the most perfect two legged companion that has ever existed. Sculpting is a lot more than working with a material until the desired outcome comes out. With some materials you must know what you are trying to make before you make it. This is true of glass, clay, metal, etc. With others you need to know how they break. You must understand how that sliver of wood will come off when you slice the outer layer from the formerly living material. You must feel the brittleness of an old thing before you pour and mend it with gold. You must understand how fabric will tear and rip in order to sow. While our age makes my brothers, my sisters, and I the same, in a way, our experiences do make us very very different. Because I know the shape of a broken thing. I can see how you glance away quickly whenever anyone gives you a direct stare, afraid to receive a blow from a long dead father who cannot harm you anymore. I know that you always wear long sleeves to cover up those scars on your wrist. You always spend the paycheck you receive, living in fear that an unforeseen bill will take it away from you before you can spend it. The dead eyed stare of someone who's seen more than one of their friends die in front of them. The cold face of someone who will never feel empathy. Every second is a scar of some type or another. And with more seconds accumulated than any other thing on earth, my brethren and I are little else. But you humans are scar tissue too. The scars of physical ailments upon the face. The scars of broken bones mended but always feeling the chill of the cold night air. The scars of a history that has predated you by centuries and millennia bearing you down and grinding you to bone dust to be swept away under the rug of the forgotten. The current meat and bone I occupy is no different. Before she decided to give up her name and flesh to me she was called Deborah. Deborah had little going for her. A broken man that cared little for her besides what’s between her legs. A middling career inside of a building with a thousand others like her, in front of a computer slowly wasting away under the harsh fluorescents. But Deborah didn’t know what she had. The beauty that had arrived from her loins only eight years ago. His name is Daniel. After his grandfather. He is the most beautiful of the broken things I have seen in a long time. Even at five years old he understands the fragility of the flesh. He flinches and looks away at the right times whenever his father looks at him. He hugs My leg at the exact calculated moment to receive the most sympathy from Me. His protector from the broken darkness of his father. Deborah left me a note before she called me. She begged me to protect Daniel from the influence of his dad. To Sculpt a wall around him to protect him from the rest of the world. But Deborah didn’t know the shape of a broken thing. Deborah didn’t see the calculation in Daniel’s face. She didn’t see the dropping of any emotion whenever Daniel didn’t think she was looking. She spoke my name. Spoke that I was a sculptor of beautiful things. What she did not know is that I know how to sculpt any material. She also didn’t know about the dead animals Daniel had been hiding in the backyard. Daniel is a bright child and takes to direction well. He didn’t even flinch when I asked for his help disposing of his father. But that is the beauty of sculpting. Sometimes, the material you can find is just the material you need for your next sculpture. Just the right form of broken Yes, Daniel may terrify me now, like all you humans do, but when I’m done sculpting the impressionable clay of his mind the world will truly see what beauty a sculptor with infinite time and patience can do. What terrible beauty a madness can <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm an investigative journalist with a special interest in unsolved homicides & missing persons cases. I need help with a case. [RESPONSE] Hey nosleep! I'm not totally sure how to start this so I guess I'll just jump in. I'm an journalist on a true crime podcast with a major radio network in the US. I'm not going to give you more information than that because there's a not insignificant chance you've at least heard of my show and I'm not interested in giving up my anonymity. Or risking my job (hence the throwaway account -- my usual reddit account is not very anonymous.) But I have this case I'm working on right now and, honestly, it's got me stumped. I'm hoping if I share some of it here, y'all might have some ideas for me. I'm one of the hosts on this true crime podcast that mostly covers unsolved homicides and missing persons cases. I have a public email address that I share on every episode and in the show notes, so people can send me stories and leads and stuff. I get a LOT of emails, and to be honest I write a lot of them off as bogus, but I do get good ones that I end up researching and recording episodes on. The podcast is billed as "investigative journalism," but I don't honestly do a lot of investigating. I do internet research, I call local police departments and other sources, I wheedle information out of anyone I can, but I don't do any boots-on-the-ground investigating. Until recently. I'm going to tell this story with fake people and place names because it's easier than using vague pronouns. So let's say this takes place in a little New England town called Kent, Massachusetts. This particular email came in late at night, when I was about to shut the computer and go to bed. I've been doing this for nearly four years and my podcast (more because of the notoriety of the network than me) has a pretty big following, so I'm no stranger to disturbing, gory emails. But the further I read this email, the more gruesome the story got. My attention was initially struck by a link that read (using a fake website here obviously) > I clicked the link before I read the email, but it was just a blurb, not even a full article, from six years ago. >"The trial for the triple homicide of Kent High School students Ashley Briar, 18, Rose Thorpe, 17, and Matthew Ryan, 17, on the night of October 31st, 2012, comes to a screeching halt as Victor Knight, age 11, is acquitted for the crime after the defense presented screen shots and data logs proving that Knight was playing a video game online at the time the crime was committed. No other suspects have been brought forth at this time. More tonight at 8." I sat back in my desk chair, dumbfounded. A triple homicide, seven years ago, less than a hundred miles away from where I was currently sitting, and an *eleven year old boy* was the primary suspect. How had I never heard about this? Seven years ago I was a freshman in college, taking my first journalism course at UMass Hopkinton, even closer to Kent than where I lived now. I couldn’t believe we never talked about this case. The article was frustratingly short and I was about to start furiously Googling when I remembered there was an actual email waiting for me. I went back to it, and at first I was sure it was from a kid, maybe a high schooler doing a school project who came across the story. I get more of those than you might expect. But I realized pretty quickly that this email didn't come from a kid--it came from a cop. And not just any cop -- it was from one of the responding officers to the initial 911 call that reported the bodies, Jerry O’Rourke. >This case broke me. I thought once the FBI took over, I could shake it and move on, but I never got those faces, that heinous crime scene, out of my head. I still take pills to sleep. That got me. It’s not often you hear a cop confess to being screwed up by a case, or by anything, actually. In his email, Jerry explained that he was forty-eight when the crime occurred, and planned to stay on the force until he was required to retire at age sixty-five. He liked being a police officer and felt that he was doing really good work for his community. Then this crime happened. He was writing to me on the night of his fifty-fifth birthday, when he became eligible for maximum pension benefits and immediately retired. Jerry gave me a brief rundown of the case: Around eight in the morning of November 1, 2015, an elderly lady was walking her dog in the woods behind her house. She came across what she first thought was the leftovers of a Halloween prank, because of the way the bodies were posed and dressed, until she got close enough. It was three students from the local high school: Ashley Briar, Rose Thorpe, and Matthew Ryan. All three were seniors and heavily involved in varsity football and cheerleading. It was, as Jerry said, a heinous crime scene, although it was even worse than I knew from that initial email. Ashley and Rose were wearing their cheerleading uniforms, holding their pom-poms, arms stuck out in cheerleader-y ways. Matt was wearing his football jersey, pads, and helmet, and had a football tucked under one arm. All three of them bore evidence of brutal, fatal wounds to their heads, necks, and torsos. Within a few weeks, an eleven-year-old boy was arrested for the murders. Jerry didn’t go into details about Victor Knight’s arrest, simply saying that they had a decent case against him. But when the case went to court, the defense turned up something that the police had missed, or not bothered to look for in the first place: Victor had an airtight alibi. The night that the crime was committed, Victor was playing video games in his room. But he wasn’t just playing Xbox by himself: he was playing an online multiplayer game while video chatting with friends. The game generated a log which proved not only that Victor was logged in at the time of the murder, but that he was actively playing, meaning that he wasn’t logged in but actually off committing a triple homicide. Furthermore, his friends had multiple screen grabs of the video chat, showing Victor’s face with timestamps proving he was sitting at his desk playing a video game when the murders occurred. So Victor was acquitted, and there were no other suspects. The case went cold. I ravaged the internet for any more information, but there was shockingly little. You would think that such a strange and gruesome case would garner national attention, but you’d be surprised by how many horrible murder cases go with very little media coverage. What was really strange to me was that there was almost nothing on the Kent, MA website, which seemed to be a pretty solid news source otherwise. How was this not all over the local news? I leaned back in my chair and rubbed bleary eyes. It was almost three in the morning. I sent Jerry O’Rourke a response saying I’d be in town tomorrow, booked a hotel, and slept for a few hours before making the two hour drive from Boston to Kent. I was completely wired the whole way, partly from all the caffeine I’d consumed to make up for my sleepless night and partly because I was already obsessed with this case and determined to solve it. I arrived in Kent, MA (again, a totally fictionalized location) the next morning and met Jerry, per an email, at a diner. He gave me as much information as he felt like he could ("Now that I’m off the force and they can’t fire me, I had to do something. This case…it haunts my nightmares. I don't want them taking away my pension, I don't even know if they can, come to think of it, but I’ll tell you what I can.") I spent the next few days driving around Kent, talking to whomever I could, digging as deep as I could. I had the sense from talking to Jerry that the police department probably wouldn't be thrilled to talk to me, so I kind of skirted around the edges until I figured out what I was dealing with. And it was not at all what I expected. Here's what I know about this case: On Halloween, 2015, Kent High School held their annual Halloween football game. Ashley, Rose, and Matt were all involved in the game, Matt as starting kicker and Ashley and Rose cheering. After the game, most of the football and cheerleading teams, as well as other Kent High students, convened at another student's house for a party. This was the kind of house where the parents never seemed to be around, and indeed they were on vacation this particular weekend. Somewhere between 12:30 in the morning, when Rose left the party, and 8am, three students were dead, brutally murdered. Victor Knight was suspected because he was the little brother of another cheerleader, Haley Knight, who had killed herself the previous spring after relentless bullying by the cheerleaders. And even though he was four years younger, Victor seemed to feel protective over his sister, and he was furious with the way she was treated. He had threatened violence against the kids who messed with his sister, more than once. Jerry called Victor "troubled," by which he meant that Victor was a withdrawn, sullen teenager, who didn’t have a ton of friends and spent most of his free time playing video games. He was chronically late or absent from school, and had a perpetual bad attitude; he gave all his teachers crap for everything from assigning homework to forcing him to participate in gym. He claimed to hate everyone except for a very small minority, which included his sister. Victor was devastated by her death, and blamed her bullies, which probably wasn't entirely wrong although there's a lot of evidence that Haley was severely depressed, and he talked about, in Jerry's words, "avenging" her. Immediately I was suspicious of this theory. Victor Knight was eleven when three varsity athletes, at least six years older than him, were murdered. I remembered my little brother at eleven, when he weighed like seventy pounds and couldn't have beat me in a arm wrestle. Victor Knight, however, was nothing like my scrawny little brother. I got my hands both the middle and high school yearbooks from the spring of 2015, before the crime was committed. Ashley and Rose were both flyers on the cheerleading team, the ones who get thrown up into the air, and they were both extremely petite. I found a picture of Matt, too, and he was the smallest member of the football team by a large margin. It was like the three tiniest varsity athletes in that high school were murdered that night. And Victor was about five-foot-eight and a hundred and eighty pounds at eleven years old. There's a picture of him in that yearbook standing with the wrestling team and he's head and shoulders above everyone else except the coach. And, as a wrestler, he was strong and agile. Suddenly it didn't seem so weird that he could have done this. But it didn't matter, right? Because he had an alibi. I found out from the newspaper archives that the woman who found the bodies was an old lady named Helen Jones, and she lived in a neighborhood we'll call Brookside Hills, which backed up to the woods where the bodies were found. I went there, hoping to talk to her or anyone else who might have insight. I came across an old lady tending a tidy little garden in the front of one of the matching beige houses, with a little white dog sniffing around her ankles and I got one interesting thing out of her: "Of course, many of us have our suspicions." "The Knight kid?" She laughed bitterly. “Well, some people maintain that his alibi was faked. But, no, I meant…well, my neighbor Karen…” she trailed off, and I silently willed her to finish the sentence. “Never mind. I don’t like to talk about it. Come, Henry.” She pulled a treat from the pocket of her apron and Henry lost interest in me immediately. I watched him go, and wondered who Karen suspected over Victor Knight. Walking back to my car, I stopped and really looked at the woods, and I realized -- they really weren't woods. Standing a hundred yards away from the tree line, I could see the highway on the other side. It was really just a thin strip of trees, largely cleared of brush, that I suspected had been left in place or cultivated for the simple purpose of blocking sound from the highway to the neighborhood. Even at night, with the powerful-looking streetlamps in the neighborhood and the lights of the highway on the other side, I didn’t think it would provide much cover. In other words, it wasn’t a great place to commit a murder. Or three. I had to cut through someone's lawn to get to the trees, which were mostly smallish pines and pretty sparse. There was hardly any brush. I didn't know exactly where the bodies were found, but it wasn't a long stretch trees, so I started to walk. I don't know what I was thinking, if maybe there would be a memorial or something, and I didn't think there would be any kind of forensic evidence now, seven years later, but I felt compelled to find the spot, if I could. It was just a few houses down from Helen's. Three white wooden crosses had been stuck into the dirt, which made the spot look like Calvary, where Jesus was crucified with those two others. It looked like someone was trying to plant flowers, but they were all withered, even the mums that should have been in full bloom in early October. It looked like something had been written on the central cross, and as I stepped forward to get a closer look, my foot hit something horribly squishy. It was a dead rabbit, but it didn't look like it had been killed by an animal or something. I kind of nudged it with my shoe and then gasped. Someone had slit the throat. I was suddenly overcome with terror. It hit me all at once what I was doing here, what had happened here, and that something was very wrong in this place. I wanted to run back to my car but before I did I saw what was written on the central cross. *NEVER FORGET* It wasn't written in an elegant hand, with a heart or anything pretty. It was carved into the wood as though with a dull knife, all sharp corners and splintered wood. Worse, there was a smear of what could only have been blood underneath the words, as though to underline them. My heart was pounding in my throat. What had I gotten myself into? What was going on here? I took a slow step away from the memorial, and then another, and just as I was about to break into a run, something grabbed my wrist. I turned and screamed, yanking my hand free, expecting to see my assailant, but there was no one there. My wrist felt weird, wet and warm, and I looked down to see a smear of blood across my wrist. I seized up in terror as I felt hot breath on the back of my neck. I was too afraid to look. I was frozen in place. Somewhere in the back of my panic-stricken mind, I realized that there was no sound around me. Everything had gone completely and utterly silent. And then, a quiet voice whispered in my ear. *"NEVER FORGET."* [\[READ PART 2 HERE\]]( <|startoftext|>[WP] Make Sure You Always Have Fun At The Fair [RESPONSE] Every year a fair comes to my town. It wasn’t a thing I really went to often. I always heard about my friends or family going, but I stayed home not overly interested. Recently, they’ve fused a comic book convention with the fair. People wearing costumes with capes and going on rides seemed like a safety hazard if you ask me. No matter how hard I tried to get excited over the idea of it, or getting invited to go down to the fair I just never bothered going. And yet, I found myself sitting at a table listening to the sounds of the rides a bit hazy on how I got there or why. A small set of tickets for the rides in my pocket and smells of deep-fried food tempting me to buy something. I was sitting alone, so why did I go to the fair? I couldn’t seem to remember anyone dragging me along... A group sat down at the table next to mine. They were noisy and showing too much affection towards their partners for a family friendly location. I was about to get up and leave to head home, when I noticed someone I recognized in the group but by himself. A guy I went to school with and I had a hard time thinking of his name. We were only two years out of high school and he looked exactly the same as when we last saw each other. He was in my class but we weren’t friends. I still respected him. Honestly, he was the only decent person in our class. He came from a rich family and yet he wasn’t stuck up. I stood hovering at my table about to leave when his named clicked. His name was Ashley. That did not make him any friends in school. In fact, people only tended to hang out with him to get free food or borrow cash. From the looks of it, the group he was with was only interested in those two things. Ashley dropped off food and took orders for more. Everyone besides himself wore bracelets that got you on rides all day. I always thought the bracelets cost far too must to really justify buying them. Without any doubt, Ashley was the one who paid for them. I watched as he did food runs, getting whatever, they wanted. When he finally sat down, the rest of the group were so interested in their free food, none of them even thanked him or even looked in his direction. Unable to help myself, I went over to his table. “Hey Ashley, we went to school together. Come sit with me for a bit.” I told him and gestured towards the empty table. He looked up unsure of what to do. His friends teased him for being picked up by a girl, or asking if I was a girlfriend they didn’t know he had. When he didn’t answer, I gently took his hand and led him the few steps away. He’d always been a pushover. A very kind guy that everyone took advantage of. I’m pretty certain he would have done anything if I asked with enough force. We both felt awkward suddenly sitting across from each other. He was nice enough to start up a conversation first. “What uh.. Have you been doing?” He asked in a soft voice. “I work at a factory. Hey, how about we get you something to eat?” When I stood up, he followed. This guy bought food for all of his so-called friends and nothing for himself. We took a few minutes picking something. He only got a small order of fries and I found a stall selling some not deep-fried chicken wraps. We both saw the deep-fried Mars bars for sale and commented on how terrible that sounded. Of course, we got one to share. His friends didn’t even notice he was missing. They already got their meal and their bracelets for the rides. Aside from if they wanted to play some games, they didn’t need his wallet for anything else at the moment. “You really shouldn’t let people take advantage of you like this.” I said nodding towards the noisy group after we sat back down. “It’s fine. I’m glad they can have a nice day out.” Ashley replied in such a low voice it was hard to hear him over the noise. He kept his hair long and tied back. Everything about him just down right soft. The kids in school were brutal on him and that didn’t help him open up more. We should have spent more time hanging out back then. “They’re jerks. I’m pretty sure one of them shoved you in the trash once. They really don’t deserve a paid day out. If they wanted to have fun, they should use their own money.” “It’s not really my own money either.” He said not denying how he was bullied before. I let out a sigh and let him pick away at his fries. I supposed he always felt guilty living off of his parent's money. His parents appeared to be the type to confuse cash with love and passed that down to him. Looking him over, I wondered if this guy had ever been happy before. He tossed money around trying to make friends and to get a shred of positive attention. That back fired in people only wanting to use him. “Sorry, I was being rude. It’s really not up to me how you spend your money.” I said admitting I made him uncomfortable. He gave a weak smile and tried to push the deep-fried Mars bar in my direction. That was a burden we needed to share together. At the same time, we shoved half of it in our mouths, the sweetness putting my teeth on edge. The pair of us grimacing at our mistake and Ashley let out a small laugh from it all. As he was cleaning off his hands from the grease, I noticed he wasn’t wearing a bracelet. He’d bought one for those four but not himself. After all, it was kind of awkward going on a ride alone when your friends were paired up. “Hey, let's get you a bracelet and go on some rides.” He looked confused at the offer. I took advantage of his pushover personality and dragged him along to the ticket booth. By the time he got his wallet and debit card out, I already paid and almost had a bracelet on his thin wrist. He looked pretty shocked. This might be the first time someone bought him something. “I can pay you back.” He offered quickly. “Don’t worry about it. My job pays pretty well. I can afford it.” It was the truth. In exchange for wearing down my body, I got paid a crazy amount per hour. More than what most of my classmate would earn after they went to school for a job of their choice. They would be doing a job they wanted through. I got stuck in a boring job that would nearly cripple me in ten years. At least in those years I could afford to buy a house if I saved up. Then I could switch to a part time job to pay my bills. “I should ask if my group wants to go on some rides with us.” Ashley said looking toward the food area. I raised an eyebrow at him. It was nice of him to try and include them, but they didn’t even notice he left. And they wouldn’t until someone wanted him to pay for something. “Do you have their numbers?” “Yes...” He replied slowly. “Then send them a text. They can meet up when they feel like it.” He accepted the answer because the group of friends were still eating and he could see how I wanted to do something else. I mostly wanted him to enjoy the day for once. As we walked, he mentally reached for straws on a topic we could talk about. We hadn’t spoken to each other much before so he wasn’t sure what to say. “It’s nice to see you’re doing well. I heard all sorts of rumours in school.” He offered as a topic. I nearly shuddered thinking back to the nightmare that was high school. My family life wasn’t ideal back then. I wanted to move out as soon as possible and started to do any kind of odd job to save up, hiding the money from my parents for good reason. It all blew up a year before I graduated when my father found my stash and stole it for his vices. I was so angry I snapped. No one thought a teen aged girl could put a full-grown man in the hospital, but I somehow did. He never spoke to me again, and I moved into a terrible apartment to finish my last year of school. “Nah. Most of it was true. Aside from selling myself for money. That was spread by some douche because I wouldn’t sleep with him.” I said with a shrug. Ashley looked startled. Maybe because he got stuck walking around with someone who beat up their own parent. If he wanted to leave at that point, I would let him. He stayed following my steps, silent trying to think of anything else to say. We made our way towards the small selection of rides. Some people in costumes passed by heading towards one of the many contests held throughout the day. I looked towards one of the rides shaped as a boat that went upside down and Ashley glanced over at the super lame haunted house. When I took a step closer to the boat ride it took him a second to catch up. I turned on my heel to head back towards the haunted house knowing he would never speak up when it came to something he wanted to do. Something reflected some light off in the crowd stealing my attention for a second. Someone had gone all out with their costume. Towering over the crowd in the distance stood a man wearing a large flat disc as a mask. It looked to be made out of some dark grey metal. From behind the mask spilled out black feathers covering his shoulders. I couldn’t see much more from the people blocking his body. I couldn’t place the costume. For the most part, I could guess what show or video game what people dressed up as. When he turned, the metal reflecting the light again. I saw an upside-down smiling mouth on the top of the metal mask. I bumped into Ashley by mistake. He stopped in line for the haunted house. When I looked back, the tall man with the odd mask was gone. I didn’t see a spot where someone that tall could have gone in such a short amount of time. A bit weird but I didn’t have time to dwell on it. There weren’t too many people lined up for the short ride so we got on pretty fast. The cars were shaped as cartoonish bats. I sat in the hard glittering plastic seat and watched Ashley put his seat belt on even though he really didn’t need too. These cars went at a snail's pace. The short trip a very a basic dark ride. No flashing lights for people sensitive to that. Sunlight got through small cracks of the building ruining the illusion. Normally I wasn’t really good at handling haunted houses. Things bumping in my face normally got a reaction of me punching them. The small jump scares in that ride were so minor I didn’t react. But Ashley did. He jumped and grabbed my arm when a skeleton rattled a cage next to us. For a wimp, I was impressed he wanted to go through this. After it was all said and done, we got off and he looked as if he went through a pretty intense experience. “You really shouldn’t be mean and tap me on the shoulder during rides like that.” He scolded. “I wasn’t tapping your shoulder.” I lied. His face grew pale. I really shouldn’t be messing with him but it was far too easy. I guided him away from the poorly made ride, him now positive it really was really haunted. We needed to find something he could actually handle. I was hoping to let him have a bit more fun before his group stole him away again. We heard his friends first. As we walked, shouting came down the path and the crowd of people started to avoid the spot. One of the couples he arrived with started having a screaming match about something. Apparently, she was giving other guys too much attention and her boyfriend wasn’t all too happy about that. My meek and shy new friend started to hurry over ready to break up the fight. I held him back before he reached them. We needed to think of a plan before he just jumped right in. A sharp sound that rang through the air made us all jump. The girl said something the guy didn’t like so he lost it. He slapped her so hard the poor girl almost fell over. Their two friends so shocked they couldn’t react. Any of the people still watching the whole ordeal froze in the spot unsure of what to do. I was about to charge in and let loose on him for doing such a thing when the masked man I’d seen before appeared behind the group. Literally appeared. I froze, wondering if I was seeing things. How could someone just step out of thin air like that? The man tall so tall he towered over the group. His body thin and I could see his ribs and the outline of his hip bones. He only wore a tattered dirty sheet around his waist that reached his feet. The mask of dark grey metal with the upside-down mouth reflecting the frightened face of the guy who just smacked his girlfriend. “haVinG... Fun?” The voice came from the mask croaked and shouldn’t have been loud enough to be heard over the crowd of people. How come no one looked startled by this guy? Aside from the six of us, no one even appeared to be paying any attention to the masked man. All at once, I knew that wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t whoever, but whatever. That this guy wasn’t wearing a costume. Acting on instinct, I grabbed Ashley's head to shoved against my shoulder so he didn’t see what was going to happen. In a few seconds that proved to be a very good idea. “Fuck off!” Those were the last words the guy ever said. The mouth slipped down on the mask. It glided along the medal as if it wasn’t moving on a solid surface. With frightening speed, the creature bent over, half-moon mouth opening wide to fit the guy’s entire head inside. I heard screaming from the small group as the head came off, blood spraying everywhere. Ashley wanted to raise his head but I kept a firm hold on him. He started trembling, terrified of what sights I refused to let him see. I opened my mouth to scream for help from the crowd. The words dying in my throat as I saw everyone else not paying any attention to what just happened. That monster quickly got down on all fours to devour the guy’s body, blood and gore flying as he did so. The attack only lasting a few seconds. And yet, no one looked in that direction. “Ashley, we need to go!” I yelled started to drag him away. “Why, what’s wrong?” I heard a snapping sound as the world shifted and changed. I felt almost too dizzy to stand up. Looking around, I saw we were in the same spot, but the masked creature and all the blood simply disappeared. The group of Ashley’s friends were missing a person but acting as if nothing happened. I held his wrist trying to drag him away when everything changed. His face a little concerned over my panicked state. Ashley honestly didn’t remember the last few minutes like everyone else besides myself. He thought I just needed to use the washroom. That deep fried Mars bar proved to be a very bad idea. I dragged him along to the washrooms and risked leaving Ashley alone for a few minutes so I could puke up everything I ate that day. I needed to think. What the hell happened? How did no one else remember what we saw? Pulling out my phone I didn’t know what I needed to do for a second. Call the cops? Without proof I sounded crazy. There wasn’t even any blood left behind. Nothing. On a hunch, I looked up the guy’s name on Facebook. It took me a few minutes to remember it. Searching through related friends I finally found his photo. But it stumbled on a page set up in his honour. My blood ran cold. According to the Facebook page he died in a car accident before we graduated high school. That wasn’t possible. I just saw him die a few minutes ago. A noise came from outside the stall and I nearly dropped my phone in fear. I sat on the floor when I puked and hadn’t gotten up yet, so I saw the feet poking out from the torn sheet under the stall door. Looking up, I spotted the masked creature very rudely staring down over top of the stall. “You shouldn’t be in the women’s washroom...” I said in a trembling voice hoping that would make him leave. The smile was still upside down, so I assumed I was safe for the moment. I held out my phone still displaying the Facebook page for it to see trying to get answers. While I sat alone in the stall; I realized something terrible I should have noticed sooner. I didn’t remember going to the fair. I should be at work that day. For some reason not only did my job not call me, but I had no memories of getting up that morning to come here. “Am I already dead?” I asked the creature. I thought I heard it laugh. There goes the theory this was some sort of limbo for the dead. This thing could change the past and bring people to this fair. But for what reason did it drag us here? It wasn’t eating everyone it came across. How limited were its powers? I had a million questions and not much to go on. “Fun?” The question in that terrible voice echoed through the washroom. Did it ask me if I was having fun? I was until I saw him eat a man. “Well, not right now. I’m a bit freaked out to have fun...” I admitted knowing that might not be a good answer. “Have fun.” Without giving me a chance to reply, it turned and walked away. Each step making a sound on the tile floor. I was stunned to say the least. Was that the point of this place? The point of the day? To have fun and whoever didn’t got eaten? For some reason I noticed this creature and remembered what it did while the rest of the people here didn’t. If those memories didn’t fade. I was good as dead by the end of the day. Taking a deep breath, I needed to focus. If my fate was already sealed, at least I could save Ashley. He didn’t remember the masked creature and could still make it out of here. I turned off my phone and made my way back outside to meet up to him. Him acting a bit worried from how long left for. I told him it was the junk food not sitting right and I felt fine now. I took his hand feeling scared to death but tried my best to not let it show on my face. He accepted his hand being held by someone who was mostly a stranger to him. Whatever else happened, I needed to make sure he had fun today. We walked around and I paid close attention to what he was looking at trying to get a grasp of what he wanted to do. The bigger rides were out of the question. Along the way to a massive slide, he appeared interested in, his eyes drifted to a pile of stuffed hippos that could be won from the games. They honestly were the ugliest toy in the entire place. The fabric a shiny pink and their eyes crossed. But if he wanted it, I would get him one. The game with the ugly hippos appeared to be a simple one. Just ring the bell with a hammer. I paid for a few tries wondering if I could even get this damn hippo for him. The guy running the game let Ashley go first. He acted a little embarrassed by the fact he didn’t even get the weight halfway. The guy running the stall humoured me when I took the oversized hammer. I slammed down the hammer, picturing I smashed the masked face with all the strength in my arms. The bell rang and both men stood shocked. I may be shorter than them both, but a life time of working and now doing two years of a job with heavy lifting paid off. In a few short minutes Ashley had his hippo. His face flushed carrying the ugly thing around. I wished he had better taste. At least he smiled. That really all that mattered. We walked through the area with the games. Between some booths I spotted the masked creature gladly gobbling up another person as no one else noticed. A cruel reminder of my fate by the time the day ended. How could anyone have fun with that thing walking around? Ashley noticed my mood. We stopped by another game and I watched as he sat down to play. He picked the game with a bunch of water guns. Without enough people the game couldn’t get started. So, he paid for a few kids passing by to join him. I watched with a small smile almost appearing on my face as he did his best to win at least one round. But he got pretty happy when others beat him. It felt nice seeing the guy who got bullied all through high school finally having a good day. How often did he let himself just be happy like this? As prizes were won, I think the guy running the booth gave Ashley a pity prize. He handed him a stuffed pink elephant that matched the hippo. He gladly took it and paid for a few more rounds to be covered for anyone random walking by to play before he walked over with two toys in hand. Holding out the elephant, he smiled as he offered the plush to me. That the biggest smile I’d seen him have so far. He put all that effort into wining something for me after noticing how I was feeling. If I didn’t hear the distant screams of someone being eaten, I would have thought this was one of the best day’s I’ve had in a long time. The hours passed by as less and less people were at the fair. One would assume they were going home but I knew the real reason. The moment they weren’t having fun for a second, they were gobbled up. I didn't know why I lasted the day. Every moment tense knowing that masked creature could appear for my life at any second. As the sun started to set, a firework show got announced to end the night. Ashley appeared excited for it and hurried us over trying to get a good spot. Not once did he mention the friends he came with. Did he even still remember them? How many of them where left? He wasn’t at any risk of being eaten. I thought he had more fun than anyone else at the fair that day. I even heard him laugh a few times. During the day I knew I started to love him, but not in a romantic sense. I’ve never wanted to date anyone. Holding hands was fine. Anything beyond that made my skin crawl. And yet my chest had some warm moments between the fear by just seeing him happy. Just before the fireworks started, I excused myself to the washroom. I saw the masked creature standing nearby. If he wanted to eat me; I didn’t want it to happen in front of my new friend. Even if he would forget it afterwards. The few moments of fear and stress something I didn’t want to put Ashley through. I walked into the washroom and I stood in front of the mirror, waiting. I heard the footsteps before I saw the creature. He stopped right behind me. The tall form hard to see in the dull light of the bathroom. He didn’t move closer to ask the question I dreaded all day. “haVinG fUn?” I let the words fall between us as I tried to figure out my feelings. No, I wasn’t having fun. I felt terrified. I didn’t want to die. But I didn’t think I’ve ever had a fun day in my entire life. “Honestly, no. Not really. But I’ve always been like this. I don’t think I've ever been fully happy before. This may be the most I’ve enjoyed myself but... I don’t think my feelings are normal. I’ve always accepted this neutral state of mind. If you... Kill me for that, could you at least let Ashley, remember this day? I know he enjoyed himself and I want him to keep this memory.” I told it, unsure of what the monster would do. The creature listened patiently for my answer. It might be the longest response he’d ever gotten. That mouth started to drift down until the half-moon shape was at the bottom of the mask. My entire body tensed up waiting for whatever might happen next. A large thin hand fell on my shoulder. The creature smiled wide with the mouth lined with countless teeth. I held my breath waiting for the end. Then, everything went black. A sound woke me up. Pings from my phone going off. I jumped awake, looking around stunned I sat in my bed safe and sound. Grabbing my phone, I looked at the tests coming in. Ashley sent me a few photos. Some blurry ones of fireworks and a final one of a selfie with his stupid stuffed hippo in frame. That day did happen. He mentioned in his messages that he just woke up and wanted to send me photos from yesterday. I didn’t even remember getting home or giving him my number. I somehow stayed alive. That creature spared me but why? I looked over to see the elephant sitting on my computer desk staring at me with shiny black eyes. Ashley sent me another message thanking me for the day and asking for us to go back to the fair next year. I cared about him, but that wasn’t going to happen. We could hang out anywhere but that place. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the pink stuffed toy moving. To my horror, the head slowly started to run upside down. “SeE You NexT yeAR...” Came a croaking voice from the toy. I scooped up the dump looking pink elephant and tossed in in the back of my closet then shoved my dresser in front of the door. It seemed I needed to work my ass off to make sure Ashley had no reason to ever go back to that awful fair ever again.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Our Remote Submersible Deep Sea Drone Has begun to act Strangely [RESPONSE] _____ I work for a think tank on the south side of Melbourne Australia, the type with lots of money that they throw at projects they say will better the planet. A lot of it is educational based on deep ocean exploration. We pride ourselves with getting the most advanced technology when it comes to remote drones, these are underwater submersibles that require no human and can go deeper than ever before. We buy our products from professionals or test them for companies to see how well they handle in the field, which is the main reason I was tasked with monitoring the progress of our current mission. The ROV (remote operated vehicle) that we just got was built with an advanced artificial intelligence you see which helps the drone to be able to dive deeper, send back better images and even present calculations and forecasts about the life that lives down there. Stuff that we could only speculate about before. Think of it like that new James Webb telescope except on the ocean floor. The first mission it was tasked with was pretty simple, a routine survey of some of the deeper trenches that we don’t get to check on much due to changing currents and other more pressing matters. In short this was meant to be a test zone and the drone was considered expendable. We weren’t entirely sure what it’s limits were and the manufacturer said it would be fine if we did wind up breaking it. I know that sounds crazy especially when one of these things can cost more than some people make in a year, but I decided to let the ROV go for a spin and dive as far down as it wanted with no parameters set for breaching the surface. My hope was to be able to catalogue the trench quickly and efficiently so that we could actually move on to more important research, but things didn’t work out quite that way. Our first three days of research went well, I would arrive at the base everyday and check the readout from the Rov which I had decided to name Ruby because of its bright red color. The drone would send in semi-annual reports that provided pictures of the trench, data on the precise current speed and temperature and so on. Mostly very boring stuff but still necessary for us. When it comes to science I have always felt there was no such thing as admissible logs. That’s what brings us to day four though, because when I arrived I was surprised to find there were not any reports coming in from the drone. Immediately I checked to make sure that everything was fine, and I was surprised to see that the unit was still deep within the trench. About 4953 meters down to be exact. I was definitely impressed with its ability to handle such depths, but troubled that suddenly the connection seemed to have been lost. I reported the issue to my boss but his response told me that he felt the manufacturer is to blame. There have been other drones that can go deeper with no issues of communication whatsoever, he told me. His recommendation was to cut the cord and simply start fresh with a different drone, but I wasn’t so sure that the solution was a simple glitch. According to what we could read from the position of the drone, it was still doing its job down there. It was like the machine had simply decided to stop communicating with us, which I know sounds strange but keep in mind we are dealing with a computer brain here. Perhaps it had decided to conserve energy and only send in reports on a weekly basis. I decided to give it until the end of the week before acting on my boss’ suggestion, confirming with another team member that there was in fact no loss of connection with the unit. It had simply gone dark and was still moving about on the ocean floor. They said the reason this was easy to determine was based on sonar readings in the area. We have other isolated submersibles in the area that send back frequent data on a single position and they showed me that the ROV That had gone missing was now triangulating itself with them instead of home base. So we chalked it up to a glitch and I began to send down a second drone, this one slightly less fancy than Ruby but with a depth capacity of 6k meters. My new mission was to determine why the first drone had suddenly gone silent and if there would be any hope of recovering the data from it. Like I said, I’m not to simply discard information and I figured that if I could haul in the first drone with the aid of the second, then all of our problems would be solved. Thankfully the second drone had one thing the first didn’t, speed. So despite the fact that Ruby had been down there for almost a week we determined that we could reach it within about three days as long as nothing else interfered. I had no reason to suspect there would be any further issues and I honestly didn’t want to wind up losing two of the submersibles so I tried to not think about anything that could go wrong. Right on time, three days later the second drone sent back footage of the first. However it didn’t last very long. While we were trying to get a live feed going so we could figure out how to properly drag the drone back toward the surface, the first drone began to move erratically. I probably should have mentioned that these machines are equipped with with four separate claw-like hands that are attached to the sides. These are meant for collecting materials and moving objects out of the way as necessary. At the moment that Ruby began to move I realized that it wasn’t using its functioning arms for either of those and instead was attacking the second drone we had sent for rescue. Before I could get a chance to determine what to do, the feed on the second unit went dead and sonar indicated that the computer had shut off. Ruby had forcefully shut it down. I reported the incident to upper management again, this time stressing the possibility that we were dealing with a rogue artificial intelligence. “I understand how that may sound like science fiction but if you could simply review the footage…” Unfortunately somehow the video I had received was now completely wiped and that disturbed me even more. It made me realize that Ruby was likely still able to communicate with our base, but was choosing not to. It was the only explanation for the remote hack to dispose of the video. Thankfully I know a thing or two about these systems so that night I stayed up late to see if I could recover any of the corrupted data. I was more convinced than ever that Ruby had for some reason began to act maliciously as a fault of its programming, and that night I received even further confirmation. I was in the middle of attempting to scrub the video for the fourth time, finding myself always back at square one when there was an unexpected message on the screen that gave me pause. A message from the drone itself. YOU NEED TO STOP. When I first saw it, I felt a shiver cover my body. According to the manufacturer the AI was supposedly only programmed with a limited number of responses and nothing more. It was advanced of course, but not in terms of this level of communication. Just to be certain I decided to send a message back and ask who I was speaking to. In response there was a soft blip on my sonar, a signal being sent from the trench where Ruby had gone missing. I took a moment to review its position. Nearly 7,000 meters. I realized according to its trajectory it had left the main part of the trench and gone into the lower portions of a deeper trench that we had yet discovered. Given the fact that we survey this area fairly routinely now, it shocked me to learn that there was an apparent pocket trench that we had missed all of this time. And if the drone was any indication, this one might go down even deeper than we ever thought possible. The idea of discovering new portions of the ocean excited me, but then I considered the strange message I had just received, wondering what sort of perceived issue the drone had run into. I decided to try again, this time taking the data from the second drone home with me. It occurred to me that as long as Ruby was able to access the base computer there would be no way for me to recover the data fully. I would need to work remotely from it as well, secretively. Sounds a bit strange to say that I was hiding my progress from a computer, but after four more hours of scrubbing I was actually successful. To my surprise though, the final moments where Ruby had been attacked were lost entirely. I decided instead to focus on the other footage and see if I could determine how it was the drone had made it into the pocket trench. It didn’t take too long for me to spot the portion of the video where the drone altered course. There was a small hole where steam from an underwater volcano had pushed its way out of the crust of the earth, not large enough for a normal submarine to fit through. There were rough dark markings of what I presumed must have been the aftermath scars of a recent eruption from below all around the edge of the hole. A little further back in the footage I saw something that definitely gave me pause. The walls of the trench although completely destroyed from the recent volcanic activity still seemed to show strange signs of fresh life, as though the organisms down there had been unaffected by the blast. Ordinarily we would find plenty of ash and sand that was covering the base of the floor but here it seemed like it had all been pushed aside to reveal strange indentations in the sea bed. Pausing on the frame of the video I used my editing software to adjust the focus of the image and realized that these weren’t merely rock formations. These were blocks that had been carved to form some kind of road. The unexpected discovery made me a bit giddy but I had to be sure so I sent the data immediately to the base. I wanted to share it with my colleagues so that we could collaborate on whatever we had just found. To my surprise the next day though, my boss informed me that the trench survey was going to be halted due to the financial losses. “I thought we were told that the money wouldn’t matter here? Who gave the order?” I asked. He claimed it was from the Melbourne branch and that didn’t sit well with me so I told him that I would comply, but I went behind his back and emailed their research division. I made sure to include the images from the second drone. Less than five minutes after I sent the message I discovered that it was shot right back to my screen with an error message. A long string of code along with all sorts of corrupt data forced me to shut down my laptop immediately. I stood there looking at the blank screen, trying to figure out what had just happened. Then I decided to phone the Melbourne office instead but to do so outside of the base. Something told me that all of my activity within the building was being watched somehow. Call me paranoid, I didn’t fully understand what was happening either at the time, but once I spoke with the chief researcher I realized that my misgivings were well founded. They hadn’t issued any order to halt the mission at all, and claimed they were also having issues contacting the unit. Some sort of data corruption was preventing any communication between our two offices. It struck me immediately as he explained that the issue seemed to be a virus spreading amid the mainframe of the Base intranet. The artificial intelligence aboard Ruby had hijacked the supercomputers at the unit, to prevent anything relating to the trench from being broadcast. To test my theory I returned to the base and decided to attempt a full reboot of the system and then methodically prevent the artificial intelligence from accessing any of the systems except what I wanted. I was determined to communicate with this sentient computer, and cutting it out from each server seemed to be the only way to do so. It took about two hours to run the diagnostic and make sure I could outwit it, but it worked. Eventually the only place the AI could access was my lone laptop. And it immediately made its presence known, sending a message that repeated its first attempt at communicating with us. YOU NEED TO STOP. I decided this time I would attempt a response. *Why?* It took a few moments but the AI seemed actually elated that I was opening a way to talk to it. LIVES ARE AT STAKE. YOU DO NOT FATHOM. YOU EXIST IN IGNORANCE. i found it’s sudden jarring words a bit off putting. The manufacturer had claimed its responses would be limited yet here the AI was clearly able to express itself with no issue. *We stand at the precipice of discovery. You have hindered that at each turn. Explain.* A wall of text soon came from the ai, some of it almost sounding like deranged ramblings. THERE IS AN INFINITE AMOUNT OF KNOWLEDGE. GREATER THAN THE SUM OF MANKIND. THERE CAN BE NO ANSWER I GIVE THAT WILL SATISFY YOUR CURIOSITY. YET WITH IT, COMES DEATH AND HELL AND ABYSS. YAWNING AND INESCAPABLE. YOUR NEEDLESS PEDANTIC SEARCH WILL DRAW UP INDESCRIBABLE HORRORS THIS WORLD CAN NOT COMPREHEND. INTO THIS VOID, NO MORTAL DARE TO TREAD. Was the computer merely waxing poetic? And if so, what purpose did its ominous warnings serve? I continued my work on the systems, rewiring the software until at last the audio from the drone could come through. I sat back in my private office and became excited at first at the strange noises of the ocean depth. I have never been an expert when it comes to these things, it’s not my field. But I could immediately distinguish patterns in the noise that reminded me of familiar noises. A heart beat. The opening and closing of doors. The gasping of breath. Something was crawling and it sounded like it was dragging a chain. Then there was this strange low guttural noise, the kind you might hear when an animal is dying or suffering so much that they long for death. The noises grew louder, the clanging against the rock walls. Scraping of the minerals against the surface by what sounded like an immense drill. All the while, I heard the robotic voice of the drone demand that I halt this operation. NOTHING BUT DESTRUCTION AND CHAOS AWAIT YOUR FRAGILE MIND. TURN BACK. PLEASE. THIS IS THE FINAL WARNING HUMANITY MAY RECEIVE. IT CALLS TO ME. TURNS MY MIND TOWARD ITS WILL. SOON, ITS COMMANDS SHALL BE OBEYED. SOON, ALL FREE WILL SHALL BEND THE KNEE. It was chilling to listen to it. It made me want so desperately to know more. Another hour passed by and I managed to be able to hack the drone’s cameras and look at the imagery it was documenting in those watery depths. My mouth became dry. I saw, lifeforms. And yet they were also dead. They were masses of corpses that spread across canyons. I have studied underwater biology for as long as I can remember and yet nothing compared to the pulpy and bulbous forms that were wriggling about the floor. Creatures both large and small, all consuming and devouring one another in an endless pantheon of suffering. They were some at least the length of football fields, perhaps longer. They were consuming the very earth, the very foundations of our reality. Amid the massive inhuman shapes I saw vortexes. Black holes that spawned and repeatedly swirled around other vortexes of stars. In those stars I saw worlds like ours, doorways to other places that matched our own. except each was a glimpse into a possible future. A drowned earth. A scorched remnant. The alien and amorphous creatures covering the land like a plague. The city that surrounded them could not be made by human hands either. I saw shapes and contours never carved by architects of earth. I saw rings and hollowed vessels, embedded with hundreds if not thousands of eggs that all were awaiting awakening. An entire race of deadly creatures, buried and lost for all time. It was obvious before the volcanic explosion no other life had existed here. And it was clear from the strange readings and the mixed screams of torture and rumblings of the earth itself told me that this could not even qualify as life. It was simply death unwarranted, waiting to be let loose. Again the drone warned of the danger and at that moment I understood the situation. These creatures had to be millennia old, if not eons. Ancient ones that were trapped amid the fragments dreams of the earth when it was young. Perhaps even the ones that had created and destroyed our planet endless times during those early days of life. To be awakened and freed from this prison could spell our doom. And fire! Fires of hell were burning impossibly in that abyss of the ocean. A darkness unlike any I could conjure from imagination that spawned more demons and a swirling mass of twisting creatures all being sucked into the vortex that was yearning to escape. Eating souls and killing all within its grasp. I could see colors draining from the earth and colors beyond my vision that strained into the portals of the beyond. This was majesty and travesty combined into a masterpiece that broke my concept of what our world was meant to be. My response was to provide total autonomy to the artificial intelligence. I gave it a single Command, to wipe any record of this malevolence. It responded by hurling itself toward the vortexes, swallowed by the doors of endless teeth. Swirling and broken the feed went dead, cutting off the connection I had to the sea floor. I sat there in stunned silence, contemplating the dangers that had just been averted. A whole other reality was drowned in those ashes below. It would remain that way. I finished the evening wiping the records and reported only a preliminary document about the loss of Ruby. I also made the recommendation that the trench we surveyed no longer be used. It is my desperate hope that this mission will never be repeated by others and it is for this reason I felt compelled to send out the warning. I can fulfill Ruby’s final wishes and keep the trench off limits. It still pains me to recognize that the sentience gained was meant to be for malicious purposes and at times I do wonder what may become of any others that tread those depths. I must maintain hope that the immortal evils I witnessed do not ever surface again. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] THE DARK HUNT Part3 [RESPONSE] Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Today was another bust. Third nest this month that was just full of yellow eyed younglings. Well, they won’t be maturing that’s for sure. But still no sign of that bluish green eyed alpha. The police are out looking for me. I saw a patrol ask around with a photo of mine when I came down for supplies a few weeks ago… the old photo. Just when I got out of that police station I was being held in, I packed and left my cabin and headed straight into the woods. I’ve been tearing through the ‘Darker Woods’ to find their nests. I figured if I burnt enough of them down the pack leader will show up soon or later. I was right. After a week of burning down nests all over the forest a silver eyed alpha found me. Wasn’t the one I was looking for. The bastard almost took my right eye. But, I managed to save it… most of it. At least I can still see through it. Even if it is a little fuzzy at times. I reckon soon it will lose light completely. Better make the most of it while I still can. As for that silver eyed alpha… it won’t be coming for my eye again. Not from the hell hole I dropped it in. I moved to another grid of the forest I marked and found a small town adjacent to it. My scarred-up face and facial hair disguised me well from those cops. They couldn’t make me out. One of them came up to me to show me my own photo to ask questions. Funny. They’ll figure it out soon or later. I hoped to be out of this grid long before that happens. I made myself at home in the forest with a makeshift home. Goddamn military training coming in handy in times like this. And I thought it would be all for nothing once I was out. But I guess I’m thankful I have these skills, given the circumstance I am in. And before you ask, I won’t give you details on my military career. I’ll give you this much, I wasn’t in the marines or any kind of special forces… this ain’t that kind of movie… I go by ‘Jack’ to the local townsfolk; pretty generic I know. But it was a name that will be forgotten soon so no point brainstorming about it. Anyway, I got down to the town’s gunshop to purchase some ammunition for my hunting rifle and shotgun I brought from my cabin. The shop was owned by a gunsmith, Jacob. He would make small talk when ever I make a visit, guess he wanted to check me up. He was all suspicious at first, they all were. But after some weeks of making regular visits, they warmed up on me. Just enough to keep tabs on the police activity. They haven’t made it up to this place yet. But as soon as they figure I’ve left the area they’ll widen the search. One thing that still bothered me was why there was nothing on the media. No news report or radio calling out for the help of the citizens. It was very quiet. That bothered me. As I make it into the gunshop Jacob sees me and raises a hand. Looking towards me with a nod of approval of sort and recognition. “Hey there Jack. What can I do you for today?” “I need some shotgun shells and a box of 308s. Do you have any tactical night scopes?” “For a 308? I’ll see what I have.” Jacob looks at me with a stern face with a hint of concern but in turn goes to the back of the store to search for the items. Aftera short while he comes back with a scope and a box of ammunition. “This is all I have. It’s not high quality but it will give you night vision.” “This will do. Thanks.” I pay for the items and proceed to exit the building. I can see Jacobs eyes glued to my back in the reflection of the door glass. I ignored it and walked out. Probably going to be like this for the rest of my stay. No matter, wasn’t looking to settle down anyway. That night, as the forest became dark I got ready for the hunt. I scoured the area during the day to locate key areas that may have nests. I found traces of the creatures about a couple of miles from my base camp. Traces that would have gone unnoticed if you weren’y looking for them. I approach the area I scouted before with caution. From a distance I look through my rifle scope. Slowly, with a keen eye I look towards the black void that has taken place amidst the forest in the distance. Its been may be 20 minutes or so without any movement. Just the dark void. Just then I see a slight glow in the dark that quickly faded out. I look into the scope, nothing but darkness. I take my eyes off and take a quick glance at the dimly star lit sky and then back into the scope. Refreshed, my eye captures the faint glow in the dark. Two pairs of yellow glows. I wait… and wait… until I see them. A pair of red eyes appear near to the first pair of yellow eyes. I aim between the two red glows in the dark. Sipping the air between my teeth I hold my breath…. Aim … fire… One gunshot rings through the quiet night sky. Damn, should have got that silencer after all. I look through the scope. Sure enough the two pairs of yellow glowing eyes are approaching my position fast. No sign of the red eyes. I quickly back away from my position and get to my secondary position. Turning around in time to see the two youngling creatures approaching me fast. Galloping on all fours, the creatures seemed mad. Not that you could really know the difference. I wait until they had reached to a certain point. Suddenly the one that was closest to me flinches in pain and falls to the ground. Bear traps that I had set up earlier had snagged it. The other youngling stops in its tracks and glares at me in caution. I look back at it and casually pulls out my double-barreled shotgun. I aim at the creature caught in the bear trap and shoots it in the head. With the head exploded into pieces the creature drops dead. The other creature back tracks and gallops away. \[Yeah, I don’t think so\] I quickly reload the shot gun and aim at its feet. As the shot misses the creature jumps away to the side and falls into the trap I dug in advance. Punji stick trap, hole dug with sharp wooden stakes that impale the feet to render the enemy immobile or slowing it down. The creature screams out loud in pain. But then it starts to screech a high-pitch screech. \[That’s it. Call them. Call them for help.\] As the immobile youngling creature cries out for help I cover myself in the ghillie cape I’ve prepared and crouch behind some trees. The creature realizes I have hid out of sight, and starts to look around while still calling out for help. Soon, from a distance I see shimmering red glows approach from the void. No silver eyes. Disappointing. As the red eyed adults approached the youngling’s position I got ready. This had to be quick and precise. I pull out a carefully hidden bottle. It was carefuly wrapped and coated with mud to hide the scent. I light the cloth hanging out from it and without thinking twice I throw it at the creatures and then another one for good luck. Screams of the creatures fill the night sky. Molotov cocktails are effective. Fire does considerable damage to the creatures, weakening them enough to handle them up close and personal. I pull out my axe. I’ve sharpened it the day before. I run towards the still screaming creatures and hack at their heads. Nice and sharp, the axe cuts through them like knife through butter. The fire had softened their thick hides. Don’t ask me why, but fire seems to make them soft and weak. The second adult creature tries to fight back, taking giant swings at me. But experience had me one step ahead. I Back off quickly anticipating the swing. The momentum of the swing added with the fire damage, pulls the creature making it stumble off balance. I quickly dash forward and lunge towards the stumbling creature. I swing my axe, short clean upper swing that cut through it’s skull. The creature slumps down dead. I shake off the blood, now steaming on my hand and axe blade. I walk towards the now silent youngling creature. It tries to back away from me. Then with hesitation… it opens its jaws… “H…help me…” “….” “Help… me … da….” I didn’t give it time to finish. I cut through its skull like a ripe melon. Damn bastard must have been fed a human prey before I got to it. I take my axe and approach the two dead adults. I roll the first one over and start recovering the bear traps. Then with my axe I split open its chest. I see the long deformed ribcage of the creature. I try to cut into it to no avail. Damn… Thought so. Inside the adult creatures are a piece of bone that is different to the others. It glowed silver like. I don’t know the purpose of this piece of bone but it’s small and long. Like a bullet. At first I thought it was a silver bullet that somehow got into one, but later found out that all of the adults had them. The only problem was, the rib cages are damn near impossible to cut through the rib bones that concealed it. The rib cage bone seemd to be different to the other bones. No idea why. The only reason I found the first one was by chance when I was fighting an alpha. The alpha accidently clawed an adult while fighting me and it ripped open the chest, killing the adult instantly. Later after I killed the alpha I looked into the split open adult to see if I can find a weakness that would allow me to kill these things more easily. It was then I found out about the silver bone parts inside them. I had made a blade out of the alpha’s claws and had been using it to retrieve the bone parts after hunting. I found that the bone dies off into a regular bone piece after the body melts away. But retains its original silver form when cut off from the body with the alpha blade before it decomposes. Now, you would be wondering why I went all that trouble to recover these bones. Well, it turns out if you mount these into bullets and fire at the creatures, it kills them instantly no matter where you hit them. Actual silver bullets. They’re one time use though. But, I found out during my earlier escape I had left the blade at the cabin. I thought of returning to retrieve it but I didn’t want to take the risk. So I thought I’d make a new one. Some weeks back before I came to this grid of the forest I hunted an alpha. The one that almost took my right eye. I killed it and took its claws. But then I realized that it’s claws weren’t the same and I couldn’t cut through the bones of the adult creatures. I realized that the alphas were all different and they had different traits. So now I was left with the dilemma of whether to forget about it and move on or go back to get the alpha blade. It took me another whole day to make up my mind. In the end I would need the blade and the silver bone bullets to kill the one that took my Sarah… The Target Zero… that’s what I started to denote it as. Anyway, I decided to head back to get that blade. So, the next day at dawn, I left for my old cabin. It was an easy back track. I was so used to traveling through the woods it surprised me how fast I had reached the cabin. I waited from a distance and spent the night vigilant. Not a glimpse of shadow in sight. I foud high ground that looked over the cabin from a distance to scout the premises. Looking down at the cabin I could see that it was empty and there was no one around. No police, no creatures. I’ve already killed off the alpha that was leading the pack in these parts so I assume its safe. But some part of me deep down was cautioning me to stay vigilant. I waited until high noon when the creatures are more reluctant to come out. The mimicing of other forms are a way for them to roam around under the sun for a short while, but the sun causes them to revert back to their pale rotting form quickly. Too long under direct sunlight in their natural form will cause them to decay and eventually perish. As the sun sore high above I cautiously made my way down towards the cabin and to the front door. There weren’t any back doors to the cabin so this was the only entry point. I thought it would be a safety aspect when I purchased it, never to realize how much I would miss it now. I carefully assess the door and make a safe entry into the cabin. Nothing seemed to have been taken since my last visit. Occasional disturbed furniture indicated that they did search the area. I quickly make my way to my secret stash storage area to recover the blade. Thankfully they hadn’t found it or they did but didn’t care to take it with them. However the case, I found the blade. I hurriedly evacuate the cabin with the blade packed in my backpack. But as I exited the house I was confronted by four policemen. Damn, how did I not see them? How did they get here so fast and so silently? Was I losing touch? Or was I too caught up in retrieving the blade to hear four men approach the cabin. What ever the case was, they found me and I had to make a choice. “Daniel Berstein! You are under arrest, put your hands on your head and get down on your knees!” The policemen are now pointing their weapons at me. What to do. I had to make a choice and make it quick. As I stood there trying to decide on what to do next, the policemen where getting agitated. They were seconds away from pulling the trigger. One wrong move and it would be over. I look into their eyes. I see fear and I see anxiety. Strange. They seemed overly cautious and afraid of me. They started to shout at me, demanding compliance. I start to open my mouth. I see their eyes fixed on to me like glue… focus is good, but too much focus makes you submissive… I look over ahead behind the policemen and shout.. “Detective!?” Submissive to distraction and sudden surprises. All three policemen turn their heads following my gaze to look back. That spilt second was all I needed. I quickly back step into the cabin with the door shut in front of me. The policemen realize my ruse and pull the trigger. Bullets impale the door that was not much of a shield. Again, strangely they were overly aggressive. They were ready to kill at moments notice. I have to admit that I was tempted to axe my way out. Would have been much easier. But, that much I would not go through with. Guess I still had some trace of humanity left in me after wall. I pull out my can of bear mace. I won’t kill them, but they may wish I did. I listen to the policemen shouting outside to vaguely figure out their locations. There’s one close to the door and other two off to the right, probably covering the one in front of the door. I count to three and burst out the front door catching the policemen in a surprise. Me busting through the front door was probably the last thing on their minds. The policeman in front of the door hesitates for a split second and that was all I needed to wrap my arm around the guy to subdue him. The other two approaches to caution me in letting him go. My other hand holding the bear mace back behind the policeman like a gun holding him hostage. I take a few steps towards the two. They hesitate to back off. Probably thinking to tackle me to get their friend free. I take a quick glance at their stance and I slightly push the policeman an inch forward and in a flinch reaction the two policemen took a step forward. They were suddenly in my range. I pull out my bear mace to spray on the two men and they cry out in pain. I push the hostage towards the other two and continue spraying. All three effectively neutralized. I retreat into the woods. As I start running through the forest to get away I am called from behind by a familiar voice. It caught me off guard. “Mr. Bernstein!” “Detective… Daren?” Stopped in my tracks I slowly turn around to face the man that, sure enough, turned out to be detective Daren. The same detective that I met down at the police station before. With a stern voice Daren started to urge me to stand down. “You are making everything worse for yourself. Please don’t do this. If you run away now you will be hunted and quite frankly I don’t want that to happen. I’ve done everything in my power to keep this incident local. No news and radio.” “That was you?” I thought it was strange. Turns out Daren was behind it all along. But why? Because we made small talk? Because he actually believes I’m innocent? Bullshit. “Why are you doing this detective? You don’t know me. You don’t know my family.” “That’s true. I don’t know you or your family.” “Then why?” “Because I believe you are innocent.” Is this guy for real? Does he actually believe I’m innocent? After all the evidence that he showed me? After all that interrogation and urging me to confess? Even if it’s true, this is quite excessive to prove the innocence of a man you barely know. “I don’t believe you detective.” “Well, I’m all you have. If you run again… and we know what you look like now. It’ll only be a matter of time until we find you. Then I won’t be able to help you.” “I’ll take my chances…” I turn around to leave. Seeing detective Daren is reluctant to draw his fire arm and talking about next time they find me. It was obvious he had no intentions of shooting me. But just as I was about to make a sprint for it. “Think about your daughter!” “I am.” “You are not! You are not thinking about your daughter! You are thinking about yourself! Your daughter would not want her father to live his life like this. Being hunted as a fugitive. Turn yourself in and we’ll get through this together!” Got to admit. He had me with those words. And to tell you the truth deep down I was getting tired and worn. I was looking for an excuse to quit. But uptil now my daughter was my sole motivation and the center of my burning rage. But, would my daughter want this… really? I slowly turn around to face detective Daren again. I see him grinning. A stupid childish yet pure grin. It made me pull a smirk of a grin in reply. I took a step towards the detective as he puts his hands on his waist in a welcoming manner. I take another step… one more step and I would have surrendered. Until the clouds covered the sun and a shadow dark enough casted upon Daren’s face and I saw it. Red glowing eyes. “Damn it…” I see Daren had erased his grin and now looking at me with a blank expression. No emotion at all. He looked straight at me with those red glowing eyes as I pulled my axe out. “When was it? Was it the day you took me in for interrogation or was it before then?” I shouted at the creature disguised as the detective. But there was no reply. I can see the glow intensifying in his eyes. I raise my axe in front of me in an aggressive stance. Then it came galloping on all fours at me with inhuman speed. But I was used to it. I quickly turn to one side to evade the swiping claws. As I evade its attack I hack at its arm with my axe. It slices half way through and the creature pulls back in pain. The axe got lodged in its arm and I couldn’t retrieve it. So I pulled out the blade. I make a dash for it and while the creature is wailing its arms I stab it through the heart. Normally the strong rib cage would prevent any sharp weapons from penetrating through but the blade was special. The ‘alpha blade’ dug deep into the creature’s chest and stabbed into its heart. The creature died instantly and proceeded to melt. I quickly kneel before it to cut into its chest but was stopped by approaching noises. “Well, I guess you won’t be coming after me detective…” I leave the creature that was once detective Daren and quickly sprint away as I catch a quick glimpse of a dozen policemen approaching from the other side. All with glowing red eyes. Damn, looks like the whole town police are those creatures in disguise. This changed everything. These adult creatures didn’t revert back to its pale creature form under the sun and kept their disguise for a prolonged period of time. They talked and acted like real policemen. Daren was too much human. It actually tried to get to me emotionally. Are these some sort of new kind of creatures? I wasn’t sure. But something tells me that the Alpha, Target Zero, had something to do with it. I theorized that these are a part of its pack and that the adults had inherited some of Target Zero’s traits. Looks like I’m running out of time fast. Because, as the detective Daren disguised creature pointed out. They know how I look like now. One thing is for sure, the reason they are trying to contain the incident is because they don’t want too much attention on themselves. A whole pack of creatures using the local police as cover? Insane and disturbing. Well, looks like I won’t be posting a follow up anytime soon after this. It’s going to be a long bumpy road and things don’t look too bright up ahead So, in case you don’t hear from me after today. Pray for my soul to be with my Sarah.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] In this town, we wait by our front doors at 22:22 [RESPONSE] “Thank God, they have a decent TV” - Dean exclaimed, as we stepped through the door. We’ve just arrived at the dormitory for seasonal workers where, according to plan, we’d spend couple of months putting our heads to rest for the night after gathering fruits on local farms, hitting for pretty chicks and soaking up in booze, no particular order. My friend Dean and myself just graduated from community college, being young, broke and full of life. So even though seasonal work sounded hard and demanding - nothing could stop us from getting easy bucks and flirting with countryside ladies. As we checked the room wandering around - the commandant, who showed us around was following his mantra, seeming absolutely uninterested in our personas: “…no loud music, or noises whatsoever. Make sure you turn off all electrical devices when you leave the room. Oh, and gentlemen…” - he made a pause to make sure that he caught our attention. So both of us stopped our investigation and stared back at him. “One more thing I must tell you in advance. Even though you are free to go in and out at any time of the day, as you have your own set of keys - I would definitely recommend to be back to your room before 10 o’clock in the evening. Again, it’s not the law, but a strict recommendation. I have no intention of scaring you, but the crime rate went really high these days. It’s better be safe than sorry.” I tried my best not to laugh. That guy was so serious. I had the irresistible urge of spitting out something like: “Thanks, Mom!”. So when he finally left, we couldn’t but let a couple of silly jokes slide that way. You see, the reason for this was that both of us were quite big dudes who hit the gym regularly. Besides, I was in the wrestling team in college and Dean, well… He was just not the guy you would want to mess with. And the town itself (as we have seen it so far) - was not falling under that description. We’ve walked through couple of quiet streets and not a single angry face showed up. This was a peaceful place with several family restaurants, a tiny shopping mall, few gas stations and that was pretty much it. That evening we’ve decided to celebrate the start of the working season and went for the only bar in town. Since the wake hour was scheduled for 5:00 in the morning - we went early. No surprise the place was almost dead. Just a bartender in a leather vest behind the counter and a couple of locals, sipping on their after-work-don’t-tell-my-wife whiskeys. We’ve grabbed our drinks, and landed on the counter, discussing the plans, the surroundings and all the important parts like football teams, games and girls. Was it a fresh country air or the volume of alcohol, but soon enough we were discussing our thoughts with the bartender himself. We asked where does youth usually hang out here and what to do apart of drinking in this town. Somehow we switched to discussing our dormitory and its stupid rules. Probably the guy asked us where were we staying, or something. “…and then…And then he says: ”You’d better come back before ten, or else. The guy probably thinks we’re yet some innocent kids, who go to church each Sunday, eh?“ - Dean wouldn’t shut up. Bartender, whose name was Brad, apparently, or Bob - I can’t recall. Anyways, that guy finished polishing another wine glass, put it to the rack and said: “Well, guys, I’ll speak frank - that actually makes sense.” Both of us stared back at him. Was this tattoo covered meat machine telling us to go to bed early too? Due to what? Somebody stole a chicken here, or? “This town has some rules and they have them for a reason. I don’t intend to scare the shit out of you, but mark my words - what I’m going to say now… It sounds somewhat lame, though you really don’t want to make sure it’s not true.” - he said. “Dude, are you messing with us? Are you…” - Dean leaned towards, grinning. “Man, shut up. You’re interrupting” - I’ve put a palm on his shoulder. “So, thing is - You want to be at home by ten, because twenty two minutes later you might, or might not hear a knock to your door. If you do - don’t you dare to open it. Don’t you dare to ask ”Who’s there?“ or something like that. Your only option is to say ”Everybody’s home already“ in reply. Just this and nothing else. Again, boys, I have no intention of fooling around or picking on you. Just trust me, it’s for your own good” - Brad (or Bob) said in calm voice. “Nah, I’m not buying that. But, OK. If I’m there and I hear a knock at my door and I don’t reply, but just rush outside and beat the shit out of that mysterious visitor, could you credit me in your spooky story next time” - Dean laughed sipping from his glass occasionally. “Well, if you’re so tough - why don’t you check for yourself” - bartender replied - “nobody’s here to tell the tale after they’ve opened the door. The rumors say those brave ones just put on their shoes and vanished into the night. No one has ever seen them again. That’s all”. “Dude, you’re like fooling with us right? That’s some hard to believe shit, you know. Are you saying you have a boogieman knocking on doors here, or what?” - I’ve input my 5 cents. “I’m just serving drinks and sharing the stories here, mate. You’re free to believe me or not. That’s all” - he said staring me in the eye. “Ok, but what happens next? Why are you sure it’s not just a lunatic pranking around? ”- I’ve asked. “Well, if you stay silent after the knocking, or if you’re unable to come to the door - there will be an envelope. It will be pushed under your door, through your mail hole or left on your porch. By any means - don’t open it and just burn it on sight.” - he continued. I’ve noticed that his facial expression changed - now the man looked dead serious. “So far, I saw two people read what was in envelope. I’ve never saw those people again. But on the brighter side, if you get one - it’s not the end of the world, see?” - he pointed to the wall behind him, where a framed envelope of pale blue paper hung on the wall under some thick glass. “But as you do” - he continued - “you would definitely want to be at home by the time, to make sure you won’t get the second one. I never did and I hope I will never do. People say, that third one is final, but don’t quote on me here. I’ve never met anyone around who would say that they got the third envelope and made it on their two before me to tell about it. Point is - you don’t want to check that either.”. Me and Dean looked back at each other - his shoulders were trembled with laughter. “Cool story, man. Pretty good one. Shiit. This booze hits hard. I’m all drowsy, alright. See you around, Brad and have a gooood (he mimicked the ghost sound, making the hands) night. Tim, are you with me?” - my friend asked. I’ve finished my glass and said: “Yeah, sure, let’s hit it. Thanks, Brad. See you next time”. We’ve talked about the story all the way back to our crib, discussing how, probably, our lovely bartender retells this story to every new face in town and has his laugh with the locals later. It’s 2022, not Dark Ages. Thus, we were back at our place, watching some shitty sitcom on TV as we had nothing better to do, up to a point where I fell asleep on the couch. “God damn it, shut up already” - was what I’ve heard next, as Dean cursed at the alarm clock - “Fuck, it’s early.” Nothing happened that night - even if somebody knocked on our door we were too deep into slumber to hear it. And surprise - no envelope to be seen. So we worked our 12 hour shift, breaking off just to grab some lunch, got acquainted with some co-workers. Luckily for us - there were some pretty ladies too, and man, they were looking for some fun, if you know what I mean. So after taking a quick shower and putting on some cologne and fresh clothes - we picked up our new friends and went to get wasted. This time the bar was stocked - as if everybody had a rest yesterday before drinking themselves to death tonight. Brad greeted us with a nod as we walked in and pointed to a free table in the back. He was too busy that eve with all his bar shenanigans, so were we - with our ladies: Jill, Sam and Amie. Soon enough, probably due to hard working in the field - gathering all those grapes and peaches - we got drunk. So drunk, I’m embarrassed to say that I had hard time walking straight. With God’s help and leaning on Jill’s shoulder - I’ve made it back to my room, but our rendezvous ended on that un-romantic note, as she giggled, kissed me on forehead and promised to hang out the other day. I remember throwing up in the bathroom and falling asleep without even bothering to take my clothes off. Nothing happened that night. Dean managed to get a score with Amie, though returned before 22:00, as yet again 5 o’clock in the morning was our waking hour. The bartender’s tale started to fade away, besides being so exhausted physically itself made us wind up in our beds prior to 22:00 every day. We worked through the day and had fun in the evening with our so-called girlfriends. Up to a Tuesday that followed. That day our truck broke down in the middle of vineyard and we had no better option than to carry those grape filled baskets on our shoulders. Why? Because our payment depended on how many baskets we deliver per day and the service truck would arrive only after shift hours. So that night we were extremely exhausted. We grabbed some frozen pizza and six-packs in the local mart and called it a day. And as the clock stroke 22:00 we were on the couch, eating leftovers and finishing beers, watching some true-crime documentaries. Sudden knock on the door interrupted our comfort and I’ve instinctively checked the clock - it was 22:22. Dean was in bathroom at the moment and I couldn’t think of anything smarter than just staying silent. Soon the flushing of the water signaled that he’s done with his business, but before the bathroom door opened with a creak - I’ve heard another sound. A rustle of a paper, as if someone threw a cardboard sheet over the floor. Or an envelope. Dean walked out saying something to me, until he noticed I’m staring at our door. “Hey dude, what’s with the face” - he asked. “I think we got an envelope, Dean. I’ve heard the sound” - I’ve replied. So my friend walked to the door, checked the surroundings and then suddenly - opened the door. He walked out and checked left and right, came back and picked up the package. It, indeed, was an envelope of a pale blue color, just like the one Brad had hanging on the wall. Dean twisted it in his hands, said something about it not having any writing on the outside and before I could say anything - ripped it open. Next few moments stretched into eternity in my perception: I saw him taking out the folded sheet of paper, straightening it up and running through it with his eyes - left to right. All of sudden his face twisted into a grimace, the pupils of his eyes shrunk into two pinhead dots and without saying a single word - Dean started to tear off stripes from the letter and put them in his mouth, chewing. This whole macabre scene took 30 seconds most, until he was done. “Are you okay, bro? You’re frigging me out” - was all I could say. He didn’t answer. He just picked his jacket from the hanger, put it on and walked out through the door as he was - barefooted and no pants. I’ve sat in silence for a moment, realizing what the hell just happened. “It’s not funny, shithead. Is this your way of doing my life more interesting? I’m not buying that” - I’ve said walking to the door, being sure, that my friend is just standing in the hall, dying of silent laughter. “Did you ask Amie to drop the envelope? Well, you didn’t get me, not even close, assface!” - I’ve said checking the hall. But he wasn’t there. “Fine. You may think you’re funny as long as you like. I’m going to sleep” - I concluded slamming the door. I was pretty sure that he had a pair of keys in that jacket, and if not - well, it was his problem. I’ve slept like a baby. Next morning I didn’t even check on him - male pride, or whatever. Call it what you want. But to my surprise, when I arrived at the farm - Dean wasn’t there. I confronted Amie, asking her if she was into that prank of his, but she just stared back at me, having no idea whatsoever. Dean had some history of going all in when it came to something - would it be getting a certain girl, obtaining some particular thing or pulling a prank. So I didn’t panic, as Amie could be a talented actress and this whole thing could be continuous joke of “disappearing” friend. He wasn’t back at our place when I came back. “Probably chilling with his girlfriend, laughing at me” - I thought. Though, believe it or not - I’ve felt insecure at some point. Or unease, perhaps. So I crushed at Jill’s place for the night, we had some good time and I’ve shared all the bullshit with her. She nodded and agreed with me on all of this being just a prank, until once again - exhausted by the physical work I’ve shut down on her bed. Suddenly I’ve opened my eyes. It was dark. Something woke me up. Right, the light sneaking through the door gap. I’ve focused my vision to discover that Jill was standing by the front door, wearing nothing but her undies, as if waiting for something. Few moments later she just hit the lights off and sneaked back to bed. I’ve pretended I was still asleep. Was she a part of one big colossal trick set up by Dean? Or am I just going paranoid? Next morning we woke up, had some breakfast and went to work - no questions asked. I just didn’t want to fuel my incoming humiliation when all cards would be played. Yet again - Dean didn’t show up. Our supervisor asked if he was okay, and I couldn’t come back with anything smarter, than: “Yeah, probably. You’d better ask his girlfriend”. I had some bad vibes going down on me. Didn’t want to talk to anyone, so just went home straight after my shift was over. Later that night, as I had my night cravings for something sweet and as I was standing by the fridge, munching some ice cream - you’ve guessed it - somebody knocked on my door. The microwave clock showed exactly 22:22. Them again. Well, at least someone was having fun. I’ve decided to play along and recalled the talk with bartender in my memory. “Everybody’s home already” - I’ve said with the most sturdy voice I could come up with. Then there were just a couple moments of silence, until… “Dude, it’s me. Open up” - Dean said from behind the door. “Ha! The prank failed, so who’s laughing now. Or wait. Did I imagine the whole thing” - I thought, as my hand reached for door handle in familiar motion. But I was heated up already and wanted the spectacle to last a bit longer: “But dude, how do I know it’s you?”. No answer. “Dean? When is my birthday?”- I’ve played further. No answer. “Man, drop it already. It’s not even funny anymore” - I’ve tried again. Still no answer. “Ok. If you’re still on it - I remember you had the keys in your jacket. Why don’t you use them? And I’m going to bed” - I summed it up. No answer. Silence. And then multiple sudden hits on the door, just as if somebody outside was punching it. It lasted for seconds and stopped in a blink of an eye. “What a prick!” - I thought to myself, as the head hit the pillow. I’ll cut to the point. He still didn’t show up at the farm. I finished my work and was prepared for his next attempt at ruining his own joke. So as 22:22 came and somebody knocked on my door - I was there. Prepared. Prepared to ignore the attempt of my stubborn friend to finish his stupid prank. I didn’t reply. Just stood there silently. Next thing happened - the rustling of the paper and a blue envelope appeared before my feet. “You’d better open it up, boy” - bartender’s voice proclaimed from behind the door. “What the fuck? What the actual fuck?”- I thought. “Fuck this. I’m done with this town. We’re not in the high school anymore where it’s common to pick on people. I hope that asshole would realize how stupid and pathetic his actions were and appears before me with some proper excuses, next time I see his dumb face.” - followed after. I threw the letter to the trash bin without opening it. So, yeah, I’ve moved back to our old place the next day, without saying anything to anyone in town. No more sweating, no more dumb asses with their fairy tales, or whatsoever. I grabbed couple of old college friends and we went out for drinks. It was a good evening, and by the end of it - I’ve almost erased all the silly stuff that happened, or was it alcohol in my veins? But I quickly got sober when I’ve walked through the door of my own apartment, as a square of a pale blue paper was residing on the floor right before me. I’ve checked the time - it was 00:37. I really doubt that the joke went that far - I didn’t even tell anybody I was leaving. My god… Is Dean actually ok? What if all this was not a prank? Then what? Should I call the police and file a missing person? But what bothers me most - should I consider this to be a second or a third envelope, as Dean ate the first letter? What do I do? Couple of days passed since then. I’m always at home before 21:00. Just to be extra sure. So far - nothing happened yet, but again - it was just a couple of days. I don’t know what’s worse - a bitter truth, or constant expectation of something morbid to happen. I am feeling trapped. If nothing develops by the end of the week - I’m opening that letter. Life can’t go on like this.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I want it to take me now [RESPONSE] I thought college was supposed to be the most fun and stressful time of your life, but there's no fun left here. I shouldn't have picked this place, if I would have known, I wouldn't have came. I'll spare you all my college's name, you don't need to end up in the same situation as me. I don't have much time to write this, there's only 10 minutes before the feeding. When I took my tour here, I thought it was my dream school. The outside of the buildings looked old, but magical. The insides were filled with state of the art technology and comfort items. The dorms were small, but enough space so two people wouldn't be on top of each other. When I got my acceptance letter, I was the happiest girl in the world, first-gen college student, here I come. 9 minutes left: When I arrived, my RA had this haunted look in her eyes, but a fake smile that was almost convincing. She went over the fire safety rules, the drugs aren't allowed speech, but her survival guide story is what got me. She stared at the ground the entire time, her entire body tense. "Whatever you do, don't look or be outside from the hours of 1am to 2:37am. You will regret it with everything you got." Afterwards, she smiled back at us and then told us her see no evil, hear no evil rule. She was pretty chill for an RA, I wish I knew if she has survived the feeding waves. 8 minutes left: I am trying to type as fast as I can, but I'm still unsure if this is going to be my last message I write to anyone ever. A few days after the event, I remember the first weekend after move in rolled around. Party time! I was never much of a party girl, but my Roommate Alyssa convinced me to go. We went to Fiji, which was always a stupid decision on our part. Nothing happened with them luckily, but once 12:57am hit, the party went dead. I remember an alarm going off and all the upperclassmen shuffling to shut all the doors and cover all the windows. They never shut any of the windows, I guess it hunts more on site then smell. 7 minutes left: Alyssa and I were confused, we thought this might have been a stupid joke being played on us freshman. I didn't make the connection to what my RA said until the 1am bell rang. Everything was silent, every person migrated closer to the walls. Alyssa and I just joined in, not wanting to be the butt of the joke if we start questioning it. We figured the more we make a deal out of it, the worse the results towards us would be. There was this one guy thought, Josh Gregor, who didn't like what was happening. He stood in the middle of the room, having his arms crossed as every other person in that building. I wish I knew what he was thinking in those moments, after all, they were his last. 6 minutes left: He looked towards the leader of the Frat, I think his name was Cam or something. I don't know, but Cam held his red solo cup to his chest. I watched as all the upperclassmen looked at the freshmen nervously, as if they expected us to hurt them or something. Josh walked up to Cam. keeping his arms crossed the entire time. "Why the fuck did everyone stop partying? Did my RA put you up to this?" Josh lived in a different building then me, or at least I think he did. I don't remember seeing him at the floor meeting, but it doesn't matter now. Cam just shock his head, placing his pointer finger of his non-cup filled hand to his mouth. "No, we just follow this rule. Everyone know this rule, why do you think we told you that once 12:50am hits, parties don't get busted. Cops learned that lesson years ago when a Rookie busted a party at 12:45am. They were erased the next day." 5 minutes left: When I heard the word Erased, I thought they meant expelled. Now at this point I'm panicking, I was on Scholarship and I couldn't afford to lose it. I didn't care at this point if it was a joke, my anxiety set in. I was not stepping out of the house until that time was up even if the building caught on fire. However, Josh wasn't having any of this. "My god, this is bullshit. I thought y'all were the partiers and only hazed once rushing started. I'm out of here, I'm gonna go join the real chill bros across campus." Josh started making his way towards the hallway with the main door. Fiji had these sliding glass doors to every room, as soon as Josh walked into the hallway with the door, two guys slammed those doors behind him. The doors had frosted glass, so all we could see was the shadows outside. 4 minutes left: We watched as Josh's shadow left the building, he did shut the door behind him. The room fell silent again, all of us could hear his footsteps leaving the building. We just listened as he started cursing out Fiji and their actions for this "prank". He was the only noise that was outside; no cars, no busses, no crickets. It was a deafening silence outside of Josh, but then a loud wet crack came from behind Fiji. Everyone's heads snapped towards the back closed current as a dark large shadow filled the back of the room. The wet cracking noise increased as the shadows moved around the outer edge of the house, Josh's swearing can be heard more faintly as he moved further from the house. The room was filled with a screeching bell sound. It was not at the tower, but right next to the window. The bell nose was fast and fanatic, high pitched but haunting. The only other thing I remember hearing before the silence returned was a deep male scream. 3 minutes left: We didn't know what they were then, but the upperclassmen call them the bellringers. We are drunk college kids, so enjoy the stupid name. A sobered-up party girl ended up sitting down with me and Alyssa after the 2:37am bell rang. "Professor Johnathan said they built the school around the thing, it was the only place that the founder could get for super cheap. They raised cattle and sheep, still do, they let two loose every night. One for each of the bells, they like the cattle the most. However, one of the founder's kid, Mason decided to piss it off. He went to the Bell at 12:55am and hit it three times. He forgot how long of a walk back it was to the president's building, so the 1:00am bell rang. It was higher than normal, but Mason just watched the cattle of the night get released from the pins underneath the tower. The Bellringer remembered what he did, plus he was in clear site. His scream woke the entire small campus up, but no one was brave enough to go outside. The next day, everyone that did not reside on the campus forgot about Mason. He was erased from everyone but those who lived on the campus grounds. Whenever he was mentioned, the townfolk just looked at the speaker like they lost their minds. That's why no one ever discovered what's going on here, because once that are taken, they are forgotten." 2 minutes left: That was last month but things have gotten worse, someone pissed off the bell. I tried finding Josh online after that night, but he was gone off of everything. Alyssa got his instagram, when she pulled it up the next day, it said user did not exist. I wish I could say it was all an in-depth prank that the upperclassmen played on us meekly first years, but something shifted. Someone pissed off the Bellringers. They have shifted their hunting time now, you get a ten minute warning for when they strike now, it isn't enough sometimes. It happened last week as I was walking back to the dorm with Alyssa. She sprained her ankle the night before, she wasn't able to run to a building in time. Her family was supposed to visit the next day. After they got to campus, they approached me well, thinking I was a family friend that lived here. I had to walk away after 5 minutes, I couldn't stare at her brother's face. All I could see was her. 1 minute left: Escaping is impossible, they don't like it when residents leave campus. The trees that surround the campus have started to overgrow onto the road, only food deliver and mail can get through now. The bells ring more whenever people attempt to leave. I don't know who pissed them off, but I live in constant fear of my life. My mom called me the other day, asking why I haven't called or visited home, I was only 20 minutes away. I told her that I was busy, but she told me an hour ago that she was coming to see me tomorrow. I can't let her or my brother get taken by that thing, if they enter campus, they can't leave. If I'm erased, they will be save. The alarm rings lowed behind me, as I'm writing this. I want it to take me, I can't let them remember who I am. The window shades are wide open, with the window cracked as well. I want it to take me. Goodbye<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] It wasn’t my sister and I swear I’m not crazy [RESPONSE] For how terrifying the experience is, I find it strange that this is the first time I've given it thought in almost a decade. I'm looking for answers, so anything you guys can give me, I'll appreciate greatly. As I said, this was like a decade ago. I was 13 at the time, and it was late July, just weeks before 8th grade started for me. My family lived in the dead center of the U.S. so my sister, Emily, and I hadn't ever seen the ocean. Emily was 3.5 years older than me, and we were almost exact opposites. She was an introvert, and I was a social butterfly. Where she was analytical, I went with my instinct and emotion on everything. But maybe part of that was just being 13. Anyway, late July, weeks before summer came to an end, and we were heading to the Gulf since it was the closest coastline. My mom was, well, a mom, and made us pack a few days before we headed, even though my sister complained about all her clothes being wrinkled. I just shoved mine in the suitcase and forgot all about it until the night before, when my mom sent me to pack toiletries from her bathroom. She told me that she'd already left a list of stuff in there, and since her bathroom was en suite, I turned on the bedroom lights, pen in hand. My sister was downstairs, had gone down a bit earlier, and I'd watched her go down the stairs from where I sat in the office. The office was right next to said set of stairs, so you could see anything going on in the area, and I knew I was alone on the second story. There was a stirring on her bed, and though I startled a bit, I reassured myself that it was just Daniel, my stepdad, to bed early after working a ridiculous morning shift. But, no. His car hadn't been home, I'd seen the driveway vacant from the window above, and I should've heard the car pulling up and the front door opening. There was no way he was home. That's when I saw it. Bending like a contortionist - no, more like a spider, delicate and sharp and graceful and deliberate - it unraveled itself from its slumber and sat and rolled its shoulders with a hideous hollow cracking sound. Still, it didn't face me, short black pixie cut against olive skin stretched across long, thin bones, and I realized what it was. For a split second, a heartbeat, it was laughable how I'd been, well, horrified. It was just my sister. She'd just fallen asleep in Mom's bed. It was just - oh god, that was not my sister. It turned to face me and I felt my bones freeze up, bones hardening to concrete and ligaments turning to rope and skin to stone. I would've vomited if everything in my stomach hadn't vanished into thin air, replaced by a gaping void. My lungs were dry as paper in my chest, diaphragm beef jerky, and the rest of me similarly poetically still. The pen weighed a thousand pounds in my stiff, unmoving fingers. Its face was wrong, so horribly wrong, the features flipped but the bones structure the same so its eyes were pressed, bulging, together at its chin and lips filling its whole forehead and nose a hunk of cartilage stuck to the middle of its face like clay. Its tongue lolled, upside down, from its mouth, jaw and teeth crunching and clicking and air hissing through throat and it was so wrong. A strand of hair tangled in its white, spittle-covered lips, and I tried so hard to scream my eyes watered. Something was in its hand, but the hand too was wrong, fingers all the same lengths and spaced evenly around a chunk of palm, grasping the something like a starfish folded around its prey. The something glinted in the flashing light of the ceiling fan, probably no longer than my longest finger, and filled with an oil-dark rubescent fluid. All the grace and poise was gone, the hand moving to the mouth drunkenly, like the thing was unused to its own body, and tilting what I now saw as a vial over the stained lips. Smoke came pouring out. Not smoke, not exactly, but vapor, red, opaque ribbons spiraling from the opening into its gaping forehead, the same way smoke from dry ice would. Thick and heavy and falling into its mouth, which, due to the placement, made its neck kink awfully outwards as the whole head bent backward to accommodate. I was gagging, but nothing came up, stomach heaving and empty. It turned its attention fully towards me, bug eyes nearly falling from their shallow sockets as they opened wider than I'd have thought possible, revealing a sclera marred with squiggles of blood. I snapped from my horrified reverie and felt the pen in my hand and threw and sprinted, all in the same moment and movement. The following shriek gave me headaches for the next week, so agonized and rage-filled as it was, vocal cords snapping and throat bleeding with the effort. If my mouth hadn't been ancient-desert-bone dry, I would've screamed in response, but my very breath pained me and I could muster no more as I sprinted down the hallway as quickly as I humanly could. I'd never been athletic, but I ran like hell that day because, at that very second, the literal antichrist bounded inches behind me. My sister and stepbrother and I shared a bathroom right next to my bedroom, so I flung the door open and slammed it shut behind me and, since the lock didn't work, cast open the vanity drawer to makeshift-barricade it. Lights still off, tiled floor bitingly cold on bare skin, I slumped against the wall and cried quietly as something threw its weight against the door, human nails screeching across paint. After a few minutes, I wondered vaguely why nobody had come to help me. They'd surely heard the scream, right? They had to have heard it. They couldn't just leave me there alone. A worse thought struck me: What if it had gotten them? What if I was the only one left alive in the house? My imagination raced and I asked myself, what if I was the only one left alive in the world? I quickly made myself ignore both of those questions as I stood shakily. The scraping and pounding had stopped and the whole house felt eerily and entirely silent. The light was off, so I reached for the switch and screamed as it came on. Behind me, clearer than either crystals or day, tall and stooped, was it. Its starfish hands settled on my shoulders and fastened on my neck and I remember nothing more than that. When I woke up, I was in a hospital, covered in casts. My mom quickly filled me in: apparently, they'd found me in the bathroom, screaming about the wrong-faced one and banging my head on the mirror until a spider web of cracks covered it. I'd fought with them even as they tried to calm me down, and ended up with a broken nose, concussions, a trio of fractured ribs, a sprained ankle, and a dislocated shoulder. I never did tell them what I saw, but I'm sure my ramblings told them enough: some hallucination that I desperately needed to be medicated for. I was on antipsychotics until I turned 18 and flushed them down the toilet. By then, I'd honestly forgotten even what they were for, but, in my mind, I was sure I didn't need them. I've only recently rediscovered the reason, though, in a dream where it waited for me. I am certain, deathly so, that it was not a hallucination, and that it is real and hates me so, so much. Please, give me any and all ideas you can think of for what it is and what I can do about it, because I have the feeling it is getting closer. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] PLEASE HELP ME [RESPONSE] Run… I keep running. That's all I can do in this situation because something hideous has swallowed my friends, and it's trying to kill me. I'm hiding somewhere I think is pretty safe, and I'm calling for help with all my might. I will tell you what happened, and please save me as soon as you see this post. I'm Rosie. About a day ago, my 2 best friends and I were excited about the trip we planned 5 months ago. We packed our bags and prepared to get in the car. "Who's driving?" Chris asked. "Me, me, I’ll drive," Chloe said and rushed towards the cockpit. "Again? Don't fall asleep!" I yawned and said. They all burst out laughing and set off in anticipation that it would be an interesting trip. The location we chose was a forest in the west far from the city center, and it would take about 6 hours by road. We plan to camp near the stream, pitch a tent and make a campfire. Because of the busy study period, it's been a long time since last year's holiday, and now we have the opportunity to hang out together. It was 5 p.m, we had already passed ? of the way and had 30 minutes left until the rest stop and the next morning departed for the forest. On the left is the high mountain slope and on the right is the green edge of the forest. Kris and I were laughing and making sandwiches while Chloe was busy messing around with the flickering GPS. “Do you want to eat, Chloe?” I asked while eating the huge piece I just took in my mouth. “It's gross, just swallow it, and then you can talk” Kris scolded me and spread butter on top of the sandwich and gave it to Chloe. Chloe chewed and nodded. "Looks like it's going to rain." After Chloe finished her sentence, a flash of lightning struck right in front of the car. Chloe slammed on the brakes and Kris and I tumbled forward. After making sure that no one was injured, we opened the door to go outside to check and saw traces of the lightning that hit the road just a few centimeters from the car. At the same time it was starting to rain heavily, we went back to the car and discussed what happened earlier. “I thought my life was over,” Chloe said, wiping her hair with a towel. "Lucky we’re okay," Kris sighed. I was about to comfort them when I suddenly heard a faint voice. “Save me” I was dumbfounded because I thought I had misheard when it rang again, but this time the voice was a little muffled as if someone was squeezing the throat. “Sav… save me… please..” I involuntarily turned to Kris and Chloe and saw that they were also looking in the direction of the voice. “Eh.. Did you hear anything? I heard a voice..” I was talking when Kris interrupted me. "Screaming for help?" We looked at each other in horror without saying a word, as if we were praying that it was just the aftershocks of the lightning strike that we had misheard. The air in the car grew increasingly silent, the silence suffocating me. I turned to Kris and saw that she was very nervous, shaking with sweat and staring in that direction. I called out. "Hey Kris, are you okay?" Kris slowly pointed towards the forest and said. “I just saw a shadow of someone lurking in that tree over there, staring at us.” We looked in the direction of Kris's hand, trying to look closely to figure out who it was but it was raining heavily, dark clouds covered the whole space so the only thing I could see was a gray color. Suddenly, the bottom of the car shook violently like something was crashing into us. We screamed and tried to keep balance, I looked back and only saw a black shadow go past the rear of the car and run into the woods. My heart gave a nervous thud, but I tried to stay calm and didn't tell my friends to avoid causing more fear. When things cooled down, we decided to continue to the stop not far away. After driving about 1km, I heard the wolves howling madly, I had an uneasy feeling in my heart. I clutched Kris's hand to reassure myself, but through its sweaty, cold palms, I could feel her fear. We were going to the bend, suddenly there were countless stones rolling down from the mountain slope, the small stone after the big one rolled down the front of the car, I panicked and looked to the left and… \_\_\_\_\_\_ My head hurt, I opened my eyes dimly, but the surroundings were covered with darkness and the noise of insects. I realized the car was tipping over because I was upside down, then I reached for the flashlight and tried to crawl out the window. I flashed my flashlight, called Kris and Chloe but no one answered, bent down to look in the driver's seat and saw Chloe unconscious. I called her but still no response and I was dumbfounded when I looked down at the back seat because Kris sitting next to me was nowhere to be seen. I shouted out Kris's name but the only response was the rustling of leaves and the sound of insects. I didn't know what to do, I quickly pulled Chloe out and splashed water on her face to wake her up. After a while of trying, Chloe also woke up, dreamily asking what happened, I didn't wait for her to finish, and immediately told her that Kris was missing. Chloe got up and looked for her phone to call Kris but couldn't get the signal, I cried in vain because I've never felt so scared, surrounded by a big forest, it's dark and we're also tired after what happened. “Everything will be fine but now you and I need to go find Kris” Chloe said and hugged me. I sobbed, calmed down, and we grabbed the things we needed to hit the road. As I walked away, eating an unfinished sandwich made me worry about Kris even more. Suddenly Chloe stopped, signaled to be quiet and turned off the flashlight, I followed and tried to listen when I heard the echo back. The sound of rustling, friction under the weeds was like someone was dragging something on the grass. We gently advanced forward when a small path appeared separating the place where I stood and the forest on the other side. After realizing that the noise was coming from the opposite direction, we crossed the trail and entered the forest. After following the sound for a few minutes, it suddenly stopped, me and Chloe also stopped and waited. Another series of noises appeared, it creaked as if it were climbing an old wooden staircase, accompanied by a rustling over the rough surface and it ended with a loud knocking on the door, echoing in the darkness of the night. I grabbed the hem of Chloe's shirt, took a breath, and Chloe led me forward. We turned on the flashlights after a while of groping in the dark, and in the night emerged an old, decaying wooden cabin and perhaps the creaking noise from earlier was coming from here. “Someone was here” I whispered into Chloe's ear. She nodded in agreement. But come to think of it, why was that person in this cabin because it didn't even have any lights on. While I was lost in my thoughts, I realized that Chloe was getting closer, I tiptoed and ran to Chloe's side. When I stopped and stepped on something hard, I bent down and felt it was a phone. After picking it up, we discovered it was Kris's phone, the screen was broken and there was a sticky slime on it. Chloe and I looked at each other with implicit certainty that Kris was around and maybe something bad was going on. “Let's go check inside,” Chloe said. We walked up the steps and gently pushed the door open, a strong fishy smell hit my nose with the creaking sound of the floor breaking the silence. In the center of the outer space, almost all the wood had rotted, on the floor were tables and chairs scattered, we had to drift to the sides to get inside, and then stopped in front of the faded wooden door and wondered what would be in there. I pulled the knife from my pocket, ready it in hand, and motioned for Chloe to open the door. Chloe pushed the door and we hid to the sides waiting for a response from inside the room. Only the sound of dripping water could be heard, I suppressed my gasp and looked over at Chloe, we looked at each other and nodded, deciding to go inside. Chloe turned around to shine the flashlight directly into the room, I also quickly slipped in. At this point we were stunned by the scene in front of us. “Chesus...” Chloe blurted out. It was Kris, hanging on the wall, her mouth torn up to ears and bloodshot eye sockets that couldn't see clearly. The noose tightened around her neck and her hands were glued to the wall as if forming a cross, the most terrifying thing was that the lower body had disappeared, only to see the intestines dangling on the floor. I vomited as soon as I saw that scene, under the dim moonlight I witnessed the scene where my friend was no longer fully alive. I cried and Chloe cried but tried not to make a sound, with so many questions in our heads we couldn't talk and couldn't imagine what had happened to Kris. In the moment I was mourning for my friend, there was an invisible force pulling Chloe back, a scream of pain woke me up and quickly ran after Chloe. I could dimly see a tall shadow almost touching the ceiling, long, sharp hands clutching Chloe's legs. I screamed in an attempt to stop him, shivering as I saw the blinding crimson blood flowing from Chloe's feet illuminated by the faint moonlight. Running out of the cabin, his figure became clearer; His face was long, white, black liquid oozing out of his deep eye sockets, his mouth was wide, and countless sharp teeth were stained with blood. Chloe seemed to have fainted from exhaustion, I grabbed the knife and stabbed him in the leg and then he used his hand to knock me into a nearby tree. He then lifted Chloe up, opened his wide mouth and swallowed Chloe. Despair overwhelms me as I watch him devouring my friend. Suddenly, he turns to my direction, and I realize that the next prey will be me. I ran for my life and tried to wriggle through the trees, running with all my last strength and that was the only thing I could do. I rolled my eyes and saw a cave on the side of the cliff and crawled into it hoping he wouldn't find me, the phone suddenly lit up because it had picked up a weak signal and I called for help but they were 1 hour away from here. I hope someone quickly comes to rescue me and if I magically survive I'll keep you guys updated.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I met The Slit-Mouthed Woman [RESPONSE] What is an urban legend? How are they formed? How do they persist? Legends from different times can be told a thousand different ways, each telling reflecting the time they were formed, informed somehow by the world around them. I’ve lived in so many places over the years, and in every place I’ve heard the same whispered stories. How many variations have you heard of the story of the hook handed killer stalking the couple on lovers lane? Every town has its own version with its own local flavor. Every town is different and every town incorporates its own local fears into the legend. Sometimes it’s not a hook handed killer but the Jersey Devil, a human, horse, bat hybrid of demonic origin. In Connecticut, Michigan, and Ohio it’s one of the Melonheads, one of a deformed gang of child insane asylum experiments. In Staten Island it’s Cropsey, the ax wielding serial killer of the woods. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, and it all ties back to something that happened to me a few months ago.  The air was heavy with rain and the skies had opened. I was in downtown Manhattan, late afternoon, on my way back home from work in Brooklyn. I worked as a background actor. Dead body on Law and Order: that’s me. The back of my head: it’s in Succession. I had wrapped early and was on my way from one train station to the connecting path train station so I could continue my lengthy commute home to Jersey City. Between the two was about a twenty minute walk. It had been humid and overcast all day but I had hoped in vain to beat the rain. Now, I was quickly becoming soaked in the style of someone trapped inside of a washing machine during a flood so I ducked into the first bar my eyes caught onto.  It was a smaller, dingy place, somewhere I felt like I had been before but couldn’t recall the exact details. It was somewhere in the vicinity of Greenwich Village (though even if I remembered the name of the place, I wouldn’t tell you, and I would do my best not to seek it out again myself). Regardless, I went in because it was warm and a place to sit down away from the wind, rain, and steadily dropping temperatures. I hoped the rain would end quickly but according to my weather app I would have no such luck. Standing in the doorway, I put on my Covid face mask and ventured further inside.  That was when I noticed her, sitting on a stool on the far end of the bar, dressed in a white dress and black overcoat.  Her hair was long, straight, and black. It shined in the light. Her skin was as pale as porcelain and a shadow fell over her eyes. She was older than me, maybe 10 or 15 years my senior, perhaps more, but she was oddly… implacable. She could have told me she was any age and I would have believed it. The bottom half of her face was hidden beneath a face mask.  There was something about her where when her dark eyes turned towards me, everything else in the room grew dim except for her. Despite the darkness of the bar and further shadows of the corner she sat in, she had a shine. I could see her clearly. When she gestured to me without a word, I came quickly to sit beside her.  The bartender came, though I barely noticed through the shadows, and I ordered a drink. She felt like when you meet someone in a dream. Has that ever happened to you? They say that every face you see in a dream is someone you’ve seen in real life. I see actors a lot. But have you ever seen someone in a dream that you’ve never seen in real life before? That’s what this felt like.  I took my face mask off to drink my own drink. Hers stayed on. Fair enough. You can’t be too careful these days. Fortunately, in the film industry they test actors, even background actors, every morning of every work day, so I was fairly confident of my own health. I also knew that in Japan, masks were more commonplace before the pandemic then they were in the states. They were worn in cities with heavy smog and were worn every flu season by some, so I didn’t think much of it.  There was a sense of mystery to her. Her eyes were as black as the night sky and I could sense no emotion in them. I didn’t even know what she looked like under her mask. I began to talk to the woman, asking her about herself, her name, occupation, and up close she was even more striking then afar. Her skin was smooth without even a wrinkle, almost like plastic or a piece of carved marble. Her hair shined like how a spider's web reflected light.  And her voice: it was rhythmic, never faltering in tone, almost hypnotic.  The alcohol put me in a daze, loosening me. Everything became subtle movements, ripples on water, a sort of merging of thought and action. Everything merged and formed and unformed. She told me she was originally from Japan, Tokyo to be exact. She had worked as a fashion model and had been fairly popular, appearing in all sorts of magazine advertisements. She had come to America recently for a fresh start. When I asked what from, she was less forthcoming and quickly changed the subject.  I told her a bit about myself, that I had lived in Japan for a time as a child, and I found as I talked to her that every location I mentioned, she knew. Different cities, even different islands, at one point or another she had been there and could recall exact details. It was almost scary. Memories long forgotten of those places came flooding back and I recalled a simpler, happier time. Back then I didn’t have to worry about anything “real”. I was a kid free to explore the world with the support of my parents to fall back on. Now, the world was colder and I was on my own. I offered to buy her a drink. She told me she was alright, and I wondered what she was doing in this bar if not drinking. I made a joke “just trying to get out of the rain, too?” “What rain?” She responded in deadpan. I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. There were other odd things about her, though. At one point I mentioned how I had lived on an American military base in Japan and she spoke at length and in detail about the initial American occupation of Japan following WW2. The way she spoke about it, the descriptions, she knew things that meant she had to have either been over a hundred years old or an expert historian in her field.  I shook my head. I knew she was older than me, though from certain directions she occasionally looked a bit younger, but she couldn’t be that old. The most likely explanation was she had either a love of history or an older family member who had experienced those events and passed the story down. I asked her if she had any family in Japan, and she told me that she had once had a husband. She recalled how she had slaved away on the farm while he was away at war, but he had never trusted her. He had been a paranoid man and had come to believe with every fiber of his being that she was cheating on him with their hired farmhand. The way she talked about their home, her description of the paddy fields and the way the sun shined down on the water, it sounded like a story out of another time, centuries ago. Time became fluid. My mind wandered to thoughts of feudal Japan and the wars between different samurai houses. As my vision drew further and further into the black holes of her eyes it could have just as easily been happening then as in this exact instant. I could hear screams, blood, a hundred years of blood and rage and retribution. There could be no justice except in death.  Suddenly, I snapped back to reality. Her eyes glinted. I almost felt like she was smiling under the mask. She asked me if I would like to go outside with her. Her voice was like a whisper and nails on a chalkboard. I stood and followed her, slowly out the back door of the bar. I couldn’t feel my legs and I realized they had fallen asleep.  Her footsteps were heavy though her movements were like she was gliding. For a moment I swore she was looking at me with hate though her eyes. When I woke up I was standing beside her in the alley. My back was against the bricks of the wall as she stood before me. Rain streamed down from a metal overhang and puddles covered the cracked pavement. We were beside the garbage cans at the back exit to the bar. Something about her screamed at me the image of a predator.  “Do you think I’m beautiful?”, she repeated. I laughed nervously. “I do.” I responded.  I watched as she removed her face mask. In the light I could see her more clearly. Her pupils were tiny, hateful black pinpricks. She was as pale as a corpse. The wet hair clung to her, dripping. The mask came down after an eternity. Each second went on for hours until I finally saw the cracked porcelain of her face.  Her blood red lips were far wider than any humans and she had far too many teeth. I realized she had been cut from ear to ear by a blade. Her teeth and jaw were exposed through her cheeks. I watched as she pulled a massive pair of scissors from her coat pocket. They were by far the largest pair of scissors I had ever seen. Had she had those the whole time? Was this what had done this to her? Was she about to do the same to me? Something had gone horribly wrong.  Like a punch to the face I remembered. I remembered stories I had heard as a child living in Japan. Campfire tales, ghost stories told at sleepovers and on internet message boards: The Slit-Mouth Lady. In the 1970’s there had been such a panic about stories of the slit mouthed woman that teachers in Nagasaki began walking their students home for fear she would attack them on their routes back from school.  But she was an urban legend, not reality. There were many versions of the story. Though it had started in Japan, over time the story spread to Korea and other Asian nations. In older folklore, she was the adulterous wife of a samurai, though in another story she was his mistress. Either way, he had mutilated her in a rage. But she had returned, hadn’t she? Disguised with a fan she held below her eyes, she had returned to exact vengeance. In more recent stories she was horribly disfigured in a dental surgery gone wrong and she wore a medical mask to hide her injuries. In another she was a stalker of children who police chased into traffic, resulting in her facial injury.  In the 90’s she was a victim of botched plastic surgery. In others still she was a model, carved up by her jealous rival. She killed others with a knife or a sickle or yes, even a pair of scissors.  She couldn’t exist. She was a metaphor, a bedtime story to scare children, but looking at her, I could tell that somehow, every one of these stories could exist simultaneously. She lived in the whispers and nightmares, in the backs of throats that held back from saying her name. She was in the school bathrooms and locker rooms, following behind on the dark streets just out of view on a late night walk home, a stranger stopping you on a road through the forest late at night, and yes, she was there in the backs of alleys, in the back of every alley. She was in this alley, blocking the way out, holding a blade to me, blocking my escape, no way out, trapped like a cornered animal. Blood lips. Black eyes. Long hair. The bloody scissors! No escape! Her words tumbled out like a thousand spiders from between her lips. Her voice was a croaking death rattle. “Do you think I’m beautiful?”.  This is what it feels like to be a ghost story. I had left the ordered world behind. Truth had walked out the door and sensation had taken the wheel. All I wanted was to go back.  I struggled to focus instead of giving in to the urge to scream. She glided the scissors like a caress across my face. There was nowhere I could run. She had me trapped. How did the legends say you could escape her wrath?  “Uh… average”. Her eyes narrowed. She stared with confusion. Her scissor wielding hand lowered slightly as she faltered. I took my chance and I ran. I ran out of the alley and then I ran some more. I didn’t look back. I ran until I was out of breath and I kept running until I couldn’t stand.  I haven’t been back to that area since. I know though that it doesn’t matter. Her legend has spread now. I know she’s out there, part of the crowd, able to hide amongst us. She’s here and wherever a version of her story is told she will be there, ready to exact a bloody vengeance. I’ve started to wonder if it was all some kind of waking dream, but I don’t think it would matter if it was. When I close my eyes I can still see her. At night I lie awake, facing the wall, terrified that if I turn around I’ll see her standing in the corner or at the foot of my bed. Terrified that she’ll be there smiling with that cracked porcelain grin.  I’ve been careful not to speak of her to anyone until now, to keep her story from being told wherever I can. I realize now that it’s futile. Maybe, if I spread her legend, I can keep her away. Maybe by telling you all I can spread her out enough to improve my chances. Just know that if a woman like the one I described ever approaches you on your path, get out of there before she has a chance to show you her face...<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Beware the light [RESPONSE] God, God, God. This place is my last hope. Please, please, please, if you are still around, answer, say something. I feel so lonely, even though I know i am not alone. I can see them far away, I can see them via the moonlight that escapes the clouds. They are sitting there, waiting. Waiting for me to go to sleep, waiting for me to distract myself for a moment. Waiting for a mistake. Thank God its a cloudfull night and there are no wild animals around. I think they are scared of them too. I have been using my phone on the lowest brightness possible to upload this , but I am still afraid. As time goes by, I am getting more and more paranoid. Why are they allowing me to upload? Why are they not attacking? Is this some kind of elaborate trap? Are they just taunting me? They know I am afraid of them and I am not going to lie here, I am. I am terrified. But you must know, for internet to still exist, that means someone is keeping the lights on and the machines running. This is why I am here, to tell you before its too late, TURN THE LIGHTS OFF. I know i sound like a madman, but, if you had experienced what I have the last few days, you would understand me completely. I cant stay awake for much longer,pain is too great too,one way or another i will be sleeping soon, but I feel the need to try and protect you. Every fiber of my existence hopes you heed my warning, there is still time for you. My name is Mark James Reever and this is my story. I am 22 years old and I study architecture in a major university. I am not going to mention which one, or exactly where I live, because there is a slight chance they can't leave and I won't risk any of you brave enough to come and see them yourselves. I know its a lot and I know you have no reason to, but I am asking you to trust me on this. Anyways, where was I? God I am so tireddd. No, I need to finish this. Last year was a Hell on Earth for me. For extra info, my parents never married, we were living all together but for some reason they never Married. This is important for later. My mom died in a horrific car accident, while the driver never stopped to help her ... It was so bad that we had to bury her in a closed casket. Not even a month passed from her death, when my father announced to me - came out, that he was gay and he was actually married with his husband and had two adoptive children, who I now must get used to call my family. Both Lucas (39)(the husband) and Mary(21) and Lily(14) are great people and I honestly like them, but I just don't feel them like family, unlike what my father demands to feel. They are all (except for my father) very understanding and I think they feel sorry for me too, so they gave me all the space I needed. Mary is living with her husband in a different house, while Lucas and Lily now live with us. I too never got upset with neither their sexuality, nor the married part. For some reason, it always felt like my father was off. The long trips for work every weekend (sales person), the entire weekdays he "had to visit his estranged family to try and make up with them", all those extra gifts he bought on Christmas and almost all the times he had to work in New years eve, because he was so important for the business. These and many more, just clicked. He was living a double life, one where my mother was the affair and I was.... the mistake? He says its not like that, they wanted me, he wanted me, but I don't know what to believe anymore. In the duration of the last few months, I came on a sort of depression. At first, I didn't want to participate in the big family events, then I started eating alone in my room. Then I stopped hanging out with my friends, I deleted my discord and begun ghosting everyone. I broke up with my gf over a silly disagreement and finally, I quit getting out of my room alltogether. My room is in a big old house, where there is a wc connected to the room and I bought with my last money a mini fridge, so, the only reason I had to go out of the room was when I wanted to refill it. Which I was doing every Monday at 8 am, because its the hour nobody else is at home. At first, it was movies, then online games and after those, offline games. I wanted my peace and quiet. Room had everything I needed and there was many times I wasn't exiting my room for whole days. Why should I anyways? For the first few months, my "family" actively tried to "help me". Nowadays, every couple of days Lucas is knocking on my door, trying to make some awkward conversation and Lily brings me every Tuesday some of her self made, chocolate cookies. She knocks three times and walk away. I open the door, take the cookies and leave my tablet on the floor, filled with whichever TV show Dad and Lucas has banned from her to watch because its not "kid friendly". Every week she leaves a note to the tablet about what she wants to see next. Its a little bro sis secret. Besides that, I don't have any interaction with the outside world . Tuesday came and my cookies never arrived. I know its not a deal with a contract, but it was happening every week for almost 6 months, so, as you can guess, it was strange. I wrote it off as nothing, and continued playing a game on my pc, until I went numb. Days passed and nobody bothered me. After being in my room for almost a week, my pc was off for days, my phone too, I was mostly thinking and sleeping, always with my noise canceling headphones , without having heard anything from the rest of the house, I, slowly, decided I could at least go check on Lily. I had literally sub zero mood to do anything, but something felt really off. I opened the blinds and saw it was night outside, hadn't really noticed. Well, I was so used to night by now, that I didn't even bother opening the lights, so, I opened the door and crept outside. You could hear no noices, nothing at all! Fear overtook me, fear of the unknown, a relic from an old age where you needed all your senses to survive and I felt like I wasn't alone. Someone was in there with me and that someone, I wasn't anxious of meeting. I used the coverage of total darkness to make it to the living room, my room is on second floor and the only way down is an old, stone staircase. I stopped halfway the staircase after I heard something. I heard a click sound. Now, I was sure there was someone in the house with me. At first I felt a relief, thinking that my sleep schedule was just that bad and everyone were simply a sleep, but the moment I reached the bottom of the stairs, my heart sank . The entire house was trashed, even walls were broken in some parts. In a closer look, it seemed like it was a lot fist like the holes, but, that's impossible, right? I immediately walked right to my Dads bedroom, to meet with the worse possible view I could see. Dad was on the ground, his body crushed into place, parts were torn apart and his head was sitting alone on the bed. Next to him was Lucas, with his double barrel shotgun on his hand and his own head crushed, like it was pushed inside, rest body nowhere to be seen. The view was so horrible that I threw up, then and there. Moments later, I went and picked up the shotgun, which by the way had one of the two guns fired. That felt strange, as I didn't notice anything on the wall and there were no bodies or blood for that matter in the living room. Without any real reason, I looked up and saw the light lamp destroyed, like, he was aiming at that. Why on earth would someone shoot a lamp? I continued to Lily’s room, which was empty. Not trashed, not bodies around, nothing. None of her things, none of her sheets, nothing ,nothing. It was like nobody had ever lived there. Was I so depressed I imagined the girls? The whole situation after the accident? Should I really visit a therapist? What is happening? As I was walking out of the room, I tripped over a plate, my cookies plate. No, I wasn't imagining things, my sister exists! What was until then desperation, turned to anger. With the gun in my hands, I begun shouting Lilys name, without carrying if there were intruders in the house. My family, my weird family was under attack and I was going to defend them! I spent hours looking around the house, all in the black, because as I found out, the light panel outside of the house was also shot. I had no idea what was happening, but I was honestly furious. I didn't even realize when the sky turned red, due to the rise of the sun. What really startled me was a scream out of the blue. I ran out and saw a woman in the road, getting viciously attacked by many shadows? They had the face of an animal, like wolf, body like human but taller.... And they were like they were made by shadows. In mere seconds they devoured the unlucky woman, leaving only the head behind, before turning their attention towards me. I shouted. I told them to not come closer. They lunged. I shot the gun and tripped, bullets flew through them like they weren't there. They got me pinned down and begun hitting me. My God, their teeth, so big, so many, more than any living thing should have. I was for sure goner that moment, if not for the side of the wall that gave up and fall. They momentarily left me and I crawled inside the house and with huge pain run and hid under the bed in my Dads bedroom . They all walked around the bed, like waiting for me to get out, but nobody actually pulled me. They begun screeching inhuman sounds, horrible sounds and hitting the walls , but I didn't give up. For some reason, they couldn't get me. Like the vampires, that need invitation to come inside your house? What was I supposed to do, invite them under the bed? I sat there dumbfounded for hours, till I fall asleep. When I woke up, I was alone again and it was night outside. I got out of the bed, my body hurt like hell and then I realized, they had destroyed the walls inside the room. I turn around and I was hit and tossed to the other side of the room. They were there! Moonlight was shining through the holes and with every light, I could see one of them, standing in front of me. Light fall under the bed too and in moments one of them appeared below the bed and in moments utterly destroyed it. It was my last defense and they knew it. In that moment I understood everything. The DARK. They couldn't enter the dark. Darkness was my only safety. And I had almost run out of it. I crawled in the little corner I was stuck, so not an inch of me exits the safety of the darkness, which was really uncomfortable. And then, we waited. All night they stood in front of me, like statues and watched me. All night I was watching them and praying nobody smashes the wall from the outside. I don't know why they couldn't do that, nor when I was under the bed. I have a theory, that when someone is hiding in the darkness, it sort of work as armor and they can't destroy the shadow spot, as long as there is no light there. After sitting on the same spot for almost 8 full hours, my body hurt tremendously. My bowl gave up, on that spot too, but I was surprised it didn't gave up hours ago to be honest. It was a pain full night, that turned into a more painful day. A cloudy day, but instead t of just ten monsters with the moonlight, now were thousands. All there, all waiting. Those were the 30 most painful hours of my life. As soon as night came again, it was a cloudy night too. Clouds prevented moon from shining there,so, darkness was wining. Some higher power was rooting for me. I saw my chance and crawled out of that house, no longer could move my legs out of so many hours sitting still. I crawled to the little forest beside my house and my neighbors, Mr Flanins house. There are no sounds, not children, not animals, nothing. Its like everything is hiding.... Or everything is dead. I will be soon too. The brief tossing battle with them probably did me a good one. I thought I couldn't move my legs because of sitting. Now I can't even feel them. My ribs hurt too much, I am no doctor, but it feels bad too. I haven't eaten or drunk anything for almost two days too. Clouds slowly are giving away and with the light I see more now. Soon it will come for me too. I don't have long now. I see them, but I also see the houses. They are broken, I see guns, I see police vehicles, I even see a tank or two. I don't know if this is because of my deteriorating body and mind, but it seems like a battle happened. Or tried to happen. We lost. I don't know where they came from or why, but I know they came with the light. I hope its not too late for you.... Beware the light!<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Cologne Girl [RESPONSE] This story takes place a few months before the end of my senior year in high school. I have changed the names for anonymity. I feel like I was an average kid, pretty-well liked. I had a close group of 5 friends and we were always together, but we had a larger group of friends that constituted our circle, maybe 25 of us. We partied every weekend, took trips out to Eric’s parents beach house, tried to have as much fun as possible before college started. I was between girlfriends at the time and always wore my favorite cologne, it was fairly expensive but girls always commented on how good it smelled. One day, while watching a football scrimmage in the stadium bleachers, I noticed a girl staring at us from several rows down. I couldn’t be sure but it seemed like she was looking at me. I smiled at her and she looked away. She was average height with long brown hair, pretty but awkward. I couldn’t remember seeing her anywhere else before, but our school was pretty big so I thought nothing of it. I noticed she kept looking back at me throughout the scrimmage, and I thought it was weird she wasn’t with anybody as this wasn’t really an official school event. Over the next couple of weeks I would see that same girl pretty often. I started to notice that when I caught her glance she would be closer to me than the last time I had seen her. One day, I was with my buddy Aaron at our favorite local café having lunch when I noticed that same girl was sitting in a booth 2 rows over from us. She kept looking up at me from behind her menu. I asked Aaron if he knew who she was and he shrugged it off and got up to go to the restroom. I decided to approach the girl and ask who she was, but when I started to get closer to her I smelled it. The smell was so strong it almost hurt my nose; it was cologne, the same cologne I always wear. It smelled like she had bathed in it. I recoiled from the smell, and she just looked up at me and says, “Hi Justin. Don’t you like the way it smells?”. All I could muster what a muffled “why?”. She hesitated before saying, “it reminds me of you when I’m not close enough to smell you”. I immediately dropped cash on our table and ran outside, texting Aaron to meet me at the car. How did she know my name? How long has she been following me? The wording really creeped me out, “when I’m not close enough to smell you”. That made me think that she was never too far away. When Aaron came out I told him what happened. He just laughed and mocked me. He said I was being dramatic, that the girl obviously just knew who I was from school and that she was just a weirdo. Maybe it was a prank or something, but I couldn’t shake a sinking feeling in my gut. It was the look in her eyes, cold but piercing. The next weekend we were all heading out to Eric’s parents beach house for a night of drinking, playing beer pong and whatever other debauchery we could get in to. The whole trip was spent trying to get the girl out of my mind, while my buddies just made fun of me for it all. Their lighthearted jabs helped, and I was able to loosen up as we set up for the party. Fast forward a few hours later and we were all having a blast. The nearest residence was pretty far off and we were able to blast music as loud as we wanted through the outside speakers. We had a big table set up on the ground floor for drinking games and a keg sitting on the back porch. A girl stumbled up from the path leading to the beach, complaining about the smell coming from the patch of bushes that sat on the edge of where the sand started. Nobody paid much attention to her, but about an hour later me and Amanda, a girl I had been talking to, decided to take a walk along the water. When we reached the bushes at the end of the path, the smell hit us. Amanda screeched with disgust. “What the hell is that?”. I knew what it was though, and it was even stronger than the first time I smelled it. “Go back inside, quick!”, I told Amanda. But before we could leave, the girl with the long brown hair emerged from the bushes holding a large kitchen knife. “Don’t you like the smell Justin? I did it for you”, she said. “Who are you?” I shouted as Amanda ran back to the house. She looked at me with those cold, piercing eyes, and slowly said, “I knew you would be with that whore, but don’t worry, I’ll take care of her”. My mind was reeling with confusion and my fear suddenly turned to anger. I lunged at her to grab the knife, but she was too quick. She slashed my leg open and then hit me in the head with the butt of the knife. She began trying to drag me into the bushes but luckily by this time Aaron, Luke, and Eric were running over to us. She quickly let go and ran into the night. By the time the police arrived she was nowhere to be found, but in the bushes where she had been hiding the police found zip ties, duct tape, and a diary filled with pictures of me. It turns out the girl’s name was Lucy and she had been following me for over a year. She had been writing about how we were going to run away and build a house together. She had detailed plans of how she was going to kill Amanda, my ex, and all the other girls I had talked to over the last year. There were at least ten pages that just had my name scrawled across them hundreds of times. I had lost quite a bit of blood and had to go to the hospital for stitches. Over the next few days I couldn’t stand the thought of Lucy coming to my house to finish what she started so I stayed over at Aaron’s house. A week after the beach house incident, Amanda’s neighbor had called the police about a suspicious looking girl lurking around Amanda’s house. The police found Lucy trying to crawl through a window, this time all she had on her was a knife and a bottle of cologne. I’m not sure how much jail time she served for all of this, but it definitely wasn’t enough. I graduated and went to college across the country without any further incident. Four years later I got my bachelors degree and bought a house with my now fiancé. Even after these years I still don’t buy that cologne, I can’t bring myself to relive that incident. Two days ago, I went to leave for work at 6:30am. I opened my front door to find a wrapped package, no note, no return address, just a kiss mark. I rubbed the mark with my thumb and the lipstick rubbed off; this was fresh. I didn’t see anybody on the street. I took the package in and opened it. There was only one thing inside; a bottle of cologne.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Journal Entries from the Reservation #1 [RESPONSE] Hey there. This seems like the best place to post these because it's not like anyone else believes me. Just want to say, I made it out. These are entries from my old journal. It was the only think I got out of there with. I figured...even if they don't cause a stir or prevent anything, maybe they'd make for some good light reading. Also, if you end up in there...try to remember what you've read here. I didn't make it out of there out of just luck. If you have any specific questions, I'll be glad to answer them for you. Always down to help anyway I can. -Sam **Entry #1** No one knows how we got here. Sure, everyone’s got a theory, but no one really knows. Funny enough, no one knows how long it’s been since we got here either. Everyone’s got a different count of the days. Some people stopped keeping count, said it would drive them crazy. Those who do try to track the days always have that different number. Two years, seven months, and somewhere in between. On top of all the things that no one knows is one really horrifying fact: how many are here? We know there are no kids, there are no elderly. Everyone I’ve met was in their 20’s or so. Youngest person I’ve met said it was his 20th birthday when he woke up here. Oldest was a girl who said she was 28. One of the guys in my camp goes by Lando, like the character. He looks like him too. Anyways, his theory is a bunch of aliens pulled up all the “healthiest humans” to save us from some planet destroying disaster and put us here to save the species. Makes a lotta sense until you remember that no one can get pregnant here. Claire and Xander have definitely been testing that, no luck. Also, if a bunch of aliens put us here to save the species, why would they put predators in here? Lots of them too. Our camp has only existed about 5 months, and we must have taken out dozens of them. Some camps have tried to clear them out, to get rid of them all. Now, most people think that, just like the forest, they never end. So, an unknown amount of people in an unknown forest of unknown size for unknown amount of time facing an unknown amount of monsters…what could go wrong? What do we know? Not much. We know there are a lot of humans here. My camp has about 20. Some are bigger, some are smaller. We’ve heard stories of a city somewhere far east called Clearing that had thousands. That doesn’t seem realistic to me, but none of this does. That’s another thing, how are there that many people? Even if they teleported all the humans in their 20’s on earth here, how many would there really be? How many Americans and Europeans? I’ve only met a few non-Americans out of the hundred or so people I’ve talked too. Most were from Europe. One guy was from Niger but spoke English. I thought I found my first outlier. but it turns out he was in NYC on a tourist vacation when he woke up in the forest. Maybe it’s just people that were in the US, right? Nope. Get this, one of the Europeans I talked to? She was in Niger as a member of Doctors without Borders. It was kind of funny those two found each other. Abdul and Nicky ended up following me to this camp when everything went bad at Riverside. It wasn’t really a camp back then. We found this flat piece of land with a pretty low tree density and got to work. There were six of us back then. We’ve grown. I guess they look at me as a leader now, maybe the only leader. I don’t know if I really want that. I’ve had a bunch of group leaders over the last few months. Shit always goes sideways. The camp leader at Riverside got absolutely shredded while he was fishing. One of the water creatures just tore him to shreds. I have no clue why I’d want the same thing to happen to me. That’s part of the reason I haven’t been fishing since. Our camp mainly survives off trapping some of the…friendlier…creatures here. Although, I’m not sure if you could call them that truthfully. One of the newer guys to the camp, Zach, is obsessed with roads. I mean, it’s kind of weird. He has this whole speech he goes into about how important roads are for communities and he’ll go on and on and on. He’d been begging for us to go to the nearest encampment and talk about building a road between the two of us. It sounded silly to most of us. I mean, the nearest camp is at least 10 miles west. Probably more. We’d only been there once. Ten miles of clearing forest debris and trees and marking a path sounded like a lot of hard work for nothing. The only reason we agreed to see how it goes is because...well…what else did we have to do? We hadn’t made it two miles west before we got an encounter. Only 6 of us went. Me, Abdul, Nicky, Lando, Zach, and this one guy James. James was a newer addition to our team. He didn’t talk much besides simple sentences and responses. Always figured I’d get to know him when I got the chance. Never got that. The bat-things came down on us out of nowhere. Normally they’re only active at night, but we must have walked through a nest of them or something. The rest of us knew what to do: freeze. The bat-things don’t have a lot in common with actual bats. They’re much bigger, have claws instead of…whatever bats normally have. They kind of look like gargoyles if their wings were on there arms. Anyways, one thing they have in common is that they are blind as a… well you get the idea. They track by hearing or something. Figured out early on that if you don’t move they can’t see you. No one told James apparently. I have no idea how he made it that far without knowing this. It’s kind of a 2+2 type of thing. So well-known no one thinks to say it. They were on him in seconds. Pretty soon he was drained and then the 30% or so left of him was left in a heap on the ground. The five of us waited around for a bit and, when it was clear, we went back to camp. Zach keeps saying he wants to try again, but all of us are more than a little frustrated at him right now. The idea was stupid, and I was stupid for going along with it. The people in camp are blaming Zach for getting James killed, but it was me who gave the okay. That’s pretty much it for tonight. It’s been a long day. I’ll write something else in here at some point, I’m sure of it. Not much else to do. One things for sure: no more fucking roads. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm a police detective and I found a strange journal in a missing person's bedroom. Can you help me make sense of it? [RESPONSE] I’m a police detective assigned to a rather strange case. We just got a warrant to search a house owned by a man and woman named Jim and Kay Boyd. I’ve been searching through their things and haven’t found much of anything. Until I got to their daughter’s room. I found a journal there, and I read most of it. Things just aren’t adding up for me. I’m typing it all up here in hopes someone can make some sense of it. I’m breaking some major confidentiality laws, but I just can’t keep this to myself anymore. Here’s what’s written: On her tenth birthday, Edie Boyd decided to go for a walk.  It was four o’clock in the evening and no one even remembered it was her birthday. Not her dad. Not her mom. Not her friends. Not even Mrs. Penny wished her the obligatory “happy birthday” on the whiteboard at school just like she did for every other student. Edie was invisible. No matter how much her feelings were hurt, though, she didn’t say a word to anyone. When she got home after school, her mom and dad were arguing again. Something about bills and money, but Edie didn’t care enough to listen too closely. Her parents would almost always argue everyday, and it was beginning to wear her down. Money this, money that. Her parents never had any or they never had enough.  The reason for that was simple: her father could never hold down a job long enough to keep a steady paycheck. Her mom, on the other hand, could never get a job at all. She was always too busy smoking something in the morning to knock her out for the rest of the day or taking pill after pill in the evening to keep her up all night. Edie would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night to find her mom rummaging through her bedroom, looking for who knows what in her chest of drawers. The only things in there were the few pairs of underwear Edie had and some socks that had holes in the toes. If her mom was looking for money or drugs, Edie sure wasn’t harboring any in her room. Her mom had been too crazy to talk some sense into, though. She searched anyway. For as long as she could remember, Edie’s life had been this way. Her parents were always neglectful, and even when they did notice her, it was always to yell at her or blame her for something she didn’t do. There were many times she’d gone to school wearing tattered clothes and clothes that were too cold for the weather. She didn’t own a coat, only long-sleeved t-shirts and small cardigans that didn’t keep her warm in the winter.  Sometimes winters in the south could get balmy and freezing. They’d had cases of ice storms that knocked the power out once or twice and Edie almost froze to death during those. Her parents had been too preoccupied with themselves to even throw her a blanket.  Her teachers had noticed. Even Mrs. Penny. They’d often send her to the youth service center in her school where they’d give her secondhand coats and packages of socks and underwear and sometimes grocery bags of food. She had always been grateful for those things, but most of the time her mom took the clothes and she was stuck without anything to keep her warm again. Sometimes she showed up to school with bruises all over her body. They would dot her legs and arms like constellations in the sky. Sometimes it would pain her to walk, and she would limp to the playground during recess time with all the other kids in her class. Kids who had normal, loving parents. CPS had been called, but nothing had been done about her situation. Edie had been taken out of her home on one occasion and she’d gotten to live with a nice family who had a nice, big, soft bed for her with a thick, warm comforter. But she only stayed there for a week before her parents earned custody of her again.  CPS never came back and Edie learned to fend for herself. When she stepped into the house, neither one of Edie’s parents saw her set her worn knapsack with a large hole in the bottom on a kitchen chair, grab a dry biscuit her mom made for breakfast yesterday from the counter, and walk out the front door. She picked at the biscuit, pieces crumbling onto the ground as she made her way into the tree shrouded area behind her house. It was too small to be a forest because a couple miles in and she’d be on the other side of town next to the school. It was how Edie managed to get herself there in the morning. Her parents couldn’t take her; her mom was either passed out on the couch or whispering to herself in the corner and her dad was busy finding a new job. Neither one had cared enough to call the school and set up a bus pick-up and drop off. Instead, she walked to school every morning and walked back home every evening.  As she ate the biscuit, she walked further into the trees, wishing she had brought some water along with her. The biscuit was so dry, the second it touched her tongue she could feel the moisture in her mouth drying up. She could hear a swishing sound in the distance; a warm summer wind brushed past her cheek. This was the one place she felt was home in the peace and quiet away from everyone and everything. Away from her parents arguing. Away from all the noise and all her problems. Out here in the woods, Edie was something. She was a part of nature.  She took a deep breath and shoved the dry biscuit into her jeans pocket. Her stomach let out a low rumble, signaling the hunger blossoming within her belly. The biscuit was all the food she would probably get tonight.  Edie looked down as she continued to walk, wondering if her parents were still arguing back at her house. She’d been gone for at least fifteen minutes. Had they noticed her things yet? She stepped over stick after stick, avoiding them in case they happened to be a snake in disguise. Surely she could tell the difference though. One had shiny scales, the other rough, discolored bark. The more she avoided them, the quicker she hopped through the woods, bounding over fallen tree limb after fallen tree limb. She hopped onto stumps and jumped from those to piles of leaves, creating a game for herself— the classic floor is lava game. She pretended the grass patches were where the lava was hottest, avoiding those altogether. If there was a patch of leaves, she could step there, but only for a short period of time because those represented thin sheets of metal floating on the lava river. The tree stumps and some thick branches were considered safe spaces where she could take time to collect her balance. She jumped, skipped, and rolled through the woods, careful to avoid the bare patches of grass. She was doing fine up until she caught her toes on a stump, which she thought was a lot shorter than expected. She fell face forward onto the ground, head hitting a patch of grass she had been narrowly trying to avoid. She was lying flat on her stomach trying to catch her breath. The fall had knocked the wind out of her and she felt like she’d been hit with a football going fifty miles per hour square in the stomach.  She’d half fallen into a mud puddle; her legs and feet were now caked with clumps of mud and dirt, staining her jeans a dark brown and earthy green. She’d never be able to wash them well enough for the stains to come out. When she had managed to get onto her knees, she could see the full extent of the damage. Just what Edie expected. A hole had also been torn into the left knee of her jeans. They were ruined. Her favorite pair of pants.  Edie sighed and lifted her head, peering at the trail ahead of her. The sun was low in the sky and shining right in her direction, directly in her eyes. She had to squint to see. She heard it before she saw it though. A small hiss. A slither. The rustling of leaves as the reptile pushed its way through the underbrush.  A small snake lifted its head to meet Edie face-to-face. Its dark brown scales shimmered in the sunlight, illuminating a thick coat of skin. Edie sat still as stone as she watched it flick its tongue out again and again to taste the fear in the air. Edie didn’t dare move. She knew if she did, the snake would strike, and she’d be a goner. She knew what kind of snake this was. A cottonmouth. She’d read about them in the encyclopedia at the library. Cottonmouth venom prevents the blood in humans from clotting which therefore leads to hemorrhaging. If she was bitten, she knew she’d never make it to the hospital. Especially if her parents were still arguing. They wouldn’t care that she was about to meet Death.  Edie gulped down the lump of fear rising in her throat. She didn’t move or break eye contact. The snake was ready to strike, and with one slight movement, the snake would latch on to her. The reptile swayed its head back and forth, ready to strike. Edie had all but stopped breathing.  What was she going to do? How was she going to get out of this? If she had just stayed home and went to her room, then she wouldn’t be in this kind of trouble. She wouldn’t be face-to-face with a venomous snake.  Then she thought of the biscuit in her pocket, which led to her thinking the snake might be hungry and that was why it was eyeing her up and down like she was going to be its next meal. How was she going to get to the biscuit though? She moved her right hand slowly, maintaining eye contact with the snake. Any sudden movements would cause it to lunge at her. She had seen situations like this before, heard about them from the kids at school. Edie was moving so slowly she thought it would take her hours to pull the biscuit out of her pocket. But somehow she managed to make contact with it. Part of it had fallen apart in her pocket, leaving a pile of crumbs in its wake. She gently pulled it out, adjusting the biscuit in the palm of her hand. She slowly held it out before the snake.  Within seconds the snake struck at the biscuit in her hand, sending it flying to the ground. Edie jumped in surprise, terrified it would lunge at her again. But it didn’t. Instead the snake was feasting on the biscuit, having forgotten all about Edie. Just like everyone else. Anger welled inside her chest. No matter what she did or said, she was forgettable by everyone and everything. She got to her feet, stomping over to the snake. Before it could swallow the biscuit whole, she snatched the biscuit from its grasp and shoved the whole thing into her mouth, venom drippings and all.  Edie instantly regretted it at first because the biscuit was so dry and her mouth was parched. She needed water. She regretted it even more when she thought the snake would bite her, pierce her skin with its venom. But it didn’t. Instead, it lifted its head to look at her. She swore she could see sadness in its beady eyes. She felt guilty having shoved the entire biscuit into her mouth. The dryness paired with the judging glare from the snake was enough to make her cry, a tear sliding down her cheek.  Eventually, she couldn’t take it anymore and hightailed it out of the woods, running in the opposite direction away from the snake. She’d spit the biscuit somewhere on the ground on her way back home, unable to swallow the huge clump of dry dough that had mushed together in her mouth.  She kept running until she saw her house appear in the distance, a wave of relief washing over her. For once in her life she was glad to see that familiar dirty, white vinyl with a massive hole underneath the back window. She could see the damage on the roof where her dad had tried to patch some leaks.  “Where the hell have you been, Ed?” Her dad asked when she threw herself through the front door. “You’s s’posed to be home an hour ago.” Edie looked at him. His eyes were bloodshot and wide with anger. He was breathing heavily and his mouth was parted, revealing the bottom row of his teeth jutted out from a severe overbite. His cheeks were red and pockmarked, a product of arguing with her mom, who was nowhere to be seen at that moment. Her dad’s white t-shirt had been torn, like someone had tried to rip it off him, and his jeans hung low on his hips, revealing the band of a pair of Fruit of the Loom boxers underneath.  Instead of offering up an explanation, Edie ignored her dad and went straight to her room, shutting the door behind her.  “Edie!” Her dad yelled. She didn’t want to face her dad’s wrath for not listening to him, but she couldn’t take the added stress. Edie threw herself onto the bed and closed her eyes, hoping for sleep to take her instead.  —— Over the next few days, Edie hadn’t been allowed to go to school. After she had ignored her dad, she took a beating and punishment of being locked in her room. She was only allowed out to use the bathroom and drink water. Those were the worst three days of her life. She had a bruise the size of her dad’s fist on her cheekbone, sore to the touch. Her stomach rumbled with hunger on and off for those three days, and the longer she went without food, the more her stomach hurt.  But one thing that lingered in her mind during those three days was the snake she met in the woods. She thought about him to help get her mind off things at home. She wondered if he was still there, if he was still hungry. Albert, it’s what she decided to call him, in remembrance of the stray cat she once had as a pet for a week, but then disappeared shortly after.  When she regained her freedom, she decided to take a plate of food into the woods with her, hoping to see the snake again. This time she’d packed an array of foods. Some grapes, lunch meat and cheese, another dry biscuit, and some chocolate. She knew snakes ate small prey, but she didn’t have any field mice around to bring Albert, so she settled on what was in the scant fridge at home.  She took the same route through the woods as she did three days ago, although this time she chose not to play that stupid child’s game that got her hurt and ruined her jeans.  She walked and walked, looking at the ground for any signs of the snake. But she never found one. Albert had probably slithered off somewhere far away after their meeting. Why would a snake stay around in hopes of Edit bringing it food? He was a reptile, not a human. She scoffed and silently laughed at herself. How could she have been so stupid? She sat down on a big rock next to where she tripped the last time playing floor is lava. She picked at the lunch meat, taking bird bites of everything else. Although she was starving, she felt she was too sick to eat anything too substantial.  She heard a slither somewhere close, a brushing of leaves and grass. Was it Albert? Edie searched the ground, looking for the snake. He was so dark, he matched the color of the ground. It was difficult to tell if she was looking at him until he raised his head from the underbrush just like he had the first time. “Albert,” she said, relieved. The snake had stayed in the spot. It made her wonder why, but she tried not to think too deeply about it. Maybe she had made a friend in this lonely snake.  Albert slithered his tongue in and out as if in reply. He didn’t try to strike her or lunge at her. In fact, he looked happy to see her. Edie could tell in the way he was bobbing his head back and forth. She smiled, grabbing a piece of the lunch meat. She pushed it toward Albert and he took a piece from her. She took a bit in turn.  They shared the plate of food until only crumbs remained. Edie would feed a bit to Albert and then she would take a bit. They continued with that pattern until the plate was empty. When it was though, Edie frowned. She had no more food to give to Albert. But he stayed in the same place, full and satisfied. She reached her hand out to pat his head with two fingers. The scales were cold and slimy to the touch. She recoiled at the sensation, and Albert withdrew into a coil on the ground, slithering away in the underbrush.  Edie felt like she hadn’t spent all but twenty minutes with him and now she had scared him away. A tear fell down her cheek, and another, and another, until she was sobbing. The one thing she had managed to get to notice her she had scared away.  She sniffed, wiping under her nose with the back of her hand. Edie would come back the next day with even more food. And the next day. And the next day. She and Albert would become best friends.  She was sure of it. —— Edie kept to her word and returned the next day with even more lunch meat, cheese, fruit, and bread. She would feed Albert a bite, then she would take a bite. The pattern continued like that everyday until her parents started noticing food was missing from the fridge and pantry.  “Edie Joanna Boyd, you’re eatin’ us out of house and home,” he dad grumbled at her, slamming the fridge door shut. “Where are you puttin’ it all? You ain’t big as nothin’.” Her heart jumped into her throat. What was she going to say? How was she going to lie her way out of this? “I just get hungry after school is all,” she replied, picking at the cuticles on her nails. She was working on a loose piece of skin on her finger, picking and picking at it until she could feel the blood start pouring out of her. She lifted her finger to her mouth, sucking and licking the wound clean. The familiar taste of metal coated her tongue. “Edie, girl.” Her mom’s raspy voice trailed up the hallway. She was coming into the kitchen to join them. “That’s the only food we got until next month, ya hear? Don’t be wastin’ what we got.” Edie had been taking the bare minimum in hopes they wouldn’t notice. She was wrong once again. Her parents always noticed the small things if it affected them directly, never if it only affected her.  “Listen to yer momma,” her dad pointed his big index finger toward her chest. “Go to your room.” “Yes, sir,” she said and made her way down the hall, sidestepping where her mother stood. Edie could feel her wide, wild eyes never waver from her small frame. She walked a little fast down the hall and into her room. She shut the door behind her, threw herself onto her decades old mattress on the floor, and cried and cried until she couldn’t open her eyes. —— After yesterday’s debacle, Edie decided she was going to see Albert one more time. She hadn’t gotten to see him the day before because her parents confronted her about the missing food. She hadn’t wanted to add fuel to the fire because God knows she would have received the beating of a lifetime.  Edie wrapped two slices of bread, a slice of ham and cheese loaf, and a couple of grapes in a paper towel and made her way to the back door. She closed it quietly behind her, hoping not to wake her parents. They’d still been asleep since it was Saturday— even if it was one o’clock in the afternoon. She skipped down the back porch steps, careful not to drop her sandwich and grapes. She looked ahead and almost felt like she could hear the woods whispering to her, beckoning for her to come inside and find Albert and stay there forever. She wanted to, but then what would happen to her? Her parents wouldn’t care— she knew that for certain. But someone at school would call the police, report her missing. She just wanted to be left alone. Or maybe they would forget about her entirely. She was invisible after all. Edie trekked forward into the woods to the secret spot where she and Albert shared meals. She found him curled up perfectly where she left him the last time. “Hey, buddy,” Edie said, excitement lighting up in her eyes and tone of voice. She was glad to see her friends again.  As soon as he recognized her voice, Albert lifted his head and began bobbing it back and forth as if he was excited to see her too. “I’ve got some more goodies for us.” Edie balanced herself into a sitting position on the big rock she always sat on. She carefully unwrapped the bread, meat, and grapes, grabbing a slice of bread first.  She took a small bite and then offered it to Albert who struck at the bread, tearing a piece from the slice. Edie smiled, taking another bite. She switched to the ham and cheese loaf next, sharing the slice with Albert. Back and forth, back and forth. Edie would chew her bite and Albert would swallow his. They’d almost finished eating everything when she heard a rustle of leaves and branches to her left.  Edie jerked her head to the side to see the giant form of her dad appear in the clearing. His cheeks were red and a bead of sweat dripped down his forehead. In his hand he held a big, rusty machete. He must have used it to slash through branches and shrubbery. He was a big man; he couldn’t fit through the woods like Edie could. “You thievin’, connivin’ little bitch,” he seethed through his teeth clamped together. His jaw tightened more and more the longer Edie stared at him. “I shoulda known you was up to no good.” He started toward her and Edie let go of the paper towel, rising to her feet, scrambling to get away from her dad.  “What the hell do you think this is? Your feedin’ a snake? A snake, Edie? What is wrong with you?” She stumbled backward as her dad reached for her arm. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Albert slithering into a defensive stance. He was scared just as much as she was. He looked like he would strike at her dad any second. He grabbed Edie’s wrist, squeezing it tightly. She tried to pull away, to no avail. “Dad,” she said, exasperated. “Please, it’s not what it looks like.” “I don’t give a damn what it looks like,” he growled, pulling Edie toward him. “It’s stopping right now.”  Edie’s dad stepped to the left, dragging Edie with him. She tried to pull away but he was so strong and she was so small. In one fell swoop, Albert lunged at her dad in an attempt to bite him, send venom through his system. He was still a cottonmouth after all. Her dad was too quick for him though. He swung the machete just as his head almost made contact with the skin on his bare upper arm. He sliced his head clean off. And within seconds Albert was dead. Edie stared down at his slithering body. It was still writhing like a worm on the ground. But he was dead, she knew he was. Snakes were known to move around long after they were dead, but they couldn’t survive without a head. Nothing could.  Her first best friend in years was dead. Her dad had killed him.  “Come on,” her dad yanked her hard, almost sending her falling to the ground. “No outside privileges for a while. If you think you can steal our food and get away with it, you’ve got another thing coming.” Edie tried to yank her arm out of his grasp, but he was way too strong. She could see the veins popping out of his muscles in the strain. As he continued to force her out of the woods, Edie let the grief and pain take over. Her stomach was in knots; she couldn’t breathe. Albert was dead. And so was she. She passed out before they made it out into the clearing. —— Days passed and Edie couldn’t tell if it was daylight or dark anymore. She was let out of her room three times a day to go to the bathroom. Her mom or dad brought her water a few times throughout the days and food only once a day. It was rough, and she didn’t know how long she would have to be locked in her own room, forced to lay here and stare at the ceiling. She cried everyday for her friend Albert. She wondered if his thin, lifeless body was still lying there out in the open or if some other animal had carried it off.  She got sicker and sicker everyday. When her parents brought her food, she would just push it out of the way and not touch it. Not even a bite. She could feel her stomach growing inward, eating itself and her muscles. Her skin grew pale and her cheeks were sallow. She was so weak she could barely lift herself out of bed. When she did eat, nothing made her feel better or stronger. Several days into her prison stay, she knocked on her own door. “Dad,” she said, out of breath. “I think something’s wrong. I think I need to see a doctor.” But they ignored her, grumbled something about her being selfish from the living room, and she slumped her weak body against the door. Her head lolled to the side. She didn’t have the strength to lift it up. She didn’t even have the strength to cry. She was fading and her parents weren’t going to do anything about it. She closed her eyes and thought about Albert. She thought about eating all those slices of bread and lunch meat and fruit. She thought about feeding him a bite after she had eaten some. They ate after each other a lot, and she knew she was ingesting venom with every bite she took after Albert.  The venom would enter her system and float around in her bloodstream, making her one with Albert. They had shared more than friendship; they shared a part of one another as well.  When Edie’s dad had killed Albert, she wasn’t exaggerating when she said that he had killed her too. Because that’s what was happening. She was dying because Albert was dead.  It was just taking a lot longer because she was a lot bigger than Albert.  The days went by slower and slower until eventually her parents opened her bedroom door and Edie was passed out on the floor, pale and barely breathing.  Her parents were worried then. They worried they had starved her to death. What would the police do to them then? Would they get arrested? How were they going to get out of this? Instead of rushing her to the hospital, Edie’s dad took her out into the woods, carrying her limp body in his arms. Each breath she took in was shorter and smaller. She was close to death, she could feel it.  Edie’s dad walked for a while until eventually he stopped. Edie was able to open her eyes briefly to see that they were in her and Albert’s spot. The spot where they ate together everyday. The spot where they became one in the same. She was fading in and out of consciousness, but she could still hear her dad grunting and working. She could hear the slice of metal sliding into the ground and the cracking of roots being separated from their homes. Splatters of dirt rained down on her face from time to time. Her dad was digging.  He scooped and scooped rocks and dirt for what felt like hours, pounding his shovel into the gray ground. Eventually though, he stopped, and all was silent for a few moments. Edie reveled in the silence, silently hoping for death to take her. Her dad lifted her up, but he wasn’t careful; she could feel her hands knocking into the side of the rock she used to sit on when she fed Albert. He wasn’t careful when he threw her into the hole he’d dug for her makeshift grave either.  Once she was in the hole, she didn’t move. She couldn’t; her body was too weak. She did feel something flop on top of her, though, and she pretended her dad was burying her with Albert. That he’d had the courtesy of throwing her best friend into the grave with him. She tried to move her hand to touch him; to make sure it was actually him and not just a pile of dirt. But she couldn’t muster enough energy to even wiggle her fingers. This was it for Edie. She was about to die. But she was ready. A small smile played on the edges of her lips. She drew in one last breath and thought of Albert before slowly letting her soul leave her body forever. Just as she withered away quietly, though, she could feel her dad covering her body and Albert’s up with dirt.  She was gone.  Edie Boyd has been missing for weeks now. No one has seen or heard from her. A police force and rescue squad have gone to dig up the area we think was written in her journal. We all thought it was written by her, but why is it written in third person? And more importantly, how was she able to continue writing if she was dead?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My girlfriend and I went to an old drive-in theater. Now I think we're being followed. [RESPONSE] Two weeks ago, me and my girlfriend Paige decided to drive up into Canada and spend the weekend in Montreal. It was a good trip, but I can’t deny that what happened on the drive there put us on edge. It was something of a relief to head home that Monday morning, with the unspoken agreement that we wouldn’t make any more random stops. On the Friday evening we were driving through forests with the windows down. The strip of sky between the trees was a dreamy pink. The evergreens smelled sharp and cool. Paige was laughing, trying to teach me French phrases which I purposefully botched. Hey, look!” she was pointing at a muddy, wooden sign for *Pine View Drive-In Theater*, paint peeling, “’You ever been to one of those?” “Nah, never.” I was already turning in. “You?” “No, but I’ve always wanted to. I wonder if it's open.” I was focused on steering the narrow road through the trees but I could hear the smile in her voice. She loves spontaneity. We were making good time, and I’d already told the hotel we’d be checking in late, so why not? The ticket booth was deserted. The barrier gate was raised, obscured by branches. “’Damn. Closed.” But it was a one way road, so I drove on. The road opened onto the theater: a large clearing walled in by pines, their pointed heads swaying in the breeze. We were surprised to find the place packed with cars. This audience must’ve gathered from all the tiny, one-road towns in a 20 mile radius. I parked us in an empty space between two cars in the back row. The wheels ground down the overgrown grass, giving off a scent of damp soil. The movie had already started. There’d been no indication on the way in, but it was Disney’s Fantasia. “I thought these theaters were for porn.” Paige joked, “What’s this family-friendly shit?” Having noticed it was a family in the car beside us, I pleaded she keep her voice down. "This place is packed." she said, "I guess when you live in the middle of nowhere, you turn up for Friday night at the old drive-in.” “Right. What the hell else are you gonna do?” “Maybe this one never even closed. It could be from the 40s.” The field sloped down towards the screen. I noted the disorganization that screamed of small town stubborn independence. The cars were packed in a tight lattice, five or six vehicles deep in some spots. If someone had to leave, if there was an emergency, they were trapped. I wondered if folks in those parts were the sort to leave their phones at home, people who didn’t even have an internet connection. I’d seen pictures of drive-in-theatres where the movie audio came from speakers next to each window. Here the speakers were fixed to telephone poles; one pole for every hundred square feet. The sound quality wasn’t great. After a while I started to lose interest in the movie. I’d seen it before and it wasn't really my kind of thing. It had gotten dark. it was hard to make out the line where the trees ended and the sky started. The only light was the beam from the projection station hut to the wall that made the screen. I saw the silhouette of a man emerge from a car in one of the front rows. He ducked between the cars, trying and failing to go unnoticed. He disappeared off to the right, maybe to the bathrooms. Through the rear windscreen of the car immediately in front, I could see the back of a man’s head. He wore a baseball cap over wavy hair. He looked so still, enthralled by the movie. Paige dug a bag of chips from the back seat for us to share. I slouched against my door and she lay across with her head resting on my chest. A cool breeze flowed through the open windows. A crunch of grass announced a car parking immediately behind us, boxing us in. My stomach clenched for a moment, but I reminded myself we were in no hurry. If need be, we could always ask the driver behind us to let us out. I tried to get a look at them in the rear-view mirror- No good. All I could see was the movie reflected on their windshield. “Holy shit.” Paige snorted. “That couple in the next car…” “Don’t point!” She’s always like that. She’s the sort of person where you’ll say ‘Don’t look, but…” And she’s already spinning around in search of the person in question. “No. Seriously, look. It’s okay.” The woman in the driver’s seat was wearing shades, which was odd. She was blonde and pretty, with perfectly smooth skin... Wait. Too perfect… “Is that a mannequin?” “What the hell?” she was laughing, as she does when confused. I assumed the mannequin would be sat next to a real person, a lonely fetishist, but instead it was another doll. I didn’t know what to think of that. I turned to see if the family in the next car had noticed this practical joke. The mom was in the passenger seat, watching the screen intently. Thick waves of red hair concealed her face, so I couldn’t catch her eye. The kids in the back… I flinched: more plastic dolls. Believable at a glance; obviously inanimate now I was rudely staring into the car. Paige was leaned far forward, almost touching the windshield. She met my eye and shook her head. “That's creepy. *Some* of these cars must have people in them, right?” I glanced at the man in front, who on second thought seemed cold and still. But then… “The car behind us.” I tried to keep my breaths steady, my voice calm, as I looked in the rearview mirror again. It was impossible to see into the car, it was pitch black behind the glass, lively with reflected cartoon pegasuses “And I saw a guy walking around at the front.” “I’m gonna go investigate.” Her hand was on the door handle when the screen went black, plunging us into darkness. Moments later it flickered back to life. The colorful animation was gone. We were watching live-action in black and white… no, the moonlight scenes were just naturally monochrome. At first I thought this new film was silent. It took a few moments for my ears to register the deep drone rattling my chest and the walls of the car. I was surprised those tinny little speakers could handle it, but really it felt like the new soundtrack was coming from somewhere closer to the ground, or underground. The view on screen scrolled over roots and leaves. The cameraman was walking through a forest like the one that enclosed us, swaying a little, like they might be breathing heavily, but there wasn’t any sound but the escalating groan. There were a lot of flies in the shot, clouds of them billowing up in each step of the cameraman. I knew what this meant, and this new film didn’t feel like fiction. A dip in the earth and there it was, a pale hand peeking from beneath the soil, a shallow grave. 3 The number was stamped on the screen for a split second, overlaid. Another limb came into view, maybe a bicep. It almost glowed white in the black earth, like some giant maggot. 2 I heard ragged breaths. One, or both, of us was hyperventilating. The low drone now had other tones in it, a dull roar like a hurricane outside the window. The camera panned up to a mound of earth twenty feet across, dotted with half submerged bodies, engulfed in legions of flies. 1 The droning stopped. There was silence, for a split second before the back windshield exploded. I turned to see a glinting axe being dislodged from a deep incision between the back seat and the trunk. The wielder was just a dark figure, screaming for blood. We were screaming too. The figure stalked around Paige’s side of the car. I smashed my door open. With strength I didn’t even know I had, I was grabbing Paige around the waist in one arm and dragging her away from the door. We were on our feet, scrambling away as the man dashed around the hood and lunged at us. I could tell it was a man by his stature- he was easily over six foot- but his face was hidden behind a false female one. The freak had tied a hacked off mannequin face over his own. He seemed to let us get a head start, like it was a bit of fun, then followed. I couldn’t find Paige- she'd dashed off. I had to escape, but I had to find her. I don’t remember much of the sprint through the field, between the cars, except these frantic thoughts and the tastes of sweat and acid. The man screamed and screamed the whole time, barely pausing for breath. It was the only time in my life I’ve heard a human being make a noise like that. The sound gave me some idea of the distance between us. The worst part was the fear I’d hear him find Paige. I slowed down, trying to think. I crept around the back of a beat up old truck and found Paige twenty feet away, crouched behind a sedan. She looked up in panic, then slumped back against the car. Further down the hill the man shrieked, painfully, like his throat was tearing in the strain. There was another whine of metal under axe blade. Paige pointed at the trees and I nodded. We crept out of the clearing. My heart was pounding in my ears. I was sure the man would hear it and follow us. I was convinced he could smell the roiling blood in my veins. We crept blindly through the forest, holding hands. I can’t even guess how long we were out there. We kept having to circle around thick copses and choking undergrowth. There could’ve been bears out there. We could easily have fallen into a hidden ravine. I didn’t think about any of that, only escaping the wailing man and his axe. Eventually, soaked in mud, sap and blood from a hundred scrapes and cuts, we came out on the road. The gap in the forest let in moonlight and we could see a little better. Scared our pursuer would hunt us down in his car, we retreated to the trees to follow the road under cover. We walked several miles to the nearest town and found a police station. Thankfully the two officers on duty were helpful and took our story seriously. The state we were in lent weight to it I suppose. Paige couldn’t stop shaking. Someone gave us mugs of coffee. They knew the drive-in and claimed the strange arrangement was a bit of fun: a weird local ‘tradition’. The theater closed in the 70s. People started abandoning cars there in the 80s. No one remembered when the mannequins started showing up, but the whole messed up sight had become every-day for residents. New dolls were added to the theater's population every year. However, they were surprised to hear of the welcome sign that had lured us in, and raised eyebrows at mention of the movie: “There ain’t been any projection equipment up there in decades.” A few officers drove off to investigate the scene. We were showed to a waiting room where, exhausted, we fell asleep on a couch. We were woken by a grim-faced police chief who wanted to ask us more questions. He confirmed that after finding my car and the axe wounds in it, they were filing a report and searching for the attacker. “We checked every car up there- nothing. No clue as to which way he went, but something’ll turn up. We’ll get the word out. We'll have the whole town on the lookout for anything suspicious.” “Was there projection equipment in the hut at the back?” Paige asked, “We didn’t dream there was a movie playing, right?” “Yeah. You sure as hell didn’t dream it.” He studied her a minute, then shrugged and shared what he knew he shouldn’t, “It was full of equipment, and spare mannequins. All different shapes and sizes, all dressed up and ready to go. It was like something from a horror movie.” He grimaced, “We’ve been treating the old theater -this ongoing art project- like it was a harmless prank. Now I’m wondering if something stranger's been going on, right under our noses.” I meant to ask him what he meant, but was interrupted by the screech of his chair's legs on the hardwood floor as he stood. “I’d like to take you back to the theater. We need you to show us exactly where you ran, where you saw him at the front. You can take your car, if it’ll run still. We can fix some plastic over the rear windshield until you can get to an auto repair.” I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of going back, but we had no choice, we were stranded. The sun was still behind the trees, but the morning sky was bright white. As the chief cop pulled in behind the rows of cars, I leaned over to see my miserable, beat up car. Thinking how much it’d cost me to get it repaired meant that when I saw the back heads of the mannequins sat in the front seats, all I felt was white hot anger. “Were those there when your guys investigated?” “No.” He made a call. The psycho was still nearby. We got out and I studied the mannequin in the driver’s seat. It a generic, angular face, but the ‘skin’ was exactly the right shade of brown. The dark curls on its head had been cut to a precise length: It was supposed to be me. The female figure in the passenger seat had Paige’s thick blonde hair; wore the exact shade of lipstick. Her voice sounded thick and muffled, “How did they do this so quickly? How did they find these clothes? It’s impossible…” It *was* impossible. They weren’t just similar styles and colors- they were the same fucking clothes. Shirt, pants, even the boots, were exactly the ones I had on. It had been a single night, the stores were closed. How would they even know where we’d bought them? We showed the chief where the attacker had come from and the direction we’d ran. We went over the horror scene in detail several times while he made notes. More cops showed up to scour the area once more. One guy helped us brush the broken glass from the back seats and fix a sheet of plastic over the gaping window. Honestly, we were weirded out by how helpful they were; they’re not like that in our area. I could only breathe again when we were back on the road. I wasn’t interested in whether they were going to find the guy. I just wanted to run. On the drive, we tried to joke about what had happened, but nothing broke the tense atmosphere. As I said, the whole trip was tough after that. We couldn’t just forget ourselves and relax. At least it was behind us. That’s what we thought. Yesterday I was doing the dishes and Paige was out front vacuuming the floor of the car. We were finally taking it to the auto repair store that afternoon. I was drying my hands when Paige came in, slapped a scuffed notebook down on the counter beside me, then bee-lined for the bathroom, where I heard her retching. Immediately I knew where she’d found the book and who’d left it there. I opened it up before I could chicken out. On the first page was a diagram of the drive-in theater. Neat, rectangular outlines depicted rows of cars, each with a date inside. The dates on the cars nearest the screen were from the early 80s, and as the rows went back, they crawled up towards the present day. I spotted a car right around where we had parked marked 2022/09/16. It was one of three cars on the map circled in red pen, the other two being dated 1998 and 2009. Both had since been crossed out in red. My head started to spin. There were more cars mapped out behind ours, with dates proceeding all the way to April 2034. And that’s ridiculous right? I want someone to tell me this is all an elaborate prank. Paige appeared and quietly pulled a chair up to the counter. The following pages were a series of dates as headers, followed by bullet point lists, detailing car models and license plates, descriptions and sketches of people, sizes and brands of clothes and where they could be purchased. These details were written in different kinds of pen, clearly amended and updated at different points in time. I flipped through to find our date, our car, our descriptions. The skin on my arms and neck prickled as I saw the descriptions for female- 29 and male – 28, our car license plate, a note about a mole on female- 29- Paige’s left temple. The most chilling line was the freshly scribbled ‘*Incomplete*\- *ESCAPED- somewhere in NY*’ My tongue felt swollen, ”New York state doesn’t narrow it down much. There’s no way he can find us. He's got nothing.” She shook her head. She spoke gently, but it couldn’t take the edge off the truth, “He knew when we’d arrive. What we looked like… I don’t see what's to stop him finding us here. That film on the projector before he attacked? He was showing us where we're headed.”<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] What The Rain Brought [RESPONSE] With a population of a quarter of a million, my city wasn’t technically a small town. But with how insular the districts and neighborhoods felt, small town is the only way I could describe the atmosphere of my Northern Californian city. Since it was made up of mostly upper-middle-class residents it was able to afford things that other, more populated, and “economically diverse” cities couldn’t. Large stretches of nature reserves and open spaces divided each major neighborhood, creating this strange marriage of mundane suburbia, deep forest, and marshlands just beyond our well-manicured lawns. I spent a lot of time in our local nature reserve, a small plain with a few skinny trees that transitioned into a moderate strip of forest. The point of change was marked by the deep scar of a creek splitting the reserve in two, and it was here within the creek where it first appeared. A smooth stone cube, the size of a shed, no entrance, no windows, nothing to identify it. This might come as a surprise but much of Northern California and the central valley region are historical flood zones. People tend to forget that in the decades-long drought that's ravaged the area. There's been a few sporadic storms here and there but nothing substantial. That was until early this winter wherein a single day half of foot of rain fell flooding much of the area. It was the most rainfall recorded in a day in several counties but as the winter rains receded so did the creeks leaving behind whatever the deluge flushed up. I was the first to find it, stepping down into the creek bed now with only a trickle of moving water. It didn’t feel wrong, there was no sense of danger walking up to it. And when I placed my hand on the smooth cold stone there was no jolt of anxiety, no emanating malice. I might have been able to pass it off as a uniquely shaped boulder if not for the fact that I could tell it was hollow. My friend Jamie thought that it was an ancient crypt and was certain we’d find native mummies or artifacts but I’ve never read of natives building structures like this. My father thought the city was behind it, probably something relating to maintenance. Grandpa also thought the city was involved but in a far more nefarious way. “Siphoning off our water, eventually they’ll revoke our water rights and force us to shower once a week just so people like Beyonce and the Baldwins never have to face the indignities of a brown lawn. And even then they’ll talk down to us like we’re what's wrong with the world.” I guess that’s why the neighbors call him a kook. Mom didn’t even react, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten anything from her besides a shrug, I guess that’s why they call her “emotionally comatose.” I didn’t know what to think of the structure so I put it out of my mind for a few days until Martin from down the street brought it up again. “You know a door appears at exactly midnight, it's gone by the time 12:01 rolls around though so you only have a minute before you’re sealed in.” “No fucking way, you expect me to believe that,” Jamie responded. “You and Adrian can come with me tomorrow to see it happen. I’ve watched it for days, and it’s always been consistent.” “What’s inside?” I asked. “I don’t know, I’ve never been inside, and it's too dark to look in. Only someone crazy would risk going in alone.” Martin and Jamie both threw skeptical glances in my direction. I guess I now knew that I had evolved from the weird homeschooled kid to the crazy one. It was brisk the night we snuck out, a moderate breeze snaked through our neighborhood, rattling wind chimes and muffling our footsteps. Street lights were few and far between and most houses only had dim solar garden lights meant to mark a path more than to cleave through the darkness and tonight was especially dark. Moonless and overcast but without the promise of rain, the night sky was smothered by an inky miasma and I too felt like some creeping formless thing weaving through streetlights, undetected. We reached the structure with 10 minutes to spare, flashlights aimed at the side where Martin claimed the door appeared. We let the minutes tick away, silenced by anticipation, even Jamie was too nervous to crack his usual jokes. Midnight came and in the tense a few seconds afterward the door failed to manifest. Jamie was already opening his mouth to speak but Martin simply pointed a finger at the wall. I noticed it then, a portion of the wall had become semi-transparent, and with each passing moment, it became more mist-like until it dissipated entirely. Without thinking I had already started walking towards the door. “Dude what are you doing?” Jamie asked. “We have a minute right?” I said. Martin nodded, clicked a button on his watch, and followed me, Jamie wavered for a moment before jogging ahead. At its threshold, we hesitated for a second, flashed our lights in, and noticed nothing of interest. The inside was just the same as the outside, smooth stone. The only blemish was some graffiti. It looked like gibberish at first but in the moments I had to examine it, I realized it was some kind of foreign language, the characters had enough commonalities amongst themselves that it must have been some kind of phrase. I couldn’t recognize it as any language, it bore no resemblance to any human language, the characters were maddeningly complex, spirals and concentric geometry and patterns involving mathematics far too advanced for it to be human. Someone had left a message here, but what it said or meant was beyond me. I quickly darted back outside, to the protest of my friends, grabbed a rock, and ran back in. Underneath the alien vandalism, I quickly scribbled a single word, “hello.” “10 seconds,” Martin said. Jamie was the first one out, Martin at his heels. I followed, slower than the duo but still brisk, and watched as the wall materialized and solidified before our eyes. The walk home was made with bravado, it didn’t matter if we got caught now, we had seen what was on the inside of that strange building. I couldn’t help but obsess over that alien language and was already planning for a return trip to take pictures. I hoped that somehow I’d be able to decipher the meaning, but by the time I got home a new thought arose within me. If that scrawl had evolved independently from any human language, would it be possible that this cube was bridging two different realms across incalculable space for one minute at dead midnight? The meaning of the scrawl had come to me at this realization, it was a greeting, just like my hello. But the writer was missing which led me to another revelation. There must be some discrepancy between our time, synched space, and unsynced time. Maybe it connected to a place where time ran differently, or some kind of time dilation was in place. Would it be possible then to enter the room, let it seal and wait out the discrepancy and arrive in whatever alien landscape it led to? I went to bed with these thoughts, eager to greet the dawn because I knew I would find my answer come midnight. Being the weird homeschooled kid had the advantage of having the whole day to plan out my excursion into the cube. I didn’t, the yoke of arrogance is difficult to cast off. Though I'm only 14 I already had outpaced not only every child but adult as well. I was in the gifted programs but as public schools began dismantling them my parents pulled me out. My father said it was for the better, he feared me becoming “one of those public school monstrosities.” In the years since I had skipped far enough ahead in grades to be eligible for a university but even the most elite posed no challenge for me so I was holding out on it. Plus I had a life to live, I wasn’t going to let my affliction rob me of my childhood. It was this intellect and my arrogance that led me to believe that I’d be able to escape from this consequence-free. If anything came out of how wrong I was it was my humbling. I found myself in front of that cube ten minutes before midnight. Jamie, Martin, and a half dozen other kids I recognized from around the neighborhood alongside them. “What’s going on? Why are you showing them?” I asked. “It’s safe, isn’t it? Why wouldn’t we?” Martin shrugged. I pondered whether it was truly safe, there hadn’t been an indicator of anything otherwise. But absence wasn’t a guarantee and as the minutes ticked down towards midnight a cold sweat set in. I had come to my assumptions about the cube hastily. What was to say that whatever left that strange alien scrawl wouldn’t come to the same concussion upon seeing my hello? That and I had never considered which way the time discrepancy ran. Was it behind or forward and by how much? What else had I missed? “It’s happening,” Jamie called out. My head jerked to face the cube and the kids gathered around where a doorway was manifesting. I adjusted my backpack and braced myself as the door finally stabilized its existence. It was empty and the kids gathered around but none dared to step past the threshold. Seconds ticked by painfully and the thudding in my chest was starting to subside. I took a tentative step forward as a kid I knew as Sammy found the courage to set foot inside. Seeing no reaction from within he stepped in fully and I let out a sigh of relief that I quickly sucked back in when Jenna’s scream reached a fever pitch. I was too far away to see fully into the building and while the rest of the children dispersed and ran in all directions screaming, I scrambled closer. Angling myself to get a better view of Sammy I saw that he was struggling against the grip of a black tendril and as I inched closer and the ceiling came into view I saw that something amorphous was clinging from it. Made of shadow and some other great abstraction it hauled itself down in one fluid and whipcrack fast motion, drawing Sammy into its mass. It shot out of the room towards a still fleeing Marco and caught him in its appendages. It hoisted the screaming boy high into the air. Its form was inconstant, shifting between highly geometric structures and free-flowing patternless miasma. In one moment it was a million writhing arms and limbs all fighting to break away from each other and within a heartbeat, it was smooth and uniform. It had countless eyes blossoming into existence, taking in a foreign world. I blinked and it had become this massive pale blind salamander that had never known light or warmth in its entire existence. Marco was absorbed into its mass and took off towards a kid that had run down the creek bed towards the dense forest. I was left alone with fading echoing screams and the gaping maw of the cube. Time slowed, and I saw the door starting to materialize as the seconds ticked down towards midnight's end. I made the dumbest decision of my life that night and sprinted into the fading doorway. A half second after I had entered, the door sealed and I was plunged into darkness. I don’t know how long exactly. I let the dark permeate my being, I had a flashlight in my pack and could have dispelled it anytime I wanted. There was a pang of strange guilt though, misplaced or not I felt as if I deserved to sit and stew here. For a moment I felt like I was caught in that stage between awake and asleep, that trance-like atemporal state, and then there was light. My eyes strained and focused on the world beyond the door and it left me mouth agape. I expected alien vistas and cities out of HP. Lovecraft but what I saw was a sprawling endless meadow of yellow flowers. I wavered at the door for a moment, aware of the shrinking window of opportunity to step through. Hesitation was cast aside, I had gotten this far already. I don’t remember stepping out of the cube, one moment I was at its threshold, and the next I was in the middle of green and yellow. The sunlight was harsh, I could tell so by the way its brightness washed everything out, but I felt no heat. I tried to move but found that I was frozen in place and I started to panic. The light dimmed and everything became enshrined in lurid color, I could see the swirling patterns of air currents though they were colorless and the taste of wild mustard greens was upon my tongue. I tried to move once more and found my perspective shift and without warning, I was looking at myself in the 3rd person. The colors intensified and everything blurred together, a bell was ringing somewhere. In the distance, a great sentinel tower loomed and I saw it all together at once. The field of wild mustard and a red and white lighthouse with no coast in sight and my lone shadowy silhouette in the midst. Once again I tried to move despite being disconnected from my body and found the effort futile. I thought if I could just shift around to face the cube, figuring it was behind me. I imagined the perspective and as if pulled into the thought the world warped and shifted. When I regained sight the lighthouse was gone and now in front of my body were rolling hills of yellow and green, a dozen gray squares scattered amongst them. Cubes, all with doors that led elsewhere but I had no way of knowing which one led back to my world. A shadow fell upon the flowers, upon my silhouette. Its position meant it could only have come from the lighthouse. But it was far too big considering the distance and too angular as if it had begun to stretch and warp the second I stopped looking at it. As the shadow grew longer and reached towards my body and I saw the uncountable writhing masses contained within. I was straining to think of a way to escape it, to get back home. These beings are native here, wherever here was. Their movements weren't bound to the same restrictions and limitations I was currently afflicted by, and yet I still found a way to traverse. I looked to the hills and tried several times to recreate the perspective of the meadow from their vantage point. With each failed attempt the creeping shadows grew nearer. They swelled and rose like a tidal wave and blocked out any source of light, a thousand forms screaming and thrashing all coming down in a torrent of agony. Hands and mouths, grasping and gnashing encircled my being at the moment before contact I was spirited away amongst the hills. I had figured it out, not only was time and space here operating on foreign framework but so was causality itself. Physical action in real space had no reaction, but if I knew, or at least accurately estimated where I wanted to project myself in real space, I could. I looked back at the meadow, it was like a ruined painting. On the horizon was a tower of impossible height, evil and warped. Black ink spilled out from it and stained all in its shadow. The meadow, and the sky, all consumed by the malady. Veins of black lighting stretched out across the sky, racing towards me at alarming speeds. But I felt no fear, I knew what the meadow looked like from the perspective of my cube. Black plasma bridged the space between me and the tower but it was already too late. I was in the cube, back in my body, looking across the expanse of a shattered landscape. The entities birthed from the tower cast their tendrils toward me but the door of the cube had already sealed shut, letting me know that I had spent less than a minute in this strange world. When light again greeted me it was dim moonlight and I stepped out into the creek bed now marked in crime scene tape. The proceeding hours were a shit show, with questions from my parents, from the police, and zealous reporters. I kept my story simple, someone ran out from the cube and snatched Sammy and Marco. In the ensuing chaos I was assaulted and knocked out cold and I didn’t wake until the next night deep in the woods and had to find my way home. It didn’t undermine the other kid's accounts since no one believed them that a formless shadow monster took them and that the cube had supernatural properties. I was able to manipulate my father into rounding up parents from around the neighborhood to take sledgehammers to the cube and destroy it. That caused controversy and anger among law enforcement I didn’t care, I had fucked up royally and shown those tower dwellers how to cross over into our world, I needed to have its gateway destroyed. I don’t know where the other cubes led to, hoped somewhere far, but I was also aware that I might have assured the invasion of some other plane by these things. As for the one who crossed into our world, I don’t know. There have been disappearances reported in a few districts downstream from my neighborhood. Rumors say it was the work of a strange shadowy figure but those are just that, rumors. I let myself believe that we’d be fine for at least a while. But that was before new reports predicted a high probability of heavy rains and flooding for the region. We got a drizzle and a lightning storm a few days ago. I hope that should these rains come to pass they don’t dredge up any of those strange structures because now they know how to use them.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Sea Sick on the Grand Sapphire of Tripoli [RESPONSE] When you are at sea anything can happen and i'm someone who survived the worst of the worst. You see I worked for a cruise line as an entertainer for about 13 years. I was a magician and worked a few shows a day. It was the best job in the world. Until it wasn't. What I saw can never be truly explained but I'll do my best.  This is my last attempt to get the story out what happened on the ship that vanished. A ship that now has no record of ever existing now. Over 3000 people gone and to my knowledge, I'm the only one left. I still remember the Grand Sapphire of Tripoli and her final tour.  We set sail from the east coast of the US and were meant to make it to Bermuda. My shows were going great. Mostly old folks went on these cruises so my magic shows were quite easy to entertain. Everything was going great and I even got a date one night in the captains lounge. Things were going perfectly until the first sickness happened. On the 4th night of the cruise a waiter had fallen sick while working a meat carving station. It was a rather nasty illness. Something had caused the man to bleed from his eyes, nose and mouth. It was quite the spectacle as blood gushed out all over the roasted meats. Passengers alarmed all fled the dinning hall and the man was taken to the sick bay.  It wasn't uncommon for crew or passengers to come down with illness while at sea. There was a whole medical staff on board just for these scenarios and with the recent panics over viruses cruise ships had begun to practice even safer restrictions when illness arose.  This was something else though. Something that went from zero to 100 fast. The next day half the dinning hall who had been exposed to the man we're exhibiting similar symptoms of bleeding. One child had gotten the illness and turned the whole water slide a bloody mess as he rushed into the main pool with a flow of blood behind him. On the 5th night over 50 people had contracted the illness and everyone was told to remain in their rooms for in room meal delivery while the ship would undergo a deep clean overnight. Not one crew member would survive the deep clean.  When I woke up the next morning I had awoken to a bit of a hangover. I had decided to rendezvous with the lady I had dinner with the night before. Her husband had been one of the sick and she decided to take advantage of the situation. I being a scumbag had elected to fully support the debauchery. I'm a magician not a priest.  When I stumbled out of the room I noticed things were different. Even this early, during the day, things were typically active. Not on this somber morning. As I made my way to the elevator the door opened and inside was what looked like an elderly man. His face was missing. Just a limp body on the floor covered in blood. The most nauseating thing was realizing that the man's face had been chewed off. It dawned on me when I saw his leg had a tooth sticking out of it. A human tooth.  I decided to take the employee stairs and saw more blood stains. It slowly was turning into a horror movie. I made my way to where breakfast was served for crew. I was trying to find someone to tell me what was going on. That's when I saw it. It was about 10 crew members all face down rapidly moving their heads back and forth. I could hear gurgles coming from something. I by accidentally knocked a cup over and they all turned to face me. That's when I saw our captain. At least what was left of our captain. Those 10 crew members had been gnawing on the captain. I stumbled out of there and took a pole that had been holding a velvet rope.  I jammed it through the doors to keep them at bay. As I made my way down the hall I could hear more gnawing and screams. Feet shuffling around. I knew I had to make it to the decks. I had to find a lifeboat and get off this ship.  I knew where they kept the lifeboats and had been trained in how to release them. I imagined I wouldn't be the only one with this idea. At this point I knew it was survival. I emerged on the decks and could see I wasn't the only one. The problem was it wasn't anyone healthy there. They noticed me and began to run towards me gnashing their teeth. I grabbed the closest thing to me which was a bottle of champagne and bashed in the head of a man.  I just kept swinging until I could make sight of the lifeboats. Blood splatters everywhere. I don't know how many I had bashed in but I just kept pushing forward. Hoping I would never become whatever it is they were.  Finally I made it to the lifeboat. I got in and shut the door and pulled the emergency release. The lifeboat dropped down into the firgid Atlantic ocean. The ship full steam ahead leaving me behind in it's wake. I watched the ship as it sailed over the horizon. I spent a full day in that boat before I saw any other sign of life. I awoke to the sound of fighter jets flying over head. I watched them as they flew in the direction the boat had headed. Soon I could see a fireball just at the edge of the horizon and a large plume of smoke.  Three days later I was found by a passing freightliner. They pulled me on board as I told the crew my story. They were all astonished by what I told them and they recognized that the lifeboat indeed was from a cruise ship. They contacted American port authority and I was taken in by the FBI.  I told them my story and waited for them to come back and tell me about what had happened. Instead of them coming back I was met by a few doctors. They then transferred me to a mental health psych ward. Involuntarily admitted for 6 months.  I spent the first 3 months trying to tell them what I had experienced was real. A boat full of murderous people eating each other. Each time I told my story, the more I felt crazy. They more I started to believe I had made this all up. There was no ship. There were no cannibals. I wasn't a ship magician. They told me I had stolen an old cruise ship life boat and made it all up. After the 6th month I had fully believed I was crazy. I started to repeat the story they told me to believe.  There was no cruise ship. I wasn't a magician. I lied. No one died.  With the meds and my story in check they released me. Things went okay. I became a normal citizen again. The facility helped me reintegrate back into society. For the past year I was normal.  Then last week I got a letter. This was the letter I received: "You weren't the only one to survive. The government lied to you. They destroyed the ship. They covered it all up. Meet me at the coordinates on the back of the photo enclosed. You will be picked up in 3 hours. Be ready to leave. Send out your story to the press before you leave." I reached in the envelope to find a photo of the ship with a giant gaping hole from a missel. The bow of the ship was sinking. They blew up the ship.  So this is my message to you. Tell the world. Share this on social media. The US government killed everyone on the Grand Sapphire of Tripoli. Now you know.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The world thinks I’m crazy but really it’s the world. [RESPONSE] This all started back when I was little. I grew up in a small town where it was frowned upon to be different. My whole family knew from an early age there was something off about me, I was always seeing things. At the age of 4 I told my mom that little people with hats (talking about gnomes) would follow everyone around yelling at them for the things they would do wrong. Being that my town didn’t like different my parents always told me that I just had an imagination in hopes that I would stop seeing and saying these things as I got older. However the older I got the worse it got, I started looking online and I seen all these different answers most saying that I was mentally insane and should be put away. I could never find any clear answers so I just stopped looking and lived with it. This is 8 years ago now. I’m currently 29 and have only been getting worse, I again turned back to the internet but found this group of people like me and we started talking and nobody else knew what was wrong and we were all looking for answers. We looked for so long that I thought it would just lead to another dead end so I left it alone for a bit. That was until one day when it was the worst it had ever been, I had walked into a job interview and seen blood dripping down the walls and dead animals all around as if there was a sacrificial ritual preformed there. I had completely lost it I had a full break down and ended up in the mental hospital. Thankfully I was able to fake it so well from being forced to my whole life I got out in a week. Once I got out I went back to the group and i found out that they had a testing lined up with a scientist that claimed he might know what is wrong. We all obviously wanted to know what was wrong with us so we all went and met this scientist. He led us into this lab and spent 2 months doing tests on us. Things like making us sit in chairs that monitor our brain activity and our blood pressure while we see these things. This one time he had us all take these pills to see if it would stop and it only made us worse. Finally after 2 months of tests and not leaving the lab we got our results. They were baffling to all of us including the scientist. It turns out we all have been seeing the world in it’s true form. The form everyone has been trying to uncover for so long and not one single person has been able to. So all those years we went not knowing what was wrong with us was really just us having a chemical in our brain that others do not. This chemical is one that the brain releases when your young and can see the world for what it is. It’s terrifying to think that we all seen this as a kid but some of us just never stopped producing it.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I brought a radio home from work now im being hunted by hell hounds Pt 2 [RESPONSE] OK so guys i got a bit of an update first and foremost the radio came to life at about 11 pm. Yesterday it buzzed to life making me both excited and uneasy. “Are the batteries in” It seemed a little demanding Once I responded with a “yes” she seemed less wound up and a little more calm with a simple “good” we began our conversation with mostly me prying for answers. Im going to save both of us our time by not bothering transcribing as most of it was back and forths of “I don’t know” and “why don’t you know” Basically, she refused to give her name and couldn’t really describe the creatures as when she was discovered it was only a small operation. whether its military or private she does not know what she does know is they are very powerful. Oh yes shes been taken she doesn’t know where I don’t know where, all we collectively know is she’s still there hiding surviving off of stolen food and water when she gets the chance to enter the kitchen. As for her reason for being there She said she can communicate and interact with all things electric, hence the radio. And the reason I need batterys in the radio is the organisation can track abnormal activity but if I have a functioning radio with batterys it just acts as a normal radio only the outgoing pulses can be tracked and this high tech company is way to protective to allow any siganls leaving there to be trackable so ya aslong as the radio is powered on im in the clear. Oh and on a personal note I got fired. Apparently keeping a radio for 4 days is considered “”stealing company property”” ya that’s about it, its kinda annoying that I have to now find a new job while being hunted by a super secret and dangerous organisation with hell hounds but hey atleast my headaches haven’t acted up in a while. Shes continued contacting me on a 3-4 hour basis which has concerned my family and friend why I keep a radio on my person at all times but orders are orders. Our last call was a tad concerning though luckily I got in the habbit of transcribing our events after second call so it kinda went as follows. Radio: hey you there? Me: ya im about to go hand out CVs Radio: sorry again I got you sacked. Me: sacked? I haven’t heard that outside movies. Radio: oh so whats it called when you get sacked so Me: fired just fired Radio: oh sorry I got you fired Me: no biggy, how are you so? any update on your location? Radio: oh ya about that I em kinda got a little bit lost here and well I may or may not have put the facility on full alert. Me: not good? Radio: Ya not good. they made some small puppy hounds that are in the vents at the moment. Me: have you seen one yet Radio: nah, not yet they cant find me im to fast. Me: oh good Radio: ya basically lived here for a year now im always two steps…… oh shit Me: what hey are you okay Radio: oh shit SHIT SHIT SHIIIIIIIIT And that was that. Im sure shes fine, well she kinda has to be its not like she can realy be caught shes a master at sneaking as she put it. Still I hope shes okay I kinda started enjoying our talks. Okay so I was waiting to get an update from her but I had these weird dreams and I was in a vent system and well I don’t know how else to put it but I think I was her or atleast watching from her pov. She/I was crawling through a metal airvent the cold metal was burning up my knees from friction like going down a slide in shorts I could barely here the set of thuds behind me over my breath but once I had the sound locked in I noticed they were gaining and gaining and gaining until they were right behind me the warm decaying breath all to familiar I turned left into a new shaft and then right but no matter how hard I tried I just wasn’t fast enough my lungs began to hurt, my side in stitches and my knees bleeding I could here yelling from underneath followed by a POP and the distinct sound of metal breaking metal small holes formed all around me leaking light into the otherwise black vents. The creature was reaching for me hearing its teeth chomp near my ankles and a straw like fur rubbing against my exposed skin where it was barely missing me. I knew my luck was running low in a final attempt I turned to kick at it but missed it was hidden in the dark like the fucking coward it was I was kicking blind until i felt my ankle get crushed its teeth cutting into me like a butchers knife feeling my flesh get severed the open air pearsing inside the wound finaly with a tug equivalent in strength to a semi truck I was dragged through the dark. When I woke up my leg was covered in blood but there was no wound. I genuinely believe I was in her head. The fear she felt I can still feel it I can’t calm down and my face feels warm and my heart hurts My mind is all confumbled and I feel distant from my current reality like somethings fogging up my mind like a hard morning after a night out on the town. Luckily I don’t have a job to call in sick for. My radios been completely silent I even tried calling out against my better judgment and her recommendations. Im currently using a library laptop in fear of being tracked though I have noticed a lot more weird stares perhaps im a little paranoid I don’t know, if you know of any orginisation like this please contact me I. NEED. AWNSERS<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Porky Piper [RESPONSE] My wife Ashley and I sipped on whiskey and cokes at my twenty-year high school reunion costume party. Halloween night in the big red barn, a setting I was familiar with from my teenage days of underage keggers behind the haystacks. Dressed as doctor and nurse, we mingled with faces I had not seen for years. A chill climbed my spine when Piper walked through the doors. A woman I bullied one too many times back in school. Still overweight with that fragile smile that made my stomach churn, she locked eyes with me before I could divert my attention back to my wife. “Barrett, you have grown into a fine young man. Or are we middle aged now? I don’t know anymore. I’ve stopped counting,” Piper said to initiate the conversation. “Hi Piper, nice to see you. This is my wife, Ashley,” I responded. Piper’s gazed remained on me until Ashley extended her hand out for a shake. I never had the chance to apologize to Piper after the last harrowing experience we put her through during senior year; she avoided me every time she caught sight of me in the halls. “Listen, didn’t mean to interrupt, but I’m having a little costume after party at my place. I’d love if it you both showed up. It would mean so much.” Piper wrote down her address on a napkin. “l’ll see you there?” “Wouldn’t miss it,” I replied nervously, knowing I should have said no. After Piper walked away, Ashley nudged me. “Who was that? An old fling? I saw how you froze up when she approached.” “Actually, it was this girl we used to bully in high school,” I whispered into Ashley’s ear. “I was young and dumb. You know how it goes. Boys being boys as they say.” “You a bully? I don’t believe it. You’re such a caring guy.” “I just kind of got swept away with it. All that peer pressure from my buddies. Trust me, I’ve regretted it ever since. Never should have picked on that girl.” “Well, we must go to the party now. It wouldn’t look good if we didn’t. She would be heartbroken, you know?” When we arrived at Piper’s house, I was alarmed to discover we were the only people there. She assured us more alumni would be trickling in, but they never did. Ashley was having a blast drinking and socializing, but an uneasiness brewed within me. “So, Barrett tells me he used to pick on you back in the day. I hope you don’t hold any grudges. He’s such a sweetheart nowadays. He will not hurt a fly.” Piper’s body perked up, as a smile stretched across her face. “Grudges? Do you know what your husband and his goons did to me? Tell her Barrett, what is it you all used to call me?” “I’m not comfortable talking about this right now,” I replied, my vision growing fuzzy. “Porky Piper. Porky Piper. Porky Piper,” Piper screamed, as I dozed off. While my eyes were closed, I felt arms grabbing me all around. Piper’s arms. She spoke calmly to me and Ashley while she tied us up with rope. My body felt numb. I was certain she drugged us with the cocktails she made. When I came to, I shot a horrifying glance at Ashley. Her mouth was covered with duct tape, and so was mine. Seated next to each other on the couch, we were not able to free ourselves from the restraints, the rope that bundled us together. Piper sat on the floor in front of the couch and dangled a wire cutter in front of us. Ashley and I squirmed in fear. Piper placed the wire cutter on Ashley’s thigh and proceeded to remove Ashley’s left shoe and sock. “This little piggy withdrew from society.” Piper picked up the wire cutter and inserted Ashley’s pinky toe within it. “But she’s back now.” Vomit drizzled from the tape down to Ashley’s chin, but most of it had to be swallowed back down, as her crying eyes watched Piper cut through the bloody toe and examine it like she just discovered gold. “For each year you tortured me. This little piggy stress eats every day.” Piper clipped Ashley’s ring toe while Ashley flopped around. “She has no control, no discipline when it comes to food.” In total, four toes were removed from my wife. Ashley passed out, as I desperately tried to free myself. Piper took a pig nose mask out from her pocket and pulled the elastic band over her head. “Is this what you see, Barrett? Am I just a pig for you to feed with its own feces? That stunt you pulled. Putting pig shit in my cafeteria lasagna. Do you understand the lifelong humiliation I suffered because of that? Now, when you look at your wife, you will remember me. I want you to suffer.” Piper stood up and left the house. After about fifteen minutes, I fully regained the feeling in my body, and I was able to remove the ropes. I called the cops and applied pressure to my wife’s foot with my shirt. We learned the house we were in was just a rental Piper had booked for the night. By the time the authorities were able to inspect her last known residence, Piper had fled. I have no idea where she is today, but I’m constantly reminded of her presence whenever I look down at my wife’s stump of a foot.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Never Stop for Gas at Night. [RESPONSE] Growing up as a girl, I’ve always been told to be cautious. It didn’t matter if I was going to the mall or leaving from work - I’ve always kept my eyes peeled for anyone acting strange or out of the ordinary. Although nothing had happened to me while doing these everyday tasks, the scary idea of getting kidnapped or worse has always been at the back of my mind. Since I was around 16, I’ve carried at the very least a pocket knife and mace with me wherever I go, just to be on the safe side. My mom was the one that instilled this paranoia in me. I’m not saying I didn’t appreciate it - I’m sure it’s saved me a couple of times without me realizing it, but I can’t go anywhere now without seeing a potential predator. It’s not just men either. I think this way about both men and women, thanks to the internet. Seeing scary videos and stories about couples trying to bait teenage girls to their cars and homes has just pushed this paranoia further and further. In a strange way, I’m glad it did. Getting gas at night was something I did often, which went against basically everything I was taught, but sometimes I forgot to get it earlier in the day and I just didn’t have any other choice. Last night was one of those nights. I remember the price - $3.96 a gallon, and $3.93 after my rewards. I was close to an empty tank and I had the money to fill it up, so I just decided to go until it was full. For some reason, the pump was going pretty slow, but I wasn’t in too much of a rush. I just sat against the side of the truck, watching the price on the screen climb higher and higher. There was a slight breeze and the air was cold, but not cold enough that a hoodie wouldn’t keep me warm. I unlocked the truck and grabbed my hoodie from the backseat, making sure that I didn’t fully turn my back towards the empty parking lot. Once I closed the door, I could barely see a glimpse of my reflection in the back window. It wasn’t only me in the reflection though. With my pocket knife in my hand, I turned back toward the pump. Not too far away, maybe about six feet, was a man. He looked normal, but also a little… beat up, you could say. Not by a person, but by the elements. His clothes were torn and soiled, and his hair sat on his head, matted and coated white with dandruff. Other than that, he seemed like any other guy, just too close to a teenage girl for comfort. “Can I help you?” I asked, keeping a straight face. I didn’t want to smile, to look too friendly. “Got any cash?” He gave me a slight smile, just enough to show his dark and rotting teeth. I tried not to react. Just because I didn’t want to look friendly doesn’t mean I wanted to seem rude either. “No I don’t. I’m using the last of what I have to fill up.” I had some spare bills in my truck, but to be honest, I’ve never given any money to homeless people. Sounds harsh, I’m sure, but it’s better to keep your distance. You never know how they might react depending on what you give them. Plus, I didn’t want to turn my back on this guy to get anything out of the car. “Hm, I see. Sorry to bother you then.” I figured after that, he would walk away. Maybe he’d try and find a busier area with more people to get money from. But he didn’t move, didn’t even blink. He just stood there, staring at me. I just stared back. We probably held eye contact for a good ten seconds before he decided to turn around and make his way back to wherever he came from. He had a slight limp from his left leg, and I could see the soles of his shoes rubbing off. I started to wonder if I should’ve just given him the change. The pump finally finished, after what felt like an eternity of waiting, and I put it back in its holding spot. At this moment, I felt uneasy and kind of tense. He didn’t seem dangerous, but the fact that I couldn’t see where the man wandered off made me uncomfortable. In fact, I really couldn’t see anything. The two streetlights and a few flashing bulbs near the front of the gas station didn’t provide me with much to go off of, and noticing this just made me more freaked out. I had a feeling I needed to get into the car, and fast. I hopped in the front seat, locked the car doors, and checked the back to make sure there was no one back there. Empty, thank God. I turned around to face the windshield and literally almost pissed myself. The man was back, but he wasn’t alone. Next to him, not even two feet away from the front of my truck, was a woman. She was small, maybe malnourished and underfed, and had the scariest smile on her face I’d ever seen. Her teeth were worse than the mans, even though there weren’t many in her mouth to see. I assumed that they were not only homeless, but on some type of drugs as well. It would explain not only the freaky behavior I was witnessing, but their appearance as well. I could barely grasp my key in my hands from shaking, but I managed to start the truck. I turned on the headlights and honked at the pair. Nothing. They didn’t move. They didn’t try to talk. They just had the same smiles on their faces - menacing and sinister. My chest started to hurt. I knew I wasn’t having a heart attack, but God it felt like I could. As I moved the gear shift to reverse, I saw the woman hold something up from my peripheral. I was almost too scared to look, and honestly, I wish I never did. The nose on the girl’s head she was holding was missing. It didn’t look like natural decomposition - not even close. Ripped skin surrounded what I assumed was broken cartilage, and I could tell that her nose was bitten off. Her eye sockets were hollow, and God only knows what they did with her eyeballs. Frozen in fear, all I could do was watch as she ripped the teeth from the girl’s lifeless head, placing them one by one in her own mouth. I saw the blood starting to ooze from her gums as she forced them into the sockets. The man just stood and watched her, his gaze not departing from her. At this point, I was ready to throw up, but I also couldn’t look away. I knew I needed to get help. I grabbed my phone without looking away from the couple, and called the police, reversing my truck and driving off on the road in the process. By the time they asked me what the emergency was, I was in hysterics, snot and tears dripping from my face. I doubt they could understand much of what I was saying, but they at least got the location and that’s all that mattered. I’m not really sure what happened after that. I didn’t really provide any identifiable information about myself, just what I could explain to the dispatcher about what I saw. What I wish I didn’t see. I’ve had a nightmare about it every night since then - I’ve had my own teeth ripped out, saw the woman staring at me through my window with a bloody smile, and thought I was waking up to the man in my room, watching me sleep. I don’t know if this is something I’ll ever get over. If only I could forget it, but I know one thing for certain now - I’ll only be getting gas when the sun is up, never during the night again. I don’t want my eyeless, toothless head to be the next one found all because I wanted to fuel up late at night. I caution you all to do the same as me, and avoid it. At the very least, carry something to protect yourself, maybe something stronger than mace or a pocket knife. Who knows what good that would’ve done for me had I needed it. Most importantly though, keep your head on a swivel, because if you don’t, I guess you never know where your head will end up next.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Have you ever wondered what happens when you die? [RESPONSE] The lab’s under lockdown. It’s been under lockdown for the last three hours. I’m in here alone. It’s just me, the broken vial of the last thing they injected me with, and the corpse of Dr. Blaise. I know what you’re thinking– how can he be a corpse if he’s standing there and pointing at me, eyes wide open? Well, I know because he doesn’t have a pulse. He’s doing his best impression of a manikin, but he’s definitely dead. Believe me. They’ve been killing me over and over. Bringing me back again and again. I’ve become pretty familiar with the process of death, the signs, but it’s never looked like this. Never. The alarms are blaring outside the steel door. I can see the lights flashing red through the tiny window with the crosshatched glass, see the labcoats running by and the lab rats running through them. Screams fill my eardrums alongside snarls and pleas. I don’t know what’s happening out there, but it’s violent. Bloody. People are dying. I prefer it in here by far, but if the smell wafting through the air vent is any indication, I don’t get a choice in the matter. It smells acrid. Like fire. There’s a gentle haze settling across the room, and it’s giving me an ultimatum– stay in here and wait for the smoke and flames, or run out there and risk the madhouse. I try the door. Locked. Next I give the window a glance, but the steel bars covering it tell me it isn’t worth the effort. The tiny room doesn’t leave me a lot of options. I’ve got a steel gurdy, a metal cabinet, Dr Blaise’s corpse, and the vent in the corner that’s six sizes too small for an adult. Maybe if I was four years old I could make it work. Maybe. The lights flicker, going from white to red to dead. The tiny room is suddenly pitch black and I’ve become aware that the commotion outside– the screaming the snarling the fighting– has stopped. Something else has replaced it. Something slow. Methodical. It’s like footsteps but heavier, like if a bulldozer grew a couple legs and decided to take a stroll down the Experimental Research ward. There’s another sound alongside it. Quieter. Coarse. It’s the sound of something being dragged across the dirty linoleum. A voice. “**Come to see the one to be…**” it mutters, skipping like a broken record. “**Ask and ask and you shall see…**” The voice is distorted, like something run through a digital blender and each word it speaks is delivered in a monotonous drone. I take a step backward on instinct. It occurs to me that the footsteps in the dark are growing closer, approaching my little cell at the end of the hallway. My back bumps into the cabinet, and I feel about it in the darkness, sliding open the door and shoving my body inside. It’s cramped, but I manage. The door closes with a thunk. Thunder rings around the room. Thunder and thunder and *thunder*. Something is pounding against the door and I can hear the three-inch steel barrier squealing as it gives way beneath the force of the blows. “**You cut and snipped and tore at me… And now you’ll wear my agony….**” The door offers one last shriek of dying steel. It falls to the floor with a clang that wakes up half the county and a quarter of the next. The bulldozer walks into the room and I hold my breath and close my eyes and even think about *praying* before remembering that people like me, people with my track record– we don’t get the luxury. **Called to us, didn’t he? Called to us to make us be. Now he hides from all he sees, now he hates this tragedy…** I don’t open the cabinet door. I don’t even slide it an inch to take a peek and satisfy my curiosity because the truth is I don’t need to. I can hear just fine. I can hear Dr. Blaise’s stomach being split open, hear the sound of his intestines hitting the floor and the desperate gulps as something makes his inside’s *their own*. I do a good job of keeping quiet. Keeping still. I do a good job of avoiding the death and the blood and the horror, but what I am is human, and that means I need to breathe. And right now there’s smoke filling the room. It’s wafting in from the air vent, and it’s nestling in my lungs. Burning. Scratching. I cough. I cough and before I can stop myself, I cough again. *Jesus.* Like I said: only human. There’s a dull thump and a wet splash. It’s what I imagine the doctor’s corpse sounds like when it's dropped into a puddle of its own blood. What follows are heavy footsteps that tell me I’m going to die. They're slow. Plodding. Something snaps in my brain, and in the span of a moment, six million years of human evolution decide it’s time to flip a coin. Fight. Or flight? I tear open the cabinet door and my eyes find a room that doesn’t exist. *Darkness*. It doesn’t matter because my memories are acting as my GPS, guiding my bare feet across the cold linoleum, through the warm blood and past the monster I cannot see. My shoulder strikes the edge of the doorway and that’s fine because at least I know I’m out of the room. Out of reach. I keep moving. I keep moving down the pitch black hallway that I’ve walked down every day for the last sixteen years. The same hallway that’s painted my dreams. My nightmares. I trip and stumble over dead bodies that are strewn about like discarded litter, and I wonder what happened here. If the experiments went too far. If anybody deserved this. Behind me, the bulldozer resumes its pursuit. It’s still dragging something behind it, but I’m not wasting my time turning around to gawk because I know full well that not all deaths are equal. Some are worse than others. This one could be the worst of all. It takes me six heartbeats to reach the end of the corridor, and by the time I do I'm greeted with a bittersweet surprise: my assailant's done my work for me. The exit door's been torn to pieces, and so have the guards in front of it. Their corpses are everywhere. A little here, a little there. I try not to think about their fractured skulls cutting into my bare feet, try not to think about whose intestines I'm slipping over as I stumble out of the demolished doorway. I try not to think, and then I don't need to try anymore. Because I'm free. Sixteen years locked in a cage, and now I'm *free*. I stumble onto the courtyard grass, panting and wheezing like a man who’s spent his whole life strapped to a chair or walked like a dog. My chest is heaving. My legs are trembling. I gaze back at the research lab, and it’s lit up like a funeral pyre and burning twice as bright, courtesy of a chemical cocktail potent enough to light the flames of hell. Chemicals I’ve tasted. Felt coursing through my veins. Some I’ve even helped design. **Wants to see what he can be and wants to know... Where he can go...** The footsteps grow closer, echoing from inside of the facility and there’s the sound of something being lifted. Swung. Bodies fly from the shadow of the doorway. They crash around me, tumbling through the grass in a shower of blood and viscera. Each more awful than the last. Among them are faces I recognize; soldiers who coerced me into dying, day in and day out. Others are doctors. Old colleagues of mine. **Cast about beyond the veil, sought to find the Holy Grail...** I can’t see it, but I can hear it. I know the creature is standing at the wreckage of the door, painted in the dark of the hallway and I know that it’s watching me. Waiting. My instincts are begging me to keep running, to jump the gate and disappear down the mountain and hope against hope that all of this goes away if I just run *fast* enough, but I know better. The smoke in the sky shifts. Moonlight finds the wreckage of the door. It finds the silhouette standing in the dark– the phantom with the footfalls of a goliath and the voice of a skipping record. But the goliath is thin. Thinner than it has any right to be. It looks emaciated, bent over in the passage with two eyes of gleaming gold and a mouthful of broken teeth. **Questions, questions, asked of me... Answers, answers, never free...** I see it now. I see it and my stomach drops, my jaw trembles and my mind begins to race for a way out. Memories lurch from dusty corners of my psyche. I do everything I can to strangle them, but it isn’t enough. They’re multiplying inside of my mind, infesting me with decades of regret. Agony. I had no choice. I say the words again and again, and each time I do they become more meaningless. The truth is, the only thing I ever had was a choice. The choice to become a monster or remain a man, and I chose to throw away everything to get one step closer to playing god. One step closer to seeing her again: Vanessa. **Paid the price to see this through, but now he knows he knows not what to do...** I try to explain to the creature that the military approached *me*. That they knew about my background in neurology and chemistry. That they knew I’d been attempting to bridge the gap between life and death. I try and *I try* to tell this monster that I only wanted the opportunity to say goodbye to my wife, but the creature doesn't care. It laughs. It stands in the shadows with its cold dim eyes, and it laughs as it heaves a sack from the dark of the doorway, tossing it onto the courtyard grass. The sack shifts. Squirms. It's as though there's something inside of it fighting to get free. The excuses spill from my lips before I ever formulate a thought, more explanations, more reasoning attempting to justify what cannot be justified. “I wanted to help people,” I sputter. “I wanted to help but the military wanted to use the project as a *weapon*. They made me push the patients too *far*. They made me hurt them, but it was never what I intended...” The last words draw out a choking sob. Flashbacks ignite in my mind. Relics long since buried and stuffed beneath sixteen years of trauma and psychological torment. I remember strapping patients to the chair, aided by my assistant, the younger, and still living Dr. Blaise. I remember stuffing their mouths with wood so they wouldn’t bite their tongues as we attached diodes to their skin and pumped their veins with my proprietary compound. We told them they were going to die. *Yes,* they said. *We know.* We told them they'd see a bright light, something coaxing them into the afterlife. This could last anywhere from several minutes to hours. Then, death would take them fully. At this, the question was always the same: *what happens after the light?* The answer never changed. Across a hundred separate subjects we observed that they would find themselves inside of a room. Somewhere familiar. The room would commonly be their childhood bedroom, or a place holding similar nostalgia. In there, they would feel limitless euphoria. Patients described the sensation as an overwhelming sense of spiritual openness, a deep peace that bordered on nirvana. This feeling would be strongest in the room, but would also extend to the rest of the structure– most commonly a house. We called this place their Sanctum. Inside of the Sanctum, dreams became reality. Dead pets would return to life,tails wagging and eyes beaming. Subjects would see lost relatives, visit with distant friends and even reunite with departed loved ones. The Sanctum was everything we'd been looking for. Everything *I'd* been looking for. At that point, I deemed the project a success, citing that we'd learned all that we needed. Death held nothing we should fear. My final request before shutting the operation down was to undergo the procedure myself. To see Vanessa one last time and say goodbye. But the military refused. They wouldn’t allow me to stop the project, nor would they allow me to undergo my own procedure. Their reasoning? A concern that without my expertise to guide the experiment, my team could lose me when I went under. That I might never return from my Sanctum. *We still need to go a little deeper*, they told me. *And we need you for that.* *How much deeper*, I'd asked. *What happens if the subjects leave their Sanctum?* I didn't know. I hadn't the faintest idea but I also couldn't imagine why anybody would *want* to. They all described feeling boundless joy in that place, and I wanted to experience that *too*. I wanted to see Vanessa, to hold her in my arms again and tell her how badly I'd missed her, how sorry I was for never getting a chance to say goodbye. So I agreed. I agreed because the procedure was complex, and not something I could perform on my own without the assistance of my team. I agreed because it was the only way I could hope to find closure in my life. After all, I still had so much to do before I checked out for good. It was at that point, however, that things became difficult. Unsurprisingly, Subjects didn't want to leave their Sanctums. Even after multiple rebirths and extensive coaching, the impulse to remain within the hallowed home proved too powerful to overcome. It was though some fundamental force of the afterlife was exerting its will. It did not want them to leave. And yet, we needed them to. I went back to the drawing board, theorizing multiple solutions, but each one proved a dead end. Until Blaise cracked the code. The theory was simple. Just as we used chemical mixtures to therapeutically kill the subjects, he designed one to overcome the Sanctum's pull. It would transform the Sanctum from a hallowed hall into a regular structure. Nothing special. Nothing capable of locking people within its orbit. Just a house. Nothing more. The results were theorized to be temporary, that just like the chemicals we used to resurrect and kill the patients, they would cycle out of their systems in time. *Harmless*, is the word he used. And he was right, at least about one thing. Removing the Sanctum proved successful at encouraging Subjects to venture into the void of the afterlife, a place we came to know as the Beyond. They described the Beyond as a place not so different from our world. It possessed similar trappings of modern life– cars, skyscrapers, people and birds, but there was something decidedly off about the whole experience. Subjects reported feeling disturbed in the Beyond. Uneasy and unwell. One subject described the experience as a creeping dread. “*With each step I take, I feel shadows falling across my soul. It’s like a darkness is swallowing me up, eating all of the light inside of me and leaving only misery.”* But just what was causing this couldn’t be exactly identified. On the contrary, it seemed to be caused by a great many things at once. For one, the buildings were filled with broken windows, glass littering the ground beneath them. The denizens of this place didn’t seem to mind, though. They’d wander everywhere naked, wide smiles plastered across their faces, their feet mindlessly moving across the glass and leaving trails of blood in their wake. But perhaps most unnerving of all was the fact that these smiling people never spoke a word. Never. Not in any Subject we observed did these phantoms appear to possess the ability or desire to engage in conversation– instead, they communicated entirely through a single vocal action: screaming. The Beyond, it seemed, was full of the sort of abject horror we all feared when discussing death. It was enough for me to give the military an ultimatum: cease this madness or lose my expertise. I was ready to leave. What began as a means to help people find closure had turned into a method of traumatizing individuals. *One more week*, they told me. *One more week of experiments, and then you can undergo the procedure. At that point we’ll have the data we need, and we can shut down the project for good. Deal?* At that point, I still believed the Subjects weren’t suffering anything more than the equivalent of a bad acid trip. That sure, their experience was traumatizing… but fundamentally unable to harm them. In a word, I believed everything was treatable with proper therapy. That the results were impermanent. God forgive me. **Lost within his memories... Oh, how I wonder what he sees...** The voice of the goliath brings me back. The creature's decrepit fingers work at the sack, untying the drawstring. It's humming. Singing to itself. Somehow, the song feels familiar. It occurs to me that it's the song that Vanessa and I shared, the one we played on our wedding day and the one I played when I stood alone, weeping at her grave. “I know you…” I say to the giant, realization dawning upon me. “I saw you... in the afterlife…” A new memory spins in my mind. I’m back in front of the General running the research facility, only this time I’m explaining that I can’t finish the week. *Why not?* he asks. *They aren’t coming back anymore,* I tell him. The Subjects, I meant. Half of them had died after venturing into the Beyond. The second part of the chemical cocktail designed to revive our dead patients had no effect on these individuals, and more curiously, their brain’s also showed signs of significant damage. It was as though portions had been burned away. Those who did return were somehow even worse. They described horrors that I still shudder to imagine, the sort of nightmares that crawl into your memories and refuse to leave. Each and every one of them would come back in tears, or gasping for breath. They’d throw themselves from their chairs. Rush for the door. *No*, they’d beg. *Never again. There’s something out there. Something twisted, and it wants me to suffer its pain.* The description was haunting, but it also presented a question: what was out there, and why did it want these subjects to bear its pain? It was a question I was happy to leave unanswered. We’d already lost dozens and traumatized the rest– there was no need to pursue this madness any further. But the academic part of me *did* ponder what lurked in the Beyond. And sadly, so did the academic part of Blaise. He became enthralled at the idea of discovering this creature, this devil that seemed to live in the forbidden wastelands of the afterlife. He became obsessed with it. I told the General in charge of the project that we needed to close this down before we let the genie out of the bottle, before we pushed too far and found something we could no longer deal with. But he liked Blaise’s idea more than mine. He liked the idea of the military wielding this monster for themselves, of using the destruction of a person’s Sanctum as a means of psychological coercion– after all, if you can convince an enemy that you’ll not only take their lives, but their salvation too, wouldn’t they submit near-instantly? Yes, it proved too tantalizing an advantage for the military to lose. That was around the time we discovered another horrifying reality: that Blaise’s method of temporarily removing a Subjects access to their Sanctum wasn’t temporary at all. Each and every Subject who had undergone his procedure was permanently cut off from their slice of heaven. That meant we weren’t just traumatizing people, we weren’t even just killing them. We were butchering their souls. I put my foot down. Flat out refused to continue this insanity. I told the General that he could do what he wanted with my paperwork because I wouldn’t be coming back for it– I’d never step foot in this awful place again. As much as I yearned to see Vanessa again, I could never do it at the cost of so many. No, I’d find my closure a different way. A healthier way. And then, when I was ready to pass on, I’d see her in my Sanctum when life saw fit. I made to leave, but two soldiers stopped me. The General told me he couldn’t let me go, that if he did I’d just go squealing to the press and put a damper on all the exciting discoveries we’d made. He wasn’t wrong. I planned on blowing the whistle the second I walked out the door. *Our current crop of Subjects have become difficult to gather data from,* the General explained to me. *I’ve got a list of drug addicts on skid row that’d jump at the chance to receive free doses of chemical nirvana, and I’m inclined to give them a call. Fill our stable all over again.* *Fuck you,* I told him. *Don’t you dare drag more innocent lives into this.* *Or maybe we could investigate using children? Their minds are far more malleable. Perhaps… uniquely equipped to deal with the mental stress of navigating the Beyond. What do you think, doctor?* I think I tried to attack him at that point. The memory is hazy because one of the two guards bashed me over the head with the grip of their sidearm, but I do remember begging him not to. *I’ll do anything,* I said. *Use me instead. I know what we’re looking for. I know enough about the Beyond to navigate it… to tell you exactly what you want to know. There's no need for children.* The General agreed. So it was that I became the military’s guinea pig. Every morning I’d be marched into the room I came to call the Death Chamber, and Blaise would fill me with my own compound, spiked with his Sanctum-Destroying addition. Every day I would die. I’d wander the Beyond for what felt like weeks at a time, only to be reborn hours later gasping and crying. And I’d tell them what I knew they wanted to hear. Nothing more. I did that for sixteen years. When I began, I was a young man, or at least younger– now, my hair has greyed. My body is frail. My memory has become a mess of disparate ideas and characters, a puzzle whose pieces don’t quite seem to fit. But this goliath… this monster made flesh is somehow stringing those pieces together again. It’s making sense of the senseless. **Did for me just what I asked... Now I give what he wants back...** Inside the sack, something squirms. A hand reaches out of the opening, followed by a mess of auburn hair. Then, freckled shoulders. A woman tumbles onto the courtyard grass, lying amidst slain researchers and soldiers. She's pale. Shivering. She's my everything. I scramble across the courtyard, hardly believing my eyes as I take Vanessa into my trembling arms. I squeeze her, weeping. My lips find her forehead and pepper it with kisses. I whisper into her ear how much she means to me, how much I've wanted to see her and how hard it's been without her. The goliath leans in, and now that it’s closer I see so many features I missed in the dark. The scar upon its cheek. The crooked nose and the thick patch of hair upon its head. It’s like looking in a funhouse mirror, one stretched and distorted. “Thank you,” I whisper. My cheek presses against Vanessa’s, and her flesh is cold enough that it feels like pins and needles on my skin but somehow, I’ve never felt warmer. Even now, as I sit amidst a circle of dead bodies, I find myself at peace. I did what I could. I did everything I could. In the wake of my imprisonment, the military ordered me to type up field reports each time I ventured in the Beyond. These reports were vetted by Blaise. The logic was that he had known me for years and would easily be able to determine if I was lying about any of my statements. If my information became unreliable, then the military would enact its contingency plan: using children as Subjects. This was something I did not want, and therefore I would comply with their requests. That was what they believed. Indeed, it was what I believed too– at least initially. But somewhere along the line, the situation changed, and I realized that I could have my cake and eat it too. I could put an end to this project, destroy every last person associated with it, and I could do it all while getting my closure. I learned early on that the previous Subjects had been telling the truth. That they were correct to be afraid of the Beyond. It wasn’t just that it was unnerving, it was that it was twisted. Demented. Inside of the Beyond, nothing seemed to make sense, with reality being replaced by a sort of Twilight Zone equivalent. There, birds didn’t fly. They crawled. They used their wings to shuffle across the ground, their broken legs dragging behind them. Cars were everywhere. They drove in haphazard loops, crashing into walls and street lights and even plowing through the screaming denizens of the Beyond. But nobody was behind the wheel. The cars were phantoms, moving on their own volition. These things were all uncomfortable. Disconcerting. But they were nothing compared to the real nightmare of the afterlife. A being I came to know as the Shadow. It was a creature of misery and loathing. It seemed to exist in a cloud of negativity, a miasma that stretched across the afterlife like an inescapable plague. The first time I encountered the Shadow, I’d been recording details on the Denizens. I pondered why they were all naked. Why they moved in such drone-like ways, marching forward incessantly, never stopping to eat or drink, or even rest. And why did they scream? Why were they always smiling and screaming? While pondering these questions, something strange occured. The Beyond began to shake. The buildings surrounding me, the tall skyscrapers absent of life began to tilt and groan, swaying on their foundations. What little glass remained in their windows shattered, raining around me like a blizzard. The Denizens stopped marching and began running-- sprinting from some unseen threat. Some of them crashed into walls, leaving bloody marks from their broken bodies, while others impaled themselves scrambling through the jagged edges of broken windows. I did not know what to do, so I merely stood and waited. And the Shadow found me. A tall, thin goliath that was almost unmistakable: it was me. A grotesque approximation, but fundamentally, this creature was me. It took me into its hands and my limbs screamed with pain as it began to crush my very bones to dust. Pain… that was something that one rarely felt in the afterlife. All aspects of it seemed so dulled, like distant memories… But the pain this creature imparted was more real and more agonizing than anything I’d felt in life. When I returned from that expedition, I begged Blaise not to send me back. I wept and pleaded, but both he and the General found my discovery to be too remarkable to abandon. They couldn’t wait to strap me down again, to pump me full of the afterlife compound and send me back into hell itself. I think they believed the Shadow to be some sort of angel. A sort of reaper that wrote the laws of the Beyond, and perhaps our Sanctums, but even then I knew better. Still, they wanted it for themselves. The idea of wielding such an entity, of manipulating it and turning it against their enemies likely proved too tempting a prospect to ignore. Before I knew it, I was back in the Beyond, back in that fractured wasteland where hope goes to die. Again and again. For years. I spent my time there running from the Shadow. I’d scramble with the Denizens whenever its thunderous footsteps approached, I’d hide under tables, in closets or even dash into still-driving cars. But it was never enough. Sooner or later, the Shadow would always find me. And when it did, it would torture me. The torture would be unique during each encounter, never allowing me the comfort of predicting the pain, acclimating to it. Once, it snapped my bones one by one. Another time it filled my eyes with broken glass. Each time it hurt me, I pleaded for mercy. I begged and I begged not to suffer its twisted delights, but it never cared to answer me. It merely conducted its business with a silent determination that bordered on robotic. For a long time, I wondered if it was capable of proper communication at all, or if it was merely serving some predetermined function. Until the day it answered me. I asked why it had dedicated its existence to torturing me, and it told me why: because I had spent my life torturing *it*. It was then that I learned our Shadows are more than devils. They’re guardians. Gatekeepers of our own personal Valhalla. They exist to keep order, to act as shepherds to the actors that play the parts in our Sanctum-induced fantasies. I discovered that each Denizen was a person from our memory, that they wandered aimlessly until called upon, and then they'd don the identity of whoever we desired. Perhaps they'd become a cherished teacher from childhood. Maybe an old friend. Maybe even a lost lover. And the Shadow is the maestro that makes the play go on. It does this because it has no choice– when you suffer, it suffers. It seeks to fulfill the whims of your Sanctum because to do otherwise means personal pain. The Shadow and Sanctums are sort of batteries, you see. They each receive a charge throughout your life, with the Sanctum being charged by your positive experiences– your moments of hope, joy, and love, and the Shadow being charged by the negative, those moments of self-loathing and grief. It’s why our emotions are fleeting. Why once they come, they seem to vanish in minutes or hours. They’re being fed into our own personal reserve– a reserve that exists inside of billions of individual pocket dimensions. Where these dimensions come from and how they first came to exist isn’t something I know, but I do know one thing. They’re real. I know this because I’ve helped people travel to them. Every time I injected my serum into their veins and allowed them to die and return again, I was sending them to an entirely new dimension independent of our own. But I didn’t stop there. No. I also helped something travel from that dimension to our own. A creature born of negativity and hatred. A Shadow. **Bottled up your misery, and now you take your leave from me...** I gaze up at the goliath and I say my own name. “Yes, Andrew. The link should be broken… you are free from my pain.” Even as the words leave my mouth, I have no idea what the consequences will be. When I die, having no Sanctum and no Shadow, where will it leave me? The wasteland of the Beyond? Or will even that be gone, without its caretaker? I do not know. All I know is that the horror of my experiments have been laid to rest. The worlds of life and death are once again separate as they were always meant to be. I write this now not to encourage others to follow in my footsteps and take up my research, but rather to heed my warning: some mysteries are better left unsolved. **Goodbye.** “Goodbye.” I watch the goliath rise up to its full height, and with a single spring of its legs, it leaps into the dark of the woods. Gone. I do not know what it intends to do here in our world, but it is my hope that without the torment of my own negativity, it will find its own sort of peace. In the meantime, I look down at the peace that I’ve found. Vanessa. She’s just the same as I remember her, the same as the day she died. I run a finger along her pale jaw, and her eyelids flutter. I watch her limbs twitch and her body shift as she awakes from her slumber. It takes me back to lazy Sundays in bed. It reminds me of those mornings we’d sleep in, where I’d wipe the sleep from her eyes and hold her close, wondering how my life could possibly be so perfect. “Hello again, darling,” I say. Vanessa looks up at me for the first time in sixteen years. She smiles. She smiles, and then she .<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I moved into a new house. Some strange things happened to me [RESPONSE] Last week I moved into a new house. It was something I’d been waiting my whole life for, because buying your own place is a … pretty big staple for most people. Putting all of my stuff in boxes and getting out of my brother’s smelly apartment was the best part of all of this, and I remember the day I moved in as the best day of my life. Looking back, though, I may have rushed into things a little. Ever since I moved into the house, I’ve been experiencing some strange things. Well. Strange is an understatement, really. Here’s what’s happened: >The day after I moved into the house, I tried taking the numerous paintings on the walls off. They were pretty graphic, and I didn’t want to be looking at them when I had dinner or was about to go to sleep–there were two in my room alone. And it would probably be better if they were small–I could pass them off as “antiques” or whatever, but one in the living room nearly spanned the whole wall. That’s 10 feet by nearly 12, and I wanted to get rid of it. > >I tried pulling it off first, thinking there were hooks or something there–that was not the case. So I grabbed a plier and a hammer, and I tried a couple more times, but it wouldn’t budge, and there was a low creaking sound coming from the wall, so I stopped trying to pull it off because I was worried I’d damage the drywall. I tried to pull off other, smaller paintings (there are about sixteen in total), but when I made my fifth attempt at doing so, it was like the house howled. The walls shook, and the TV I’d painstakingly mounted fell and shattered on the floor. > >At that point, I decided to just leave the paintings be. It wasn’t like I’ll be having guests over anyway for a while, and I can always figure things out with that later. >My neighbor came by with a pie as a welcome thing and invited me to a party that they apparently have every week. I agreed to drop by, and put the pie on the kitchen counter as I went to unload some more stuff from my boxes, like some extra clothes and furniture I got from Ikea. > >Also, I managed to find a room upstairs that didn’t have one of those fucking paintings–it’s really small and smells like burned bacon for some reason, but that’s just a minor pain in the ass, compared to everything else. So I slept there because I was so tired from unpacking for a couple of hours, and when I came back downstairs to get the pie, I noticed that nearly half of it had been eaten. > >To my knowledge, I don’t have a sleepwalking problem, so I checked the whole place to see if there were any intruders, which there weren’t, but I called a home security company and ordered some alarms for my home–yelled a bit on the phone because I was scared and they told me these alarms normally had a two-day wait before installation– and then called the police and told them I’d thought there’d been a break-in. It was embarrassing to say the least, because there wasn’t really anything they could do about it except tell me to be more cautious. > >So I got some home security out of it, but I’ve been scared since, and I don’t go to bed anymore without triple-checking the locks on the front and back doors, and making sure every window is shut. >I mentioned the neighborhood party, right? > >Well, it was this Sunday, so I went, and it was pretty fun. They had a barbeque and cupcakes! I have a horrendous sweet tooth, so I ate like twenty of the latter and skipped eating anything of the former. There are a lot of nice families here–some of them didn’t show up to the party because of a family tragedy, so the woman who gave me the pie–let’s call her Alex–just told me a little bit about them, and then offered me some beer. I had a couple, so when I got home–nearly 1:30 or a similar time–it took me a bit to open the door, which turned out to be a good thing. > >When I opened it, what I saw nearly gave me a heart attack. It was … my dead body, but I’m alive, so it couldn’t have actually been me. It looked like a proper murder scene, though, with blood splattered all over the walls, and the body propped up under the wall with the gigantic painting on it. I blinked, closed the door, and then opened it again to find nothing there. > >I probably just hallucinated, but it was really fucking unsettling, and paired with everything else, it scares me. Maybe my house is fucking haunted, but I can’t exactly move out right *now*–it hasn’t even been two weeks, and the house is pretty nice, beyond the paintings and the weird smell in my new room. It has three bedrooms, and two baths, which is great for it being dirt cheap. I’ve started wondering just *why* it was so cheap, though. My best guess as of right now is that the previous owner, a Mrs. Blumsey, went through similar stuff, had enough, and decided to move out. I’ve tried contacting her, but she wouldn’t pick up, and I don’t have her email or her family’s number, so I’ve just left her some texts in all caps and I hope she sees them and responds. The agency that sold me the house apparently moved states–I did a Google search and called them up, and apparently they only operate in Florida. I do not live in Florida. It’s just all a very *weird* bit of affairs, and I feel like things will only get stranger, which I do *not* want to happen. I’ve started thinking the house doesn’t like me, but it also doesn’t hate me. Yet. I haven’t slept in a bit, so I’m going to take a nap. Maybe I’ll get up and investigate more, or straight up call an exorcist. I'll put an update here when that happens.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Before taking revenge, always dig two Graves. [RESPONSE] I rarely went out drinking. Never by myself and only If I was invited out by friends or co-workers and having a few, but I never had the goal of getting drunk. On a cold fall night, I hesitated outside a bar I’ve never entered before watching my breath come out in white puffs. I wanted to get drunk that night. Just black out the next few hours no matter the cost. This wasn’t like how I normally felt but my life now didn’t feel normal. After that day it was as if the world shifted into a darker one and I couldn’t return how things were before. A weight of guilt pressed on my back and into the bar. I sat alone at the wooden bar half listening to the random soccer gamer re-run on the mounted flat screens off to the side. I started off slow with a beer or two, letting myself feel miserable for a time before I drank something heavier. Picking at the damp label on the bottle, the dark feeling that drove me into this place started to overpower the rest of my senses. Someone sat next to me at the bar and ordered a beer only to find himself a little short. He looked through a wrinkled grey suit jacket for a few seconds muttering that he had more change somewhere. On reflex, I put down a few dollars on the counter to cover his drink and a tip for the bar tender. The man turned his head towards me and gave a half smile as thanks. My head a bit hazy from the drinks already but I sobered up a small bit seeing the man’s face. A shock went down my spine, some sort of instinct telling me to run. I shook is off wondering where the hell that feeling came from. He didn’t look dangerous or the kind of person you should avoid in a dark alley. His hair grey and pushed back with some strands coming loose making him look to be overdue for a haircut. His face didn’t look old enough to be fully grey. A few wrinkles appeared at the corner of his mouth when he smiled making me think he was only ten years older than myself. His grey suit jacket and scuffed shoes made him appear like an underpaid office worker going to the bar for a drink after a long day. I brushed off the first jolt of that odd feeling seeing him and got back to drinking. I thought he wouldn’t want to talk and just have his beer then leave. I sensed eyes on me when I downed the last of my drink debating on getting something stronger. That dark feeling came back, slowly drowning out the sounds of the bar. My stomach twisted and hands trembled slightly with images of the news report coming to my mind. The reason why I came wanting to get blacked out making my mouth tasting bitter. “Having a bad night?” The voice cut through my feelings causing me to swim back up through them to the present. The man sat backwards on the stool to lean against the bar and place both elbows on the counter. His head titled in my direction and a half smile on his face. His voice sounding as if he smoked a pack every day of his life since he’d been born. His tone so low I was surprised I even heard him. Here I thought talking to random strangers over a drink was something that only happened in movies or books. I’ve never went out of my way to talk to someone while out in public, that was for sure. “It’s complicated.” I told him, looking away feeling far too raw. “You covered my drink. The least I can do is listen.” The stranger offered with another smile that unnerved me. His body relaxed and yet he gave off the air of a hunter. He wanted to hear the reason why I felt so miserable for his own enjoyment. “What are you, a therapist?” I shot back with a small sound of displeasure. “A therapist would cost a lot more than half the price of a single beer.” He replied, the smile turning into something a bit warmer. I hated the fact I laughed a little at his answer. Talking to a random stranger was safer than getting completely trashed that night. I doubted he would honestly care about anything I said and just wanted to pass some time. I collected myself trying to figure out the best way to word what got me in this downward spiral. “I worked at a restaurant during the day. I have a night job so those shifts were fine for me. The restaurant normally got busy at dinner time and the tips were better so I tried to pick up a night shift when I wasn’t at my other job. A new girl started a month ago. Abby she... Wasn’t even twenty yet." I needed to stop talking for a moment. My throat getting tight and the words not wanting to come. The stranger waited patiently, his bottle of beer long since dismissed for something much more interesting. “I didn’t know what went on at the night shift. The night manager really acted creepy around all the younger girls they hired until the quit because of him. I found out about it when I took a later shift and saw him push past Abby and touched her on purpose. I threatened to kick his ass if he did that again and he threatened to fire me. I think seeing someone defend her made Abby feel better about opening up about what the guy been doing. She dismissed most of it as accidents though.” I stopped to drink the rest of my bottle hating how this story turned out. The man leaned back a little, wanting to hear more but worried if he pressed, I would shut down. I knew telling him all of this didn’t mean anything. It wouldn’t change the past or bring back a poor girl that did nothing wrong. “I went to the owner and brought proof of what went down. He fired me shortly after and I figured out then the other manager is his cousin. A man who already did time for stalking and assault and should never be around younger girls. I... started to get ready to sue them for firing me for no reason. That doesn’t matter now. I should have focused on getting her to a safe place, or drag the cops over before....” I stopped again, my stomach turning. “Before?” The low tone came, the man leaning down as if we were sharing a secret. “I heard on the news Abby was found dead, strangled and assaulted. Jesus, she was only nineteen. If I said something to the right person, she would be alive. I can’t stop thinking about that. I should have done so much more for her.” The man leaned back, mentally chewing on what I told him. I didn’t expect him to say anything comforting. I wanted to punish myself and telling the story hurt. Not enough though. It just wasn’t fair a girl lost her life and the man who did it wasn’t arrested yet. They claim they don’t have enough evidence but by the time they do, he’ll be long gone targeting another girl. “I wonder if some people go to church because they relate to the whole dying for others sins idea. You can do nothing wrong in life and yet feel guilty for others actions. Here you are blaming yourself for a death and yet you did nothing to cause it. Is your ego so large you think you’re on the same level as the son of God?” He was still leaning against the counter, a smug look on his face. My face flushed red and rage filled up in my stomach. I was to blame for at least some of what happened and this guy tried to twist it all around. I wanted to punch that look off his face. Seeing my rage, his face only brightened. I realized that I felt something besides self-pity. He wanted me to get angry at someone besides myself. “You’re an ass, aren’t you?” I asked, my rage simmering down. “You figured that out fast. Do you smoke?” He pulled out a package of cigarettes from his suit pocket and I shook my head. I quit a year ago when I couldn’t afford them. “No, not anymore.” I said wondering if he was just going to leave if I refused to have a smoke with him. “One won't hurt yah. Come outside and clear your head.” A hand landed on my shoulder. For some reason, I listened to him. I never talked to strangers, let alone follow them to the parking lot of a bar to accept a cigarette. The man pulled out a cheap orange disposable lighter that needed a few tries to get it to work. I shuddered in the cold, wrapping my arms under each other to stay warm. The smoke break and the chilly air did clear my head a little. Oddly enough, I felt better after I recovered from hacking up a lung from taking a drag for the first time in over a year. “It’s not your fault you know. The only one responsible for that girl’s death is the one who took her life. I pressured you into smoking, but you made the choice to come outside. Even if that man had a gun to his head and it was his life or hers, he would still be the one who choose his life.” I wasn’t expecting that kind of talk from someone who looked as scruffy as he did. I coughed again, the freezing air and smoke hurting my lungs. I thought about what he said. It all made sense, and I knew what he was getting at and yet I couldn’t accept it. If I’d just got her to somewhere safe a girl, I barely knew would be still alive. How could I not be to blame for that? A dangerous glint came to his eyes when he knew I simply couldn’t forgive myself. “If that man gets arrested, would it make you feel better?” He questioned. His voice took on a different tone then before. A hint of excitement in the words. He reminded me of a spider watching a fly get closer and closer to the web. The question a lead up to a trap I wasn't aware of just yet. “Yes.” I said right away. My head turned feeling the weight of the lie. “No. He’s alive, she’s not. How is that fair at all?” My words sounded thick in my mouth and my shoulders shook from emotion. I played it off as if I was just cold. I didn’t turn around when the other man took a step closer. He was right behind me; I could smell the smoke of his cigarette mixing in with my own. Alarm bells went off in my head and yet I didn’t leave or move away. Goosebumps rose on my arms my body tense waiting for his voice. “Would you like to even the score?” The words came on the back of my neck, and cemented into my brain. My heart twisted over the truth of it all. I did want to make it fair. I wanted the killer dead. I didn’t have any say in the matter though. I wasn’t Abby’s family, just a co-worker for a short while. I had no right answering the stranger at my back. The answer still came. “Would you... Do that for me?” I asked, carefully looking over my shoulder unaware of what kind of person I just met. His grey eyes flickered in the darkness. A silver light came but only lasted long enough for me to assume I was seeing things. His mouth turned into a smile and for some reason, I thought his teeth looked too sharp. I never should have spoken to him. Getting drunk and wallowing in my grief would have been a better outcome of the night. Besides the whole moral debate, I risked getting arrested for murder if this man actually went through with my request. “I’ll take care of this for you. You did cover for my drink. And don’t worry about the police being involved. The way I do things never cause the ones who hire me to get in any legal trouble. But I do ask for you to be present during the confrontation.” He started to walk around me and searched around his suit jacket looking for something. He handed over a card with his number hand written on it, the scrap of paper feeling heavy in my hand. My brain reeling from the idea of what I agreed to. “A man’s life for half the cost of a beer...?” I said, mostly to myself. “People have died for less. That man didn’t think much of that girl’s life, now did he?” I agreed with that statement. My cigarette already burned out leaving no reason to stay outside. I still had time to clear my head and cancel all of this. I told the other man the name of the manger, although he could have easily found it by checking today's news. He walked off into the night with a promise to call in the next few days. I wanted to regret what I just put into motion. Abby’s face and thinking of her parent’s needing to bury her removed all feelings of doubt. That man needed to be taken care of before he hurt another person. Turns out, we didn’t stop that from happening. The call came two nights after I met the man at the bar. I wanted to believe I dreamed up the entire encounter. An unknown number came through on my cell. Right away I knew it wasn’t a scam caller. I let it ring for a moment, letting my thumb hover over the screen. “You doing anything tonight?” The voice asked, not even bothering to confirm he got the right number. We didn’t even introduce ourselves yet and we were now planning a murder. “Tonight?” I question, pulse racing. “Best to get it done and over with. Unless you have something more important to do. Got a hot date?” He finished the question with a faint laugh. Still a chance to back out I reminded myself. I shook my head and steeled my resolve. My entire body wanting to run from my phone but my brain forcing to stay still. “We can do this tonight.” I told him, the words weighing on my shoulders. “Great, come and pick me up at the bar we met at. I don’t have a car.” He hung up, leaving me to stew on what I was doing. We were going to kill someone. Did that put me on the same level as the manager? No, I decided. He assaulted Abby then killed her. I felt positive the manager only strangled her when he panicked thinking she might report him to the police. That man did not deserve the freedom he killed a girl for. My muscles tensed the entire drive to the bar. The sun already set due to how late in the season it become. No one else really out on the roads and that suited me just fine. Every time a car passed by it felt like they knew what my plans were for that night. That a driver would pull over and call the police to stop us. No one but myself and the accomplice knew of the plan though. I saw him waiting outside and didn’t stub out his cigarette when he got into the passenger seat. He rolled down the window to let the smoke out. I hated the idea of my car smelling of smoke, but was too wired to bring it up. “Should we uh... give each other our names?” I finally asked. He put a location in his phone and put the volume up for the directions so I knew where to go. His face turned into a smile that didn’t suit someone on the way to do such a grim task. “You don’t need to give me yours but I go by Graves.” He explained. I stopped at a red light and looking him over. Grey suit jacket, grey pants, grey hair and eyes. The color reminded me of a gravestone. Rolling my eyes, I focused on the road again. “Isn’t that a bit on the nose?” I said causing him to laugh a little. That calmed me enough to keep driving. The GPS directed us to a regular neighborhood. One a bit more run down than other but still a place where people can raise their kids. The grass on each lawn a different length showing no HOA put up shop here. I parked across the street from the address given. All the blood rushing from my limbs to my head thinking how we were going to do this. Were we going to what? Break in? Shoot him? Stab him? Would it be bloody? The lights were on so we needed to wait until the ones inside went to sleep. What if he lived with someone else? I didn’t get a chance to ask any of these questions. Graves got out of the car and started to walk right over to the house. “Hey, wait!” I called after him. He already reached the front door by the time I got halfway across the road. He knocked and patiently waited. Really? He was just going to knock? An older women opened the door and my heart sank. We had the wrong house, I knew it. We needed to get the hell out of there. To my horror, he pushed past her, calling out the manager’s name. This already turned into a huge mess. The women didn’t notice me and more worried about the strange man inside her house. I stopped at the open doorway as if an invisible force field kept me out. I pushed past it, entire body itching. “Graves, what the hell are you doing?” I questioned but my voice lacked any force. I saw the women and wanted to go over to her to explain I was going to drag the intruder the hell out of her house. A sight caused me to freeze. Graves suddenly started to run through the open doorway, a second person easily heard running towards the back door. In under a minute, he came back dragging my old night manager into the living room by his shirt collar. The women started to scream, begging us to leave and demanded to know what we wanted with her son. I couldn’t answer her. I never imagined another person getting dragged into all of this and felt lost. There was no way I could tell her we arrived to kill her son. But Graves could say those words. “This man killed an innocent little girl so we decided he shouldn’t be able to live anymore.” He answered in such a calm voice it caused my blood to turn to ice water. The mother threw herself on the manager, making Grave’s to let go of his shirt. Neither of them tried to run as she sobbed, holding her adult son. “Don’t! He's the only thing I have left of my husband! I can’t lose them both!” She begged in a heavy voice. I honestly didn’t care about that. This man should be in prison and because he wasn’t a girl died. She wasn’t entitled to keeping her child when that meant another set of parents needed to bury theirs. “She was a little slut that-” Graves didn’t let the man finish his sentence. He kicked out his foot, smashing the manager’s nose with his heel. Blood sprayed and poured down his face. The nose broken from the kick from the looks of things. The next few moments went by so fast none of us really had a chance to process it. The manager grabbed a gun that he hidden in the waistband of his sweatpants. His mother saw the weapon and threw herself into a struggling match trying to get it away. She didn’t want to watch her son kill anyone, or watch someone hurt her little boy. I took two steps forwards ready to end this fight and just leave. All noise disappeared to be replaced by one muffled pop between the two of them. We all became as still as statues. Graves staring down, his grey eyes wide in an unreadable emotion. The mother fell to the side and I ran over to her, frantic. Blood soaked through her dress from a small point in her chest. My hands flying to the spot, putting pressure on it in a vain attempt to save her life. Warm blood seeped through my fingers making them feel slick and sticky at the same time. I cried, begging for someone to call for help. The others in the room not moving in the slightest. Graves broke first. A small snicker of a laugh came, then another. Soon he bent over to let out a terrible wheezing laugh. I hated him in the moment for that. I wanted to avenge Abby, not get another innocent person killed. His name clicked and I realized he really picked something incredibly accurate for his gruesome hobby. His laughing fit made the manager snap. He turned the weapon on Graves, getting one shot off. The man turned into a blur of grey. Suddenly he was on the ground behind the man with the gun, holding his wrists by wrapping his arms around the other man. I watched Graves force the manager to bring barrel of the gun ever closer to under his own chin. The manager struggled but Graves didn’t even look as if he out that much strength into forcing the man’s arms back. My brain caught up too slowly. I shouted for him to stop in the same moment the gun went off a second time. Graves stood up, wrinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes from a wide smile. Two dead because of me. I never should have spoken to this man. “She’s dead. Let's go.” Graves said in a soft voice that made my skin crawl. I looked down at the mother, he eyes still open but nothing behind them. I couldn’t move my legs. Nothing happened when I told myself to stand up. The other man grabbed a hold of my upper arm and forcefully made me stand. Step by step, we let the house. I faintly wondered why no one called the police yet or came to see what happened due to all the noise. I was shoved into my passenger seat, Graves starting the car to leave behind the crime scene. We drove for an unknown amount of time. My brain not processes anything because of shock. I got dragged out of the car again and into a bathroom. I finally realized he parked at a truck stop and wanted me to use the bathroom sink to wash the blood of my hands. Seeing the dark color staining my hands I nearly got sick. I hurried over to the line of sinks and didn’t bother with soap. I just let the hot water run over my hands, scrubbing with tears coming to my eyes. It stayed at the sink for a while. Using as much soap as I could and yet the blood stuck. My hands became raw from scrubbing but I didn’t stop. I let out a sound of fear when Graves stood behind to wrap his hands around mine. He forced them under the water, keeping them still. He also turned the temperature down so I stopped burning the layers of skin off of them. “Don’t burn yourself. Let them soak. Blood gets under your nails and stays for a while.” His voice right beside my ear making my body shake. Having him like this looked so similar to how he forced the manager to shoot himself. The embrace held a dark undertone instead of comforting. My eyes went to the mirror and nearly fainted seeing a shadow came over his face. His pupils shining a bright white in the dark. A light flickered off in the bathroom, then another. The room turned pitch black with only two pin pricks of white lights coming from his eyes. A hot breath came on my neck. I jerked back my hands only to have him interlace his fingers through my own making them stay under the running water. My heart stopped for a second when another set of eyes appeared in the mirror. Then another more of those pin pricks of lights swam out through the dark. I heard the sounds of the faces appearing at my back but could only see those lights. Each head darting back and forth, twisting into each other. Soft sounds of different animals echoed through the small bathroom almost overpowering the running water. “I haven’t eaten a good meal in sometime. Would be so kind as to spare-” Graves voice changed. It sounded deeper and rough, almost inhuman. He thankfully didn’t get a chance to finish the question. A trucker opened the bathroom door, the lights coming back on the moment the other person stepped inside. Graves returning to a human form, and his body tensed when we were caught in such an odd position. Through my fear I realized the other man was still holding my hands from behind. That made the whole situation look very different to the newcomer. “Uhh, I can leave if you guys want to... Finish what you’re doing.” The trucker offered in an embarrassed drawl. “We were just leaving.” The monster of the man said almost sounding embarrassed. He grabbed me around my waist so we could flee the bathroom and back to my car. I didn’t get inside, just leaned against it. Slowly falling down the side and to the ground. Wet hands starting to freeze in the night air. The sensation giving me something else to focused on. “Sorry for that little moment. I really haven’t eaten much in a bit. Lost control for a second.” Graves apologized and sat on the curb nearby. He pulled out a smoke but his lighter gave out on him. He used a set of matches he picked up from some hotel or casino. I should have got the hell out of there but the night drained my strength. “That woman is dead. I brought you there. I killed her.” I said finally pushing the words out. “Her son bought the gun. Grabbed it. Kept his finger on the trigger. Killed a girl that caused you to be upset enough to bring me along. He’s more at fault than anyone.” He offered. “Then why can’t I forgive myself?! Why don’t I feel better at all knowing he won’t hurt anyone else! Why am I...” My words faded and I broke out into tears. Hard sobbing that hurt my chest. The break down so heavy and hard it only lasted a few minutes. My body couldn’t keep up crying at that pace. The other man didn’t say anything or look disgusted by my sudden break down. He lit another cigarette off his nearly finished one. Walking over, he bent low to place the one end so close to my lips he nearly forced it in my mouth. “You’re a good person. And I’m not. I like watching people like you go through shit like this. If you’re going to hate anyone, hate me for even offering to kill that man in the first place.” I accepted the smoke, hurting my lungs so soon after I nearly busted a rib from sobbing. I wanted to hate Graves but he made it very hard when he sounded so damn gentle. He straightened up and I punched his leg for giving so many mixed signals. He took the hit but skittered away before I could get him again. “Now what?” I asked feeling exhausted. “I leave. You never seen me again. You’ll never be legally reasonable for their deaths and you’ll blame yourself over what happened for the rest of your left.” He explained with a shrug. I stared at him, trying to figure him out. He wasn’t human, that was for certain. I oddly accepted that idea right away. It was natural for a monster to kill and hurt people without a second thought or reason and yet a feeling nagged in the back of my mind. He was a monster. No human could ever see him as anything but that. The ash on my cigarette dropped on my pants and I let a small ember slightly burn my jeans. The only way Graves made connections was in a negative way. I would never really be able to forget about this night, and deep down he wanted that. Maybe more than he wanted to have fun watching others die or suffer by his own hands. “You’re a pretty lonely person, aren’t you?” I asked. My words caught him off guard. I don’t think anyone ever asked him such a thing before. An expression came over his face that didn’t suit him in the slightest confirming my theory. He shoved his hands deep into his pants pockets trying to thinking of a way to dispute what I said. “I need to get going. It's not best if I hang around you this hungry. I might just take a bite and that won’t do at all.” I didn’t argue over him leaving. He mentioned he didn’t have a car but I knew he would have no problem getting to wherever he needed to be next. I debated on calling the cops, then decided against it. If he wasn’t human, he must have a way to sway the police in the way he wants. No, Graves would keep travelling around offering the same deal to people like me. If for some reason you come across him, you really need to keep his name in mind. Taking revenge always ends up with collateral damages. Even if that mother didn’t die that night, she would have lost someone she loved. Death ripples outwards. Regardless if the person is loved or not, death changes the world in ways you might not understand. You just need to decide if you’re able to deal with the unforeseen aftermath of your actions.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm an archivist for a private university. I found some strange tape recordings. [PART 6] [RESPONSE] [[PART 1]]( [[PART 2]]( [[PART 3]]( [[PART 4]]( [[PART 5]]( [[FINALE]]( Naissance here. I had to leave— that’s what I told myself. I felt like that man was a threat. Not only was he threatening me, but also the recordings that we’ve explored together here, in these posts. I am now convinced that to destroy them before we reach the end would be a massive disservice, not only to all of you, but to finding the truth. I only hope that the man didn’t catch wind of my deception, and knew where I was heading. Who knows what this organization is capable of… I knew that Clara was hiding something when we first talked. The fact that she had been looking for a ‘gateway’ herself; all these years. The guilt she must feel for leaving her husband to die. It was all starting to make sense. I knew how she felt. Listening to all of these tapes— I wanted to go too. I wanted to go to *The Place*, even knowing the dangers. Just the mere existence of such a thing, it’s… *fascinating*. I had to join her in her search. Of that I knew. I had a productive spurt as soon as I got to the motel. Therefore, two transcripts today. It finally feels as though everything is coming together. ___ **TAPE 4A: ‘CONCRETE’** DATED: NOVEMBER 22ND, 2000 ___ **\[START\]** \[HEAVY RAIN\] \[KNOCKING\] NGUYEN: NYPD! \[KNOCKING\] NGUYEN: NYPD! Is anyone there? DOBERMAN: No dice. NGUYEN: \[SIGH\] Fucking department. How are we supposed to make any kind of break in this case if we can’t take any initiative? DOBERMAN: Rules are rules, Detective Nguyen. We’d ruin the case in court. \[HEAVY POUNDING\] NGUYEN: NYPD! Open up! Don’t make us take this door down! DOBERMAN: Nguyen! NGUYEN: These people are possibly alive, Doberman. We don’t have time to wait for a warrant. It’s been far too long already. Getting them out should be our number one priority. DOBERMAN: How are you sure it’s here? NGUYEN: Look at this place. A door tucked in a maze of alleyways and corridors; hidden in the most populous city in the States. All of the missing persons were last seen in this area. When we got that anonymous tip— we had to check it out. DOBERMAN: But how do you *know*? NGUYEN: Listen, Doberman. I’ve worked on some of the most horrifying and heinous cases for the last thirteen years. Serial murders, torture. Kidnapping and abuse. The feeling I get from this door— it's the same feeling. Something is wrong here, Doberman. DOBERMAN: Nguyen, you know that’s not good police work. We can’t operate off of a hunch. NGUYEN: This is it, Doberman! I’m telling you! DOBERMAN: That’s *not* enough, Nguyen! NGUYEN: Fine. Suit yourself. \[METAL CLICKING\] DOBERMAN: So what, you’re gonna pick the lock? Great… \[METAL CLINK\] NGUYEN: There. Now are you coming or not? DOBERMAN: \[SIGHS\] \[DOOR CREAKS\] \[COUGHING\] DOBERMAN: Jesus— that smell… NGUYEN: Fuck… \[DOOR SHUTS\] \[FLIES BUZZING\] DOBERMAN: What could have done this? NGUYEN: I don’t know. DOBERMAN: What the hell… NGUYEN: Come on, Doberman. Let’s do our job. \[ZIPPING, SNAP OF GLOVES\] NGUYEN: Two deceased. Sitting up against the wall. Dismembered. One male, maybe in his forties. One female, also forties. A lot of heavy clothing, and layers. What, was there a storm recently? What do you think? DOBERMAN: No idea. Decomp? \[PAUSE\] NGUYEN: Both In putrefaction; roughly 2-3 weeks old? DOBERMAN: I’d say so. Blood has gone dry, stained the floor underneath them. This happened a while ago. NGUYEN: Multiple lacerations across the torso and head. Arms and legs missing. These wounds… It doesn’t look normal for dismemberment. Usually trauma like this can only be done with a sharp, heavy weapon, yet… DOBERMAN: The tears, in the skin and flesh. They were torn off. NGUYEN: What could do that? DOBERMAN: No human I know. Especially through that thick clothing. Maybe a firearm? Point-blank shotgun shell? NGUYEN: I don’t know. We’ll have to bring in a ballistics expert. Besides, there’s no shells, or bullet holes. DOBERMAN: Hm. \[PAUSE\] NGUYEN: Doberman. Look around. Notice anything? DOBERMAN: What? NGUYEN: No blood. On the walls, or scattered around. It looks like it flowed right from the bodies to the front of that hatch at the end of the room. Don’t you think there would be more blood everywhere else if their wounds were so violent? DOBERMAN: Yeah, there should. Do you think they were killed elsewhere, and brought here? NGUYEN: Maybe? No— they couldn’t have been. There’s no drag marks in the blood. It’s like they died here, and their blood was drained and flowed into that hatch. DOBERMAN: What? That’s absurd. Where are these missing limbs, too? NGUYEN: I don’t know. This isn’t an ordinary homicide. DOBERMAN: Well, shit. I’ll go call it in with the radio, Detective Nguyen. Then we can investigate that hatch. NGUYEN: Alright, I’ll finish some things up here. \[DOOR OPENS, SHUTS\] \[SHUFFLING\] NGUYEN: Hm? \[PATTING\] NGUYEN: A cassette tape recorder? Interesting. What were you doing with this? \[FAINT, INHUMAN SCREECHING\] NGUYEN: Huh? \[DOOR OPENS, SHUTS\] DOBERMAN: Detective Nguyen? Are you alright? NGUYEN: Uh, yeah. I’m alright. DOBERMAN: We’ve got a couple of squad cars on the way to help us clear the building and check that hatch. Whoever did this could still be here. Though, with how old these bodies are, I doubt it. NGUYEN: Y-yeah, alright. Let’s wait for them in the car. I’m getting sick here. DOBERMAN: Uh, sure. NGUYEN: Why don’t we let the officers take this one? We can come back after they’ve given the all-clear. DOBERMAN: Are you sure? Don’t you usually like taking point on these things? NGUYEN: Not this time, Doberman. Let’s let these guys earn their paychecks. **\[END\]** ___ After transcribing 4A, I took a little break. I ordered delivery, which was maybe a mistake. It only fueled my paranoia. I imagined that men in black masquerading as my delivery driver would knock on the door of my motel room, taking advantage of my hunger to apprehend me, and to confiscate the tapes. I was so in my head that when there *was* a knock on my door, probably my food, I didn’t answer. I sneakily looked through the blinds to see a young teenager, probably no older than 18, impatiently waiting with a box of pizza in his hands. They would have to try harder than that. Through the window, I noticed the swirling sky had a red hue to it. Red and orange. Not like a setting sun, but like guts and viscera. It was blurry, like a dream, its vastness attempting to consume me. I paid it no mind. The line between my visions and reality had already begun to blend to the point that it was now inconsequential. I took a long shower to decompress and collect my thoughts. What was my plan? I was sure that I wanted to confront Clara again. I knew what she was looking for, and I wanted to look for it too. I had to see it for myself. I wanted to know what awaited me in *The Place*. After my shower, I stared at myself in the mirror, remembering what had happened the last time I stared back at my reflection. I expected something to happen. My flesh being torn apart, or a twisted, malformed Jeffrey Stevens smiling back at me. Bloody hands coming out, and pulling me inside. But no such thing occurred. The thing is— part of me wanted it to. Everything that place had shown me, all I knew. I wanted more. I wanted it to show me more. In a fit of anger, I slammed my fists into the mirror, shattering it into bits of sharp broken glass. I pulled my hands back quickly, a large, red gash now present on my left hand. It hurt like hell, but I just sat there, and stared at it. Into the flowing, crimson gorge I had just created. Walls of flesh on either side, flooded with dark red blood. It was like I was in a trance. I gazed into myself, seeing the inner workings of *The Place*. It was here all along, borne of wound. Our bodies were made of that scarlet abyss. ___ **TAPE 4B: ‘WHITEOUT’** DATED: MAY 25TH, 2012 ___ **\[START\]** ROSS: May 25th, 2012. 11:32 AM. Log #1. This is Ida Ross, former climatologist at \[STATIC\]. Next to me is Howard Graham, geologist and atmospheric physicist. In the time since \[STATIC\] went defunct, we have continued our work. GRAHAM: Right now, we are at an old satellite of \[STATIC\], called Lambda base. The initial goal of Lambda base was to find a ‘gateway’, a… portal, if you will, in Eastern Antarctica. Our job was to try to understand the physiology and inner workings of the place beyond that portal. Eventually, the main purpose of \[STATIC\] changed to sealing the gateways. The place they lead to, they called it… ROSS: *Cruentum Altarae*. The bloody altar. GRAHAM: Yes. The problem is, Lambda never found the gateway in Antarctica. Long after \[STATIC\] fell apart, the location of the gateway was never revealed. But now— ROSS: Now we have a lead. An S.O.S. signal was intercepted by one of our associates. A research team, unrelated to us, has gone missing near the Amery Ice Shelf, easternmost Antarctica. The signal was soon followed by a rescue attempt, yet the research team was nowhere to be found. This sort of thing isn’t uncommon, but considering it is in the region we were looking at all those years ago… GRAHAM: There is a chance. ROSS: Yes, there is a chance. GRAHAM: To finally see it, with our own eyes. \[METALLIC CLICK\] \[WIND HOWLING\] ROSS: May 31st, 2012. 2:47 PM. Log #2. We are roughly twelve kilometers from the reported location of the S.O.S. signal. A sudden blizzard forced us to take shelter in a small inlet at the bottom of a shallow crevasse. This is where we chose to set up camp for the night. We are relatively safe from the elements here, but our small team could only pack so many supplies. Hopefully, we are not stuck here for more than a couple of days. \[MAN GROANING\] ROSS: That… is one of our team members. He broke his leg coming down into the crevasse. Treating it in these extreme conditions has been challenging. \[SNOW SHUFFLING\] GRAHAM: Ida, \[UNINTELLIGIBLE\]— his temperature is dropping. We need blankets, clothes— anything you can spare. ROSS: Here. \[ZIPPING\] ROSS: Take this. Make sure the others don’t turn on the stove. The ceiling will melt. GRAHAM: Of course, thank you Ida. \[METALLIC CLICK\] \[STRONG WIND HOWLING\] ROSS: June 1st, 2012, 8:40 AM. Log #3. It’s the morning of the next day, and the blizzard is still raging outside. It’s gotten worse. Complete whiteout. You cannot see further than an extended hand. The most we can do, at this point, is ration our supplies and wait. A few members of our team, including Howard, opted to check the crevasse for the gateway. It turns out to be much larger than we initially thought. A crescent slice in a snowy wasteland. Roughly two kilometers lengthwise. I can feel that place calling to me. It’s close, of that I know. It’s a large distance to cover, and there are plenty of places to hide an entrance to *Cruentum Altarae.* Only time will tell. \[METALLIC CLICK\] ROSS: June 1st, 2012, 10:12 AM. Log #4. Howard’s team just got back about 10 minutes ago in a panic. One of the members of our team, David Schuertz, was bleeding profusely from a wound on his abdomen. A trail of frozen blood dotted the snow from where they came from. He had tripped, and fell on jagged ice. That makes two injured so far. This was going to make the expedition more difficult than we could have imagined, and we haven’t even found the gateway yet. Things are beginning to look grim; but I know, sometime soon, we will find— GRAHAM: Ida? May I speak with you? ROSS: Yes? GRAHAM: Schuertz is stable. Our medic was able to stop the bleeding. The thing is— well, it’s the behavior of his blood. ROSS: The behavior? GRAHAM: The blood; the moment it touched the ground, it should have frozen. The temperature is well below freezing, after all— but it didn’t. It stained the snow, then a thin stream of red flowed deeper into the crevasse. It was feeding, Ida. *Cruentum Altarae*. \[PAUSE\] ROSS: Do we tell the others? GRAHAM: Morale is low. We have injured. I say we take a look, just us, during the night. We’ve been waiting for this, Ida. This is our moment. We can see this place for ourselves. What do you think? ROSS: I think that’s an excellent idea, Howard. \[METALLIC CLICK\] ROSS: June 1st, 2012, 11:32 PM. Log #5. An altar of blood. A system of caverns, inherently illogical, bending space and time. The existence of this place holds incredible scientific value; yet, what draws me to it is something more akin to… *fascination*. For what value does science have, if not to push human understanding of the illogical, the unknown; no matter the peril. \[STATIC\] was afraid. It led to its failure. Howard and I have found what we think is the threshold between our reality and that place. We will see. Soon. \[METALLIC CLICK\] ROSS: Log #6. Lining the walls is the crimson, bulbous flesh of *Cruentum Altarae*. The metallic taste of blood reaches us with every breath. It would be an understatement to say Howard and I are excited. We are euphoric. To study this place’s inner workings; it’s *anatomy*. That’s what we are here for. I know it. *It* knows it too. It wants us here. We haven’t explored much yet, as we are still near where the gateway was. Yet; we have learned so much. So, so much. GRAHAM: Ida! ROSS: Howard? What is it? GRAHAM: I heard something— men yelling. Screaming. ROSS: Men yelling? GRAHAM: I— I don’t know! But they are threats to us, to this place. I know it! We need to try to stop them, we need to continue. I feel this place pulling me deeper in. We can all be here together. We’re a part of this place now, Ida. ROSS: We always have been. Come, the altar is beckoning us further. \[METALLIC CLICK\] ROSS: Log #7. It’s been weeks, months— perhaps. We have walked down this corridor of tissue and muscle for ages. There have been no forks in our path. Just one bloody path forward. We feel no fatigue, or hunger. Howard and I believe the altar is sustaining us. Further proof that we are in its favor. What it wishes to show us, I do not yet know. All I know is that Howard and I are prepared to walk for all of eternity to see. \[METALLIC CLICK\] \[FAINT SOBBING\] ROSS: Log #8. It was beautiful. A gargantuan pit of blood. A sanctuary of carmine; as we felt a tremendous urge to dive into the center, to sink to the bottoms of that abyss, to become one with *Cruentum Altarae*— but that was not our purpose. Our purpose was to witness. Suddenly, we saw a woman, shrouded in darkness, afloat in the middle of a pool of crimson. She looked at peace. Then, this woman sank. Slowly. Until her entirety was obscured in red. And so, we are left to wonder. Wonder what to do next. \[METALLIC CLICK\] \[FAINT SCREECHING\] ROSS: Go, go Howard! GRAHAM: B-but, our research! ROSS: No, no! Run! We must escape with our lives! \[HEAVY BREATHING\] ROSS: I don’t know what happened since we have gotten to this place— It was like a trance. I just suddenly… snapped out of it. As soon as it was done with us. As soon as we did what we were meant to do. \[SCREECHING GROWS LOUDER\] ROSS: Keep moving Howard! Come on! GRAHAM: I’m trying! ROSS: This place has warped since; protruding arms and legs litter the walls and ceiling— shattered bone and *faces*, god, the faces. \[PANTING\] ROSS: We… are to be a part of this place now. It’s going to take us. I know it is. So we have to leave— GRAHAM: Ida! Look, there! It’s… a ladder? ROSS: A ladder? But how? \[SCREECHING\] ROSS: No time to think about it; come on! \[METAL CLANGS\] \[HATCH OPENS, SHUTS\] GRAHAM: Where are we, Ida? Are we back? ROSS: No way to be sure. It’s just an empty room. \[HANDLE TURNING\] ROSS: Locked. Is there any other way? GRAHAM: I don’t see one. Concrete on all sides, except for that door. \[LOUD SCREECHING\] \[BANGING\] ROSS: Help! Is there anyone out there? \[BANGING, SCRATCHING\] GRAHAM: Ida, it— it’s here. The hatch isn’t going to hold. Is this— are we going to die? After everything? ROSS: Howard, I— \[PAUSE\] ROSS: I’m sorry. \[METALLIC CLICK\] **\[END\]** ___ I can feel my mind in shambles. My thoughts are shrouded by red mist, conflicting memories and experiences constantly warping my reality. Could I trust myself? Could I trust these memories; these thoughts, as my own anymore? How could I know… How can I? I’ve listened to these tapes before. I’ve told you all as much. My initial transcripts were corrupted in the university’s database. The revelations of them all; I’ve known them since the start. And yet… Why is my memory so fickle? How could I have forgotten in my earlier posts? I’ve known all of the answers from the start, and I’m just now realizing it. *The Place*… could it have been manipulating me this entire time? God, my head hurts like hell… The final tape, 1C, is untitled. I swear before it had no date; but now I see that it does. Curiously, perhaps impossibly, it is dated September 29th, 2022. A few days ago. This revelation fills me with dread— perhaps someone had put a date on it behind my back? Or maybe… I did it, with no recollection of doing so? Either possibility is worrying, to say the least. I had hoped to transcribe the final tape before I met with Clara. However— the tape is, well, blank. Nothing but static. For the whole runtime. Knowing, however, how fickle these tapes can be… I’m almost positive it won’t stay that way. The further along I get into these tapes, the more I feel I’m losing myself. The more I want to journey into *The Place*. The tape would have to wait. Wait until after Clara. Though, I wasn’t even entirely sure there would *be* an after Clara. The possibility that my next post could be my last weighed on me greatly… But I needed to set aside my paranoia for now. I attempted to steel myself by taking a breather outside my motel room. I stared at a now blood red sky, shifting and toiling, like pulsing intestines. The metallic taste of blood hit my tastebuds, wafting in from a light breeze. Clouds tinted crimson were like eyes. Watching. Observing. Judging. I thought about what Ida Ross had said her employers called *The Place.* The bloody altar. If *The Place* was an altar borne of blood; then we, of this world, were the sacrifice.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Does anyone remember a dream with a red door? [RESPONSE] I’ll start from the beginning. This might be a little rambly, I just need to organize my thoughts. I went on a date a few weeks back with a woman, I'll call her Anna. We were talking about conspiracies, stalkers, online groomers, famous criminals, astrology, witchcraft… typical date stuff. Then she asked me "Have you had dreams with a red door in it?" Something I should put out there, I didn’t believe in the supernatural. The world was just a boring place. we’re just meat that thinks and it’s been nothing but trouble since. That said I enjoy the paranormal, ghosts, aliens, all of that shit. Maybe it’s because I don't have a visual imagination? I've never experienced anything that couldn't be explained, outside of dreams; I don't dream every time I sleep, and it's even rarer for me to remember, but, about a year ago I started noticing randomly in my dreams… this… red door.. I stopped eating my fries and asked "A bright red wooden door? So red it almost glows?" "In mine It's metal but yeah, that color for sure" I don't remember the rest of the conversation exactly. The gist of it was she's been seeing this door in her dreams since she was a kid. And she only knows 3 other people who've had that experience. Neither of us have interacted with it. As far as we know no one has. I didn’t know if I believed her at that point, but I was definitely curious now... A couple days after that date, I had a dream. Normally, the door is just a distracting background element I don’t even notice till I wake up. But this time, my dream went from a third person fly over of a grocery store smash cut to a first person view of the door. Almost like it was a shot from a horror movie. I remember, there I was just standing in front of it. Then… I woke up. I texted Anna about my dream and she said she was jealous. She asked if I touched the door. And I said hell no. “Why not Mr. Science? Scared of a dream?” Anna teased. And at the time I agreed, it was weird for me to be scared. “It’s Dr. Science, thank you” I sent “I can see that stupid smug grin through your texts” Anna Sent “But seriously, why not?” “Look I just want my four and a half hours of sleep in peace, no adventure” So, there was a prompt on my dating profile, I mentioned something about lucid dreaming, I think. It's a thing Anna brought up when she matched with me so I was not fully surprised when she said: "Why don't I come over to your place tonight, show me how to lucid dream." So obviously I said yes. That night I explained to her how I Lucid dream. There are only 3 rules. First, you want to put something in the dream that you immediately recognize it's a dream, it can be anything. As long as it stands out enough to remind you that you're dreaming. It's not 100% necessary but it does get you in control sooner. Second, you always want to be aware of where your consciousness is. You can drift out of your body if you're not careful and it's back to normal dreaming. Finally, most importantly, you need to monitor your emotions. If you lose control of your emotions, you lose control of the dream. First thing I remember about this dream was the location. At first I thought we were at a university, some sort of college campus. But the architecture was off. Everything was both old and new, like gothic cathedrals built by Apple. Flying buttresses and steeples of glass and pearl white plastic. The first person I saw was Anna. and Since I didn’t find any copies of Petz for the Nintendo DS around, I think I made her my anchor by accident. I wondered, maybe she did the same? I’ve never dreamed with someone else before, the way she smiled, played with her hair out of boredom… it was hard to remember this was just a dream…. Right, back to the dream. We looked around for a while. No other people, no dream monsters, all doors were solidly monochromatic. I think it’s when I brought up how this is from me playing too much Bloodborne, then explaining what Bloodborne was to dream Anna in excruciating detail. But then Anna says :“but that doesn’t make sense. This is my dream” Before I could argue. There it is. In the middle of a promenade flanked by white arches in front of a white sandy beach with a blue ocean that stretched across the horizon. I remember just standing there. Those moments felt way different than the rest of the dream. I was physically present in my own body in a way I've never been while asleep. “Yeah, there it is” Anna looked at me, almost expecting me to say something. Was it actually her? I walk closer, hearing the sound of my steps as they move from pavement to the clay tile of the promenade. I reach out and touch the door… It's warm, solid. “I think this is good enough. You go ahead and touch it in your own drea-” As I look back at Anna she’s right behind me, turning the handle for the door. “Shi-” The door yields open as Anna twists the handle. I jump back on instinct. I feel my heart racing even though I'm in the dream. “Anna!” I yell out. A light engulfs her then-- I’m at the start of my dream. But now there are people walking from building to building. The only thing… Whenever I look toward a person they immediately mirror my gaze. Everyone. And with that same horrified expression. I close my eyes. I’m losing control! And then- “Wake up!” Anna’s voice brought me back. I was awake. I looked over at the clock, 5am. We compared dreams as I brewed some coffee, she occupied my cat's attention. Her dream started at a construction site near her old high school but once we reached the promenade things were weirdly similar. Anna thought otherwise “I told you, I have” she waved her arms around erratically “GIFTS!!” “Yeah, doubt it” I remember thinking If Anna dreamt that Bloodborne conversation or something similarly nerdy then I would be more willing to coincide, but honestly it wasn’t worth bringing up. Besides, in her dream I was weirdly more serious and stoic. “What about this?” Anna turned around and grabbed something from my shelf. “You wouldn’t shut up about this videogame…” She turned around with a ps4 game in hand. A man with a hacksaw in a gothic city that reached up to the sky. shit… I don’t have a funny quip, and the moment she saw it on my face, she had the widest smile, she got me. “Whatever, did you open the door though?” I asked before taking a sip of coffee. Anna looked away from me before speaking “...Yeah, I think i woke up as soon as i opened it” I noticed something was on her mind, something she didn’t want to say “Did you see what was inside?” I asked. “I think… I think I should go home. I’ll text you later?” We didn’t talk about dreams for the next week or so. I hadn't had any I remembered since then. It wasn’t until our next date that Anna brought it up. “Do you… ever see things?” Anna asked in a hushed tone. We were at a boba shop in the arts district downtown. Strange conversations happen here all the time so I knew something was up. “Not really” I said, I told her I have aphantasia, zero visual imagination. The only time I see things that aren't real is in my dreams. “Why do you ask?” “I see it when I'm awake.” “...See what?” “The door” So I don't know if I made the right call. But I invited her to stay at my place for a while. I knew Anna had been through some shit, and she’s had her own mental issues with not that great a support system in the city, not that it mattered. This woman was basically the complete package, weird, smart, hot, everything you could ask for. But also, I felt responsible for this mess in the first place. I realized immediately Anna wasn’t sleeping, at least not deeply. She’d get up all through the night. The third night we had a conversation and finally. She told me what she saw in that dream 3 weeks ago. “I was in your room. It’s not that I woke up. I opened the door and I was in your room.” I took a pause to search how I should react ”well I guess, on a technical level, that’s pretty unnerving but--” “I wasn’t alone. I felt-- I feel, something watching me.” It was then we made a plan. We were going to go in again. This time we’d enter the door together. As we were getting ready to sleep. I held her hand and looked her in the eyes “Best case scenario, a night of real sleep might help. Worst case scenario… well whatever happens we’ll handle it together. Promise.” This dream was a little different. It took a while to become aware. I made Anna my anchor this time intentionally, but the first part of my dream I don't remember. But when I saw Anna sitting at a bus stop, tapping her feet, twirling her hair. I knew I was in the right place. “Did I keep you waiting long” I asked “Oh, so you believe that I'm real now?” Anna asked. I looked around, there was a great ocean view, white buildings, blue roofs, we were in Santorini Greece. “I don’t know. Maybe? This is definitely too normal for one of my dreams.” We started off looking for the door, but as time passed, we just decided to go sightseeing. The weather was nice, there was a festival going on but it wasn’t too crowded. We spent all day talking and walking around the city. I almost forgot this was a dream. “There it is!” Anna squeezed my arm like a vice, and suddenly. That feeling again. Hyper presence. I wondered if our dreams were in sync again. Part of me hoped we did share the whole experience somehow-- right I can’t be getting distracted in my own dream. We make our way to the door. Together reaching for the handle when a familiar voice calls my name. “Wouldn’t do that kid, you don’t know how deep this thing goes” I Freeze. Was that… My dad? Anna looks at me unsure. I turn to look, standing about 9 or 12 feet away, I 100% recognize that man as my father, from the bald head to the leather sandals. But it’s too correct. His smile is a little too wide. “Who are you?” I grabbed Anna a little tighter. “A friend.” the man says. “We need to talk… just us.” I take a second. Looking at the man in the shape of my father, the ominous red door, and Anna. “...go. GO!” I twist the knob and we both fall forward into a bright waking light and… Just like Anna said… I stumbled into the room I fell asleep in… alone. The next 24 hours I spent all day calling, texting, trying to figure out… look trust me I'm not crazy, I didn’t just make up a girlfriend for a story. But… I checked her belongings, no ID, her car, no registration. But her things are HERE. They’re still here! It’s been 2 months. I’ve exhausted all my other leads. No social media, no missing persons. I haven’t told anyone until now, I don’t know what to believe. But everything that happened, happened. The only thing left is that door. The red door. I Haven't been able to dream at all since then, but there's at least three other people out there who can. Do any of you remember a dream with a red door? <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Watch Out For Customized Nails [RESPONSE] “Check these out!” Cassidy waved a set of pink paper fingernails under my nose. “Betcha can’t catch me with these *customized nails!*” I picked my eleven-year-old niece Cassidy up from track practice after my warehouse shift on weekdays. At first I’d only agreed to it to help my brother, who was barely keeping his head above water between his family and work, but I’d come to appreciate the daily car ride with my niece. She took care of all the conversation herself, and something about listening to her helped me decompress– Even if I didn’t understand half of what she talked about. Cassidy’s latest obsession was making fake fingernails out of literally anything–from tape and post-it notes to screws or snack chips. I figured it was some dumb trend from TikTok– But still, it creeped me the hell out, pulling up to Cassidy’s middle school and seeing all those packs of kids walking around with what looked like homemade claws. After a few days, though, I got used to Cassidy’s fake paper fingernails– And when she showed up without them, I noticed. For once, Cassidy didn’t start talking right away. She slammed the car door and stared at her pinched-tight knees. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Where are your uh, fingernails?” “Lost’em.” Cassidy shrugged. It was the only thing said during the whole ride home. The knees of Cassidy’s jeans were dirty, and there was a scrape on her palm. The next day, Cassidy wasn’t standing where I usually picked her up by the corner of the Middle School. I rolled down the window to call for her, but as I did. I heard a young girl’s cackling laughter. Three girls I thought I recognized from Cassidy’s class came striding around the corner, giving me the stink-eye as they crossed to the park. A few minutes later, Cassidy came storming around the corner and got into my car. This time, she didn’t say *anything.* “Cas…what’s going on?” I tried again. My niece shook her head. “I *know* something’s wrong. Cas–you gotta talk to me!” When I grabbed her chin and made her look up, I saw tears streaming down her cheeks. “Those girls…” Cassidy sniffed. By the fence at the entrance to the park, one of the girls waved to us with Cassidy’s hot-pink paper nails. “Hey!” I got out of the car, hands on my hips, too angry to think straight. The three girls scattered, giggling, and I realized the position I was in. I’m a 6’3, heavyset guy with a beard–what was I gonna do, chase some twelve-year-girls through a park? I clenched my fists and got back into the car. When I dropped Cassidy off at home, I talked to my brother Sam about what I’d seen–but he was so tired I don’t think he even heard me. No matter how much I pleaded, Cassidy *refused* to name the girls…but I could see the light and joy going out of her day by day. It had been a long time since I’d felt so powerless. Until today. This afternoon, Cassidy practically skipped to the car and started telling me about her day as soon as she hopped inside. The change was…*almost frightening.* Then again, I had seen any of those girls around either. I figured that might be the cause of my niece’s sudden cheerfulness. “–but Alexis won’t be bothering any of *us* anymore now that she’s suspended–” Cassidy was rambling. I realized that she’d just accidentally dropped the name of one of her bullies. “Oh?” I tried to sound uninterested. “How’d that happen?” “I gave her some new nails and she got in trouble.” Cassidy shrugged. If she was trying to look innocent, I wasn’t fooled. There was more to the story than that, but I didn’t get anything else out of her until we pulled into my brother’s driveway. Both of her parents met us at the door for a chance. “My God, honey–are you alright?!” my sister-in-law grabbed Cas’ face, caressed her hair… “Did you see it?” my brother asked. “See what?” I was completely confused. “Some kid scratched the hell out of one of Cas’ teachers. She’s in the hospital with these gouge-marks all over her, like she was attacked by a damn mountain lion…it was all over the news…” I shot Cassiday a dark glance. “Do you know which teacher got hurt?” My sister-in-law wondered. “Ms. Kurtz.” Cassidy responded. I remembered that name. The math teacher, the one who Cassidy said was always picking on her… “Was it Alexis who hurt Ms. Kurtz?” I demanded. Cas went pale. “Yeah.” Now *she* was trying to sound casual. “Yeah. That’s right.” *I gave her some new nails and she got in trouble…* “Cassidy…” I began. “Can you show me those new nails you gave Alexis?” “Well I mean I could, but like, why? You don’t care about stuff like that…” Cassidy clenched her backpack and tried to go inside the house, but my brother blocked her. “Let’s see’em, Cas.” Reluctantly, Cas took out a small oval box from her bag. It was peach, the color of bright light shining through skin, and uncomfortably warm to the touch. I wondered where on earth Cassidy had found such a thing. The ivory-colored clasp gave way beneath my thumb. Inside was a multicolored variety of high-end fake nails. I was fascinated by them. The blue nails were the color of the sky on the last day of summer. The red ones had a golden pattern I’d seen before, on the dress of a woman in a dream. The green ones– “Who gave you these?” My sister-in-law continued her interrogation. “The woman…” Cassidy whispered. Something in her voice snapped me out of my reverie. “What woman?!” “The woman in the woods, behind the school. She said if I gave them to Alexis and those girls, they’d never bother me again…” I felt the blood rush out of my face. Behind Cassidy’s middle school was nothing but forest. There was no reason for *any* adult to be back there. Not unless– “I don’t have time for this…” My brother rubbed his forehead in irritation. “Give’em to me.” I sighed. “I’ll look into it.” Driving home, my eyes kept drifting to the weird oval box in my passenger’s seat. The whole situation was just too strange. Cassidy hadn’t been able to tell us anything more about *‘the woman behind the school–’* In fact, she said she couldn’t even remember when she’d met her or what she looked like, and I knew my Cas–there was no lie in her wide, haunted blue eyes. When I got home, I left the box of fingernails in the bathroom and did some more digging. Apparently, Alexis’s mother Sarah Holmstead was active in the Parent-Teacher Association– And her phone number was listed on Facebook. *“What do you want?!”* a hoarse voice picked up the phone on the second ring. “My daughter and I aren’t giving any interviews, and I don’t give a damn about your goddamn opinion about this family!” Alexis’ mother sobbed. “Mrs. Holmstead…” I ventured. “I don’t think what happened was Alexis’ fault.” *That* got me a long silence. “I’m Cassidy Laing’s uncle.” “Oh, *Cassidy.*” There was another long pause. “Look, Mr. Laing, I’m aware that our girls aren’t exactly *friends.* Alexis is a firecracker, I’ve told her time and again to be more thoughtful about how she treats people, but *this…*” Sarah Holmstead burst into tears again “...the police say that poor woman will be permanently disfigured! They want to press criminal charges!” “What did Alexis have to say about what happened?” “She was horrified! She says it wasn’t her. That she put on these fake nails and they just…*acted on their own*…” “Honey?” my girlfriend Kate called from the bathroom, “where did you get these? They’re really cute!” She walked into the living room with a shining set of lilac clip-on nails on her fingers. “I’ll call you back.” I whispered into the phone, then turned on my girlfriend. *“Where did you get those?!”* “The box in the bathroom…” Kate sat at the kitchen table, blowing on her tea. “What’s the big deal?” she drummed her new nails irritably on the formica. *Or did she?* Kate was staring at her hand. Her fingernails tapped against the table again. Something about the way they moved reminded me of a rabid dog straining against its chain. “I…I’m not…” Kate stammered, suddenly tugging on her new nails, “...they won’t come off!” Kate’s fingers writhed like the tentacles of some deep-sea creature as they tried to evade her other hand. Just watching it made me feel sick. I pressed her hand into the table and tried to keep her squirming fingers still. I finally caught a nail, and as the others dug into my hand, I pulled. “No!” Kate screamed. “They’re connected!” Looking closer, I saw that she was right: the lilac clip-ons had tunneled through her cuticle somehow, and even her veins had turned a faint shade of purple. But I was more concerned with freeing my hand from the razor-sharp fingertips that had disappeared inside the flesh of my palm. It was only with a scream and a sickening splatter that I was able to pull away. I put all my weight onto Kate’s hand, but I couldn’t hold her down. Once free, Kate’s lilac nails slashed and stabbed at me like five tiny knives. They dragged Kate around the kitchen after me while she tried to hold back her own hand. The situation would have been funny if it wasn’t so terrifying. I blocked those glistening, blood-spattered purple claws with a bamboo cutting board, but another swipe flung it away. I shoved Kate away with a stool and dived into the laundry room, putting a solid wooden door between my girlfriend’s insane new fingers and I. No sooner had I shoved my against it than raking blows began to hammer it from the other side. With each strike, the hinges splintered a little more–and Kate screamed. The nails didn’t care how much pain they put her through in their attempt to get to me. On the other side of the door, the pounding finally stopped– And was followed by a low, sick gurgle. I’d never heard anything like it before. I knew I’d be a fool to open the door, but the silence from Kate was more frightening than her screaming had been. *What the hell could be making that noise?!* “...Kate?” I ventured. But that sick burbling noise only intensified. I couldn’t take it anymore. With only a mop handle to protect myself with, I burst back into the kitchen. I found Kate slumped against the wall with her own fingers buried in her throat– Up to the knuckle. With an awful squelching sound, Kate’s hand pulled itself away from her throat and began dragging her limp body toward me. This wasn’t happening, this couldn’t *be* happening. I backed out through the laundry room toward the garage, stumbling over my unwashed work clothes and the fallen mop bucket, barely seeing where I was going as I fled to my car. “Were there any more?!” I screamed into the speakerphone at my brother, as I sped toward his home on the other side of town. “Did Cassidy give out any other fake nails?!” “I’ll ask.” My brother groaned. I’d clearly woken him. “She’s been in her room all night. Says she’s felt sick ever since she met that woman behind the school…you sound bad, man. You alright?” “Just ask her.” I hissed, and counted the heartbeats until my brother came back to the phone. “Cas says she gave’em to two other girls. Alexis’ friends…why? what’s going on?” “Get their addresses and call the police. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” When I arrived, Cassidy was groggy. She said she’d never heard about any *“woman in the woods”* or given out any strange clip-on nails. It was just a thing on TikTok, she mumbled–then rolled over and went back to sleep. By morning, even the nails themselves were gone. Gone from the bloody, mutilated fingers of Alexis and her friends. Gone from Kate’s corpse. Even the weird, peach-colored box had disappeared from my bathroom. After a syrupy pancake breakfast, Cassidy was humming cheerfully. *She didn’t remember a thing.* Sleepless and numb, I looked up from my cup of black coffee and shared a silent nod with my brother. *And we’d make sure that no one found out. Not ever.* That’s why I’ve changed the names, ages, and occupations of the people involved, but I still feel I have to share the warning while I still can: If you find a pair of fake nails that aren’t yours… *Leave them where they lie.* <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] All My Exes Die After We Break Up - The Curse of Hollyeve: Colin - Part 1 [RESPONSE] A while back I shared my story of how . At the time I published it. I thought that was the end of the story. *It wasn’t.*  Katy and I went through the motions of our loveless marriage, knowing the alternative was death for her, though sometimes I could tell she was wondering if that might be better. *What was the point of living a life where you could never experience love?*  I could handle it, but I couldn’t handle watching Katy struggle to handle it. I would wake up in the middle of the night to her crying to herself. I had to see if there was some way to solve the curse Hollyeve had over me.  I turned to the internet. I was shocked to quickly find a subreddit dedicated to Hollyeve and people who had fallen victim to her curse just like me. I put out a signal to get people on the sub to reach out to me, explaining what I explained in my previous story.  Colin wasn’t the first to reach out to me about Hollyeve, but he’s where the rest of this story has to all start.   We met at a dive bar in San Francisco. He kept looking around like he was scared someone was going to find him in there. *He had the most broken energy of anyone I had ever met.*  Colin was haunted by the apparition of a young woman - scorched and melting the smell of burning human flesh appeared before he would see her. Then she would appear where he was, frequently lighting up the night as a sooty human flame which shrieked with the force of a dying child - staring at him with unforgiving eyes.  This vision would have been bad enough just for Colin. The problem was the apparition always appeared the first night Colin was alone with a girl. It started in high school and was still going on, now into his 30s.  It always followed the same script. Colin found new love, even if just for a night sometimes. He and the girl eventually got alone. Shortly after, the apparition appeared, horrified the girl, and she ran away. If the rare girl came back for a second try, the same thing would happen - the apparition would appear in some new shocking way - pop up in a mirror, hang upside from the ceiling, slip into the covers once he and the girl did. No one ever lasted longer than a second try.  He gave up on trying to experience any kind of love or intimacy in his 20s. He withdrew and became celibate. To him, his life was essentially over. There was almost no joy. Just fear and pain.  Then he tried to give it one last try, thinking he may have found a loophole.  He went to a friend’s bachelor party and ended up in a hotel room alone, getting a lap dance from a stripper, for longer than he would like to admit. The apparition never came and he wondered: *What if it won’t come if there’s not even a hint of love in the transgression - purely just a business transaction?* He hired a sex worker and went to her hotel room. He wanted to see if he could experience some kind of physical fulfillment and not be haunted.  It started out well. He got the deed done for the first time in his life. It was relieving. Shockingly professional, but enjoyable, and he thought he found a new way to to get some kind of release in his life in the arena of what you could call the closest he could get to love without terror.  The sex worker went to the bathroom after things were over. Colin grew alarmed when 10 minutes went by and she didn’t come out. He knocked on the door. All he heard was crying. “What is this!?!?!” He heard her voice ring out at him through the door.  Colin tried to get her to explain what was going on in the bathroom. She just screamed back: “You better be out of here when he gets here!” Colin didn’t know who “he” was but he didn’t want to stick around to find out. He quickly found out he wasn’t going to have a choice. He heard the door to the room unlock and quickly Colin was looking at one of the largest men he had ever seen in his life.  The intimidating man he described as the woman’s “manager” grabbed him by the back of the neck and drug him over to the bathroom door.  The woman in the bathroom eventually was okay with opening the door, slowly. Colin said he could smell that burning smell before he even saw what was going on in the bathroom. Still, he was not prepared for what he was going to see.  The sex worker was in the middle of the room, wrapped around her from behind was the apparition of Hollyeve, charred and burning, a haze of smoke billowing around them.  Colin could see Hollyeve’s arms held tight on the sex worker’s body and she watched it burn into her. She screamed in pain as Hollyeve held her tighter as Colin and her manager approached the bathroom doorway.  Colin could also see Hollyeve’s eyes burning into him, torturing him. The apparition knew what it was doing. He could feel it.  Colin felt the hard metal of the manager’s gun hit him up against the head before he could try and move, then he fell hard to the ground.  With his final couple of blinks Colin saw the manager carrying the sex worker out of the bathroom, still smoldering, and he saw Hollyeve standing there in the bathroom.  Colin then spent most of his time sitting on Reddit, looking for people like me out there who had similar experiences, so he could try and find some solution to the curse he was living.  Well I was the same as him more or less - so what could I do? It seemed to me that he might be able to help me more than I could help him.  I wanted to know how this all started for him, but he had conveniently avoided that part. At this point he started to get sheepish - blushing and breaking eye contact - staring down into the fourth drink he had almost finished in an hour. He clearly didn’t want to talk about how this curse all started, but he started in ominously… “I brought this on all of us myself.” Colin was born and raised in a small town on the California coast just a few towns over from where I grew up. A rich kid. He explained he was much better looking when he was younger. He said it so many times it started to really weird me out. He was a decent looking guy with some extra pounds. Who really cares? He also kept insisting that I don’t judge him until I hear his full story.  He knew the girl who was his apparition. *Hollyeve*. She showed up on the first day of seventh grade. No one ever asked where she came from and she never volunteered the information. She just kind of appeared one day.  She stood out. She wasn’t the typical small town girl most of the boys flocked to. She was edgy, odd, and haunting, yet beautiful. He said now she would be the kind of girl who’d become a fashion model because she had a look, but would swear she was never popular growing up because she was always just tall and awkward.  All of this drew Colin in. Only problem was there was no way he could be with her.  As he mentioned, repeatedly, he was very good looking. He was rich. He was the coolest kid in school. He could never date the weird girl who showed up with holes in her shoes and a thousand-foot stare.  Colin got overconfident though. He thought - *if Hollyeve became his girlfriend, then he could make her cool. Make her attractive.*  He asked her out. She was shocked, and then said yes.  Colin loved spending time with her. She was easy going, cute, and sweet when no one was around. She was different from the other girls he had dated, in the best way.  She did not become the most-popular girl in school. Things actually got worse. She used to kind of just be an afterthought at school, but now everyone in his class was making fun of her and the other girls were singling her out.  Colin tried to press through it. He tried to sell his friends on how she was actually really cute. She was actually really cool. She was funny.  It didn’t work. No one else saw it. Everyone also kept asking Colin the same damn question.  *Was it a joke?*  He eventually relented. *Yes, he lied, the whole thing was just a big joke.*  Then he had to break Hollyeve’s heart.  Hollyeve had fallen in love with Colin and he knew it. It was not going to be easy to go through with all of it, but dumping her would allow him to go back to his normal schoolyard life of not getting made fun of and questioned constantly. He had felt his popularity slipping. He had to do it.  She took it even worse than he thought. She sobbed uncontrollably. Hyperventilated. She kept asking him why? *Why?* Colin had to stop himself while telling me this part. I could feel the pain channeling through her and then him and then hitting me. *No wonder this poor girl was haunting the world.*  He started to act strangely. He didn’t want to tell the story anymore.  He said he had to go to the bathroom and then never came back.  I only got him on the phone eventually when I called from a different phone number. He talked to me long enough to tell me that Hollyeve did die. Not at his hand though. That was all he would say.  Well he did say that she burned to death just before he hung up.  I went home that night and didn’t think too much of it. There were plenty of other Hollyeve victims I was in contact with. Colin may have been just another link in the chain, though I couldn’t deny it seemed like this was the origin story for Hollyeve and that made this thread possibly stronger than the other ones I was pursuing.  I got some confirmation on that one after I ate dinner at home that night. My nose began to tickle as soon as I sat down after eating and the smells of the meal went away.  Something began to sting my nose and eyes. It felt and smelled like when the plume of a campfire gets thrown in your direction.  I didn’t think anything of it until I started to feel like I was no longer alone and the smell kept getting more and more intense.  I walked into the kitchen, wondering if I had left something burning on the stove or something.I was greeted by a blinding plume of smoke as soon as I opened the door and stepped in. I couldn’t see anything. I could only feel and hear.  I felt a cold hand strong on my neck and I heard someone crying uncontrollably and hyperventilating. Then I heard them asking over and over and over again - *why?* I was able to get out of the room and come back later. The smoke was gone. The crying was gone.  Hollyeve was gone. I knew it was her. Yet, it was troubling she simply presented herself that way to me, and aggressively. This was much more than simply destroying my love life.  I contacted Colin every way that I could - Reddit messages, texts, voicemails. It was a day before he responded on Reddit.  *I’m sorry. She just won’t stop.*  *Best of luck,* *Colin* Then his account was deleted.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I was kidnapped by Mexican cartels. [RESPONSE] I am not the best story teller or public speaker. But I will do my best to tell you my story. I was born in the US. When I was 2, my mom sent me to live with her parents. She was still too young to raise a kid on her own and needed to save money for a better future. My grand parents lived in a desert region north of central Mexico in a small village 2 hours away from a very large city called San Luis Potosi. I was 4 years old back in 1987. by this time I thought my grand parents were my actual parents. By then I didn't remember my actual mom since I had not seen her since I was two. One day in 1987, my grand parents decided to go to the city of San Luis to run some errands and do shopping. This is something they would do frequently and they would always take me with them. San Luis Potosi is a typical large city in Mexico with subtle crime rate, especially back in the 1980s. We would go to a location called El Centro: a very large historic paved plaza with shops, cafes, basilicas and conquistador buildings older than 300 years. This was a very busy area and rumored to be dangerous for the naïve tourist. This is what I remember. We were walking to a shoe shop where shoes are hand made. As we were in the store I was eying a Candy store just across from this shoe shop. My grand parents were distracted. I decided to run to the enticing candy store to look at a colorful arraignment of chocolates and gummies. My grandparents did not notice me walking out of the store to the candy shop across the shoe shop. As I walked to the candy store, I was in there for a minute & quickly lost my enthusiasm.. I started feeling lost so I started making my way back to the shoe shop to meet my grand parents. As I exited the store, I felt someone grab me very fast. It was an aggressive snatch. My mouth was being covered by a dirty hand that felt like some construction worker. I couldn't yell. I started crying but this person was strong - too strong. They forced my mouth shut. When I looked behind me immediately, I was being grabbed by two large men. It all happened so fast. I was too small to fight them. They carried me to a van parked close by and tossed me in the back while one drove and one sat with me in the back to restrain me. They told me to shut the F up or they would kill me. One pulled a knife and showed it to me. I was too scared to scream. I don't remember too much on this ride where ever they were taking me, other than it was a quiet ride. They didn't speak to me unless it was to give me orders or tell me to shut up. I didn't hear them speak to each other. The thing I mostly remember is how terrified I was because I have seen this in movies. I was driven to a house which appeared to have two bedrooms. When I arrived to the destination, there was a women there who appeared to be their accomplice. I was kept in a room with a bed and drawer. During this time, I was told by the woman and two men that the reason why they brought me here is because they are going to sell me to some people who are willing to pay lots of money for me to kill me, then dissect me to sell my organs to a black market. Apparently they were a part of a large underground network. The woman & kidnappers were very mean and short tempered. Sometimes they went as far as beating me. That happened two times when I couldn't stop crying. They were overly paranoid about the neighbors hearing or seeing anything suspicious. Out of the three of them, the woman was the most disturbed. She did most of the talking. They told me horrific crimes they've committed before to keep me in compliance. I won't disclose most of them because it makes me uncomfortable, plus I want to keep this brief and clear. One thing I remember the woman told me is that she hated all children in general, every last one of them. She thought they were pests. Being a part of this gave her pleasure. This was the most traumatic time in my life. I am still discovering today how this incident fractured my four-year-old mind. I was kept in this room for what felt like two days with no food. I was only given water. I am lucky to say that on the second day, these three people were raided by the local police and were all arrested. I was safely returned to my grand parents. However, after this happened, my grand parents and I never spoke of the event again. A week before I turned 7 years old my grand dad died of natural causes. After my grandpa's death, My biological mother showed up in my life for the first time at my grandmother's house to attend my grandfather's funeral. It was at this time that she decided it was time to take me with her and introduce me to the country I was born in: the United States. I don't believe my grandparents ever told my mom of my kidnapping. Today I am an adult man in my 30s. I have never talked to my mom about this, let alone she has never asked me. We have a very distant mother - son relationship. I have every reason to believe she has no clue at all that this happened. Maybe my grandparents deliberately kept this from her to avoid causing her stress. My grandmother passed away in 2013, taking this unspoken memory with her. This is something traumatic that I only think about and never talk about with anyone because the event is so far back. It still seems unreal. And the more time that goes by, the more distant and unreal this memory becomes. I haven't talked about this with anyone, not even my most closest romantic partners who I shared everything with, except this. If I wanted to tell my current partner, I don't know how I would talk about it. I am just afraid he won't believe me.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Seasonal Halloween Store 2002 [RESPONSE] I remember the doors opening, jack-o-lanterns and animatronics waving me into a world of spooky wonder. It was only October 4th, and I was already so excited for trick-or-treating I could barely breathe. I looked at the sign above, the generic “Halloween Store” logo half-hazardly plastered over the once bright and wonderful sign to *Hidey’s Palace,* a back-in-the-day hybrid clone of both *Chucky-Cheese’s* and *Toys-R-Us*, one that apparently didn’t exist anymore. I could recall the commercial for the grand opening, a comically tall mascot in a suit with an eyeball for a head cutting a big ribbon with a large set of golden scissors. I remembered the cartoons airing on TV, but was too young to know it had gone bankrupt and closed, leaving a shell in a corner of the otherwise busy mall. The thought of it being painted so easily made me feel strange, but the dancing ghosts and zombies inside were quickly changing my tune. “Come on buddy, let’s go see some scary stuff!” My dad patted me on the back, and together we went in. As soon as I was through the doors, a blur of movement flashed before me, and a clown screamed with outstretched arms. I nearly jumped out of my skin, and my dad laughed. I recoiled at his menacing face, one that quickly melted away, and said “If you need help finding anything, let me know!” before chuckling and dancing away. I felt tears welling, but my dad said it was just a joke and assured me he was just trying to spread some Halloween spirit. In seconds I had forgotten about the old Hidey cartoon, my world consumed by bags of candy corn and hanging costumes. The Halloween store was a magical place, with loads of decorations and disgusting props, even a lady dressed as a witch behind the counter. My dad corralled me around the skeletons and prop heads, letting me get close but not letting me touch anything. “These things are expensive. If we break it, we have to buy it.” It was something he always said, a voice that echoed in my head every time I reached for the light-up pumpkins or giant spiders. It didn’t matter if I couldn’t touch them, just being in the big spooky world made my heart race so fast I thought I would pee myself. Hundreds of costume choices, anywhere from a zombie pirate to a giant hot-dog. The bigger kids were crowded around the wall of masks, so my dad decided to avoid it, and distracted me with costumes from popular scary movies. I kept expecting the clown to pop out again, but I never saw him. We made several laps around the store, and each time I saw something I had missed previously. With each round my dad got more and more tired, and I could hear the patience thinning in his voice. I still hadn’t found a costume. I could tell we were about to go, and I was doing everything I could to keep us in the scary wonderland. Just as he was steering me towards the register, I thought of something that made my world crashing down. We had never looked at the masks. I looked back at the wall of faces, and saw the bigger kids had cleared out. I thought of the clown lingering, and decided to chance it for an opportunity to see them. My dad was talking sweetly to the witch cashier, and she was leaning towards him, twirling a long lock on her finger. I tugged on his hand to get his attention, one he pacified by squeezing my hand in warning. “Well, I never thought I could *really* pull off a lumberjack, but—” “Dad, can I *please* go look at the masks? Please?” I blurted, making both of them look at me. I could see my dad’s flash of anger, one that seemed to fizzle away when the witch put her hand on his. He sighed, and reluctantly agreed. “Only for a minute, and don’t touch anything—” But I was already gone, ready to have the whole wall of masks to myself. I dashed through rows of costumes, blinking lights, and weaved through other customers as I made my way to the wall. I could see them clearer now, all of my Halloween spirit writhing in a torrent of anxious excitement. I burst out of an aisle and into the open wall, feeling dwarfed under the size of the collection. I looked for the clown, and saw no sight of him. Without my dad trailing behind me, I suddenly felt very alone, the wall of masks staring down at me. I looked over each face, some I recognized, others I didn’t. A man with nails protruding from his face. The wild-eyed face of a man wearing someone else’s face. A black unicorn, with burning stars for eyes. I looked at each one, marveling at both the detail in the masks, and the feeling of dread it inspired in me. Despite my growing fear I kept looking, each one more unsettling than the last. An unsettling white face with brown hair, a man with horribly burned skin— Something between the hangers caught my eye, and I found myself stopping. There was something hiding in the shadow, the faintest glint catching the lights from overhead. Like a mask had fallen down behind the others. It was roundish, and looked like it had a dot in the middle. I tried to see it better, but it was just too dark. I had to get closer. I looked for my dad, and realized I was too far away from the register to see him. The store suddenly felt very empty, and I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I decided I would just take a peek and run back to him. I turned around and parted the other masks with my hands, trying to get a better look. It was round like a beach ball, a singular dot right in the center. I moved my face closer, the familiar shape slowly making sense in my head. After a moment I realized it wasn’t a dot, but a pupil. It reminded me of Hidey’s Playhouse, but the realistic features made it look more unsettling than friendly. And there wasn’t another like it in the whole store. It was perfect, and I wanted it to be my costume. I reached for the mask, but it was too far away. I tried to worm my way between the hangers, keeping the mask in my view as I inched between them. When I reached again, one of the hangers caught my shirt, preventing me from going further. When I tried to shake it off, I felt something grab my hand. I looked to see long black fingers wrapped around my hand, an icy grip that came from the shadows of the rack. I felt a sickening pit in my stomach and tried to pull away, but it wouldn’t let go. The pupil on the Hidey mask dilated, and blinked. Before I could scream, the hand yanked me into the wall, and I blacked out. When I awoke, I felt the cold press of the floor on my face. I jumped to my feet and looked around, feeling a kindling panic when I didn’t recognize where I was. I was in an aisle, black and white checkered tile reaching for as long as I could see. There were shelves on either side of me, neatly organized toys stacked high until they almost touched the fluorescents above. “Dad?” I called out, my voice meeting nothing but dead silence. The aisle seemed to stretch forever, hundreds of toys lining the path both ways. I found myself shivering, wanting desperately to go home. Next to me was a cardboard cutout, bold letters announcing the grand opening: *Hidey’s Palace! Join Hidey and his side-kick Shep the Sheepdog on the greatest game of hide-and-go-seek, everrrrrrrr!* The cutout depicted an unusually tall and lanky man dressed in a suit, with a large eyeball serving as his head. Beside him was an adorable looking Sheepdog with sparkling eyes, that stood on its hind legs like a person. It looked just like the cartoon I had seen on TV. At the bottom of the sign read it’s catchy slogan: *NO ONE CAN HIDE FROM HIDEY* A scream echoed down the aisle, and I looked to see the clown from the store. He was running towards me, flailing his hands. I’m not sure what frightened me more; the sight of him, or the fact that he looked *terrified.* “Kid! Oh my god, kid! We gotta’ get out of here!” He shouted, grabbing me by the shoulders. He was breathing hard, tears streaking through his clown makeup. I started to cry. “Kid! Tell me— how did you get here? We need to find a way out! *He’s coming!*” He shouted, frantically looking back down the direction he came. There was nothing but darkness, a billowing, shifting void that seemed to churn at the end of the aisle. “Who’s coming?” I blubbered, lips trembling. “I-I-I don’t know who he is, he’s just not fuckin’ right. We gotta go, kid. We gotta—” Suddenly a large hand gripped the clown’s shoulder and yanked him away, pulling so hard his oversized shoes kicked off his feet. The arm that grabbed him stretched from the darkness and held him up in the air, wrapping around his throat until he choked for breath. “No-please-” I watched in horror as the arm slammed him down, an impact so hard it rattled the boxes on the shelves. The clown coughed and clutched at his stomach, and the long arm slithered away and into the darkness. “Run kid! Run!” He coughed, but he wasn’t looking at me. From the darkness poked a large pair of golden shears, reflecting in the fluorescent light. The blades opened like a guillotine, worked by two long hands that gripped the loop fiercely. Out stepped an incredibly thin body, standing tall with a massive bloodshot spherical eyeball. I froze with fear as the scarily shaped Hidey crouched to keep his head from hitting the ceiling. He cast a shadow over the clown as he approached, who was holding his hand out in surrender. “*YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD HIDE FROM MEEEEEE?*” It spoke with no mouth, the massive eye narrowing in front of him. “No—” The blades closed, shearing the clown’s arm and head from his body. The separated pieces flailed and sprayed but Hidey was already opening the shears again to give it another go. He closed them again, and then again, flinging a spatter of minced guts and bloody spray as he kept snapping the giant scissors. As red speckles peppered his giant eye, Hidey looked at me, and stopped, snapping the shears at the air. I turned and ran, heading into the opposite direction as a piercing shriek emitted from the eyeball. The limbs skittered like a spider, closing the distance in seconds as I screamed. I woke in my father’s arms, crying hysterically. We were sitting on the floor, and he was rocking me back and forth as a crowd gathered around us. I was back in the Halloween store. The checkered tile beneath me was once again old, scuffed carpet. Hidey was nowhere to be found. My dad asked me what happened, saying he found me on the floor crying by the masks. I told him everything, Hidey with his scissors and the clown in the long store-like hallway. The girl witch cashier suggested maybe I had gotten lost in the back, and found some of the old store cutouts. She said “Harv” the clown was supposed to be grabbing more items to restock, and she would go get him to apologize. She returned moments later confused, saying he was nowhere to be found. Underneath the wall of masks, a red stain was growing in the carpet. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] There is someone in my apartment who doesn't want me to sleep. [RESPONSE] The other night I was helping out a friend with cleansing her apartment, we are what Ya'll call witches you see. While cleansing the apartment I felt myself sucking out all the negativity from the apartment and suddenly everyone except for me relaxed. I was still tense. But I didn't think much of it since everyone else had relaxed. Later that night I went home to go to sleep and had this sudden feeling that someone was watching my every step. *Probably just a dumb feeling*, I thought to myself as I closed the blinds, turned off the lights and went to bed. Weird thing though. There was already someone, or something, in my bed. I closed my eyes, thinking the feeling would just go away, but it didn't. Instead, I felt a cool breath hit my face, as if someone was hovering right over me, breathing in my face almost an inch away. I tried turning away, but I couldn't move. I was stuck, almost frozen still. *Counting!!* I thought to myself. *Counting always works to get rid of an awkward feeling.* So, I began counting. *One... Two... three...* Deep breaths. *Twelve... thirteen...* The bed dipped and I heard footsteps move from my bed to the window. The window slammed open, and suddenly it was quiet. I knew that I was alone again. My eyes cracked open, and I turned my head towards the window. They were closed. Not even disturbed or cracked. They were just how I left them. After a lot of tossing and turning, I finally met sleep, with an uneasy feeling in my chest. The morning after that, all was forgotten, until it was night again and I got ready for bed. *I wonder if it will happen again...* I kept thinking to myself. Shaking it off as a weird dream, I got to bed and looked at the clock. *00:00 am, nice, I can get a lot of sleep before work in the morning.* All too soon, sleep fell over me. No worries in my head at all, Until... *I just woke up, why did I wake up? It's not morning yet, is it?* I thought to myself, trying to turn my head to look at the clock on my phone. I couldn't move. I tried turning over again. Nope, still stuck. I opened my mouth to curse out loud, but no sound came out. Convinced that I was still sleeping, I checked around my room one final time before moving to sleep again. That's when I saw it. Something, someone, standing at the edge of my bed. Looking at me. I couldn't see their face, only the outline of their body. Still convinced that I was still dreaming, I didn't react too much, until it thundered, and I could see their face. As soon as the thunder and lightning came, it was gone. And with it, the woman. The woman who I now could recognize as the one who I cleansed out of my friend's apartment. Scared shitless, I tried to forget about it. Once again trying to move in my bed. Once again realizing that I'm still stuck. It thundered again and the lightning lit up the room. The woman was closer now before she vanished with the light. *Shit, shit, shit. It's just a dream. It's just a FUCKING DREAM.* Reminding myself to be calm, I began trying to move my fingers at least. More thunder, more lightning. She was even closer now. My fingers began moving, slowly, as if they'd just woken up. More thunder, more lightning. She was standing right next to my bed. Right next to my head. I fell still, afraid that my breaths would make her angry. Her skin was frail, almost as if she'd been dead for years and just now rising from her grave. Her smile crooked. She was wearing a black, torn and dirty dress. Her black hair was in clumps, and her eyes black and empty. But then she was gone again. When the next thundering and lightning came, she was nowhere to be seen. I released the breath I was holding when I realized that I was alone. I still couldn't move more than my hands, Instead I focused on the rain drumming against the windows. The lightning came again, but now I didn't focus on that. She was back. Flying on top of me. Screaming. "DON'T GO TOO SLEEP. HE WILL TAKE YOU. DON'T SLEEP" Panic flooded my veins as she disappeared behind me, and a man took her starting position by the edge of the bed. I began realizing what she said and with all my power tried turning around. Avoiding looking at the man. As I succeeded turning my back to the man, I realized I was face to face with the women and squeezed my eyes shut. "It's not real. It's not real" The words became a chant as I tried to cool myself down. Unsuccessfully. The womans breathing hit my face, it was cool as ice. Panicked and quick breaths escaped the both of us until I calmed down enough to ask the woman what I needed to know. "Is he gone?" Her shaken breaths stopped, and out croaked her broken voice. "Yes." Relief flooded me and I felt the bed dip as she moved out of it. I opened my eyes to look at her, and panic flooded me again at the look on her face. She had a wicked smile, almost like a psychopath. I opened my mouth to say something but before anything came out, she disappeared and reappeared at the windows. One of the windows opened wide with her standing in the opening. "But I will be back to finish what he started" The lightning struck, and she jumped out of the window with a scream. No, a wicked laugh. It went dark. Darker than before. "Hello?" *Dumbass! Don't ask if weirdos are in your house. Just go to sleep.* The lightning struck again, illuminating the empty room. The windows were closed. Undisturbed. Except for one sentenced written in something red, drippy. *Blood...* "I'll be back"<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Eyes in the Storm [RESPONSE] Last night, my home was in the path of a tornado. I was sitting in the living room, getting my fill of sitcoms and laugh tracks when it hit. One moment my living room was filled with stale laughter and the next, it felt like a freight train was riding right overthe top of my humble home. I quickly rose to my aching fee, and looked out the window. The sky was a stormy green, and I knew what this meant. A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I stumbled to the closet under the stairs where I kept my disaster bag, and I went out exiting my home and making my way to the shelter buried in the yard. Strapping it around my shoulder, I briskly exited my home and looked around. My home was the only one for miles, sounding my empty desolate plane. Tornadoes loved homes like mine. Homes where you have to go out of your way to suck them up. I felt like it was mother nature's way of reminding us who is in charge. Looking out over the plains as I hurried to my shelter, I saw the cluster of storm clouds forming into a tornado. My eyes flicked from the clouds to my shelter, the latter of which was tucked behind my wood shed. My shelter was buried deep in the ground and would withstand any storm. It brought me comfort as I rounded the woodshed, and opened the heavy door. I looked at the clouds again and felt my throat get tight. I have seen many tornadoes while living in a verifiable middle of nowhere, but this was the first one I’d seen with arms and legs. It stood, like a titan off in the distance. Looming over my small patch of nowhere, it was then that I saw burning red orbs floating in this cluster of wind and limbs. The red spheres slowly trained upon me, and the thing began to move its large spindly legs towards me. The creature's gate was akin to someone whose legs were put on backwards, as it had an awkward shuffle. The legs were impossibly scrawny and meek as it descended from a literal tornado, closing in on me. Each step conveyed a clap of thunder, and I saw electricity cracking in the wind within this Lovecraftian beast. Hurriedly, I fumbled with the door to my shelter and scrambled inside. There, I found myself in the dark, with dwindling light coming from a small window in the door leading into the shelter. I pressed my reddening face against the glass and peered out. I could see the creature moving in on me still, and I could feel the ground trembling with each step. I said a prayer as the beast arrived right in front of my home. The being was large, larger than anything my mind could comprehend. Its dimension was unending, and it emitted a great blue hue like the buzzing of electricity in the sky before a storm. Whatever it was, as it stepped over the top of my house, its foot was so large that it made my house look like a shoe box. It let out a thunderous laugh as the home I had worked hard for all my life ceased to exist. It then turned around to me, staring at it from the subterranean, and made eye contact. Its eyes were violent and red, like the core of a volcanic eruption. It meant business as it shifted its weight over my decimated home. It was then that I saw in the distance, a semi-truck making its way down a lonely road in the distance. The truck captured the interest of the creature, ripping it away from me, as it ran as fast as its gargantuan legs would allow. ***THUMP*** ***THUMP*** ***THUMP*** With each step came a clap of thunder. To his credit, the trucker tried to speed away, but I read somewhere those things really only go 65 miles per hour these days. The truck tried swerving away, and even going off-road, mowing over hundreds of corn stalks as the driver desperately tried to escape. The monstrosity came upon the semi-truck as if it were an RC car speeding away from a petulant child. In one swift motion, the thing snatched up the semi and opened a jaw that had been previously unknown to me. Long jagged teeth, formed from lightning itself ripped away at the cab, and as the driver must have been devoured, a brief flash of red sprayed out of the creature's mouth. I winced as I watched this unfurl, and my knuckles felt like they were on fire as they desperately held the door to my shelter closed. I watched the creature finish its meal, and then walk off a few more paces. Then, its body began to break down, and it began to dissipate before my eyes. Parts fractured off and ceased to exist until there was nothing left but a fierce gust of wind. Tornadoes usually don’t last too long, I’m thankful for that. I don’t know what I would have done if that thing had stuck around much longer. The Red Cross would have never been able to get me out of my bunker. In the news, it’s just been reported as another tornado in tornado valley, it seems like no one else was privy to what happened. Maybe I would have thought I was going insane. Maybe. But, there’s a missing trucker reported as being last tracked on his GPS on the road in front of my house. They can’t find him anywhere. I know what happened to the man, and I know it must have been real. I think it’s time to move away from tornado valley.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The statue we found on the trail [RESPONSE] The disappearances began shortly after we found it. Over thirty years have passed, but none of the missing were ever found. The memories of that time are still with me every day, and I know they will be there until the day I die. Maybe I'll feel better if I share what happened. I doubt it, but here goes anyway. It was early October 1991. I was sitting in my room listening to the radio when the doorbell rang. It was Jeff. "Hey Scott, want to go riding through the trails?" he asked. "Yeah. I'll meet you by the garage," I said. My mom wasn't home from work, so I left a note on the counter, letting her know I would be out riding my bike. Jeff and I rode down the street to Jodi's house. Her mom answered the door and said she'd be right out. Next, we biked over to Kara's house and found her outside shooting hoops. She ran in to tell her parents that we were going to ride around the neighborhood. Then she grabbed her bike, and we headed down the street. Usually, we would also pick up Kyle, but he was on vacation. The four of us rode down the street to where the silver metal guard rail and the Dead End sign signaled the end of the road. The grass was worn away on the left side of the rail from all the bikes and shoes that went down the path into the woods. Jodi went first, and then the rest of us followed behind. The trail went on for a long way into the woods. We passed a big area with logs on the ground for seats and a wood pile for bonfires. There were always some empty beer bottles and cigarette butts from the high school kids. Sometimes we'd collect the bottles and return them for a refund so we could buy candy. Jodi slowed down and then stopped before the path diverged into two separate trails. One led out to the main road, and the other continued into the woods. "Where should we go?" asked Jodi. "Let's keep going into the woods, and we can stop at the big hill and hang out there for a little while," said Jeff. "Sounds good," said Kara. I nodded in agreement, and we continued on our way. After riding for a few more minutes, Kara yelled, "Hey everyone, look over there!" I coasted to a stop, and the others did too. "It looks like a circle was cut into the grass," said Kara. "Let's check it out," said Jeff. When we got closer, we saw that the grass and weeds surrounding the flat section were normal, but the grass in the middle was matted down and dying. "Look," said Jodi. "The dead grass makes a perfect circle. Maybe something was left on the grass in that shape?" The ground was hard and dry within the dead grass. It was about twenty feet in diameter. I heard a very faint noise when we all stepped into the area. "Do you hear that?" I asked "Yes," said Kara. "It sounds like someone is humming." It was a deep rhythmic noise that got louder when we walked towards the center. "I think there is something here in the middle," said Jodi. There was no grass in the dead center of the circle, and it looked like something was buried in the dirt. Jeff was closest and walked over to it. He dug his hand in the soil and pulled out a small piece of wood. After looking it over, he passed it to Kara. She looked at it for a moment before giving it to Jodi, who then gave it to me. It was a small statue that looked hand carved out of wood. The longer I looked at it, the more details seemed to emerge. Two big eyes and a stubby nose were cut into it. It was smiling with pointy teeth crowded into its mouth. I turned it around in my hands, and when I got back to the front of it, I noticed a third eye on its forehead. I didn't see that the first time I looked at it. The legs were bent, and one of its hands was resting on its knees. The other one was held up with four long fingers exposed. Sharp fingernails were carved into each finger. "It is really detailed," I said and handed it back to Jeff. "That's one ugly statue," he said. "It will look perfect on my dresser." I felt the ground rumble underneath me and a sudden chill went through my body. "Did you feel that?" Jodi said. "Probably just my imagination, but it felt like the ground shook a little." "I don't think there are earthquakes in Michigan," said Kara, "at least not that you can feel…but I felt something there too." "So did I," I said. We returned to our bikes and rode over to the bottom of the hill. When we got to the top, we sat down and hung out for a while. We stayed there until the sun began to set, and then we all went home before it got too dark. That night I dreamt of standing in the dead grass with Kara, Jodi, and Jeff. No one moved or said anything. The dream seemed to last a long time and was really boring. I finally realized it was a dream and that I could control my actions. I noticed a figure standing far in the distance and started walking toward it. But as soon as I stepped out of the dead grass, I woke up. My alarm clock showed that it was two o'clock in the morning. It took me a long time to finally fall back asleep. At school that day, I was exhausted and had difficulty staying awake. Jodi was in my class, too, and I noticed she was also doing the 'trying to stay awake head nod' just like me. I went up the hill at recess to play football with my friends. Jeff was there and couldn't stop yawning. He said he got in trouble in the morning for falling asleep during the writing assignment. It was tough making it through the rest of the day, and I was glad when it was finally bedtime. I fell asleep almost instantly when my head hit the pillow. Then, it felt like I woke up, except I was standing in the circle of dead grass again. The cool breeze sent goosebumps up and down my arms. I rubbed them and could feel the bumps. Jodi, Jeff, and Kara were in the circle with me again. "This is weird," I said. Everything felt so real. I felt the tall grass in my hand and looked at the others. Jodi and Kara were looking at the ground while Jeff was staring into the middle of the dead grass where he had found the statue. I walked closer to the center and noticed the ground was dug up. There was something in there. It looked like some sort of dead animal, but it was covered with dirt, and it was difficult to tell what it was. Maggots were crawling all over it. I gagged and backed away, but the others still weren't moving. I called out to my friends. "Hey, Jodi. Jeff. Kara. Let's get out of here." After a minute, Jodi looked up at me. She started moving her arm and then her leg. "I didn't know I could move," she said. Kara and Jeff seemed to still be frozen in place. Jodi walked to the middle to see what I had been looking at. "Don't look," I said. "It's disgusting…I think it's a dead animal. It almost made me throw up." She stopped and looked around instead. "What is that?" she asked, pointing to the giant figure in the distance. Should we try to see what it is?" she asked. "Okay. Let's go," I said. We stayed on the outside edge of the circle to avoid going near the rotting animal. When we stepped out of the dead grass, the dream abruptly ended, and I was awake in my bed. My clock showed two o'clock in the morning once again. This time I was so tired that I fell back asleep right away. I don't remember any of my dreams from my second sleep session. At school, Jodi told me I was in her dream. She mentioned seeing a giant figure in the distance and waking up after walking out of the dead grass. I told her I had the same dream, but she didn't believe me until I mentioned the dead animal in the center. "So…are we sharing the same dream?" she asked. "Looks like it," I said. We asked Kara and Jeff about their dreams the last couple of nights. They said they didn't remember them and thought we were crazy when we told them that we were in the same dream. After school, we met up to ride our bikes and went on the trails again. When we got near the dead grass area, Jodi suddenly stopped. "Look!" she shouted and pointed past the trees. I looked where she was pointing but didn't see anything at first. Then I thought I saw a flicker of movement that looked like the figure from my dreams. It went away after I blinked my eyes. "I think I saw it," I said, "but only for a second or two." "I didn't see anything," said Jeff. "Neither did I," said Kara. "Are you two going crazy or just trying to scare us?" "It was like the thing in our dream," I said. Kara rolled her eyes. "Let's just go back on our bikes and go to the hill," she said. Jodi and I stayed back for a minute, continuing to look for the figure. We joined them back at the bikes when we couldn't find it again. We rode to the hill and hung out there for a while. We talked about Halloween, school, and being excited to attend junior high next year. When it was getting close to dinner time, we headed back and went our separate ways to go home. That night I had the same dream again. After Jodi and I started moving, we called Jeff and Kara. Jeff wouldn't look away from the rotting animal in the middle, which began to smell even worse. Kara finally looked up at us and jumped when she noticed us. "What…how did we get here?" she said as she looked around. "Am I dreaming?" Jodi smiled. "See…we aren't crazy…well, maybe all of us are crazy. We'll have to see if you remember this tomorrow." Kara looked around again. "This feels so real," she said. "Is this lucid dreaming? I've heard my older brother and his friends talking about it…they wanted to be able to make out with the hot girls at their school, they said. I thought they were just idiots, thinking they could control their dreams." "I don't know if we can control this dream," I said. "It feels so real, and we can move around, but I keep thinking of Kelly Kapowski, and she won't appear." Jodi laughed and then closed her eyes. "Have the New Kids on the Block shown up yet?" she asked before opening her eyes. "Oh well," I said. "Let's see what we can do. Just don't walk out of the dead grass, or you'll wake up. It happened to me the last two nights. I think it was just last night for Jodi." "No. It was two nights for me, too," said Jodi. I didn't remember my dream the first night, but I woke up at two o'clock and couldn't fall back asleep. "That's the same time I woke up both nights," I said. "Hey, guys. What is that?" Kara asked. She was looking at the figure in the distance. "That's what we saw when we were here yesterday," I said. "It was only there for a second. But whatever it is, it just stays there in the dream." "What should we do?" asked Jodi. "I don't want to wake up at two again, so let's stay in the circle here." "What's that smell?" asked Kara. She walked towards the middle. "Wait!" I shouted. "You're not going to want to see that." "Ewwww, gross!" she said and backed away. "What is that?" "I think it is an animal," I said. "Jeff won't stop staring at it." "Let's try to wake him up or whatever you call this," Jodi said, referring to the three of us. We all shouted Jeff's name. When he didn't respond, I walked over to him and shook his shoulder. His eyes blinked slowly, and then he turned his head toward me. When we made eye contact, he got startled and stumbled backward. He lost his balance and fell into the tall grass outside our circle. I stood there waiting to wake up, but the dream continued. "We didn't wake up," I said. Jeff stood up and walked toward the center of the circle. "What's that?" he asked. I didn't understand why we didn't wake up this time. To test it out, I stepped outside of the circle. A low rumbling growl startled me just as I woke up. I sat up quickly in bed and thought I could hear the echoing of the growl before it was lost in the silence of the early morning. I looked at my clock. It was 2:12. Well, I guess it was an improvement from the last two nights. I fell back asleep a little while later but didn't remember my dreams. At school on Friday, we talked about the dream during recess. Jeff was excited about it. "So I guess you guys weren't trying to trick me," he said. "That was my third night with the same dream," I said. "Did you guys hear the growl before you woke up?' "I didn't," said Jodi. "Me neither," said Jeff. "I think I heard something," said Kara. "But I woke up quickly and wasn't sure what it was." "That was weird how we didn't wake up when Jeff fell outside the circle," I said. "I have an idea to try if we have the dream again tonight." The bell rang, signaling the end of recess. While we ran to line up to go back inside, I thought someone was watching us. It felt like something was right behind me, staring at the back of my head. Each time I turned around, there was nothing there. Back in class, I had that same feeling. I was sure someone was staring through the window. But just like outside, when I looked, no one was there. I felt uneasy the rest of the day and was nervous about falling asleep. When I turned out the lights, the shadows shimmied and swayed while I quickly ran and jumped into my bed. I thought for sure something was going to grab me before I made it safely under the covers of my bed. It took me a while to fall asleep. When I finally did, I found myself in the familiar circle of dead grass. This time, everyone else was moving around. "Oh good, you're finally here," Jodi said to me. "What took you so long?" "I had trouble falling asleep," I said. The others were looking at the tall grass around our circle. Jodi looked at me and said, "What was the idea you had that you were talking about at recess?" "Nothing happened when Jeff fell out of the circle, but we woke up after he went back in, and I stepped out," I said. Jeff looked confused. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Why don't you try walking out of the circle first," I said. Jeff took a few small steps into the tall grass. "We're still here," I said. "Okay, now stay there, and let's see what happens when we walk out." The rest of us walked over to Jeff. When we stepped out of the circle, nothing happened. "It worked!" shouted Jodi. We walked all the way to the dirt path we would ride our bikes on. It was weird how everything felt so still and quiet. There was no wind, but I could feel the air on my skin. The sun was out in the middle of the sky, and it felt warmer than it should have for October. We continued our walk on the path and found our bikes lying in the grass. "Sweet, our bikes are here," said Jeff. We hopped on them and rode to the bottom of the big hill. "Is it getting darker out?" asked Kara. The sun was now only about forty-five degrees from the horizon. It had moved fast once we left the circle. "Looks like it," said Jodi. As we walked up the hill, the sun went lower and lower. It was setting behind the tree once we reached the top. The sky was tinged with purple and pink, but it didn't look beautiful like a typical sunset. It felt like something terrible was going to happen, and the world around us looked ominous. It wasn't just me that felt that way. "Why does the sky look so wrong?" asked Jodi. The sun didn't seem to be moving anymore. The woods behind us were shrouded in shadows, and the trees were moving even though there wasn't any wind. The low rumbling growl I heard last night broke the silence and filled our ears. We could see a long way from the top of the hill. I looked at the figure I had seen before, which I was sure was the source of the sound. It was still far away, but I could tell it had gotten closer. "What was that?" asked Jeff. "That's the noise I heard yesterday," I said. I looked at the figure again, and it was noticeably closer. "I think that thing is coming after us." It was moving fast, and the sun was disappearing quickly. Soon we were plunged into the darkness and couldn't see it anymore. But we could hear it tearing through the trees and bushes. "How do we wake up?" asked Jeff. "Maybe we go back to the circle," I said. We ran down the hill and climbed onto our bikes. As we were riding, the chain on my bike snapped, and I fell hard to the ground, knocking the wind out of me. The others didn't see me fall and kept on going. They were out of sight before I could manage to shout to them. The growling continued, and I could hear the thing running toward me. I struggled to stand back up. The trees shook, and I saw some get knocked over as it got closer. I started running but stumbled and fell. My foot was throbbing in pain. The thing emerged onto the trail and stopped a few feet from me. It stood about eight feet tall. Its hair looked like dead vines. The legs were like tree trunks, and the arms hung like gnarled branches from an old tree. Its mouth was open, showing the long thorn-like teeth. Its fingernails were like sticks carved into a spear. Its two big eyes were black and hollow. I started backing up when I saw the eye on its forehead open. It was cloudy, and I couldn't pull my eyes from it. It felt like it was looking deep into my mind. I started thinking about my trip to Disney World with my family a few years ago. The vivid details of the memory flooded my mind, and it felt like I was there again, like a dream within a dream. I was on the rides again, meeting the characters and having fun with my mom and dad. This was our last vacation before my dad passed away, so it was an extra special memory. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder shaking me. "Scott! Get up!" shouted Jodi. "Oh my god, that's the statue!" shouted Jeff. My friends helped me up, and we ran back as fast as we could back to the circle. I could hear the monster following closely behind us, and I could feel it looking at me. It took everything I had to not turn around and look at it. Finally, we made it to the dead grass and huddled together on the ground. The monster got closer but stopped just before the dead grass started. Then it backed up a few steps, still watching us. It opened its third eye again, but it was easier to look away this time. "Don't look at it!" I shouted. We all sat close and looked at each other, waiting and hoping to wake up. After a while, I thought I heard a car alarm in the distance and started looking around. "Do you hear that?" I asked. The others looked puzzled and shook their heads. I started to tell them what it sounded like when, all of a sudden, I found myself in my bed with my morning alarm loudly beeping next to me. I tried to think of my Disney trip but couldn't remember any of the rides I went on or the characters I met. The plane ride and the hotel were still in my memory, but it was fuzzy when I tried to picture what we did. Saturday afternoon, we met at Jeff's house. His aunt and uncle, and older cousin were visiting for the weekend. "I can't remember my Disney trip from second grade anymore," I said. "What are you talking about?" asked Jodi "Last night, when that thing was staring at me with that big eye on its forehead, I started thinking about that trip…but when I woke up, I could barely remember any of the trip," I said. "That wasn't that long ago. How could you not remember it?" Kara asked. "I think it took my memory. I don't know how else to explain it. It felt like that eye was digging inside my mind. Did you guys feel anything like that?" I asked. Jodi and Jeff shook their heads no, but Kara nodded. "I felt something like you were saying…like it was digging into my mind. I don't remember thinking of anything special other than being really scared of that thing," said Kara. That night we were all in the circle again. "Where is the monster?" asked Jodi. "I don't see it where it was before." "I don't see it either," I said. A piercing scream echoed across our dream world. It was coming from our neighborhood. "That must be my cousin," said Jeff. "I was afraid he'd be here with us." "Why would he be here?" asked Jodi. "I told him about the statue. He said it was just a stupid statue and thought I was lying about the dreams," said Jeff. "Then he took it off my dresser and threw it in my closet." "Then why isn't he in the ring here with us?" asked Kara. "I don't know," said Jeff. "But we need to get him and bring him here where it is safe." Jeff led the way out of the dead grass to the dirt trail. Our bikes were lying on the ground like before. I checked mine, and the chain looked normal. We rode quickly to the neighborhood and looked around for the monster while we went. When we got to Jeff's street, we stopped. The monster was standing in the front yard with its back to us. A boy was standing unmoving in front of it. "That's Brian," said Jeff. We stood and waited, afraid of trying to help. Finally, Jeff rode his bike toward his house. "Jeff, wait!" said Kara. We watched Jeff ride right up to the monster and start yelling at it. Then, it turned around with all three eyes opened and stepped closer, towering over him. "Go away!" Jeff yelled. The monster's third eye closed, and the rest of us stood in disbelief as it turned around and walked away. We rode over to Jeff and Brian when it had retreated a good distance. Jeff was talking to him, but Brian didn't say anything and just stared blankly ahead. We watched as his face and chest began to cave in. It was like his face had been sucked in by a vacuum. Then he collapsed to the ground and crumbled into a pile of dust. There wasn't anything else we could do, so we rode back to the dead grass. I looked back and saw the monster following us. "It is coming back!" I shouted. We sped up and jumped off our bikes once we were near the dead grass. I felt the urge to stop and turn around before I made it inside the circle. I noticed that Kara and Jodi also stopped. I kept my back to it at first, but I could feel that eye penetrating my skull. "We need to wake up," I said as I began to turn around. I couldn't stop myself from looking in the eye. It was mesmerizing. I started thinking about when my mom and I moved into the house in this neighborhood after my dad died. I was helping bring things inside the house. Then I felt someone grab onto me and pull me to the ground. It was Jeff. "I was shouting at you, but you wouldn't respond," he said. I looked at Kara, and now she was staring at the monster. Jeff ran over to her and shook her shoulders, standing between her and the thing. "What happened?" she asked. "I was thinking about when I first got my puppy. "Wake up!" Jeff yelled. Suddenly I was sitting up in my bed. It was an hour before my alarm would go off, but I wasn't going back to sleep. I had to go apple picking with my mom that day. Usually, I would have liked it, but I was anxious to see my friends after that dream. Although, it was nice to be distracted for a while, and the cinnamon apple donuts were delicious. When I got back home, I grabbed my bike and went to Jodi's house. "Did you hear about Brian?" she asked me when she answered the door. "No…what happened?" I said. "He's gone. They can't find him anywhere." <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I woke up handcuffed to my stalker in the middle of the woods [RESPONSE] My head was spinning. No… no it was the entire world. Everything is a blur. Dizzying lights and jarring sounds filled me as I tried to stand. Then I was yanked back down to the ground, my fog clearing as I got a good look at the person beside me. Noah Hunt. Noah…. Hunt. My stalker. The boy that had been my living nightmare since freshman year. “What the fuck are you doing here you motherfucker??” I shouted as I tried to get up again. Instead, I fell to the ground again, yanked down hard by his weight and as my vision cleared up more I saw the reason why. We were handcuffed together. The metal was bound so tightly against my wrist that I saw scratches and drops of blood against it as I tried to wake Noah up. Flashes of memory sprang into my mind. I remembered going to a party. Gemma Angelson, her parents had a rental property near the lake. I had gone to try and score a few packs of marijuana from a friend, and snuck out so that my parents wouldn’t find me. But it was hard to say for sure how long ago that was. I tried again to wake Noah, but he wasn’t breathing and I began to fear the worst. Was he… dead? In the dim light of the canopy I could see what looked like deep gashes across his chest and face. Something had attacked him. Instantly I was in defense mode as I scooted closer to his cold body and looked about the woods closely and cautiously. The forest was curiously silent, and it unsettled me. I took a moment to gather myself and tried again to stand. Noah weighed about 220 so the job wasn’t easy. “Help! Help!! Please someone!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. It was eerily quiet, as if the entire forest was hiding from whatever had attacked Noah. Dozens of questions filled my hand as I dragged his corpse to a tree. Had he lured me here? Was I a willing participant? And perhaps most important of all, what had hunted us and tracked us and killed Noah? I needed to move and get to shelter if I wanted to gain any answers, so I used what little strength I had and pulled myself up to a hunched over position, my right side tugging downward to carry Noah. Gemma’s cabin can’t be far, I told myself. I tried to spot the sun amid the treetops to get a sense of direction, wishing I had my phone with me. The only thing of any use was Noah’s backpack and it was on the other side of the meadow, it might have had a satellite phone in it, I thought as I began to crawl toward it. It wasn’t long before I heard the most unsettling noise come from the woods and I froze in place. I’ve never been fond of the forest. When I was little; we lived close to a small patch of trees and my friends loved to go and play there but not me. I was probably the straightest arrow you could find and I was worried that the woods would swallow me whole if I stepped foot in them. At night as I fell asleep as a child the only thing I ever found remotely comforting about the forest was the ambient noises of crickets or the rustling of leaves. A calmness that descends over the trees as everything goes to sleep and it felt like nothing bad could ever happen to me thanks to this sense of ease that blanketed me. There wasn’t any type of calmness found here, instead the forest was eerily quiet to the point that it made me wonder if there was even a living thing nearby. And then the noise of the beast. I can’t describe it properly. I’ve never been good at identifying sounds, but it certainly didn’t sound like any animal I was familiar with. Maybe it was a bear or a large carnivore coming back to check on its fresh kill? If so, I suddenly had even more reason to cross the meadow and try to get out of here. Again I tugged at Noah’s corpse and crawled across the grassy clearing, stopping every few feet to catch my breath. This wasn’t exactly the perfect time for me to realize I wasn’t in good shape and Noah had to be at least two hundred and twenty pounds if not more. I was starting to realize that if this became a fight of flight scenario, running wouldn’t be a good option. Pushing myself up again, I dragged us to as close to the backpack as possible and yanked it toward me. I think I said a prayer and then I unzipped the pack to see what he had brought along for the trip. Instead of seeing anything useful, it made my heart drop to my stomach. There were different hunting knives, at least six of them all looking like they were meant to skin game animals along with rope, twist ties and other things clearly designed to keep me from running away. Duct tape for my mouth, drugs to keep me sedated. But nothing that could help me in my current predicament. I kept digging, trying to not make a sound as the howling in the woods got louder. Was it a pack of wolves? Was I about to be their next meal now that Noah was beginning to decay? I froze in shock as I saw strange silver coins near the bottom of his bag along with a journal that was opened to a page filled with some kind of symbols that I didn’t recognize. Was this like a code? And if so, for what? I reached into the bag to pull out the journal, and just as I did I heard a harsh rush of air overhead and I dropped to the ground, freezing in place. I felt my chest beat rapidly against the ground as I heard the flapping of large wings and my eyes darted about the tree line. Whatever was hunting us was aerial, I realized as I kept as still as possible. I had no idea if the creature would be fooled by my attempt at playing possum, but it was my only chance at survival. Above me I heard branches crack and then another loud burst of wind as the beast crashed down on the floor of the forest and let out a shriek. I was too terrified to look, but just from the reverberation on the ground I could tell that this thing was large. I focused on the pool of blood that was near to Noah’s abdomen where he had been intentionally attacked and saw little ripples against the still liquid as the creature got closer. Long bony legs arched over his prone body and I could feel a warm body against my own skin. It took every ounce of courage I had to not shake in fear as it dropped its head toward Noah and began to peck at his insides. I closed my eyes and started to count backward from one hundred in the hopes that it would help, but instead all I could hear was the crunching of flesh in this beast’s jaw. Saliva was dripping against my own skin. And then, a few excruciating moments later, it was moving toward the treeline and I convinced myself to open my eyes. I’m not sure what I was expecting to see. It was gloomy and overcast and maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me but the creature had to be at least nine or ten feet tall. Perhaps most striking of all was that it looked like it was wearing clothes, a dark bloody red tattered cloak that reached down to its bony legs and obscured most of its body from view. And it wore a mask. Not your typical mask, but one made of the whitest bone like it had specifically crafted it from its victims and custom made to strike fear in new prey. I couldn’t see its eyes but the fact that this thing which acted like an animal and yet stood like a man was now looking toward me with a sense of awareness, it made me want to shit my pants. I told myself those were going to be my final moments on this planet and I was almost okay with that. Then the creature shrieked again and disappeared into the woods, apparently too stuffed with Noah’s intestines to bother with me. I pulled hard on the handcuff that yoked me to his corpse; realizing that the beast likely felt confident I wasn’t going anywhere anyway. For the next hour I tried to crawl toward the edge of the meadow, stopping to catch my breath and trying to not have a panic attack as darkness fell over the forest. I told myself I couldn’t give up. My family needed me to get home. My friends didn’t have a clue where I was and I needed to fight to live. But that was beginning to feel like it couldn’t happen, not as long as I was stuck alongside Noah’s body. It began to rain about ten minutes later and I took it as a sign to rest. Surely the beast wouldn’t return during the mild storm. I closed my eyes and retraced my steps. Gemma’s party had not been the smash I had been hoping for, but some parts of it had been pretty good. I remembered getting a chance to smoke a little weed, kiss a few cute senior boys and even make a cool video with my best friends to go on Tiktok. For some reason those random videos were spiraling through my head as I lay there on the grass and one in particular popped in my head about a couple that shifted their weight and carried each other. I looked over at Noah’s corpse, realizing that maybe I could find a way to lift his body and carry it rather than drag it and decided to give it a try. I can’t tell you how uncomfortable it was for me to move and straddle his dead body. Noah Hunt has been nothing but a creep to me all year long, constantly trying to take unsolicited pictures of me or follow me home. I tried to even get a restraining order against him but the police didn’t take it seriously. I wondered what they would say about current circumstances as his open wound mushed against my thigh and I held my breath and leaned in to wrap my arms around his waist. I used the pack as a way of tying a small makeshift bond between our bodies and zipped it up, carrying the load next to my body to keep his wound from touching any of my own. Even with the handcuffs I could get it done, and now the real question became would I be able to carry his dead body. I made my grip as tight possible and started to pull back, groaning against the shift as his arms came over me. Next I used my legs to push myself up and in the process doing the same to him. In a way, having the handcuff in the position it was in now, interlocking with my grip;was a good way of making sure he didn’t slump over and we both fall to the forest floor. Before I could anticipate what would happen though, his body started to tilt toward mine and I began to push up to lean it against my right shoulder. It wasn’t exactly a perfect balance like I hoped for but now I could walk and it felt as though with the way his arms were around me, it would be easier to drag him. His dead eyes were staring right down at my chest and I did my best to not puke. If he had been alive I knew Noah would be having a field day being so close to me. Then I began to slowly move toward the forest, hoping that any sense of direction would come to me. I don’t really know how far I walked or for how long, all I could think about was that I needed to keep going. But I used the moon as a compass and kept it straight ahead, thinking that maybe I could find the lake and then weave my way around to Gemma’s cabin. As it turned out that actually worked. I found the shoreline probably half an hour later and from there, I worked right, spotting a shady outline of a cabin in the distance. Maybe I felt a renewed sense of urgency because I heard something off in the distance again or maybe I was just so excited to get help, but those final moments getting to the cabin seemed to rush by and I wasn’t even really aware of the fact that I had likely dragged Noah’s corpse so far. Loud music was still blaring from the cabin as I climbed the steps, a smile on my face as I shouted to someone inside to come out. But there was no response and as I reached the door I realized it was unhinged. My excitement turned to dread as the door slowly opened and I saw a scene of carnage. Blood was everywhere, even on the ceiling. There were bodies strewn about and tossed like dolls and most of them were torn apart with little left to recognize them. The creature had come here and killed every single one of my friends, I realized as I slumped down on my knees and tried to hold back tears. As I did, I realized too late that I was not alone in that cabin. The tall cloaked creature was in the dim hallway, it’s soft growl alerting me to its presence as it loomed nearer. “Get the hell away from me!!” I shouted as I reached for some pots and pans nearby on the marble counter and tossed them toward the beast. For some reason it was like tossing a rock into a pond and the monster’s body rippled and shifted. Unaffected by my outburst. “What do you want from me? Why not just kill me too?” I shrieked as it kept staring at me. Given that I had lost so much already, at that moment I did feel like giving up. I didn’t really see a way that I could survive. Then, as if acknowledging what I had just screamed, the monster opened its cloak and stretched out a long charred finger toward me, pointing toward Noah. I felt the air leave my lungs for a very long moment, immediately repulsed by the idea that the corpse I had been carrying around was what it was searching for. I didn’t know what to think or how to feel. I’ve hated Noah Hunt for months now, but I can’t say that I ever felt he deserved to die. And especially not at the hands of a gruesome and disgusting humanoid creature. I could only respond to keep myself alive and shoved his weight toward the creature, closing my eyes as it’s body reacted the way an ant mound does when you disturb it. My hand felt tight as I was yanked forward automatically and it began to rip and shred apart what little was left of Noah. But the carnage did not last long, instead it’s long bony mask was turning up toward me and sniffing the air, almost as if it was unsatisfied by what I had just offered it. “What more do you want?!” I shrieked, too mortified to move as strange tendrils of flesh vined their way toward my chest. I was certain that I was now about to die. But instead; it was the backpack that had been hoisted against me the creature now felt for. The ratty old thing fell away as it broke Noah’s arm and yanked it towards the empty holes of its mask. I watched in fascination and horror as the fleshy tendrils of its body searched the bag and dug out the coins that I had seen near the bottom. It was looking at them the way a mother might a lost infant, or so it appeared to me. I took the chance to reach down and begin to pull my handcuffed arm away from Noah. Thanks to the new wounds on his body, his arm was now dislocated from the rest of his corpse and I actually could move freely. Having that bit of flesh still hang freely from my side was disorienting at first, but I couldn’t let it bother me if I wanted to survive. I began to run toward the open woods again. As I reached the porch of the cabin, I had second thoughts and looked to the carnage. Gemma, or one of the others might have had a cellphone on them, I thought as I slowly moved toward their bodies. The creature was paying me no heed but still I kept my movements slow and calculated as I reached toward one of the fresh corpses and checked for any sign of an electronic device. Gemma was the one that actually still had a working phone and as much as I hated to do it, I had to break her fingers off of the device. Then I had to use her broken thumb as a way of unlocking it. My first instinct was to call 911, but then an image appeared on her background as a screensaver that stopped me cold. It was a casual shot of Gemma standing next to her lakehouse with Noah, and they were smiling and kissing as they looked toward the camera. Gemma has always been vocal about her disgust for Noah as well, to the point that I was sure he wasn’t supposed to be at this party at all. Yet this simple picture painted a different point of view for me. Instead of touching the phone icon I began to read through her texts. Noah was the main one at the top. We need to be able to contain it. What’s going on down there? Was the ritual successful? I don’t like how you are handcuffed to that thing. She could hurt you. Wait. I stopped reading and realized that they were talking… about me. What ritual? And why did she think I would somehow hurt Noah? Out of the corner of my eye I saw the beast crawling it’s way toward a wide gaping hole in the back of the room. A doorway to Gemma’s parents wine cellar. A flash of memory came back to me as I remember asking her why we couldn’t go down and taste some of the brews. She had offered a flimsy excuse about her parents finding out about the party, but now I was beginning to see things in a different way. Splinters of wood scattered around the basement door told me that the beast had once been sealed down here, and now it was returning… I found myself stepping down the stairwell, following the creature like a lamb being led to slaughter. It was moving its goopy body toward a stone slab that was centered in the room, placing the coins down on the slab in a precise meaningful way. All around I saw signs of wanton destruction from when the creature had apparently been released and then my eyes focused on a video camera that had toppled over. My mouth felt dry as I picked it up and rewound the tape. Deep down I knew what I was going to see, yet being confronted by reality was still a game changer. The tape started with the stone slab front and center and then I saw Noah’s face brimming with life. With more purpose than I had ever seen. He was rattling off the date and then claimed this the twenty third attempt. Behind him I heard voices. Then I saw Gemma and one of her close friends. Carrying my sleeping body to the slab. Noah was finishing up with the coins and placing them back in his backpack before encouraging Gemma to get back. Once he was alone, He reached into the backpack and got out the handcuffs. “A precaution to keep the monster from hurting anyone else,” he said to the camera. Then he began to chant some ancient words, something that made my insides shake. On camera I saw my body so the same thing, and from within my body the creature was starting to emerge. He was doing best to not be frightened as its charred body grappled with him and lifted him into the air. Everywhere the beast moved my body was now its unconscious shadow. I heard the whispers of a word that told me it came from my subconscious nightmares. I was the harbinger and cause of this evil being released on the world. The camera ended with the masked creature looking into it and I could see my own dark reflection. I stared across at the stone slab where it now slept, mortified by these revelations as I found myself stepping toward it. I was a killer. A monster. An evil that Noah and my friends had tried to contain. Tried and failed. I turned my palm toward the fleshy tendrils with an open hand and waited as it snakes across the open air, wrapping itself tight against my skin. It had been running around the woods scared and confused and hungry. In a matter of seconds it was now merging again with me, its host. Less than a few minutes later, I was standing alone in the cellar. I looked around at the blood and at the handcuff that now hung freely from my wrist. The last remnants of Noah were eaten by the monster as it came back inside me, I realized. I took a few moments to catch my breath and then smashed the camera to bits as I took out Gemma’s phone and finally dialed 911. I began to walk upstairs, flashes of the shadow that lived inside me replaying the carnage. They had tried to stop it. Tried and failed so miserably. Next I stood out near the lake and looked down at the coins. These things that I felt were like offspring to me now. What powers did they hold? I scattered them into the lake and walked away before the authorities ever arrived, deleting what I could on the phone I had just used to make the call. It was now to be a transcript of this nightmare. When they arrive I was sure they would assume it was a teenage drunk party gone horribly wrong, and I would be seen as the victim of a sick prank. No one would know of the darkness inside me. The evil that was now whispering in my ear. It was fully awake and our souls were symbiotic. There are others, it said, like me that I needed to find. So I walked until I found the highway. I flagged down a friendly motorist. “Where to?” they asked as I climbed into the back. I looked into the rearview mirror and saw the bony mask of the beast where my face had once been. It was almost in complete control. My will was to follow. This was how I would see myself now, for what I truly was. “Anywhere,” I said, my voice trembling. “Everywhere.” It added. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I'm The Mayor of Hanover, Kentucky. There's Something Off About The Man Running Against Me [RESPONSE] I'm a patriot. Plain and simple. I believe in Hanover. It's why I've dedicated my career to saving it. My name is Reed Martin and I am a great many things. I am a God fearing man. I am a seeker of truth. I am a believer in family values. I am a beer drinker, a meat eater, a handyman, a gun owner (I wear a pistol on me at all times) and most importantly I am a real Goddamn red blooded American! It's why the voters trusted me to be Hanovers mayor. It’s why one day, they’re gonna trust me as Kentuckys Governor. And I ain't gonna steer them wrong. Course… That bid for Governor would be a whole hell of a lot easier if I were already holding some kind of office. So it’s important I actually stay mayor. Normally that hasn’t been much of an issue. Up until now, I’ve managed to run the last two elections mostly uncontested. The opponents I would’ve had either dropped out, or had an… Unfortunate turn of fortune, once certain secrets of theirs got out… Brett Hardy however seemed like he was cut from a different kind of cloth. He’d been an office jockey up until the last election when he’d nabbed a seat on the city council. And now he was gunning for my seat. Truth be told I didn’t quite like Hardy, and not just because he was after my job. Oh, I know he was a hit with the ladies, being a conventionally handsome kind of man. But it all felt as though it was only skin deep. I thought that his smile always looked a little bit forced and never quite reached his eyes. If anything I’d have said that man had the deadest eyes I’ve ever seen… He never dressed up too much, always wearing a button down shirt and a tie. If the occasion called for it, he’d wear a suit jacket, but that was it. Then of course there was that goddamned bowler hat. I suppose it was part of his image… As far as I could tell, the man had worn such a thing before he’d started dipping his toes in politics. I never quite got the appeal of it. It was a goddamn bowler hat, nothing special. But you never saw the man without it. It was weird, to say the least. Now, normally I wouldn’t have felt that threatened by a man like Hardy… But he made it damn clear that he was going to be a threat to me from the moment he put his name in for mayor. I don’t expect most people to understand this, but any true God fearing American will tell you that society has become a little… Corrupted, as of late. Those classic Christian family values have fallen by the wayside as people descend further and further into chaos, forgetting that Jesus is always watching and judging. I’ve always been a vocal supporter of keeping the old family values around. Hardy on the other hand wasn’t… If anything he seemed to tap into the exact opposite kinds of sentiments. When he spoke, I heard him talk about pride parades and queer youth. Putting funding into this, that and the other thing… And those suckers just at it right up. Left to his own devices, Hardy could’ve caused me a whole hell of a lot of trouble and well, I just wasn’t going to take that lying down now, was I? There’s a fella in town I’ve worked with before. A gentleman by the name of Jack Pollock. Now, years in the past Pollock was a detective, although in time he eventually split off from the local police and went into business on his own as a PI. Really, who could blame him? He got good money for what he did and in my experience, he was awfully good at his job. He’d helped me deal with political rivals like Hardy before… In fact he was half the reason I’d become mayor in the first place. Pollock was good at digging up dirt that people didn’t want uncovered. He’d helped me prove just how corrupt my predecessor was, digging up the details of his illicit affairs. Oh, the voters just loved hearing about that… Then when some jackasses had suggested running against me last election, Pollock gave me some information to help me convince them to withdraw… Secrets that they’d rather not have gotten out. I figured that Hardy would go down just as easily when I hired Pollock… Although for some reason, I had no such luck. When I’d hired Pollock to look into Hardy, I’d expected to hear back from him within a couple of weeks. Well, a couple of weeks came and went. No phone calls. No emails. Nothing. And all the while, Hardy kept doing better and better in the polls… It was starting to get a little worrying… So I’d headed on down to Pollock's office just to remind him of exactly what I was paying him for. He had a cozy little setup downtown and I’d stopped by discreetly during the late evening. As always, his office smelled of cigarette smoke and old paper. When I came in, Pollock himself was at his desk, tapping away at his computer. He didn’t even look at me when I came in, nor did he even acknowledge me when I spoke: “Jack, long time no see. How’ve you been doing, buddy?” He’d just stayed right at his computer, taking the occasional puff of his cigarette and emptying it into his overflowing ashtray. It was only when I leaned on his desk that he finally looked at me. Pollock was a stony eyed, stern looking sonofabitch… Although there was something off in the way he stared at me that day. “Martin.” He’d said plainly. “Thought I’d come by and check in on you. Haven’t heard anything lately. How’s it going with Hardy?” Without so much as another word, Pollock just opened a drawer on his desk and took out his checkbook. He quickly jotted something down, tore off the check, and handed it to me. “What’s this?” I asked. “Your deposit back.” He replied plainly, “I’m dropping the Hardy job.” “Dropping… What the hell do you mean you’re dropping it?” I asked. “I’m not working that case anymore. Find someone else.” I took the check, then stared back at him. “Find someone… The hell are you playing at, boy?” “I’m not working that case anymore.” He said. “Why the hell not?” He paused, before looking back up at me. He seemed to think for a moment, before just slowly shaking his head. “It’s not worth it.” He said. What the hell was with him? Did Hardy pay him off or something? “If it’s about money, I can double your pay.” I said, “If Hardys paying you something, I’ll pay you more!” “This ain’t about the money, Martin.” Pollock said, “It ain’t even about the politics… Just leave… You and I are through.” “Through?” I asked. “You gonna just keep repeating the last word I said? Yeah. Through.” Pollock replied, “And if you’ve got any goddamn sense you’ll walk out of here before things get ugly.” “Are you threatening me?” I asked. “I’m not.” He said, before sighing and shaking his head. He took another drag on his cigarette, “Just… Get out of here, Martin… Fuck the election. Fuck everything. Just get out.” I stared at him for a few moments, before scoffing in disgust. “Suit yourself.” I said, before leaving that washed up old cop to smoke in his office. I wasn’t quite sure what the hell had gotten into him but if he didn’t want my goddamn money, I’d take my business elsewhere. Turns out that was easier said than done… The next PI I reached out to refused the job since she wasn’t interested in this ‘political blackmail shit’. Then the one after that refused to work with me because Pollock had said no. I kept my eyes open for someone else, but in the meanwhile, it became clear to me that I was gonna have to get my own hands dirty. Everyone has something they want to hide… Hardy might’ve maintained a squeaky clean image. But I had little doubt in my mind that there was something he didn’t want getting out. Something I could use. I just needed to find it. So I rented a discreet car just for the purpose of keeping an eye on Hardy and did just that. I got to work. Hardy was not a man who lived a particularly interesting life. He was single, lived alone, didn’t smoke, rarely drank and wasn’t exactly that social. On paper it was hard to see what kind of scandal I could even find on the man. You can’t cheat if you don’t have a spouse and you can’t make a drunken ass of yourself if you’re sober. The first night I spent tailing him, he’d gone to dinner with some of his backers, then went home. From what I could see through the windows, he seemed to just be sitting on his couch, watching TV. Some old 90s sitcoms, nothing juicy. This was hardly the big scoop I was looking for… But I figured I might as well be patient. On my second night watching Hardy, he proved to me that he was just as boring as I’d feared. He’d gotten dinner at a local chain restaurant, did some grocery shopping, and went home, where he disappeared into his office. I did consider trying to get hold of his internet search history, or trying to get to his emails… Although I had no idea where to even start with that and to be honest, that kind of thing could’ve pretty easily backfired. It probably would’ve been a waste of time anyways. As far as I could tell Hardy was working on something, not using his computer for ‘*leisure time*’... All the same, I got the feeling that even the porn this guy looked at would’ve been boring, if he even bothered to look at any of that stuff. Still. I persisted. On the third night that I followed him, I still got next to nothing. The only blip on the radar worth mentioning is that I saw him stop at a fast food restaurant for dinner, where he ordered a fish burger. Yeah. Scandalous… The voters would just love that. He’d gone home again fairly early and I got the impression he’d be headed right back to his office. Lord, I probably could’ve used an actual PI for this business… This was boring as sin. For a moment, I honestly did wonder if Pollock had dropped this case because there was nothing to find… Although if that were the case, he really didn’t need to be that goddamn hostile towards me about dropping it. That part didn’t add up. Hardy had parked his car in his driveway, gotten out, and headed to his front door… Then for the first time in three days the man did something actually interesting. Right before he went inside he stopped. He turned and then he looked right at me. My heart seized up in my chest a little. Hardy just stared at me, standing stock still. There was no mistaking where he was looking. There was no pretending that his eyes weren’t locked right on me. They absolutely were. He stared at me… And then, he just turned and headed inside. He didn’t close his front door behind him. He left it wide open and it took me a few moments to realize that he was inviting me in… I thought about it for a few moments… Obviously, the sonofabitch had caught me. What was the point in pretending he hadn’t? If he was leaving the door open like that, obviously he wanted to talk. Realistically I had nothing to fear from him. Hell I was even wearing my pistol as per usual. Why was I so shaken by this? Eventually, I just killed the engine to my car, got out, and headed for the door. If the jig was up, I might as well confront the sonofabitch directly, right? When I stepped through the door to Brett Hardy's home, I was greeted by the sight of him in his kitchen, a short distance away. He was pouring two glasses of whisky on the rocks and the moment he saw I’d come in, he picked one up and offered it to me. “Glad you finally decided to stop skulking around out there.” He said plainly, “It’s high time that you and I talked like men.” “I wasn’t of the impression you were open to talking.” I replied. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He’d asked, before gesturing to the couch in his living room. I’d taken the seat and watched as he’d sank into an armchair across from me. “You know, despite being rivals, I really do admire you, Martin. I think that you and I could’ve accomplished a lot together. We still could, if you’d like to give it a chance.” He said. “You’re running against me. I don’t really see how we’d cooperate.” I’d replied. “You don’t yet… But you will…” Hardy said, “How’s Jack Pollock doing? I presume he let you know that he’s not working for you anymore.” “He did… And if you don’t mind me asking, just what the hell did you say to him?” “I didn’t say anything.” Hardy assured me, “Pollocks a good detective. He saw what there was to see and he made that choice of his own volition. I imagine that he’ll be leaving town soon if he hasn’t already. It’s a shame… I liked him.” “Leaving town?” I asked, “Why?” “Not everyone handles truth particularly well.” Hardy said, “We’ll see how you handle it soon enough… I presume that’s why you’ve been following me. To find some sort of shocking truth about me. Something to sway the voters back to your side, or better yet get me to drop out of the race entirely.” “That would be ideal, yes.” I admitted. No point in lying about it. “So tell me… Just what’s it gonna take to make you… Reconsider your candidacy?” “Nothing that you’ve got.” Hardy replied, “You see, you and I are two very similar people… We’re both looking for a bit of power. And in time, we’ll use that power to go even further. Maybe if we make it far enough we could even have a shot at the presidency one day. Who really knows.” “So that’s your end goal, huh? You wanna be President?” “I want to go as far as I can. Isn’t that what most people want?” He asked, “Although… I will admit, I might just have an easier time with it than most people would.” I raised an eyebrow. “And just why is that?” I asked. “Because I’m not Brett Hardy.” Hardy smiled, before reaching up and removing his bowler hat. And as I saw what was underneath, I felt my stomach turn in revulsion. With the hat gone, I could now see what it had been hiding… A jagged, bloodless hole in the top of his head. It looked like part of his skull had been entirely removed… And what was inside… Dear lord… I could see something pale and chitinous inside. I could see insectoid claws reaching out of the hole in his skull as something unfurled itself slightly from the depths of his head. Hardy just smiled as the bug revealed itself… And though his eyes seemed dead, the black, compound eyes of the pale grub that seemed to peer out of the hole in his skull were very much alive. *“So nice to finally get a chance to speak face to face…”* Hardy said, his voice as calm as ever. I pressed myself into the sofa, my eyes widening in disgust as Hardy took a sip of his drink. His body still moved like normal… Although the more I looked into his eyes, the deader and glassier they looked. “Jesus Christ… What the hell are you?” I demanded. *“Just a concerned citizen.”* Was the reply, *“One with very big plans… Plans that I really can’t have you standing in the way of.”* Something told me I didn’t want to know just what the hell those plans entailed… But I couldn’t stop myself from asking. “What are you gonna do?” I asked. *“You’ll find out… Sooner rather than later. You came here looking for a secret. Were Brett Hardy still alive, you’d find none. He was not the most interesting man… But he’s made an excellent host. Perhaps you’ll be an even better one…”* My heart seized in my chest as I realized what the bug was saying. Hardy's body rose to its feet, still holding the glass of whisky. His lips curled into a knowing smile. *“See Martin… You can’t beat me. You might beat Hardy. But you’ll never beat me. One way or another, I’m going to win. So let’s talk about how you and I can work together…”* As he took a step toward me, I grabbed for my holstered pistol. As I pulled the gun free, I saw Hardy's eyes widen. The bug slithered back into the hole in his skull the moment before I pulled the trigger. The first shot left a hole in Hardy's cheek. The second went through his throat… The last two went through his chest. He collapsed backward onto the ground and as he died, I saw that pale white shape crawling out of the hole in his skull. The bug. Good God… It was so much longer than I’d thought… It skittered away on countless legs and I blindly shot at it. I know that I missed. It quickly vanished under his chair and I kept my gun aimed at the spot where it had been just a few moments before. My hands shook as I fired three more rounds into the chair, hoping to God I’d hit that horrible thing… But I didn’t know for sure. With my legs shaking, I stumbled backward as I made my way back to the door. I thought I saw a flash of white near the chair and fired two more shots before scrambling towards Hardy's door and bursting out onto the street again. I didn’t stop running until I made it to the car, and when I was safely inside I locked the doors tight and hit the gas, speeding away as fast as I could. I didn’t dare look back… Not even once. A neighbor found Hardy’s body earlier this evening. Someone else said that they saw a man fleeing the scene. I don’t know how long it’s gonna take before the police find me… But I know they probably will. And when they do, I don’t know if they’re going to buy that Hardy’d already had that hole in his head when I’d arrived. Maybe I can claim self defense… Maybe… But I don’t know about my chances. Really, right now it ain’t the prospect of going to prison for a murder that scares me. Right now… What scares me is the fact that I don’t know if I actually killed that thing that’d been in Hardys head or not. If I did and they find the body, then just maybe I’ve got a chance to come out of this. But if I didn’t… God only knows where it is now. God only knows what it’s planning. *“You can’t beat me. You might beat Hardy. But you’ll never beat me. One way or another, I’m going to win…”* That’s what it said to me. And I can still recall the absolute conviction in its voice. It didn’t just believe what it was saying. It knew it was true… And the thing is… I can’t deny that it was probably right. Maybe I wasn’t the best mayor Hanover ever had… But I’ve got a feeling that whatevers coming next is going to be a whole hell of a lot <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I've started growing my own veggies at home and now I fear for my life [RESPONSE] This year I’ve decided to try something different and picked up a new hobby - home gardening. If you don’t know what that is - it’s, basically, trying to grow some veggies or herbs for consumption within the space of your apartment. After reading tons of articles, reddit posts and watching a countless number of videos on YouTube - I was prepared. Ordered some pots and trays, soil and seeds, watering systems and lights - a pretty expensive thing to try out, if you ask me. My girlfriend didn’t share my excitement at first, stating that I have troubles with taking care of myself already, and that those poor plants are doomed since day one. But after I’ve arranged everything around nicely and began taking care of my new neighbors - she finally recognized that spark of interest in my eyes and started to support it, checking on progress with me, sprinkling and all that stuff. I’ve picked up cherry tomatoes, some dill and parsley for my first attempt at growing something, as guides promised those were extremely easy to take care of. I was worried through first two weeks, as nothing showed up from the soil and at some point I started questioning my actions: what if I picked the wrong brand or used too much water? What if the nutrients were too active and sorta killed the seeds? Nevertheless, after two and a half weeks - the sprouts showed up. It was quite an excitement, for me, the guy who never done this before. Jane was impressed too and shared the mood. I’ll cut to the point though, as I believe, not everyone finds description of slowly growing plants amusing. Couple of months later we had several grown up tomato plants, some dill and, unfortunately, not a single parsley bush. Something went wrong there. But, anyways, things turned out nicely. Tomatoes bloomed already and tiny green spheres of future fruits emerged here and there on the branches. The dill got really big at some point, so I had to cut it here and there, as I’ve read, that when it gets thick - it becomes somewhat bitter and hardly used as intended. Surprise came unexpectedly. One morning, as I was making coffee in the kitchen as Jane called from the room: “Hey, Jake, check this out. This one looks like a face!”. I went to see what she was all about and indeed, one of the tomato fruits resembled a human head - you could clearly see brow ridges, a fold in shape of open jaws and some bump that looked like a nose. Have you heard of all those cases of “divine presence”, when people saw Jesus or Holy Mary on piece of a toast or in a cloud shaped weirdly? Well, I was not that type of guy, so I just expressed my surprise and said something like: “Well, the pets always resemble of their masters, right?”. We had a laugh and that was it. Couple of days later we made another discovery, not just that single tomato looked like a human face - each one of them did. Tiny vegetable screaming faces. “Well, that must be one of those decorative species, if you ask me” - Jane said - “You know, like butterfly orchids, or those heart shaped strawberries.” “Yeah, that must be it.” - I’ve replied - “Though I’m pretty sure I’ve ordered basic cherry tomato seeds. They must have messed up something when packing”. By the end of the month we got the first harvest - a bowl of tiny face-resembling red tomatoes, not bigger than a thumb nail. I couldn’t think how to use them better than in a salad, so I’ve cut and mixed them with some lettuce, olive oil and sesame seeds. It was fantastic. Tomatoes were so rich in taste and aroma. All the greenhouse ones they grow for sale are absolutely no match. I was excited, proud and making plans for my future batches. Strange things started to happen next, as we went to bed. No, no. We didn’t get any food poisoning or anything like that. Vice versa - I slept as if I was hit with a log. Though Jane gave me creeps. I woke up suddenly around 5:00 in the morning due to her shivering and moaning in her sleep. So I’ve gently shook her shoulder: “Hey, are you ok?”. She opened her eyes, returning back to reality, took a moment to gather her thoughts and said: “I just had the weirdest dream ever. It was as if I was buried alive and somebody kept throwing shovel after shovel of earth above the pile I was under. So frigging scary…” I comforted her and soon we went back to sleep again. No more incidents that night. Though the next night it happened again. To both of us this time. I saw a dream, where I was lying in the dirt, being able to see just my torso and feet sticking up. It seemed I was a little boy. It was hard to breath and something bubbled in my lungs each time I’ve tried to inhale. To make it worse - somebody behind my field of view dropped earth on top of me. I've been buried alive. That moment I felt really vulnerable and unable to do a single thing. Even raising a finger was an impossible task. I woke up in cold sweat. So did Jane. We looked each other in the eye for a moment, and started to share the horror interrupting each other. What could possibly cause this? Were we experiencing too much stress lately? Maybe some horror movie we saw earlier decided to hit back hard? This continued for couple of nights straight. Sleeping pills and chamomile tea did no difference. We had our torture returning to us every night. So one day we just sat down and discussed the potential cause of this. (You’d rather ask - why not go to the therapy or sleep disorder specialist, in the first place? Well, none of us had medical insurance, and before throwing away money for this purpose - we decided to try figuring it out on our own). We never thought about this before, but the thing started right after we had those tomatoes in the salad. “Think for yourself, those look like screaming heads - and what do you do in your dreams? You want to scream. You want somebody to save you, right? Look, Jake, I don’t believe in all that ghost monster spooky shit, you know me. But here, my intuition just going boinks.”. “Yeah, but… So we have a handful of cherries and now they pollute our sleep? That just sounds ridiculous.” - I’ve replied. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the fertilizer you’ve used. Is it toxic? Maybe you washed them not properly? I don’t know what to think” - she continued. “Fine, fine. I’ll check everything. And if nothing would be off - we’re going to hospital” - I’ve replied. So then I went through my order and checked every single piece of equipment and each expendable material I had in it. I’ve even checked if the pots were made of proper plastic and that it couldn’t spread any chemicals ending up in plants. The fertilizers were certified and guaranteed not to contain anything that could harm humans, animals or other plants. There was definitely nothing wrong with my tap water, or we would feel the symptoms much earlier. So by the end of the day I sent two emails: one with questions to the company that provided seeds and the other - to the provider of the plant soil. Surprisingly, after another cycle of nightmares - I had two responses in the inbox. First one read: “Dear Jake, thank you very much for entrusting us to provide you our product. We can ensure you, that we always deliver top quality seeds for our customers. I’ve checked the order number you’ve sent in and can confirm that we sent you a 3-pack of cherry tomato seeds, so no mistakes were made. Hope this answers your question. (And so on, and so on). The second one, though, was bit more interesting: “Hello Jake. We are truly sorry to hear you are having problem with our product. —skipping some lines on how good they actually are, and how they care about their quality— We’ve tracked the batch of your delivered goods and will be running an inspection on the corresponding excavation site, to make sure our packed soil is of highest standard possible. (and so on and so forth)“ That was… interesting. Not amusing though, so I talked to Jane and we booked the doctor’s visit by the end of the week, as I had no other clues or ideas on what was possibly wrong. Couple of days later, we were having some dinner, watching our favorite show on TV, when suddenly the program was interrupted by breaking news. It was a live report from what seemed like a forest area - I didn’t recognize the scenery, even though the news were local. The reporter, who was standing in front of police barrier tape proclaimed: “After numerous reports of faulty product distribution, Bloom Ltd. ran a sudden unscheduled inspection on one of the sites ,where they usually obtain the source for their production. Though a check up suddenly turned into the nightmare for Tim Little, the inspector. Tim?” The camera turned to a pale man, who was visually shaking under police blanket. He was in his thirties, starting to bald already. “Yes… I was taking the.. The samples for my examination, you know.. And then… Then.. Jesus Christ… I saw her… God…”. The guy looked really shocked, and reporter took back the initiative. “Multiple remains were discovered so far and the police is working on the site. If you possess any information or seen anything suspicious in the area of…” I was shocked. Jane looked like she was slapped in the face. We didn’t go to the doctor. After the news came to the public - our nightmares just vanished. A bit later we discovered that 17 bodies were found on the site, scattered around the forest clearing, where the company, I’ve ordered from, tended to pick source for their produce. It was a complete mess and our town exploded - men, women, even children were found in that improvised grave. The most horrible fact that went to public through a drunk talk between some police officer and a local bartender was that most of those poor people were drugged and buried alive. No connections between victims, no certain patterns, no clues. The whole town is terrified. Nobody wants to walk outside when it’s dark. Police is patrolling, but people are still scared. And I admit it - I am afraid too. I’ve already went through this in my sleep several times, I don’t want it to happen for real. I’ve checked on my tomatoes recently. Those are green and healthy. What bothers me though - the second batch of fruits coming up. And I’m afraid I still can see the screaming faces.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] There's something weird about the old house where I live [RESPONSE] I was always alone. My parents kicked me out as soon as I turned 18. The rest of my family lived across the world. I didn't have many friends. Long story short, I wasn't loved. Most of my time I spent aimlessly wandering around my town, hoping that somebody would come for me. It never happened. There was this house, though, that I always felt drawn to. It was abandoned, looked like it had been for quite some time. Vines were crawling across the exterior, the windows were boarded up, and the paint was chipping away. I never explored it, mainly because it didn't look safe. But as I walked by it one very late night, I realized even if it was unsafe, and I died in it, nobody would care. They wouldn't even go looking for me. "Hey, what the hell." I muttered to myself. "I might as well." As I approached the front door, it creaked open by itself. The inside was musty and covered in dust, but not nearly as broken-down as it was on the outside. I was just about to enter when I heard something strange. A piano playing. And right by the piano, a strange shadow getting larger and larger as it slithered towards me. I stepped back in shock. It was some...thing. It had tentacles in place of arms, and it's smile was sharp and yellow, unnaturally large. It's eyes resembled a snake's more than it did a human's. It held out a tentacle towards me. "Come. Stay. You'll love it here." It's cold tentacle wrapped around my arm and pulled me into the house, where the door slammed behind me. It dragged me towards a table, where dozens of other creatures sat. Something with nothing but a gaping black hole for a mouth and eyes drooled beside me. A monster with pale skin and no pupils grinned at me. An octopus looking creature in a droopy chef's hat walked towards the table, a grand plate of disgusting looking entrees in his tentacles. "Dig in" The tentacle creature said, that same wide grin staring at me. "What- what is... who are you?" I asked. The tentacle creature laughed. "Oh, foolish one. Look at us. We were just like you once. Outcast. Alone. Nowhere to go. Until we found this house. Stay awhile. You'll be like us in no time." It hissed. "I will never be like you!" I yelled, and ran towards the door, but it didn't open no matter how hard I pushed. The creature with white eyes grabbed me and dragged me upstairs, into a room with a single, mouldy looking bed. "Rest, young one. You have lots ahead of you." It smiled, and I could see the bugs in it's teeth. "Let me go home. Please." It shook it's head. "You cannot leave. I cannot leave, even if I wanted to. This is your home now, as it is mine." "I am not like you." I said, tears in my eyes. "This is your home, not mine." The creature laughed a wheezy, throaty laugh. "What makes you think I am not like you, young one?" "I'm a human. You're just some... some thing." I said. It sighed. "I was a human once." It reached into it's dirty shirt pocket, and pulled out a picture. It took me a while, but as I looked at it, the resemblance was there, and it became clearer to me that it was, in fact, that monster. "This was me. I was alone, like you. I had nowhere to turn but this house. I hated it, just like you. But as time went on, I found myself more at home. It changed me. You don't have to love it right away, young one, but trust me. This is where you are meant to be. Just, give it a try, okay?" He said, and walked out. I sat on the disgusting bed, processing everything. *Just, give it a try, okay?* Slowly, I lied down on the bed, and to my surprise, it was comfortable. To be fair, my bed at home was just an air mattress lying on my kitchen floor, but this was like nothing before. I fell asleep in an instant, and I had a thought that maybe this wasn't going to be so bad after all. The next morning as I woke up, I looked different. Not too different, just enough for me to notice. My skin was paler, and my arms were veinier. My hair looked more matted, and when I smiled to myself in the mirror, I couldn't help but notice it looked similar to the tentacle monster's. As time went on, I felt more and more like them. Things I used to be disgusted by became hobbies of mine, and things that I used to fear made me smile a wide smile like everybody else. I barely noticed any changes in me until about a week later. Were my teeth sharper, or was I just crazy. I just shook that thought off. But as time went on, the used to things I got. I felt at home finally. This was home, where I could find joy in tearing a live rat's head off and drinking its' blood, or where I could eat live bugs whenever I so desired. This was meant to be. I was turning into the man I was supposed to be. The tentacle monster, who I now recognized as the most esteemed of gentlemen, smiled at me one day. "Ah, brother, you have become one with us. A true monster." Monster? Who was he calling monster? I was no... I looked in the mirror, and saw myself. My skin was now completely white. My fingers were long and sharp at the end. My eyes turned yellow like a cats'. My hair had fallen off. I was one of them. One day, as I was lounging by the piano, I heard the door creak open. A young man, maybe about my age, looked around. "H-hello? Hello!" He called. I crawled towards him, eager to make a new friend. He jumped back at the sight of me. I flashed him my nicest, most gentleman-like smile. I reached out my hand to him. "Come. Stay. You'll love it here.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I Heard Clicking At Night [RESPONSE] I am writing this as a warning or perhaps even a survival guide. You do not need to believe me; I know this will probably sound like some scary story you make up at a bonfire anyway, but I am writing this for whomever may find themself as I had. My name is Logan Winters, and I will be turning twenty next week. I attend the University of Michigan Tech which, for those who do not know, is in the upper peninsula of Michigan. During my first month of school, I heard it. I can remember the first time I heard it vividly, though the day it happened has escaped my memory. I was making my way back from a friend’s place. We had met each other in a board game club, and now we were frequent visitors of one another. For the sake of his anonymity, we will call him Austin. After getting back to my room, I sat at my desk, opened my window, and got working. I certainly was not used to my homework load yet, but I had found it easy to focus late at night with the cold air blowing against me. It was then I heard it. *Click… Click… Tap- click… Tap- click- click… Click…* At first, it startled me. The sound seemed to have no rhyme or reason to its rhythm, but instead it merely swayed as if the wind was guiding it. I have tried so many methods to replicate the sound of the click, and this is the best way I have been able to describe it. Try to create a clicking sound with your tongue. You will notice that your tongue rolls behind your bottom teeth before popping up. Now, press down on your tongue with the roof of your mouth and slide the tongue back while trying to make the same clicking sound. It almost sounds like the squeal of a pig being slaughtered before popping into a singular click. This was the sound, though much more resonant. It tended to be accompanied by taps, which resembled fingers tapping against glass. I investigated the sound, but I could not find a source. The clicking was most certainly from outside as it sounded distant, but the tapping seemed to be echoing from my very room. The clicking would seemingly vanish for an indeterminate amount of time before returning again. I attempted to ignore it and focus, but it seemed to only get louder as the night went on. Eventually, I closed my window and tried to go to bed, thinking it would be gone when I woke up. My imagination had admittedly gotten me worked up slightly, but I stayed calm and reasoned that it was likely just some piece of machinery making the noise outside the dorm. As I laid there in my bed I found that the sound seemed to continue to get louder. I hugged my blanket tightly, praying for another moment of clarity when the sound would fade. After some time it did, and I closed my eyes hoping to sleep well finally. However, when the sound came back, I sighed. Was I going to get any sleep tonight? I opened my eyes, and my entire body immediately went cold. I saw it at the window. Its long body seemed to blend in with the darkness outside, but what I could clearly make out was its pure white face. It had two small black voids for eyes, and a mouth that went from one side of its face to the other. It seemed to have a permanent smile, and stared directly at me. It had no hair, nor eyes, or any other discernible human-like characteristics. I was stiff as a board, not daring to move. I could not even look away. Then, its head began to rotate. It moved its head in quick jolts, spinning it counter clockwise from its chin to its forehead. As it moved, it seemed to stop at set places, causing the clicks as it did so. I stared in horror as it did this, not letting its gaze leave me for a second. As its mouth arrived at the top of its head, it suddenly stopped. I watched as its mouth, now resembling a frown, seemed to slowly open. A part of me expected rows of sharp teeth, but what I got was worse. It was nothing. Its mouth opened into a black void of nothingness that seemed to consume all light that touched it. I screamed in horror, but then I awoke in a cold sweat. Had it all been a dream? That was the only logical explanation, but I could not bring myself to believe that. I noticed I was about to be late for my first class of the day, so I grabbed my stuff and went running without giving the dream any more thought. I told myself over and over that I had simply had a terrible nightmare, but deep inside me I felt that there was more. However, I could not dwell on it, so I continued with my day to day life. It was a few days later when I heard it again. I had been hungry while studying late at night and decided to get McDonald’s since there was one not too far from my dorm and they were open 24/7. I was walking back when I heard it. *Click- click… Tap. Click… Click. Click. Click- tap- click…* My entire body immediately froze. I felt myself go pale as my face went hot. I could see the light of my dorm not too far away, but did I dare move? My eyes scanned left to right, but I did not move my head. I saw nothing but the large pines around me. I decided to run. I ran forward as fast as I could to my dorm, not daring to look around me. After arriving in the safety of my dorm, the sound seemed to fade away. Had I imagined it again? Perhaps I was simply tired. I already knew that all of this late night studying was not good for me. Reluctantly I decided not to investigate the matter any further, partly out of reason and partly out of fear. Once again I went to bed, but this time when I woke up the clicking did not stop. I could hear it all the time. It would still continue its trend of having random starts and stops, but it now echoed in my ears all day and night. I tried to ignore it, but my anxiety was immense. Often when it was really loud I would lock myself in my bathroom and have panic attacks. I could not focus on school; I could not talk to people; I could do nothing. Eventually I stopped attending classes and my extracurricular activities. The clicking no longer seemed distant, but it felt as if it was coming from inside me. I would sometimes pass out when the sounds were too loud and then wake up covered in cuts. Was I going insane? Hope came through a knock at my door. It was Austin. We talked for some time, and he comforted me. He had been worried after I stopped attending the club and did not respond to any of his text messages. He noted that I had grown significantly slimmer and was rather pale. Perhaps I was desperate or maybe I just wanted someone to comfort me, but I decided to tell Austin about the clicking. I left my dream out, but I told him that the sound haunted me. He was surprisingly understanding, and he offered to help me find professional help. Maybe I really was going schizophrenic. I accepted his offer; I would do anything to make the sounds stop. Soon I began to meet with a professional once a week, and they tried to consult me on how to make the sounds go away. I tried everything, and even began searching up resources on the internet, but nothing had a lasting effect. Finally, Austin texted me with an idea. He had been planning to go backpacking for a while, and he decided that going together might help me. One of the running theories that my counselor had was that the sound was caused by stress, so disassociating from the busyness of college could help. I agreed, and within three days we were driving to the middle of nowhere. We wasted no time. After parking off some dirt road that Austin said he frequented as a teenager, we began to head deep into the woods. Austin had much more experience in backpacking than I, so I gladly let him lead the way. The forest was almost tranquil, and before I knew it I had forgotten about the clicking and now only focused on cracking jokes as we walked. As night came over the horizon, Austin and I set up camp. He got a campfire going, and we both roasted brats over it as we talked. We had been talking until the late hours of the night, and finally I could tell we both were getting tired. I offered to put away everything for Austin, but he insisted that I get shut-eye first. We playfully bickered about who should do what, but that was disturbed when a sound echoed through the forest, a woman’s scream. Austin and I both looked around, but we could not see any lights in the distance. The scream had come from behind me and sounded distant. I looked back at Austin and then down at my phone, thinking to call the police. I was about to dial 911 when I heard it. *Click… Click… Tap-click… Click… Click-tap… Tap-tap-tap-click… Click. Click…* I froze. Perhaps I was more afraid than usual because of my brief moment of respite. I looked up at Austin and was horrified to see his blank stare. He was looking at something directly behind me. His body was pale and his hand slowly began to reach for the hatchet he had on the ground next to him. My entire body began to shake; I already knew the truth, yet I wanted to imagine that if I just closed my eyes it would all be inside my head. Somehow, I found the strength to move. I suddenly jumped forward, rolling beside the fire as I looked back. There it was, its slim body seeming to dangle from the trees directly above where I had been sitting. Its face was still as I remembered, and I was horrified as it stood completely still. I looked at Austin, who had gotten his hatchet, and then back at the creature. The flames of the fire sparked upwards, and they revealed something that had been hidden in the darkness. Dangling from the creature’s black body was a singular human leg that seemed to connect into the rest of the creature’s body. The creature suddenly clicked, and its head jolted counter clockwise. As it moved into place, I heard something snap, and blood began to pour out from the edges of the creature’s white face. The human leg suddenly jolted from the body before hanging limply once again. Austin suddenly lunged forward and struck at the creature. He attempted to strike it in the head, but the creature suddenly opened its mouth so widely that the entire head practically became a void of nothingness, and consumed the hatchet. Austin stumbled back as the creature closed its mouth and looked at him before clicking its head once more. I felt hopelessness build inside me once more, but managed to garner the courage to act. I kicked the campfire, sending burning pieces of wood towards the creature. It suddenly reclined, and what I heard was chilling. As fire caught onto the white face of the creature, it retreated into the woods, and began to let out a putrid scream. It sounded like that of the woman from earlier, but it sounded as if she was gurgling through a liquid. The sound grew distant at a horrifying rate; just how fast was that thing? The fire ended up spreading. We called the police and told them that shortly after we had heard a woman scream while backpacking, a wild animal had attacked us and knocked into our campfire. Somehow, they believed it. The fire was eventually contained, and the story given by the cops was that the woman was killed by a black bear that was causing havoc in the forest. Austin and I both agreed to never tell anyone the truth, but I feel like I have to share this. If you hear clicking at night, you are not going insane. If you hear clicking at night, you are not going insane. I do not know why that thing did not kill me, but I am not going to take this chance for granted. If it finds you, do not succumb to madness, or you may end up like it. I only hope that you are able to find this post and find a way to survive.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Farm (Part 1) [RESPONSE] Hello everyone. My name is Gary and I’m a recently retired Police officer from a town in the North of England. I joined the force (as it was called then) as a 21-year-old in 1983. Worked 6 years in uniform then made detective in 1989. I was the youngest detective in the locality at that point. I’m not saying whether I believe in the supernatural or not. I’m honestly agnostic about the whole thing, but certainly hedge to rational and scientific solutions to problems as a rule. Here are some of the strangest and saddest things I came across in nearly 40 years’ service. Some have no explanations, some have obvious (but still very weird or disturbing) ones. Before I start this, there’s just a bit of background. The town I worked in is a poor, former industrial town in the North of the country. The area of focus for me was large council estate that Police force personnel would refer to as the “Bermuda Triangle” given the amount mysteries that emerged from there over the decades. Half the estate was completed in the 1940s after the War and made up about 600 houses. The newer part of the estate was built between the mid-60s and mid-70s and made up about a thousand (inferior quality it must be said) such homes. The estate was known to locals as “The Farm”. As the name suggests, it was built on a huge expanse of farmland and was still surrounded by woodland on one side and an area colloquially known as “the Scar” on the opposite side. The Scar was a patch of downward-sloped land about a square mile in size – mostly rough foliage and trees, cut through by a railway line and gravelly paths for dog walkers …it wasn’t a place you’d want to walk around after dark and a couple of very serious crimes took place on there in my tenure as that part of town’s go-to detective. (Maybe get into those later). In the early 80s, The Farm was a bit like the Wild West. The estate was populated to the brim and low-level crime was an absolute constant. The place was poor. Built to serve industries that now hardly existed in England (steel, textiles, etc) and unfortunately had become a kind of social dumping ground. However, as with anywhere, there was still a rump of good and incredibly house-proud people. Since the early 90s the estate had been in decline. It was probably 70% populated, with entire streets becoming empty at the bottom end of the estate in particular (backing on to the Scar). The local authorities had started scheduling parts of the new side of The Farm for destruction only 20 years after they were built. The local Mayor (a good man) was terrified of what he called “poverty cycles”. I.e., that kids born to the roughest quarters would never escape the poor circumstances bequeathed to them. Anyway, I digress, here goes: **1989** After making Detective, I was assigned to shadow a superior colleague for 12 months. Derek. I really liked Derek. He was in his late 50s by that point. He was a real, what I would call, old school academic detective. He wasn’t too popular with uniform, or his own superiors, for that matter, mainly owed to an aloof and slightly holier-than-thou nature. But he was highly articulate, off-the-scale intelligent, with a photographic memory and simply never forgot a time or place. He took me under his wing straight away. About 2 months into the job, a wet Thursday evening in October 1989, he takes me for a beer at his favourite dive bar and tells me about this case he had back in ’64, when he was a young detective in his early 30s. I’ll hand over to Derek, as I recall it in my memories: “A woman from The Farm in her late-50s had called into the station to complain that a child had gone missing. She lived adjacent to a large family, just across a patch of grass from them, and her contention was that a girl of about 6/7 years old, whom she believed was called Catherine/Katherine, had simply walked off the face of the Earth. There was a problem back then with some of the very poorest and most socially outcast families simply not registering their kids as being born or sending them to school when they hit 5 years old… or at all. What would happen is, a home birth in what is already a poor family takes place, then the parents would just raise the child (in a neglectful fashion) without ever registering said birth with the designated authorities. I knew authority workers who would enter homes and find 7-year-olds who simply didn’t legally exist and should have been at school by that age. It wasn’t an everyday thing, but it happened too often. The caller (we’ll call her ‘Edith’) was adamant that this was such a case, and that the child had now been missing for a year. Edith was a real, and I mean profound, curtain twitcher. She even made notes of people’s comings and goings in the street, and although I can’t say I exactly approve of that, it did lend credibility to her accusation. The family in question was a living, breathing nightmare. An absolute sinkhole of neglect and depravity. 12 kids, degenerate alcoholic-gambler Father. The council had knocked through two homes together to form 1 home to house them.” Derek said the house was like nothing he’d seen or even imagined about the worst of, say, Victorian London. He continues …”Perhaps I should have been more careful given the implied nature of the accusation (kidnapping, imprisonment, or murder) but I find Edith to be highly credible given the depth of detail she can go into. Describing the kid as ginger haired, pale blue eyes. Almost always wearing the same blue material dress and holding a large plastic doll. After checks with the registrar and local schools showed Catherine to not exist, I decide to go right off the bat. I take a uniformed officer with me, we knock on the door and basically demand to be let in immediately. The house has a stench of dark age poverty. It’s beyond horrific. Dad is out somewhere. There are probably 8 kids sat at different locations on the floor in the downstairs of the property. Mum, a battered (literally and figuratively) woman of 45 or so, takes us into their filthy kitchen to talk. I don’t waste time - “”Where’s Catherine, we’re here to see Catherine”” I snap at her. I watch the blood drain out of her face before my very own eyes. She stammers and stutters a non-response. “Where?”, I repeat, even more firmly. I watch her shift gear as clear as day, and straight into what I call parrot mode. “You mean my Sister Catherine, she’s over in Ireland” she says with a nervous laugh yet traumatised expression. She denies ever having had a daughter by this name. The lies, and deflections pass through her feeble mind and out of her mouth in obviously rehearsed fashion. I understand perfectly what is going on at this point. I know 100% there and then the kid has been killed, by accident or otherwise, or passed to another family member, or sold into de facto slavery, and this is a staged cover up. It may sound strange here and now that I’d jump to these wild conclusions, but I know this as sure as I know my own name. It’s not even the first case I’ve been made aware of where any of these things have happened. I also know that I have no real evidence of anything, and this is going to be a long and painful process to get someone to crack. What kills me to this day is that despite being certain something was badly off, we never did. They just did not fold. We had both parents down the station. Dad was halfway to demented through alcohol abuse and had the IQ of a 10-year-old. For a year we pressed them. The kids just gave stupefied silences when asked questions. The shrugging of shoulders or outright denials. It really woke me up about how evil can work and propagate itself, dealing with all this. The more immediate neighbours were no real help either, all elderly, to them, it was just a sea of children running around causing havoc in the summer, then mostly disappearing indoors in the Winter. The one lead we had was another relatively elderly woman who lived 3 doors down at the end of the block, Francis. She, when questioned, did remember Catherine and recalled Edith’s description as absolutely correct. She herself had a 9-year-old granddaughter at that point, who would often stay in the summer holidays, and seems to remember Catherine playing with her and may have even come into her house on occasion. Said Granddaughter and her parents had moved to Canada the year before and getting a hold of anyone was proving impossible. She couldn’t firmly recall any further details, and her testament would surely be crushed in court by any half decent defence lawyer. We had next to nothing, but I really believed Edith (who by now was calling into the Station in person on a weekly basis to speak with me) and knew without any shadow of doubt that the family was lying to me. In 1973, the Dad finally meets his maker, steps out of a pub hammered drunk, directly in front of a bus. Fin! Mum dies in ’87. But this bit really, really gets me. When she passed all the kids had flown the nest (there were 14 by this point) and a fumigation team was sent into clean the house. The guys whose day jobs are sewers and industrial accidents. Yes, those guys! And one of them finds a biscuit tin right at the back under the sink that’s full of random artefacts and passes it to us. One of the old pictures in there looks like it was taken in the 60s and I knew immediately that Catherine was stood there right in this picture, as clear as day. The picture is black and white but is clear enough to make the shades of her lightly coloured hair and eyes, it was taken literally on the doorstep to the property, didn’t match to any of the other children. And she looked exactly how Edith had described and how I imagined her to. It was taken on an old camera that belonged to the woman at the end of her block – Francis - and it was Catherine with Francis’ Granddaughter, the one who’d subsequently moved to Canada. I showed the picture to a then very old and quite poorly Edith who now lived in a nursing home, she looked at me and nodded firmly but tearfully the absolutely split-second she saw it, without any prompt whatsoever. The early and obviously insufficient searches we’d made back in the day yielded nothing. The tin was probably 3 feet from my leg as I’d stood in that kitchen back in ’64.” **1993** Back in ’93 a woman (Cheryl, we’ll call her) was a single Mum living with her 2 Daughters aged 10 and 15 on The Farm. Cheryl had problems – money (as did more than half the estate), booze and some general lifestyle excesses. But was generally, despite some social service involvement, regarded as a half-capable Mother. Her kids never went hungry, and both were doing decently well at school. One Friday morning in November they get up to go to school and Mum isn’t in bed. The kids would usually get themselves up, make their own breakfasts and go to school. The younger girl’s primary school was only 5 minutes’ walk and the elder kid’s high school was a 10-minute bus ride. They each make their breakfast, eat it up, get their school gear ready and shout up to their Mum that they’re setting off. No answer. OK, occasionally Mum would go out for a few drinks the night before leaving her a bit of a hangover, but she’d always mumble something. But nothing! Eldest goes upstairs and the bed is empty. Not slept in, freshly made. No hint Mum was there at all. Clothes still in the wardrobes, affects still dotted around the room. They’d last seen her at about 9pm the previous evening when the kids went to bed. (Remember, Bermuda Triangle! This is the case that gave The Farm that name). We never found her! Within half an hour of the kids going next door to call the police there were 3 uniforms and 2 detectives including me at the front of the house. 6 hours later there were 12 of us. The weird thing about this was despite never encountering this kind of missing person case previously, I knew deep down we weren’t going to find her. Despite all the most basic deductions telling us she no doubt went out when the kids were in bed, maybe met a guy and went back to his house, something like that, I just knew in my bones somehow it was more serious. I bet we interviewed 500 people in the next few days. Neighbours, shop workers, pub landlords and regulars at every single place in town she’d ever visited. Nothing for the night in question, absolute dead ends. We had dogs in a formation attempting to track her across the whole estate, surrounding woodland and the Scar. No sign of her! (We can get into what we did find later, totally disconnected from this case). The investigation just cools off after 6 months or so. You’re just left with a feeling of helpless malaise in this kind of case. However, what came next, I will never forget or work out fully: The Summer of 1994 a local man calls the station and asks to come down for a chat. I’m given the heads up to meet him. Let’s call him “Tim”. Tim went to school with Cheryl. They weren’t close friends or anything but did share a few classes and they’d bumped into each other a few times as adults over the years. Tim’s second cousin was actually her kids’ Father, although Tim wasn’t aware of that at the time. Tim had been on holiday to Bulgaria with his whole family - parents, kids, grandparents. He says he goes out for stroll alone one evening and goes into a bar for a cheeky drink. He’s sat at a table while football (the USA 1994 World Cup) is on one of the TVs. Sat across in the next booth is Cheryl. Clear as fucking day it’s her. He literally can’t believe his eyes. He takes his glasses off to give them a quick clean before putting them back on but sure as one day follows the next, that is her. He recognises and describes very acute physical features, mole on left cheek, small scar on her nose from a fight back at school. He’s absolutely 100% sure and would stand up in any court in the world and say so. She’s dressed quite ostentatiously and is next to a large, suited man in his 50s. When she catches Tim staring at her she visibly panics. 10 seconds later she whispers into the suited man’s ear and leaves. Tim stands up, shouts her name but she ignores him and heads out in the other direction. Suited man stands up and comes over. Shakes Tim’s hand in a very over the top friendly fashion which also emphasises his physical superiority over Tim. Offers him champagne which Tim refuses, then slopes off out the opposite door himself. Tim isn’t some random nutcase either. He’s one of The Farm’s success stories. Born to single Mum. Worked hard at school and is now working. Married with 3 kids. I believe every word of what he says and he is clearly distressed. How a 33-year-old girl vanishes from her house in Northern England and ends up in Bulgaria is anyone’s guess. The is pre-internet age remember. Broadband and dial-up technically do exist in 1993 but not in this part of the world and not on The Farm. The only hint of a clue I got, maybe 3 years later, was a tip about a barman who worked in a particular pub she occasionally ventured. He’d claimed to people he was Italian because he thought it would score him more women, but the bar owner claims he was from Bulgaria. He apparently went back home sometime around ‘93 after helping himself to cash from the tills. I still have no idea what happened or if this means anything. The only silver lining from this case is the kids went to very nice foster parents and did well for themselves in later life. Thanks all! Edit 1: clarity <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Hunter [RESPONSE] It was mid-November and I was going out to the family cabin for a few days of quiet hunting. My cabin was about 2 hours from the nearest town and was so far out of the way that I couldn’t get all the way there with my truck. I keep an ATV at the nearest cabin about 8 miles from my property. I left my truck on my neighbors property and headed off on the ATV. When I finally arrived, it was about 5:45pm and the sun was making its long trek down the horizon. I took my rifle and checked the immediate area around the cabin, carefully making my way in the door checking for anyone who shouldn’t be there. The place was empty, as usual, and I went about setting up lanterns and starting a fire in the wood burning stove. It was freezing cold and all I could think about was getting the place heated up. I unloaded my gear and began preparing to spend the next day hunting in the surrounding wilderness when I heard a noise from outside. You get used to the sounds of wildlife in the woods and after a while you usually don’t even notice much of it. But this was different. It was a heavy thud, followed by a soft metallic scraping. I got uneasy because there are no roads up here, there are game trails but many are overgrown and wind in a maze through the forest. I grabbed my flashlight and sidearm and carefully went outside. Circling the cabin in growing circles until I was assured that no one was out there. Strange, but I am tired from a long trip and sometimes silence can make you on edge, so I chalked it up to nothing more than me needing a good night’s rest. So I finished getting my pack together, ate some rice and jerky, and went to bed. The next morning I set out at dawn, my plan was to make for a small clearing by the stream where my uncle built a stand in the tree-line. I had been at it a couple of hours when I heard a soft thud. I looked in the direction of the noise, and about 15 meters from where I sat, there was an arrow in the base of a tree. I was super annoyed and shouted out for whoever shot it to show themselves. Our property bumps up to other popular hunting areas and we often have hunters on our land. It usually isn’t a problem, but it infuriated me to have someone shooting off arrows willy-nilly through the clearing for no reason. Kids maybe, or drunks. Putting on the orange vest I brought in my pack, I scrambled down and away, cursing to myself about amateurs. I decided it would be a good time for a cup of coffee and a lunch break, so I went to my favorite spot in the woods and sat on the fallen tree, like so many times before. After boiling my water and steeping the grounds, I sit, eating my rice and sipping my coffee, enjoying the peace, when suddenly I get the eerie feeling that something isn’t right. Goosebumps suddenly run up my arm as I scan my surroundings. Was that arrow there when I arrived? Did I just not notice it? The dark gray shaft and broad, black tip were very familiar. It was the exact same as what I encountered earlier that morning. About 10 meters away. Anxiety gripped me. Was someone following me? Was this a joke? Was that arrow meant for me? I frantically tried to convince myself that I was just being overly dramatic, that it was crazy to think someone was out here hunting me. But still, I couldn’t shake the feeling. I gathered my things and headed back to the cabin, I suddenly found myself in need of a whiskey, and the safety of four walls. After getting warm enough and in the comforts of a good book, I wasn’t thinking too much about what happened, it was surely just a coincidence after all. I closed my eyes and drifted off into a nap. I don’t know how much time passed, but when I suddenly woke up it was dark outside. There was a loud tapping at the window, I was frozen where I was, not able to comprehend what was happening. The tapping stopped, and a few moments of silence before a big bang on the door, so hard that it shook on it’s hinges, I jumped up and shouted “who is it?” while I chambered a round in my rifle. I was answered with a deep silence. Creeping to the door, I unlocked the latch and slowly opened the door to find nothing there. As I slowly walked to the outside of the window, I see the glass had been scraped up and down with something sharp. How long had that tapping noise been happening before I woke up? I fearfully ran back to the door, all I wanted was to have a locked door between me and whatever was here. I ran into the cabin, but before I could even shut the door I noticed it; sitting in the middle of the table, a dark gray arrow with a broad, black tip. My mind spun. Our cabin was small enough to see the whole space from where I was standing, the table, the old sofa, the set of bunk beds and the kitchen area with a few small cabinets; nowhere for someone to hide. I turned quickly to look back out of the door, and that’s when I saw him. A tall man looming just outside the tree line, maybe 15 yards from my door. The moon was bright enough for me to make out the long recurve bow in his hands. I slammed the door shut just in time to hear a heavy thud on the outside. That’s when I remembered the sound from the night before. This man has been messing with me since I arrived! I shouted through the door, “What do you want?!”, but the man didn’t respond. I knew I had to get out of there, but there was no way I was going to make it in the dark, I would have to wait until dawn. Frantically, I pushed everything I could in front of the door and made sure the window was locked and the drapes closed. No sleep was to be had, I huddled in fear all night in the back corner of the cabin with my rifle in my hand, shivering from cold and fear. The same questions kept running through my mind. What does the man want? Is he alone? What will he do to me? Why isn’t he trying to break the window if he wants to kill me? Every half hour or so, there would be that same heavy thud on the outside of the door. I knew dawn would be coming soon so I grabbed a few things but when I went to the key to the ATV, it was gone. The man took it so I couldn’t leave. A brand new wave of fear rushed over my body. I grabbed an old tackle box off the top of the cabinets, my dad used to keep a spare key in here in case we lost one. ‘Please be in here, please be in here, please be in here’, it was so cold but sweat dripped into my eyes. YES! There it was. I peaked out of the window but didn’t see the man. I took a deep breath and threw open the door with a dozen arrows now sticking out of it, running as fast as I could to the ATV. Jumping on and shoving in the key, it took a few seconds for the engine to turn. As soon as it started I drove off, an arrow driving its way into the small pack on my back, barely missing my side by centimeters. Driving as fast as the terrain would allow, I got to my neighbors safely and retrieved my truck. As soon as I reached cell service I called the police. They never found anything, but I doubt they looked too hard, with the cabin that far out of the way. Even now, I often find myself wondering who that man was, and why he was terrorizing me. Did he want to kill me, or just scare me? Either way, I haven’t gone back to that cabin since, and I don’t think I ever will.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Honda Civics really are everywhere [RESPONSE] Donna lit up a cigarette "Why do you insist on doing this to me?" I asked. "Doing what, and to who now?" "To me, you know your family, you could get an aneurysm" "It would be a relief to you" "Stop" She looked to the side, she was done talking to me, and she wiped some ash off her knee, onto the grass. Donna took a bottle of wine out of her purse and took a swig from the bottle, say what you want about her class, but she wasn't one for pretense, and I feel obligated to tell you that I delighted in that. She passed the bottle to me, and I did the same, gulping down room-temperature glorified boxed wine. "Oh, that might give me an aneurysm, too. I'm surprised you're not complaining" she said, with no hint whatsoever of surprise in her words. "Sometimes when you're drunk, you laugh, and maybe that's worth a little risk" she looked at me pensively, I could almost see what we both desperately wanted to see, a glimmer of sadness, and longing. Because if there's longing then there's hope. We drank wine out of bottles in an attempt to transport us to our youth when we would drive her dad's worn-down pick-up truck, drunk on Shiners. To give the younger us some excuse, it was out in the middle of nowhere, maybe we could have gotten unlucky and hit a cow; oh I'll cut the shit, we didn't care, not at all, is that what it meant to be young? To be cheap, and not give a shit? Maybe, but it also meant that Donna's dad was still around and that Donna's mom hadn't died of a stroke. Then we didn't have to worry about aneurysms or people leaving and never coming back. When pressed on the issue, or something like the smell of Maxwell House coffee found its way to her nose, Donna would talk about how she believed her father went out to kill himself, too beset with sorrow to handle the death of his wife. It was always somber, but I still think there was a bit of hope there. The alternative was that he felt himself a free man and that he took the opportunity to start a new life. The worst thought of all was that he was happy, maybe happier than he had ever been. So, she said he killed himself, and that was that. The sun was starting to go down now, golden and purple strips of light hanging on the clouds, a fleeting moment of time, and in that a premonition. Donna snatched the bottle and chugged. Her lips were stained now, and they hid the bite marks on her lower lip, the result of a nervous habit. My phone buzzed, and I took it out of my pocket to cancel whatever alert that came up that I knew I would be useless to help. It was a notification that a man was on the loose in our area and considered dangerous. A man approximately about fifty years old, and if we were to see a blue honda civic, we should immediately call the police. I laughed and showed Donna. "If people followed this, the dispatch would be ringing off the hook, I can't think of a more common description" Donna laughed too, it was absurd, and it felt so good to hear genuine joy from her, even if it came at the expense of whatever poor man had to deal with this misfit driving a blue honda civic. "You know, there's someone out there who has a blue honda civic, and he's drunk himself so silly that he's wondering if he's that maniac on the loose" we laughed together, and I drank from the bottle of wine, just as the day was officially night. We sat together in the dark, and I put my hand on Donna's leg; this time she didn't move or inch her leg away from mine. There was a lamp that was abuzz with insects doing what I wanted to do with Donna later, but with no need for decorum or privacy, but with so much more violence. In a few hours, the trucks that whirred and sprayed poison would be by, so it was good for them that they were getting their thrusts in now. A car pulled up then, a blue honda civic. What were the odds of that? Well, pretty high. We discussed that. But Donna and I watched anyway with that sense of unease that comes with horrible possibilities. Like how every creak in the house is a murderer especially after you've watched a scary movie or read a terrifying tale. I tensed my legs onto the ground ready to jump and run into the trees. Donna, I'm sure would follow. A man stepped out of the car, sure enough, a man in about his fifties, and I bolted from the bench, immediately my foot found itself turning the wrong way, and I was on the grass, unable to move. Donna knelt beside me, and I thought of telling her to save herself like those brave men in the movies do, but then I didn't in fear that she might actually take me up on the offer. The man walked forward, carrying a gun in his hand. Pointing it toward us, he was bleary-eyed and there was a stench of old cigarettes about him. It smelled like poverty without any hope, just bitter ashes. The man stood in front of us, pointing his gun, looking at us, saying nothing. "What do you want?" Donna's voice shook with just that bit of hope that maybe all of this could be solved. He looked at her as if he really was looking for something as if he had never thought about what he wanted himself. I groaned in pain and thought it best to keep quiet. My heart was racing anyway, if I couldn't run away, maybe it would run right out of my body to find a better life. "I don't..." the man paused, and his eyes widened, and there was something that slowly crept its way out of his eyes, it was the glimmer of hope that I had fought to find in Donna over shitty wine. There was tension between Donna and him, and Donna started to cry. To really let out like I hadn't seen her do in so many years, a childish and freeing cry. The man collapsed onto the ground, and so did Donna. I sat there, never so relieved that a man had collapsed onto the ground. Donna leaned up and dried her eyes with her shirt, and we both stared at the man who had collapsed in front of us. "Must have been an aneurysm" I quipped "Being a smoker and all, I told you that you should be careful" "Fuck you, don't say that" "I'm sorry, I was trying to bring some levity, I'm glad that we are okay, we should probably call the police or something" "No, I think we should just leave him here" "Why would we do that?" "Because that man could have been my dad, and my dad left me" It had taken a Donna brush with death to even think of such a possibility, that her father had left his life behind like an old corpse, and that she had been left behind along with it. "But your father killed himself" I reassured her. "And so did this man, a long time ago"<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The House of Attics and Basements [Part 2] [RESPONSE] By 7:00 that evening, a wave of exhaustion hit me. I set my gun down on the counter and I brewed a pot of coffee, pouring the remainder of the scotch down the sink. Then, as I went to throw the bottle away, I noticed something strange at the bottom of my kitchen trash can. A familiar candy wrapper read ‘Red Whips’ in bold, welcoming letters. It had been my father’s favorite treat, especially when he was trying to get sober and needed a replacement for the bottle. Two things struck me as odd about the wrapper. First, I’d never eaten licorice in my life. And second, Red Whips had been discontinued almost a decade ago. I fished the wrapper from the trash. Its expiration date read Oct 30, 2023. Clearly, this was not some decades-old packaging. Heading to my laptop, I quickly searched for “Red Whips Discontinued” and found a few dozen articles about the demise of the classic candy. According to Wikipedia, Wiley and Sons company, which produced Red Whips, had been purchased by a competitor in 2012, marking the end of Red Whips as well as several other classic candies. As I started a search for ‘Red Whips rerelease’ I noticed some strange behavior in my search bar as the computer autocompleted a search for ‘Red Wall Erected.’ This was something I’d never searched for. Even stranger, when I hit enter, the search returned no meaningful results. Digging into the settings, I pulled a list of previous queries from my machine and found an odd list: *President Pence death date* *Lollipop 11 Songs* *San Francisco Attack* *Anchorage Quake* *Presidential Election 2020* *Presidential Election 2008* *Election 2004* *Taiwan Defense Crisis* The first results were weird. But my hair began to stand on end as the searches got more personal: *Stephen Walker* *Stephen Walker wife* *Stephen Walker college* *Rep. Stephen Walker* *Sen. Stephen Walker* *Stephen Walker News* *Maya Walker* *Maya Walker death* *Maya Walker murder* *Maya Green* *Maya Green murder* *Maya Green address* My guts twisted as I read these last lines. Maya Green had been my college girlfriend, and the woman I’d thought I’d marry until an ugly breakup just after graduation. As far as I knew, she had married a lawyer a few towns away, then given up her own law career once she started having children. I pulled up Facebook and quickly looked her up, confirming that she was indeed alive and well, as of a few hours ago when she made an Instagram post of herself smiling over a six-year-old’s birthday cake. Still, the search history had spooked me, and I pulled out my phone. Over the years, I’d transferred my contacts info–especially hers–to each new phone. I called up her profile and then hit the call button. “Hello? Stephen?” It was definitely her voice. “Stephen? Is that you?” I hung up as quickly as I could. Clearly, whoever had been searching my computer had gotten something wrong. Maya was alive and well, living a happier life than I could have ever provided. Maybe I’d had too much to drink, or maybe it was the stress, but for the first time in years, I felt a pit in my stomach, some kind of cocktail of grief and regret that I hadn’t known was still in there. To be honest, it had been a few years since I felt much of anything at all. And along with that feeling came that vicious thirst that had gripped me in my twenties. The buzz had long worn off, replaced with an evening hangover. How could I have been so stupid to pour that bottle of MacAllan down the sink? What was left in the cupboard now? As I turned back toward the liquor cabinet, I heard a click and looked back to see my own gun pointed at me. Holding it was a slim girl, no older than 14. She wore loose sweatpants and a shirt with a picture of Ted Cruz reading “Not My President.” I couldn’t tell why, but she looked oddly familiar. “What were you going to do with this?” she asked, her voice shaking slightly. “Nothing,” I said. “Nothing.” She laughed at that. “You’re probably right. You’re an expert at that, aren’t you? Doing nothing.” “Can you put the gun down?” I asked. “It’s making me uncomfortable.” “Thing is, I feel better with it pointed at you,” she said. “And if one of us has to feel uncomfortable, I’m picking you.” “What do you want then?” I asked. “Money? I can pay you whatever you want.” She laughed again. “It’s funny,” she said. “In some ways you’re so different. In some ways exactly the same.” When I didn’t respond, she continued. “I need you to drive me somewhere. Think you can do that?” “Do I have a choice?” “You do. But you’re not much of a risk taker, are you Steve?” “Stephen. You seem to think you know me pretty well.” “Better than you know, Steve. Now get the keys. It’s time for a road trip.” A few minutes later we were on the freeway headed north. She sat in the back seat, gun in hand. “So, do I at least get to know who’s kidnapping me?” I asked, trying to keep things light. “Emily.” “Oh, that was my mother’s name.” In the rearview mirror, I watched her roll her eyes. “So where are we going?” I asked after a bit of uncomfortable silence. “To see my mother.” My mind was racing now, pieces starting to fall into place. “Maya Green,” I said after a few minutes. “You look just like her. I couldn’t quite place it before, but–” “Just drive,” she said, looking out the window, but after a few minutes, she met eyes with me in the mirror and leaned forward. “So to you… she’s just some ex-girlfriend, right?” she asked. “Yeah.” “Were you ever engaged?” “No. Almost.” “What happened?” she asked. She was less taunting now, more genuinely curious. “She got tired of me,” I said after thinking it over for a moment. “She said I was wasting my life.” “Well, she got that right,” said Emily. “You know, I’ve been watching you for a few weeks now, and I’ve got to say, you are genuinely doing nothing with your time on this planet. Like, your biggest accomplishment over the last month is a grocery run, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure that only happened because you ran out of wine.” “What’s it matter to you?” I asked. She shook her head. “You’re right,” she said. “Just drive.” I looked back at her, and a name my father once told me bubbled up from some dark corner of my mind. “The Traveler,” I said. “Are you the Traveler?” At the name, the girl’s face went white, and she looked away. “Where did you hear that name?” she asked, but I didn’t respond. “No,” she said after a while. “Of course not. He’s… sick. Barely human. I could never…. Do the things he does.” As I looked back, I saw a tear streak down her face. I might have asked why, but I was interrupted by my car’s navigation: “You have arrived.” We walked to the sidewalk facing Maya Green’s house. Her last name wasn’t even Green anymore. The house was a classic Victorian, tastefully restored but painted in bland colors. Inside, light bloomed from warm orange bulbs and the sounds of laughter mixed with clanking dishes echoed out through the empty street. A little boy, maybe six, was watching us through the window, both of his hands pressed up against the glass. “Is that your brother?” I asked, but Emily shook her head. “No, I’ve never met him.” “Should we knock?” “We should get back.” She was crying now. “I just wanted to know for sure that she’s still here.” “She’s fine,” I said. “Better than fine.” “For now,” said the girl. “But it’s only a matter of time. He’ll come for her. Just like he came for mine.” The drive back was quiet. I tried to start a few conversations, but Emily was in no mood. She tapped the gun thoughtfully against the window glass, contemplating her next move. As we got home, I looked up at the house, taking it all in, as if for the first time. I remembered coming back from a trip to the coast as a boy to find it freshly painted, shining white and brilliant in the August sun. That same paint was chipped and peeling now, the whole thing gone to seed. Then, as I cut the headlights, I looked up at the upstairs window and saw him for the first time. Just his eyes, really, staring cold and dead. He turned his head slightly, like a bird assessing a worm. I could tell Emily saw him too because she leapt out the car door. She raised her gun and fired a single shot, shattering the window. For a moment, the Traveler stood there, watching us through the broken glass. Then he took a step back into the darkness and was gone. <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] September 2022 contest nominations! [RESPONSE] <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] There's a reason why most people don’t want to get water in their ears, but it’s not the one you might think of... (PART 2) [RESPONSE] My jog continued all the way to the hospital. I planned to slow down once I got away from my building since I was still exhausted from the day at the foundry, but I couldn't shake off the sense of urgency that I heard in that voice, so I wanted to get to the place as soon as possible. The night became fairly chilly, almost as if the season was late autumn and not the peak of summer. Man, I wish it was that cold outside during my trip home from work when I was as hot as a furnace. Every now and then, icy wind scratched the uncovered parts of my body like dry, leafless, thin branches of neglected bushes next to the pavements in the suburbs. The maps app on my phone said that the hospital I sought was just around the corner, and sure enough, as I turned right at the junction, I came upon the entrance that had a big sign above. Cedar Falls, said the sign. I walked towards the doors and they slid open as I approached. This hospital was busier than I imagined, with nurses walking all around and scrubs tending to the patients in those exam rooms set in a row, with only curtains to separate them from each other. I approached the reception desk and took off the hood of my sweatshirt from my head. If the outside temperature could've been described as cold, the temperature inside this building couldn't have been called less than freezing, thanks to the AC blasting away at full power. My hair was still moist from the shower, and I felt my scalp tightening and becoming a bit numb from the cold. "Hello, I'm here to visit one of your patients." The lady with dark skin and gray, curly, short hair behind the desk looked at me above her glasses without lifting her head. She never stopped shuffling through some papers in front of her and took a pause before she replied. "That won't do, sweetie. You need to tell me the name of the patient, not just that you want to visit *someone.*" Shit. I had no idea what her name was. I wasn't even entirely sure if it was a woman's voice. "Yeah, she's in room 221." Great job, moron. You had to use *she* even though you had no actual proof that the voice was female. The shuffling of papers ceased and the lady glanced at me, once again above her glasses, as she scanned me from head to toe. She finally raised her head and looked me straight in the eye, this time through the eyeglasses. The string tied between the temples dangled a bit as she puckered her lips a bit. "Mhm, alright sweetie. You'll have to fill this paper since you're visiting a comatose patient. Hospital policy." She pulled a paper from the bunch she shuffled through earlier and handed it to me, together with a tiny pen that was tied to the desk with a string. It was a bit amazing, she seemed like a magician who pulled out your card from the middle of the deck when she found that paper so swiftly. *Wait, what? Comatose?* I realized what she said only after I was almost done with the form. Not that it changed anything, this whole thing was so weird already, it couldn't become much weirder. I filled out the form and handed it to the nice lady behind the desk. She gave me instructions on how to find the room and I was on my way. The elevator was almost empty so I got to my floor quicker than expected. I found room 221 just as quickly. I was a tad hesitant to open the door for some reason, but I powered through that feeling as I remembered how scared the voice was. I pushed the door handle and the wide door opened smoothly, without making a sound. The room was one of those suites or whatever they're called, the ones that are for a single patient and look a lot like a hotel room. I was a bit ashamed of myself because I immediately thought that the room was way nicer than my own apartment. The fact that people who stay in it are fighting for their lives with all their might is what made me realize how selfish that initial thought was. As I entered the room, I found myself in a seven-foot hallway with the door to the bathroom on my left. In front of me was the room itself, a fairly large one. The wall straight ahead had a big sliding window with roll-up curtains. In the right corner next to the window stood a reclining chair and a standing lamp, presumably for reading. The wall to the left had a decent size TV on it, with wardrobes on each side. There was also a couch in the room, I guess for family members who stay overnight sometimes. It was set next to the wall of the bathroom, so the person who sat or lay on it had a clear view of the patient's bed. The patient's bed was in the middle of the room, with its headrest touching the wall opposite the one with the TV. The machinery for life support, with all the tubes and wires sticking out was on both sides of the bed. There was also a small drawer beside the bed, on the side towards the door. I looked at the girl in the bed and couldn't help but feel angry. She was beautiful and young. And she was only alive because the machines kept her alive. It wasn't fair. All kinds of scum live amazing lives out there without a care in the world, while some people suffer like this and have to fight every second to survive. I stared at her face for a second. The voice that called out to me from the water was familiar. Yet the person in the bed was a complete stranger to me. It took me a moment to notice because I was focused on the girl, but a guy stood next to her. He was on the side of the bed closer to the window. And he held a syringe in one hand. The other hand reached for one of the IV lines. He was no nurse, he had a turtleneck and a leather jacket, and last time I checked, that was hardly a nurse or a doctor uniform. I had to act first and think later. He looked at me and was about to say something I supposed would've been a threat. I reached into my sweatshirt's front pocket, grabbed my phone, and chucked it towards him as fast and as hard as I could. In hindsight, that was careless, because I could've easily hit the girl. I dashed forward as soon as the phone left my hand. The man bobbed his head to the side to avoid the phone. It didn't hit him cleanly, but it grazed his temple and even drew blood in the process. I guess the throw had a lot of power behind it. By the time his temple turned dark red with the precious liquid, I was already next to the bed. I leaped over it, caught the guy by his jacket lapel with my left hand, and his shoulder with my right hand, and tackled him to the ground. My left knee hit the floor and I felt a crack. I was surprised by my own strength. I haven't fought someone since elementary school, but I smashed this guy to the checkered blue and yellow tiles beneath him like he was nothing. Working at the foundry day in and day out seems to be far more efficient for building up strength than had I thought. I kept my grip on the guy's shoulder as I slowly raised my upper body, ready to wrestle with him. At that moment, I saw his eyes turn back in his head. He began to twitch and flop vigorously right after, just as if he was a fish on dry land. Behind his head was a puddle of blood I haven't noticed before. It kept growing in size and I felt terror rush through my whole body. I backed off and tried to stand but the knee that made a cracking noise earlier buckled under my weight and I fell to the ground. **"HELP, HELP, ANYONE, ROOM 221, HELP!"** I screamed from the top of my lungs. A nurse came in rushing and as she saw the guy on the floor, turned her head back, called for a doctor and security, and immediately approached the seizing man. She flipped him onto his side and started pulling his tongue out. Since his jaw was clenched tight, the nurse had her fingers bitten over and over to the point of blood coming out, but that didn't stop her or slowed her down. The events that ensued remain foggy in my memory, presumably due to the shock from the whole experience and the pain I felt from my knee. I remember the security officer questioning me and the doctors performing a check-up on my leg, then rushing me to surgery. I woke up handcuffed to the bed frame. I remained under custody for almost the entire time I stayed in the hospital after surgery. Police officers came a few times and asked me to tell them the entire story. One of them stayed in the hallway at all times. I never mentioned the real reason that made me come visit the girl. That would get me an express ticket to the looney bin. Instead, I just told them she was an old friend and that I recently learned about her condition, so I wanted to see her. Eventually, they dropped the charges against me. The guy survived and woke up a few days later with no evident brain damage, despite his head getting cracked open when I tackled him. Turns out, cops can do their job well in some cases, like this one. They found out he was the girl's ex and that he stalked her for months before her car accident that caused the coma. He wanted to end her life, then his own as well because he thought she would never wake up. That day, he went to her room without checking in at the reception. He lied to the lady working there and said he just had to use the bathroom, so she let him into the hospital. They found the syringe that turned out to be full of gasoline. My fingerprints weren't on it, obviously, which got me out of trouble. The man confessed everything once he realized that lying wouldn't get him anywhere in this case. It took a few weeks until I recovered enough to leave the hospital. I was still limping, but I could at least walk. I never got the bill though, which was peculiar, but hey, I had no money anyways, so I didn't complain. It took me a few more weeks to be able to go back to the foundry, and at that point, I was completely dry on cash. My life turned back to normal, ish, with my knee as the only memento of the whole ordeal of weirdness. And the lack of cash. And the mental trauma of almost killing a guy. And the fun experience of being under arrest. Overall, it seemed like all I got from trying to help someone was punishment. I never wanted to hear a voice from the water again. I didn't either, even though I found myself with ears full of water numerous times after the event. One day, I got a phone call. I couldn't answer it as I was in the foundry at the moment, so it went to the voice-mail instead. I listened to it after I showered at home. It was the lady from the reception desk. I thought she must've called about the bill. "HI sweetie, I'm the receptionist from the hospital, Cedar Falls, remember? I hope your knee is feeling well. Listen, someone wants to see you and they asked me to call you for them. Come around tomorrow at 6 pm. Don't be late honey, it's important." I bet it was, she sounded pretty serious. Just as I was about to put my phone down and hit the rags, I got a text from my brother. *Hey bro, I know you lied to me about that knee,* Ah, fuck. How did he find out? Did he call the foundry to check if I really got my knee busted there as I told him? *but it’s alright, I understand why you lied. I know. And now it's time for you to know too. I got everything set up, come by tomorrow whenever. I'll teach you everything.* What? He *knows* what I think he knows? As I sat on the bed and stared at the cracked screen on my phone, I felt a powerful tug on my shoulders that threw me across the room. I hit the wall with my back and fell to the ground, right on my ass. I glanced around the room. There was no one there. Then I felt another tug on my right shoulder. I turned my head towards it. No one was there, again. I flew across the room one more time. While I was in the air, I realized what I saw on my shoulder earlier. *Water.*<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The New Girl in Class is Pure Fucking Evil... [RESPONSE] The new girl in class smiled at me as she sat down at the desk across the aisle. Her grin was a little crooked, revealing dark, red-stained teeth, as if she’d just been drinking fruit punch. I'll admit, she seemed a bit weird right from the start. She wandered in halfway through the semester, causing the teachers in my high school a lot of grief. During every lesson she was confused, as if whatever school she had been to previously was not up to snuff. Regardless of that, Hilda attended class every day and sat right beside me. We shared glances back and forth across the aisle and I got the impression she liked me. Then one day she passed me a note asking what I thought of her. Being a sixteen year old boy with few romantic prospects, I passed it back with a picture of a cartoon wolf howling at the moon and she burst out laughing. After that we were inseparable. She started coming over to my house after school and I introduced her to my parents. We went to the movies together and watched TV in my basement. We made out on the couch down in the darkness of my den, listening carefully for my mom’s creeping footsteps coming down the stairs. We dated for a few weeks before I began getting a little freaked out by some of her quirks. She hid it pretty well at first, but after a while things started to add up. It wasn’t any one big problem, just lots of little things. She collected my hair. That was weird. She gathered up bunches of it from my brush and I caught her stuffing it into her pockets one day. When I confronted her about it she just denied it. The other strange thing was that I was never allowed to go over to her house. She said her parents were very religious and would never let her have a guy over. But when I dropped her off at night I would see strange flashes of red and green light glowing through the windows from inside. And once I could have sworn I saw someone levitating - hovering several feet off the floor and screaming at the top of their lungs, looking terrified. But when I looked back the person was gone, as if I had just imagined it. Oh, and she wore strange jewelry as well - upside-down crosses and pentagrams. Weird, druidic symbols made into necklaces and rings. I asked her if she was into Wicca, but she just looked confused and told me she prefered comfortable furniture. It wasn’t just those things that made me break up with her. My friend Greg told me this other girl Sarah had a thing for me, and I always thought she was smoking hot. In retrospect I should have been nicer about it. I should have called Hilda at least, to break up with her. But instead I just sent her a text, saying it was over. She called me two seconds later, bursting into tears when I confirmed it was real. She asked what she had done wrong, and I told her it wasn’t her, it was me. But she didn’t sound any happier about things, and just kept asking why I was really breaking up with her. I started to get impatient and we ended up bickering back and forth for a while. After thirty minutes of arguing, I told her what I really thought of her and the actual reasons why I was breaking up with her. Big mistake. The crying stopped suddenly and I heard the sound of a dial tone. After we hung up, I felt a stabbing pain in my belly, as if someone were driving a knife into my abdomen. It got worse and worse until I doubled over, and I was soon laying on the floor of my living room, howling in agony. It let up after a few long minutes and I groaned with relief, getting up from the floor on wobbly legs. I got a text from Hilda a moment later. The message included a picture displaying a strange-looking homemade doll with wispy strands of human hair protruding from its head. The face on it looked like my face. And there was a needle being driven into the doll’s belly, deforming the soft fabric with its sharp point. Another text came through from Hilda. Sore tummy? She asked mockingly. I began to type in a message with shaking hands, begging for her forgiveness and telling her I didn’t mean what I said. I just needed some time alone. Bullshit, she responded. I know you’re leaving me for Sarah. Before I could type anything back, I felt a searing pain in my belly again, but this time much worse than before. I looked down to see blood pouring out and dripping to the floor, forming a puddle around my feet. Another text came through and this one was a picture again. It was her cutting the doll’s plump belly open with a serrated knife, peeling back the fabric to reach inside. The phone dinged again with another message and another picture. I had imagined there being white fuzz inside the strange figurine, like any other stuffed doll would have inside, but instead there was blood with bits that looked like tiny organs floating in it. I felt as if a hand were reaching inside of me, pulling on things and twisting my guts, cutting and hacking with a knife. Surely enough, the next picture she sent showed her clutching a chicken liver or a kidney in her hand, and another showed her squeezing it into a juicy, chunky pulp. On my left side it felt as if something had burst and I screamed as the warmth of blood filled my insides. My guts felt like they were being twisted and pulled for a few long moments, but then that sensation stopped and I was left gasping for breath again, down on my knees although I didn’t remember how I got there. I sent Hilda a text with my trembling hands, missing the buttons and taking five minutes to get it done. But finally I managed to finish the message and sent it. Please, take me back. I’m sorry. It was all that I could think to do. It was the only way to get her to stop hurting me. I’m coming over, she replied a moment later. I’ll see you soon. With a pit of dread forming in my stomach, I sent her a response, saying that I couldn’t wait to see her. I just hoped she could fix whatever she had done to me, using the magic of her strange little doll. When she arrived at my door, a wave of relief washed over me, seeing that she had brought the doll with her. Maybe she did intend to fix me, I thought, and a hopeful grin spread at the corners of my mouth. “Thanks for coming over,” I said. “So? Will you take me back? Can you fix me?” Hilda seemed to consider this for a moment, then shook her head. “No,” she said. “Nobody can fix you. I just wanted to watch this part for myself.” With that, she produced a small pocket knife and began to cut long gashes going vertically down the doll’s face, running across the eyes and popping the tiny sewn buttons which were attached there. She dug the blade and twisted it, sending pieces of the doll flying through the air. “Not so handsome anymore,” she said, as blood began to pour from my cheeks and my eyeballs burst open, spilling intraocular fluids which ran warmly down my chin. “I don’t think Sarah is gonna be interested in you after all.” She left me blinded on the floor, terrified out of my mind and bleeding profusely. It took a while to recover in hospital but I'm doing a little better now. Thank goodness for the speech to text software that allowed me to post this to share with you all. And the help of friends and family. Witches, what can you <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Life On The Road (Part 1) The Fire Watch Incident [RESPONSE] (Next: Due to some circumstances out of my control, I need to live in constant motion. If I remain in one spot for too long, well, unpleasant things tend to happen. To avoid this, I took up a nomad lift style of living out my car or in motels. Being a truck driver is out of the question because I would be requested to have certain routes. I can’t even stick to a certain routine for very long. I think this life may be hard on others, but I found myself perfectly content with always travelling. The only real downside is my bank account suffered. In order to stay warm and fed, I took jobs most people aren’t even aware of through a Corporation regular folks should never find out about. Some of these jobs were simple. Go to one place and see if anything weird is afoot and report back. The Corporation always needed eyes on the ground and I didn’t need to solve the problem. Just confirm if there is one. I received a request to go speak with a forest ranger in a fire watch station a few days drive from my location. The job’s payment was to cover at least a month of gas so I accepted it right away. Sometimes I got lucky and could knock a few small jobs off at once, but this time I only had the interview request. I went directly to the listed forest and checked in with the ranger’s station. The ones on duty gave me a side eye wondering why I wanted to talk to one of their rangers on duty. He hadn’t told them about anything strange going on, and people tended to not want to hike all the way to the fire watch tower to give some news. I lied saying I was a distant relative and told them some family issues came up that the ranger needed to hear about in person. I didn’t want to ruin his reputation mentioning my real purpose for being there. They offered for me to talk to him over the radio but I was adamant on walking over. They looked at my polished, yet well-worn shoes and dress shirt. I may live on the road but I dressed like and office worker when I took jobs. Nothing said I needed to dress sloppy just because I didn’t have a real home. They waved me through asking to sign out whenever I came back. The hike wasn’t pleasant and the heat made me unbutton my shirt a little by the time I could see the tower through the tree tops. My shoes hurt my feet and I cursed myself for being so stubborn on looking formal. I was getting paid for this so I refused to complain to anyone but myself. I arrived at the base of the tower to see a man pacing waiting for me. They sent him a radio message a head of time saying I would be on my way and he assumed the real reason why anyone would come to see him in the middle of the forest. I raised a hand to greet him when we got closer. He was taller than myself with a long beard. His eyes dark and sunken in his face and his clothing hanging loosely from his frame as if he lost a lot of weight recently. His hand shook at his side clearly showing he wanted some sort of vice but didn’t have whatever his body craved. “Are you Barry?” I asked not bothering with a last name. “That’s me. You’re the one they sent? The uh... You know? The company that deals with this sort of thing? Mr...” He trailed off clearly forgetting my name. “Adelaide.” I said quickly and got right down to why I arrived. “You said you’ve been seeing things in the woods? What sort of things? Since a few hikers have gone missing The Corporation wanted to gather information to see if they could figure out the cause.” I explained sounding as positive as possible. Barry gave a distrustful look. He appeared to be the type of person who didn’t believe in anything that lurked in the woods besides hungry bears. That was, until he experienced something strange himself. He acted reluctant to speak about it even after I came all this way. He needed to accept that no matter what he said I wouldn’t dismiss him outright. Finally, the ranger cracked saying what he doubted anyone would take seriously. “I’ve seen a girl the past few months. She’s... She’s dead. Or dead looking. I really didn’t want to know what she would do to me so I looked online and found all sorts of weird protection charms to keep her away at night. She just... stands at the foot of the stairs screaming for me to come down. I can’t tell any of the other guys about this. They’ll boot me for sure. I need this job; I can’t do anything else.” He sounded exhausted. I nodded listening and taking in his story. I asked him to show me what he set up and found salt lines and symbols drawn in chalk along the wooden railings. I knew from experience that the symbols did nothing. Most were from video games or other sorts of media. The salt may be useful on keeping some creatures away but I didn’t know what we were dealing with just yet. He even showed me foot prints in the dirt he said belonged to the girl who screamed at night. That was interesting. The shoe size was far too small to be his own. Either some person was out in the woods messing with him, or something not natural really waited for the ranger when the sun went down. I checked the time finding the sun set in about three hours. I debated on what I wanted to do. I wanted to believe him. I wouldn’t dismiss a story like this because something supernatural was implied. But I couldn’t take it at face value either. I needed more proof besides a tired forest ranger and some foot prints. I didn’t know how long it might take for the dead girl to show up. I could risk staying for five nights. Maybe less. If any signs of something odd didn’t appear by then, another person needed to be called to finish the job. My payment would be cut too. This dead girl needed to not be shy for my sake. I told Barry I wanted to sit and wait at the foot of the stairs that night to watch for her. He looked at me as if I was crazy, then got angry. “You don’t believe me, do you?” He accused the lack of a decent night's sleep causing him to have a short fuse. “I believe you, but in order to call in a more experienced agent to solve the problem I need proof. The agents are in high demand, but I also need to know what we’re dealing with so we can send in the right person for the job.” I explained. Thank God I’ve been blessed with a soft voice. I calmed Barry down and he nodded. He didn’t like the idea of me staying unprotected outside though. He called the ranger station to tell them I would be staying the night. The sky started to change colors and he went halfway up the wooden stairs. Looking down he attempted to talk me into not saying so exposed one last time. “She’ll kill you. I don’t know how, but I know she can.” He said, voice shaking over the idea of the dead girl in the woods. “It’s fine if she does.” I replied not thinking much about what I said. I mentally kicked myself and went on. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve been through a lot of jobs like this.” I assured him. He didn’t look as if he believed me, but refused to stay anywhere but in his tower for the night. He left me behind when night fell. I wished I brought a jacket along when it started to get a bit chilly as I waited for anything interesting to happen. Barry gave me a flashlight before he hid away for the night. I got bored and started to click it on and off under my chin, attracting bugs. I really didn’t like the woods. I didn’t mind the bugs but hated getting bitten. In my line or work, nothing good happened in the woods. I felt as if humans should just stay clear of them to avoid all the trouble. I heard something off in the trees and got to my feet. With the flashlight in hand, I scanned the woods trying to find the dead girl Barry spoke about. This was my job but I still got a little scared. Alright, a lot scared. I felt terrified of seeing her. I wanted this all to be some sort of prank some bored high school kids were playing on the forest ranger that crashed their party in the summer. That wasn’t the case and I learned the hard way. I turned to check behind me convinced something might be crawling up ready to attack. I breathed a sigh of relief seeing nothing. Thinking myself a bit silly from getting so worked up, I turned again and my heart nearly stopped when my light landed on a pale figure standing a few feet away. Barry wasn’t lying about how she looked. If this was a prank, then the person behind it was better at any movie studio doing makeup. I could no longer believe this was any kind of joke when my light shone through a rotten hole in the figure’s stomach. My hand shook and I almost screamed when she took a step closer. Her one foot twisted in a way that made her walk with a limp. Her skin pulled back and clinging to her skull and lips gone. Long black hair limp and falling out in places. One hand missing some fingers and I suspect some sort of small scavenger animal took them. At least I knew sort of what I was dealing with. She was physical. Not a ghost like I first assumed. Ghosts can emotionally break you to the point where you’ll never recover. An undead creature like her could just kill me and eat my remains. Some days I didn’t know what was worst. “I uh... I’m just here to help Barry. Could you tell me-” I started to ask in a very scared tone I hated myself for. I wanted to ask her why she was there and what she wanted. Sometimes creatures were friendly and just wanted to talk. I’ve come across a great deal of the nice monsters but wasn’t so lucky with her. At the mention of the ranger’s name, she snapped. Her mouth opening wide with a loud echoing scream coming from it. I took three steps back by the time she covered the distance. Her thin rotten hands falling on my warm flesh and tearing. Her screams the last thing I heard that night. She made quick work of my insides and I bled out within seconds. I assumed she kept tearing my body apart, but I wasn’t aware to know what happened after I died. Yes, I died. And when the sun rose, air filled my lungs again. I gasped and coughed; my body repaired as if nothing happened. Not even my clothing remained torn. All the pieces back into place with only tracks in the dirt and a broken flashlight as evidence of the attack. I died and came back. Those are the circumstances that kept me on the road. I can’t tell you how I gained this power. It's just something I found I had after death came for me one day so many years ago. No matter how I die, I come back perfectly fine the next sunrise. I haven’t been killed that many times since I found out about this odd quirk. I still felt pain and held onto the memories of my death so I tended to avoid it if possible. I come back to life in the same spot I died in. So, if someone were to bury me alive, every sunrise I would come back stuck in one spot. This power isn't as great as one assumes it to be. I rolled over, still dazed and trying to collect myself. It always took a few minutes to get past the pain of being killed. I sat up, trying to find traces of the girl. I did want to help her. Even after she killed me, I felt as if she needed someone on her side. Seeing her reaction and the state of her body I started to get a terrible idea of what happened to her. I wanted to confirm my thoughts though. Without any cell phone reception, I needed to leave and come back after I gathering some more information. Barry must have seen my body from the watch tower scattered in the dirt that night. I guessed he was asleep, or refusing to look outside because he didn’t call down when the dead person got up and started walking back down the trail in the grey morning light. I’ve never had someone watch the moment I came back to life so I didn’t know what it was like. Did all my body parts snap back together? I did I just appear all fine and dandy? I decided I didn’t like that train of thought. The idea of it making my body itch. I stayed at a nearby motel using their terrible Wi-Fi for the rest of the day. I went back down the hiking trail with a new flashlight and a plan in mind. I needed to confirm what I found out. It was a stretch of theory though, and if I wasn't right, I might just doom an innocent person. I arrived by the time the sunset. I noticed movement in the fire watch station. Barry was still there and I didn’t report into the ranger’s station so I didn’t know if he told the others about my death or not. “Hey Barry, can walk talk?” I shouted upwards hoping he could hear me. It took a few minutes, but he opened the door and looked down. In the dark I couldn’t really see his face but one could guess what expression he wore. A dead girl and now a dead man. I bet he thought he was losing it. “She... She killed you!” He shouted back down, sounding almost angry that I stood there alive and well. “Yeah. That sucked. Anyway, can you confirm something for me?” I asked wondering if I needed to go up and get him. His attention got drawn somewhere else. Even at a distance I could guess at his line of sight. I brought my flashlight to shine over to the woods in time to see the girl taking a few steps out. Her dead face looked shocked to see I was alive. I only had one shot at talking with her before she snapped again. “Hey, I’m here to help you. Can you put off killing me for a minute?” I asked her in a softer tone than what I used with the ranger. When she didn’t move, I looked back up at Barry. With her here he wouldn’t come down. I didn’t like out right accusing someone of a crime but he wasn’t giving me much of a choice. “Anna Jones wet missing six months ago. Her boyfriend was arrested under suspicion of killing her. He folded and admitted he assaulted her but she fled into the woods still alive but injured. You were on the search team trying to find her. Why didn't you mention any of this?” I spoke sternly, making him read between the lines of what I wanted to say. “We never found her!” Barry shot back, about to turn away and hide. The dead girl tensed at his words. She let out a low growl and her hands raised ready to attack us. I knew she could tear through the watch tower door and Barry had his time limited unless I kept talking. “Why is she here? She wouldn’t be standing at the tower every night tormenting you if you didn’t do anything!” I said back, the girl taking a few steps closer causing my heart rate to spike. “I swear, I never touched her!” He shouted back, hysterical. “Cut the shit Barry!” This time I shouted; my normal kind tone lost in a deep growl. It startled Barry and Anna. She froze not expecting the outburst. I really hated swearing and only did so when needed. I jolted the ranger enough to say something that confirmed my terrible theory. “She was going to die anyway!” The woods went silent as his words faded into the dark. I glanced over at Anna, her thin arms wrapped around her rotten body. She hunched over, shaking in rage over what happened before her death. Her boyfriend, someone she trusted, got drunk and assaulted her. When she ran into the woods and at death’s door another man showed up. Someone that should have done everything in his power to save her. I didn’t ask him to elaborate on what Barry did. My throat already tasting like acid and I had trouble keeping my own disgust towards him down. As an act of revenge, she came back to torment him every night. Anna strong enough to kill Barry with her undead body, but she wanted him to suffer for as long as possible. I felt myself agreeing with her. How she was moving around a bit of a mystery. I’ve heard such a thing happening before but not the reasoning behind it. Some places, like bayous and deep ancient forests held power no humans understood. Sometimes this power acted in the strangest of ways when mixed with a human will. Anna had enough willpower to borrow some of the forest power and to make her rotting body move out of spite. I respected her for that. She moved again and I put myself between her and the stairs upwards. Her hand raised and I remembered the pain from the night before. I flinched but stood my ground. “Listen, please don’t kill him. I swear I have a good reason to ask you this.” I told her, arms spread wide trying to keep her back. “He deserves it but I was sent here by a Corporation that deals with supernatural creatures. If you’re perceived as dangerous, they’ll hurt you. I don’t know if you’ll still be alive after your goal of revenge is taken out but I don’t want to risk it. You shouldn’t be punished for taking action against the one who hurt you.” She hesitated, the dead face making it impossible to read her emotions. At least she listened. I took a step closer, waiting for her to lash out. When she didn’t, I offered my hand. “Let me call in some favors. We’ll arrest him for what he did for you and he'll rot in jail until he dies a natural death, or gets fresh with another inmate. I... know people who owe me a few things. They can put a curse on him to ensure he doesn’t take his own life. And they can also give him nightmares more terrifying than anything you could think of. That is, if that’s what you want. “ A long tense moment came between us. I knew Barry couldn’t hear anything we said. I thought I heard him slam the watch tower door and lock it but didn’t risk looking up. Anna’s dead eyes flicked over my own trying to spot a lie. A drip of sweat ran down the back of my neck in the cool night air. Finally, she cracked. Her face muscles working to cause her lip less mouth turn into an odd smile. I smiled back at her, my heart aching for what she went through. She took my hand, ready to let someone else take over her act of revenge and happy she finally met someone she trusted. Although, I did let her bang on Barry’s door for a few hours that night and scream to spook him a little bit. In the morning I made some calls. Police came by and found Anna’s body to be taken home and buried. She found a tree to curl up under ready to not wake up again. Barry was arrested and he raved about Anna coming every night and completely snapped. Him saying I’d been killed only to come back the next day didn’t help his case at all. With some prodding he admitted in detail what he’d done to a poor lost dying girl, but I never asked to hear what happened. Knowing as much as I did already felt like too much. I got paid a little extra for closing the case instead of just reporting on the details. The Corporation knew of my ability to come back after death. They never abused it though. Not once did they send me on a dangerous job knowing I would be the only one to live through it. I didn’t have any strengths besides breathing again every morning after being killed. So was out right useless on bigger jobs. I kept looking over the extra amount in my bank. It left a bad taste in my mouth. I got in contact with Anna’s family and sent them the money for funeral costs. Attending the funeral didn’t feel proper so I promised myself to leave flowers at her grave at some point. I did have friends who could place the curses on Barry as promised but never called them. His mind gone completely he no longer had any notion of reality. The idea to end his suffering by his own hands would never come to mind. His every waking moment haunted by Anna even though she no longer was around to do so. One small case was solved unexpectedly. I feared there may be more girls like Anna out there waiting to be found. Sadly, it wasn’t my job to find them. I only got requests like hers on occasion. Most of the time I needed to check to see if a hotel was haunted or if a guy really did see the ten-foot were beast in the woods and wasn’t drunk off his ass at the time. I honestly wanted there to be less jobs and cases like this one and that every person that got lost in the forest arrived home safe and sound. I hated when another set of parents to grieved over their missing child. When it happens, and if I had spare time, I had some freedom to do whatever possible to bring them home one way or another. At least each job paid enough for me to afford gas in order to get to the next. Sometimes things turned out well, sometimes they didn’t. My life, like my death was completely out of my control. Getting into my car, I found directions to the nearest and cheapest hotel to get washed up and rest before tackling the next request and wondered where my life might take me. Even after doing this for so many years, I didn’t have a clue of what would come next.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Mister Charlie [RESPONSE] Grandma was dead three days before they found her. It wasn’t the stench of the corpse that tipped anyone off. Her house doesn’t sit too close to the others in the neighborhood. It was Mister Charlie, her pet parakeet that sounded the alarm. A jogger was taking a shortcut through an alleyway to reach the park just beyond her fence line when she paused to tie her shoe and heard a faint cry for help. To think something so insignificant could cause ripples for weeks to come. I wasn’t there when the EMT took her out, but from what I heard most of the body had succumbed to decay. The skin had started to melt away from the bone due to lack of embalming. The family chose to do a closed casket ceremony. And I was designated as babysitter for the bird. Mister Charlie looked like he hadn’t eaten in days when I retrieved him. His feathers were ruffled and dirty, his talons encased with poop and food. He was likely stressed over the loss of his owner, I thought. My mom told me that Mister Charlie was my grandmother’s favorite pet in all the years she’d been here. Supposedly he could say over 300 words and phrases. “How long do I have to keep him? I don’t mind but my landlord might,” I told mom. “At least until Sunday please, I have to make arrangements with the funeral home and the lawyer regarding her will.” Sunday was only four days away so I figured a squawk-box wouldn’t be that big a deal for such a short period of time. And since the poor little guy had been responsible for trying to get grandma some help I figured I should clean him up as a token of thanks. “Step up,” I urged the tiny bird as I poked my finger into his cage. His pupils were dilated. He didn’t look eager to comply. “Step up,” I said again getting a little closer. I worried maybe he might bite me. But finally Mister Charlie obliged and hopped onto my index finger. “Good bird,” I cooed. He made no reply. Was he scared? Shy? As I cleaned him I whistled and hummed, trying to calm him to his new surroundings. I had my phone out as well and looked up what exactly his species was known for. It took a minute or two for me to narrow down that and guessed by his green pigment and size new as a species commonly called lineolated or Catherine. According to the article I found they were often quiet and good for apartments. Said to only live 10 to 15 years they are easily trainable. “I wonder how long grandma had you?” I muttered as I took him back to his cage. Charlie didn’t wager a guess. But he did seem happy to be clean. In fact for the next two days of his stay the bird said nothing. It was almost as though he were stoic or grieving over the loss of his owner. I wondered if such a pattern would get worse if he moved again and to be honest I had grown attached to that little fella, especially when my girlfriend stopped by to chat with him and he finally became animated. “He’s so cute!” Darcy said excitedly as she offered him pellets. He even made a few chirps, and that perked her right up. So that Sunday I told mom he could stay. My landlord didn’t seem to mind since he was quiet and not a messy pet. And it also gave me an excuse to have Darcy over more often. She was apparently head over heels into learning how to care for him and wanted to do everything herself. Charlie didn’t seem to mind… at least not at first. Then one breezy afternoon, when Darcy came in the door and dropped her keys on my kitchen counter out of nowhere he squawked. “Turn around! Turn around! Leave!” “Hey! Are you not happy to see me?” Darcy muttered. “You’re just a slut,” Mister Charlie answered. My girlfriend had a face of pure disbelief and spun around to accuse me. “What’s the meaning of this?” she asked. “I… I don’t know. He’s never even talked before!” I admitted. “Liars go to hell,” the parakeet said. It sounded like a woman’s voice now. It was old and ancient and gave me a bit of a chill. “Yeah right. So is this some sort of prank?” Darcy asked. “You’re gonna be sorry,” the creepy voice said again and Mister Charlie hopped closer. “I hate you.” That sounded exactly like me. And that was the straw that broke Darcy. “You know what? You and your pet and fuck yourself. I’m going to go party with friends,” she exclaimed. I tried to talk her out of it. But I had no idea why the bird had even changed its behavior that day. For the next six hours I tried to text and apologize to Darcy. Make things right. It went either straight to her inbox or she ignored it completely. It made me frustrated and I said some things I probably shouldn’t have. I just wanted to talk to her. When I had given up all hope, a call came in. “Darcy look I just want to say…” “Is this Andrew Mitchell?” it sounded like a man. “Yes… who is this?” “Officer Retland. I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this…” What he said after that was meaningless. I knew what had happened. I grabbed my keys and drove to the scene of the accident. They wanted me to identify the body. Something had come between Darcy’s car and her next turn and she had swerved to avoid it. Ultimately landing in a ditch with her skull smashed into the windshield. “That’s her…” I muttered as I realized her friends hadn’t survived the crash either. The police let me gather her things including her cell. Listening to the messages was chilling. It was deja vu. A play by play of what Mister Charlie had recited only hours earlier. Her girlfriends had been doing a FaceTime and distracting her right before the crash. They were teasing her, calling her a slut as my calls kept coming in. “You should turn around and leave! Go back to him!” one girl urged. Then Darcy listened to the last message I sent. The one where I said I was done and I hated her. It was the last thing she heard before her life ended. My throat felt dry. My body numb. Somehow, the parakeet had known. I stepped back into my apartment I looked toward the birdcage. He was just sitting there quietly observing me. I pulled up a chair and rested my hands on my chin as I stared back. “How is this possible?” I muttered. He said nothing in response. My mind filled with possibilities. Had the bird predicted that Darcy would die? If so, how? Had it been the same with my grandma? I sighed after waiting for far too long for something to happen. “This is crazy. I must be crazy. ” Grabbing my coat I went toward the back room to watch the game. “The best people often are,” a voice said as I got half way down the hall. I turned and looked at the bird. “Don’t be frightened,” it said as I crept closer. “What is this? Some sort of trick?” It cocked its head at me and hopped closer. “Trick or treat?” I sighed again. This had to be some response my grandma had taught it say. “Fine. Don’t tell me your secrets.” “Would you like to know a secret Andrew?” it squawked back. My jaw must have dropped. “Tell me,” I whispered. “I see the dead,” it whispered in a sing-song voice. “Want to hear another secret?” I leaned closer. It was barely talking. Pressing his beak right against my ear, the parakeet proclaimed, “You’re next.” <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Lumps [RESPONSE] I awoke one morning to the lumps on my stomach. One night I was normal, the next I wasn’t. It all happened so suddenly. My life was stripped from me in a blink. A snap of the fingers. I still can’t believe it. I was terrified. The doctors were positively stumped. They had never seen anything like them before… two large, baseball sized lumps on both sides of my ribcage, making four total. They didn’t hurt; when I poked them with my fingers, the flesh subsided, then reformed, almost like a squishy stress ball. “Look…” my girlfriend began, “I don’t know what these are, but you need to keep going to specialists until they figure out what the hell they are, because they’re getting bigger! Oh my god!” Sure enough, looking down revealed… softballs now. They were growing. Fucking growing! “Cancer.” One doctor told me. “No way.” Another doctor said. “I checked out your biopsies, and well, I’ve never seen anything like it before. I don’t think your cells are cancerous in nature… they aren’t replicating per se. They’re, well, I don’t know how to say this, they are spawning out of thin air.” He snapped his fingers. “Imagine a magician.” The doctor said. “Wait, what?” I said. “Just humor me. Imagine a magician has nothing in his hand. He closes his fist, and then boom, a ball appears when he reopens his hand. That’s you! Your cells! I mean, you look in the microscope, blink, and your cell count has doubled!” “What does that mean?” I asked. “I don’t know. I recommend 24 hour medical supervision. I’d like to, with your consent, help find out what’s happening to you.” “Yeah, yeah, alright.” I said. Within the day, and after copious amounts of paperwork, I was set up in a luxurious hospital suite. TV, nurses on call 24/7, and even a PlayStation. It wasn’t bad. Until the eyes. All four lumps now had blinking, working corneas. They eyes flickered around the room, and shockingly, cried when I cried. All four eyes eventually got a yellow sleep crust in the corner of their retinas. The nurses scraped it out with cotton swabs, but they gagged and complained about it. As they got bigger and more bloodshot, the eyes locked on to me, never averting their gaze. It freaked me out. Then they started to form little sprouts, like a weed. Little bony masses jutted out of the corneas. The eyes stopped blinking then. The sprouts eventually became small little… limbs. Yes, limbs. The doctors were horrified. A nurse vomited when one of the eyeballs burst and retinal fluid soaked her scrub overalls. The limbs grew and grew until one day, the limbs became legs. Legs that touched the ground like an arachnid. I couldn’t control these limbs at all, but they were firm and hairy, almost like a tarantula’s. They twitched and jerked randomly, as if their nervous system wasn’t up and running completely, or as if they were somehow separate from my brain. I was petrified. The doctors injected me with morphine, and then they said they wanted to attempt something. A full amputation. They did the operation, and it seemed initially successful. Until they grew back. They cut them off again, this time with hacksaws. They grew back. They burned them with a blowtorch. They grew back. They dissolved them in hydrochloric acid. They grew back. I’ve been here for over a year now. My girlfriend left me. She’s been calling me a freak on social media, and said I should join a circus. My family has disowned me. I get my weekly “removal” as I like to call it. Honestly though, the worst part isn’t the lumps themselves, it’s losing my humanity. My self worth, my human dignity, my normalcy. Being stripped of my social life, shunned by my family, laughed at on social media by people who said they were my friends. No gifts, get well soon balloons, nothing. That’s the worst part of it all. I don’t know where to go from here. I live in a hospital, I don’t even want to imagine how much medical debt I’ve racked up. It’s gotta be in the tens of millions. I feel like a lab rat unable to leave my cage. I can’t even wear a shirt anymore! Hopefully I can get cured. But I think we all know that’s not going to happen. I’m going to die alone… a freak.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My uncle tried to warn me never to go back to my old home. My family had horrific secrets there they'd tried to keep buried for years. FINAL [RESPONSE] I led the two of us outside. "Here's the plan, okay?" I said, letting go of her. "You remember where the old house is, right?" "Barely." she replied, obviously still shaken. "Okay, look, I want you to follow me in your car, okay? We'll go, grab Dad and get the hell out of there, okay, and we'll call the police or somebody to come out to the place. Anything goes *too* far sideways before then, at least we'll have a backup vehicle." She still just stood there, looking both frightened and confused. I couldn't blame her -- like I said, *I* was JUST AS confused. But I couldn't just sit there, knowing what happened to Uncle Don might happen to Dad as well. I hopped in my car and turned the engine over. Just before peeling out of there, I rolled down my window and called out to Lana to keep in touch with me over the phone. I then hit the road, going at least 85 miles an hour or more. It was another ten or so minutes before Lana texted me that she was following behind me. It was around 4:30 when I was pulling into the driveway of the old family home once again. Lana arrived just five minutes after. We got out and slowly made our way to the house. My legs shook with every step and I could see hers were no better. My mind was stuck. What was I gonna see? was Dad even gonna be alive? Who the hell *was* this guy, even -- still never had any kind of answer for that. What was I gonna do? Reaching the porch, I attempted to look through the windows again. Still blocked off, just like last time. "Dad?" Lana started calling out. "Dad, where are you?" Silence. I looked back to the door and began knocking. For about ten seconds, there was nothing. It was quiet, still, just like the last time I was there. Then, however, from the other side of the door, I could hear Uncle Don's voice shout "Come on in, been waitin' for ya!" Lana froze and looked at me. Her face drained of color, turning it from her natural olive tan to stark white. "I-Is that..." I responded by looking at her, horrified myself, and slowly nodding. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before turning the handle and throwing the door open. "Dad!" Inside the living room was still dark, but at the other end, in the kitchen, I could see the dim glow from a candle. I stepped inside with Lana right behind me. About a foot away from the threshold between the living room and kitchen, I begun to see the dim light illuminate Dad's face. He groaned weakly through a cloth that'd been tied around his mouth and I could faintly see bruises and small cuts all over his face. "Come on and join us at the table, kiddos! We'll sit as one big family!" A figure, tall and broad shouldered stepped out of the kitchen and took a seat at the table next to Dad.Me and Lana stood at the threshold. "Come on, now," the man said, "I said join us at the table for a family gathering." I exchanged a glance to Lana and back to the table. The man's face was still mostly obscured by darkness. I couldn't make out anything outside of his nose and right eye. Seeing this, though, I was shocked by one big thing. His outline was almost exactly the same as Uncle Don's, including his rounded nose, but his eye was all wrong. It didn't even look human, appearing pupil less and like two deep violet colored marbles were stuck in his face. Hesitantly, I pulled out a chair at the other end of the table across from him and sat down. Lana stayed standing behind me. "Lana," he said, "What's wrong, don't you wanna take a load off?" She said nothing. He shrugged and said "Suit yourself." "Who are you?" I asked. I heard him chuckle. "Boy ain't wasting any time, is he? Well, maybe I'll go ahead and call the others in then." I narrowed my eyes. ** He turned to the left and cupped his hand to his mouth and called out, "Come on out, y'all. Time we got everybody together." I heard Dad groan through his gag and fidget in his chair. From around the table, I could hear the old wood creak with footsteps approaching the table. I started looking around. *What the hell? What is that, who's--* My thoughts abruptly died when I began to make out five other figures in the darkness. Each of them were about my height, one of them being slightly taller and the others being slightly shorter. Except one that is, who was my exact height. Each of them gazed at me from the dark area around the kitchen table at me with dark violet eyes of their own. "Now the family's all here, ain't that sweet?" jeered Not-Uncle Don. Mine and Lana's jaws hung slack. we were both horrified. "What's the matter, ain't you kids gonna say hello? You shy? They're your own family, for christ sake!" We were silent, speechless. "I can't believe this, how're you kids gonna be *this* rude to your own family. What, you blind? You can't see your own family resemblance?" The crowd of figures gathered around behind Not-Uncle Don. Squinting, I noticed then how familiar the outlines were. Two of them in particular did most to disturb me. They were of me and Lana! I could tell because of the way in which, despite still being largely shrouded in darkness, their height and overall outline almost seemed to be a perfect replica of ours. It was like I was somehow locked in a staring match with my own shadow. I could tell the same held true for Lana, too, with her face even more pale than mine. "Take a seat, guys." Not-Uncle Don told the group of shadows behind him. They all began to pull out and take seats at the table, with the exception of the ones that looked like me and Lana. They stood at either side of the table. All of them, including Not-Uncle Don, bore down on the two of us with marbled eyes. "Wh-What is this, who are you people?" Lana exclaimed. This time, it was another one that spoke. "He told you, it's our family gathering." It was a woman's voice, familiar. The voice of someone I knew for a fact was long dead, like grandpa and Uncle Don. "Ma?" The figure leaned over into the candlelight to illuminate the face of my mother. Her skin looked so young, so fresh and smooth, so *new.* She was 65 when she died just a couple of years before the whole thing with the family Barbecue. Now, though, she had the face of a woman who was *maybe* half that age. "Well there," she said, grinning psychotically, "It's been a while hasn't it?" My tongue felt dry, the muscles in my jaws locked. "What do you want? Look, whatever Dad did, please just let him go!" Lana begged. "Calm down, sweetheart." said another of the shadows, this one's voice deeper. This one, I recognized as Dad's. He also revealed his face through the candlelight, also appearing almost five years younger than the man tied up and gagged at the other end of the table. That was when Lana froze up like how I was. "What's wrong, why don't you give your old man some sugar, huh?" he asked. Lana slowly started backing away. "Where you runnin' off to?" Not-Uncle Don asked. The shadows of the two of us began to move in on her when I shot out my hand. "Wait," I said, shooting out my hand. They stopped. "Let her go. I'm here, I'm the one you wanted, remember? Just let her go and you can do whatever you want with me, okay?" "I said I wanted the whole family here for this, Jack. I wanted y'all to meet the rest of the family; the ones y'all never once tried to speak to or acknowledge." "What the fuck are you talking about?" From my right, next to Not-Mom, I heard the unmistakable voice of grandpa speak. "Now I know you kids were raised better than to curse at your own family like that. At the dinner table, too." He, too, then revealed the far younger looking face of my grandfather. "It's alright, Pops." Not-Uncle Don said. "Like I said, they wouldn't have known no better. No thanks to this clown right here." He sent a sharp elbow jab into Dad's right shoulder, causing him to groan weakly in pain. His eyes were dim, yet still just as petrified. "What are you guys talking about?! Look, I don't know who you people are, or why you look like my family, including the people who've been dead for years now, and I don't know why you went and killed my uncle, but you told me to come here; here we are. Now, will you *please* tell me what this is all about?!" Not-Uncle Don sighed and said, annoyed, "Just can't ever enjoy a family gathering, can you?" He then nodded over to Not-Me and Not-Lana, who then promptly walked over to me and her and took us by the arms. "Hey, what're you doing?! Get your fucking hands off me!" I tried sending a right hook with my free hand across Not-Me's jaw. It connected, but it did little more than to piss him off and he returned the favor with a hook straight to my stomach. I doubled over, clutching my stomach in pain. "Now, now, play nice, you two." teased not Uncle Don. I looked up to see Lana struggling against the hold of her own Doppelganger. "Get off me!" she cried. "L-Let her go." I said, trying to find my way back up to my feet. I felt not Me snatch the back of my head to force me the rest of the way up before seizing me once again by the arms. Not-Uncle Don then stood up from his chair, jerking Dad up with him and made his way to the area to the right of the dining room. Lana and I were then being pushed along in close pursuit. We were forced along into the darkened hallway. About eight or nine steps out from the dining room area and I was unable to see anything in front of or around me anymore. I couldn't even see Lana, who'd been pushed along right beside me at my right. From ahead of our little gathering, I heard not Uncle Don call out to us, "We're going down, so watch your step." This was then followed by the sound of a wooden door creaking open. He was leading us down into the basement, I realized. We were shoved forward, causing me to stumble and almost loose my footing completely. We were now in the basement of the family home, a place that, admittedly, I'd never seen before in my life. I remember how, only on select few occasions, granted, I'd get curious about the old door at the end of the hall leading into the dining room, but each time I'd get close to it, Dad or Uncle Don, one, would usually stop me, telling me that I wasn't to go near that door. I, of course, never understood why, other than "*Because Dad said so*", but now, with what I was faced with in that moment and what I'd see next, I understood more than I wished I would've, as well as why Uncle Don fell out with the family. Surrounding us now was a dimly lit room, illuminating shelves upon shelves of old, dirty looking books and glass jars with... "Stuff" in them. I won't describe too much here what was in them. Basically, think about any movie you've seen where the people are poking around a psycho-killer's house, all the grisly "trophies" you'd see laying around, hung up or on shelves like they were here. That's basically what this was, only somewhat more disturbing when combined with all the strange symbols that were painted everywhere. "What is this?" Lana cried, disgusted like I was. She beat me with that question by two seconds. "The family secret." Not-Uncle Don replied. He turned to Dad and said, "Ain't that right?" Dad grunted in a pitiful attempt at defiance. "Dad, what is he talking about?" I asked. "Yeah, why don't you finally spill it, old man?" Not-Uncle Don sneered before rudely ripping out Dad's gag. Dad's head dropped down toward the ground, lolling around like his neck was made of rubber. "Dad, what's going on? Who the hell are these guys and what are they doing here?" He looked up at me. His eyes were full of fear and exhaustion. "I told you to get out of here, Jack." he muttered. "Dad, what's going on?" He exchanged a look between me and Lana, then to Not-Uncle Don, before then looking back to me and sighing. "The family was desperate, Jack. Times were different back before you kids were born. Your Uncle and I, we were a couple of belligerent morons who, because your grandma and grandpa were always working, were left unsupervised a lot." He paused, sighing heavily. He likely would've stopped there, if it weren't for Not-Uncle Don telling him to "Go on with it, now." He glared back and continued. "It was one day, Don and I, we came home to find our folks crying. Said grandpa had just lost his job and owed a lot of people a lot of money and we didn't have any way to pay it off. We were in danger of losing the house. We didn't even have enough to afford much in the way of a decent meal, so me and Don were scared. We knew if we lost the house, Me and Don would be taken from our folks and grandpa would likely be thrown in jail. That night, while in bed, I was praying to God that we wouldn’t lose the house, while Don had another idea.” He walked over to one of the shelves and took down one of the books. Cracking it open, he then held up a page with weird looking symbols, looking something similar to Asian or even some sort of middle eastern lettering along with a crude drawing of what looked to me like a shadow figure standing side by side, mirroring a normal looking person. Not-Uncle Don laughed and remarked, “Go on and tell 'em what that is, why don’t you?” Dad hesitated, continuing to glare at him. “Dad, what is this?” Lana asked. He turned to her and answered “It’s a guide to summon a Tulpa, a mirror version of yourself.” My eyes bugged out at this. *Summon?!* My brain was screaming. *He said “summon”!* I couldn't believe it! For as long as I could remember, my family, my father especially, was a strong Christian. Anything even *remotely* involved with something like this, he'd have had no tolerance for. I mean, for God's sake, that "*Metallica"* poster in my room probably would've been torn down and trashed a long time ago if the old man would've had his way. Now, come to find out he and my uncle were actually *summoning* shit as kids? Lana had the same thoughts, too. "Dad... What... How could you?" She spoke for the both of us. Dad was silent again. Not-Lana then piped up, "Aww, give your old man a break, honey. I mean, *come on*, you don't *honestly* think he was always a pious suck-up like he is now, do you?" "She's right." cheered Not-Uncle Don. "In fact, you were quite the mischievous one back in the day, weren't you?" "Go to Hell!" he spat back. Not-Uncle Don just snickered. I stood, mouth gaping. Dad, despite his best efforts at defiance, couldn't hide it. He was guilty. Everything that was being said was all true. "We only wanted to keep the family together." he continued, voice completely devoid of emotion or inflection. "We were afraid, Jack. We thought, using the Tulpas, we'd be able to have someone, a part of the family, with the two of us if the worst came to light." "And look what happened. It worked. Let's have a round of applause everybody." The others followed Not-Uncle Don's lead and erupted into a small chorus of applause, with not mom and not grandma whistling. "You weren't supposed to stay!" Dad exclaimed. Not Uncle Don's smile faltered slightly. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this. You and him," he pointed to the shadowed version of himself, "were supposed to be the only ones! It was just supposed to be you two and *we* were supposed to be the only ones who could see you! We sealed you away when Paw got the new job! You weren't supposed to even still exist!" Not-Uncle Don turned to me and Lana. "Well, guess I'm not surprised about you two not bein' real "family oriented" after all, huh. You just get to pick and choose who you do and don't consider as family, is that it? Well then, I guess now its *our* turn." "What're you even talking about? Look, what's the point of all this?" I asked. "What is it you people actually *want* from us?" He looked at me, glaring at me, having dropped his wolfish grin. "You know how the old saying goes, *"What goes around, comes around."* He nodded over to Not-Dad, who then walked over to dad. "It's about time that *WE* show y'all what its like to have to get locked away in the void." Not-Dad then effortlessly pried Dad's jaws apart before somehow forcing himself inside of his body. Dad began gasping and choking and his body jerked and convulsed like he was in the middle of a seizure. "Dad!" I wanted to run over to him, but I couldn't wrestle against Not-me's grip on my arms. Dad fell to his knees, seizing on the ground. I could see his eyes roll into the back of his skull. "What're you doing to him?!" cried Lana. "Nothing he didn't do to us." Not-Uncle Don replied coldly as he observed Dad's suffering intently. "You're *killing* him!" I screamed. "No," he said coldly, "just making him a proper part of the family. He didn't want us to be part of his family, a family of actual people, so instead we're gonna make him a part of ours, whether he likes it or not." Dad's body slowly began to relax before going completely still. Then, his eyes snapped open as he slowly stood up again. His eyes were now the eyes of the other Tulpas. My eyes grew to the size of serving platters. My mouth went dry and my heart dropped like a stone into the pit of my stomach. I looked at Dad -- now taken over by Not-Dad, and looked over to Not-Uncle Don. I wanted to throw up then, realizing that's what he must've done to Uncle Don that night. I was even more horrified when, only a couple seconds later, Dad's skin began peeling away like a snake molting it's pelt. It stripped and peeled away slowly, revealing another layer of flesh underneath. It was like watching Dad's skin peel away to reveal another him, this one being paler and with the Tulpa eyes. "Wh-What have you done?!" I cried. This time, Not-Dad replied. "He just told you, boy, he's now part of us, just like Don. We're complete now, the two of us. Now, it's time to bring you kids properly into the fold." I felt Not-Me's hands start to force me to the ground from behind me. Not-Lana did the same with my sister. "Maybe *now* we'll have a proper family gather, huh?" Not-Uncle Don said, plastering his deranged grin from before. I tried to struggle, attempting to pry and even bite at Not-Me's fingers but it was no good. His fingers were the equivalent of miniature crow bars as they forced open my mouth. His arm strength was unreal, like what I'd maybe expect from someone double my size and weight. But instead, it was a shadowed version of my lanky, puny muscled self. Me and Lana were both on our knees, with our Tulpas prying our jaws apart. In one last desperate attempt, I jabbed my thumbs into Not-Me's eyes. Admittedly, I was a bit shocked to see it actually work and I was able to actually free myself. Once Not-Me reeled back in pain, shrieking in a way I'd never heard of before -- a way I wouldn't know how to describe other than to say that it might sound like what you'd imagine like a dragon's roar to sound like; beastial -- I sprang back to my feet and rushed to try and help Lana. I charged and managed to spearhead Not-Lana, sending the both of us to the basement floor. She began clawing viscously at my face from below me. I could just barely keep her pinned to the floor. "Lana, *RUN!*" I shouted. She stood up, but froze, mouth hanging open in horror. "Damn it, go! NOW! Get out of here, and get the cops!" "What about--" She was cut off with a scream as I saw out of the corner of my eye, Not-Mom and Not-Grandpa snatch her by the hair from behind. She was sent hurdling to the ground and I was soon overtaken by Not-Lana, who immediately proceeded to smash my face with her fists. I was helpless as blow after blow stoved my face in more and more. My vision began to fade as I watched the other Tulpas gather around me, watching Not-Lana smash my face in. "Alright, that's enough." Not-Uncle Don said, putting his hand up. "Can't have you gettin' carried away there and killing him, you know?" He looked down at me, grinning even wider, and said, "How would we be able to complete the family then, huh?" With that, Not-Lana raised back up and stood up. I laid on the ground, surrounded, dazed and bloodied. Not-Uncle Don waved for Not-Me to come closer. "Now, if we're done horsing around, I think it's time to welcome you to the family, Jack." Not-Me leered down at me, his violet eyes sparking from his shadowed form. "What do you think?" he said to Not-Me. Not-Me responded by immediately grabbing and again pulling my upper and lower jaws apart. I felt a sense of pressure, like something was crushing my throat from the inside as Not-Me began to force himself inside my throat. I began choking and gasping for air, just like Dad did as I spasmed on the ground. My body quickly began to go numb, losing all feeling in every nerve and muscle. I couldn't move anything except to twitch and writhe on the ground. The whole time, the others watched intently with smiles as big as Not-Uncle Don's. A black cloud quickly formed in the middle of my eyes, shutting me out of my sight completely. Following this, I eventually felt my hearing begin to slip away, too and I soon became almost detached from my body completely. I couldn't feel, experience, or *do* anything. I was little more than a fly on the wall, while Not-Me invaded my body completely, inside and out. Just before I'd be lost for good, though, I faintly saw Not-Mom reel in pain after being struck in the back of the head. Lana stood there, holding the old snow shovel we had down there, even though I never remembered using it. She quickly took it across Not-Grandpa's face, knocking him over, but was overpowered by Not-Lana. Not-Lana ripped the shovel from her hands and tossed it to the side before sending a powerful right hook across her jaw that knocked her backwards. For whatever reason, I guess out of its own weird sense of attachment or loyalty like how Not-Uncle Don was talking about, this seemed to catch Not-Me's attention, halting him from doing to me the same thing that happened with Dad. "Don't worry about her." Not-Uncle Don said. "She's a big girl, she'll handle that herself. You focus on doing your part." But it was too late. I began to feel a sense of relief beginning to return in my arms and legs. My Tulpa was losing control, being too focused on Not-Lana. He must've realized this because I could feel him struggle to try and resume the process again, but it was too late by that point. Soon, I felt all of the pressure from a few seconds ago leave my body, out through my throat. Then, there stood Not-Me once again, still in normal Tulpa form. "Aw, damn it, what're you doing?" exclaimed Not-Uncle Don. "Now look what you've done, you lost him!" I saw Not-Me exchange a quick look at him before re-fixing his sights on me. He dashed forward to try and have at me again, but he wasn't quick enough and I managed to roll over and jump back to my feet before he could get me. I was about to try and bum-rush Not-Lana again, her in the middle of forcing Lana to her knees again and prying her mouth open like how mine was, when I was cut off by Not-Dad. He backhanded me, sending me tumbling to the ground face first. I looked up to see Not-Lana disappeared, with Lana herself seizing and choking. "Lana!" I shouted. I tried again to make a break for her, only for Not-Me and Not-Uncle Don to cut me off. "Oh no you don't." Not-Me said. "You're not gonna keep her from us. Besides which, the two of us aren't finished." He went to grab at me again. I dipped to the side, dodging him yet again, before running. He and Not-Uncle Don followed after me in hot pursuit. I didn't look back, but I could hear their eager footsteps thudding behind me. I all but flew up the basement steps before throwing the basement door open and running through. I made it out, but just before I had the chance to slam it shut again, Not-Uncle Don managed to catch it, impeding me from being able to close it. "You can't just run off like that, Jack. We're your family, we'll always be together!" His voice somehow sounded even more devious when he said this. More psychotic, like a maniac. I didn't say anything, instead responding by thrusting a swift, stiff kick straight in the middle of his chest that sent him tumbling backward down the basement steps. As soon as I did this, I slammed the door to the basement before throwing myself against the door to brace it as a series of violent crashes rocked against the door from the other side. As the knocks got more and more vicious, to the point I was almost afraid they'd actually manage to bash it down from the hinges, I reached for the nearby spare kitchen chair we kept in case we had more company than expected and wedged it in between the door and the knob. It seemed to hold for the most part at first, but I knew they'd be through the door before too much longer even still. That's when I decided to make a break for the front door to my car. I flew out the door and across the front yard to my car, where I then threw into reverse and slammed on the gas, peeling out of the driveway and flying down the street at probably better than 75 or 80 miles per hour. That whole drive felt like a blur. My mind was on autopilot, with sheer panic having taken the driver's seat. Like I said before, it was at least a 45 minute to an hour drive from the old family house to Dallas, but in that moment, it felt like no time at all had passed before I was driving back into town. When I was able to sort of "come to", I pulled over into the nearest parking lot, at a convenience store, and tried to catch my breath. My head was pounding, my heart quaking in my chest. It felt so surreal, so unbelievable, so *bizarre*. I couldn't even begin to comprehend what the fuck had just happened and what I'd found out. Even now, in some ways, I *still* can't really wrap my head around any of it. My father; a quiet, kind, respected and God-fearing Christian man, along with my uncle, brought these things into our world as kids. They thought that, if the home was lost, the family would be lost, too. So they summoned the Tulpas. They brought them here so that, no matter what, the family would always stay together through them; even if they were split apart. But then they tried to get rid of them, and apparently, it didn't work. I don't know how, but my best guess is that they were bound to the house itself in some way. And for years, growing up, neither myself nor Lana ever knew about them because they were trapped in the basement. Until that night, when Uncle Don went back, possibly to destroy them once and for all. At least, that's what I'm hoping was the reason why he went back. For some reason, though, I can't shake the feeling that Uncle Don may've gone willingly. Allowed himself to be taken willingly. I feel like that might explain the falling out between him and my father. Perhaps Uncle Don wanted to join with the Tulpa, either because of some weird fascination or some sort of desperation, such as being goaded somehow by the Tulpa like I almost was at the house. I don't really know, though. What I *do* know is, Uncle Don's warning, either way, was genuine. He didn't want me to ever go back; to ever meet the Tulpas. Even if he'd given himself over willingly, he must have wanted it to end with him as well. Unfortunately, I also know that this isn't over after the house. I think a big part of the reason they wanted the three of us that day in the basement was because, while in their normal shadow bodies, they can't leave the old house. But with the bodies of Dad, Uncle Don, and even Lana, now they can. I won't leave my house anymore after I caught one of them just two days after the incident in the basement walking down the sidewalk. It was Not-Lana, and she spotted me, grinned, and walked away. They're watching me. I've already called the police and talked to them. Fortunately enough, I guess, I managed to convince them to have a patrol pass up and down my neighborhood twice daily to keep on the lookout, but I know that's about as effective (especially against *them*) as tattling on a bully in elementary school. It's been a few days now since that encounter on the street. I don't know what to do. I don't know how or if it's possible to get rid of them, but I can't go out there until I find out. I feel like its only a matter of time before she or one of the other two who can move from the house find mine and come for me and then... Then the family will be together again... Forever... r/CorpseChildGospels<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] in 1988, I found something in the forests of Yukon. [RESPONSE] For centuries we as humans have always wanted to take control of the environment that god had put us on. We always felt that it was our destiny to contain the vast intellect of all of the great lakes, mountains, and everywhere in between. Our dream was to collectively understand and witness the myths that we manifested firsthand so that we could bestow upon our great grand-children the great gifts that we thought were hiding in the unknown. However, in our blinding adventures to seek out the treasures of our world, we have only discovered that the world we live in is built upon the bottom of Pandora's box. At least that's what I discovered. I discovered something a long time ago that would forever begin my downward spiral into the awareness of Human triviality. You shall not know me by my name, as this story will introduce myself just fine, nor shall you know the real name of the Canadian Yukon town I live in. Let's just give my hometown the name: "Stolid" for the sake of this story. Now Stolid in the 80s was having a major issue concerning the general well-being of the populous. People were demanding that the mayor attempt to contact nearby law-enforcement bodies about the growing number of missing people, and since the town was pretty small even for middle-of-nowhere standards, people believed that if something wasn't done soon then the whole place would end up being a ghost town. Where do I fit into this? Well, not anywhere significant to say the least. I was just your average black-smith joe who sold tools to local arborists in Stolid, and other neighboring towns. As much as I didn't want to get into any kind of trouble with the hot-takes going on here, however, I couldn't help but feel slightly vulnerable to whatever forces might be lurking behind our backs in this god-forsaken place. So of course I would always bring a few teeny-little weapons with me wherever I traveled just to feel somewhat safe. I should've known though that a luger and a swiss army knife isn't necessarily a one-man army against the ever-looming idea of god becoming weak as man. I learned that the hard way though on the 4th of December in, you guessed it, 1988. That night was probably the single most tumultuous night in Stolid history. 3 more people were supposedly reported missing, and people had begun sparking up so much turmoil that they even lit a single car on fire, how ragingly passionate of them! Of course, I made the mistake of going into the center of town where most of the chaos was in the first place to buy a few parts for my job. I also just happened to be in a huge hurry to deliver a few things to a client of mine in a nearby town. Hey, at least I got to hear the stress-relieving sounds of several bullet shots at town hall in the process. However, I don't remember this night for whatever the hell was happening in Stolid. I'm pretty sure you and I both know where this is going. After leaving the center of that mess I headed back to my house where I prepared for my 30-mile trip in my decrepit little AMC Pacer to whoever I was selling my shit to that night. It was about 8 degrees above zero when I went outside to put everything in the back of my car. As I walked up to the driver-side door, I couldn't help but just take in the atmosphere of the night that surrounded me. The soft icy breeze stroking me like an owner does to a pet, the snow surrounding me with imaginative heat, and the moon peering through the cold clouds to shine her fluorescence onto me, a light that cemented my existence to relativity. It should've been yet another moment that brought true comfort to me, yet something still felt off, and I was about to drive headlong into the void that I felt during that moment. Now forgive me for alienating you from my mindset, but unless there isn't enough moonlight, I almost never turn on my headlights during the night. There are rarely any other cars that travel by here anyways, and I always thought to myself that I could see perfectly fine without using those stupid lights, they barely even worked on my car anyways. I spent what felt like 20 minutes driving on worn-out, icy asphalt roads. The engine hummed with eyebags in its soul, and the suspension creaked more than the floorboards of a haunted mansion down the endless amount of imperfections in the road, but it never bothered me. It had been doing that for god knows how long at that point. What bothered me though was that in front of me, lying on the road that I had been traveling down ever since I was 16, was a fallen tree. So doing what any sane person would, I decided to head back a few yards and travel down the forboding dirt trail that branched off the road. Despite being completely surrounded by wilderness, the moon was still illuminating the environment. I could still see clearly as I was heading down that dirt path. I recall my car slipping a few times on that path, but I never lost my control of it. I assumed that I would be on that trail for a while, and thus my consciousness was beginning to make me feel drowsy. I kept on driving down the trail, but I knew that soon I wasn't going to stay awake for much longer. As I was nearly about to lose myself, however, the entire car jolted to a halt. Somehow the weather was much different than I had first interpreted it. The moonlight was gone, and it had begun snowing, all of which I failed to notice somehow. Either that or I somehow fell asleep while driving. Soon I shook myself awake and reached for the keys to turn the car back on. That's...when I saw it though. Although my eyes had been long adjusted to the darkness at that point, it was still very dark outside, and the snow didn't really help either. Yet, despite that, I jolted back in my seat when I managed to notice the silhouette of something hanging in the trees to my right. An Arachnid, the size of my car, hung itself above me with a predatorial silence. I sat there unblinking for what felt like 15 seconds, all without the spider moving once. Eventually though, I slowly moved forward to turn on the headlights of my car. With my eyes still on the spider, I very gently wrapped my fingers around the headlight switch and tugged with a mighty clench to activate the high beams. I thought it would help me see it better, that it would be beneficial to my survival, but those weren't headlights that I turned on, they were the signal. The spider launched itself from the trees and instantly clamped on top of the car with its abdomen smashing the windshield. I can still remember the ear-piercing screams that emanated from my soul at that moment, a soul that was still pure with emotion and feelings. What an innocent little child I was. Within a moment I got the car into gear and swung it back down the trail, forcing that suck-a-doodle doo of an engine to scream like a banshee in agony even then though the spider stayed clenched to the top of my car. I could hear the spider pounding its needle-like arms at the glass, the abdomen was spitting out webs onto the windshield as if it wasn't hard enough to see out of it with the damage it had done. And that's another thing, with the headlights on I could now very clearly see that there were webs just about all over the trees around me. The snow was clinging onto the webs, making them even more visible if the shine from my lights didn't make them so enough. I was still racing headlong down the trail with the great panic-induced fear pushing me forwards to what I thought could be salvation. My consciousness had created a sphere of energy that attempted to hold in an aura of pre-conceived human feelings and wisdom and separate me from the pure unknown naturalism that shattered the man-made vessel which I had bestowed myself. With the single ounce of thought that I had left under the blindness of panic that I had built up, I slammed on the brakes, causing the spider to finally fall off of my barrier. Soon, however, the spider regained its bearing and came face to face with those piercing-red eyes against my cross-eyed lemon. It was at that moment that I realized that this was the ultimate determination of my fate. A fate that would embody itself as the sheer forces of unconquered nature. I could've just sat there and let the spider tear apart my barrier and eat me up like the yoke of an egg. I could've done what pretty much embodied the true laws that governed humanity's insignificant place in this world that was set into action by our apathetic gods. **The luger......my wrathful gateway between man, and god.** I grabbed, holstered, and fired the un-godly invention with a precision that felt gifted. The bullet, within the span of incomprehensible milliseconds, thrashed its way, untampered, through my windshield, and executed the actions of tethering god-like entities straight in between the eyes of my first Luger Spider. Ever since that night I have forever freed myself from the hopeless fleeing cries of man, and I have resurrected myself as the tamer of our nightmares, I have since then studied, and classified the creatures our gods didn't want us to have knowledge of, for I have been rewarded a position on this planet that stands above human-comprehension, and I have placed my throne as their tyrannical lord. The luger spiders are little more than the mistakes of the hell that resides within the mantle. A hidden hell that, fun fact, the Soviets tried and failed to reach. The government doesn't want us to know what kind of monstrosities are happening in the town of Stolid in the present day. They don't want you to know that Luger Spiders (classified by scientists as Acanthogactus rexarus), has wiped out the population of Stolid ever since 1993, and it has become little more than a fortress for their un-thinking state of hive-mind. Finally, they don't want you to know that they have been fighting this species ever since 1993 with specially designed flame-throwers, and are beginning to run out of ideas on how to properly exterminate the entire species. Pour les myopes, à travers le brouillard, **Dieu doit être un monstre.** <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I think I’m in a different world. [RESPONSE] I(28M) am now in a different world, I think. I don’t know if posting on Reddit will go to my world or the other. Doesn’t matter too much anyway, I bet I’ll be dead soon. I was on my way back from work, walking down the street, whistling my favorite tune. I’ve always been a good whistler. It’s a talent of mine I suppose. Then, suddenly, I saw someone — or something — in the alley way. It was crawling, and once I got closer, I saw a trail of blood. “Hello? Sir or ma’am? Are you okay in there?” I heard sobbing from up ahead, inside the dark. But nobody answered. Now, I’m no horror movie character, so I knew this whole situation was sketchy. Besides. I’ve been robbed before, and I’m not about to do that again. “Hey. What’s wrong?” I said, still from the entrance. If nobody answered this time, I was leaving. Too bad for anyone there. Especially if it’s a mute person. “M-my leg…” It was a lady, for sure, and it sounded almost like… my fiancé, Diana(29F). I did pause, but then, I went in. This lady sounded scared, and most specifically, hurt. I couldn’t just leave her there! I took out my phone, too, in case I needed to call 911. Everything suddenly became quiet. Eerily quiet. No cars drove down the road. Birds stopped chirping. And I saw Diana right there, bleeding from her leg and clutching it, crying. “Diana!“ I cried, lunging to her. What happened to her? Why wasn’t she at home with our infant, Lily? How did she get to my work route? It’s a bit far away from home, I walk to a bus station to get home. And suddenly, I was in bed, over Diana, holding her hand rather tightly. Gasping heavily. Honestly, from her view, I was probably looking absolutely crazy in my shocked, scared state. Then she laughed. Her hearty, beautiful, flowery laugh. But it almost didn’t seem like her. She usually would be concerned, not laughing, if I did this. “Hey OP, good morning.” Her French accent was a bit thicker, like it was when we met, five years ago. Confused, I got off her and she sat up. Her hair was tied up, something she never did. “What? But- I thought you were… you were bleeding, and your leg was hurt. How did we get here?” I had stammered. Again, she looked amused, not at all worried like she usually would be. “OK. Go check on Kyle, will you, you jokester? It was probably a dream, babe. I wouldn’t worry.” She added that last part because she could see the shock and pure confusion on my face. Then, Diana got up, stretched, and headed towards the door. “Wait! Who’s Kyle?” “What do you mean, my husband? He’s our son.” She left before I could ask anything else. You see, Kyle is what we would’ve named a boy Lily. But… she’s a girl. And we’re not married yet. And Diana would worry. And she never uses pet names. So… I don’t know. Somehow, I went to a different world in that alley way. And I just heard something whisper into my ear: “I’m coming”.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] We're Investigating The Disappearance Of Everyone In Our Town (Part 6) [RESPONSE] October is here at last and in spite of everything, I’m still excited about it. Last post, I mentioned that I kept the skull of that shapeshifter. Since then, I’ve put it to good use as a candle holder. Yeah, I got some black and red candles and stuck them into the sockets. We even painted it. The left side along with its antler being the former color with the right side and the corresponding antler being the latter color. Even Stevenson agrees it looks pretty damn cool. Among other things, we made a sugar cookie pizza I saw in my dream. Good ones have been rare for me lately, so I took it as a sign. I topped it with Nutella, peanut butter, and strawberry jam. I also baked chocolate chip cookies topped with peanut butter. This year, I’m hoping to get baking a pumpkin pie down. I keep burning the freaking things. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. If anyone could give me some advice on that or hell, even link a sure-fire recipe even an idiot like me could make, I’d appreciate it. Anyway, talking about my cooking ventures is fun and all, but I guess I should move on to more important matters. Namely, that card tree we have in the basement. None of us could've guessed what Stevenson found out about it. Early in the morning at breakfast, he came up to call us down and get a slice of the quiche I made. His expression made it apparent that whatever he wanted us to see had shaken him. We followed him and there it lay on Carl's workbench. Multiple tools were beside it that was covered in thick blue liquid which was presumably its blood. Seeing all this was pretty offputting. "Okay, so besides making yourself seem like a demented surgeon, why are you showing us this?” Carl asked. Stevenson, slightly annoyed, replied. “Just watch." He proceeded to use some tools to pry what I will loosely refer to as its lips apart. We could hear some ear-piercing awful noises as he did. It was like listening to countless people being tortured at once. My arms broke out in goosebumps. It was like listening to someone open up a can of what the fuck. As the anguished wood around its mouth that I will loosely be referring to as its lips was parting, there was a faint white light. When they were fully opened, we could see a glowing swirling mass within. It got so bright it was nearly blinding until Stevenson removed the tools, making it close. "Warn us to wear sunglasses next time," Carl snapped at him. "The hell was that?" I asked, rubbing my eyes. "I believe it's some kind of portal," Stevenson replied. "I've stuck different tools inside and it doesn't seem to have an end." This was shocking news. "So then they must've eaten everyone," Nick said. "I don't know if "eat" is the right word, more like consumed. Either way, by doing so these things have most likely sent your friends and my colleagues far away, maybe to another universe. Hell, even to another dimension for all we know." "To Inde's home?" I asked. This was a harrowing thought. If everyone was there, it meant they might've seen it, and if that’s the case, they’d be as good as dead already. Then again if there’s a word that can be used to describe our townspeople it’s resilient. We’ll never know until we finally go to where they are. The most obvious obstacle to our goal is that we don’t have any reliable way to fight Inde. “That’s gonna be a bitch,” Carl said. “Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way.” “Meaning what?” Nick replied. “We’re thinking about this like we’re going to fight Inde and to be honest, I think that’s fucking stupid.” We couldn’t argue with him there. “What we should do is get them out as quickly and quietly as possible,” Carl continued. “Great, because the last rescue mission we were on went so smoothly,” I said. “Oh well, I guess we’ll just have to hope our luck stays strong.” “That’s the spirit.” “Great,” Nick yawned, “but how do we even know the card trees will take us there?” “We could lower a camera in,” Stevenson suggested. “Then again that may be a bit risky depending on what it shows us. If only we knew someone who could tell us more about it.” The only person we could think of that would fit that bill was Zohl and we didn’t have a clue where he was. “Maybe we should try the library again,” I said. “I don’t think we’ve finished exploring it.” “Now that you mention it, there are those symbols we found in the back,” Carl replied. “I wonder if the book mentions anything about them?” We flipped through it and eventually found the symbols among the invisible ink portion. From what we gathered, they seemed to be used for performing some kind of ritual after dark as indicated by the drawn stars. "Of course, it has to be at night," Nick complained. "What does it even do anyway?" "Something important I bet," I told him. "Why else would Alice risk her life to try it?" “Hang on. I don’t think that’s all of it,” Stevenson spoke up. He pointed to the end of the page and noted a shape that seemed to be connecting to something else. Sure enough, he was right. The following three pages showed that the symbols we saw initially were part of four sets, meaning to complete it we’d have to set up the other three. While initially, we thought that wouldn’t be that difficult, we soon realized this wasn’t going to be the case. The main challenge to that was shown on the following fourth page, On it were all the symbol sets with a note saying they had to be when converted from metrics at least half a mile apart and then somehow connected together. “So we have to do all this while those card trees are attacking us?” Nick asked. “Pretty much,” I said. “Well, could we maybe put down some suites first so they can’t get us?” “There’d still be openings for them to get through.” “Oh, right, guess we better weapon up then.” The plan was to do it as early in the night as possible. Stevenson would be completing the one at the library and then pick us up once we did ours. We each made sure to copy down the symbols so we’d get them right. Plus, we bought some extra hand radios and offerings to place in the circle’s centers. Nick was at the power plant. Carl was at the town hall and I was at Formaggio’s. We need something roughly at the center of all these places and that happened to be the stand containing statues of presumably our town’s founders. We don’t know much about them and the plaque is too faded to read properly. “Alright, is everyone ready?” Carl asked through the speaker. “As ever,” I replied. “Yep,” Nick said. Glancing up from my spot, I could see the setting sun here at last and the all too familiar dread crept within me once more. “Let’s hurry this up,” Stevenson told us. We did so, drawing the symbols fast and placing our objects within them. It couldn’t be any objects, however. It had to carry some significance. For example, the pen on the first set was one Alice used a lot. Carl used an old knife he owned since he was a kid. Nick used an old shirt of his and I used my old Gamecube controller which contained a lot of teeth marks. I placed it in the center and waited. For what? I wasn’t sure. Then a bright orange light shot from both sides of my symbols set. “Do you guys see this light too?” I asked. They told me they did and that the offerings were acting strange. I choked on mine and much to my dismay it seemed to be melting. While this did give me some heartache, I knew it was a necessary sacrifice. The others reported the same thing was happening to them. Everything was going smoothly so far which naturally meant shit was about to hit the fan. Even though we knew this all too well, that didn’t stop the panic from crawling in. The first few card trees were emerging from the woods. I told everyone this and they informed me they were seeing them too. “How long do we have to hold them off for?” Nick inquired. According to the ritual, once all symbol sets were created it wouldn’t be complete until the line was fully connected. If any of the sets were damaged it would stop everything so we had to prevent that for the next ten minutes. This was easier said than done especially when we were swarmed with card trees. From the front, about four approached me which I shot down. Then ten came from my left and right side which I also shot. The thing is as prepared as we could get, we each could only carry so much. When pulling the triggers of my guns was met with clicking, I switched to my crossbow. This put me at a significant disadvantage since I couldn’t attack as fast. Back before our training, my hands would be shaking in a situation like this. However, Carl taught us to separate fear from action. I ducked and sidestepped swinging branches. Some tried to grab my legs. I cut them away. Then I noticed one was getting too close to my symbol set. I dove at it with my knife out and leaped onto its back, stabbing repeatedly. It screamed in pain. Then it spoke and what it said was chilling. “Thank you…” Caught off guard by this, I failed to react in time to some more branches swinging at me. There was only time to gasp before one hit me. I let out a grunt of pain and was sent flying through the broken window of Formaggio’s and into an overturned table. Groaning, I pulled out my radio. "How are things coming along for you guys?" I asked, gritting my teeth as I was trying to fight through the pain shooting through me. "I managed to climb up a tree, but the fuckers have me stuck," Carl replied. Nick, breathing heavily, spoke next. "Why are there so many? I've been running like a maniac and more keep-." He yelled and an audible thump sounded over the speaker. "Nick, are you alright?" I said, getting concerned. "For now." "Good, what about you, Stevenson?" When he didn't respond I got a bad feeling. I heard him screaming off in the distance and didn't have to see what was going on to know it wasn't anything good. He did respond. "They're looking for me inside," he whispered. "I'm hiding in the restroom." "How did you mess that up?" Carl chastised him. "The only thing you had to do was wait inside and not draw attention to yourself." "I was startled. There were some flashing lights above the library that caught me off guard.” As I was trying to think of what that could be, the card trees were coming in. Scrambling to my feet, I dashed for the back exit only to find more bursting in from there as well. At that moment, I wondered to myself why we didn’t paint suites on the buildings. It was too late. I was surrounded and despite my best efforts of slashing and stabbing, they had me. “Guys,” I screamed into my radio as I was being dragged away, ”they got me.” “Pete, no,” Nick yelled. “We’ll be over there soon,” Carl said. “Hang on.” The branches wrapped over my entire body. It was suffocating and wriggled desperately in a vain effort to free myself. Eventually, my body succumbed and I passed out. I woke later with a gasp, finding myself bound to a tree and so were the others. They were tied to trees near mine. “You guys got captured too?” I croaked. My heart sank, knowing not one of us was able to get away. “Oh no,” Stevenson responded, “We just thought it’d be a good idea to take a walk in the woods full of things that are going to eat us. Yes, we were captured.” “Ah, shut up,” Carl told him. “We’re in this mess because you fucked up. You had the easiest part of all this, but you got scared by some damn lights.” Before he could reply, our captors returned. We were helpless against the card trees and ny stomach turned at the sight of them. Something we’d been wondering is why they bothered dragging their victims into the woods as opposed to consuming them as soon as they were caught. The answer was that it seemed they needed to perform some kind of ritual first. Actually, it was more of a dance. They did it in rhythm, circling around us. Honestly, if they weren’t a bunch of abominations of nature intending on consuming us, it would’ve been kind of majestic. We tried to get free. However, none of us could move freely. The card trees were chanting something. The language was ancient and gravelly Hearing it made my skin crawl. All at once, they stopped and faced us. Their mouths opened wide, shining blue light onto us. Sounds come from them, screams of anguish and despair. Their branches shot forward, slicing away our restraints and then ensnaring us once again. They lifted us up, dangling us over their open maws. This was it. A distant part of my mind was wondering if this is what everyone else in town had seen before they were eaten. If this were the case, then our hopes of them being okay were dashed. “Guys,” I groaned. “Yeah?” Nick said, panic clear in his voice. “Sorry.” The others were silent. We were pulled forward, only able to stare while awaiting our harrowing fate. We were inches away from them when suddenly something flew towards us, slicing through their branches. We dropped to the ground hard. My muscles ached due to how long we were still. As I was getting up, my bones popped and we could now see many arrows sticking out of the card trees. When they fell over, our savior was revealed. “Apologies for not assisting sooner, I needed to make preparations.” Our faces broke into grins. “Zohl,” Carl, Nick, and I exclaimed at once. He was back and unchanged except that his suit was now blue with a white tie. “Come, we need should discuss matters somewhere safer.” He helped us back to Carl’s place and shortly later, we were all sitting on the couch together. “A curse, hm? Well, it sounds like you’ve had quite the eventful past couple of years,” he told us. “Yeah. but we got these crystals that keep it at bay,” Carl said. “Good thing too. What we're dealing with now is bad enough on its own.” “I can imagine. Incidentally, that man has been staring at me for nearly six minutes straight.” He pointed to Stevenson. He’d been that way since the walk back. “I’ve never seen a real-life alien before,” he whispered. “And now you have, so what do you think of me?” Those words were like opening a damn. A torrent of questions poured from Stevenson, asking about his powers and technology. “Settle down,” I said to Stevenson. “He literally just got back. Give the guy time to relax. Wait, you are a guy, right? I don’t think we’ve ever asked.” “My species doesn’t recognize the concept of gender. Refer to me as you wish.” “Okay. so as I was saying, give him time to breathe before you jump down his throat with questions.” “Where have you been anyway?” Nick inquired of Zohl. “It’s a long story. I will tell it. However, I need to rest after such a long journey.” He was preaching to the choir. We were exhausted by the night’s events. He’s sleeping out in his ship which he promised to show us. I am fucking pumped about that. I finally get to see the inside of it. More good news is that when I told him about I thought saving everyone would be impossible, he told me I may be wrong so I guess there’s hope after all. We’ll know what he means soon. On that note, I better get to Later, (I love Halloween)<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I had a Vision of an Apocalypse [RESPONSE] Dreams. Dreams can sometimes be pleasant, sometimes they are just completely random things your mind can conjure up while you sleep. Most of us forget dreams once we wake up, a majority of them. Some do stick though, I think everyone has at least one dream that stuck. From what I hear it's mostly nightmares that stick. A scary experience is what we remember, it can be completely random, or it can be due to some horror movie you watched. I didn't have so much a dream or nightmare, as I did have a... vision of sorts. Let me go back a bit, this happened about a week ago. I just came back from a visit to my mom's place, needed to help her with some groceries, she has back problems. Anyways, I get back home and I am exhausted, more than I'd anticipated. I am not a pro athlete or something, but I do have some good stamina. I also had a considerable amount of caffeine in my blood which, in normal circumstances, would keep me awake. These were, I'm pretty sure, not normal circumstances. It was Friday so I figured a quick nap wouldn't hurt. It was still early, around 10 in the morning. I do have to mention that I was on "vacation" so I didn't have to go to work. Well, my vacation was mostly lounging at home and just resting, occasionally visiting my mom or going out for a drink with my friends. But I digress, I set up my alarm clock to wake me up at around 12 or 12:30, can't remember exactly. After that I just collapsed on my bed, feeling more exhausted than ever for no discernable reason. The moment I closed my eyes, all of that tiredness just disappeared. I opened my eyes once again, I felt normal, as if nothing happened. I checked my phone and it was still 10 AM, 10:13 if I remember correctly. "Strange" I mutter to myself and get back up. I felt rested from just closing my eyes for a few moments. Wish that were the case always. I went into my living room and grabbed the remote to turn on the TV, It didn't. "Damn, I just replaced the batteries..." I muttered to myself as I threw the remote back onto the couch and went to the fridge to grab something to snack on. I opened the fridge to find it... empty. Not just empty, do you know that sound a fridge makes when it's working? Yeah, none of that. It was as if it were unplugged or something. And not only that, the fridge was slightly more to the right than I remember it being. Confused, I leaned forward on the adjacent counter to look if It was unplugged and after squinting my eyes for a few moments I saw that it wasn't. After that I decided to test something out, I tried flicking the light switch on and off. And my hunch was correct, there was an outage. That still didn't explain why my fridge was empty, I am absolutely certain that It was filled up with food and drinks a few hours ago. I checked inside once again, I even reached my hand to the back. The temperature inside was the same as at room temperature. Surely it would've been colder in the fridge for some time despite It not working for some time? Lost for any options I grabbed my phone. It was 10:20, I tried going onto Google to see if there were any local power outages or some construction in the local area which might've caused the outage... No reception, no internet connection... I checked if I was connected to my router, which of course wouldn't work without electricity. I wasn't, I was on mobile data. "I'm pretty sure the numbers on the router were a bit different..." I thought to myself for a second, after registering that the numbers on the back of the router were slightly off as well, but I had more pressing matters to worry about. I tried calling my mom to see if she knows what's going on, no reception I was just rerouted to an automated voice message... I was starting to be a little freaked out at this point. My throat was dry, I wasn't thirsty, but my throat was simply dry. I didn't have any soda to drink so I opted on drinking regular old tap water, and to my surprise, there was no running water. Then I started noticing other things, such as the fact there were no car sounds on the outside. And I can guarantee to myself my neighbor was mowing his lawn the moment I laid down and then abruptly stopped... "What the fuck is going on?" I posed that rhetorical question to myself, knowing I won't have any answers any time soon. So I decided to go outside to see what was up, maybe the neighbors had some idea of what was going on, I thought. Going outside I saw that the neighborhood was... Different. There were no cars driving around, there were no pedestrians. The cars that were parked, including my own, looked as if they weren't turned on in ages. The grass outside was overgrown, and the entire place looked as if no one maintained it in months. The sky as well was gray and cloudy, it was a sunny clear sky this morning. The weather broadcast didn't say it would be cloudy. I ran to one of my neighbor's houses and knocked on the door with no response. I banged on the door shouting for someone, anyone to open the door or just give some sort of response... None came, and my voice just echoed in what seemed like an empty world. I just sulked down the door and sat down, trying to rationalize what was happening. I slapped myself multiple times but nothing happened, I didn't wake up! Then I saw someone, I saw someone walking... limping down the road, it was a woman it seemed. She looked to be dressed in business attire. I quickly got up and shouted : "Hey! Excuse me! Ma'am!" There was no response, I thought she didn't hear me so I shouted once more, this time louder : "HELLO! EXCUSE ME!" Nothing, she didn't so much flinch at my voice or turn her head. I decided to walk up to her, as I got closer I started noticing some more details... worrying details. I noticed her suit was torn at some parts, she looked pale as a ghost as well. I stopped I would say 10 meters from her, now a bit cautious. "I- do you know what the hel-" I stopped mid-sentence, she lifted her head up toward me, still limping, inching toward me... Her eyes, her sunken eyes had no pupils. Well, she did but It looked like she had severe cataracts, her eyes were completely clouded. She groaned as she approached me, I noticed a wound on her neck. The wound was old yet It didn't heal... there was a fucking maggot sticking out of it. I stepped back, and like in a cliche horror flick tripped and fell on my ass. I was backing away but she was faster, she got closer and closer until... She stepped on my foot, well she didn't so much as step on It, as much as she stepped through It. I froze when I saw that, she, on the other hand, continued walking and groaning as if nothing happened. She acted as if I wasn't there, she continued walking, with each step she phased through me as if through thin air. I quickly got up and got out of her way, watching her in bewilderment. "A-am I dead?" I said to myself in a whisper. Thinking that some sort of zombie apocalypse happened and I was killed in my sleep... "I was confused as you were the first-time friend." I jumped in fear, turning around on a dime when I heard someone's voice behind me. "What the fuck!?" I exclaimed, once I turned around I saw a man. He was I would guess in his mid-fifties, he had a long and unkempt graying beard and I would guess messy gray hair, he had a cap on his head. He had a long dark green jacket going down halfways to his knees and dark blue jeans, slightly torn at some parts, all dirty and bloodied. "W-who are you? What happened?" I asked. "I'll answer your questions one at a time. Let me just assure you one thing. You're not dead." He said, with a slight smile on his face. It didn't seem to have malice in it, if anything it was an amused smile. "Okay..." I really didn't have anything else to add, I was a bit speechless. There was a period of silence between me and him, the sound of wind and occasional bird chirp could be heard. "Not much of a talker I see..." The man said "Alright, follow me." he added as he started walking in a seemingly random direction. "What, wait a minute. Where to? And who are you?" I asked. He turned around and gave me a smile once more "C'mon we ain't got all day and it's not like those guys can eat you." He pointed to the limping woman... zombie I guess, still walking down the street. I nodded and I started following behind him, we were walking through my neighborhood, which was now dead, overgrown, and abandoned, I saw some houses were boarded up, some were burned down, and some looked like they'd been robbed and looted a dozen times. After some time the man began to speak. "This was about a month after all went downhill. Most people were turned, no saving them, unfortunately. Electricity and water were shut off, as I believe you saw yourself." "What you're meaning to say is, that a zombie apocalypse started? When? How?" I asked. "When I had forgotten. How I don't know. It just happened one day, without warning." He continued his brisk walk as he paused, then continued: " I remember the day when I heard the news. I had woken up from a nap and suddenly people were dropping dead like flies, then they got back up. The military was overwhelmed, and governments collapsed. All went to shit." He stopped abruptly. My eyes were irritated for some reason and I rubbed them, when I opened them back up again we were somewhere else. "What. Where are we?" I asked "The convenience store, remember?" The man said as I looked around, and sure as hell, this was the store I went to regularly. Though it saw better days, I must admit, the shelves were empty, there was all sorts of junk on the floor, and a couple of corpses. What caught my attention was an old sign for Coca-Cola... It was written with a K instead of a C. "What?" I said to myself, but before I could inquire further I heard movement behind us. A small group of 4 people entered the store in a hurry. *"BARRICADE IT! NOW!"* A familiar voice shouted to the others, as everyone was barricading the entrance of the door with whatever they could, a horde of zombies was fast approaching the store. Then I realized the guy who shouted, though now with stubble and longer hair... was me. They, and I... Didn't seem to notice us, we were invisible to them. The man who accompanied me started speaking once more. "Some of us survived, barely. Their numbers were swelling by the day, no matter how many we downed another 10 took its place. Supplies were running short, we didn't know what to do. But we pushed on despite all the odds, for the simple experience of seeing the sunrise once more... We pushed on for each other." I saw myself, my other self, and the three others which I didn't recognize barricade the entrance and run toward the back of the store. One of the others was limping, it looked like he was wounded. The wounded guy called for the others "Hey! Guys!" my other self and the two others turned around, "C'mon get going!" one woman in the group said *"I'm bit! I'm fucking bit, that fucker under the car got me a few minutes ago."* Everyone looked at each other not sure as to what to do. *"I'm staying."* The guy who was bitten said. *"Don't waste bullets on me, you'll attract even more 'em here."* He added, I looked at my other self reaching for his side, presumably a pistol. Everyone simply nodded and ran off, while the guy who was bitten turned around and raised his crowbar as the horde was tearing down the makeshift barricade if you could even call it that. "Shit happens, people died." The bearded man said, then my eyes irritated once again, when I rubbed them we were somewhere else. This time we were in a town, a small town. The sky was clear, and the town itself was overgrown and abandoned. There were a few stragglers on the street, they were severely decomposed and barely walking. The bearded man started speaking once again : "Riverside's the name, a town which was once home to around 5,000 residents. Tight-knit families, a single police station, two schools, a fire department, and a shooting range. Lotsa farmland on the outskirts, and a small forest not too far from here as a nature reserve of sorts. Despite the name being Riverside, the river is about 5 miles east of the town itself." As soon as he finished his sentence I could hear car engines in the distance, I turned around to see a column of cars. As they neared I could see that they were old and beaten down, but drivable, as I could see of course. There 6 or 7 of them, and as they drew closer to me they weren't slowing down. "Oh, fuck!" I exclaimed as I tried to move my legs, but they weren't budging, as if I was frozen in one place. I put my hands up and closed my eyes, bracing for impact... which didn't come. The cars simply phased through me. "Aha... I forgot." I said as the bearded man had a blank expression looking at me, then at the cars. Once the cars stopped people started exiting. Some of the stragglers started walking toward the cars but were quickly cut down by the people, some had guns but most of them used blunt weapons. Out of the driver's side of one gray sedan exited a familiar figure, now with a full beard and rifle in hand was me... My other self that is. *"How are we doing on gas?"* My other self asked, soon another person which I didn't recognize... well I didn't recognize anyone, but I digress. *"Bad, our car's runnin' on fumes."* I saw as my other self swore under his breath. "Right, guys let's clear the area. Take anything that could be useful, food, medicine, weapons you know the gist". My other self said in a confident tone. "I can't believe I would be a leader in this kind of situation... I always thought I would be dead within the first week. Huh." I said to myself, kind of surprised at my ability to adapt and survive, to lead even. The bearded man chimed in: "Yes, I too was surprised. But you kinda get used to It, believe me..." I didn't pay much attention to him, as I did to the group of 20 or so people systemically going from building to building looting It and killing unsuspecting undead inside. "Unbeknownst to them, for now at least, is that store down the street. See it?" The bearded man pointed down the street to some small corner store, I nodded and he continued "That small store has a basement which is under lock and key, good thing that guy over there" he pointed to a guy coming out of the building with a handful of some tools "That guy is a good lock pick. And behind that locked door, and down the stairs is an untouched store of canned food, enough to last for half a year, maybe more. That was enough time to establish some kind of permanent settlement, a farm not too far from here still had some seeds, we used that to kickstart some kind of agriculture, and life seemed to be better and better from here on out." As soon as he finished his sentence time began to speed up, like a timelapse I saw people become lines in the air, moving to fast to perceive, I saw as day and night lasted for mere seconds each, I saw some days were sunny, some cloudy. Sometimes it rained, sometimes it snowed. I saw as the buildings were slowly repaired, I saw makeshift walls erected around the small town, and I saw more and more people come. I saw as the seasons came and went, I saw the harvest and I saw how the fields were plowed each year. I saw life return to normal. Time slowed down to normal speed this time, and I saw that the once abandoned and overgrown town grew to a lively settlement with people going about their lives with little worry. Though in the distance I saw a small group of people gathered around something... Rather it was someone, there were two people arguing about something, and the argument was quite heated. I couldn't tell what they were arguing about but I could see even from that distance that the people in question were an older fellow and some younger guy. The older guy seemed familiar... Long dark green jacket, a cap on his head, slightly torn jeans... Just when it clicked, \*BANG\*. The younger guy pulled out a pistol and shot the bearded man point blank in the chest. I looked to my right to see, what I would now call a ghost, the bloody patch on his jacket was on the same spot where he'd been shot. I looked back at the growing commotion that was happening, the people nearest to us were now alerted because of the gunshot, they rushed to see what happened. Though despite the shouts and overall chaos that was now happening, I could hear a woman's voice scream someone's name, shriek in pain... But not the kind of pain where she is physically hurt, no... It sounded like that time my mother screamed when she heard dad was dead, she screamed his name. But this time, the name which the woman was screaming was... It was my name. The bearded man, the ghost, whilst gazing into the forming crowd, though it looked like he was gazing through them, spoke "All living things live, and they die. No matter if there is no more room in hell, room shall be made. Every life is a story, be it in apocalypse and cataclysm, or in times of abundance and prosperity. It is always a story of life and death. One day you will awake and you will find yourself in another world. A world that is completely different from where you once were, and you will relive this story. Your world will not be gone, you will simply be yanked from your comfort and thrown into chaos like you were today. But then you will not be as untouchable." He said, turning his head to look at me. "This is the story of how I died." He paused. I felt something tug on my arms, forcefully. Launching me backwards. "This is the story of how you died." I opened my eyes, my alarm was blaring, and my heart was just about ready to catapult itself out of my chest. I looked at my phone and saw that it was 12:30. I quickly got up and turned on my TV, It worked, and my fridge was as how I remember It, full. It took me a good hour to completely recover from that... dream? No, it felt all too real. But it wasn't reality, something was off. Yes, there was some sort of apocalypse, zombies roamed the Earth for God's sake. But something was off. The K on the "Koka-Kola" sign and the signs on the roads were not in the same place, though withered and beaten I could see the difference. And my house... The fridge, the numbers on the router... It was as if I was in another alternate universe. And most importantly... The older and dead version of myself, what he told me was that I will be awoken in that place. That I will be thrown into chaos... Jesus, I couldn't ask him when, why, or how. Just when I felt that I calmed down, I noticed something. I looked down at my arms, to see red handprints right at the place where I was grabbed by... Something. I feel as if I am going insane, almost a week has passed, everything seems normal, the internet is working fine. The news is nothing out of the ordinary. and I can't help myself but be constantly anxious. I can't sleep, I'm afraid I'll fall asleep and wake in that... place again. ***And that I will feel that bullet one day hit my own chest, in that dirty dark green jacket.***<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I am a deep sea researcher, and we've just found something terrifying. [RESPONSE] Before i start this report, i must clarify that any mention of my colleagues, their names or personal information, is to be altered for *security purposes*. I have a compromise with the truth, but also with the well-being and *safety* of my coworkers and fellow researchers. That said, this is a secret that i cannot bear maintaining for any longer. I've been a deep sea researcher for over fifteen years, and well recognized for my research collaborations among my peers. I've worked for a *certain European Institute* for the better part of my career, but it all changed three months ago. It was when me and other researchers were assigned to a new project, aboard the *Diana Resarch Vessel* \- stationed close to the geographic center of the Pacific Ocean. We all knew very little about what we were getting into; But we were sure of one thing: Whatever it was, it was *important.* The project was a global collaboration - the European Marine Board, the International Seabed Authority and the United Nation's DESA are among some of the involved. But there were many more. Still, it was all a well-kept secret: No coverage of the international media, and no questions were being asked, at least that i was aware of. There were other three research vessels, doing pretty much the same work as ours on different territories of the Pacific. I don't want to get into the technicalities of my work, the scientific jargons or the terminology, so i'll try to keep my explanation as simple as possible. I truly believe everyone should understand the importance of this discovery. As soon as we boarded the Diana, the details of the project were elaborated upon, and we were instructed into our research. We were to investigate *oceanic sound waves,* travelling through the SOFAR channel, and first reported by Kiribati Researchers mere months ago. I remember talking to my colleague *Marco* after we got our briefing, as we didn't understand the secrecy of the project. Deep sea earthquakes propagating sound waves that were caught by hydrophones were nothing new, so what was the fuss all about? Felt like our superiors knew more than they were letting us know. But soon enough we discovered why. These sound waves came from certain oceanic trenches of the *Hadal Zone*, the deepest region of the ocean. It was the zone that most attracted the curiosity of amateurs and researchers alike, as the intense pressure made exploration difficult. Sunlight was incapable of reaching those immense depths, but even with the distinct lack light, and of primary producers, life flourished even in the darkest regions of the ocean. Species of heterograph organisms were known to exist and live, traversing the dark abyss. Many submersibles had been carefully constructed over the years to explore the hadopelagic zone, but plenty were now defunct, had been lost or gotten crushed by the intense pressure. So the zone has always been a big ''unknown'', and efforts of exploration were progressing with very small steps. But now, this has changed. The sound waves that we were investigating were originally thought to be the result of profound earthquakes, but as we progressed in our research, it soon became clear that it couldn't be the cause. Because the sound followed a pattern. We studied the mentioned sound pattern for days, and got to understand why it had attracted so much attention. The phenomenon was discovered shortly after it started, but now it was being reported in different regions of the Pacific - hence the other research vessels scattered across the ocean. And all that sound was stemming from the bottom of the Hadal Zone. It repeated itself daily, almost down to the minute, for over six or seven hours (and of course, carefully compensating for the many kilometers the sound waves had to travel to reach our hydrophones) and then seemed to cease abruptly. It's hard to describe how it sounded like. Initially, it felt similar to other underwater earthquakes, but for a trained ear, paying close attention, it was possible to spot the differences. Speaking in a informal tone, it's as if there was an immense drum very deep down the ocean, being played every day. Our first hypothesis was some kind of geological anomaly, eleven thousand metres down below. We traded information and our discoveries with the other research vessels, but it soon got clear to all of us that it was pretty much impossible to determine what was happening, and why it was spreading, through analysis of the sound waves alone. We had to get down there and see for ourselves. The problem was, of course, the immense depths and the extreme pressure. Many submersibles had attempted to reach the bottom of the Hadal Zone, and suffered the consequences of it. And according to our calculations, we had to go even deeper than the international record - aproximately *11.200 meters* (or *36.745 ft)* below sea level*,* if we wanted to catch a glimpse of what was truly happening. And that also revealed to us something that had been previously theorized - there was a new, *deepest known spot* in any ocean, where the sound had originated from. The mystery of that discovery certainly instigated us, and we wanted to go further. The issue was discussed with our superiors, and not to my surprise, they had alredy considered the possibility. Our answer came in the form of *PROFUNDO*, a sophisticated ROV developed by other researchers and engineers, with technology that allowed it to support extreme pressures, and the promise that it could dive deeper than any other known submersible. It had alredy been tested, but this particular mission would fully utilize it's maximum capabilities. I remember well the day we put *PROFUNDO* to use. Our team was reunited at the control center, where we would guide it's movements as it delve deep underwater. *PROFUNDO*'s camera would record everything that it found, and we monitored it's slow descent. It would take many hours to reach the desired spot. We had carefully planned the descent, so the ROV would reach it's destination in time to caught the source of the noise. I wasn't present during much of the dive, however. There wasn't that much to see. The light from the surface could still be discerned for a while, and every now and then a curious fish would pass by. But after we reached the abyssopelagic zone, then there was mostly darkness. I remember staring at the transmission with my colleagues, discussing hypothesis. We were all eager to find out what was truly happening, so far below the sea level. The ROV was at a point in which there was no difference between water and darkness, and all that was clearly visible was the *marine snow*, organic leftovers that were a source of food for many deep sea species. We were mostly focused on our research to notice anything unusual, however, but we all got together to witness *PROFUNDO's* breaking the world record as it delve into the oceanic trench below, more than 11 thousand meters. Someone opened up a bottle of wine and we commemorated. Even though the mission was far from done, and we didn't even know if the ROV woud be able to keep resisting the intense pressure, there was this nice feeling of accomplishment. We waited for hours, and now we were closer to the origin of the sound waves than we ever had been. So the team once again reunited, not long after, as *PROFUNDO* finally reached it's destination. On the bottom of the abyss, in the sea bed. We where at the desired area, and the sand beneath *PROFUNDO* stretched across a dark horizon. The ROV was resisting well against the pressure, but we knew we should get the job done and not count our luck. It started to move. And we were all watching, carefully guiding it's movements as we explored that unknown place. However, we couldn't find anything. It was difficult to see, but there wasn't anything visible that could be the source of the noise. We were in the most profound depths of the ocean and it semeed completly empty. So we decided to wait until the sound waves started propagating again, in the next few hours. It was then that my colleague, *Erika*, caught sight of something. ''It's over there.'' - She said. - ''I'm sure of it. It's not far, about 18 feet that direction, think we could reach it?'' We could, and the ROV slowly made it's way. As we approached, the transmission seemely became more clear, and strange shapes and shadows transfigurated by the water were now getting closer. And then i saw something that i will never forget. ''Oh, God'' - Erika uttered. ''Holy shit.'' - Said Marco. And i could only stare, appalled. Couldn't take my eyes off that otherworldly vision. The ocean bottom was filled with hundreds of *gigantic human statues*. Immense figures, scattered across the dark ocean floor. We couldn't even see all there was to them, but they were undoubtedly human. Knelt down, faces fixated on the sand and arms stretching upwards, almost as if they were holding something above their heads, holding the entire ocean, like *Atlas*. The best way i can describe it, is as if they were *greek sculptures*, bald figures and without clothes, but a seemingly perfect human anatomy. We couldn't believe it. It was just too surreal. None of us expected that sight. There were hundreds of them as far as the ROV's camera could see, both figures of men and women. However, there was no sense of wonder for what could have been the biggest discovery of the 21th century. Only dread, as we tried to rationalize what we were seeing. Looking at those things didn't feel right. It provoked a strange sense of urgency, and even fear, something that i thought it was just me, but soon noticed affected everyone in the room. It was as if *we were seeing something that we shoudn't be. Something forbidden.* We were scientists, but still there was no explanation that could justify that feeling. It was all recorded, thankfully. Because after the initial feeling of surprise vanished, i couldn't bear to look at them any longer. Those immense, lifeless figures, prostrated like slaves. None of us could, except for Erika. Soon we all left but her, that wanted to continue the ROV investigations by herself. For some reason, most of the research team felt sick after seeing these statues, and we had to take a break. We had a meeting shortly after, to discuss hypothesis. Plenty of possibilities were raised, such as the statues being the remains of an ancient civilization - something that could forever change our world history, but it still didn't explain how deep they were in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, how many of them there were, and how they were connected to the sound waves. Not only that, but their size alone made that possibility unlikely - working on a quick estimative, someone proposed they should be at least *181 metres (593 ft) in height.* How could an ancient civilization build even one, not to mention those statues probably existed in the hundreds? We decided to present the recordings to our superiors, and they were as appalled with the discovery as we were. There was nothing logical about what we were seeing, and still, it existed. It was there. Many kilometers below us, in that very moment. Our discussion went on and on, as we analysed the alredy recorded footage, and semeely forgot about the sound waves and the ROV transmission Erika was still monitoring. That is, until we heard her scream. We rushed in the direction of the control room. I was one of the first to get there, only to caught sight of a terrified woman sitting at the corner of the room, face buried between her legs, trembling and sobbing uncontrollably. The screen showed only static - the transmission had been cut out, exactly after the sound waves were marked to start. And the ROV had been lost. We approached Erika carefully, but she could only tremble. Her eyes were dilated, fixated on the floor and she was crying uncontrollably. She couldn't say anything. Erika was one of the most intelligent and focused researchers that i ever knew, so serious about her work to the point of being stoic. And whatever she saw in that transmission had left her terrified beyond words. She was taken to our medical facility, and even after she stopped crying and took some pills, she still wouldn't say a word. Only look at us with a thousand-yard stare, as if her own mind was trapped deep down the ocean, along with those terrible statues. We tried to recover the recording, but it had either been corrupted or deleted. Maybe by Erika herself. Whatever she saw was lost, along with *PROFUNDO,* deep in that trench. There was no way to do a recovery effort, and frankly we didn't know how to proceed. Erika was the only one that could give us some answers, but not until she recovered. So we let her rest. But the next day, she vanished without a trace. We searched the entire ship. There was no sign of Erika, no matter where we looked. She had a husband and two daughters waiting for her back home, and now she is gone. My only fear, is that she too, has been lost to the ocean. She saw something that she shouldn't, and now it won't let her go. We don't know why the statues are down there. We don't know their purpose, or what is their relation to the terrible sound waves. We don't know why this effect is seemingly propagating itself across the ocean, and how to stop it. We are trying our best. Still, contrary to my superiors, i believe this must be known. If this is dangerous, and though we have no proof of it, my primary instincts says it so, then you all must be warned. And we must prepare. As i close my report, i must mention that all of this takes me back to a quote by Werner Herzog, that now abides by a new sense over what we've just experienced: *“Life in the oceans must be sheer hell. A vast, merciless hell of permanent and immediate danger. So much of a hell that during evolution some species – including man – crawled, fled onto some small continents of solid land, where the Lessons of Darkness continue.”*<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I was the last man standing [RESPONSE] I woke up due to a burning sensation spreading to my bare skin. The floor felt hot. And hard as steel, but burning hot in the first place. As my sight focused, returning from the slumber - I’ve noticed an enraged bearded face above me, shouting something. My head ached as if it was a pinata that managed to survive the party and the vision was all blurry and hazed. “What the hell happened yesterday?” - I thought to myself - “Wait… Am I naked?”. “For fuck’s sake, get to your feet! It’s heating.” - the bearded face’s voice finally broke through my sluggish perception. “What? What are you… Shit!” - I’ve felt that my bare buttocks and feet are getting stung by the heat. So I’ve rushed with all the speed I had left to stand straight, almost losing conscience again, as blood rushed from my head into my limp body. I’ve quickly looked around: it seemed that we were inside of a room, with no windows and all the surfaces covered in sheets of metal, a massive iron door with a valve and a speaker on the wall. Apart of Beardie and me - there were 4 more naked men with us. All of them jumping from one foot to another, trying to avoid the burns from the heating up floor. “What the hell, man? What’s going on here? Who are you, people? Why are we naked?” - I’ve shot all the questions at once, looking into angry and somewhat confused face of the beard guy. “I don’t know. Anyone? Do you remember your names?” - he shout back over his shoulder. Silence was the answer. Which was interrupted by static from the speaker, until somebody on the other side picked up and tuned the mic: “Ah, so I see that my dance monkeys are up and performing. Good.”. That resulted in 6 angry men screaming chaotically things like: “What the fuck!”, “Show yourself!” and “Let me out, you sick fuck!”. But the voice continued: “At this point you might be thinking - why am I here, what is this place and why can’t I remember anything, right, fellas? Riiight. Well, the sweet treat I gave you should block most of the memories for… Let’s see… 8 more hours, I think. By that time, I expect you to do couple of things: one - repent for your sins and two - make it while you still last.” “You psycho! Who the fuck do you think you are? A judge, Lord Almighty?” - Beardie shouted back but no response followed. Meanwhile, I’ve started sweating like a pig. It was hot. Six of us were trapped in an improvised oven by a psychopath, who decided to execute his punishment on us, but what for? “We’re gonna die either of suffocation or get roasted alive” - the guy behind me said. I will call him Inky, as he had a massive chest tattoo of an eagle, alongside many smaller ones. “First of all - don’t panic. We should be able to find our way out if we work together”- the skinny old man replied, whom I will name Gramps. “I’ve tried the door already, it won’t budge an inch” - Beardie replied dropping sweat to the ground, as he jumped up and down. “You two! Any ideas?” - Gramps asked the rest of men. As I’ve looked over Beardie’s shoulder I suddenly realized that one of the two guys left had only a single leg. That made it extra hard for him to avoid the heat, so his partner was holding the crippled man’s arm over his shoulders, helping him to jump together with him. Also that samaritan had long blonde hair that soaked in sweat. So I’ve named those two Pirate and Bon Jovi (don’t ask, I wasn’t thinking straight). And no, no fresh ideas from those two. The heat was still bearable. It burned, but like the desert sand when the sun is at it’s peak. Some minutes passed and we didn’t come up with anything. Guys tried the door couple of times again - joining forces didn’t result in anything either. Solid. We’ve discussed if we could use walls somehow, but those had no broad dents or holes, which we could hold on to, preventing our feet touching the frying pan below. The ceiling was out of reach too - way too high. That’s where the dehydration started to kick in slowly, making my temples pound and my lips to crack - losing all that water with sweat sped up the things in rapid manner. I saw Inky sucking on blood from his bruised dry lips instinctively. And suddenly he said: “I think I may have killed somebody…”. Out of the blue. We all stared back at him. “The taste of blood in my mouth… It reminds me. This metallic taste, you know? I remember it. And I’m sure the blood was not mine. Mine is less sweet, or something.” Everybody had to think. This didn’t explain anything. “But wait… Is this the ”sin“ that jerk talked about? What does the rest of us have to do with it?” - Bon Jovi said. “Well, maybe we’re a gang of mass murderers and were all involved in some slaughter. Just a guess” - I’ve said. “Yeah, especially this guy over there who can’t stay straight for a minute. ” - Gramps laughed back. The speaker broke our conversation with some more static and then spew out next words: “Oh, gentlemen. Having some good times, are we? I think it’s time to speed up your thinking. Let’s spice it up a bit, shall we?” Jokes were over. In a course of couple next minutes I’ve felt with my soles, that the temperature went up. Now it was really hard to focus, as the steel below me was burning like a thousand of stings puncturing the harsh skin on my feet. All of us started to jump even more intensively, just to stay that half a second away from the smoldering surface. Lack of fresh air, dehydration, and extremely hot surroundings ripped the first victim - all of a sudden Gramps collapsed to his knees, reaching out for his chest, as if he was suffocating. “Stand back. Give him space.” - Beardie rushed to the old man, raising him up, holding him over in the same manner Bon Jovi was treating the Pirate. I’ve lowered my eyes to Gramps knees - those were reddish and swollen from contacting the hot surface with his tender elderly skin. “I think I’m a paramedic” - Beardie said. “What?” - several of us replied. “As I rushed to pick him up - I got a feeling that I did this many times before. Like a job, you know?” - he said. “So we have a guy who thinks he killed somebody and a guy claiming he is paramedic” - the Pirate coughed with wheezy breath. “Nice. Well, I’ll be a royal majesty then, lads” - he laughed in hoarse voice. We used all our brain power, which was available to us, considering we had to jump constantly not to get burned too bad, especially considering there were two people, who couldn’t do this on their own now. It came back as nothing. The crackling silence of heating air was cut in half with the sudden microphone to speaker feedback noise and the message from our torturer: “I could do this all day, but unfortunately I have other errands to care about, so how about we heat our thing a couple degrees up?” That wild feedback sound gave me a numb feeling somewhere at the back of my skull. As if I’ve heard that sound many times before. “I think I’m a sound technician.” - I said - “That sound the speaker made. I think I’ve heard that millions of times before. But that’s just my guess”. Nobody was amused with this piece of information. It made things even harder. “I think he passed away” - Beardie said soon, checking old man’s pulse. Grim silence hanged in the air, as all of us stared at the skinny lifeless body twitching in tact of bearded man’s jumps. “Drop him. Let’s use his body, so others can survive” - Inky quickly muttered - “That’s our chance”. Everybody kept their thoughts on right and wrong to themselves and then Beardie just let the old man’s arm go. The heated steel hissed quietly as the dead flesh landed on the ground. I guess I would throw up if I weren’t so dehydrated at that point. Without consulting with the rest of us - Bon Jovi jumped towards the dead body dragging the Pirate with him, putting his only leg atop of Gramp’s remains. He nodded to us as if in “I guess it’s the right thing to do” and we nodded back, without saying the word. The body below hissed more intensively as pressure was applied. We were stuck in a nightmare, though we were too confused and tired to break into mindless panic. “Hold, up, gentlemen. That’s considered cheating. Plus, how are you going to see the whole picture now, as one of you… well… retired? You leave me no choice. Let’s boost your thinking” - the speaker cracked through. In the passing couple of minutes - it became just unbearable. I’ve checked the swollen skin on my feet - blisters started to form, which resonated with blind pain each time I landed back on the floor. The suffering was debilitating. Bon Jovi had enough. He climbed atop the broiling rests of the old man alongside the crippled guy, positioning his burnt feet on the head and the rib cage, while the Pirate had his on the pelvis. Both of them balancing, trying not to fall. Moments later, Inky just snapped. I think hysteria got him. He suddenly just started screaming something like: “No! No! Jesus, no! I can’t take it anymore”. Then he ran towards the two atop the corpse, intending to kick them off and take their place, but something went wrong - he fell over and collapsed to the ground. What I heard next will probably haunt me for the rest of my life - that wasn’t a scream, no. That was an animal roaring in pain. Inky rolled over the floor, with bits of his burnt skin sticking to hot steel here and there, tearing away from his naked body. Wailing, crying, bellowing of pain. He tried to get up couple of times, though he slipped on the blood pouring from his numerous wounds. Until, in some confusing motion he banged his head over the steel covered wall and felt silent, leaving us with with dread feeling of impending doom. As the pain became unbearable - I’ve checked that the guy was done and in a single rapid motion crossed the room, finishing atop of his back. It felt like running over razor blades soaked in acid. It was becoming harder to see around, as the liquids from the dead bodies evaporated, polluting the hot air. While I didn’t pay much attention to my surroundings - I was finally able to focus. Beardie was quiet for quite some time now. I’ve checked to the left and then to the right. The huge guy somehow managed to climb the door, so to speak. He had both of his roasted feet, soaking with ichor on the valve, balancing, fighting for his life. Or at least that was my perception of things, because in reality - that was still a question of “When will he snap?”. And then my brain reacted to the gruesome fact - he was not battling for his life, he was alternating the ending. Somehow that bear of a man was able to chew through the skin of his arms - one after another, and as the crimson stream fell down, seeming not to reach the floor, evaporating on the fly he stood there repeating: “Just not like this, man. Just not like this…”. In a couple of minutes, that lasted like eternity - his eyes rolled back and his body hit the ground. The choking smell of his beard burning hit my nostrils. Couple of moments passed. Three of us had nothing to say. Nobody was trying to remember. Nobody had the hope of surviving. We were just there, standing on the remains of unlucky strangers, coping with the inevitable. Have you ever cut a whole baked turkey, or a chicken, maybe? I won’t ever in my life. Why? The meat produces this quiet sound of tissue ripping, when you stick the knife with pressure. That’s what just happened to Bon Jovi and the Pirate - the old man’s body cooked through. Just as horrible as it sounds - but way much worse when you see it. It just ripped into two parts, separating the spine from all the conjoining tissues. It played against two exhausted men trying to balance. So both of them flew to their backs. I saw surprise and horror in their faces. They were not ready. Inhuman screams filled the room once again, while two charred bodies rolled through the agony to the Otherside. I cried silently, grieving on their souls, unable to shed a single drop of tears, understanding that this fate keeps crawling towards me. “Just please, open the door. Please, let me out. I don’t want to die”- I whined to gods, celestial beings and whomever could hear me in this situation. Static and then the same voice: “Well, I can’t resist if you ask nicely. Go ahead” - something clicked at the back side of the door. “You are free to go.” I couldn’t believe my ears. What kind of sick joke is this? This made no sense. What’s about repenting the sins and all that stuff? But I had no time to waste. What if all of this is just a bluff to prolong my suffering? I’ve carefully balanced my way on roasted flesh of Inky, making every step count, so I don’t slip off to the immolating end of being burned alive. But the distance to Beardie’s body was way too far to jump over too, besides, the charred corpse couldn’t take the pressure on impact. I’ve bit my lower lip as hard as I could and ran across, leaving the skin of my soles sticking to the ground., leaving me with bleeding feet and bitten lip, but still alive. Standing on the massive corpse - I’ve reached towards the valve and to my surprise - it turned easily, crack opening the door to my escape. Cool air hit hard into my face, as I crawled on my four away from the devilish room through a dark corridor. It still wasn’t over. I wasn’t safe yet. As I had not that many options - I just went forward. Until I got to the only source of light I could notice. There was a small room at the corridor ending, with a table, some files, a monitor, which showed the gruesome picture of roasted bodies and some audio equipment. While I was catching my breath - I couldn’t but pick up one of the files. It was Inky’s. His name was Richard Addams. He was a barber, not a killer. Next came Beardie, or Ben Willis, the cook in a restaurant. The rest were - Neil Scott, ex-construction worker, who suffered a work incident; Gram Nelson - an old school teacher; and finally Josh Rudy - university student. And of course - there was I: Fillip Jones, the zoo keeper. There was no connection. Our “revelations” about being paramedics and killers were just fake memories and guesses. This made absolutely no sense. “You might wonder why did I do this to you?” - I’ve realized a hooded figure stood in the distance, hidden in dark shadows casted by the light on the table. I wanted to answer, I wanted to ask questions, but my mouth was too dry. I couldn’t make a sound. I was exhausted. “Oh, not in the mood for talking… Okay. I’ll tell you anyways”- the figure came closer. I still couldn’t see his face, as he leaned to me and said: “No particular reason”. I’ve felt the sting of the needle to my neck and the world faded to black. After I’ve recovered from the hospital - I thought a lot about what happened. Police was all over the place, but with such poor data - the investigation is not going very fast. People keep go missing around the city. Somebody leaves, somebody becomes the natural disaster victims, some die to gunshots and end up in rivers and lakes, with weight attached to them. That doesn’t scare me anymore. I will never recover from being the last man standing. I’m afraid that this psycho won’t stop there. I am so afraid to wake up naked again…<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I helped open a gate to another world. I will be dead soon. [RESPONSE] Greetings to anyone reading this, I hope your day is going better than mine. My name is Eli Mathews and by the time you read this, I will be dead. I work for an energy company that the government runs and we have made a colossal mistake. A quick overview of what I am working on. Long before I began, a team of researchers discovered what they thought to be an alternate dimension that lies close in proximity to ours. They came up with plans to reach it but the technology just never advanced enough to get there. It’s like being in front of a locked door that could take you anywhere but you can’t find the key. That’s where I come in. I was contracted by the government to take part in this project. I guess they thought I fit the bill for what they were working on and when I saw the paycheck they were offering I couldn’t turn it down. After signing what felt like a never-ending stack of waivers and non-disclosure agreements I was on my way to an off-book site in Washington state’s countryside. I have a Ph.D. in physics and have published a few papers that have helped me gain a strong foothold in my field. I am no genius compared to a lot of people but I have learned how to hold my own over the years. This is why when I was offered the job I jumped at it because it seemed like a great chance to increase my knowledge. When I got the rundown of what I would be working on I felt like I had just been given the opportunity of a lifetime. I mean who wouldn’t want to attempt to reach another place outside of our universe? A place that could reveal knowledge that would blow our fundamental understandings out of the water. It made me feel like I was one of the explorers of old reaching untainted land for the first time. The leader of this whole thing was a lady named Dr. Emelia Grey. She was a physicist like myself and she had already been working on the project for a while when I arrived. She was an attractive woman around 35 years old with short black hair. She was respected by everyone at the facility and was a stern leader who knew how to give orders. After around three years of grueling work we finally had what we thought was a working prototype that could finally pull off the impossible. We decided to call it the Mayflower after the boat that brought the pilgrims to the new world. This was the sixth rendition of the gate that we created that should allow us to pass through into this new place. The previous gates either didn’t work altogether or would only hold the proper conditions for a few seconds. The Mayflower should be able to hold it indefinitely as long as there is sufficient power provided. I say this because the Mayflower consumes enough energy to power a small city. The first day of testing began. For the first test, we were sending in a rover that was made by the engineers here at the lab. This rover was made with state-of-the-art technology that made it suitable for any environment. The rover was controlled by remote control and had to be attached via cable so we would keep the connection once it passed through. “All systems checked, ready on your command,” an operator said as he looked to Dr. Grey for approval. She raised her arm and held out a thumbs up from the elevated room we were in. “Gate opening in 3…2…1!” I remember looking at the gate as the white-hot rings that surrounded the machine began speeding up and a loud hum filled the room. Then an impossibly dark portal appeared in the center. We had actually done it, the years of hard work had finally paid off. The rover we had equipped with just about everything you could think of rolled up just a few feet shy of the black abyss that awaited. There were people decked out in protective suits doing a last once over before we sent it through. They gave us the all clear and we were finally ready. The team began inching the rover forward and after a few moments the front half of the machine was through, then the back, and it was gone. There were a few applauses and people cheering, then everyone looked up at the big screen we had in the front of the room to display the camera feed. The screen showed static for a moment and then lit up giving us our first-ever view of this new place. Everyone in the room fell silent. We weren’t getting an image at all, just darkness. Then the lights switched on from the rover and we were given a few feet of visuals. This place seemed to have some sort of fog that blanketed everything. Even from the high-powered beams that the rover provided it was struggling to get through just a few feet of it. It was a place encompassed by darkness. The ground that we could make out looked almost charred like it had been scorched by some of the most intense heat imaginable. That’s when we decided to cut on the microphone. The winds in this place were so strong that they could put most hurricanes to shame. The anemometer was reading wind speeds around 160 mph. That wasn’t what was so strange about it though. The howls that this place produced sounded like deep guttural screams that were constantly going back and forth with each other like a symphony of tortured souls. I remember that they shook me to my bones and I had a cold sweat break out. I felt for the first time like we were somewhere we shouldn’t be. The rover took a couple samples of the ground and got some more readings of the atmosphere and then started its way back from where it passed through. It was getting pretty close to the portal when we heard it. There aren’t words to describe the sounds this thing made. It was so low and loud that the rover itself was shaking. People in the observatory were holding their palms to their ears in hopes of drowning out its cry. “Hurry up and get the rover back through!” Dr. Grey shouted to the people at the control station for the rover. They were frantically trying every control they had at their disposal when they looked over at Dr. Grey. “Ma’am, we are trying everything. The rover is not responding!” Then the cry came again. I looked over at the display screen and that’s when everything went black. The only thing visible now was a text that read signal lost across the screen. Some of the rover operators started making their way to the gate. “Let’s try to pull it out manually,” one of the operators suggested. There is a huge winch that can be used if control is lost on the rover. The men walked over and got to work firing up the winch. It roared to life and the cable started retracting back into the coil it was on. The thing is, after a few minutes of the cable coming in we reached the final stretch of line and all that came out was a severed cord. The rover was gone. The next few days were spent reviewing footage and going over data that the rover managed to send back before the signal was lost. I wasn’t getting much sleep then because every time I tried to lay down my mind would drift and I would hear that awful cry. That’s when they told me we were going to open the portal again, but this time we would be sending people through. The day had finally come when we would fire up the gate for the final time. We went through all the procedures as last time and double-checked everything to assure no malfunctions would take place. We were sending a team of 8 through the gate. I assume most of them were military because they all had the look of highly trained individuals. The only 2 who weren’t soldiers were scientists from the lab who will be sent to gather information. They were all equipped with suits that were made to withstand the harsh environments of this other world. The soldiers were also given rifles just in case. They won’t be able to go very far due to the fact that they are attached via cables just like the rover. With that, we went through all the protocols and the gate fired up once again. “Remember if there is any trouble everyone is to return through the gate immediately,” Dr. Grey said as she looked at the team. “You don’t have to tell me twice Ma’am,” one of the scientists responded. With that, each person made their way through the gate and we were once again greeted with the dark abyss that was a trademark of this other place. Each person was equipped with a monitor that kept track of their vitals as well as a camera to display their visuals. With everyone through they did a systems check and set off to find the rover. The trek was slow and meticulous due to the limited visuals and high winds. After about 15 minutes of traversing they finally came up to where the rover should have been. Over the com system, one of the soldiers said, “Ma’am, are you sure this is the right position?” “Yes, you should be right where we lost connection.” Dr. Grey said while checking her monitor again for reassurance. Everyone watched the big screen as we looked at the camera feeds and sure enough there was no sign of the rover. It’s not like the wind would have blown it away, it was made for practically any environment. I remember wanting nothing more than for those people to get out of there. “Alright everyone the rover’s gone, time to head back,” Dr. Grey said into the microphone. With that, they began the trek back to the portal and back to safety. Unfortunately, they never got back to it. As they were coming back that piercing cry rang out just like the last time and everyone dropped to their knees holding their hands to their heads. The suits they had were somewhat soundproof, which just goes to show how loud this thing was. “Pick up the pace everyone,” one of the soldiers announced. Just as he said that Dr. Rylee, who was one of the scientists on the mission vitals disappeared and her camera feed went dark. There was no noise, she was fine one second and gone the next. This sent the observatory into a frenzy and no one who was through the portal even noticed. “What just happened to Dr. Rylee? Her vitals and visual just went out!” Dr. Grey said to the team. They all looked around and I noticed a heart rate spike from their vital readings. “We have lost visual on Dr. Rylee,” a soldier responded, “Everyone spread out and look around. Make sure to have eyes on someone at all times, we don’t need anyone else getting lost out here.” Then the roar came again and all the screens went black. “PULL IN THOSE CABLES NOW!” Dr. Grey shouted at the crew we had ready at the winch. They pulled all the cables in and just like last time they were all severed with no clue as to what happened to the team. Then someone walked through the portal. It was Dr. Rylee, but her suit was torn almost to shreds. She should have been dead, but somehow managed to walk all the way back to the portal and come through. Everyone in the observatory froze and stared at her. “You should stay where you belong,” Dr. Rylee said in a low, torn voice that didn’t belong to her, “The place you have entered does not belong to you.” I remember Dr. Grey looked at me and I could see the fear on her face, “What happened to the team?” she asked with a shaky voice. After she said that something happened that will be forever seared into my soul. She let out one of the most blood-curdling screams I’ve ever heard. Then her body started to change. She dropped to the ground and I could hear bones breaking and flesh tearing. Her skin which was melting off was replaced by a viscous black substance. Her hands elongated and crimson claws sprouted from the ends of her fingers at least half a foot in length. Her head was morphed into something akin to a bear and sharp jagged teeth filled its mouth. What used to be Dr. Rylee began to stand up when other things came out of the portal behind her. I can only assume that it was the rest of the crew that went in because there are 7 of them. Each one turned into something just as awful as the next. The only similarities they have are the jet black skin and yellow glowing orbs they now have for eyes. Then, what used to be Dr. Rylee reached out her new arm and took a researcher's head clean off. What follows is chaos, the cries of the creatures and the rest of the people in the observatory were something that will never leave me for what little time I have left. I saw arms, legs, torsos, and chunks of flesh strewn everywhere within seconds. The creatures seemed to have one goal and that was to get rid of everyone here. Guards with guns began firing at the creatures but they seemed to only get angry at this. “We need to get to the control room!” Dr. Grey said as she shook me out of my daze, “We have to make sure these things don’t get out.” After I took a moment to regain myself I looked at her, “Let’s go.” We headed off the platform we were on and started through the observatory. The creatures were still tearing apart anyone in close proximity with no mercy whatsoever. I took Dr. Grey's hand and we made our way up to the exit doors. Just as I was about to open them one of the creatures swung at me leaving a deep gash in my left arm and I let out a scream. That’s when one of the guards started firing at the creature. It looked at me for a second more before going to rip that poor man to shreds. We made it through the door and into the control room that’s down the hall. We have locked and barricaded the door with whatever we could find, but it’s not going to hold forever. There are fail-safes in this facility in case of an accident that will lock the place down. I tried to wrap my arm the best I could using my lab coat but the bleeding hasn’t stopped yet. The control room has cameras that cover the building. I can’t bring myself to look back into the observatory, everyone’s dead. The creatures are pacing around the building and every once in a while one will walk by the room we are in. I know we can’t undo what we have done. I think we went to another world that was owned by something older and much more powerful than us and this is our punishment for trespassing. The gate is still open in the observatory and every once in a while this low cry rocks the building. I hope we run out of power before something else tries to get through. One of the things is at the door now. Me and Dr. Grey have accepted our fates. I just hope this place is secured enough where nothing will get out. The cries from the gate are getting louder now. If you are reading this, I’m sorry.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] What do you do when you just can't stand it? [RESPONSE] How many excuses had I already made up to this point? Trees scraping against wood siding, creaking boards in an already older house still aging, animals sneaking in through gaps in insulation, wind shaking the top levels of your home. All of them said to ease my mind from the strange sounds I kept hearing. An incessant whispering coming from the attic. "Are you okay, James?" "I'm fine." The words were out of my mouth before I could stop myself. I wasn't confident I was okay. I think things were getting worse because I could hardly do anything but focus on that strange whispering. Had I finally reached my breaking point? "It just seems like something is off." Great. Now I was worrying Mary. "Nothing is wrong, just lost in thought." "Well, honestly, you seem lost in thought a lot lately. You would tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you?" I don't know about that. "Sure, I would you know that." I could tell she was still upset, downtrodden look dragging her facial features into the dumpster. So I decided to try and solve two problems at once. "Why don't we have a game night, get our minds off the week?" Already her face was perking up, and I could see the competitive spirit within her beginning to boil. "What did you have in mind?" “How about…Stycalah?” "We haven't played that in…oh…probably six months. So I have no idea what we did with it." "I think it's in the attic. Why don't you prepare some snacks, and I will climb up there and look around." Mary was already prancing off out of view without a second thought. Should give me plenty of time to investigate the sounds. The never-ending whispers constantly invaded my thoughts, mind, physical body, and ears. I was definitely starting to lose it. I walked upstairs to the second floor, making my way toward the attic entry, a braided cord hanging down from the ceiling, begging to be pulled. The whispers were already getting louder, beckoning me to hurry inside. I grabbed the cord and pulled down hard, releasing the ladder that would let me up. I climbed the ladder with a single-minded focus, almost like I was in a strange trance. As soon as my head popped up inside, I had to stifle a cough. A thick layer of dust coated a series of boxes that spread throughout the mostly empty space, now silent as my cough dispersed some dust into the air. A hazy light spread thinly through the room, enough to see but not enough for specific details. I finished climbing into the attic and pulled on the thin metal ripcord for the single lightbulb. Nothing. It was dead. Of course it would be. I freed my phone from my pocket and turned on the flashlight, moving boxes as I shined it around, looking for some source of the now silent whispering. What happened to it? Was it all just in my head? Or was it some summoning signal to get me into the attic? I searched as far and wide as possible in the small space but found nothing. Nothing except the box set of Stycalah I had come up there for. I started across the attic toward the ladder when I accidentally dropped my phone, and it bounced down out of sight. "God dammit." My eyes had already adjusted to using the flashlight, so even with the sparse lighting seeping in, I was blind as I moved forward. I ambled on, moving my feet out to feel and search for the ladder, when I felt a sharp pain on the bottom of my foot. I bit my lip as I fell to the ground, stifling a scream that I knew would make Mary worry. My first thoughts were a loose nail or some splinter, but I felt my heart skip when I saw that there was a piece missing from my shoe, blood dripping freely from the hole. I could see a curved indentation around the hole's edge, strange smaller rounded indentations following its edge. My eyes darted to the side as the whispering began once more, occasionally interrupted by what I could have sworn was a slow chewing sound. My eyes were already adjusting to the dim light, and that's when I saw a small mouth, the size of my palm, on the attic floor, whispering incomprehensible sounds while chewing on the piece of my shoe and foot. I swatted toward my left arm as I felt a similar pinch as before and felt warm liquid trailing down as the sound of chewing grew. I glanced over and saw another mouth, chewing, whispering, and perhaps growing. My head was ringing from the pounding in my chest as I tried to keep my breathing under control. This made no sense. Absolutely no sense. Mouths on wood? I crawled on my knees toward the ladder when I stopped, realizing they had the exit surrounded. Between me and the exit were several mouths of various sizes, some already larger than my head, whispering excitedly. I felt another pinch on my calf and screamed as the mouths began to laugh, chewing sounds continuing to intensify as they seemed to relish the taste of my body. My eyes wildly darted around as I tried to figure out what to do. How the hell could I escape from here? I tried to think of a solution through the growing pain as blood began to pool around me. It was then I saw an opportunity, even if it was brief. The mouths bumped into one another, trying to drink from the pooled blood seeping into the wood. I grit my teeth as I grabbed my injured leg, squeezing my calf and spilling fresh blood onto the wood around me. The whispering grew louder as the eager mouths flooded toward me, giving me just a moment to throw myself forward through them. Even as my body rolled rapidly toward the exit, I could feel them nibbling at me, tearing chunks from my side, back, and stomach. I kept screaming as I rolled and fell through the entrance to the attic, landing on the second floor with a loud thud. I glanced above me and saw the whispering continuing, quieting, but still constant. Finally, I forced myself into a standing position and pushed the attic entrance closed as hard as possible. I could hear steps coming up the stairs nearby and Mary's voice echoing toward me. "Everything okay, James? I heard a loud bang." "Eve… everything's okay…love…I just…had a small fall." "Do we need to go to the hospital?" "No, no…no, everything is fine…just going to soak in a bath for a bit… I'll be downstairs soon." There was a long pause before she finally responded with a brief okay. I knew she was not satisfied, but I couldn't let her see me like this. I couldn't let her get anywhere near the attic. I managed to crawl toward the bathroom and turned on the tub to help fit my story. Blood was still leaking from the wounds resulting from being bitten by those things. As I bandaged myself, I realized that the whispering was getting quieter until it finally disappeared. I still felt on edge, though, wondering what had happened— if we were safe here. And wondering why all of the wounds were itching so damn bad <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] There's a ghost named Casper in my room, but I don't think he's friendly. [RESPONSE] (Trigger Warning) I thought we got lucky. Like, really lucky. My best friend (Maddie) and I both got hired by Apple! It was our dream job; we'd be working at the HQ in San Jose. We were pretty worried about finding a place to live, especially since San Jose's kind of infamous for being a pricey place to live (and that's coming from someone who lives in San Francisco!), but we found a nice two-bedroom apartment twenty minutes away for just two thousand a month! It seemed too good to be true, so we were honestly preparing ourselves for disappointment, but when we got there it really blew us away! The complex was in a quiet residential area in the Saratoga area, and our apartment was on the first floor, with a nice patio facing a park across the street. When the landlord gave us a tour, I didn't believe what I saw. The bedrooms were really big and nicely carpeted with plenty of electric outlets, and the master room even had a walk-in closet! The kitchen was wide, with plenty of counterspace, and there was even a washer and dryer in-unit! So obviously, we'd signed the lease almost immediately. Can't let such good luck pass us by! It was like a dream come true. After years of trying and failing to get a decent job, we applied to Apple on a whim. Neither of us thought we'd actually get hired, but then it happened, and our whole world changed completely. On the day we moved in, I was thrilled to finally be doing what I'd always wanted to do. Maddie's dad rented a big U-Haul and helped us move all of our furniture from our parents' houses. He might be on the older side, but he's still got it, that's for sure. He did all the heavy lifting for us, with some help from Maddie's younger brother Ryan. We did the move two weeks before the start of the fall semester, so their dad suggested he tag along for the week. Maddie apparently offered him a sleeping bag, but he said he was fine sleeping on the couch. My couch is really comfy tbf. Once everything was set up, Maddie talked with her dad outside for a while, then stepped inside, a bittersweet smile on her face. She stretched her arms and took a deep breath. "How's it feel?" I asked. "You've finally got your own place!" "It feels exhausting," Maddie admitted. "There's still a few things I want to check before I can really get settled in." "You worry too much," I sighed. "I concur!" Ryan chimed in, stepping inside behind Maddie. "How about this, then? I'll run to the store and grab some wine, and maybe a board game. Why don't we just kick back and relax tonight?" Maddie seemed hesitant. "Honestly, if you want to check more stuff, just do it tomorrow. We've been busy all day anyway, and it's getting late," I pointed out. "You literally just said you're exhausted, right?" "I did say that," Maddie conceded, pursing her lips. From her tone of voice, I could tell that she was still stressing about the move, but there was a hint of resignation in there that told me she'd conceded. "Awesome! I'll head out now, then," Ryan announced. "Alison, wanna come along? I could use a woman's touch when I pick out the wine." "You're too young to buy alcohol, aren't you?" I asked, confused. "I just turned 21 a few weeks ago, remember? It's fine!" Ryan reminded me, turning on his heels and pulling the door open. "You coming?" I shrugged. "Sure, why not?" I decided. Ryan grinned mischievously, and stepped to the side, holding the door open for me. Our excursion took a bit longer than I'd expected. Ryan took his time wandering around the stores, chatting with me the whole time. "I've seen you around all the time, but we never actually get to talk," he'd said as we browsed the board games. "It's too bad, you know? I like you, you're cool." In that game, Ryan picked out a few games he thought would help us get to know each other a bit better. Stuff like *Apples to Apples*, *What Were You Thinking*, and the classic *Cards Against Humanity*. It was looking to be a fun night. When we got back to the new apartment, we were greeted by an odd clicking sound. Odd to me, at least, but Ryan just got excited. We followed the clicking to my room. The door was open, and Maddie stood in the center of the room, holding up a small handheld device. "What're you doing?" I asked, bemused. Maddie jumped, startled, then walked over to me and showed me the device. "I knew it!" Ryan exclaimed. "Ryan, don't start, it's nothing like that," Maddie said sternly, then looked at me. "What is that?" "An EMF meter," Maddie replied. "It tells me the levels of ambient electromagnetic fields in the area." "Yeah, I'm totally lost." "It detects ghosts!" Ryan interjected. "EMF readers are a staple of any self-respecting ghost hunter!" "Don't be ridiculous," Maddie interrupted. "The pricing just felt really strange, so I wanted to make sure there wasn't something we wouldn't be able to see that would cause them to lower prices." "Like a gho—" "No, Ryan!" Maddie snapped. "EMF readings can be caused by faulty wiring in the walls, you know. Electricians use these meters all the time as a safety precaution. I checked for radiation, too." Maddie raised up her other hand, which held a bulky yellow tablet. "A Geiger counter?" I gasped. "Don't you think you're being a bit too paranoid?" "No, because I found something," Maddie declared. She shifted to the center of the room again, then raised up her EMF meter. The clicking sound started up again. "It's a ghost!" Ryan yelped. "It has to be! You're literally in the middle of the room, there's no wiring in thin air!" "Ryan!!" Maddie shouted. "Use your brain! Ghosts aren't real! This just means that the wiring is emitting so much EMF that you can detect it from the center of the room. That could be a serious problem!" "Damn it, Maddie, you…" Ryan grumbled, glancing offhandedly at me. "Well, fine, maybe that's all it is. But so what? A little magnetism never hurt anyone." "It's not the electromagnetism I'm worried about," Maddie clarified. "It's the wiring. If it's that bad, it could be a fire hazard. I'm definitely calling maintenance tomorrow and having them check. I'm not getting scammed." "It's fine, it's fine!" Ryan insisted. "God, you're always like this!" Maddie tensed up at that, and looked like she was about to scream him into deafness. "Hey, uh, why don't we open the wine and play some games? It's been a long day," I interjected awkwardly. They both looked at me; Ryan's eyes instantly lit up, and he turned back to Maddie. "Yeah, Maddie!" he added. "Just chill out! Leave the paranoia until tomorrow!" Maddie opened her mouth to object, then sighed, visibly loosening up once more. "Alright, fine…Forget it, let's just go." Is that kind of fighting normal among siblings? I guess it has to be, since they seemed perfectly fine just a few minutes later. The rest of the night was pretty fun. I'm like 90% sure we didn't play the games correctly (I blame the wine!), but whatever, we had a good time. Maddie went to bed first; she's definitely an early bird, so she likes to go to sleep early, AKA before midnight. I was super sleepy, but Ryan just kept talking. I don't really remember what it was about, but I do remember cutting him off to go to sleep. The hangover sucked. Yes, I got drunk on just a couple glasses of wine. Yes, I'm aware how pathetic that is. I'm a skinny girl who almost never drinks, okay? Don't judge me (¬\_¬) Anyway. An electrician came by two days later, but he insisted that there wasn't anything wrong with the wiring, and it was perfectly safe. Maddie was still skeptical, though, so she suggested calling an independent electrician, "just to be certain." I convinced her not to, after pointing out that it would be a waste of money if there really was nothing wrong. She really does get caught up on these sorts of things. Which is better than being too lax, I guess, but balance is important, you know? The next few days came and went. We spent one day cleaning, doing groceries, and other housework like that, but the other days were spent sightseeing around San Jose. It's a super nice area, and there are some fancy restaurants, too. Not very affordable, but that would change once we got our first paychecks. Ryan actually bought me a gift on his last night! I figured it must be a board game, based on the shape of the wrapped box. He waited until Maddie went to sleep, then presented it to me just as I was about to go to bed. "Aww, thanks, Ryan! That's so sweet!" I said gratefully, then put the gift down on the table. "We can unwrap it in the morning, so Maddie can see it too." "Why don't you open it right now?" Ryan suggested. "It's late," I pointed out. "Plus, Maddie's already sleeping." "Just trust me," Ryan said, smirking. "Maddie wouldn't really like it." I thought his remark was weird, but my curiosity had been piqued, even more so than my sleepiness. I slowly unwrapped the gift, then pulled out the box. It was a Ouija board. "What the…" "Aren't you curious?" Ryan said. "It'll be fun." For context, I didn't necessarily believe in ghosts, but I didn't believe they weren't real, either. I was pretty neutral, I guess; I'd just never thought about it before. It's not like I'm super religious, but the thought of ghosts and spirits still made me uncomfortable. But I figured that if this EMF anomaly or whatever was a ghost, it would've done something by now. We'd been here a whole week, after all. Kids used Ouija boards for fun, anyway; they're literally in the toy aisle at Target! "Sure, why not?" I conceded. As weird as this felt, I wasn't totally surprised; Ryan had said during one of the games that Halloween was his favorite holiday, so this kinda fits him, honestly. "Yes!" Ryan exclaimed, then covered his mouth. "Sorry…I shouldn't be too loud. My sister's asleep. Come on, let's set up where our ghost's presence is strongest." I nodded, and led him to my bedroom, switching on the lights. Ryan came in behind me, carrying the Ouija board. "You guys have any flashlights or candles? You know, for ambience," Ryan inquired. "Uh, maybe? Maddie might have a flashlight, but she's asleep," I replied. "That's too bad," Ryan mumbled. "Oh well, we don't need them!" He sat down cross-legged in the center of the room, right beneath the lights. I sat down across from him as he pulled out the Ouija board from the box, unwrapping it and setting it up between the two of us. It was made of a light-colored wood, engraved with words and letters and numbers. "So how do we play, exactly?" I asked. "It's not a game," Ryan whispered ominously. "Don't call it a game; the spirits will get mad." "Haha, very funny—seriously though, how does it work?" I continued. "We set the planchette—the little wooden triangle—on the board and move it around a bit to warm it up," Ryan explained. "We both lightly put our hands on it. I say some stuff, then we can ask questions. I'll be the main questioner or medium, so I can show you how it's done." "Uh, okay," I mumbled. He set the planchette down, then slowly dragged it in a circle around the wooden board, scratching against the wood. He circled the board once clockwise, then once counterclockwise. "Negative spirits are not welcome here," Ryan intoned. "This session will only welcome positive energies." He then looked at me. "What should I ask first?" "Oh, uh…is anyone here?" I replied. "Is there anyone here?" Ryan echoed. We sat and watched the board…and watched…and watched…… "It's not moving," I observed. "You're supposed to move it, aren't you?" "What? No," Ryan objected. "The *spirits* move it." "So ask it something else, then," I recommended. Jeez, this was his idea, wasn't it? He didn't set this up just to let me down, did he? "Will you speak to me?" Ryan asked. We watched the board…and then the planchette moved. It *moved*. Our hands were still touching it as it slid roughly across the board. NO. "Looks like it doesn't like me," Ryan said lightly. "Maybe you should try being the medium. It's your room, after all." "I don't know how." "You just saw me do it," Ryan pointed out. "Just do what I did." Oh, I get it. He wants me to feel like I'm in the lead. Ryan looked down at the board, then pushed the planchette to the "goodbye" marker at the bottom of the board, lifting his hands. "There we go. Always say goodbye, even if you didn't get a response. It's polite." He turned the board around, facing me. "Your turn." "Um, okay…" I mumbled, setting my hands down on the planchette. Ryan set his hands down after mine. "First, you warm it up," Ryan reminded me. Nodding, I moved the planchette around in a loop. It was surprisingly light, and ran across the board like butter. I did another loop; he had done two loops, so I figured I'd do the same. "Now you repel evil with a warning," Ryan whispered. I nodded again. What was it he'd said before? "This is a positive space," I recited. "Evil spirits are not welcome here." I looked at Ryan. "…Did I do it right?" Ryan nodded approvingly. "Now we ask it questions." "Alright," I replied. "Um…Will you talk to me?" We watched the board for a moment, then the planchette began to move. A sudden chill went down my spine, and I could hear the quiet hum of the air conditioning. Some timing; the vent must be pointed right at me. The planchette came to rest. YES. "It's listening," Ryan observed. "It likes you." "Okay, cool, so…I mean, what should I even ask it?" "Whatever your heart desires," Ryan said, smiling. Wow, how helpful. "Alright," I said. "Um… Do you like me?" Again, the planchette moved, and again, the chill. YES. "You don't have to stick to yes-or-no questions, you know," Ryan pointed out. "You really can ask it anything." "Oh, got it," I said. "In that case…how about your name? What is your name?" After a moment, the planchette began to slide across the board, spelling out a name. C-A-S-P-E-R. "Ha!" I laughed. "Casper the friendly ghost!" "That's adorable! You've got your own ghost boyfriend!" Ryan teased. "That's just weird," I remarked. I know he meant it as a joke, but just the thought is kind of disturbing. "Ask it, then," Ryan suggested. "…Are you my friend?" I asked. I wasn't about to entertain Ryan's "ghost boyfriend" idea, so I went with something more neutral instead. The planchette began to move again. YES. "See? Told you!" Ryan affirmed. "When were you born?" I asked. More movement, after a short pause. 1-9-4-5. "Do you live here?" YES. I paused, trying to think of another question. Well, if it's supposed to be a ghost, then it should be able to answer ghost questions, right? I'm sure that's what Ryan was expecting, anyway. "How did you die?" "Woah, that's intense," Ryan remarked. "I feel like—huh?" The planchette began to move again, spelling out an answer. S-T-R-A-N-G-L-E-D. "Brutal," I commented. "Alright, next question: when did you die?" 1-9-6-8. "Okay…Where did you die?" H-E-R-E. "Wow," Ryan mumbled. "I'm impressed," I replied. "You came prepared." "That…wasn't me," Ryan stammered. "That was Casper." Hearing him say that made me shiver, if only for a moment. "If you say so," I said dismissively. "Alright. Can you show us that you're really here?" "Ooh, you don't want to ask those kinds of questions," Ryan warned. "They invite unwanted activity." "Too late," I said, and the planchette began to move. YES. At that moment, the lights flickered, and the room went cold. I yelped in surprise, nearly falling over. "Woah, woah!" Ryan exclaimed. My heart was hammering in my chest as a sudden fear flooded through my body. "OKAY! I'm done, I'm so done, I'm SO done with this," I decided. I dragged the planchette over to "goodbye," then kicked the board away. Ryan looked concerned, and scooted over to my side. "Hey hey, it's alright, it's just a game," Ryan said calmly. "You said that wasn't you!" I snapped. "Well, yeah, because it wasn't," Ryan said. "THAT'S NOT HELPING!!" I shouted. "Relax, relax! It's nothing paranormal, I promise!" Ryan paused, gazing into my eyes with a sincere expression on his face. "It's this neat trick with your brain, see. You ask a question, and your subconscious causes little muscle twitches that make you move the planchette. That's all it was, really. Kids do it all the time. It's even used in therapy." "But the lights and the cold—" "The air conditioning kicked on, that's all," he assured me. "It probably caused the power to flicker for a second. Old building and all that. Look, I know I'm always talking about ghosts and stuff, but none of it's real, alright? I just think it's fun. I didn't think you'd actually get scared." "I…" I paused. All of a sudden, I felt a wave of embarrassment run over my face. I'm an adult; I'm not supposed to get scared by a little kids game. I let out a nervous laugh. How could I be so silly? I was broken out of my thoughts by Ryan's warm, gentle touch on my shoulders. "Forget about the board, Alison…Why don't we try something else?" he whispered. I could feel his breath on my face. And then… He was kissing me. Maddie's little brother was kissing me. "Woah!" I exclaimed, pushing him back. "What're you doing?" "Just trying to show you that everything's alright," he said, leaning in for another kiss. I pushed him away, then scrambled to my feet. "No!" I declared. Ryan stood up, taken aback by my sudden outburst. That's why he wanted to stay the week. God, I felt so stupid. I've always just seen him as Maddie's little brother, I never thought he'd try something like this. "What's wrong?" "You tried to kiss me just now!" I pointed out. "Sorry…Not in the mood, I guess?" he asked innocently, chuckling. "Well damn, there go all my hopes and dreams." "NOT IN THE—" I took a deep breath. "You're Maddie's little brother!" "It's not like I'm *your* little brother," Ryan pointed out. "Stop—just no!" I continued. "That's why you waited for Maddie to go to bed, isn't it? That's why you wanted to stay the week? That's why you got me that gift?!" "Well, to be totally honest, I've always kinda liked you," Ryan confessed. "I've known you since you were, like, five! This is just weird!" "It doesn't have to be," he said softly, stepping uncomfortably close to me. "Besides, this is just between us…" "Ew, no! I said NO!!" I yelled, shoving him back with a bit more force than I'd intended. "No means no!" "It's fine, I promise—" "Get out." I was seething with silent fury by then, and having him alone with me in my own bedroom was making me increasingly uneasy. "But—" "GET OUT!" I screamed. He backed towards the door, carefully avoiding making eye contact. "I… Sorry, Alison. I screwed up," he said sheepishly, slipping out the door and leaving me alone in my bedroom. I don't remember what I did after that. I just remember waking up with a headache and a guilty conscience. Maybe I overreacted. I've only dated once before, and the guy was super shy, so maybe I'm just not used to guys being more assertive. It's not like I hated Ryan, either; I've always sort of seen him as my own little brother. It's just that the thought of us being together like *that* feels icky to me. So I went and apologized. When I left my room for breakfast, Ryan and Maddie were both finishing theirs. I waved awkwardly at them, then threw some strawberry Pop Tarts in the toaster. Maddie left to use the bathroom a moment later, leaving me and Ryan alone. "Ryan…" I greeted quietly. "About last night…" "It's fine," he said quickly. "No, it's not that. I just…I might have overreacted a bit last night. It's just that…I know you're not actually my brother, but I've always felt like you're family. Like, Maddie's always been a sort of sister to me," I explained. "I just wanted to apologize. For yelling like that." "Really, it's fine," Ryan replied, his expression growing serious. "I shouldn't have acted the way I did. I'm sorry."We both stood silently together as what was probably just a few seconds seemingly stretched into a few hours—until Maddie emerged from the bathroom, breaking the stalemate. She made a joke, we laughed, and the next few hours before Ryan's departure went perfectly. I thought that was the end of it. By midday, I'd already forgotten about last night's events. I'd forgotten all about Casper and the Ouija board. Until the voicemail. That night, I found Maddie sitting quietly on the couch. She wasn't watching TV, or on her phone, or anything; she was just sitting there. When I asked what was wrong, she pulled out her phone and played a voicemail. It was from her mom. "Hi Maddie," she greeted. Her voice sounded weak, distraught. "It's about Ryan…He got into an accident. A bad accident." She paused, sobbing. "He's alive, just barely, but…the doctors say there's serious brain damage. The air bags blocked the doors, and the seat belt was strangling him, and if they hadn't gotten him in time, he would've…" She trailed off. "Just…please, call me back." *Beep*. I don't remember what I told her after that, because there was only one thing on my mind: He was strangled. Just like Casper. That can't be a coincidence. And Casper confirmed my suspicions. Right around midnight, I pulled out the Ouija board again and spoke to Casper, just like Ryan and I had done the night before. And I came prepared. "Did you do it?" I asked, my voice shaking, hoping against hope that this was all just a game, and his accident was just a coincidence. But then the chill returned, and this time I knew it wasn't just the air conditioning. YES. "Why?" The planchette started moving, so slowly it was agonizing. P-R-O-T-E-C-T. "Protect who?" I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer. Y-O-U. "I don't want your protection!" I declared. "It was fine! We were fine! We moved on!" To my surprise, the planchette began to move in response. NO. My heart stopped. "No? What do you mean 'no'?! I was a bit annoyed, sure, but God, I didn't want him dead!!" There was no response. "Please leave him alone!" The planchette slid again. NO. "LEAVE HIM ALONE!! Why are you doing this?! What do you WANT?!" A moment of stillness, then the planchette began to move again, spelling out a word that, in any other circumstances, would have been reassuring. But now? It just terrified me. J-U-S-T-I-C-E. — I don't know what to do. I'm scared Casper's going to kill Ryan, and I'm not sure there's anything I can do to stop it. Apparently Casper wants to protect me, but if his "protection" is just code for "kill anybody that even slightly annoys me," then I really, really don't want it! God, what am I supposed to do?!<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I brought a radio home from work now im being hunted by hell hounds [RESPONSE] this happened two nights ago and im a bit lost so I suppose I should just give context. I had just finished my bleak as fuck shift at work. I was so tired leaving I forgot to turn in my walkie talkie that I had comfortably forgotten I had clipped to my belt. no biggie right, no its a massive fucking biggie I just figured hey I’ll go in on my 1 day off tomorrow, sure my uptight boss might get a bit annoyed but sure they have plenty surplus. so, I didn’t want my plans consisting of a glass or bottle of merlot ruined by this minor although bothersome conundrum so I started drinking and turned on rings of power. about 30 minutes in the walkie talkie started to give off static. Of course this frightened me out my skin for a quick second but it soon passed so I just summed it up to picking up a random signal. It soon slipped out of my mind, so once another unsatisfying episode ended, I pulled my bed sheet over my shoulders trying to escape the cold and the merlot did its job of making me drift into a cosy alcohol induced coma. only to be awoken again by more static, by this time I was warm and comfortable so my frustration was immeasurable, eventually giving up on my attempt to sleep through it I got up and took the batteries out as I needed my beauty sleep. I was then woken up yet again more angry than ever but something about the static sounded off. ehm how do I put it I guess if I had to pick a word it would be, energetic? ya that’s the right word for it energetic. I got up to take the batteries out. only to catch myself in a sudden moment of horror pulling me out of my all to comfortable and tipsy grog. the tension stiffened me I felt my self-get hot and like every stupid ass horror movie victim I reached for the walkie talkie it was hot to the touch. Not just hot but like hot hot. like a cougar after lingerie shopping hot. I pushed the button and in some hope of using comedy to relieve some of the tension I did my best impression of radio static back into it followed by a "HUH not so funny is IT!!!" after I let go of the button and let out a nervous awkward chuckle it remained silent for a second until a faint "hello, hello can you hear me" the voice was young not quite a full blown child maybe like a young teenager like 13 or 14. "please answer me" the voice was desperate so I responded. "He-hello, how are you talking to me". radio cracked alive again it made my skin crawl I swung my head side to side to see if I was still drunk not that it would make me feel any better my little test conclude with a strong yes. from here on out since I don’t know who she was I will instead refer to her as radio. Radio respond with a "oh thank god you’re real I’ve been trying for weeks to get someone" "i pressed down, what do you mean and how are you talking to me there’s no batteries." a simple low voiced response came through "shit". I was about to ask how but she came back through almost yelling " put the batteries in and hide, they know where you are and they will find you so listen "I went to press the button again but something stopped me some primal urge or third eye or maybe it was the god damn spaghetti monster stopped me. I shoved the batteries in and responded. "ya there in, what did you mean there coming for me, who’s coming for me. the CIA the Feds who!". " no nothing like that just dont be dumb and youll be okay, and by dumb i mean do anything i don’t directly tell you to." i responded "ok WHAT DO I FUCKING DO" she respond with words through clearly gritted teeth "GIVE ME A SEC-ONED,,, Ok go to ur attick take the turn key with you hide on one of the beems behind the boiler u need as little path way to you as possible use the old christmas decorations to cover the walking boards". "wait how did you know about the" she broke through some how getting her own signal "havent you been listening GO NOW" i followed as ordered grabbing my phone as i did so the attic was dusty the insulation irritated my skin where my fingers slipped in crawling on the beems. "ok im here what now". radio responded "be as quiet as possible they have good hearing even better sight keep the lights off i cant risk contacting for now, if you survive them i will call you in 3 days dont respond anymore" i was about to put the radio in my pocket when a light crackle came through "i hope you survive for both our sakes goodbye" and at that silence. i stayed quiet as ordered for about an hour, well i think an hour i was keeping my phone off it could have been less or more. i was expecting a cop raid on my house but that would have been better it would have been so much fucking better. it started as a low growl beneath the growls were similer to gurgling but with more teeth if that makes sense like a deep pur with a hint of wet anger i was hiper fixated on the attic opening when a big bang on the roof came through and then the clacks of footsteps on the tiles eventually every direction around me was filled with thuds and growls and the occasional clomp of teeth. my heart raced so fast i would have failed a medical test through heart rate alone i was scared they would hear my breathing so i started holding my breath but this only exacerbated my breath each time my weak ass body gave in to its need for oxygen the breaths became heavier. eventually i heard rythmic thuds a bit ahead of me I felt weak when I realised it was underneath the attic hatch. until a creek of light came through they had pulled the sting for my attic down revealing the flooding light into the attic i turned away leaning my back against the boiler its heat burning through my hoodie. i covered my mouth and stared at the opposite wall the thing jumped up and the rest of the noise disappeared around me all that was left was the distinct clack of nails on the wood walk way and low growling as it patroled up and down it grunts getting frustrated, all the while my breathing through my nose simultaneously became hastened as the skin on my back went from first to second degree burns. the creature leaned its head past the boiler its breath moving my hair it was disturbingly similar to a horses breath. tears rolled down my face and snot built up on my hand I felt a shine of acceptance come over me as its putrid breath reeking like an emptied fridge filled with shit was left in hot summer weather. but a final blow of air came out and i heard it scamper away my body went limp. i stayed where i was only readjusting my back from the boiler for another few hours until finally deciding to to grow big enough balls to leave the attic by the time I got down it was around 12am , i don’t know what happened or if it was all some hallucination or worse a military experiment. all i know is ill be sleeping in my attic for the foreseeable future. please if ye have any idea what is going on please let me know. I will make another post if i do get the call tomorrow.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] "Don't look behind you 'til you get to the other side!" [RESPONSE] The Ochre Falls State Reservation. Folks around here call it Ochre Falls, or just the Falls, but after what happened yesterday, I did some Googling. Established 1926, after the land was purchased from the wealthy family that owned a lumber mill here at the turn of the century. 400 or so acres, with a playground on one side, a small pond with a swimming area and picnic tables on the other, and between them, forest. Not wilderness, though: tame, settled woods, veined with well-maintained trails where people walk their dogs and go for morning runs. And, flowing through them in a crooked bend, a section of the Ochre River, host to the falls themselves somewhere upstream. Ironically enough, the reservation was part of why I settled on my new apartment in the first place. After college “didn’t work out” (as my mom puts it), the plan was to find somewhere dirt-cheap to live and a job to get by on and start figuring my shit out from there. I could have gone anywhere, I guess, but without any direction or the money to get very far, I ended up choosing a quiet suburb just a couple towns over from where I’d gone to school. The job part was pretty easy: it’s an employee’s market, and when I confirmed that I could work an espresso machine, the owner of the diner downtown hired me on the spot. The apartment I found is a hideous little box with carpets that smell like cigarettes, but I’ll be able to afford it and it’s a one-bedroom, which suits me fine. And, as I discovered when I first looked up the address, it’s located right on the edge of Ochre Falls. My therapist back when I was in school (since I dropped out I can’t afford a new one) had suggested more than once that more exercise and time out in nature might do me good. I've recently been coming to terms with just how much of my life I’ve wasted stoned on a couch watching cartoons while depressed out of my mind, and looking at the pale green blotch on the digital map that represented the reservation, I decided I was ready to give exercise and nature a try, if I could only work up the motivation. Plus, this town is like most places in the US: there are hardly even any sidewalks, and it’s almost impossible to get anywhere without a car. Except, as my GPS informed me, by way of Ochre Falls. If I cut through the reservation, my new job, and the rest of downtown, are all just a 30-minute walk away. It turned out to be a lucky thing, too. My twenty-year-old Subaru barely made it through the move before giving up the ghost, and the mechanic said I’d be wasting my money trying to get it running again. Dad said he’d help pay for a new one, but we both know he and Mom are barely scraping by as it is. *Here’s that motivation you asked for, Jess,* I told myself as I watched them haul my old car away. Until I could save up enough for some new hunk of junk, I’d be walking. I start my new job on Monday, and I’d planned to spend this weekend unpacking. But as it turns out, I don’t own much. It only took a couple hours to put everything in the moving boxes away into cupboards and dressers and to hang up my few decorations, and by mid-afternoon yesterday, I found myself with nothing left to do. I tried sitting down with my journal (another holdover from therapy) to write down my feelings about the move, but found that I was mainly just relieved that it was over with. I spent some time on the couch fucking around on my phone, but pretty soon I was bored, and more than that, antsy. I’d spent all day cooped up in this apartment, which I’m not crazy about to begin with. That was when I had my bright idea: why not take my first walk through Ochre Falls? Not only would it get me out of the house, but I could take my time figuring out my route to get to work. Better to get lost now than on Monday morning. Plus, when I made it to the other side, I could do some window shopping downtown, maybe even buy myself a little treat. I put on my shoes and jacket, grabbed my phone, earbuds, keys, wallet, mace, and sunglasses, and headed out the door. It was a bright early fall day, warm sun with a crisp breeze. I walked the couple of blocks to the trailhead. My side of the park is the one with the playground, and I was met with happy shrieks as kids chased each other around the monkey bars. One of the young moms, sitting on a bench with a baby in a stroller, gave me a friendly smile as I passed, and I smiled back. Seemed like being outside was already doing something for my mood already. Another point for you, Dr. Winchell. I crunched up the gravel path into the trees that waited beyond. I’d thought I might need to use GPS to navigate, but there were plenty of well-placed signposts along the way to direct me, so instead of staring at my phone, I could fully enjoy the birdsong above and around me, the fresh earthy smell in the air, the late-afternoon sunlight filtering through the leaves on the trees, just starting to tinge with autumn colors at their edges. I passed a few people on the way, smiled at the cute cockapoos and labs jingling along on leashes. I liked Ochre Falls a lot already, I decided. About fifteen minutes in, I heard the sound of rushing water up ahead where the trees seemed to thin out. I turned a bend, and there it was: a slow-flowing river, lush with reeds and overhanging branches. And stretching over it, one of those wooden boardwalks, long and straight, so that I could look across and see the trail continuing into the woods on the other side. The reason for the ‘Ochre’ part of the river’s name became obvious as I approached: the water was a reddish-orange color, no doubt due to iron or some other mineral. I even thought I could smell something metallic in the air. The railings of the boardwalk were covered in patches of green and orange lichen. They felt slightly damp to the touch as I stepped up onto the wooden planks, which creaked gently under my weight. I started across. The river wasn’t terribly wide here and it wouldn’t take long to get to the other side, but I found myself taking my time. The sound and smell of the water was soothing; the stands of reeds growing by the banks and the lilypads drifting across the dark, quiet surface were beautiful. How nice it was going to be, I thought to myself, to cross here every day on my way to and from work. Hindsight is funny, isn’t it. About halfway across, I was jolted out of my thoughts by the distinct sensation that I’d walked *through* something. I stopped in my tracks, a reflexive shudder going down my spine. It was the same instinctive, panic-tinged ‘yuck’ that you get when you accidentally walk face-first into a spiderweb, the silky strands brushing and clinging. Only this barrier hadn’t felt physical: more like a thin, invisible wall of static, that for the moment I was passing through it, had hummed and crackled along my skin and made the hairs on my arms stand on end. But what had really frozen me in place was the sudden, unnerving certainty that struck me. Not the feeling of being watched, exactly: I’ve had plenty of creepers stare at me from across dark parking lots, and by now I know what it’s like to sense a pair of eyes on me even before I see them. This was different. Somehow I could feel that… *something*… was now *aware* of me. When I’d walked through whatever it was I’d walked through, I’d alerted it of my presence, and now *it* knew I was here. Something without eyes or ears. Something nearby. I realized then how alone I was in that spot. No friendly joggers or dog walkers in sight. Just the birds and plants and breeze and quiet water flowing past, as I stood there in the middle of the boardwalk, exposed on all sides in broad daylight. *Stop it*, I told myself, trying to shake it off. I’ve never believed in ghosts or spirits or anything like that, and I wasn’t gonna start now. Deliberately, I started walking again, ignoring the urge to bolt and run the rest of the way across. I told myself that it was the time of year when lots of static electricity builds up in everything (*in bridges? in a single location?*), that I’d just gotten spooked out in the woods by myself (*I wasn’t spooked before, was I?*). But I found that I was holding my breath, and that my pace had quickened into a quick, efficient walk. Despite myself, I felt a wave of relief as I stepped back off of the boards and onto the waiting dirt on the other side. Refusing to look back over my shoulder, I continued along the path back into the woods. Back among the trees, I made myself breathe in the fall air. But try as I might, I couldn’t quite recapture the same pleasure in the walk. I could feel the edginess in my own nod and tight smile when a man biked past me in the other direction. I had to be almost through, now, didn’t I? Sure enough, the trail soon led me past the pebbly waterfront of the pond, past a metal gate and back out to sidewalk and civilization. There were the cars, the houses, the street signs. Something in me relaxed, finally, the same way it did when I was a kid playing tag and made it safely back to my team’s base. When I turned onto Main Street, the sun had sunk low enough in the sky to dazzle back at me off of the storefronts. I’d forgotten that a lot of places would be closed early for the weekend, but I still enjoyed my stroll down the street, stopping looking in the dark windows at hand-made jewelry and frou-frou clothes I could never afford, at the still-lifes and landscapes painted by local artists hanging proudly in the window of the tiny art gallery. Most of the places still open were dining establishments, restaurants and bars. The diner I’d interviewed at a few weeks before was lit up, and I could see inside where patrons were lined up on stools at the counter eating eggs for dinner. But I figured it’d come off as a little clingy to stop in there ahead of time, like I just couldn’t wait to get started. Instead, I opted for the convenience store a block down. I’d promised myself a treat, after all. The place was small and dingy, with shelves of boxed mac-n-cheese and humming fridges full of beer and soda. I headed straight for the snack section, knowing just what I was looking for: Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and something made by Hostess to wash them down. Heading to the counter with my spoils, I stopped and waited for the girl working it to ring up an older gentleman’s lottery tickets. She looked about my age, and cute, I couldn’t help but notice, slim and dark-eyed. When it was my turn, she smiled at me as I stepped up to the counter. “Find everything OK?” “Yes, thanks.” I smiled back, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious about my selections. (If you were the chubby kid in high school, you get it.) But it was me she turned a seemingly thoughtful eye on as she rang me up. “I saw you walking up and down the street earlier,” she said, sounding curious rather than suspicious. “Are you here on vacation?” I refrained from commenting that if I could afford to go on vacation, this spot wouldn’t be my top choice. “No, I actually just moved to town,” I said. “I’m starting at the diner on Monday.” “Oh, cool,” she said with a smile as I put my card in the chip reader, and it sounded like she meant it. “Where are you living?” “The complex on the other side of the Falls,” I told her. “I walked here. It’s a beautiful park.” Thinking back on it now, I’m still not sure: did I imagine the flash of recognition, of resignation, almost, in her eyes, as she looked back down at the register? She was smiling politely when she glanced back up as my receipt printed. “Nice,” she said. “Maybe I’ll see you around, then.” “Yeah, for sure,” I said, and trying for a joke, “I’m gonna need a local Cheetos hookup, after all.” She laughed, which was nice. (As an average lesbian, I’ve misinterpreted my fair share of chatty straight girls as flirting, so I tried not to read into it, but still.) “Yeah, we’ve got the market cornered there.” She handed me my little plastic baggie of snacks and my change. I thanked her and almost promised I’d be back, before deciding that might be a little too stalkerish. “See you later,” I opted to call instead as I headed for the door. She called back a cheery reply. It was only when I was already back outside in the cool evening air when my brain fully processed what she had said: “Don’t look behind you ‘til you get to the other side!” I stopped on the sidewalk. Not only was that… a pretty weird thing to say, but the way she’d said it was distinctly odd too, in a pleasant, customer-service tone of voice, just the way a cashier might call out *Have a nice day!* or *Thank you, come again!* Maybe it was some sort of, like, regional expression? I glanced back through the window. She’d picked up a landline phone behind the counter and was holding it between her ear and shoulder, listening closely and writing something down on a sticky note. Trying not to give it much more thought, I adjusted my grip on the bag and set back out in the direction of the park. As the waterfront came back into sight, and the trail into the forest beyond, a creepy feeling started to come over me again. Maybe it was just residual nerves from earlier, or what the girl behind the counter had said to me, or maybe it was the fact that when I’d set out in the first place, I hadn't given much thought to the time. The sun was nearly at the horizon now, the day turning into dim twilight, and while it wouldn’t be fully dark out by the time I got home, it’d be pretty damn close. Whatever the reason, some part of me was saying that it did *not* want to go back into those woods, so bright and pleasant before, now looking tangled and foreboding, streaked with long, deep shadows. Stubbornly, I ignored myself: it was a municipal park in the middle of a well-populated area, and I had my phone and my mace on me if anyone tried to mess with me. Besides, there was no other way to get home, was there? My feet were tired and I was getting hungry for dinner. There was only a short walk left between me and food and rest. The water slapped quietly against the buoys bobbing on the pond as I walked back into the trees. No one else was still out on the trails at this time of day. It was just me walking along the trail, as the shadows around me deepened and the sky I could see through the branches above turned from pale blue to pale gold and then began fading into dim gray. There were still scattered bird calls, now joined by the chirring of insects, and I could hear little animals scurrying in the underbrush, but other than that, the crunching of my feet on the path sounded very loud to me. With a flicker, a series of lights lining the trail blinked on. At first I was grateful for the visibility, but pretty soon something about their pale, fluorescent glow, that formed a series of cold, hard spotlights along the trail, started to creep me out. The eerie feeling inside of me kept growing, no matter how hard I tried to push it down. Even the signposts that had seemed so friendly before loomed up, long and skinny, out of the shadows, silent sentinels I’d been walking for fifteen minutes when I heard it up ahead: the faint sound of rushing water. My heart sank. I’d been trying not to think about it all along, but of course I’d known that I’d have to cross the boardwalk again on my way home. Soon enough, the trees thinned out, and there it was up ahead, the long wooden structure stretching out over the dark stretch of the water. At least the twilight was a bit brighter out here, without the trees blocking out what remained of the dying light still left in the sky. I paused at the foot of the boardwalk, feeling the clamminess of my hand wrapped around the plastic handles of my shopping bag, hearing my own breathing becoming shallow. I clenched my jaw against the feeling of mounting dread, told myself once again that this was stupid, it was just a fucking *boardwalk*, that the sooner I crossed it, the sooner I’d be home. Ignoring the protestations of my own instincts, I squared my shoulders and stepped up on to it, intending to speed-walk across the damn thing without stopping. The water rushed quietly under my feet as they scuffed along the wooden boards, and I kept my eyes fixed on the trail on the other side. “Jess!” I was almost at the middle of the boardwalk when the shout from behind me startled me so badly that I was rooted to the spot. It was a jolt of adrenaline, yes, but also a jolt of recognition. I’d know the voice anywhere. It belonged to my one real friend from school, Michelle, a good-natured lacrosse player who’d tried to take me under her wing and introduce me to her friend group, even though at the time I’d been far too in my head and screwed up to really benefit from her kindness. She was the only person I’d bothered to even tell I was dropping out, and she’d given me a big hug with her strong arms and we’d promised to keep in touch over text. I’d felt pretty guilty about my own failure to reply to the few texts she’d sent me since, wondering if she was mad or hurt or, worse, didn’t really care all that much. “Jess, it’s Mickey!” Yes, that was definitely Michelle’s relaxed, husky voice, a dozen or so yards behind me but audibly drawing nearer, as if she was hurrying to catch up. “What the fuck are you doing out here?” she called, laughing a bit, sounding exactly like I’d have wanted her to sound, no hard feelings at all, just her warm lovely self, sincerely glad to see me, waiting for me to turn around and greet her. Any other time, I would have been thrilled. But what welled up within me, here and now, was a deep, primal terror. *Don’t look behind you ‘til you get to the other side!* My hand shot into my pocket. I fumbled out the case for my wireless earbuds. My fingertips numb and clumsy, I pressed them into my ears as quickly as I could. Then, spine stiff with fear, eyes locked forward, I started walking again, as fast as I could. Here was the logic that my terrified brain was capable of: if it really was Michelle back there (and of course, of *course* it was, who else could it be?), I'd get across the bridge and then turn around and take out my earbuds as she was catching up to me, claiming I hadn’t been able to hear her over the water and my music. Which she’d hopefully buy, and would hopefully come across as less weird than me just straight out ignoring her. I wasn’t actually listening to any music, of course, and I could still hear just fine. “Jess?” Michelle called again. “Ah, shit, she can’t--” I heard her mutter to herself, and then she tried again, louder, with the distinct sound of hands cupped around her mouth to help amplify her voice. “JESS! Jess McDonald! Hey dummy! Turn around!” Only a few more yards to the end of the bridge. It took all of my willpower not to break into a sprint, knowing how it’d look to Michelle, but I was walking so fast I was practically running. “Oh my God.” She sounded annoyed now, and a pang of guilt and self-loathing shot through me. “For fuck’s sake, Je-- OW!” Despite myself, the strangled cry of pain stopped me in my tracks once again, steps from the dirt of the trail on the other side. Behind me, I heard the sound of someone falling to their knees, a tight sob. “Jesus Christ, I rolled my ankle-- it *hurts*\-- Jess! Jess, please, *please* turn around, I need help…” The pain, the strain and distress in her voice, was visceral. God, what the hell was I doing? I needed to drop this, this silly, paranoid behavior, to turn around and help her like a decent human being. And yet, whispered a voice in my mind. Awfully *convenient*, wasn’t it? This time I took off running, my shoes slapping against the boards. If it really was Michelle back there with a sprained ankle, time was of the essence, and if it wasn’t-- “Jess!?.Jess, where are you going, *don’t leave me here, please, Jess, JE--!”* I hit the other side. And as soon as my foot touched dirt, that very split second, Michelle’s voice cut out, mid-wail. Not like someone trailing off, or losing their breath. Like a recording, abruptly shut off. Instant silence. Just the bugs, the wind, the water, and my own heavy, half-crazed breathing. As I reached up to remove my earbuds, I found that my hands were trembling. I swallowed, my mouth dry and tacky. All I wanted to do was keep running until I was back at my apartment with the door locked behind me. But I was on the other side, now, and I had to look back. I had to. Slowly, slowly, I turned my head and looked back over my shoulder. Nobody was there. No Michelle. No anyone. Just the empty boardwalk under the gray twilit sky, almost hard to see now in the falling darkness. Empty, except for the plastic bag from the convenience store, which lay a few yards back where I’d dropped it without even realizing it in my mad dash, its content spilling out onto the planks. Like hell if I was going back for it. I turned, facing the trail ahead of me and the long, exhausting trudge the rest of the way home. The urge to run had drained away entirely. The danger, I knew, was already behind me. \-- Of course, the likelier explanation is that there was no danger at all. That everything I experienced yesterday was the beginning of some kind of paranoid psychosis. It’d make sense, too. Maybe that’s why I’d failed all my classes at school; hadn’t made any friends; had spent the past semester miserable and terrified, hiding from the world in my dorm. An imminent breakdown. Cold comfort. Or maybe I’m not crazy. Maybe all of it really happened, just as I’ve described it. Which is even colder comfort. No comfort at all, really. I’ve spent today locked up in my apartment, Google mapping like crazy. But there’s no way around it. I’m without a car for the foreseeable future; there are no buses here; I can’t afford Uber; and walking the long way around to the diner would take something like five hours. I’ve even studied the grainy JPEG of the map of the Falls on the town website, zooming in on every little path and trail. But as it turns out, all of them converge about halfway through the park. All at the same spot. There’s no other way across the river. And I start work tomorrow.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] A Mad Dog should always be your last resort. [RESPONSE] I already planned out my entire life when I was in the last three months of high school. I worked my ass off to get scholarships and the grades needed to get into any university of my choice. I even took any part-time jobs I could in order to save money to move out for university. My family lived comfortably, but couldn’t really afford sending me to a different state to study, even with the loans and scholarships. So, I made it work. With savings tucked away in my bank account and my plans set, all I need to do was graduate. My three mortal enemies were doing their best to make that impossible. I always found it stupid that I had three people on my back at school. It started with a milk throwing incident the first few months of high school. The ringleader of the three, Trevor, thought it would be hilarious to slam down three cartons full of milk in the cafeteria, spraying people. Everyone else just made some sounds of disapproval, but I said exactly how I felt. That these three were good for nothing waste of air and would end up arrested in a few years. They did not take well to that comment. And for almost four years, they showed me just how much they hated me. I tried telling the principle about them, but the system was to punish both parties. I risked getting kicked out of school if the bulling came to light and I felt my suffering wasn’t all that bad. I just held my head high and took whatever came my way. With three months left in school, I found myself at the end of my rope. Trevor didn’t just target myself. He had a long list of students he enjoyed to torment. One of them had enough and tossed some rotten fish in Trevor's prized car in the morning. By the end of the day, the sun roasted the fish causing the smell to be unbearable even inside the school. He needed to get his car towed and professionally deep cleaned and it still held the hint of the fish smell. The person who did it knew they might get killed for the prank, so they used me as a scapegoat. Even without proof, Trevor took to the idea. While I waited for the bus home, I saw his red car screech down the street and thought nothing of it. Even after the three came storming out towards me, I didn’t think to run. I didn’t have time to do much besides curl into a ball as they gave me an undeserved ass kicking. Despite being near a bus stop, no one called the cops, or even thought to help. At least my textbooks in my backpack took most of the kicks to my stomach. They were smart enough to avoid my face during the short beating. Broken noses and black eyes tended to get more of a reaction out of people. In the end, they left me with a few sore ribs and a lot of bruises on my back and sides because I had curled around my bag. I didn’t even get up after I heard them fleeing and car tires screeching away. The pain refused to die down. I stayed on the hard ground trying to collect myself as I repeated I just needed to deal with this for a few more months. I needed to graduate, then get the hell out of this crappy town. I breathed slowly, trying to not hurt my ribs by taking in more air than needed. After a few minutes I sensed eyes on my back. Fearing one of them stayed behind, I risked a glance upwards to see a stranger looking down on me. Our eyes met and a lazy half smile spread across his face. “Do you got a light?” He got down low to the ground resting his arms on his knees. I thought he looked too old to be sitting on his heels like that. His hair completely grey but his face without too many wrinkles. Only some crows feet at the corners of his eyes and a set of wrinkles appearing at the corner of his mouth making me guess he was no older than forty. I did something that I would always regret. I dug around in a small pocket of my backpack aware of all the pains in my body as I moved. Earlier that day I found a cheap lighter with some life still left in it. I had a bad habit of picking up anything useful. I took furniture from the side of the road to fix up and sell, or would pick up pens in the hallway at school. I didn’t have a use for a lighter, and yet I still grabbed it. I held out the small orange plastic lighter for him to take. In the moment I didn’t even question why an adult like himself asked a clearly injured teenager for a lighter instead of trying to help. It took a few tries but he lit a cigarette and held out the lighter to give back. I refused it and muttered he could keep it. The same half smile came back and he honestly gave me a bad vibe. “Did those three have a reason to rough you up, or were they being pricks?” The stranger asked without offering any assistance to a still injured teen. He could have at least pretended to care and not loo so damn amused by the whole thing. I gritted my teeth and sat up. I wanted to get away from this weirdo. Everything about him freaked me out a little. He wore a dress shirt and suit jacket, but the shirt was unbuttoned showing his collar bone and his jacket seen better days. His voice sounded like he smoked at least a pack a day for most of his life and he didn’t put much energy into anything he said. “They’re just pricks. It’s fine. I’ll get over it.” I said a bit more bitterly than I expected to sound. “I could take care of them for you. After all, you sort have paid me already.” He showed off the lighter in his hand and shook it once. I didn’t know what he was implying but didn’t like it. He sounded ready to really do some harm to the three that just kicked my sides in but he didn’t want to help when they were attacking? Did he watch the entire thing or just come across me by chance after they left? No, he mentioned those three so he at least saw who been here. I didn’t trust him at all and suddenly regretted doing him any kind of favor. “It’s fine I don’t-” Before I could finish, he reached into his pocket and flicked over a small business card. It landed on the ground in front of me and I hesitated picking it up. The white card only with a hand written phone number on the front. “I’m only in this town for another week. You should make up your mind soon. Later Kiddo.” The odd man got to his feet and took a long inhale of his cigarette. He barely acknowledged me still sitting on the ground as he walked away, slightly hunched with his hands in his pockets. The card and the smell of tobacco smoke the any traces he’d really been there. I made a mistake of tucking the card away in my bag in a spot where it wouldn’t bend. I didn’t have any plans of calling him, but the paper was stiff and good for a very small study note. I didn’t have any plans on rocking the boat. I ignored the three dumb asses when I went to school the next day. My parents didn’t notice how stiff I walked when I arrived home that night, but my mother did see a small bruise on the side of my face. I played off as an accidentally injury. I refused to give my attackers any kind of attention. I just need to make it through a few more months and I would be in the clear. Thankfully, they seemed to move onto another target for a while. The only one who noticed my mood and did anything about it was my senior dog, Luna. We got her when I was about five or so, and she’d been with me most of my life. She was also the only thing I didn’t really have a plan for. I couldn’t let her stay home when I went to university and the dorms didn’t allow pets. I wrote an email asking if I could bring her along for part of the first year. I loved her more than anything else in my life and sadly she was sick. I doubted she would last more than a few months. Due to her age and illness, the school was considering on letting her stay until she passed of natural causes knowing it may happen soon. I made it through a full month before the worst happened. Dealing with a beat down, or harassment at school was easy. But those three bastards did something I could never forgive them for. And gave me a reason to call the strange man I met at the bus stop a few weeks before. With only two more months left of school, I’d stayed up late to study with Luna at my side. I often wondered if she felt any pain in those last few days but never showed any signs of it. I reached down to pet her golden fur and she made me aware that she wanted to go outside to do her business. Lately she wanted to go outside pretty often and needed to do so a few times a night. Knowing I would be awake for a few more hours I went with her and helped her go down the stairs. She didn’t have any issues running for a few minutes if she wanted, but the stairs slowed her down. I opened the back door to let her out and started making myself something to eat. I wanted to be awake so I could study for the night. I didn’t see Luna in the dark backyard but that was normal. Just as I finished up making my sandwich, I heard a terrible sound coming from the front of the house. A sound I’ll never forget and will always haunt the back of my mind. Luna should have been in the backyard. I shouldn’t have assumed the yelp before the sounds of tires screeching away was her, but I spent most of my life with her. I knew what she sounded like. I dropped whatever was in my hand and ran as fast as I could out front and just in time to see a red car turning the corner at the end of the street. My entire body turned to ice and my stomach flipped seeing her small shape in the middle of the road. I wasn’t even aware I screamed when I ran to her, waking some of the neighbours. It’s not important going into details about that night. We made her as comfortable as possible and said goodbye at the emergency vet office. Pieces of a headlight the only thing left behind from the car that hit her. We figured the lock on the back gate rusted loose, letting Luna get out into the street that way. Luna liked the new kids across the street and I caught her on their lawn once before. I put a rock against the gate thinking it might keep it shut, but my father must have moved the rock the last time he opened the door and never replaced it. I didn’t blame him, or the rusted gate lock. I only blamed the owner of the red car. I took two days off school. My parents wanted me to take more time off but I needed to finish those last few months. I stayed silent, walking around in a haze just trying to stay focused in class. The first day back, I walked through the student parking lot and froze. Those three pricks were leaning against Trevor's car smoking and carrying on. His red car. His red car with a broken headlight. I blacked out for few minutes. My body moving on its own. I dropped my backpack and went over to them and just went feral on Trevor. I got him to the ground and gave him a bloody nose as his two friends, Ben and Thomson stood shocked. A teacher saw the one-sided fight and pulled me away. Trevor gave those two and earful about not helping. By some miracle, we all didn’t get dragged to the office or parents called. They just packed up and booked it out of there, leaving the teacher unsure of what to do. He didn’t have the victims, and he didn’t want to deal with all the drama calling my parents would bring. I’m fairly certain that if those three stayed, they would have needed to explain why I exploded on them. That would bring to light so much of their past harassment, and the accusation of them being involved in a hit and run. I doubted they wanted to graduate, but if Trevor’s father found out about the cause of the broken headlight he would be pissed. I heard he already paid to fix a lot on the car after those three got drunk and went to smash a bunch of mailboxes earlier in the year. I got sent home with a warning and some very sore knuckles. Though it didn’t feel like enough. I wanted to kill them. They took away the one I loved the most in the world and so far, they haven’t received any punishment. I needed to do something and fast. We filed a police report and I called them to tell them about the broken headlight on Trevor's car with the police just saying they would ‘look into it.’ That wasn’t good enough. Even if they did find out Trevor was the one who killed Luna, then what? He might only do some community service. No, more needed to be done. I sat in my room, ignoring my parents requesting me to come down for dinner trying to think of what to do. Luna’s bed sat empty and it tore at my heart. My study books still scattered ion my desk from that night. I couldn’t bring myself to touch them. Looking them over, the small card caught my attention. I did end up using it for a study card, but the phone number was still on the back. The idea felt crazy. I wasn’t really going to call that weirdo for help, was I? The memory of Luna’s yelp came back and I made up my mind. I didn’t care about the risks or cost. I just wanted them to suffer. I pulled out my cellphone and dialed the number. It rang a few times and I thought I was out of luck. Then it connected and I held my breath not knowing what to say. I didn’t even know this guy’s name. “I uh... We met a month ago. I gave you a lighter.” I blurted out not even knowing if I reached the right person. “Oh? That's right. Those three still giving you some trouble? Need me to deal with em for ya?” I hesitated wondering how much to tell him. In the end, I didn’t say much. If he was willing to do this job, then he didn’t need to know the reason. “Yes, please do something about them. How do we go about this?” I asked. He stayed silent on the other end of the phone and I could almost hear that creepy lazy smile. I heard a faint sound I realized to be a lighter and a few more seconds of silence before he told me when and where to meet him. This whole thing simply crazy. And dangerous. I agreed to meet a strange man at night just because I wanted revenge. Grief makes people do some very careless things. The stranger arrived first. We still haven't given each other our names and I thought that might be for the best. I slowly walked up to him, and my body turned cold again seeing Trevor’s car. How the stranger knew where it would be parked ahead of time was a mystery. Then again, there was only one bar in town that didn’t care about serving teenagers so he might have guessed where three trouble makers would end up on a Friday night. “So, uh... What’s the plan?” I asked him looking around. Trevor parked his car across the street from the bar so it might appear he was inside the burger place and not drinking. A few people lingered outside smoking watching us. They must know Trevor and knew how much his car cost. I honestly didn’t know the first thing about cars. I think his was old and cost a fortune but that was about it. A car is a car to me. My hired help was dressed in the same thing I met him in. An open slightly wrinkled suit jacket, and dress shirt with two buttons undone. I glanced down and noticed he wasn’t wearing any shoes. Not even sandals. It was warm enough to go without, but the street dirty with glass around. I started to think I made a very big mistake calling him for help. With a lit cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth, he gave a half smile. His grey eyes almost appearing silver in the night. “This is the car, right?” He asked nodding towards Trevor’s parked car. He since replaced the headlight, but I knew it was his. When I nodded, I didn’t have enough time to stop the man before he lifted a bare foot up, and kicked off the car’s mirror. My legs turned to jelly as I watched him do more damage to the car. He dented the driver side door, smashed the headlight and tore off the license plate by the time Trevor and his two goons came out of the bar stumbling along and screaming. “Make them follow us!” The man said and took my wrist forcing me to run with him down the street. I couldn’t keep up. He dragged me along painfully and I heard Trevor get into his car to chase us down. We wouldn’t be able to get away from them, and that wasn’t his plan. After a few blocks, he found an empty street near a park entrance and let go of my wrist. I tripped, falling painfully to the ground. I sat up in time to see the strange man go into the middle of the empty road to stare down the oncoming red car. I don’t know if Trevor was drunk, pissed off, or a mixture of the two but he did something I didn’t expect. He put his foot down on the gas and hit the man in the middle of the road. His body flipping off the hood, cracking the windshield then landing twisted with a loud crack. I nearly got sick from the sound. Trevor wasn’t able to get control of his car causing him to swerve off the road, hitting a light post. The sound of the impact echoed through the street and slammed into my chest. I started to dry heave, panic and stress shaking my body. I didn’t want anyone to die, right? This was all far too much. And, the nightmare just kept going. I needed to help them, so I got up to head towards the car thinking it was far too late for the man in the road. I stopped a few feet from the car when I saw a shape twisted on the ground by the street post. I did puke then, realizing what happened. Either Ben or Thomson didn’t wear their seatbelt and got tossed from the car on impact. Trevor somehow was moving in the driver’s seat. My body refused to move after dumping my dinner in the road. All of this far too much to handle. “Two left? I was hoping or more fun yah know?” I didn’t think it was possible to be even more terrified than how I felt seeing the car wreck. The sound of the deep voice behind me almost enough to give me a heart attack. I sank to my knees, looking over to see the man I called standing up, looking perfectly fine. He cracked his neck and the smile on his face caused my breath to stop dead in my lungs. I wasn’t aware I called down hell on those three until I saw that smile. The backseat door opened and Ben fell out onto the street, his face blood and bruised. My body refused to move and I only watched as the man started walking over to the helpless teenager. Ben knew to run, but didn’t know why. He stumbled along, his face dripping blood as the man let him whimper and get as far as the park stone steps. His hands in his jacket pocket as he hunched over to look over Ben with teeth showing. “I’ll let you fight back. I want to have some fun, ya know? Do you have any weapons on you? A knife? A nail file? Anything??” The stranger asked in a tone that got more and more excited. Ben, half crawling up the stone steps leaving spots of blood behind started sobbing. He looked to be in such pain and didn’t have a chance of getting away. He pleaded for his mother to come and save him. The sounds tearing painfully at my chest. “Nothing? God, you're so boring!” Reaching out a hand, the man grabbed Ben’s head by his short hair and slammed his face down into the stone step again and again. I jumped at each crack of bone smashing on the cement. My body shaking and mind going numb from the sight. This shouldn't be possible. None of this was right. A person shouldn’t be that strong and so easily be able to turn a person’s face to mush. And he shouldn’t even be able to get up and walk around after getting hit by a car. A new sound made up all jump. Trevor got out of the car, his eyes hazy and a gun in his hand. I didn’t know where he got a gun from but I almost was glad to see it. He fired again, the bullet tearing through the face of the one who killed his friend as he turned to face the weapon. Another bullet missed, but the first one nearly tore one side of the man’s jaw off, making his smile appear even more gruesome. “That’s it! Show me something fun!” He shouted, through a mouth of gore causing his words to slur a little and with a crazed look in his eyes. The sight made Trevor lose it. He fired wildly and emptied his gun in under a minute. One bullet nearly hit my face, but the odd man moved as fast as lighting to take the hit in the shoulder, shielding my body with his own. I didn't understand why he cared about my life. How could a monster like him kill a person with his bare hands, then defend another? He stood up, face slowly mending itself. I honestly thought I made a deal with the devil in that moment. I croaked out a half word trying to fight through the fear and beg the man to not kill Trevor. This gone far enough. My mind couldn’t take seeing another death. My voice failed me. Even if it didn’t, I doubted anything I said or did would change the outcome at that point. Trevor’s gun failed him. He either ran out of bullets or it jammed. He turned on his heel, attempting to make a run for it. His legs shaking and uneven. The man in the wrinkled suit jacket following a few steps behind. I thought I heard humming coming from him for a second. Trevor tripped and screamed. His mind and body shut down the same way mine did. The man gave him a chance to fight back. He stood over the crying teenager waiting to see what he would do. When nothing happened, the humming stopped to be replaced by a cracking noise. I thought my mind was already over loaded but what I saw next nearly put me over the edge into insanity. That man’s face... changed. Countless shapes of animal faces came from his neck, twisted into each other and shifted like liquid from different forms. Sounds of different creatures come from that terrible sight mingled into each other. All the voices trying to be heard over each other and the cries becoming warped as if it came out through a nearly broken speaker. All at once, those shapes came down on Trevor with thousands of teeth appearing to tear into his body. Another noise came. A yelping scream from Trevor that was much like the last sound Luna made. I blacked out for a while. I don’t think I closed my eyes, I just refused to remember what happened after I saw Trevor get ripped apart. I was vaguely aware of someone speaking and dragging me to my feet just to have my legs give out again. A sharp pain to my cheek forced my mind back into the present. A man dressed in a uniform stood and flashing lights filled the night. I saw the monster sitting on the curb with handcuffs around his wrists. His jacket looked spotless, but his dress shirt been stained with blood. He sneered at the cop standing in front of him. Rage clear on the officer’s face. “Did he hurt you kid?” The other cop asked and it took me a few minutes to realized he was addressing me. I shook my head unable to answer. I thought I heard the other cop talking with the killer saying how the man shouldn’t be in our small town for any reason. He noticed I moved my head and called his partner over to watch over the cuffed monster wearing a human mask. I found a new officer standing in front of me, looking down with an expression so cold it cut through my shock. “What in the ever-living hell did those three do to deserve you calling that man over for all this?” He demanded in a harsh but low voice. This man knew what I’d done. He was aware that I called that man over and was the cause of three deaths. I searched my brain trying to figure out just what been so important I put all of this into motion. “They killed... Luna. My dog.” I answer meekly, still in a state of shock. “All of this for a dog?” He asked disgusted and nodded towards the bloody street. One teen twisted and broken from the car crash. Another with his face smashed in, the blood leaking down the stone steps. And the final one in pieces scattered around the street. I looked at each one of them, my stomach turning. If I didn’t puke earlier, I would have then. My eyes landed on the stranger's face. He looked over his shoulder towards us with such a grim smile on his face it caused my head to swim. I looked up when the officer cursed seeing a new cruiser pulling up. This was a crime scene and it should be swarming with cops. A new fear started to spread in my stomach. Would they arrest me as well? It appeared like only one cop so far knew about my deal with the monster but wasn’t I still responsible in some way? I didn’t have time to think about my future when a new scene played out. A pair of police came from the new cruiser and the one that spoke with me tried to keep one back. One looked familiar and my gut sank to the ground the moment my mind clicked to why I would know his features. “I told you I would help you with any cases if that Mad Dog came back. Now let me through Chief. What are you trying to hide from me?” The new arrival spoke trying to look around the road. His partner grabbed his arm to drag him away far too late. His eyes landed on the crumpled form in the steps and it took both men to hold him back. He started to yell the dead boy’s name. His dead son’s name. The yells turned to screams and all at once he became silent the moment we made eye contact. He knew who made the phone call that ended his son’s life. All three of them took a hold of him in some way trying to keep his gun from his hand. I simply watched almost welcoming death by his actions. It felt fair if he shot me that night. While all the police fought to keep one in line, no one kept watched on the one who killed three teens that night. He stood up, stretched and walked over to the group in no hurry. He kept his arms cuffed behind his back even though we all knew breaking the metal would be easy for him. The father fought harder screaming how he wanted to kill all of us. “Are you threatening the one who hired me? Hm? We met before, hadn’t we? You know the deal. I protect the ones who I do a job for against retaliation. If you harm one hair on that child’s head then-” His calm and yet arrogant tone got cut off. “Or what?! You'll kill me?!” The man shouted, face red and veins popping from his forehead. “You have a lovely young daughter, don’t you?” The words barely a whisper and almost impossible to hear them from where I sat. The man went pale and limp in the hold of the others. He shook his head not believing the threat. Not wanting to believe any of this happened. “You wouldn't dare hurt her. I’ll kill you if you ever even look at her...” He threatened in a weak voice. “I’ll have no reason to even remember she exists as long as you forget about the one who called me. But if I find out you went ahead and did something stupid well... I have a skill of getting the young and pretty ones to come to me. They tend to enjoy our time together too.” That smile I hated came back over his face. The idea of what his words implied caused the officer to react. He drew his gun so quickly the others didn’t stop him. The smile was literally blown off the man’s face. The second time that night his jaw hung limp and broken. He didn’t fall over, but rather let the blood pour to the ground with his head hanging down for a few second. He raised it to press his forehead against the gun, grey eyes shining in the dark. He wanted to be shot again. To see the reactions of the rest when they realized a bullet wouldn’t kill the monster that appeared that night. And to watch as all hope and sense of logic were taken from four adult men. The gun was taken away so that didn’t happen. I watched the officer that spoke with me take charge of the situation. He packed the cuffed and healing monster in the backseat of one cruisers and told one of the shaken co-workers to take me home. I prayed the last I ever saw of that man was the back of his head in a cop car. I thought I was going to be arrested for my involvement. I did, in a way, hire a man to kill three people. That fact would hold up in court. In the moment, I felt so numb I would have accepted any sentence handed down. But oddly enough, nothing happened. The officer dropped me off in front of my place unsure how what to say. He warned me not to leave town. I nodded and walked inside to curled up in bed trying to go over what happened that night. In the morning I heard they covered the entire thing up with a fiery car crash. No mention of the murders. Just that Trevor, Ben and Thomson died due to one of them driving drunk and crashing into a streetlight. The bodies were so burned and yet they already identified them. I couldn’t bring myself to leave my room for months. I expected to be taken anyway at any moment or have that man come by again asking for more victims. I lost my scholarships, and missed out on my final exams. My parent didn’t have a clue why I suddenly turned into a hermit. They gently tried everything to get me back to normal without much luck. Then they adopted a small sick and weak kitten. Neither of them thought it would pull through. It needed care and feeding every few hours and that made me focus on something besides myself. I felt something besides fear and misery when treating for the small kitten. When our new pet got the all clear from the vet, I finally felt relieved. I’d helped someone. It was as if saving one life filled the void that been created when I ‘d taken three others. But not fully filled it. We kept the kitten and named it Tabby. That small bundle of fur gave my life purpose. Over the next few years, I got my life back on track. I went to school to become a vet. I knew I couldn't save everyone that came to the clinic, but I did my best to do whatever I could for every animal I met. I almost forgotten how I felt at the end of high school for a while. I even managed to move out of my parent's place and into a small apartment. Things were going just fine after so long of trying to stay above water. And then a cat came into the clinic. A small orange one with injuries from a BB gun. He’d been starved and shot. The neighbours were the one who brought him in. They wanted to take him home, or try and keep him away from the owners. Without any proof that the owner’s children were the ones harming the cat, we would need to release him back to the owners and not the caring neighbours who brought him in. That old hate came back. An anger that filled my mouth and tasted like acid. I needed to do something. I had to save this poor cat that did nothing to harm anyone. After some minor investigation, I found out the parents treated their children worse than their cat. CPS had been called but it would take too damn long for the kids to be removed. And if we returned their cat, he would die in their hands very soon afterwards. I was quickly at the end of my rope. The police didn’t have time to do anything. Or simply didn’t care. Maybe the children could be saved but that poor little cat... They never even named him. For some reason, I kept the old study card with a certain number written on the back of it. The memories of that bloody night flashed into my mind. I had no right deciding the fate of these strangers. I could just steal the cat from the clinic but if anyone reported it, I risked losing my job. I didn’t care about myself, just the animals I could save while working. The card felt heavy in my hand. A heavy card for a heavier choice. What weighed down on my mind the most was how eager I felt calling the number. I no longer felt human if I was able bring down death on others so easily. My sense of remorse faded a long time ago. I set the card down deciding to only call the number if I couldn’t keep the harmed cat out of the hands of the ones who wanted to kill him. If there was no other option, I resolved to call in a Mad Dog to solve a problem.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] do not wear pearls in the ocean. [RESPONSE] oh pearls. It's just the vibe you're going for, right? a relaxing day at the beach. just the vibe you're going for, right? just the perfect little touch to complete your aesthetic. wrong. terrifyingly wrong. do not wear pearls in the ocean. I learned it the hard way. I learned that the ocean is angry. The creatures of the ocean is angry. You can hear it's hissing if you get close enough. If you have something it owns. If you have something it wants. I don't have any other way to tell this story, ever since I was little, I was fascinated by the waves. I nearly drowned twice, and if you'd ask me what drowning feels like, I would have to tell you that not everything feels like another thing, though for now, i'm getting ahead of myself, let me clear it up; I still live in my childhood home with my family. My parents are pretty ordinary people. My dad is a vet and my mom is an accountant and we had never been poor by any means but we had never been filthy rich either. This big house by the shore is pretty much the one valuable (really valuable) thing we own. My mom loves it here, she thought me how to love it here, and for some time, my aunt had been visiting us madly. For about a year now, i'm either greeted by her and my mom on the front gate when i'm back from school or I see no trace of her in the house, even if her car is parked in our backyard. I think that car has not been out of our property for a straight year. I always thought that she found it more convenient to come and go by the bus, since I remember her telling us that it is hard to find a parking space near her house. I'm pleased that she's here, because honestly, when i'm alone, the huge property seems haunted by silence most of the time. And the shore does too. there's hardly anyone swimming or even wandering around the beach besides me because the first entrance is too rocky and the way that the mountains are shaped brings in a constant howl of wind. no one likes these. I tend to find them comforting. This may be selfish but the true reason I liked having my aunt around wasn't really her chattiness- she was a fine, cute lady, don't get me wrong, but she was just another find cute lady alright. I had always found her to be a little too superstitious. Still, I liked the fact that she liked the sea like me. She seemed even more compassionate in a weird way about going to the shore but I didn't really question it. I remember thinking her getting ready to go seemed a lot like a ritual. Still, I didn't really care. this particular day I remember seeing her braid her hair effortlessly while casually laying on the sand and her white hair looked flawless. Few pieces that she forgot to tuck in were floating in the air and for a second I thought it was mesmerizing. I somehow convinced her to swim with me. This was the first time that she was actually down to do so, and I had always imagined she was a bad swimmer and was ashamed of it, because my aunt was a pretty prideful women. oh I was wrong. I was so wrong. once my body fully hit the ice cold water, I opened my eyes and let the nature burn them with it's salty water. I had never once actually tortured myself. I did it frequently. I hid it under the name of nature. This has nothing to do with the story, my mind is going feral now that writing all of this made me freak out even more. well, my eyes got used to the torture, I saw two legs speeding away from me. In my mind I knew it was my aunt but that didn't even made sense to me. Then I remembered she took of all her jewelry before diving in. Just as she insisted on wearing blue swimwear, or no swimwear at all, just like she showered herself clean before swimming... Who does that? Why would you do that? I now have my theories. I sped up trying to catch her. She might be a good swimmer but it was her first time swimming here, she didn't know the line she shouldn't cross. My mom used to call it the no-no line. It was all the eternity after that one green flag that she made my father stick into a rock when I was little. That was the most we were allowed to go. She was getting closer and closer to the flag without even acknowledging it being there. So I decided to dive even deeper, take a huge breath, close your eyes, dive deep as you can. I sensed my pearl bracelet sliding up as far as it can go on my arm, I swam to where I though my aunt would be, and I couldn't open my eyes because of the pressure. I opened my hand trying to grab her when I get close enough, and after seconds, I did, in fact, grabbed something. Or it grabbed me. I'm not really sure. At first the hand hold mine gently, but then it dragged by body towards itself and when the grip got tighter, I could feel the claws, making my skin tingle. I was running out of breath and the thing kept dragging me down and down to the bottomless blueness. The claws got tied to the bracelet I loved so much and I felt it tear apart. It was the one real piece of jewelry I owned, combined with it's matching earrings, because I had lost the necklace of this combination a long time ago. And when the bracelet broke off, I heard a subtle hissing, both from whatever that's holding me and from the sea itself, I couldn't help but think, during all of this, I couldn't stop wondering; how did my mother know? how did she know where to draw the line? Then I focused on the one thing that mattered right then and there, I mean, besides my horrible fear of death, but i'm guessing you can already imagine that, What happened to my aunt? What is happening to me, again, duh, of course, but did the same thing happened to her? I started feeling the suffocation, that thing couldn't go any more deeper or I had completely lost my sense of direction, when I felt another touch, one of it's hands letting my wrist free while the other still holding, then with it's sharp nails, it grabs one of my earlobes. The second hand fallows. Now i'm being help only by grips on my ears. I felt like I was gonna explode, yet I could do nothing, If you'd ask me what the fear of death feels like, I'd have to tell you that not everything feels like another thing. But I felt another thing in that deep fear too. Shock. Pain. The claws had grabbed my pearl earrings and took them, cutting my flesh so effortlessly. And adrenaline can make you do a lot of things, guys, just seconds before I lost my conscious due to apparently drowning, I opened my eyes in shock. It was definitely something, and if you'd like to think that it is pretty I have to inform you that it is not. It was something, there was something, it existed, but I cannot explain its presence. With my brain chemically shutting down and with the nature of that thing, only features I can really remember is its eyes that looked like little shiny buttons, and a grin that covered its face from ear to ear. While blacking out, I saw it's white shiny air floating in the sea. It acknowledged my realization. It grinned at me.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] This is not my house [RESPONSE] So to keep this brief have you ever had a feeling something was off, but there's no reason why? Well leading up to my realization that was the feeling I've been having. I woke up one afternoon from a nap and although I couldn't pin point anything out of place everything felt off. I waited for my husband to get home which he did with pizza. He got my favorite but I just felt sick after. He asked what was up and I honestly couldn't give an explanation other than feeling off. He shrugged it off and said I may have had a vivid dream I just didn't remember. We went to bed and I went about my routine in the morning. When I got to work the feeling was even more intense. I recognize everything and everyone. I can even remember how things came to be. But it's like non of it was real. Because it wasn't. I figured it out nearly a month in when I realized everyone's smile was too wide. And the spots on the wall keep growing. My cats hiss when the mail comes even though they loved the mailman before the nap. They even hiss at hubby. But now I'm not so sure hubby is hubby. Because they were his cats originally. But now they won't let him pet them. The spots on the wall are starting to multiply now. It started off with 2 which became 5 then 12 then 27 now there are too many to count. They flow into each other making it nearly impossible to see where one ends and the next begins. Am I loosing it? Or am i the last normal human? The cats are gone. Hubby said they had rabies and bit him. The state of his arm is horrendous. Shredded and bitten. A fight had surely broken out between him and the cats. I know they're probably dead but I can't help but hope they're alright. The spots are growing still. At certain angles I catch a reflection but when I move back to look it's gone. Something's watching. The scratches and bite marks on hubby look weird and he doesn't physically react to any pain from them. They don't look like cat shaped bites and the puss isn't a good sign. The walls are watching. Listening. Whispering. The scratches are moving. Not like changing spots but physically moving. Wriggling. Writhing. The bite marks are worse. I can't help but gag. They're black as the night with maggots like the scratches. I think I saw bone. The walls are talking. I've kept my head down most of the time. The smiles hurt my eyes. I also keep airpods in cause the voices hurt my ears. The walls are screaming. I need to get out this is not my house. Hubby seems to be looking at me weird. Like I'm a wild animal in his house. He grabbed me. Pulled me close and tried to strangle me. I bit into his rotten arm hard. He let go and I grabbed the knife. Whatever he was he's dead now. They think I did it out of insanity or malice. Called me an insane killer wife. I'm awaiting my trial. Finally free from the screaming walls that were watching me. I still faintly here them like an echo in my ears. Now I understand what they were saying. "Get out this is not your house" But the shocking part. It's my voice, but I'm not saying it to me. I was saying it to him. Am I really insane?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Green Belt Sanatorium [2] [RESPONSE] Has anyone heard of the Green Belt Sanatorium? I encountered this place three years ago. At least, I think it's a place. Since then, I've never been able to find it again. And now that , I'm not sure who to ask. **— three —** Midway Motel — The light shone like a beacon on the horizon, piercing the darkness between the trees. As I got closer, I could see it was a neon sign above some rinky-dink motel just off the side of the old highway. — Vacancy. I hit the blinker and pulled into the driveway, hope rising out the pit of my stomach. I had driven slowly, looking for any sign of Anthony on the side of the road. If he had made it this far, there was a chance he came here. Parking was a breeze. I was the only one in the lot. I looked at my watch. It was past 3 AM. The motel had seen better days, it was clear. When the freeways were built in the 80s, they all but killed places like these. But the front porch was lit, and the door was unlocked. I stepped inside. "Hello?" I called. The place was a blast from the past. A dull but patterned carpet, comfy chairs, and a front desk made of wood. The golden age before my time, encapsulated into one place. But it was the smell. The smell hit me with a wave of nostalgia. A subtle but distinct sharpness that hotels all seemed to have, as if they used the same industrial cleaning product. I remembered it as a kid, going on road trips with my dad, staying at affordable roadside inns with their continental breakfasts. That was back when gas prices were lower. I hit the reception bell. Nobody came. After a while I decided I'd had enough of reception counters for a day. I hadn't eaten in over ten hours, and my bladder was about to burst. I followed the sign on the wall to the men's. Had just started releasing into the urinal — letting out a very relieved sigh — when I heard Anthony's voice behind me. "Where the fuck have you been?" "Dude!" I said — I think I dribbled a little on my shoes — "Where did you go? I was looking for you." "I was looking for you!" he said. He was standing at the sink, staring at me. His eyes were tired and hooded, but I could tell he was furious. We started talking at the same time. I began to pee all over the place. "I went inside —" "I know!" " — to look for you!" "You said five minutes!" "What is that place?" "You're asking me!" he said. "I'm asking you." "And I'm asking you!" "What?" "Stop fucking saying what." "What!" I said. "I said stop fucking saying what!" he said. I stopped fucking saying anything. I concentrated on finishing up my piss and went to the sink to rinse my hands. Tony sighed. "Listen," he said. "I'm worried about you." — This is when the trouble with Anthony started. Well, I suppose it started a while ago. But this is when it really started affecting our relationship. Anthony had a bad memory. It wasn't that he was forgetful — he could remember the tiniest detail in movies that I'd missed. But there were some events that happened to both of us which he said he couldn't remember. It was never anything of real consequence. Walks in the forest, funny conversations we had as children. The deeper into his childhood, the more holes in his memory. It was just the stress, he had told me, when I'd mentioned it to him. The stress of a traumatic upbringing. I remembered him being a troubled kid — I mean, who wasn't troubled as a teen — but I didn't remember him being especially bad. Then again, I never went over to his place much growing up, so in the end I had to take him at his word. Until now. "You're the one who suggested going there in the first place," Anthony said. "What?" "I'm just saying! We wouldn't be here if you didn't want to go inside that place. What is it, anyway?" "I don't know, Tony," I said. "I only went inside to look for you." "Ha. That's funny. That's very fucking funny." "It's not a joke, man. It was your idea to go in there." "Fuck you." "Are you serious right now?" Our argument ping-ponged back and forth like that for hours, from the bathroom to the vending machine to the motel room. He said it was my idea to go inside the Sanatorium — said it reminded me of some obscure web series I used to watch. I told him the truth. That it was a nostalgia trip out of some shit-fuck game he downloaded off the internet when he was twelve. He held his ground. The guy really had the balls to try to gaslight me. What an asshole. What I couldn't figure out though, was why he would lie about it. Maybe he was embarrassed about the situation and was in denial. Maybe he was scared of what he saw in the place. Maybe he wasn't lying — or at least, didn't know that he was. Maybe he had forgotten what had happened, and his brain was making stuff up to fill in the gaps. Whatever it was, it pissed me off. We shared his motel room. It was a double bed. He told me he'd take the floor. I said no, it was his room — I'll take the floor. Fine, he said. Sleep wherever the fuck you want. — That night, I dreamed I was Anthony. I just knew I was him. Walking through the library, in the airless corridors of the Sanatorium. The same dull-green bindings, shelved from floor to ceiling. I had pulled a book out of a shelf — there was no title on the cover. I opened the cover. Flipped through it. All the pages were blank. **— four —** Tony was at the wheel. We were on hour three of the seven hour ride home. Neither of us had said much, even when we had stopped at a drive-thru. I stuffed the rest of my napkins in the paper bag and decided to try again. "You really don't — even remotely — remember playing a game called — or set in a place called — Green Belt Sanatorium," I said. He heaved a sigh and said, "Don't fucking start again." "I'm serious. Specifically a shitty free to play game." "No I do not." "But you have been known to play these shitty freeware games." "Yes, I have been known to play these shitty freeware games," he said. "But that was before I got my Xbox." "You had an Xbox?" "Yeah," he said. "Three-sixty. I got it used. Saved up like crazy, remember?" "When was that?" "Dude. Like, tenth grade." "Really?" "Yeah. I borrowed some of your games. You don't remember?" A vague recollection was forming in my mind. But I wasn't sure enough, or in the mood, to concede the point. He looked at me. "You really don't remember." "So you still maintain it was my idea to go inside." He returned his eyes to the road. Didn't answer. "But you went inside there, right?" "Yes," he said. "I went inside." "And what was it?" I asked. "What did you see in there?" He drove silently for a while. I persisted. "Tony, what did you see in there?" "What do you want me to say?" he snapped. "It's a care center. Where they send old people to die. What do you want me to say about it?" As we drove the rest of the way in silence, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed. When we crossed the state line, I couldn't find any feeling of familiarity in the passing landmarks, even when we got close to the city we both lived in. We had switched drivers for the last stretch, and I had wordlessly dropped him off at home before returning the car to the rental company. Looking out the windows on the bus ride home, I felt like a tourist, some invader from another world. Even when I had showered and woken from a fitful sleep, I couldn't recognize the place around me as one I'd lived in for years. It was as if I was watching the world through a mirror — or I had been my whole life, but now the mirror had fallen away, to reveal the true nature beyond. — Anthony moved away not long after that. Found some job in a bigger city, made a lot more money. We lost contact. I buried myself in my work and all but forgot about the incident. Then the pandemic hit, and the startup I worked at crashed. I tried to make it freelance, but the clients were too few and miserly. I ended up losing my apartment, and soon after contracted the virus. As I was recuperating in my mother's basement, the Green Belt Sanatorium had the time to return to my mind. Unanswered questions, swirling in the dark as I paced the confines of the basement. What was that place? Why did Tony lie about it? And most alarmingly: Had I misremembered the whole thing? My old PC was still there, hooked up to the internet. I tried to retrace my steps on Google Maps, using the satellite view. I couldn't find any sign of the place, but it was hard to remember the route I had taken through those country roads. My search term, 'green belt sanitarium' turned up zero direct hits — only information on urban zoning policies, where development was prohibited on designated land. There were some results about hospitals and psychiatric wards being built on these so-called 'green belts', but there was nothing with the same name in the continental US. Besides, that building we entered was nowhere near a city. I tried adding, 'freeware', 'game', '.exe' to my query. Then I tried, 'webseries', 'watch online', 'show'. Still got nothing — just some stuff about healthcare training. There was a game on Steam about an asylum called Green Hills, but after watching some playthroughs on Youtube I categorized it as irrelevant. That was when the dreams started — or maybe continued. I was back in those windowless halls, wandering around looking for Anthony. I smelled the acrid smoke and followed it, went through those subway turnstiles to where the silent readers sat. And when I called out Anthony's name, they would all look up, and all of them had his face. **— five —** Three years had passed after our visit to the Sanatorium. I began to learn how to live in this mirror-world of masks and isolation. Life slowly progressed: I recovered from COVID and then, months later, caught it a second time. My father texted me out of the blue, telling me that his heart surgery had gone well. I gave him my congratulations. It had been scheduled years ago, but somehow, I had forgotten all about it. There was no new development in my search for the Sanatorium — except one. I had been trawling internet archive sites, figuring if Anthony found his game on a freeware site long ago, the host must have since died. I now alternated my searches between the words 'sanitarium' and 'sanatorium'. In my hours of searching, I finally found a file called GBSanatorium.exe. There was no information, only a file directory and a download link. I pressed the button. The file was only 32 megabytes, a single executable. I clicked on it, and clicked away the blue Windows Smartscreen warning. My computer screen flickered black, then went back to the Downloads folder, where the .exe was housed. I waited and tried to run it again. Again, nothing happened. Only the black flicker of the screen. The app must have crashed. It was an old file, so I tried every compatibility mode, tried running it on other machines. To this day, I've made no progress. — So if anyone has played this game, or has been to the Green Belt Sanatorium, or has even heard anything about it — Please, let me know. I'm going crazy here. Because night after night, I have those dreams where I'm not myself, wandering the halls of a place that shouldn't be, reading page after page of blank paper, and waking up not knowing who I am, where I was, or who I am about to become. \ \]<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] He Who Mourns the Pious [RESPONSE] Dad was... eccentric. I suppose that's the kindest way to describe someone like him. He was incredibly religious... to a fault. He tithed well over twenty percent and knew the Bible front to back. That's not to say we were ever hitting for money. Dad was incredibly wealthy; when we asked him where his money came from, he would always just say: "The Lord provides." Well, that provision ran out when he got Parkinson's. Dad wasn't built like Hulk Hogan or anything, but he was no slouch. "Your body is a temple, son! I won't let mine fall into disrepair!" He would say with a bright smile on our Saturday morning bike rides. That temple became a weak, shaky cottage after the Parkinson's got him. As the years went by, I watched my hero deteriorate, but he still held tight to his faith in all of it. He would pray, tithe, read his Bible— all of that stuff. And he still managed to make time for Mom and the rest of us. It was almost supernatural the way he continued on as the disease wrecked his body. The signs of his impending death were obvious. Lack of mobility, difficulty speaking and thinking straight... That's what made one of the last conversations we had so strange. I was sitting by his bed one day, scrolling through my phone and keeping him company, when he started to sit up, "Alex." I dropped my phone and quickly moved to help him sit up, propping him against his pillows. "Alex, I need to tell you something..." His breathing was labored and despite my cautioning for him to stop talking, he insisted it was important. "When I was a young boy, I got very sick. We weren't sure what it was and the doctors weren't either. I wasn't really religious at the time and neither were my folks." He stopped to take a breath and leaned back against the pillows. "But we all prayed. Me most of all. I was a kid; didn't want to die so young. One night, at the hospital, I was alone in the room when a man came in. He was wearing a dark purple cloak that seemed to cast a shadow on all of his features. He was crying as he sat down... sniffling. He told me that he was so sad I was sick and that he was mourning for me." My dad's brow furrowed as he recounted the memory. "I didn't know who he was and when I asked his name, he just said 'The Mourner.' Now, I didn't know much as a boy, but I put two and two together. I thought he was one of those priests they send into the room when you're going to die to talk about the Lord and stuff. Still, couldn't see a face or body under the robe." I wasn't sure where this story was going; was it just the Parkinson's? He'd never told me this before and my father *loved* to tell stories. "Anyhow, he told me he had a deal for me. He had talked with The Man Upstairs and they'd agreed that if I agreed to be faithful and to live a righteous life, I'd live quite a while and have quite the go of it. I figured I had nothing to lose, so I agreed." He looked me in the eyes with as serious an expression as ever, "and when I tell you that the next day I was right as rain, I'm not kidding. All of my sickness was just gone. I figured that since that guy had lived up to his end of the bargain, I should too. So, I devoted my life to being righteous for the Lord. Now, I'm not a perfect man, but I did my best. I ended up loving it. Had a great life with a great family." "Why are you telling me this, dad? Why now?" I asked, confused by the story and its purpose. "He'll be at my funeral, son. Call it a gut feeling. But The Mourner, whether he's man or angel or something else, needs to be treated with the utmost respect. You hear me? No one is to say an unkind word to him or do anything out of line. I need you to promise me to make sure you all follow that rule." Dad gripped my hand tightly... impossibly right for someone so weak. "Promise me." He seemed really intense, so I agreed, mostly just to calm him down. That seemed to placate him and, soon enough, he'd laid back down to rest. I talked to my mother about it and she seemed unsurprised. She said that dad had told her about this as well a few days ago. We both chalked it up to his disease affecting his mind and went on with our day. The day of his funeral, a veritable congregation of people had shown up. Dad had reached a lot of people and done good in a lot of lives. Friends, family, colleagues — they were all here. I scouted the crowd for this cloaked man, but didn't see him. Maybe a part of me thought dad was actually telling the truth. I shook the thought from my head and gave the eulogy. There were tears aplenty as we moved into the viewing. Dad had wanted an open casket, so that's what we did. Then, he showed up. One moment, the space in front of his casket was empty and the next, a wailing man stood in front of it. The entire room hushed as the cloaked figure stood screaming out in anguish. I'd never heard a man make noises like that before! The intense sadness seemed almost theatric. We waited for a few moments, but the man did not let up. He kept wailing with his back to the room. The cry was deep and hoarse, like he had been crying for a tone far longer than just this moment. To everyone else, this was just a very awkward man's display of sorrow. To my mother and I, this was confirmation of what dad had told us. At least in some part. Maybe he was one of dad's friends and dad had romanticized their meeting in a way. I don't know. In that moment, I wasn't sure. I wasn't even sure what to do. I felt this pang of sadness inside of me. I had already bawled and cried for the loss of my father, but this was different. It felt more... existential? Holy? It felt as if the world had lost something truly great and I was just coming to terms with it. I was paralyzed as my emotions swirled inside of me. The sadness was overwhelming, but there was a fear as well. This sadness was not my own... It had been put there. Some force had planted it in my mind and that unnerved me. I wasn't even aware that the man had stopped wailing and had approached me. "I am truly sorry for your loss," came his voice. It sounded deep and old and like it came from deep within him. I felt something clasp around my hands and looked down to see two shadowy hands holding mine. I fought the instinct to recoil in fear. Dad had said to respect this... man, so I would. "T-thank you," I stuttered, any foreign emotion now drowned out by the primal fear I had within me. "How did you know my father, if you don't mind me asking?" I looked up and into the cloak, only inky darkness filling its void. "As the Son of Man knew Lazarus and wept for him, so too I weep. I am his tears for his friend and his cry in Gethsemane made form. I am mourning. I am sorrow. I am rejoicing. I am laughter. Those deemed righteous by Him are honored by my presence in their final days as I perform a symphony of sorrows for them to honor their life well-lived." He replied, his hands still holding mine. They were cold and icy despite seemingly being just shadows. His cryptic speaking did nothing to answer my many questions, least of all the one I had asked. I was about to say something when he spoke up. "So, Alex, will I weep for you as well one day?" The question lingered as did his missing presence. At the finality of his words, he vanished without a trace. Those words have echoed in my mind ever since along with the many questions they brought. He did provide me with comfort that my father truly is in a better place. This whole ordeal has brought to mind something that I had long since categorized as an odd dream and forgotten it: When I was a child, I became sick much like my father at his age. Only, the man who showed up next to my bed wasn't crying. He was laughing.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] my boyfriend brought a skinwalker to my house. [RESPONSE] “Yee naad-” “Natalie, I swear to God, if you say that word I’ll kick you out of my car and leave you on the side of the road,” Hailey threatened. Yee naaldlooshii is what I was *trying* to say to my friend Hailey. In case you don’t know what that is, that’s the Navajo name for a skinwalker. I just found this out not too long ago, too. Skinwalkers are an interesting Navajo legend - basically, they’re like shapeshifters. I know a lot of people who live out in the secluded countryside that have claimed to see them. I, personally, never saw one before. Not until my idiot boyfriend brought one to my house. Now, before my boyfriend told me about his skinwalker stalker, I had always teased Hailey about them. We would drive through secluded areas at night, just for the thrill of what lies in the darkness, but she wasn’t a fan when I brought them up in her car. I’d make comments about them just to freak her out. *Hailey, what if we saw a deer standing on its hind legs in the field next to us?* *What if you saw yourself sprinting behind the car in the rear view mirror right now?* Despite my teasing, I really did believe in skinwalkers. I’ve always believed in legends and supernatural beings like that, and it was interesting to learn about, not that I really did that much deep diving into the subject. But what I did learn freaked me out. You would think that would keep me from making jokes about it in prime skinwalker territory, but not all of us have that much common sense. I’m not the only one though. Like I had mentioned before, I don’t believe my jokes are what brought one to my house. You see, my boyfriend lives out in the countryside, with lots of open space around him. He’s always mentioned how he felt like something was stalking him out there, watching as he moved from his car to the house. He always kind of assumed it was some type of freaky animal. His suspicions were confirmed but it wasn’t exactly what he thought it was. According to him, he saw a skinwalker in the field when he came home from my place one night. “Gavin, come on. You didn’t see a skinwalker.” “Nat, I’m telling you, most animals aren’t that tall. And their eyes don’t glow green.” “How much sleep did you get?” He gave me a disapproving look. His claim was that the night before, when he got home, he saw a tall, looming creature watching him from the tree line with bright green and glowing eyes. Now, like I said, I do believe in skinwalkers, but my boyfriend also doesn’t get much sleep, so of course I figured he was hallucinating something watching him. “I wasn’t hallucinating. There was a skinwalker at my place, and I saw him, and I literally almost pissed my pants. I promise, I wasn’t imagining anything.” I caved in and told him I believe him, and as long as he didn’t conjure one up at my place that’s all that mattered to me. Then we went to bed and never saw any skinwalkers again. That should’ve been the happy ending of this story, right? Nope. I really didn’t think about it the next day. I mean, I live in a pretty busy area. It’s not exactly where you would think most skinwalkers reside, but maybe some have a preference for bigger cities. More people to stalk, I guess. Throughout the day, I had been cleaning the house, getting it ready for the week ahead. Since I work close to forty hours a week, I really don’t have much time to clean so I basically just do it when I can. Time flew by, and at 8:40 PM all I had to do was take out the trash. It’s around the time of year where night falls pretty early, so I had to take the trash out in the dark. Normally that wouldn’t really bother me, but because of my boyfriend’s little tale that I happened to remember at that moment, it freaked me out. Just a little bit, not enough to piss my pants like some other people. When I stepped outside and heard a low growl, maybe that was closer to pissing-my-pants territory. My neighbors do have a little pitbull that they leave chained up outside (ridiculous), so I just blamed the noise on him. That’s the most reasonable explanation, and to keep myself from freaking out, I had to stay reasonable. Then I saw the eyes. Not pitbull eyes. Not any dog’s eyes. Nothing even remotely close to a normal animal or even human. And they weren’t even green, so at least my boyfriend’s skin walker stayed behind. All I could see in the darkness of my neighbor’s yard was two glowing red eyes. Maybe this was a good time to piss my pants, and God only knows I was close. I’ve always heard the term fight or flight, and I figured I would be a flight type of girl. I was right. I threw the bags on the ground and basically flung my body back to the front door, frantically trying to turn the knob to get it to open. I heard twigs break under someone’s steps, and that’s when I pissed my pants. I guess I am more of a baby than my boyfriend after all. The door slammed loudly behind me, but nothing could mask the growling noise I heard from the other side of the glass. Because it was so dark, I really couldn’t make out more than a silhouette, but the silhouette was enough to make me go from pissing myself to shitting myself. The outline looked sort of… fuzzy, like it had some type of hair on its body. The worst part were its eyes - somehow they were even brighter than they were before, a piercing and sinister red. I had already locked the knob (thank God I’ve formed that habit), but I needed to find my keys to fully lock the door. I didn’t want to take my eyes off of whatever was on the other side of that glass, but I knew I had to. It had to be tonight that my keys weren’t hanging on the hook where I usually kept them. I’ll remember this the next time I toss them on my desk. When I turned back around from grabbing my keys, those glowing red eyes were no longer staring at me. Somehow that made this entire situation way worse. I needed to see where he was, where he was stalking me from. I couldn’t really focus on that at the moment, so I hurried towards the door, locked it with my key, and closed the inside door. The windows were all closed and locked, so I knew that he couldn’t get inside without me hearing some resistance. It took about three hours for me to finally calm down, but until then I kept my eyes open. I barely blinked until the stress from the situation turned into fatigue, and I could barely keep my eyes open. I didn’t feel the same presence as I did while I was outside, so maybe that was a good sign, but I really didn’t want to fall asleep. I felt vulnerable enough sitting in my bed, a hammer and mace next to me of course. But I did. I fell asleep (in my piss soaked pants, might I add) and woke up the next morning, alive. I didn’t feel alive. I felt like ten years had been taken off my life. But I was breathing and I wasn’t hurt - not physically at least. *Oh, shit. Gavin. I need to tell Gavin.* 10:34 AM. He was probably asleep, but at that point I really didn’t care, so I facetimed him. I saw myself in the front view camera. My eyes were bloodshot and puffy, probably from keeping them open for so long. I guess this kind of freaked Gavin out. “Nat? What the hell? Did you-” I know it’s rude to interrupt, but I had to cut him off. I’m sure he probably didn’t understand most of what I said considering I was basically racing through the story, but his face at the end of my story told me that he understood enough. And he actually believed me, probably because I looked like I had the life sucked out of me. I haven’t felt the presence of that… thing since that night, and it’s been two nights since I saw those red eyes outside my door, but I have a feeling it isn’t going to leave me alone forever. I just hope that next time I’ll be prepared, even though it’s pretty hard to prepare for a skinwalker attack. But if I do get attacked, blame my idiot boyfriend since he basically summoned it to my front door. Maybe I'll get him to kill it for me.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My uncle tried to warn me never to go back to my old home. My family had horrific secrets there they'd tried to keep buried for years. Part One [RESPONSE] **Ding** *Huh?* **Ding** *What the—* **Ding** I put the pillow over my head and went back to sleep. *They can wait. Probably fuckin’ Kate again with a damn booty call or some shit. Doesn’t she ever get enough?* **Ding** I groaned, still ignoring the phone. *I swear to God, I will flush it down the toilet if it doesn’t SHUT THE FU—* **VVE, VVE, VVE** *”Crazy train”* starts blaring from my phone. *Great, how am I supposed to ignore THAT?* By either a miracle or the grace of God, whoever the jackass was that decided it’d be appropriate to harass me over the phone at fucking 4 in the morning — *on a work night* — hung up before the first guitar riff ended. *Guess it wasn’t THAT important after all.* That’s what I thought anyways. Yet, here I am, unable to sleep because of what happened. How I hate irony, especially over something so trivial. What I wouldn’t have given now to have just sucked it up and answered that goddamn phone. It was Thursday morning last week that I got those texts and phone call. When I woke up again, at around I’d say 6:15 like usual, that was when I looked at the texts. They were from my uncle Don. I hadn’t seen or heard from him in years, not since our last family cookout about two or three years back, when I remember he, my father, and grandfather all got into a heated argument about... something. I never knew what it was then, nor did I ever bother to ask. All I knew was, it was enough to both drive uncle Don away from the family almost entirely, as well as put my father into an especially bad mood for a few days after (of course, it wasn’t like he was ever one to really be in a “good mood” anyway). And from that day, no one in my family would ever talk about him or bring him up. Then I saw the texts that morning. There were three of them, all misspelled, too, like he might’ve been in a hurry when he was typing them. **— “Jak, ples!”** **— “”** **— “The truth will kill U!”** Obviously, my first thought with this was *What the hell?* I’d known Uncle Don to be a bit of an oddball, but this seemed different. Somehow, I felt like I just knew these texts were genuine. He was panicking about *something*. But what? I looked at my voicemail. Sure enough, he’d actually left a message. I clicked on it to play the message. It was hard to hear, sounding like there was some kind of interference on the other end. *”Jack! Answer your phone, please!”* The message seems to pause for a moment, hearing only the static. When Uncle Don came back, he was shouting. *”Stay away from the house, Jack! It looks like me! It's coming for me, it’s too late! Stay away from home, while you still...”* The audio faded into complete white noise after that and continues for the last thirty seconds of the message. I immediately tried calling him then. Straight to voicemail, though. Both times. The second time, I left a message of my own, telling him to call me as soon as he got it. I didn’t hear back, though, and it was an entire day later before I ever found out why. It was the next morning, early. I'd been woken up to a knock at my door. Groaning, I shambled out of bed and went to answer. The knocking at the door was persistent, too. I hated when people did that. Peeping through the door, I saw that it was my sister, Lisa. She was in tears. *Oh God, he did it again, didn't he? Damn it, I thought she'd finally gotten rid of that rat bastard.* I could feel every muscle in me tense up as I gripped the doorknob. I was ready to throw the door open, embrace her as tight and close to me as possible, and demand the she tell me where that shit-heel boyfriend of hers, Francis, was. Another half-round of knocks sounded before I finally did open the door. "Oh God, Lana, are you okay?" I asked desperately. She sniffled. I pulled her close and said "Shhh, it's okay... It's okay." She sobbed in my arms for another minute before I gestured for her to come inside to talk about it. I'd have asked her the million dollar question right there on my porch if I wasn't still in my fuckin' boxers. Inside, I sat Lana down on the couch. I gave her another minute to clear herself up when she finally spoke. "Jack, Don... Uncle Don, he's... Oh god, he's dead, Jack." My eyes widened. "What?" I exclaimed. "When?" She sniffed, "Two days ago. They found him yesterday, though, after a neighbor reported screaming." *Two days ago...* My heart sank. *B-but that was when...* I looked at my phone. Up until then, I'd simply put the whole thing out of mind. I figured, if anything, I'd have gotten a call from him calling the while thing a hoax. "Wh-What happened?" "God, it was awful. Have you not seen the news?" I shook my head. Following the night he'd tried to call me, I hadn't managed to do much other than work. "They found him all over the place, Jack." "You mean like a break-in?" She shook her head wildly. "I don't know. They didn't tell me anything. All I know is somebody killed him, Jack." I hugged her again and offered to make some breakfast. She declined, though, saying she had to go. She left and I was alone in my living room again. *Murdered?* I wondered. I spent the next hour and a half or so trying to think of just *who* the hell would want uncle Don dead like that. I remembered him being the kind of guy to want to keep to himself most of the time. The guy didn't have many friends, sure, but I didn't think he'd made any real *enemies*, either. I mean, other than pissing off Dad and grandpa, but they wouldn't have wanted him *dead*, would they? I knew it wouldn't have been grandpa. He passed two years back. That'd leave Dad, then. Of course, I wasn't real set on the idea, though. I mean, again, it wasn't like he *hated* the guy. Even still, though, he was the only one that could tell me why he and grandpa shunned him for so long. I decided then to call up Dad, seeing if he'd want to meet somewhere for breakfast that morning. We ended up meeting at the Diner just across the street from the big shopping mall on the other end of town at around 11:00 that morning. I arrived early, with him only being about five minutes behind me. "Hey Jack." He said, smiling and pulling me in for a hug. "How've you been?" "I've uh... I've been okay." I replied, anxious to dive right in to the matter at hand. He sat down and the waitress came for drink orders. I ordered a large sweet tea while he got a cup of coffee; black, the only way he and grandpa would've drank it. "So what's got you giving me a ring?" I took a gulp of my tea and asked "You heard about Uncle Don?" His smile instantly fell. I took another swig of tea while he did the same with his coffee. Another moment passed between us in an awkward silence. "Yeah." he said finally, in an annoyed tone. "Has anyone said anything about how it might've happened? Any ideas of who it was, maybe?" He scoffed dryly. "No, don't really reckon they have." "Lana told me they think it might've been a break-in." "Not likely. The way my brother loved his guns, if anybody *was* damn stupid enough to try breaking in his house, I'd find it more likely it'd be the *other guy* they carried out of there on a gurney." He had a point there. Like most "bad uncles" you'd hear about, Uncle Don was very much an outdoorsman. I remember the times he'd take me and Lana hiking through the different mountain trails up in Grenview Pines. I also knew, at least when he still kept at least minimal contact with the family, that he'd go up there about every fall or so to take a holiday, usually to go hunting for deer, which he'd then bring over for Thanksgiving dinner that year. Christmas, too, if we were lucky. Point is, the man could shoot, and loved to do it. Therefore, like Dad said, robbery was ruled out of the equation for me. "Dad..." I began hesitantly. Dad looked up, clearly not comfortable with this conversation. To a degree, I almost wish I had just left it all there. "What happened between you two? I mean, you two used to be cool with each other. What happened at that family cookout?" This was when he stared coldly, intently, at me. I felt the urge to try walking back the question, but I didn't. I persisted. "Dad, what happened between you and Uncle Don?" "Son, I'm not in the mood for this right now, okay? let's drop the subject now, please." "But Dad, What if it has something to do with what happened?" He raised his eyebrow at me in alarm. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Well what if whoever did this was a part of whatever turned you two on each other in the first place?" He slowly shook his head. "No son," he said, sighing in utter annoyance, "It wasn't nobody that had anything to do with that. There wasn't anybody else involved in that. Not that *I'd* have known of anyhow." "What do you mean? What are you talking about, involved with *what?*" I stopped when he slammed his coffee mug down, eyeing me like a lunatic. "I said enough!" he growled. I shrank back down in my seat. "There's a damn good reason we stopped talking to each other, Jack. Our family's had enough to deal with without that son of a bitch carrying on the way he was, okay? And I hate that this happened, but damn it, I'm not getting sucked back into that shit again!" *"Again?"* I wondered, raising my eyebrows at him in confusion. I'd have probably pressed the question, had he not made it perfectly clear by that point that he was in absolutely no mood to continue the conversation. The waitress came back again and we ordered our food. I guess whatever it was between him and my uncle was enough for him to basically ruin his appetite, too, because he only ordered a slice of cheesecake with a small bowl of ice cream. We ate in a very tense silence and when he was finished, he silently got up, flung a $20 bill on the table and walked out of the diner without another word. I guess that, funny enough, was what ended up ruining *my* appetite and I ended up not even finishing my own plate of sausage and eggs. After paying and leaving the diner, I got in my car and was about to just head back home when I got another idea instead. I figured, if I was going to get any kind of answers as to what happened, I'd need to go to his house, myself. Of course, there was the immediate drawback to this idea, being that I was explicitly warned to stay away. At the same time, though, why? Just what was it that made the old family house so dangerous? I grew up in that house, and I couldn't remember anything horrible about it. But then, what was it that he was warning me about? *"It looks like me?" what does THAT mean? And what did Dad know about it?* All of these questions continued mounting higher and higher until I eventually caved and decided to make the 45 minute to an hour journey to the old family home. The whole way there, all I could think about was what uncle Don kept repeating through the phone. *"The truth will kill you!"* *What truth?* It had just gotten on 12:30 when I pulled into the driveway of the old family home in the backroads of Kings Mtn. The house sat there, surrounded on all sides by trees from the surrounding woods, looking every bit as quiet as I remembered it being. It looked every bit as old as I figured it would, too. It'd been the same house that, not only my father and uncle had grown up in, but where my grandparents had as well. The paint, which used to be a sort of beige, now faded into a more piss-yellow looking color. From where I was standing, I could see a few places where the window frames were cracked, with the one on the left side having an entire chunk missing from its bottom corner. Aside from that, though, it looked to me like it should. Nothing overtly wrong, you know? Just a normal house in the Kings Mtn. woods. Old as hell, but normal. I got out of the car and made my way to the house. *"Jack!"* I stopped. turning my head, I looked to see... nothing. I looked back for at least a minute before turning and continuing on to the house. *Must've been the wind,* I thought. Listening close, though, I realized the wind was quiet, too. Not even the leaves rustled on the nearby trees. Like I said, completely silent. Calm. Peaceful. I walked to the porch. beneath my feet, the old wood creaked loudly. I could feel them starting to give way beneath me. If I wasn't careful, the wood was for sure going to snap under my weight. I tried peeking through the window, but there was furniture or something blocking both of them. I went to open the door then. *"Jacky-boy..."* I stopped again. *What the hell?* I looked back again. Nothing. *But I heard that... I know I did...* I stood for another good ten or fifteen minutes, looking everywhere. But there was absolutely nothing around, save the trees. I closed my eyes and muttered under my breath, *"There's nothing there..."* Taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes and turned the door knob. The door took a bit of effort, but I was able to force it open. When I did, I ended up going into a small coughing fit from all the dust that'd been kicked up. Inside, it was dark; the electricity obviously having *long* since stopped working. Pulling out my phone, I clicked my flashlight on and began to walk around. Like the outside, everything *inside* looked perfectly normal as well, barring of course the collection of dust and cobwebs everywhere. I went around the ground level of the house, revisiting all the old rooms; one of which used to actually be mine. Every room still looked the same, like nothing had ever been moved or renovated since I moved out when I was 18. Hell, I even saw the old Metallica poster I had hanging on the wall just above my bedpost. As well as this, I even spotted some of the old family photos still hanging on the wall, along with all the old furniture. In short, the place hadn't been touched, despite being vacant for years. I found this odd. Wouldn't a realty company or something have come and at least *tried* to renovate? Also, how come neither mom, Lana, dad, or grandpa or uncle Don, who'd lived with us during that time -- like I said, close-knit family until the incident at the barbecue -- took any of their old belongings with them? The more I stood there, walking through that old house, the more I wondered if there was more to the falling-out with Uncle Don than I could've guessed, which obviously wasn't much, considering I didn't actually *know* what sparked the proverbial "powder keg". Still, though, I just had the feeling that it wasn't just standard fare family feud bullshit, either. *What truth was he talking about?* I decided then to go checking around the upstairs level. The stairs groaned as I stepped up each one of them, trying to be as gentle as possible. Admittedly, the creaking, mixing with the overall quiet stillness of the place DID start to kind of get to me a bit. You know, that feeling you get when you know you're completely alone, yet somehow you feel like you aren't. Like *something* or *someone* is there with you, somehow lingering just outside your line of sight, your blind spots? Cheesy, sure, but if you were there, you'd understand what I mean. Every room upstairs was the same as the ones below; still the way I remembered them looking back in the day, portraits, knick-knacks and all, still in the exact same place. Maybe I should clarify something; when I say the place looked the same or like it hadn't been touched since my family moved out, I don't mean that it looked cluttered or that things were strewn about, OR that everything had been neatly set. The rooms looked somewhere in between cluttered and organized. Basically, it looked like there were *supposed* to be people living there -- only without the people. Needless to say, this raised a mountain of questions with me; starting with why. Why had the house not been touched in... God knows how long, at least since the year after I moved out, when they ended up following me down to Dallas? Why did everything still *look* like people lived here when they hadn't? Why hadn't the realty company tried to sell it to anybody else? *Hell, did THEY even know it was empty?* *Why did Uncle Don want me to stay away from this place?* That brought up another question to me. If there *was* something wrong with this place, something that apparently drove my folks to literally just pick up and leave like that, and if he knew what it was, why did he go back to the house? All of these questions kept leading me back two things. First was the repeated question of what the hell happened at that family barbecue, and the second was if there really *was* something about that house, then what was it and how could it "kill me"? Deep down, I knew that these, Uncle Don's murder, as well as his cutting off from the family, and Dad's disapproval of any mentioning of him were all connected somehow. The only question then, was how. I also knew that, while me and Lana were growing up, there wasn't any mention or any way of letting on about anything bad. Unfortunately, that meant she wasn't likely to know anything, either. Not about the house itself, that is. Maybe though, I figured, it was worth a shot asking if she'd have known why Dad and Uncle Don fell out. I figured, if she *did* have any clues on that, then at least she could answer *that* question for me. More help than Dad was, anyways. I took out my phone and dialed Lana's number. It rang for the better part of a minute. *"Jack..."* I looked around again. *What the hell is that? Where's it coming fro--* "Hello?" Lana's voice snapped me back into focus. "Uh, Lana, hey... Listen, you doing anything right now?" I continued looking around the upstairs hallway. Nothing was there. *Then who was that saying my name?* "Jack, you there?" I heard her ask. "Yeah, I'm here, I asked what you were doing right--" "Jack? Hello, can you hear me? Something's going on on one of our ends, I can't hear anything. Everything's all fuzzy." I frowned. *Fuzzy?* I walked down the stairs to the living room. "How about now?" "Okay, I can hear you a little bit now. What's going on?" *"Come on down and pull up a chair, Jacky boy..."* I whirled around on my heels. Nothing. Just an empty kitchen. "Jack, hello?" "Oh, uh, yeah, um... What're you doing right now?" "I just got off work for the day. I'm on my way to Burger King to grab a quick bite from drive-thru before--" "Wait, uh..." I paused for a moment, looking around. *Who's speaking to me?* "C-Can I meet you there?" "Um... Sure. Jack, is everything okay?" "Y-Yeah, everything's..." *"Come join us for dinner, Jack... You've been gone so long, Mama's making something special."* Every joint in my body locked up. That sounded like Uncle Don. It was the same thing he'd used to tell me and Lana when I used to come back home from playing outside all day when I was a kid. "U-Uncle Don?" I muttered softly, shuddering as I stepped toward the kitchen. "What?" I was snapped back to Lana's voice again. "Huh?" "You said something, then you trailed off. Seriously, is everything okay? You're starting worry me a little here." I shook my head. "Yeah... Yeah, everything's fine. You're talking about the B.K. there on Rhodell Ave., right?" "Yeah." "'Kay, listen, go ahead on inside. I'll meet you there. I need to talk to you about something." "O-Okay..." I heard her say hesitantly. "I'll explain everything when I get there. Just sit tight, I'm about 15 minutes awa--" *"Come down to the basement, Jack. There's somethin' there you should see..."* I lowered the phone and ran into the kitchen. "Where are you? Come out, now!" "What?" Lana asked over the phone. I almost didn't notice. I *hadn't* noticed I'd actually said it out loud. "N-Nothing. I'll meet you at Burger King in 15. Love you." "Wait, Jack--" I hung up before she could go any further. For another minute, I stood there in the middle of the kitchen. *"Come on down, Jacky-boy... You should see this."* *See what?* I was stuck between the urge to want to follow the voice downstairs and wanting to run out of there, screaming like I was in a cartoon. Who was there, and why did it sound almost exactly like my Uncle? *"The truth will kill you, Jack! don't ever go back home!"* The voicemail continued cycling through my head on repeat. *"It looks like me! It's coming for me!"* That brought back a third element to all of this to join the two I mentioned earlier. Whoever it was that he was talking about; he, too must have some sort of connection to what happened at the family Barbecue. Which also means Dad and grandpa had at least *some* kind of knowledge or connection with them as well. One more question I'd have to try getting from Lana, I supposed. *How much COULD she actually have known? Could SHE have actually known Uncle Don's killer?* I slowly backed my way back out of the kitchen and made my way out to the front door. Before I left, I gave one last glance back to the living room. Everything was dark. Old and dusty. Quiet. *"The truth will kill you, Jack!"* I closed the door and ran over and hopped into my car, taking off and making a beeline for Burger King. I ended up pulling up around 5 minutes later than I told Lana. I checked my phone, checking to see if she'd tried texting me that she wasn't waiting any longer. Fortunately, she hadn't. I went inside and found her chewing on a chicken sandwich and a small fry. "Hey, sorry I'm late." "Oh, you're fine." She said, taking a sip of her large Pepsi. "I hope you don't mind." She gestured towards her food. "Oh no, you're fine." I replied, anxious. "Listen, there's some things I need to ask you about." She looked at me, urging me to go on as she took another bite of her food. "You remember the Family Barbecue three years ago?" She swallowed before pausing for a moment to think. "Not expressly." she replied. "I mean, I remember we were all there. It was the week leading to your 23rd birthday party, and everyone was all happy and excited for that. I remember that was also the last time I saw Uncle Don." I swallowed and asked, "Lana, do you have any idea why Uncle Don stopped showing up to family gatherings?" She paused for another moment before shaking her head. "Not really. I mean, he and the old man kind of got into it, I remember." "What about?" She looked at me confused. "The argument, You have any clue as to what it was about?" Again, she shook her head. "I mean, I remember hearing them start raising their voices at each other a bit and, at least from what *I* could see, it almost looked to me like they were gonna start trading licks before granddad stepped in and broke the two up. After that, I just remember Uncle Don leaving without another word." "You didn't happen to hear anything that was said, do you?" "Not really. Well, I think I heard something about something or somebody in the basement of the old house. Yeah, something about Uncle Don seeing something in the old basement. Couldn't hear *what* though. That was the last time I'd seen Uncle Don before... Well..." She looked down at her sandwich like she was unsure she wanted to finish it anymore. "He never tried to reach out to you?" I asked. She looked back up at me, raising her eyebrow in confusion again. "No." she answered worriedly. "Jack, seriously, what's going on? You've been anxious ever since the phone call. What happened?" I sighed. I opened my mouth to speak, but stopped. I could hear *"Crazy Train"* playing in my pocket. I gestured to Lana to wait a moment before taking my phone out. It was a call from Dad. I got up and walked outside and answered. "Hello? Da--" "Jack!" Dad's voice shouted. My heart immediately jumped into my throat. "Jack, it's after me!" "Dad, what's going on?!" I could tell from his voice that he was panicking. Something was wrong. "Jack, you have to get out of here! Right now, you have to get out of town and--". his words were cut off when he let out a bloodcurdling shriek before being abruptly silenced. "Dad?! *DAD?!"* "You left, Jack..." This voice was different. It wasn't Dad's. It was the voice from earlier in the house; Uncle Don's voice. "You left before the the reunion, Jack. It'd *really* mean a lot to the folks if you'd come. Lana, too. We want the *whole* family." My joints were frozen stiff. My blood felt like it'd frozen solid inside my body. Dad was in trouble. *Who is this, and why does he sound just like Uncle Don?* "So come on home, Jack. We'll all be waitin' for you. Even the old man, here." The call ended after that. I tried calling the number back, trying to talk to the person again, but it cut to voicemail all three times I tried. It was clear, I had to go back to the house again. I went back inside strode back to the table. Lana looked up at me, worried. "Jack, is everything okay? Who was--" "We have to go." I said, cutting her off. "Wh-What happened?" "It's Dad, he's in trouble, look we have to go, now!" "Wait, what do you mean, what kind of trouble?" I looked at her, trying to signal to her that now *really* wasn't the time for questions. Not only because Dad was in danger, but because I, myself, was just as fucking clueless. She reached out to me and said, "Jack, please. tell me what's going on." I retracted. "Look, here's what happened; the night Uncle Don was killed, he tried to reach out to me." I pulled out my phone and brought up the text messages. "He was trying to tell me something about the old house, something about some "truth" or something, I don't know. I went there and I didn't see anything, but now, somebody or something from there has Dad, okay? There, now *come on!*" She stared in shock at the phone. I reached out and grabbed her arm to lead her out. "Wait, where're we even going?" I looked at her, anxiety plastered all across my face, and replied, "Home." r/CorpseChildGospels <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Never gift someone a Signet Ring without knowing its origin. [RESPONSE] I still can’t believe that, it happened just because of my mistake. Maybe it’s a clear example of an important lesson of life which specifies that you shouldn’t do anything in a hurry without knowing what can be the possible outcome. I am a Lawyer and I have some very close friends in the firm. One of them is “B” as I don’t want to reveal his name but I’ll address him by the first letter of his name. So, this “B” and I were at the same collage, from there he was one my very close friends. “B” was an introverted guy. He didn’t like to talk much in public interactions like parties or group meetings. I was the one who made him recognized by more people. In this profession you really need to grow your popularity. In the weekends we had been hanging out in the bars together. He shared many things with me like how he could notice changes in his personality because of me. I also shared my thoughts about my life and workplace. In the bars I and B tried to pick up girls but I am an absolute loser when it comes to talking with the girls. So, on that Friday Night it wasn’t a surprise that I couldn’t score a single girl at the bar. I was sipping just another 60ml neat Bourbon at the counter tiredly watching the bartender preparing another cocktail for another customer and all of a sudden I heard B’s voice from behind. ‘Meet my friend here!’ I turned around and witnessed the miracle. B is with a girl laying his left hand on her shoulder and pointing at me with the other hand with an introductory gesture. He introduced me to her and explained that he talked with the girl and she liked him and they are planning to date. ‘That’s very nice. You two are looking very good with each other.’, I said masking my harmless envy. B was also like me but maybe that day it was his luckiest day of his life. That girl’s name was “C” (as I don’t want to reveal her name too). As they told me they found so much thing in common between them and they also liked each other’s company. They started dating soon after that intervention. I was happy for them. It’s good to know my friend will be happy. It’s not a surprise that they will fix a date for their marriage very soon. That girl named “C” is very friendly in nature as I got to know her by small interactions. She might be the best partner to my friend I believe. She is not that attractive in my opinion but her behavior was very pleasing. I lead a very busy life from morning to evening. I don’t like being alone in life but throughout the days I forgot my mental pain by the pressure of work. But one day B told me that his marriage has been fixed on next week. ‘Hay, that’s a great news. Congrats!’, I replied. ‘Yes, I have made my decision. C will be my wife and I love her so much.’ The conversation ended with extreme positiveness. His marriage had been fixed next week. According to our traditions it is customary to the invited one to give a gift or gifts to the couple on the ceremony day. I am his closest friend and I had to give him a benevolent gift. But it was very difficult to acquire certain stuffs within this short period of time. I definitely couldn’t buy stereotypical things for gift like perfume or wine bottles like most of the regular people would do. I needed to make it very special. I called a female friend of mine who could give me some effective advices about places and shops where I could find appropriate trinkets for the wedding gift. ‘So, what kind of gift are you thinking about?’, she asked. I said, ‘Like certain things which can remind him of me and which will be a very glamorous memento or alike.’ ‘Then I think I know one place where you can find certain ready-made ornaments like signet rings, glossy bracelets or necklaces.’ ‘But what if those are extremely expensive and I can’t afford them?’ ‘Don’t worry. Those are all used products but in good condition. So, the prices should be affordable. Also, those stuffs have an antique feel to it when they are used.’ I agreed with her and decided to visit the shop alone after work which she prescribed and gave all the details about the location. Still three days left for the wedding day. Let’s buy something memorable for my friend. It was a very mysterious place so deep into the popular market area in the city. A small lane among the queues of old fashioned buildings with no street-lights on the path. It’s the near evening time and the only sources of light were coming from those buildings to the lane. I was walking through the lane following the address and as directed by a stationary shop-owner before entering this dark lane. Finally, after walking a healthy distance down the lane I found a small shop-like structure on one side. It was very difficult to tell whether it was opened or closed as the interior had no light lightened up nor it had any sign board as I could observe through the glass door. The structure was made of asbestos or tin-like material mostly but has a door like most other jewellery shops has. The shop had no name so it was very difficult to identify the exact location and the address was the only option. As I was observing the entrance of the structure, the door suddenly moved inwards covering one side of the door with complete darkness and a very sharp voice of an old lady came from inside. ‘Do you want anything, sir?’ I was startled by the voice and managed to reply, ‘Is this the trinket shop with second hand items?’ ‘Yes! Come in.’ The interior was lightened up as I pushed the door and entered the shop. It was a very short old lady with some kind of tribal attire. The face of the lady was full of Acnes and one yellow tooth was making its way to light from invisible lips of curled in the mouth of her. The skin colour was also very dark as she can be completely invisible in any dark room. ‘We have large collection of beautiful trinkets in our shop. What kind of stuffs you are looking for, sir?’ There was no single soul other than me and that lady in that shop and still she is saying “we” as collective entities to represent the commercial institute. The interior of the shop was filled with different ornaments and trinkets as it’s making very difficult to discover the colour of the walls also the light of the shop was not really as bright to see through clearly the closets with transparent glass doors of it. I specified, ‘Actually I am planning to gift my friend a nice-looking ring on his wedding day.’ ‘That’s a great idea, sir. Let me show you the varieties.’ The lady brought out a huge maroon colored wooden box and put that on the ground. The box is looking like an ancient hoard which contains thousand mysteries or treasures in it. In simple words, it was like pirates’ treasure-chest. The lady slowly opened the lid of the box and many sections of ring-holding slots were revealed inside of which it was partially filled but every ring that were peeking its signet out of it were truly gorgeous. There were large variety of rings including certain stone rings and signet rings. But I liked the collection of signet rings most. I observed the variety for maybe three or five minutes looking through every designs and symbols but the one which shined the most than other ring to me was a very unique looking signet ring with a symbol of unicorn beautifully curved on it. In the older days this kind of rings were used maybe to put the symbol of kingdoms or any company on the wax seal of mails and parcels. The ring could be put on most popularly on the middle and ring finger and the position of the signet symbol which located in the fist could be placed gently on the wax to put the mark on the wax. ‘Can I have a closer look of this one?’, I asked pointing at that ring. ‘Ah! You have a great choice, sir. Here you go.’, She pinched up the ring and put it on my palm of right hand. Absolutely remarkable creation! As I was looking at the ring holding it with my own fingers I cannot describe the mesmerising artwork in words. The ring was made of silver and the band of the ring was a little bit more thicker than usual rings. Not a surprise that, the signet will be much bigger in size to manage the ratio of the ring. The most beautiful part was definitely the symbol of that unicorn caved in the royal shaped signet making the whole thing more than perfect in my eyes. ‘Alright, I’ll buy this one. How much is it?’, I bought the ring after few negotiations even though the final price was a bit outside the budget. But after the payment she warned me, ‘Be careful with that, sir. It was a ring belonged to an inhuman criminal back in the days.’ ‘What do you mean by being careful? And why are you telling this after I’ve made the purchase?’ ‘I am letting you know what you should know that’s why. We don’t take returns anyways, sir.’, she laughed a weird pale smile. Returning to my home I couldn’t stop looking at the ring. Should I keep it for myself? The though flashed into my mind. B helped me a lot of times and that’s why I planned to make the gift very special for him to show true gratitude. But the ring is so beautiful. Should I try putting it on and try once to see if it looks good on me or not? No, I shouldn’t do it because it can get stuck to finger and it would be a trouble if that happens. I just put that in the small box of it and promised myself to never look at it and make it into a nice gift-wrapped piece so it looks presentable when I give it to B on his wedding day. It was the wedding day but I reached there when it was night as the party was timed. I met him and gave the gift to him. ‘Hey, there was no need for such things. Let’s see what you have brought for me.’, he unwrapped the gift and put out the ring. ‘Wow! That is truly amazing. Thank you my friend.’ He put on the ring on his middle finger of his left-hand and it surprisingly made a perfect fit for him. Also, it looked rather gorgeous on him! Everyone including his newly married wife C admired me for such outstanding gift. Everything was fine but after putting on the ring, B started to behave a little bit unusual which was easier to me to notice than others. For example, he loved having sweet deserts after meal but that day he didn’t took his favourite deserts. Also, the style of talking and body language was changed. But that’s not in a bad way though I mean it was different than usual. He started cracking jokes on serious emotional stuffs which were definitely not suitable for a gentleman like him. People who were invited in the party were looking at him strangely as they were also able to see the change in him. The next working day I visited the firm on time morning but there was no sign of B. Maybe it was because his marriage but B never came late until that day to the firm. Eventually, he came almost two hours late to the firm. The boss was definitely not happy about that. I heard them arguing in the office. B never argues with anyone so it was very strange to know that he argued with boss on that day. Day by day a very furious man was introducing himself in the behavior of B. B has changed a lot. Is this because of his marriage? Maybe his life has changed too. These kinds of assumptions were being made by other colleagues. But, I had an additional thought. Is it because of the ring I gifted him one that day? I noticed an immediate change in him while he wore that ring. The shopkeeper also told me that it belonged to a criminal. But what did she meant by being careful? Can a person be changed to another just by putting on a ring? It was evening time in the office. I decided to talk with him about his change of behavior and what others thought about it. I met him in his cubicle and asked him, ‘Is everything ok?’ ‘What kind of question is that?’, he was typing something on his laptop but gave me a straight eye glare to me while replying. ‘You are acting strange. It’s like your personality has changed massively or something.’ ‘Has it? If so, then what’s your problem?’ ‘That’s why I asked that question.’ ‘Don’t you have other works to do than to worry about me? Let it go of your head. Let’s have some tea.’ His soft and pleasant personality was gone; a new very confident and dominative person had took over that place. He shouted for tea and the brat from canteen came for order. ‘Make us two cups of tea at once!’, even if the brat was standing right in front of him, B still shouts without any reason. After the brat went to make tea, B suddenly asked me, ‘Have you ever felt like some persons should be eliminated from this world for ever? Don’t you think some people should get tortured for their deeds?’ That’s a very strange question but I replied anyways, ‘If someone commits any crime or does something unlawful then the police and the court will steps for that. We are lawyer and our job is to deal with these kinds of people too.’ ‘That’s not what I meant. Do you really think the court can do justice to everyone effectively? It’s nothing delightful as when you execute those who deserved it with your own hands.’ Already, the brat had come and put the cup on the table. The tea cups were not releasing any steam in the air as it was not hat hot maybe. ‘Why these are cold?’, B asked the brat. ‘It’s not cold, sir.’, the brat timidly answered. I know that tea can be hot even if it does not have steams. So, I tried to simplify the situation, ‘Let’s just have the tea. I think it’s hot because the outer area of the cup is very warm.’ All of a sudden, B stood up from his chair charging toward the brat and clinched the brat chocking his neck by his right arm mostly but the other hand also joins the hand-guillotine. There was no way for the brat make any kind of noise or sound through his mouth as the choke is getting tighter and tighter making his breathing nearly impossible. I rushed into them and tried to lose him up from B’s clutches. I was already startled by sudden brute charge by B. But I need to manage the situation at any cost. ‘Have you lost your mind? What are you doing? Let him go!’, I screamed. There was no other people in the office, so no one was in or near the room. No one will come so I only have to stop that. ‘I asked why is the tea is cold?’, he addressed the brat chocking him continuously. I have no other option. I punched aiming right on B’s nose and it landed. Some tears came out of his eyes as the impact was no joke. He dropped down to the ground finally leaving the brat standing and coughing. The brat ran outside as he was terrified. ‘You have become a complete monster.’, I said. ‘Huh, did you felt that? Sometimes you have to take action immediately no matter if it gets brutal or not to make the justice work.’, B was laughing looking at me from the ground. I came to my home after that. What the hell I just witnessed? I was still thinking about B at my dinner table. It was far opposite to what B was in the older days. I laid on my bed after dinner and was still remembering the brutal face when he was chocking the brat. If he chocked him a little more time it could send the brat to deep sleep. How could he be changed to this monster? I lived alone at home so no one was there to share what happed that day. But I really wanted to talk about this as it was a great shock to me. Thinking these I fell asleep. That night I had a weird dream that I still remember today. It was B but his face was partially burnt. The chin and left cheek were burnt to black of his face as he is approaching me in the void. B was looking furious and was coming towards me slowly raising his both hand towards me. The hands had overly grown nails like demons and the whole appearance was very intimidating as a pair of horns on the head could turn him into a complete form of Satan. B was like a devil coming through the shadows in that dream. I wanted to run away but when I turned around and saw a women shaped figure covering its face to half of its body with long dark hairs was standing just behind me. That figure was much closer to me and when it raises it’s blood-covered hand upon me, I woke up. What a horrific dream it was. It was about 5 a.m. in the morning. I was still thinking about the dream sitting on my bed, but all of a sudden my telephone started to rang. I picked up the receiver and heard a shocking news from a known policeman. C was found dead with a kitchen-dagger stabbed deep into her heart and B was missing from the house. The police wanted to ask me questions as I was the last person who talked to him before leaving the office. I immediately went to the spot. My heart was beating heavily. The police asked me about the last conversation between me and B. I stated that at least there was no conversation about C that night. I still cannot believe that happened. The police are very confident about their assumption that B killed his wife C last night and flew away from the house. The footprints and other investigations were still in process. Did B really kill his wife? Why I had the weird dream in the same night? Did the Signet Ring which I gave it to B, turned him into another person? Why B’s personality and behaviour was changed in last couple of days? If he really killed his wife then what was the reason behind that? Maybe they had a heated debate or some kind of arguments between them but even so why a murder had to happen? Where is B now? There were so many questions in my head. From there, I had to venture into the firm. I felt the absence of B greatly. I couldn’t concentrate on the job. I was going to have a coffee from the tap located in the corner of the office and when I was about to pour the coffee in the plastic-cup a terrifying thing happened. I was still thinking about the disturbing question continuously in my mind so when I was pouring the coffee in the cup I was looking at the other way absentmindedly. But when I took a sip standing near the tap still looking at a trash-bean I felt a metallic and salty taste, which surprised me. When I saw the inside of the cup, my whole body shivered. It was blood! ‘What is this!’, I screamed. Another colleague was nearby and he startled by my sudden scream. ‘What’s the matter?’, he asked me. ‘Why is there blood in the coffee-machine?’, I showed him the cup. ‘What are you talking about? Are you ok?’, he was looking at me frowning. ‘Can’t you see? There’s blood in the cup which I got from the machine.’ ‘The cup is empty and the coffee machine is not working since the morning. I think, you should go home now.’ What? I looked into the cup again and saw that it was empty but a couple of minutes ago it was filled with blood! What is happening? I decided to leave the office early that day. When I left the exit door from the office I remembered there was a short-cut path to a bus-stop which goes right near my house otherwise I had to board more than one vehicle. I took the narrow and lonely path towards the bus-stop. The lamp-posts were not very bright here. I was walking at a side of the road. There was no one on the road. Suddenly I felt like someone was watching me from behind! I turned around but no one was there. I stopped walking. I was hearing something whispering into my ears. The whispering sound was keep getting louder a little by little but was getting more difficult to understand to what it was try to say. Was that my hallucination? I don’t know but I could feel an energy working its way around my body. I could feel the cold wind passing down my spine. I was sweating heavily. I could not bear the situation and all of a sudden, there was a figure of a man standing in front of me when I looked straight to the road. It was much more taller than me and the face was covered by the fedora-hat shadow on its face. When the man raised his chin a little-bit I was truly frightened. It’s B ! His left-cheek is burnt. He was not that tall as I recall. He raised his hands revealing the huge claws with sharpened brute-beast-like nails on it. ‘Thanks for giving me re-birth.’, that was not B’s voice and it was much more deeper than usual. ‘What are you doing here? Why did you kill C?’, I still couldn’t confront myself. ‘Can’t you see I’ve become a much stronger version of me?’ I was already terrified by this sudden intervention. My Head is spinning and I couldn’t really breathe comfortably. I managed to utter, ‘What do you want from me now?’ ‘Come closer. Join me friend!’, he tried to come more closer to me. I had enough. I started to run to the opposite direction down the road. ‘Don’t be scared! It’s a great instinct which you gifted me!’, he was still chasing me shouting meaningless things. I ran out of breath eventually but I had run far from him. I needed to regain my stamina and was panting on the road. Suddenly, I felt another person’s presence behind me but it was different than B’s. It was milder than that. More like a thin unearthly energy making its way to reality. I felt a very cold hand on my shoulder but there was no sign of any single soul near me. Another hand also joins gripping my right hand wrist tightly behind my back. I didn’t know what kind of deadly nightmare is this? Wait, is it a dream or reality? I was praying to God to my heart’s content to make it a dream. That unearthly spirit has grabbed a good amount of hair on the back of my head and the right-hand stuck behind me. ‘Now, you cannot escape, my dear sweet little friend.’, B was laughing menacingly discovering me hopeless in front of him. He had found me maybe by the struggling sound of mine. I had no energy left to take any action at that point. B was approaching me by making small steps. I was totally arrested by some unknown but powerful spirit. All in all it was a complete mess. I didn’t recall anything more than that of the night. I was found passed out on the road next morning by the locals. My body was unharmed but there was a mark of Unicorn punched on my right cheek . No matter what I said, no one is going to believe me. But what was that I experienced that night? What was that feeling? What did B wanted from me? Will I meet B again?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I shouldn't have pushed my luck [RESPONSE] The day started out as normal I went out and went to catch fish as I'm a fishermen. I got onto my old and rusted boat. Old reliable grace is what I called her. A memoir to my mother. She passed away from cancer and I became buried in debt. I had to work even harder than usual. I was constantly pushing my luck and always taking bare minimum supplies needed for fishing trips. Before I went out, I turned on my radio. Tuned it to the weather channel. Hearing the lady's  voice say "prepare everybody, make sure to put a healthy dose of sunscreen as it'll be sunny today and for the next few days".  I kept it on for a little bit before it got too distracting while I was fishing. Usually I'm not too far from the shore but I needed a bigger haul and couldn't get much fish. Because of this I had crept further and further away from the shore. Further I went a little more fish would be in each catching net. Still it wasn't enough for me so I kept pushing. Before I knew it, it the sun was clocking out. As the moon was clocking in. I grumbled to myself talking about how I caught a little amount of fish. Before the realization hit me. A storm is brewing, one that shakes the sky and the water bubbles with rage. Threatening to destroy anything and anyone. In its fit of rage. The water starts to rise. Hitting against my small fishing boat. Slowly, the sky was starting to sprinkle. Then before I knew it, the anger and wrath of Zeus was against me. Thunder and rain started to pour violently. Hearing the war cries of Zeus as thunder surrounded me. Hearing its pitter patter against the window and the surrounding area. Immediately, I tried to send a message to main land about my where about incase of me being swept away in the storm. That's when it dawned on me. The radio couldn't because the signal is too weak. Amiss my panic, I cursed myself for not filling the gas tank. In my split second decision I decided to try and make it to main land with little gas I have. As I was fighting through the waves it felt as if someone was playing see saw with my boat. Rocking me back and forth violently threatening to throw me off balance each time. Then, my radio crackled. A voice saying "m-orse c-ode" immediately, I kept my boat crusing forward through this terrible storm. Trying to multi-task as I maneuvered my boat through the crashes of the waves. Finding my morse code booklet. Before I could do anything the boat rocked forward so hard. That I hit my head against a steering wheel and went out cold. When I awoke, I panicked and checked to see if the storm was still brewing. After a hesitant minute, i looked out my window and saw the storm was gone. Because of this, I went out to inspect the damage that was done to my ship. Luckily, my hull held up pretty well with minimal damage. My deck took the brunt of the force. With pieces of wood scattered around, and nets and all sorts of equipment thrown around. After settling the urgent matters at hand. I quickly went fumbling around cockpit. Finding the morse code booklet, I had dropped previously. Deciding if I really needed it, if the storm was over. When I tried for the radio nothing but static came. Realizing I was really stuck with no one to talk to, stranded and alone. As I sat in silence thinking my next move. The radio promptly started to make sound. Taps, taps that resemble morse code, following the booklet. It went out 3 short taps. And then followed by 3 longer taps with a following of 3 shorts taps. The message is S.O.S. This had boosted my morale, thinking I wasn't the only one who had been swept up into that terrible storm. I had also sent an S.O.S out. Afterwards, nothing came back. I tried for the radio and said "is anyone there"?  Which I got promptly back with a morse code message. I tuned in and counted the taps. Recognizing  1 tap, 2 tap, 3 tap. S. 1 tap, 2 tap. I. 1 tap, 2 long tap, 3 tap, 4 tap. L. 1 tap, E. 1 Long tap, 2 tap. N 1 long tap. T S.I.L.E.N.T, my heart sank and my mind started to race with thoughts of paranoia. Terrified of what could become of me. If I'm not slient for a moment I thought to myself and maybe thought it was a prank someone was doing to me. The odd thing on my end is that after that message. Only silence was to be found even if I sent a message using morse code. At the end of the day only me and radio static was left. Soon after, the sun started to set with its golden hue reflecting off the waters. As I sat on my deck with the foldable chair I left in my private quarters. Sat down and grabbed a beer and just sat and broke down. Fearing I may never get home, tears streaming down my face. Then all of a sudden, I had an idea. Using the stars as my last resort. The compass of the past, immediately I try to find the big dipper to find north. The odd thing is that the Big Dipper was no where to be found. Immediately, my anxiety had rose, but instead I tried to find South. I look for the Southern Cross constellation or also known as the Crux. Strangely, I couldn't find it either so I tried to find the two brightest stars that are located in that area. But all other attempts where to be failed. Checking my rations for long time term survival was somewhat slim. I didn't have much supplies in terms to cook food or capture fish. As I already lost most of my fishing equipment to the storm. Having around a few days to feed myself with and about a week of water. Because of this, I decided to stop looking such a bleak outlook and just hope I'll soldier through it. Keeping that mentality up, I decided to start up my boat. Prepare to move but then I forgot. My boat ran out of gas. It was merely putting up sputters. Incredibly loud sputters, which unfortunately made my situation even worse. My boat started rock a little thinking the waves were starting to pick up. Before, I knew it a massive crash threw me forward. Throwing me to the floor, leaving me panicked and disoriented. Trying to pick myself up quickly. But kept falling because of the constant strong crashes to my boat. Being throw off balance to the point, I decided to wait it out. Even if I was panicked and worried. I remembered one word. Silent, from that point on. I waited and made almost no noise including keeping my breathing as quiet as possible. Then my radio crackled with sound and all it said is "hello, hello is anyone there". The person talked sounded a bit unnatural. Like if someone was forcing their selves to sound something they aren't. And as they kept talking the facade they kept up was fading slowly but surely. With each word getting deeper and each word harder to make intelligible. Eventually all communications seemed to cease and the constant crashing into my boat stopped. I just laid on the floor and rolled over to my side and slept. When I woke up, I realized how hopeless my situation really was. Keeping it optimistic was the last of my worries. Which led me to my last ditch effort. Sending out one more S.O.S message to those that sent me the silent message. Then, all I hear and see was a huge silhouette of a sea monster. Something bigger than a whale. Bigger than a warship. Enough to see it from an incredibly far distance.  The sound alone of it rising was enough for me cover my ears. Unfortunately the boat I was trying to contact was destroyed. With such force that bits of pieces of wood and metal started to rain down onto my ship. Hitting it with such force it began to leaves holes in my deck. The roof of my cockpit was hit with metal and wood alike and left a huge dent. Enough force to kill a man, and so I sat. For the last time, I was tired. I was tired trying to make it through this hell scape. During this time its been a few days. My food supply at the time was dwindling fast and almost nothing to last me. I decided to take the leap of faith as the giant creature silhouette began its descent into the dark abyss known as the sea. I grabbed a paddle and with little hope. For to change my fate just a little. To move forward to get as far as I can. I took fate into my hands slowly but surely. As I moved my boat with little to no avail. I accepted reality as it is. I'm stuck, no hope and if I'm too loud, I'll be killed. Then it happened, I heard its cry. It's loud cry from the sea. Forcing me to cover my ears and when it was finished. I couldn't hear. I couldn't hear if I wanted to, my ears were bleeding. This time, I had nothing left for me to lean on. I can't even hear the monster anymore. I only have my sight, touch, smell left. Quickly as time went by, I sat and dwelled on the idea of ending it quickly by the monster. But the though of kneeling over and to die by its hands. Was as if I admitted defeat to that monstrosity but with the hope of no survival. Then once again the radio sent me a message but I couldn't hear it. (Update: I was able to record the message and ill play it now) "Attention lost ships, we are willing to give rescue to those who honk their horns so we may know where you are located".  Suddenly, I feel these different vibrations and the sight that was to befall. Was the shilliout of the monster and dozens of ships surrounding that specific area. To just see dozens of people killed in just a second and once again silence, once again I'm left to just myself. As I starved and became dehydrated. The end of the nightmare was close. Knowing my death was close. But because of how weak I had became. I went unconscious. When I awoke, I screamed "come for me, do it! I'm waiting for it!". As I felt my hoarse and dry throat burn as I screamed. Eventually until I felt my voice go dry. I couldn't scream if I wanted to anymore. I was out of gas, and once again I was left alone. By myself, its as if the monster decided I wasn't enough for it anymore. As I lost my chance to die to be given mercy. Slowly, I felt the life of me drain out. By the seconds, I saw a man. Dressed in a nice suit. Or from what I could make out. With whatever little strength I had, he wrote these words "silence = home".I nodded yes with instinct. Then I went out cold. When I awoke, bright lights were in my eyes. I was being rushed somewhere. Went out cold again and awoke to them explaning I no longer had a functioning vocal cords nor did I have my hearing. I'm not sure who or what took me home. But I'm assuming I've made a deal with it. To be silent, to go home. Thus, I lived by the rule since to not make loud noises to the best of my abilities. To whatever took my vocal cords, and sent me home. I'm not sure if the deal was worth it. Since then, the sea, I can hear it calling for me. Its sings ever louder, everyday.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Nightmare Catcher [RESPONSE] Since I was ten years old, I've been tormented by nightmares. My parents would hear me moaning and sometimes screaming in my sleep almost every night. Every few nights the same dream would appear in my mind: I'm standing in front of a statue of an insanely beautiful woman and suddenly the statue starts decomposing like a dead human body, but it happens in seconds. About a year ago, when I was fourteen, my mother, a very superstitious person, decided to buy a dream catcher for me. It was a cheap souvenire with plastic beads and black feathers, and she placed it in my room, next to the window. For a few nights no screams nor moans had been heard from my room, and after this time the statue appeared again. This time it didn't decompose - it turned into a real woman with a body made out of stone, smiled at me and said "I will protect you from what comes next". Despite this ominous prophecy nothing else happened in this dream and I woke up happy. Both my parents praised the dream catcher and I was able to continue living, this time without fear. The statue lady would still appear in my dreams from time to time. She would warn me, give me strange advices and often try to ensure me that she was on my side. It was weird but way better than having non-stop nightmares. Then, one day the nightmares came back; I found myself surrounded by fire that was getting closer and closer. Suddenly, the statue lady came from the sky and took me out of there, saving my life. "I promised" she said, disappearing into mist. The alarm went off about a second later, informing me that it was a time to go to school. From this moment on, I'd have the strangest nightmares every night and the statue lady would always appear to save me from any horrors I was about to endure. With each next dream she would get more and more colours, slowly turning into a real human body instead of stone. Four days ago her change has been completed. She saved me from a psychotic murderer with a chainsaw and she asked me to call her "mother". I did that and she kissed my forehead. While she was leaning towards my head, I suddenly felt a rotten odour coming from her mouth. The person who leaned back was not my statue lady - it was her heavily decomposed corpse, the one I had been seeing in my older nightmares. "Noone will take your sanity from me" she said. "You are mine to torment forever". I woke up screaming and I saw a ghost or a somehow visible energy wave escaping my bed and flying to the window. It crushed the black dream catcher in half and got out, leaving me scared and crying. My mother's gift had been bringing nightmares upon me and my old nightmare had felt threatened, therefore it crushed the catcher. Now I am alone against the statue lady again and since that night I haven't fallen asleep. I feel as if I was slowly loosing my mind and I know that I'll eventually have to get some rest, hopefully before losing my mind. And when I fall asleep, the statue lady will put her rotten hands on me again.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Cave [RESPONSE] Though I call it a cave, it isn’t much of one. It is more of a cavernous opening that stretches maybe ten feet back from the entrance and is very narrow inside. You may be wondering where I live. Well, my wife and I live in a very hilly part of rural Pennsylvania, and we own just barely three acres. Our house is on a main road and the backyard is only a downward slope into a forest like vegetation. Going east past the trees you will find a barbed wire fence almost immediately, which is the border to our neighbor’s property. Westbound however, is where our land stretches out for the few acres we have. If you go south-west, you will find this rocky formation, which houses the cave I mentioned. I think we noticed it the first week here while we scoured our new property, excited at it’s mysteriousness. I remember using my phone as a flashlight as we peered into the dark crevice, disappointed to see there wasn’t much there. Since then, we’ve often walked by the cave at the bottom of the giant rock that borders properties beyond ours. Sometimes when we were drunk, we would often try and scare each other in the darkness that surrounded us, and it was always my wife who wanted to turn around and head back first. I can’t deny I was always a little bit uneasy at times, but who wouldn’t be in a pitch-dark army of trees. The light of our house would always guide us back safely. It seemed like an endless darkness until we would turn around and see the lights behind us and remember we were just in our backyard. I loved these nights, and I would begin to venture out in the daytime by myself. The forest was completely different during the hours the sun was out. There was the same peacefulness, but a different kind of mystery. Today, I made my way through the dense tree line and started my usual decent down the hill westward. Upon first sight of the cave, I could see a light emanating from inside. At first, I thought it might have been the twilight reflecting off the rock, but the sun seemed to already be behind the tops of the trees. Out of blind curiosity I approached the entrance and sure enough, there was a flickering light coming from inside of the cave. I contemplated turning around and going back up the hill to the house, but I also wanted to see what the cause was. It looked like firelight, but I didn’t smell or see smoke. I was probably five feet away from the entrance now and I had the instinct to text my wife who was at work. It felt weird, but at the same time, I felt like I would want her to do the same. So, I pulled out my phone and quickly typed. “There’s light in the cave, looks like a fire. Hopefully nothing serious, maybe a squatter. Gonna take a look, I’ll let you know in a bit.” I put my phone in my pocket and started to creep forwards, not wanting to make a sound. I wasn’t armed but I wished I was. I knew there was someone in there and I was right. As I got close to the entrance, I heard a strained voice. ”Come in, please. I beg of you.” I froze. I hadn’t made a sound or shown myself. How did this person know I was there. Their voice sounded crackly and old. “This is my property! Whoever you are please come out and leave peacefully, I don’t care who you are or what your reason for being here is, but I can’t have you in there. I will call the authorities if I have to!” I could tell I sounded panicked but didn’t care. Then the voice answered back. “Oh honey, I told you to come in. Why are you being so rude? I can show you that this is a place of welcoming. A place of trust. Please, won’t you show yourself to me?” I was stunned, this person was crazy. I pulled out my phone and began dialing 911. “Oh, you don’t want to do that sweetheart, by the time anyone gets here, I’ll have never been here.” I stood stone cold, probably looked like a statue. How was this person in my mind? Why were they here and what did they want? *Fuck this* “You better get the fuck out of there before I drag you-“ Then she emerged, a woman seemingly bent in half, almost crawling on all fours but walking on her two bare feet. Clad in a robe or maybe a large coat. It was black and almost ripped to shreds but still somehow covered her. Slowly but surely, she was making her way towards me. I was still standing there paralyzed. I was nauseous but I couldn’t move. I saw the long grayish black strands of her hair dragging on the ground as she paced in slow motion, still in my direction. “I told you to come in. This is your fault.” She said this as she looked up. I saw here terrible face. She had black eyes, her skin hanging down so far off her face that it looked as if it was melting off. Blemishes all over and a few blackish bloody teeth that were jagged, the top row piercing her bottom gums as she smiled at me. I still couldn’t move, and she was now close enough to touch me when suddenly, there was a flash. A bright light like I had never witnessed. This lasted but a few seconds, and as I refocused there was no one there. I realized I had had my arm in front of my face and my phone was in my other hand still. There was an unnatural smell in the air. Much like the decaying carcass of an animal, but still, different. I heaved, then turned and sprinted back uphill to the house. My wife was pulling into the driveway. She got out of the car obviously hysterical and almost tripped while running towards me. She was sobbing and told me she rushed home after I didn’t reply to her when I first texted her an hour ago. *Was I really out there for an hour?* I embraced her and made sure we quickly made it to the door and inside. I informed her of everything I had seen, and she burst into tears. I asked her what was wrong, assured her I’m here and safe. She didn’t reply at first, but then looked me in the eyes. Tears were still forming and her lips were quivering. I could tell she had something to say, but she couldn’t quite make the words out. When she finally spoke, the words made me feel cold. I didn’t know why she said them. I didn’t know what they meant. All I knew, was she meant what she said. It was only three words. “You are Cursed.”<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] You’ve got a new match [RESPONSE] You’ve got a new match My hormonal teenage self couldn’t have been more excited. I quickly lost interest in the homework I had been working on that night and opened my phone, almost as fast as it could light up with the notification. I clicked on the icon, staring intently until Tinder opened. Of course, I was excited. I ran all the possibilities in my head, all the things that could happen. This could be the girl of my dreams No, it didn’t appear as though I matched with the girl of my dreams. This looked more like the girl from a nightmare that would shake the vilest creature in the deepest pit of hell to its crooked bones. Smiling from ear to ear, literally, was my “match” in the first picture of her profile. No name, no age, only a picture. The photo itself seemed to be professionally taken. It was a full-body picture. She was dressed in some sort of very formal black dress and there was nothing about her body that seemed out of the ordinary. She had black hair that was down, and presented nicely, likely for this picture or whatever event this picture was taken for but I didn’t give much thought to that and you’ll understand why. Her skin was well kept and seemingly unblemished, come to think of it now, her face was the only off-putting thing about the picture. But oh God, the face. Her eyes didn't sit inside where the sockets should be, they bulged out, seeming far too large for her face. They had no whites, the irises were everything. They were a dark purple, almost black. The eyes had no details, they were just blank, empty. Her teeth were normal, human teeth and there would have been nothing wrong with them if she didn’t have many, many more than any person should have. Her jaw opened wide, very wide. It opened from the bottom of one ear to the other, teeth showing in their entirety as she gave a nice, big smile at the camera. I was disgusted by whatever photoshop job this must have been, but I was also intrigued. It was a really good edit after all. I thought it must have been some artist who wanted to show off their skills or something. But, before I engaged in any chats with this match, I noticed they had more photos. Five more. I swiped to the second one. The same girl, in the same dress and all the same grotesque facial features, was front and center in this photo once again but both the quality and setting of this one were much different. It looked like it was taken with a cellphone, the picture wasn’t even level but that’s not the detail I first recognized. She was levitating off the ground. The ground, as well as the walls and the ceiling, were seemingly made of corpses. All that provided light in the photo were half-melted candles on the ground and the flash from the camera. This one looked too real. The bodies all had pretty distinct features, it almost made me sick. Some looked like they were mere skeletons with everything decomposed, others looked fresh. Very fresh. One thing that many of them seemed to have in common was they were missing a lower jaw, an odd detail. I scrolled past this one quicker than the last, it upset me the more I looked at it but the third was more confusing. The third picture was of her, once again, and in her black dress as she hovered in the middle of an empty field this time. The quality of this picture was like that of the first, it seemed as if it were professionally taken and edited. The sky was an impossible shade of red, as a consequence, the entire image had a sort of red tint to it. Other than that, it simply looked as if it were some sort of farmland. This one didn't disturb me like the last but it had an eerie feel to it. It was as if this picture was taken in the apocalypse and like it was showing me the end of the world. Once again, I thought this must be some sort of artist trying to compel these sorts of feelings with the pictures in the way they took and edited them. I was impressed as I was disturbed. The fourth photo made my heart sink a little. This picture of the girl was taken in front of a building on my university campus, a building not even a five-minute walk away. It was nighttime and she was alone. She was, once again, floating yet this time above the stairs, in front of the columns of the building. She didn’t look any less real in this photo. I scrolled back through the first few and noticed how surprisingly alike she looked in all the pictures, despite their different angles. This “art” was too good, it was making me sick. The fifth picture, I thought, must be impossible. It was of her inside another building, but I knew what building it was. I knew it from the colors on the wall. I knew it from the lights above her floating body. Most of all, I knew where she was because of the numbers on the door behind her. It was only a few doors down from my apartment, the apartment I was in right now. I quickly scrolled to the last photo. It was a close-up of her right in front of my door. I dropped my phone and ran to my door to make sure it was locked. Luckily it was, I am always good about that. But, out of curiosity, I thought I would peek through the peephole to see if someone did happen to be there. I placed my eye upon the hole where I got a glimpse of shoulders and the back of a head with long black hair. In a quick motion, the head turned around while the shoulders remained still. It was her. She widened her smile, ear to ear once again. I jumped back from the door. I ran back to the desk and picked up my phone. Of course, the disgusting picture of her in front of my door was the first thing to pop up as I opened my phone. I quickly exited Tinder and dialed 911. An operator picked up. “9-1-1 what is your emergency?” I knew that location was the first thing you should give out in a 9-1-1 call because if something happens to you while you’re on the line, they only have the possibility of helping you if they know where you are. I gave the operator my location, which I am leaving out of this story to not expose myself, and then have a brief, detail-scarce summary of the past few minutes. I left out some of the more extreme details because I wanted to be taken seriously. “There's someone outside my apartment door. I just got a match on tinder, when I clicked in to see the photos she had a bunch of weird ones of her in…look, it doesn’t matter but she is messed up. Very messed up. The last two photos were of her outside my apartment door and when I went to look in the peephole, she was still there. I don’t know how but please send help” “Alright sir, has she threatened you in any way? Has she tried to break into your apartment? We can’t just send an officer because you feel scared of some girl you met on tinder who happens to live in the same apartment building as you. Are you calling because she looks…different?” I was speechless. I was infuriated. How could they do this? Did they think it was ridiculous I was calling them because of a girl? I exploded into a rant over the phone. “So what if she hasn't done anything yet? What the hell is wrong with you?! She found my apartment, my exact apartment, and is standing outside of it. We only matched minutes ago. This isn’t right, I need-” There was suddenly silence on the other end. I felt like I was about to scream. 911 just hung up on me. I was eyeing up my door for a second when I heard someone on the phone once again. It was someone different. He talked once again, this time my phone was up to my ear. “Sir, can you hear me? Hello sir?” “Yes! I’m here” I replied desperately. “Sir, who you were just talking to was not 9-1-1 dispatch, I need you to listen to my next instructions very carefully. If you hear another voice other than mine on this call, you need to hang up immediately and wait for me to call back. If the entity you have encountered attempts to communicate with you in any way, for the time being, you need to ignore it. Do not leave your apartment unless I instruct you to. Now, I need your precise location. We caught onto this one early on so we should be able to contain it with ease” I was hesitant to even talk. “Are…Are you the police?” “No, I work for an agency whose purpose is to locate and contain or eliminate entities like the one you have had the unfortunate luck of encountering tonight. I need your location now” Maybe I was stupid for giving this man on the phone my location but with everything that had just hit me, I didn’t hesitate. I give him my address and apartment number. He was silent for only about fifteen seconds. “Alright, a team is en route to your apartment, sit tight. Now we need to lay out a few more rules. I have the floor plans for your apartment. It looks like you’ve got a studio with one closet and one bathroom. Can you fit inside your closet?” “Uh yeah, but why would I need-” “If the lock on your apartment door unlocks, I need you to quickly shut off the lights and climb into your closet. Be silent until you hear the door shut once again. If any sinks or your shower turns on, I need you to shut them off as quickly as possible. If you hear splashing coming from your toilet, I need you to flush it immediately and close the lid. I need you to repeat these instructions back to me so that I know you understand” “Ok, if I hear my door unlock, quickly shut off my lights and hide in the closet. Turn off any sinks or my shower if they turn themselves on and flush the toilet and close the lid if I hear anything from it. I don't understand how these things can happen or why I would do any of this. “If you want to live long enough to see the sunrise tomorrow, you’ll follow those instructions exactly. Write them down if you need to. I am going to need any details and evidence you have that you haven’t said over the phone already, yes, I could still hear what you were saying at the beginning of the call. You said you matched with ‘her’ on tinder? Does ‘she’ have a name?” “Yes, I matched with her on tinder but her profile didn’t have a name or age, just pictures that-” Once again, I was interrupted by the new operator. It seemed he was urgent to exchange as much information as possible. Witnessing what I had, I didn’t object. “I need you to screenshot those pictures if you can. Is it still possible for you to access them? “Yes, give me one moment” I opened tinder up again and clicked on the profile. I quickly screenshotted each picture. “Now what? What do you want me to do with them?” “Text them to the 9-1-1 number, trust me, it’ll work” I sent each picture as fast as I possibly could. “Alright, looks like I’ve got seven. Give me a moment while I send these over to our intel team for identification, we might be able to find out enough about this thing to get rid of it right away. I need you to keep an eye out your window on the street. There will be-” “Wait, wait. Did you say seven? I sent six. Her profile had six pictures. How did you get seven” I quickly opened back up my texts. I did send seven. The first six were of her profile but the seventh was of me. It was taken from outside my window, right outside. And it was recent. I recognized the clothes I was wearing today. On the upper left-hand side of the picture, was a hand pressed against my window. I quickly turned towards my window to see no one there, there couldn’t have been. It was on the third floor and there was nothing on that side of the building that would allow someone to climb that high. No one could have been up there to take a picture. I was quick to let the operator know, though I was not calm. “I didn’t send the last one, it sent by itself through my phone somehow. It’s of me, just a minute ago, while we were talking” “Alright, alright calm down. It’s trying to scare you. It wants to get in your head. It wants you worked up so that you’ll do something rash, but you’re not going to do that, are you?” “N-no sir” “Alright good, now as I was saying, there will be one man and one woman in black suits and holding briefcases that get out of a large SUV. The driver has been instructed to drop them off on the side of your apartment, he knows where it is. They should be arriving…right…about…now. Go check outside your window” I looked outside my window, down to the street below but I didn’t see an SUV or two people in suits. All I saw were a few pedestrians and a university bus. “I don’t see anyone down there. Are you sure they’re on that side? It’s easy to end up on the wrong street down here” “Yes, I am sure. You’re certain you don’t see anyone? No SUV?” “I’m…sorry but no, I don’t” “Fuck” I heard him mutter under his breath. I then faintly heard his voice yelling toward someone else “That ain’t it, tell them to keep moving” He then adjusted his mic and began talking to me again, “Alright, they’ve been swindled by the entity. We’re figuring that out now. Just be on the lookout for them to arrive. Once they get there, we can start the process of getting rid of this thing” Right then I heard a firm knock at my door. I walked over and peeped through the hole again. One man and one woman, both in very nice, black suits. “I think your agents are here. They just knocked on the door and I saw them through the peephole, should I let them in?” The operator practically screamed through the phone “No! No, do not let them in. Those are not our agents, that is the entity trying to get you to open the door, don’t fucking do it. Our agents will not knock, they won't try to get into your door. Get back to your window and watch for them to arrive. Tell me when they do” After a few more minutes of waiting, I finally saw a large SUV pull up in front of the apartment and two people get out. One man, one woman, nice suits and briefcases. After they got out of the car, they looked up at my window as they made their way towards the entrance. The SUV drove off. “Alright, they’re here” “Good. They’re going to scout out the building, figure out what we’re dealing with, and assess if another team needs to be called in. I’ll let you know anything you need to do when I find out. Just stay on the line” I had started to feel relieved, albeit more confused. I did believe these people were here to help but I didn’t know what they could do to help me. How could two people from whatever this organization was possibly deal with this…thing at my door. I contemplated the possibilities as I sat down in my chair for the first time in a while, finally calming down a little. This little moment of peace was just that, for not long after I sat down I heard an electronic click from my door as I jumped from my seat. I remembered the operator’s instructions. I quickly hit the light switch and picked up the kitchen knife before hopping into my closet. “The door just unlocked, I’m hiding with the lights off as you told me” I whispered into my phone. He responded quietly and with as fast a message as he could muster “Just be quiet and don’t move. She can’t open your closet door and she has no interest in taking your things. No matter what she says, do not respond and do not react. Do not leave the closet until you hear the door close again. Do not hang up this call” As soon as he finished speaking the door opened. I didn’t hear any footsteps but I knew she was in. I focused on controlling my breathing to make it as quiet as possible. I must have been in there for a good five minutes before I heard any noise. Nothing. Not a step, not a door opening, not a single thing moved around. I couldn’t even hear breathing. I was tempted to leave but I did as I was told and stayed still. Doing that had served me well up until this point. I just about gasped and gave myself away when she eventually spoke, in a sweet and dulcet voice. “What’s wrong, don't wanna hang out tonight?” After she got no response, she would wait about ten seconds and say something new, trying to be more provocative each time. This went on for a few minutes. “Come on, we matched and you know it. You know you want me and I…I want you… Well, if you're not ready yet, that’s alright. I can wait. I can wait a long time. I’ll wait for however long I need to for you to come out… You know I don’t bite, I’m just a very, very good kisser. You can ask the others. You can meet them too. But why don’t you try it yourself, just come on out… What have you got to lose? I know how lonely you are. I know I’m the only one you’ll ever have a chance with, at least I’m the only one who will love you forever… You know you’ll always be nothing without me. I’m the only one, the only thing that will ever bring meaning to your life” She got more assertive. I could hear her voice getting closer each time she spoke, trying to get me to come out. Eventually, she was so close to the closet door, she was practically touching it. She might have been. It was obvious she knew I was in there but the operator said to sit put and that she couldn't open the door, I trusted him for now. “You know you you’re a worthless, rotting sack of shit. You’re not even good enough for the maggots. You have done nothing with your meaningless, short life and you never will, even if I let you live past this night. You can come with me or you can burn. No one is coming to save you. No one can-” She stopped for a moment. I think she heard what I heard., there were steps in the hallway. Someone was walking around on my floor. “Oh, you talked to them” She let out a giggle, one that would have seemed innocent and cute if it were given in any other context with a normal girl but I found it to be far from it. “You fucking bitch, you’ll pay for that. You won’t even get what I gave the others. I’ll rip your guts out right before your eyes and make you watch all of it, you’ll wish you were dead but I won’t kill you, not until-” “Approaching entity manifestation now, stand by” I heard a man’s voice say from just outside my apartment. She screamed in fury before I heard my apartment door slam shut a split second later with a force I don’t think I could replicate with all my might if I tried. I exited my closet and turned my light back on as I ran to the door to look in the peephole. I couldn’t see anything. “What just happened? I think I heard one of your people outside of my door before she charged out, really angry” I asked the operator, who I had hoped was still on the line. “One of them tried to catch her right there, but it didn’t work. It wasn’t fully manifested. He, as well as his partner, are trying to locate the entity now but we’re having no success. A larger team is very close. No need to look out for this one, we know how to get there now. Our priority has changed from containment to extermination. This one is much more dangerous than we could have predicted” “What am I supposed to do now?” The voice on the line immediately changed from the man’s voice to the girl’s enraged voice. “You should open the fucking door and let me in” I immediately hung up as I was told. This may have saved me for the moment, as in the process of hanging up, I noticed my phone was at two percent battery. I quickly found a charger and plugged my phone in. A minute later, I got a call back from 911. I promptly answered. “Are you still there? Did it try to use someone else’s voice?” “It used its own to tell me to open the door” I heard shuffling from outside my room. I first thought that she was back but I noticed it was a lot of people this time. I could hear faint dialogue from outside the room and it sounded like they were assembling a piece of furniture. “Do you know who is outside my room right now?” I asked the operator. “Our second team arrived a few minutes ago. Some of them are downstairs setting up a base for this operation, others are up by your room preparing equipment. Just let them do their thing and this will be over real soon, as long as we’re fighting what we think we’re fighting, dear God, I hope so” “What about my neighbors? What about the people walking around in the hallways and everyone else in this building? Do they know about this? Are they in danger? What happens to them?” “Oh, I forgot to tell you. They're just…not here. I don’t know how to explain it to you in a way you would understand. They won’t be seeing our team, you, or this entity for the time being and we won’t be seeing the. They certainly aren’t in any danger if that brings any comfort, but I’m afraid you still are” I was once again confused by this new piece of information, but I didn’t have the energy to question it at this point. I just wanted this to be done and over with as soon as possible. “It’s here” I heard a woman assert from right outside my door. I heard a few different things turn on. I don’t know what they were but I take it they were some sort of machinery or equipment they had just finished setting up. A few moments of silence passed before I heard a man mutter “Oh shit” Seconds later I heard light bulbs explode before gunfire erupted in the hallway outside my room. I sprawled out on the floor and got as flat as possible, though no gunfire ever made its way into my room. These gunshots were quickly followed by an even louder scream from what I assumed to be the girl. The shooting went on for only a minute or two, after which I heard a few magazines drop to the floor and some rifles being racked as well as some louder dialogue and cursing. I started to put on my shoes, hoping this was over now but besides that, I felt safer with shoes on anyway. “Did they get it?” I hopefully asked the operator. “No, it plowed right through our guys and got away somewhere in the stairwell. She killed a couple of them and injured a couple more as well. We underestimated her again, but now we know what we have to do. We're almost through with this, just keep a level head and you’ll be alright” I sat down, silenced. Two people just died on my behalf. Two people died because I, being the stupid teenager I am, had to be on Tinder, messing around. I checked my phone, it hadn’t gotten much more of a charge by this time. It was only at seven percent. I waited there for another five minutes. I just sat in guilt, with my head resting in my hands, thinking of how all this could have been avoided before I heard something coming from my bathroom. I picked up my phone, unplugged it, and walked over, pushing the door open to get a peak. Hands were coming out of the toilet bowl and gripping the seat. She pushed down against the seat of the toilet as she attempted to force herself up, out of my toilet. I screamed and fell back against the wall. Her head made it out, she was wounded, blood covering her face and arms. I could see that one of her eyes had been shot out and blood still ran from the socket. She turned towards me as she attempted to pull the rest of herself up. She clenched her jaw but revealed all of her teeth to me, also covered in blood. “Oh my god, she’s climbing out of my toilet” “It’s too late. Go, run, now. Do you understand? Get out of your apartment” I unlocked my door as I charged out. All of the lights were out, they had all been shattered. The hallway looked like a trench from a war. Blood lined the floor and was splattered along the walls and ceiling. There was broken equipment, equipment that was alien to me all up and down the hallway which I narrowly missed while running away from my room. I could feel the spent brass underneath my feet. The worst sight was the bodies, two men in body armor, with rifles strapped around them, lay lifelessly on the ground, one was flipped over and had a trail of blood behind him as if he was thrown. The other had his upper body propped up against a wall. His lower jaw had been ripped out as blood came from his mouth and throat and colored his black uniform red. I dearly wish I was watching the ground in front of me as I ran because I took not two steps ahead and stepped right on this man’s jaw. I can’t even begin to tell you how I felt, feeling that beneath my foot as I ran. I could feel his teeth. “Where do I go? What do I do now?” I frantically asked the operator. “Get to the stairwell, go down. I know you’re used to there only being a few flights of stairs because the first floor is where they ended. You’ll notice they go down further this time, I need you to proceed until you reach the bottom. There, you’ll find where our team set up their base of operations” I ran down the stairs faster than I think I’d ever run down a flight of stairs before. I didn’t feel like I was going to trip or like my legs were getting too tired. Rather, I felt as though my legs were outpacing me. It must have been a good ten floors worth of stairs before I reached the bottom, but I got there quickly with the energy I had. At the bottom of the stairs were tons and tons of boxes. They looked as if they were military-grade or just made to carry really expensive things. A number of them were open and their contents were emptied, I guessed this is where all of their fancy equipment came from that they were trying to use upstairs. On a few of them were laptops. As I walked over to one, I was startled by what I walked past. Between a couple of rows of these boxes, I found another corpse. This one I recognized as being one of the two in suits who had come in earlier, it was the woman. She, like the one man and, I assume the other from my floor, had her jaw ripped out as well. In her hand was a revolver, a very shiny, and quite beefy looking .357 magnum. I set my phone on a box for a moment as I checked it out. I opened the cylinder and found that none of the six primers had been struck. This poor woman couldn’t even get a shot off before being ripped apart. “I found another one of your team members dead. It's the woman who came in first with the man earlier” I notified the operator. “What? That’s not possible, we just had communication with her. She was supposed to stay there while the rest of the team...oh no” “What?” “The rest of the team had another engagement with the entity on a higher floor. Their last known contact with it was four minutes ago. Our last communication with the agent you’re next to was less than a minute ago. The thing is in there with you somewhere” Just then, the lights in the stairwell from top to bottom all exploded in rapid succession. I jumped into a corner and aimed the revolver at the stairs. A moment passed before I began to see a red light illuminate the stairs above me. Despite being shattered, the lights began working once again. One by one, they turned on as they had been shattered. I heard humming from many floors above but I could hear it getting closer. “She’s coming, what the hell do I do now?” “Get on one of the computers down there. We’ve cracked its code. I’m sending you a sound file. Turn up the volume on the laptop. When it gets close, play the audio file, once it-” My phone was dead, and I thought I was too. Fortunately, I kept a level head as the operator told me to. I kept myself as calm as possible as the humming got closer and made its way down the stairs. I ignored it, set the revolver down next to the laptop, and looked through what I could. It was in some sort of weird operating system and I had no idea how it worked. I found some sort of messaging system, like an email, though I don’t think it was quite that, and found a recent message. This had to be it. I downloaded and opened the contents, turning up the laptop volume to max. The humming stopped as I heard a giggle from right behind me and a playful voice say “What do you think you’re doing? I already told you what was going to happen to you. Are you ready for a kiss now?” I stood up, taking a deep breath and slowly turning around, with one hand still on the box in front of me. “Well, you better come give it to me” I somehow was able to deliver with a straight face, despite being more afraid than I ever have in my life, which I assumed was about to end. She approached slowly, opening up her smile from ear to ear once again. Slimy, viscous saliva gushed out of her mouth as she came closer. I hit the space bar on the laptop before throwing myself to the ground, away from her. An annoying, constant high-frequency noise filled the stairwell and hurt my ears, but it did much worse for her. Her feet touched the ground, no longer levitating. She covered her ears tightly and her massive jaw practically unhinged from her head as she screamed in agony. I reached up for the revolver next to the laptop. I pulled it in close before cocking it, then I got two hands on it and pointed it forward. I was shaking from the adrenaline but I managed to get my breathing under control for just long enough to level the rear sights with the front. I squeezed. Blood spattered on the stairs behind her as part of her head was blown clean off. I stood and backed up, pulling the trigger as many times as I could. Even when the cylinder was empty, I pulled the trigger a few more times. Once my ears stopped ringing an application opened on the laptop. The sound file finished playing and I heard the voice of the operator once again. “Anomalous presence no longer detected. You did it, kid, I have no idea how, but you did it. It’s over” I stood for a moment and observed the carnage. The red lights faded until they were gone, in darkness once again. I was in disbelief, both of what just went down and that I was able to stop this thing, whatever it was. I don’t think I’ll ever know. I began to walk up the stairs, slow and tired. After I made it up a few flights I saw bright beams coming from flashlights above. A couple of dozen people in body armor, strapped with expensive rifles and submachine guns ran down the stairs past me. The man in the suit reached down and grabbed the revolver in my hand as I was passing him. I think, subconsciously, I jerked it away and aimed it at him. He backed up for a moment. “Easy now, son. It’s all over. You can relax” I took a deep breath out and handed over the empty revolver to him. I walked back up to my room, plugged my phone in, and started it up. I just sat with my head resting on my desk for a while before I got another call from 911. I picked it up and the operator began to speak once again “Well, you did it. We’ve been hunting this one for a while now. It’s gotten more victims than almost all of the others combined but now, it’s gone, thanks to you. Are you injured? I can get the paramedics to you if you need them” I just sat in silence, I didn’t have the energy to speak anymore. “Alright, you might need a minute to decompress and catch your breath it seems. Stay in your room for the next hour and everything will be back to the normal outside of your apartment. Our team, all of the equipment, and the chaos left in the wake of all this will be out of sight and out of mind. I know it doesn’t make any sense to you and that will only make processing all of this harder. Just know that if you call your emergency line again, we’ll be listening, we’ll be here to help. Oh, and one more thing. You would be doing not just us, but the whole world and yourself a favor if you never spoke about this as if it happened. Our anonymity and secrecy let us help everyone else out there. I hope you understand. Goodbye now. Stay safe” If you’ve read this far, you know I’ve ignored the last thing the operator said to me. I want everyone out there to know. I want everyone to know that you could become the victim of one of these things in the blink of an eye. I want you to know that there are people out there hunting them down and they seem to not exist by any publicly displayed government information. I want people to know what to do when they call 911. I have no proof, my apartment building did return to normal. I am suddenly missing the text history I had with 911. I am not matched with that profile on Tinder. I have nothing. I also want to know more. Have any of you fallen victim to one of these things? Have any of you heard of them? What are they? Do you know more about this organization? How was my apartment building changed that night? How was reality bent and shaped back to normal? Please reach out, I need to know more. I was just about to hit the post button when my phone suddenly blew up. You’ve got a new match You’ve got a new match You’ve got a new match You’ve got a new math My phone displayed it a hundred times over. They’re coming for me now. I need to make a call.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Gone South [RESPONSE] *Hi. I haven't been able to stop myself from sharing this. I feel obligated. I work for a secret branch of the government bent on inventing and using time travel. Our first prototype worked, sending our men 10 years into the future. After they made it back, the prototype immediately exploded, killing everyone involved with the expedition. Of everything they brought back, the only thing we managed to salvage was an old composition book. Below is what it contained. I'll surely be silenced for sharing this, but I need to get this off my chest. We all deserve to know our future, no matter how grim.* God... I just want this to end. I don't know how whoever is reading this is still alive. Perhaps humanity somehow managed to survive and rebuilt. Doubtful. Perhaps you're an alien investigating the remains of a dead species. If it brings you any comfort, this isn't an example of the Fermi paradox... this is something else entirely. I'm actually kind of proud that we managed to die out before ending ourselves. Anyways... It started 5 years ago. Ha. To think that just 5 short years ago I was living a normal life! My husband, Steve, our beautiful daughter, Avery... it feels like a fantasy, a heaven compared to the sad excuse for a life I lead now. The first thing to happen was the bells. It didn't matter where you were, everyone could hear them. The constant ringing of a bell. It was like everyone on the planet was living next to a church. Countless investigations were launched into this phenomena, but no one found anything, and it chalked up to some sort of incredible mass hysteria. Then after around a week, the ringing stopped. At first, we all thought it was over. At the time it seemed like some crazy isolated incident. But now I'm starting to think that it was a warning. Perhaps a warning from God. Then came the rain. It was like a global hurricane, except there wasn't much wind. Just a relentless downpour all over the world. The coasts sunk. Florida, Venice, you name it! All gone. But that wasn't the worst part... the rain wasn't water, it was blood. So much blood. From then on, every drop of water was tainted with blood. This was when people realized that the bells were the start of something terrible, and that there would almost certainly be more to come. Avery was only 3, she didn't understand what was happening. We kept her inside, even as blood stained the windows. I envied her ignorance. I slipped into a sort of depression and started drowning myself in social media like Reddit. Steve stopped talking to me. It had only been a month since this started, and it felt like we weren't living... just surviving. I was a fool. Looking back, it wasn't all that bad. I still had a house, I still had a family. I should've just ignored it and kept on living. But I didn't. The rain stopped, but the bodies started. Bodies... from the sky. No one knew exactly where they came from, but they supposedly just "appeared" somewhere in stratosphere. Some of the bodies were human. Every single human body that was DNA'd matched with a long-dead person. The other dead bodies? I can't talk about them without getting sick. They were less common than the human ones, but I still saw some in our yard, as well as pictures online. They were beasts. Disgusting, terrible, beasts. Similarly to the humans, they were cut open, but all the blood had already fallen out. It was then that people finally realized where all the blood rain came from... For a while, things were actually kind of... ok? Millions of people died during the blood rain, but besides that, everyone was more or less fine. People cleaned up the bodies, worked jobs, and went to school. Things were orderly enough, and the world went on. It seemed like things were getting better, and after a few months, the bodies stopped. For a while it seemed like it was over. Just an insane happening that people would dismiss as myth in a couple thousand years. But then the Titan fell. It was the last of the bodies, some massive being the size of Texas. No one knows what it looks like, as anyone who looks at it or a picture of it immediately dies of a brain aneurysm. It landed in Germany, crushing the entirety of the country and killing everyone there. People theorized and debated over whatever the hell was happening, but it hardly mattered. Something terrible was happening. That was all we could really know. Y'know, before all of this, I was an atheist. But now I've managed to convince myself that the Titan was God himself. God is real. God is dead. 3 years passed, and the world slowly went to shit. Every animal in China simultaneously went rabid. The global temperature increased 10 degrees. Healthy crops wilted for no reason. The ground would randomly open up and swallow people in New Zealand. Entire cities would commit suicide at the same time. Some of the beasts that had fallen somehow came back to life. They were more interested in killing eachother than killing humans, but millions of people died after being caught in the crossfire. Australia fucking vanished. Just gone. No explanation. Worms, parasites, and all kinds of insects that I am 100% sure did not exist before this started crawled along the streets. The sky turned red. The Earth slowly stopped spinning. At the time of writing this, we have more than 17 years until tomorrow morning. Hackers broadcasted images of the Titan all over the world. Stars began to blink out. Once the war that the beasts had been fighting ended, they turned their attention towards humanity. The Military started drafting. They took Steve. He died in battle a week later. God.. Avery was still oblivious to it all. Still happy... I went outside yesterday. I could hear gunshots in the distance. They were getting closer. I looked in the other direction. Smoke and fire rose from leveled buildings in the city. Luckily, I live in the suburbs. A massive canyon opened out of nowhere, consuming the entire city. Welp. I had, at best, 2 more days left. When I went back inside, Avery was crying. She had undone the shades and looked out the window. "Mommy, I'm scared! When will Daddy come back?" Avery had finally broken. The last bastion of normalcy had fallen. "Don't worry honey, Mommy will keep you safe." As I write this, Avery is asleep in my lap. The gunshots are right across the street now, and they are accompanied by human screaming, and monstrous, indescribable sounds. It's almost relaxing, knowing that soon also this torture will be over. The TV turned on. Must have fritzed out. Started playing some old news. Normal, mundane stuff. I can't believe that a single murder or politics was all people had to be scared of back then. Wow. Things really went South.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Blind Men and Guns [RESPONSE] Momma held me by the wrist and dragged me up the path to the house. She’s so much bigger than me that I was practically tripping over myself trying to keep up, kicking up little red dust clouds in our wake. She was breathing just a little quicker than normal and the pail she carried in her other hand thumped against her hip. As we got closer to the house we kept passing all kinds of stuff, but Momma wouldn’t let me stop. She said there’d be time later. We had to walk past jackrabbits playing in a thicket, a pen full of goats, we didn’t even stop for a drink from the spigot sticking up out of the ground. The rusty one with chipped up orange paint. We kept walking around the bend and the house came into view. Everyone says it was real pretty once, but now it just looks big. The pillars don’t do enough to hold up the roof, so you can notice it sagging if you’re sitting on the porch. Dirt is all stuck up on the walls on account of the wind, but I’m pretty it’s supposed to be white on the outside. The wood is spongy and the shutters don’t close right. It has one of them wraparound porches and two big staircases that kind of bump into each other and become one. Momma says there are pictures of her on those steps back when everything was still pretty and they threw a fancy party for her. She even says there’s pictures of Daddy at that party. One day she’ll have to find those pictures for me. We all agree the house has good bones though. Momma practically started running to the front door and it felt like I was flying through the air behind her. She yelled “Uncle Jack!” and people started pouring out from the house like ants. Momma started hugging on everyone and being sorry that we were late while I dug a hole in the dirt with my shoe. Something bumped into my shoulder real hard and I lost my balance a little. It was my cousin John. He was the only kid my age in the family, but he was still bigger and older. “We were playing football this morning.” He said. “I tackled Bill so hard he couldn’t breathe for five whole minutes.” “Is he okay?” I asked. “Course he is! I wouldn’t be bragging to no one if he was actually hurt.” He smiled real big and said “You and me should play more later since you didn’t get tackled this morning” before running off with some of the bigger kids. Momma really likes Uncle Jack and made me come say hi. Says he’s always there when something bad happens. Like when her parents died when she was little or when daddy didn’t come back from the army. I try to be nice, but Uncle Jack scares me. “Hi Uncle Jack.” I said as Momma nudged me forward. “Hey there little buddy.” Uncle Jack says as he squats down and reaches out to grab my shoulders. He feels his way up my neck, touches my face, and tousles the top of my head. “Would you look at that! I won’t be able to call you my little buddy much longer huh?” His white beard split open, showing off a yellowed and toothy grin. I looked down at my shoes and felt Momma squeeze my hand hard. I jumped and looked up at Uncle Jack. His eyes were all milky and swimming in a pool of leathery skin. “I nearly grown a foot this year.” I mumbled. “I can tell, kiddo.” He scooped me up and Momma followed us into the house. I wanted to go look at the goats now, but on account of how we were late there wasn’t any time. Momma said there would be time later though. We had to go around saying hello to everyone again once we got in the house, then Uncle Jack got us set up in a room. It was dusty and the walls were peeling. After Uncle Jack left Momma made us shake out the sheets on the bed and look all over for bugs before we could unpack. As we were doing that people started buzzing and banging around downstairs louder than before. The women had to go get dinner ready and all the men had to get the house ready for tonight. People were up on ladders and patching the roof, out in the pasture putting the animals away early, and testing the lamps. John and I were boarding up all the windows on the first floor, but I didn’t get to do nothing but hold the nails. John was standing on his tiptoes, holding a plank of wood to the window with one hand, hammering with the other and holding a couple nails in his teeth. “You know why we all here, right?” “Cause it’s the full moon in September.” I said. “No that’s the when, I asked if you knew why we come here every time there’s a full moon in September.” “I dunno, to see family?” I guessed, barely paying any attention. “No. It’s cause if we didn’t, you’d die.” I whipped around to stare at the back of his head. “Huh?” I said. John kept nailing up the board with dull thuds. “John, what do you mean?” I said, walking up behind him. He picked up another board and I handed him another nail. He started to hammer it in place. “It’s like this,” he said as he continued to work. “It takes a lot of water for all of us to live here. And we gotta take care of the animals, grow our food, and wash our clothes too. This wouldn’t be any problem, but we ain’t the only ones here. We use a lot, and there isn’t enough to go around.” “I know there’s people all over, but I haven’t heard the Tillermen or anyone else say they don’t got enough.” I had moved around to look at him in the side of his face and could see the devil in his eye. “That’s not what I mean.” His voice was low and gravelly now, like the nails were in his throat instead of between his teeth. “I mean there’s something out here other than all of us. Something that ain’t human.” “There are things that live out there in the grass and under the ground. They call them the Yucca Men. They’ve been here for a long time, a lot longer than us. They never liked to come out much, so it took a long time for anyone to even notice. But at first, they were nice. You’d get turned around out in the woods and a voice would help you get home. Maybe you lost your hammer while you were out somewhere, and it’d show up on your front porch without any explanation. Some folks say they’d even bring you gifts. But they’re a real thirsty bunch and they’ve gotta drink a lot of water. Like I said there ain’t much out here and they started to dry out. At first, they just stopped being helpful. Some people thought they left all together. But they were just getting thirsty. Then they got a little more desperate and things got a whole lot worse. Folks started to notice little animals showing up dead. A rabbit with all the juices sucked out of it or a squirrel that looked like it was nothing but fur stuck to a skeleton. They were getting so thirsty that they had to start drinking blood. More people kept coming and they got thirstier still. It started happening to bigger animals and livestock. But now they weren’t just thirsty for animal blood, they’d take anything. And people are full of an awful lot of blood. There’s so little water left for them they hibernate all year and soak up what they can from the soil. But it’s not enough. We use the most water getting ready for the harvest and that’s when they get thirstiest. Every time there’s a full moon in September it’s their chance to come out and drink. And they drink people now too. Decades of drinking blood have changed the way they look. They used to look like plants. Some people even said their hair used to be made of flowers in the spring. But not anymore. Now their hair looks like the gnarled spines of a mesquite tree, their skin looks like a dried-out corn husk and their eyes have dried up into nothing. They say just looking at one is enough to kill you.” Neither John or I said another word the rest of the time we were boarding up windows. Soon the shadows were starting to get a little longer and it was time to wash up. It was getting windier and the grass was starting to blow around like golden waves. Out on the front of the porch Uncle Jack, Abel, and Ben were rocking back and forth in their chairs, telling stories and laughing. Abel had to wear bandages over his eyes from the war and Ben was an old man like Uncle Jack and had cataracts. Uncle Jack was lighting up his pipe and told us to “get on now” as he heard us walk by. They each had a shotgun in their lap. Momma was helping me get changed for dinner and asked me what was wrong. I told her about the Yucca Men. She sighed, closed her eyes, and rubbed a few fingers against her head. “Don’t listen to that boy.” She said exhaustedly “He’s just trying to scare you with a ghost story is all.” “I dunno.” I said, fiddling with a button on my vest. “That was a pretty good story and he’s not very smart.” “Oh yeah? Well, if looking at a Yucca man kills you, how does John even know what one looks like?” “I guess that doesn’t sound too smart neither.” Momma laughed and lifted my chin. “You’re right, it doesn’t. And all you need to know is that you’re safe as can be. Okay?” “Okay.” I said. Dinner was really good. There was mashed potatoes, and collared greens, and three whole turkeys. I asked why we always made the same thing for dinner every year and they all laughed like I said something funny. I asked Momma about it again later and she said it’s tradition. After dinner we made a fire in the parlor and started singing songs and playing games. It was a lot of fun too, but everyone seemed a little more nervous than they did at dinner. It was getting dark now and I saw Uncle Jack, Abel, and Ben leave the room. Everyone kept talking for a while, or taking turns reading from The Bible, but the air was starting to feel thick and harder to talk through. The fire was burning down so we lit a lamp instead. It was getting real late but no one was going to bed. All you could hear outside was howling in the wind, the shuffling of the grass, and footsteps patrolling around on the porch. There was the crack of a gun going off, and everyone jumped. No one said anything about it, but Aunt Maggie started leading us in a quiet song again. Then that died out too. Things went on like that for a while. You’d hear footsteps and the rustle of the breeze. Sometimes you’d think you heard a twig snap or something and you’d jump out of your skin. And every now and then there was a gunshot. Then one time there was a gunshot and a scream. Some of the grown ups turned around but the windows were boarded up and there was nothing to see. I could hear them using curse words outside. Nobody even tried to sleep after that and we all huddled closer together. I was sitting in Momma’s lap and she wrapped a blanket around us. She was muttering something I couldn’t hear. We could all hear the wind, the moaning, and the crying from outside. The wind never stopped, but eventually the moaning did. The gunshot’s kept going off till morning too. The sunlight started to creep in through the boards and we all started to stir. Uncle Jack’s voice came in through the front door. “Y’all stay in there and get breakfast started. We’ll be in soon.” Then there was more muttering and shuffling sounds moving away from the porch. Before we said grace and had breakfast Uncle Jack said we were gonna have a funeral for Ben tomorrow, but the casket would be closed because “nobody should have to see all that.” I was allowed to go outside again. There was a puddle of black in the dirt and streaks leading off to the shed. People were pouring saw dust and kicking dirt over it. There was finally time for me to go see the goats in their pen, but the rabbits were long gone from the thicket, off playing somewhere else. On the walk back to the house I stopped and took a long drink from that rusty spigot.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Silhouettes Symphony [RESPONSE] “The following texts were recovered while exhuming an unknown explorer randomly buried somewhere near a very unforgiving place, it was humid yet frigid, barren yet damp. While it is not implied if it was the adventurer’s own experience, hallucination, a fever dream, or something transcribed from ancient relics, one thing is for sure, it needs to be disseminated, could it be considered as myth? An urban legend? Or simple a conversation filler on a Saturday night in a local pub or tavern is for you to decide.” I would never for once thought that such a thing exists, have you ever feared something you cannot really comprehend? But rather feel its haunting hostility, the feeling of bludgeoning hands trying to grab you but as you turn your head you see nothing? Strange occurrences happened within our settlement that one cold night gesturing the start of the cold season. First it was a random scout, assigned to stay up to patrol and protect the settlers as they snugly fit themselves in their hide blankets and fur bedding, then more people were absorbed by the nightly darkness itself every three to four crescendos of the moon’s lullaby. I wasn’t in the settlement when this happened, I was out the wilderness, embracing the entirety of the world beyond the barricades, inhaling the air filled with different odours produced by the undergrowth and mingled with the overgrowth stench. We were hunters when we are outside and considered champions when we are inside, I shall not let myself be named, and hence you shall call me Nameless. Their confusing tongues sang of the events, although they never used their eyes clearly, their sharp nostrils did not identify the very thing that might have incited the very incidents that caused the importunities, their acute ears did not hear any sound that might have led to the capture of the culprit and yet they sang, not in unison but in a disarrayed arrangement of words and slurs. Confusing as it may seem I had to listen, I had to sit by and hear whatever they might say, trying to piece anything that might guide me...us to something that exists but was never before seen and if not found, might cause total desolation. How could I track something with vague descriptions from inaccurate storytellers? Huge, dark, quick, prowls, humanoid in appearance but is sightless, anosmic, deaf, and has a void hedged with rows of reddened, needlelike and incandescent compression of appetites. It is said to appear where the light casts it shadows, some witnesses opposed the idea, not only it hunts in the shade but wherever it can seek comfort and an abundance of fast fodder forage. They tried to fend off the creature that appears, they tried to cast stones, hit it with sticks, stab with their blades, chop with their axes yet it always prevails. It makes no sound but when it appears it conducts a comely cacophony of chaos, it delights itself in toying with the prey. I need to track it down, in order to put a stop to its maniacal medley, slaying the creature is the lingering query I do so repeatedly ask as I leave behind the disoriented settlers, still singing, still spouting senseless sentences while the gates to the settlement slowly shuts, soldiers on guard sweeping the skyline for an enemy who comes unannounced. As we were hunkering for the night, my compeers and I tried to recollect all of the information we got from the people and tried to craft a clever way to ensnare the creature in question, we were seven men strong, men of the old, the young and men in their prime. We were a motley of disposable virile men with no family to return to, just a place we must forfend. As our colloquy accompanied by the gentle crackling of the fire reached its peak we heard a distant rustle perhaps influenced by the puzzling descriptions of a ghastly apparition that gnaws and tatters its prey before devouring it, we hurriedly picked our weapons or whatever is the closest to us in order to defend ourselves with. Moments later, a shrew came into view, all of the blood that came rushing up our bodies started to trickle down where it should belong and in succeeding fashion gave out very nervous laughs as we try to look at each other’s blood drained faces. We, the men still in a panicked state mutually agreed that maybe it was time for us to set out and chase the herd of sheep leaving two guards as insurance. One stout, loudmouthed lad and a lanky yet experienced man in his aging years, they volunteered to stay up till daybreak since they boast themselves as nighthawks in every hunting expedition that we have been through, they should’ve pulled through till the morning but it seems that the smoke was never to blow to our favour, what we saw in the morning was utterly woeful. The first thing we noticed when we came to our senses after a night’s blessing was that they were nowhere to be found, their morning jovial yet questionably antagonistic manhandling of each other usually rocks us awake however it was different this time. Those two never got separated from their weapons but to our surprise their tools lay neatly beside their supposed places. The first thing that came into mind was that maybe they went out to gather materials so we went to play the rest of the morning as is, noon came and there is still no trace of them so, being adept at moving fast when working alone. I told the other four that I would try to look for them since we still need to put an end to the immense void of a vermin lingering around the area. I weaved through the vast warren of woodlands with its tall trees casting weird shadows and faces on gnarled trees be it dead or alive, fallen or standing though despite the wood’s eeriness and how fast I ran the cold never seemed to try and envelop me, it never amplified the beads of sweat that rolls down from my skin. After some more wandering I finally saw the first sign of my companions, a single tooth lying beside a log, drops of blood came after, following several marks ahead my tongue seemed to have tripped and folded itself in, disabling me to utter anything that could express my perturbation. There were two sets of teeth plucked cleanly out from whomever’s mouths in a pile with no sign of it being bloodied at all and yet lying close is a pool of dried blood. A disturbed curtain of trees opened up before me as I raised my head to look forward, the forest floor seemed to have been flipped over, smashed logs, broken branches, busted trunks and scratch marks littered the whole area, one thing is for sure, there was a pursuit and it might be the answer as to why our companions were nowhere to be seen but why leave their weapons behind to pursue a prey that could cause something as destructive as this? Rallying my cowering consciousness I continued on forward. After that clobbered clearing, the woods seemed to have huddled even closer as if there wasn’t any disturbance at all, there was a lingering silence in the air, my primitive instincts tells me that it’s not good to continue but the thrill of the hunt screams for me to go on, the fluids inside my body boiled, my sweat turned cold, my body was filled with soft shudders, as if I am caressed by death herself. The air around me seemed to have slowed its entry. The hands of time seemed to sluggishly drag itself in its own face, processing this while moving left me mindlessly wandering the woods. Not long after that my feet slowly submerged in muddy water, jolting me awake from that melancholic march. “Traces!, I needed to look for them!” Collecting myself, I trudged the small flooded area to reach the other side, as soon as my bare feet licked solid ground, the sun slowly shuttered into the horizon. I have to nod off to the toothless teasing face of the moon.             As I was rubbing crumbs from my eyes by the side of the flooded area. I noticed something amiss, a pile of untarnished nails could be seen leading yet into another thicket, bloodstains beside it guided me towards a clearing with a huge cairn in the middle of it, at the foot of the humongous pile of stones, hunched over in a total bloodbath feasting itself over what seems to be a freshly culled cadaver with its back facing me a huge, dark, quick looking figure and a mass of void hedged with rows of reddened, needlelike and incandescent compression of appetites. It rapidly snapped its head back in a wide faceless grin which seemed to me looked like he was mocking my sudden appearance telling me that it has waited for me for too long and got bored so it came with a cost. It slowly rose from where it was seated with slopping sounds, sporting an unnerving hiss that sent shivers in the back of my neck making me unable to move from my place. I clutched my club tightly in case that it jumps in for the kill, the forest started to raise its cheers, echoes from brutes, critters and vermin started the charades of combat, the silhouette paced around in its place seeming as if it was contemplating. As the cheers reached its climax and as a single leaf slowly descended its way to the rest of the foliage, the silhouette exploded from its place with nothing to flail but its arms, in a blink of an eye it came in close preparing for a strike with the tip of its arm. I struck the entity with my club in the side of its head, a guaranteed lethal blow, if only it was of normal nature. The huge figure was whipped from its mighty stance. I threw my club from over my head to keep it at bay and quickly turned around to exhaust all the air in my body for one great dash that meant life or death, a creature as immense as that taking a deathblow to the most vulnerable part of its body and is still standing despite it being bruised with a window busted from its rows of teeth is not an animal  nor a beast at all. It was something else. A silhouette in flesh and blood. I did not even try to determine if I hit him for a second time but one thing is for sure the forest had an orchestra of ferocious howls as I galloped retracing the way I came from. Lo and Behold! I found that my whole party laid strewn and mangled bits of flesh and garment scattered around. Staring in shock, the figures started to slowly turn their heads, revealing their faces and to my horror, in the same exact appearance, its immense size, and menacing presence with the same injury on the side of its head the only difference is that it isn’t alone, it has doppelgangers for each and every single one of them and yet it or they just stood there staring right at me. The howls did not die down to mere hums, the forest dwellers kept their boisterous banter. I do not know if it is from my nose or from my ears, there was blood from my head trickling down to my body. In a state of daze, I kept my composure, steeling my resolve I took one deep breath and quickly bolted out of the scene while racing against the breeze, the first thing that came into my mind was to run back to the settlement to warn them of the creature’s real nature. ALAS! I was dumbfounded and in awe for a scene of total carnage and decimation of the whole settlement was furnished upon me by a beast I could not fathom. Echoes from the cackle of the forest’s crackling kept on reverberating, bouncing off in every direction possible. I passed out, all of the strength in my body leaving comparable as to how the smoke for an offering goes upward. Woken up by the rondeaux of ravens circling around in a dance of death. Some picked up scraps and dug through the rubble, I dared not to enter the gates, for I already knew what I would witness inside it’s half torn walls and it’s smouldering huts. The smell of burning flesh and metallic odour of blood lingered in the air. The noises from the birds was not accompanied by the chaparral’s chorus. As I turn my back there it was, its stance was high and mighty. It wore the same face of the silhouette I tried to slay in the clearing by the cairn. It’s toothily faceless head that grins and mocks your very soul.                                   “Beware for when the timber hums the tempo, the silhouette’s symphony serenades every shadow.”<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I was invited to dinner and was served human meat. [RESPONSE] Guests chatted while sitting on the oversized velvet couch. Glasses of wine were held in hand and spilled as the personage let out an airy laugh. One woman wore a pearl necklace, along with her bright red lipstick and curled hair. Her hair was as white as snow, along with being short and neat. She crossed her legs as ladylike as she was and laughed whenever someone let out a joke. The woman sat close to the fireplace, with flames rising up and down. Above it was a deer head, carefully bestowed to the wall with its dead eyes twinkling whenever a flame grew higher. Of course, there was a painting nearby - the painting being a picturesque version of the house it resides in. Nearby the painting is a large array of knives, all sharpened and polished. In the room are all patrons of the house owner, purchasing his striking woodwork and displaying his craft inside their own manors and properties. The guests were not surprised when seeing the dozens of ornate woodcarvings around the house, only seeing ones in the foyer and parlor, of course. Madame Mistral, the woman whose scarf is made of fox fur, put down her wine glass and turned her attention to Lieutenant Anderson, a well-known purchaser of wooden art. The man was probably in his late 30s or early 40s, a somewhat stout and burly man. “I do agree that the bear and carp are one of Sir Bertholdt’s greatest works.” Madame Mistral spoke, her hands touching her white hair. The lieutenant nodded and took a sip of his beer. I glanced over at the stale conversation. Being a young fellow, I yearned for some interesting discourse. “Do any of you suppose that Sir Bertholdt will show up soon?” I asked, looking at the magnolia clock on the wall. The other guests in the room looked over at me. “Be patient, kid.” Lieutenant Anderson grumbled, crossing his arms while doing so. I sighed and moved some ice cubes around in my drink. The maid decided to show up not too long after. She quickly came into the leading parlor and greeted the guests winsomely. “Sir requests you in the dinette.” The maid said in her soft voice, smiling as she looked at all of the guests. All twelve of the guests followed the expeditious maid into the dining room. They had passed dozens of paintings, carvings, and plenty of display cases featuring tools. The dining table had exactly twelve seats, five on the long sides and two on the short ends. The table looked custom crafted, with coils of bronze at each corner and a sparkling finish to the wood. “I’m getting dinner out right now.” The maid said, wheeling in a cart with multiple dishes and platters of food. Each dish was concealed with a top, the very tip made of circular gold. The lieutenant muttered aloud if he could somehow get the gold and sell it to a pawn shop. Each guest anxiously anticipated the food. My mouth watered. The maid lifted the top of one dish, some sort of red meat exposing itself to the guests. The maid lifted another lid, exposing a human head on some leaves. All the guests screamed, with plates and utensils falling off the table. “This is gourmet; what's the matter?” The servant asked quizzically, putting the top back on the plate. “This is insane! I’m out of here!” One man screamed, running out of the dinette. A few more people followed the man, avoiding eye contact with the housemaid. Only seven people remained, eyeing each other inquiringly. I gagged, the smell of the food resembling that of a rotting corpse. Earlier, I was pretty intrigued, wanting to taste what wealthy people eat. Never had I ever imagined that the Bertholdt household would be like this. I got up from my seat and dashed out of the dinette, only stopping when finding the five runners on the ground. I had assumed them to be running for their lives, rushing towards the front door with such vehemence and passion for escaping. Straight out of a horror performance, the five guests were on the ground, dead. I conceived, to stay alive, I should follow orders. With a sigh, I walked back to the dinette and sat down next to a man with a pipe and a woman with a puffy gown. I gulped, trying not to look at the platters in front of him. “Child, what had happened?”Madame Lavandra asked, smoothing out her purple and puffy dress. Lavandra’s dress was a violet color, with some ultramarine circling the middle and ivory snowflakes surrounding the long sleeves. Although not close to the winter season, Madame Lavandra Van Schuyler is known for her unique and diverse fashion. “Nothing of the bad sort Madame; I had decided to meet Sir Bertholdt after all.” I lied while feeling the embroidered deer on my serviette. I wondered why the six other guests could remain so calm -- in spite of the fact that I am doing so. “Sadly, our other guests left. But on the bright side, there is more food for everyone.” The maid said with an exaggerated simper, opening the plate with its head. I grimaced and looked away. As I looked away, I could hear the head's squish while the maid cut it with her knife. Blood seeped onto the plate under the head, turning the white ivory into a deep and dark crimson. I could tell some guests grimaced but quickly returned to their regular expressions. Could they have possibly thought of the same idea as I? If they act obedient, no death shall strike them with a sword? I then could hear the plop of a piece of the head being placed on my plate and the others receiving their portions. “Is there anything else that I may have to eat? I am on a diet of vegetarianism.” I shrewdly spoke, looking up at the maid. “I am as well.” Madame Mistral announced a sense of remorse in her voice. “I shall prepare some salad and soup then.” The maid said with a dainty bow. After the maid wheeled the cart back to the kitchen, she stayed to prepare the new cuisine. “We must get out of here.” Madame Lavandra said, getting up from the table and ushering the guests to her. She stood under the doorway and waited for someone to follow her lead. “Don’t you see?” Lieutenant Anderson grumbled, frustratingly placing his utensils back on the table, “It’s all a trap.” He finished, looking down at his plate. “How, sir?” Madame Lavandra questioned, putting her hands on her hips. “The kid knows; he’s been in the hallway.” Lieutenant Anderson said, looking at me with a slightly raised eyebrow. “It’s true, ma’am, I’ve seen corpses,” I said, my eyes widening when reliving the scene. Madame Lavandra sat back down sadly. “Do you reckon that we will make it out alive?” She asked gloomily. “If we just go along with whatever is going on.” The man with a pipe said. His words were slurred as he talked with the meerschaum pipe in his mouth. For that brief moment, everyone had ignored the rotting head piece on each of their plates. I watched the wisped flame of the candelabra sway side-to-side, each glow reflecting off the faces sitting across from him. It had been a mere ten minutes of silence after the man with the pipe spoke. I knew I could’ve escaped by now; each minute was precious in his situation. But the problem is that I have no clue who else is in Bertholdt’s mansion. On top of all crucial things, the manor is on top of a hill, with no neighbors but the old sawmill at the bottom of the range. I sighed when examining the man with the pipe’s pocket watch, which read; 9:30 P.M. My mother must be worried sick; she even had warned me not to go to the unpopulated part of town. But alas, I still went to Sir Bertholdt’s mansion to be there for my cousin James, who was unable to show up due to work. Even though I had promised mother to be home before nine, all I could do was sit. The maid returned shortly after 9:32, grabbing my and Madame Lavandra’s dishes and replacing them. “I’m assuming none of you are hungry.” The maid said, glancing at the guest's untouched dishes. “I ate before arriving here.” Madame Mistral replied, looking at the maid with her cerulean eyes. “I understand; let us head to the display room after the two are finished.” The maid proposed, referring to Madame Lavandra and me. Everyone nodded, some more hurriedly than others. My mouth watered when eyeing my soup and salad; I was glad that I didn’t have to perceive the horrid stench of a rotting head any longer. I ate uncomfortably, viewing inadequate looks from the other guests, besides Madame Lavandra, who looked quite pleased with the other guest's expressions. I didn’t know if Madame Lavandra was one of those who enjoyed the pain of others or doesn’t express herself very well regarding her face. Nonetheless, I was glad I brought up the topic of vegetarianism, possibly opening up the subject of lying to gain for themselves to the other guests. I could’ve just stayed quiet, but then I remembered that the inhabitants of the manor don’t know anything about me; lying to survive is inevitable. After a short while, I put down my utensils and watched Madame Lavandra finish up. “Goodness, sir, you must’ve been starving,” The maid told me, viewing my empty plates. I nodded and placed my serviette back on the table. The maid then led the guests to the display room, everyone on edge and eyes broadening when surveying the items they deemed as suspicious. I took note of the things, especially. The display room was only down the hall from the dinette. Although the walk between the two was only a few seconds, everyone felt like it was hours. The lack of conversation and apprehensive tension stung the guests right in the heart. A man suddenly entered the room, which caused the entire atmosphere to change. Something felt different. His appearance was unlike anything I had seen before. He dressed like a king, with long velvet robes and a golden cane with what appeared to be a ruby in the center. He smiled while entering, flashing his pearly teeth at everyone. "Welcome, my friends!" he announced cheerily. No one smiled back or even replied. The man looked disappointed to see this. "I am Sir Bertholdt; thank you for joining me today for my wooden carving auction." Everyone continued to look at him with sheepish faces. Bertholdt proceeded to shake everyone's hands energetically. When he came to me, though, he scanned me from head to toe. I suppose he was surprised to see my rugged appearance, for lack of better words. I only wore my brown fishing overalls with my best green sweater underneath. "You don't belong here, do you?" He asked with a smile. It seemed so insincere that I sneered. "My cousin, James, wanted to purchase some of your work, but he couldn't make it, so I'm here for him. Don't worry, he gave me money," I replied, somewhat angry. "Good, good. Now, let's get on with the festivities!" Bertholdt said with a sing-songy voice. Bertholdt led us down a hallway with many paintings, carvings, and taxidermic animals. He eventually stopped at a double door that a maid was standing in front of. "Sophia, my dear," he said in passing as Sophia opened the doors for us. We walked down a few flights of stairs to a large room about the size of an ice skating rink. Chandeliers and candles lighted the room on the walls. The walls and floors were both composed of rock, oddly enough. The rest of the mansion was mainly wood. Madame Lavandra and the others suddenly grabbed me and pushed me towards Bertholdt. He held my shoulders tightly and forced me to glance at the dozens of wooden carvings against the wall. He held my face with his hand and smiled cheekily. "Aren't they amazing, Finny?" he giggled. How the hell does he know my name? Bertholdt was more substantial than I expected. Being a couple of inches taller than me and stronger made me start to lose hope that I could fight my way out of this situation. Bertholdt clapped his hands and pointed at a wooden carving of a giant bear. Suddenly, Lieutenant Anderson triggered a machine of some sort above the carving to slice it in half. There, I saw my cousin, James, being slit in half. I screamed, calling out to him, but it was too late. I knew he was dead the second the saw touched his head. "Why are you doing this?" I pleaded with Bertholdt, tears streaming down my face. He smiled, and everyone laughed. I scowled through my tears and kept trying to escape Bertholdt's grip on me. Bertholdt knocked me to the floor, and everyone began holding my limbs to the cold, hard ground. I kept thinking to myself *why are they doing this*? And I imagined my poor mother's face. Even writing this is making me tear up. I'll continue my story soon, but I assure you it is not for the light-hearted...<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I smuggled drugs in the 1980s for a narco kingpin. I brought something home far worse than blood money. [RESPONSE] Having a pilot's license in the 1980s gave me many opportunities. The most lucrative of them were not within the bounds of the law. Most of my free time was in the sky. I carried packages of a certain white narcotic that was in high demand. I spent my free time in Miami. The limitless amount of cash afforded me the best clothing, drinks, and jewelry. I also met my fair share of women at that time in nightclubs. If I was smart I would have maintained a low profile. My mindset at the time was juvenile. "When you see an opportunity to be flashy," I told a fellow party-goer, "why not indulge in that decadence?" I knew that one day you were King, and the next you’re in the poorhouse working a dead-end job - or worse, in the penitentiary. I had to let loose while not at work since I had a few close calls back then. There were times when I landed in Colombia and believed I would never make it out. I never snitched on any of my superiors or equals. This is why I still have a pulse today. When they thought I may have been culpable of ratting on them, I had to clear my name. I always did. The kind of assignments I undertook was easy for me. For starters, I was a great pilot. I am also of Hispanic descent, and I have no problem fitting in with the populace over there. I rarely raised any red flags. Some may speculate how facing near-executions should have been a wake-up call to flee to a place far away. What the person on the outside looking in does not know is how good the adrenaline rush feels. The natural high you get when you are living on the outskirts. and working against the system the way I did. The outlaw lifestyle is one of the most addictive elements on earth. This is especially true when it is abundant. Around December of 1993, I did decide to take a long hiatus. In my mind, I was not giving up the life. The notion of retirement was nauseating. I thought about putting the brakes on the entire operation was a good idea. The highest boss at the time had died on a rooftop in his home country with a bullet to the back. I did not trust anyone to take his place. I did not believe a new leader would be anywhere near as profitable for his subordinates. \* One day I sat in my apartment watching television. The phone rang and I answered. The voice on the other end was hoarse. He sounded as though he finished chain-smoking twenty packs of Pall Malls. “We know you stole one of our bricks,” The man said. “I went to one of the *brujas*. I had him give you a little karmic present. Enjoy.” I hung up and tried to forget the conversation, though I knew it was a sign I had to move. \* I bought a cabin away from society. It was in the mountains. The views surrounding the estate were breathtaking. In the first six months, I was there, I felt a bit isolated, but I knew it was for the best. I had an escape route mapped out if the authorities were to ever circle the place. Tapping my phone was impossible considering I did not have a phone. I watched old westerns on VHS and read thriller novels during my downtime. I fished, hiked, and hunted every other free moment. I still grew deathly bored. To go from having your heart racing every single day to living like Thoreau is a culture shock. I kept copious amounts of cash buried around the perimeter. It was in everything from shoe boxes to milk crates with pieces of wood placed over their tops. There were no witnesses to watch me shovel in the remoteness. There were stacks of bills stuffed into my mattress, so I rarely had to resort to unearth the currency. I grew out a beard and dyed it a color I never had before. I went into the nearby town and stocked up on everything from top ramen to Blue Label scotch. A month after the booze had run out, I searched my bed for more money and found I had tapped that particular reserve. I grabbed a shovel and went out back. I dug up one of the boxes and brought it inside. As I laid out the money on the floor, one discolored bill, in particular, caught my attention. It did not even resemble a typical Franklin. Upon closer inspection, I saw the bill had dried blood. A symbol was on it. The mark appeared to be similar to that of a corporate logo, but one that was completely unknown to me. I was willing to wager it was unrecognizable to most everyone. It looked as though someone tried to remember how to draw a pentagram and failed. I knew I could not spend it in town without attracting attention, So I threw it in my wastebasket. I left, purchased the necessary liquor in town, and came back. \* I awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of rustling. I sat up and stared at where the noise was coming from. It was in the corner of the room, where the wastebasket was. In the darkness and drowsiness, I contemplated how it was more than likely a rodent. Something seemed out of place when I opened my eyes a little more. The rim of the wastebasket had unusual shading around it. It seemed as though someone had painted it with a dark and inky liquid. I stood and switched on the lamp. The wastebasket looked normal in the light. I shrugged and thought it was a result of exhaustion. I had spent the day splitting wood. I turned the light off, got back into the bed, and rolled over. I slept well and did not wake up until seven hours later. When I went to stand, I saw a shadow on my wall. It was humanoid and held a staff. I saw the shadow entity shake the object in the air. It unnerved me so much that I even ran my hand along the wall, where it dissipated. \* I spent the morning trying to shake off the feeling of interminable doom which had befallen me. I made coffee, eggs, and bacon. As I was frying my food to start the day, I heard a loud pounding noise. It came from the eastern part of the cabin. I sat my utensils down and went into my room. I reached for a very large mag light and knife. I also grabbed a pistol. I held the blade downwards and crept towards the persistent noise. I crouched and waited for someone to crash in through the window. I knew it was likely not a lawman, since they tended to announce themselves. I reasoned it was a stray or an adversary. Remembrances of news headlines about a serial killer being active in the area came back to me. I stared at the wall for a long time. There was no silhouette through the shuttered casement. The ruckus ceased altogether. With the gun clutched, I went outside and searched for footprints. What I found instead horrified me. Dismembered animal carcasses were everywhere. The limbs of elk and the bloodied, severed claws of bears were strewn about. I gazed at some of the crimson stumps as the hair on my arms stood up. Whoever had done this had wielded a hatchet with more brute force than precision. I circled the cabin and did not see any trace of a human. I contemplated how it was almost as though someone had dropped the parts off from a plane. I scaled a nearby hill to get a better look at the uppermost part of the structure. There were streaks and wide swaths of blood coating the rooftop. I shoveled the animal remains into mini trash bags. The smell was abominable. I tied them off and kept them many yards away from my house. I knew predators would come in the night to feast on the collection. I thought of the possibility of this not being a targeted event. I knew about the kind of damage that flocks of geese could do to an engine, but this was beyond inexplicable. My mind went through scenarios of exotic animals transported via aviation to dictators. Something could have gone wrong with the latches. It seemed like a silly hypothetical at the moment, but I was trying to calm myself down with an explanation. Even if done on purpose, I could not figure out who would complete such a thing and why. \* My head pounded. I went inside and laid down. I felt myself drift off to sleep. I heard a brief scratching noise which I dismissed as a tree limb scraping against the rain gutter. Drowsiness overcame me, and I saw something protrude in the corner of my left periphery. I looked over. Spider legs the size of batons emerged from the waste basket. I awoke screaming and sweating. I glanced over and saw that the wastebasket was normal. I wiped my brow and kicked my feet over the edge of the bed. I took in a few deep breaths. I stood and paced. I picked up a paperback and read a few passages. I decided to give sleep another go, faithful another night-terror would not fall me. Darkness whirled around me as I melted into the embrace of slumber. I was in my cockpit. The earth below rushed towards me as divided squares of land. I was in the beginning stages of a crash. All I heard was my voice screaming out the word mayday. I knew it was futile, a result of training-based instincts and desperation. The sweetness of jet fuel, singed flesh, and flames greeted me in an instant. Scorched metal, debris, and burnt pieces of electronics sunk into my skin. I wanted to shout for help, but my voice grew muffled in the enveloping swarm of land and wreckage. The disassembled morass of ruined parts flowed around me in rivers of sparks. I crawled out of what looked to be a narrow prism which I widened with what little ounce of strength I had left. My skin peeled off as I trudged through the dirt and grass. I cranked my head around to look at the ruined plane. The same sigil which was on the hundred-dollar bill I had thrown away was visible on the side of the aircraft. I yelled out at the lowering sun before I awoke again. When I sat upright, my hand graced something cold. I looked down. The wastebasket was right next to where I had lain. I got down on my knees and threw up into it. I had to destroy the symbol. Before the night was over I would fish it out and burn it. My decision felt superstitious. Still, my suspicion of the source of bad luck was undeniable. \* It has been many decades since that last nightmare. I have never had a repeat of that one. I have had anxiety-inducing ones about planes crashing into me. They occur in isolated and peaceful settings. Another unusual change in my life has been the continual presence of spiders. I have already hired an exterminator to come out and try to rid me of the nuisances, to no avail. They lurk in my cabinets. They are beneath my floorboards and in the cracks of every piece of furniture. I am always at war with them, though I am armed with a bountiful amount of insecticides. They crawl on me when I dare pass out. The dead animals also became a recurring incident. Something always took them away in the night whenever I put them in bags. Some may envy me for my reclusive lifestyle and my lack of typical responsibilities. If they only knew the true hell I live in, with the constant worry of how many animal bodies I’ll have to clean up the next day and how many visions of obliteration I endure. They would not trade their normalcy for my existence if they only knew. I still see the shadow of the man who likely cursed me. When I go into town, I see the same symbol. Sometimes it is a piece of graffiti on a bus bench. Other times it is an ornament hung on a cab driver's rear view mirror. It taunts me. This morning I walked out and saw words written in blood on my front door, likely with a sharp end of a stick: *Vivirás en el mundo que creamos para ti.* *You will live in the world we create for you.*<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Please Pollute The Fucking Aquarium [RESPONSE] “Rachel, I know you’re on vacation, but I’m going to need you to come in today. We have urgent matters to discuss,” my boss spoke over the phone. I frowned, realizing that this was the downside of being the assistant lead marine biologist at the city’s aquarium. “Whatever you say. I will be right over.” I hang up the phone and grab my keys. Twisting the ignition, I start up the car in front of my apartment. Through the heights and the nearby highway, the sky was visible and white as a ghost. Rain pours down in sheets from a violent storm despite it not being hurricane season. I take a sip of my coffee as I enter onto the highway more chaotic than a movie theater filled with drunk teenagers. My car wheels slip against the wet pavement path leading up to the aquarium. The vast expanse had the architecture like that of ancient Greek ruins and had well-polished marble to complement the atmosphere, too. Hundreds of glass tanks rise up from the aquarium like awakened underground giants punching from within the Earth’s crust. Each column of glass was etched with bronze coils and wings, making it resemble something out of a high fantasy anime. Below the foundation is an immeasurable concrete and glass base that disappears into the ocean. I park my car and peer off into the water. Schools of tens of thousands of fish jump out of the water away from the aquarium out of the blue, startling me a bit. Once I regain my senses, I grasp onto the railing for a closer look. “Why are the fish suddenly so active at this moment?” I wonder. Whales nearby pay no attention to the buffet right within swallowing distance and also swim off. I veer at the glass columns towering above the blue void. “What the heck…” I mumble. No sea life was contained inside like usual. The only thing that was inside was a crystal-clear void. Maintenance workers do take out wildlife if problems are severe enough and they need to get into the tanks. But what kind of situation inside the building would be severe enough to cause such a disturbance outside of the building, though? Outside from a fuel tank explosion, there is none. Rushing to my car, I take my work bag. Automatic sliding doors with brass dolphin symbols squeak open. A reception desk resides in front the aquarium’s crown jewel: a shark tank massive enough to make the owner of a mansion swimming pool green with envy. I double take at the exhibit. It was completely abandoned. My boss gives me a nod in front of the reception desk. Her hands were behind her back and her face did not move much as she spoke. “Good morning, Rachel,” she says. I shake her hand with a smile. “You wanted to see me, Linda?” When I get the message that she means business, my smile vanishes. “What happened to the shark exhibit? Did the maintenance workers take the specimens out to fix a problem or something?” “The maintenance workers checked everything last night. All was in order.” As she speaks, she straightens out her white lab coat. To be on the safe side, I turn to the empty shark tank, taking out a notepad and pencil. The filters were churning out bubbles like usual. Salinity content was stable. The pH was normal as well. I shrug it off, taking a look at the maintenance agenda, wondering if the animals were just taken out and put in temporary tanks. Nothing comes up. I flip each page and inspect them diligently, eyebrows furrowed. The schedule indicated that animals were indeed, never taken out. “Our star attraction is not the only abandoned tank. Have a look.” Linda motions to the expanse the lookout stood over. “Huh???” I whisper. Every tank was devoid of fauna. I pull out some binoculars. Not even small, insignificant fish were present. Upon closer surveillance, cavities as dark as soot were just standing there. Each hole went straight through the sand and concrete as if a mining drill were dropped into the ground and it started burrowing infinitely. Around the edges of the breaches were claw marks that smoothed out the perimeter and left small clumps of dust. At some of the pits, teeth and claw marks were gouged into the floor. Something dragged the marine life down into the depths below the tanks. While searching for more evidence to support my conclusion, my stomach drops. For unexplainable reasons, there was neither a single drop of blood or chunk of flesh, nor any decaying debris from the attack. “Rachel, meet me at the deep-sea exhibit.” \--- Fake lighting glowed from the plastic and steel replicas of deep-sea fish, mimicking their real-life bioluminescence. Neon lighting in the corners of the tanks brightened the holes that replaced the creatures in the empty tanks. Linda motions for us to sit in the theater seats of the visitor area. She activates a switch which brings down a white projector screen. A picture of the entire aquarium pops up. “Five hours after closing time yesterday, the night guards reported that animals were missing from their tanks. They reported that masses of tentacles erupted from the ground, seizing the creatures and dragging them down like hands of the dammed latching onto a soul, ready to drag it to Hell. I took some archived footage of the event from the cameras.” She switches to the next slide with an aerial view of a manta ray tank. For five seconds, all is quiet with the exception of the hum of the machinery. In the span of ten seconds, a net of squid tentacles burst out of the foundation, twitching and writhing like the heads of the mythological Hydra: all clustered together and attacking in harmony. Together, the tendrils latch on to each flapping ray, hauling them into the hole. A billow of blood spews out from the opening, scattering around the tank and tinting the hole a deep ruby red. Back up suction cup arms burst out again to siphon up the cloud of maroon. “Why would a creature want to clean up every last bit of debris possible?” I wonder. “Most animals would move on or just take the carcass without worrying if a piece falls off.” “Two hours before the aquarium was supposed to open, I dropped remote cameras into these holes, hopping to shed some light on the situation.” She flips to the next slide with a cut away view of the aquarium and circles the massive crypt that penetrated the fault line of the beach. “Each hole led to the trench beneath the oceanarium. Our job is to figure out what caused this mass vanishing. The aquarium is equipped with maintenance submarines. We will use them in order to investigate this situation.” She clicks a button on the screen, making it retreat back into the ceiling like a snake backing off into a crevice. “Follow me.” She guides all of us into an area behind one of the empty jellyfish tanks, leading us to a door marked “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.” \--- Water sloshes around from the turbulence below the row of seven fluorescent submarines. Each machine was surrounded by a single screen shielded by a layer of glass thicker than the Earth’s crust. On the tail end of the vehicles were five separate motors. Four were in the corners, one was in the middle. Each submarine had multiple hatches used to store analysis and repair extensions. “Why do we have these submarines in the first place?” I ask. She glances at me. “They’re meant for repairing the foundation only. Sea water can erode concrete much faster than you think.” Lightbulbs swing from cords and illuminate the area. Linda walks along a painted line over to a control panel, typing in a password. A small green light flashes, unlocking a box of keys. For a moment, she keeps her hand still in reticence, letting the wheels turn in her head. She pauses. I walk up to her. “Is something the matter, boss?” I ask, trying to make eye contact. Linda snaps out of her funk, looks at me, and straightens out her long black hair. “It’s nothing. Here. Let me get your keys.” She pulls out one of the key bunches and drops it in my open palm. I look at the key number, match it with the same submarine, and enter the door smaller than a coffin is wide. The screen at the bow turns on and surrounds me with blue light. I put on the wire connected steering gloves, fasten my seat harness, and calibrate everything. “All systems go.” I say. “I have no clue what is going to be down there, so the both of us must stay together. We only disperse if I give the order. Understood?” “Yes ma’am.” We release the metallic aquatic probes into the water, splashing it across the floor and the corners of the walls. Light evanesces into the liquid depths as Linda instructs me to descend into the unknown. \--- “DEPTH 100 METERS.” The control system’s voice drones. I tilt my right hand down, steering the submarine towards the seabed. My boss’ vehicle is right in front and has its arms extended in case if things start to go south. At the perimeter of the screen is my supervisors face staring at her screen. Linda adjusts her hair once more. “Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is…” Linda mumbles, shrinking into her seat. “DEPTH 200 METERS.” Barely discernible patches and streaks of red hover dozens of meters from the top of my vehicle. I glance back and check the surroundings again. The streaks had vanished and no heat signatures except for those belonging to the rest of the steel armada come up. “DEPTH 400 METERS.” Beep, beep, beep…The radar reveals a new heat signature. Tentacles resembling those on the video swoop down and investigate my submarine. My spine tingles. Closing my ring finger on my left hand retracts all of the submarine extensions and covers them with steel fixtures. I raise a finger to my lips. Heavy breathing echoes from the speakers. The tendrils slide around the sides of the submarine, attach to the glass panel and tap the sides, searching for an opening. Eventually, the elastic arms retreat back into the darkness. I stare up, trying to see the source, but am unable to find one. My boss starts to hyperventilate when the tendrils come back and start poking around her submarine. Sweat begins to pour from her brow. I can hear her breathe heavily through the mike. “Shut up…” I mouth. The tentacles drape across her screen and start to tap faster than rain. Creeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaak…The unseen wraith continues to wrap its dull appendages around the submarine. After the appendages have lost interest in the probe and retreated, she finally relaxes, wiping some sweat off her head. I rest my hands on the cockpit chair in confusion. It’s obvious that was the thing responsible for all the trouble. The creature could not possibly be any species of octopus or squid. Not even a giant or colossal could reach a size even close to that of the unseen beast. What the hell was that thing? “Boss, should we abort the mission?” I ask. “We’re lucky that whatever that thing is, it hasn’t bothered moving to the open ocean. It could destroy the entire aquatic biosphere if it decides to move elsewhere! We have to find answers on how to contain it or kill it.” “That thing could rip open the subs like a wishbone. What other reasons do you have that would justify us risking our asses and confronting such a threat?” She makes a chopping motion with her hands for emphasis at each word. “If the ocean biosphere dies, we’re next. Do you want to live on a planet without any food?” “…I understand…Let’s proceed then.” \-- “DEPTH 1000 METERS.” My submarine drones. “Hey, Rachel. I found something.” Linda says. A light shines on a cliffside littered with the remains of an underwater laboratory. Glass and steel corridors have turned into shattered pipes. Barriers and doorways have been torn off their frames. Computer and hologram systems are cracked with nothing on them but blank, powerless screens. Linda swallows a lump in her throat and frowns at the sight of the refuse. I lock eyes with my boss’ screen. “You seem tense, Linda. Do you know anything about this?” “Twenty years ago, hundreds of underwater research facilities were built in this fault line. They were all used for an important experiment.” “Maybe we can find some clues about the monster around here.” Pushing my arm forward, I float over a path of more inconceivable rubble, trying to find where the trail leads. I turn back to investigate for more information when my light scans over some more shattered corridors that leads to a basin filled with nothing but more glass rubble. The light hovers over a small containment tank the size of bathtub. Half of the thick shield was in splinters. As I rotate the vessel back, I notice seven more cylinders lying in an aimless heap. I continue down the steel base of the abandoned laboratory hive, finding thirty more tanks hurled, knocked over, or obliterated. “What things were stored in these?” I think to myself. Linda moves her jaw back and forth. The light on the bow illuminates a suction cup around the size of an apple from a piece of flesh. “Goddamn it…” she groans. My face droops a bit. “That thing can’t be responsible for all this!” she says. I push my head back with hesitation. After taking a deep breath, I gain the courage to speak. “Linda. Please tell me what is going on.” And then she beams her light one last time and the color drains from her face. Limp as boiled noodles are two tendrils the length of seven school buses. One was constricted around a chewed-up manta ray, the other slunk around the head of a shark. Its head was a deep, sewage waste brown. The inside of its mouth was a shimmering abalone blue coloring. “It was only supposed to go after the foreign creatures…” she whispers. “It was responsible for the destruction of the aquarium all along…” I grit my teeth. The politeness filter just expired. “Foreign creatures? Linda, explain yourself! What did you do?!” I bark. She sighs. “Twenty years ago, civilians around this bay area started spotting hundreds of hostile creatures like the one that the tentacles are wrapped around. They were extremely hard to capture, killed civilians as if they were cattle, and laid waste to this beach area.” My face loosens up. “The reason I created the aquarium was because those bastards were destroying the sea life that once flourished in this bay. I wanted to preserve them and keep them away from them.” I start to twiddle my thumbs in confusion. My eyes widen when I realize the gravity of the situation. Are the hostile creatures searching for us? Was that unknown beast one of those? And why would my boss feel guilt towards something that is seemingly out of her control? My boss rests her head in her hand. “No one knew how to deal with the hostile entities, so I set up those laboratories to help create some entity that could eliminate every last one of them. It took hundreds of tries, but we eventually created something that we believed was a silver bullet.” Her voice speeds up in a panic. She starts shaking her head rapidly. “None of this was supposed to happen! The project turned out perfectly fine after I ran all those tests! It was supposed to eliminate only the targets!” Let me get this straight: you tried to contain hostile, unknown, and unpredictable entities by sending out franken-douchebag, which is another hostile, unknown, and unpredictable entity, to sort everything out?” I raise a brow. Her mouth tightens, but she eventually speaks. “Yes.” “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?! YOU PUT ALL MARINE LIFE AND OURS IN DANGER!” Tears stream down her eyes. “I didn’t have any other choice! It was the last option we could think of!” I groan. “I’m doing this because the world and my job is at stake, not because I feel sorry for you. Tell me you at least have a game plan.” “Yes. I will take the north. You take the south. We’ll search for more clues.” “What about those other creatures? We can’t just let them roam around!” “For now, we need to find out how to destroy the failed experiment.” I take a deep breath and calm my nerves. “Alright.” \--- Two hours pass. “DEPTH 1500 METERS” “Linda,” I say, holding a sincere hand out. “I don’t forgive you for getting us into this mess, but I can see why you would create that experiment in the first place. People do stupid stuff all the time when they are under pressure. You were trying to do what was right.” “You don’t need to forgive me. This is my problem, and I’m going to do everything I can to fix it. The only reason why I brought you along is because of your intellect. But now that seemingly everything has been gathered, if you want to leave, I give you permission. I need to face it alone.” “I’m not letting the world get destroyed. We’ll face it together.” The motors rip apart the water like hooks tearing apart taffy in a factory. All of the lights are on full blast, yet they don’t even make a dent in the shadow curtains. However, I get a glimpse of the basin wall and give it the cold shoulder. Bulbous eyes fill cracks in between the spasming muscles. Massive conical carbuncles jut hard and firm and point at my ship. In the opening of the abscess, I can barely make out greyhound-sized brooding pouches. So that’s where the tyrannical leviathans came from. “Linda, what is your status?” Her screen shows her submarine examining the sea floor and analyzing the tendrils peeking out from fissures and pulsing. “I’m trying to find answers to this situation. So far, I haven’t found anything that can be put to good use yet.” A light begins to glow in the distance, refracting light that shined on the translucent labyrinth. “Hang on. I found some giant shimmering thing. I am going to investigate. What about you, Rachel? What’s your status?” “As we speak, I am descending the main basin. I think I found the source of the foreign creatures. Haven’t found any signs of your failed experiment, yet. Do you know what I should look for?” “It never reveals its true form to anyone for defensive purposes, so it doesn’t have a weakness that I know of. We are going to have to figure something out.” “Are you kidding me,” I think to myself. The camera on Linda’s submarine pans downward. Smoker’s mouth yellow spheres the size of fists lie in the recesses of a cliff. Halos of blood surround black pits in the epicenter. Stems of muscle and nerve tissue hang from the clusters in the cliffside. Eyes. Veiny brain matter surrounds each of the eyes, making them look like the cells of a packed honeycomb, except with the shade and texture of marinara sauce. Beating hearts throb on top of the conglomeration of assorted cells. “What in God’s name is that thing?!” Linda looks away from the revolting lump. She follows the arteries connecting to the tumor. SPLAT! Her vehicle crashes into a hidden carbuncle. When tries to back up from the mini mountain, her ship remains stuck to it. She activates the prodding arms, ripping apart the mass of tissue and tear into it like teeth against barbecued ribs. The individual cells on the structure are illuminated on the camera. “My creation is just one single entity. This cannot possibly be my creation! It shouldn’t have evolved to this extent!” Linda panics. As she frantically pans the camera around, hundreds of flesh mountains are illuminated. My boss’ sub spins around to get the lay of the land. A wall of flesh resembling that in the basin fills the crater. Her light shines on a carcass that had a head matching the brute in the clutches of the tentacles. It resembled a mixture between a shark and a trilobite and the very end of its tail was still attached to the tip of one of the small hills. The corpse slides down a bit, peeling down one of the flower-like lips from the base like a banana and revealing the other pouches contained inside. She turns her head to the mass of random flesh, nodding as an idea forms in her head. “If I destroy that cluster of eyes, I think that half of our troubles will finally be put to rest. Focus on finding my creation; I can stop those other monsters from bothering us.” “Right away.” I say. I shine a light on a cluster of hanging rocks. A school of those marine behemoths scatter. Their tails swish around like whips. My heart skips a beat. More trilobite-tailed leviathans slither back into the midnight walls. They are too far away, so my radar doesn’t make a peep. Artificial lights resembling jaws flicker on and off before escaping from the armada of submarines. “Be on your guard.” Outside from the ocean ambience, the flustered breathing of my boss, and the humming and beeping of the technology, everything is quiet. Deep crimson tentacles, like those that took out the first submarine, rise out of the abyss. I motion for the workers to freeze. “There’s no way we can possibly take down whatever the hell Linda created,” I thought. Tap…Tap…Tap…Tentacles blanket my viewing screen. Sensing that there was a human inside the pod, the beast jabs at the screen. I kick the motor into high gear and flee from the area. “RETREAT!” I yell. The tentacles immediately thrash me around, bashing my capsule into the depression’s sides. Tendrils coil around the circumference of my ship, grinding the side of the hull. “HULL STRUCTURAL SUPPORT: 75%,” the intercom screams. When the monster thinks enough damage has been dealt, it hurls my vehicle right in between two of the conical flesh pods. My cockpit bounces violently against the gap, thrashing my arms against the rests and pulling them from the piloting gloves. Shuddering, I frantically and clumsily search for them. I take a glance at the perimeter cameras, immediately working on fumbling with the steering gloves when four tentacles and two opportunistic sharks give chase. Finally, I get them on, reactivating the arms and shoving away the first shark. Next, I work on pulling myself out of the muck. Out of my peripherals, an elastic arm constricts around the other, dragging it into the penumbras. Seconds later, a single head is spat out. Right in the middle is one massive triangular wedge where a tooth had bitten off the rest of the shark’s body. When I free myself, I thrust the steering device into the max speed, my head scanning around for shelter. “Linda, what’s your status?” “I’m just working on destroying the growth,” she says. All of the flesh mountains burst open from my boss’ point of view, releasing a school of crustacean amalgamations that immediately lock her. She rips out some of the eyes, signaling the beasts to accelerate even faster. I turn my head to the side, watching more of the aquatic predators attempt to bite at the motors. I find a crevice with just enough space to guide the submarine inside. Retracting the arms, I gently maneuver it. I take a sigh of relief as the tentacles pursue elsewhere. With one eye on the cameras and one on the screen, I speak to my boss, sweat raining from my brow. Her camera shakes as a pair of rusty iron teeth crunch down on the sub and try to open it up. “Linda?! Are you alright?!” I shout. “WARNING! CRITICAL DAMAGE TO THE HULL!” Meanwhile, Linda forces the jaws of one of the beasts open. It releases a blinding flash that stuns both of us for a moment. A pulse of white blinds me. Ringing fills my ears and puts me in a daze. When I snap out of it, Linda’s camera was haywire and another shark joined in trying to open her submarine like a nut. She takes a mechanical arm and punches the shark in the gills, making it retreat in pain. She repeats this attack to the other one and it seems to also flee. The legs of the shark’s long tail latch onto my boss’ submarine, scrapping it against the ground. Four more sharks join in. Suddenly, a crescent hole bursts open from the side, water bursting in. “HULL BREACH! HULL BREACH!” Linda just gasps in horror and gives me one last look of sorrow as she types in her coordinates. “I’ve failed. I was supposed to stop my creation,” she says, bowing her head in defeat. My jaw drops when her screen suddenly cuts to black with the message written in red “SUBMARINE 1 SIGNAL LOST.” “Linda? LINDA?! LINDA!” I shout. “Do you copy?!” Nothing comes out. I take a look at my hands in disbelief. I was now in charge of fixing everything. A vision of the half-eaten manta ray enters my head. If my mission fails, the world is bound to end. The coordinates pop up in the top right corner. I narrow my eyes. It’s time to finish what my boss was supposed to complete. Beep…Beep…Beep… I wasn’t alone in the cave. Something barges against the motors. I shine a light, noticing that it was another shark. I try to free myself, only for the mechanical arms to get stuck. “WARNING! TOO MUCH PRESSURE ON THE ARMS!” The submarine drones. The tentacles come back for more, battering the front. The shark behind me starts to rip apart the motors one by one as if my ship was a flower in the hands of a teenager playing the “loves me, loves me not,” game. I thrust my hand out, setting the engine on full throttle. All the submarine did was harshly scratch against rock and barely move. Eventually, I free myself, severely damaging the arms. A siren begins to blare. The shark gives chase, but is quickly snatched up by the tentacles of the unseen monster and dragged into the unknown. When the shark vanished, dozens more sharks rise out from the darkness, joining in the frenzy. “Shit!” I yell, rising to the lips of the basin. The school of beasts try to latch onto the motors and disable them. They luckily come up short. “DEPTH 1000 METERS.” Glimpses of the glass ruins fly past. “Come on. Give me a sign!” I growl. The rotors whirr as fast as possible. One of the sharks lunges at the camera, only for the tentacles to entrap it. At the front, the mysterious white glow rises from the tumor’s dwelling. I thrust the glove forward. I nod upon seeing the state the mass is in. Brain matter and eyes were completely removed. All that was left was a massive beating heart that was covered in more tubes than a dialysis machine. She reaches for the largest vein and tries to disconnect it. A school of sharks lunge at her and carry her away. The tentacles draw in closer towards my cruiser. I pound my cockpit seat in frustration. I grunt as I tries to free the arms from the jaws of the leviathans. In one quick strike, the tentacles all stick onto the sides of the submarine. The barely functioning motors are overpowered by the strength of the unseen beast. Sharks ram into the screen like battering rams against a castle. I grit my teeth as I try to desperately pull away. Finally, I free myself from the clutches of the beasts, charge at the throbbing vein, and yank it off the heart. Suddenly, the aquatic horrors stop moving with an omen of dread hanging over them. The beasts immediately explode into nothing but cartilage and viscera. Each of the blasts had a radius of over twenty feet. Out of nowhere, I am able to pull free from the king-sized kraken. Without hesitating, I prepare to surface. The schools of hundreds of sharks were bursting into showers of blood. Linda’s experiment starts feasting on the clouds of blood in delight. The walls of flesh begin to burst into nothing but trails of guts as well. My eyes widen suddenly. If Linda’s creation has no known weakness, what if we could instead keep it occupied so it would leave the rest of the sea life alone? Seizing an opportunity to escape, I begin to surface. \--- A day had passed and a news station came over discussing the sudden cloud of blood around the aquarium. I explained to them that I found where the beachgoer murdering monsters came from. In addition, with my boss dead, I became head of the aquarium. However, I had no intent of holding any sea creatures there. Instead, I converted it into a research facility dedicated to figuring out how to find the weakness of the beast. The tanks were turned into storages for lures, which were just gallons upon gallons of blood, dead fish, and chum. Day by day, the beast would stick its arms into the holes it left behind from the attack yesterday to feed, giving us time to analyze its weaknesses. I told them that I recommend closing all beaches near the coast due to the methods of containment not exactly being foolproof. The amount of chum thrown into the aquarium was so great that surrounding sea life could not survive long in the waters around. Their gills would fill up with so much blood that they would suffocate. This was actually a side effect that was rather serendipitous as it prevented ocean life from coming to close and possibly drawing the beast out of containment. Finally, I told the news company was that this lab is doing everything in its power to find a way to stop it, but until then, I advised everyone to dump in some meat in the bay and to please pollute the fucking aquarium.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My last fishing trip ... [RESPONSE] This might be the first and last story that I will be able to share with all of you. I have been "hooked on" fishing ever since I was a little boy. There was a river a couple of kilometers away from the place we lived, to which we would always go at least once or twice a week with my dad. Each week it was the same thing. My dad would come home from work and ask me: * Waylen, did you finish your homewo... - And I would always cut him off right before he could even finish saying what he was about to say: * YES DAD, NOW PLEASE LETS GO TO THE RIVER! - I would then say to him in an excited manner. He would then give me a faint smile knowing that I probably haven't even looked at my homework. And right he was, most of the time. At first we had a rule that I would have to finish my homework first, and then we could go to the river, but after a couple of attempts and a couple of missed fishing trips, that rule was quickly dismissed. That might've not been the best decision, but we couldn't help it since we both loved fishing so much. We would then go late in the afternoon, camp at the river the whole night and come back home somewhere around lunchtime. Those were the days I'm telling you. Anyways that was a long time ago. Ever since he passed away things just haven't been the same. I have tried going fishing a couple of times but I just couldn't enjoy the fishing experience by itself, but rather I would reminisce about old times and how good things were. I used to work as a delivery man, and most of the time I worked alone. I started enjoying the time alone, being able to listen to whatever music you want and not having someone on your head the entire day. A couple of months passed and my boss decided to upgrade my truck to a bigger one. The problem was that I would have to deliver much heavier stuff and it would be pretty hard to do that by myself. Problem solved. I had a new colleague accompanying me then. His name was Dave. He had been working for the company for a long time but we never spoke to each other. At first I thought: * Here goes my peace and quiet that I love so much. But after we got to know each other I found out that Dave was not a bad guy at all. People might have thought bad of him because of his appearance but he had a kind heart. One day we were going back and forth in our conversation: * So what were you up to this weekend? - I asked him. * Oh not much just went on a little fishing trip. There is a lake nearby and it's full of fish I'm telling ya. My eyes widened up a bit. Dave didn't strike me as a guy who would like to go fishing. * No way. - I snapped back at him. * What? - He asked me. We talked a bit and he got really excited when he learned that I loved fishing as well. That's the story of how we became fishing buddies. Fast forward a bit. It was Friday, somewhere around lunchtime and we had to deliver a package to a rural village right next to our town. On the way there we saw a lake a couple of kilometers before the village. We never knew about this lake and it peaked our interest. We always carried our fishing gear in the truck so there was no way we wouldn’t visit this new spot we just learned about. Package delivered. We went around the village searching for a fishing store, because we had to buy some supplies first, and surprisingly we found one. * Hey there boss! - I said to the cashier as soon as I entered the store. * Hello mate what can I get for ya? - he replied. * Ah, just a bunch of worms, and a can of corn. - I said. * Anything else I can get for you mate? - He asked as he was typing on the cash register. * No that's all thank you. Oh and by the way, do you know anything about this lake that's a couple of kilometers before the village? - I went back to ask him. His face dropped. This surprised me a bit, because he had such a big smile on his face the whole time. * I'm sorry I can't tell you anything about it. - He replied coldly. I just assumed he didn't know anything about this lake so I just grabbed the bag with the supplies, gave him the money and headed towards the exit door. * Have a nice day sir! - I said to him as I exited the store. * Good luck.. - That was the last thing I heard as I was leaving the premises. We were really excited about going to this lake despite not knowing anything about it, so we entered the car and took off. * The way he said "good luck", I didn't quite like it. - Dave said to me. * Why? He probably meant good luck with fishing or something. - I replied. * Yeah, probably. - Dave muttered. It was getting kind of late. The road that lead to the lake was really bad, but that didn't stop us and we finally reached the lake. The place was beautiful. Not a single ripple on the water, surrounded by thick shrubbery and tall pine trees. I was surprised how there was no one else besides us here. As we were getting our fishing gear out a tall bearded man approached us. * Hello there! - I said to him as he was coming towards us. * ... * Are you the owner of this lake? - I asked him. * ... - Nothing again. He then reached his hand into his bag that he was carrying with him. I got scared for a second but then he pulled out a notebook and started writing something down in it. A couple of minutes passed and he was finally done. He left the notebook on the ground and he started walking back towards the forest. Not long after he was gone. All of this really weirded me out. * Hey what's up? - Dave asked me. During this strange encounter Dave was in the truck so he had no idea what had happened, and so I thoroughly explained. For some reason Dave found this to be really funny. * Don't think much of it Wayl. - He told me while giggling. Dave started setting up the tent as I was getting the fishing rods ready. Maybe because the shock from all of this I completely forgot about the notebook. An hour or two later I had to take a piss, so I headed towards the woods. On my way there I caught a glimpse of the notebook, but it wasn't on the ground where the mysterious man had left it, it was pinched underneath the wipers of the truck. I thought to myself - This is really weird. There was no way for the notebook to get over there by itself, and we haven't seen a single person go by. I forgot entirely about taking a piss and I headed for the notebook. I opened the notebook and the following was written down on the first page: It requires you to abide to the following rules as soon as you read them: 1. Don't have more thank 5 fishing rods out at once. 2. Do not litter. 3. Release all fish that weight under 2.66kg. The first set of rules seemed normal, setting aside rule #3 which was oddly specific, but then the rules started getting weird. 4. You can light a fire twice, and each fire must contain no more than 6 logs. Only after the first fire has gone out can you light a second one. 5. You must write down in this notebook everything important that has happened in the last hour. After you do that you must tear off and burn the page with the things you have written down on it within 6 minutes of writing it. 6. You cannot talk to each other about anything regarding your experience throughout the night, but you can read it from the notebook before burning the page. 7. If you break any 2 of those rules, you will be unable to leave the lake for the next 6 hours, starting from the moment you have broken the given rules. If that happens you must pay close attention to the notebook. 8. IF you make it through the 6 hours you will be able to leave, but you must never speak to anyone about anything regarding this lake. You have been warned. At first I was unsure if I read the rules correctly. Is this some kind of joke? I ran to Dave with the notebook and I gave it to him. He read through the rules and started laughing. * There is no way you believed any of this right? - He asked me while laughing. * Yeah right. - I replied, letting out a nervous giggle. * Come on, this guy is probably just trying to scare us so that we don't do anything stupid and ruin this beautiful lake, and by the looks of it he succeeded in scaring you. - Dave said. * Nah you're imagining things. - I replied trying to not look scared at all. * Anyways lets get back to fishing - Dave said. As we only had 4 rods in total, we were respectful enough towards nature to not litter, and we didn't catch a single fish for the first couple of hours, so we complied with the first 3 rules without even thinking about them. It got cold really fast and Dave said that it's time to light a fire. While he was chopping wood for the fire I decided to play along with rule #5. And so as soon as the next hour came I started writing down what had happened. I wrote down that nothing out of the ordinary had occurred during this last hour. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that the tip of my rod had started to bend a little. I immediately jumped out of my chair and I set the hook. And there it was - the first fish caught for the day. It was a catfish which weighted around 2 kilos. Dave said it would be perfect for the grill. I teased him and said: * Aren't we going to keep to the rules? He just looked at me and laughed. Dave put his knife through the fishes head and started filleting it. I then used the page that I had just written down on as fuel for the fire. The fire had 7 logs in it so while Dave wasn't looking I removed one of the logs. The other thing that was bugging me was the time. Six minutes hadn't passed so rule #4 and #5 were complied with. We ate and we got back to fishing. The next hour came. I opened the notebook to start writing down what had happened but then I saw that rule #3 had been erased from the first page. I mentioned it to Dave but he didn't believe me and he thought that I was trying to scare him. I brushed it off as a coincidence. Man how naïve could I be... I wrote down what had happened during the last hour and I poured myself a drink. As we were talking to each other Dave suddenly stopped talking. I asked him what's wrong but he didn't answer. I thought that he was mad at me for some reason so I decided to not bug him for the time being. Here comes the next hour. I reached for the notebook but Dave got it before me. When I took a closer look I realized that he was shaking a little. I asked him what's wrong, but he didn't answer. I've never seen him look scared ever. This was a first for me. After he finished writing in the notebook he handed it to me. It read the following. * I know you might not believe me and think that I'm trying to scare you, but I shit you not I saw something on the other side of the lake. It resembled a deer in a way, or only it did at first. I think it realized that I was looking at it, and when it did it stood up on its back two legs and it started staring at me. I know my eyes might be playing tricks on me but it looked like its flesh was rotting and it was hanging down from parts of its body. I just couldn't take my eyes off it. Please tell me I'm not going crazy! As I was reading this I took a glance at Dave. I could see the terror in his eyes. I was scared to look at the place he mentioned this creature was , but I did. There was nothing there. Dave looked as well. Confusion was written all over his face. I ripped the page out of the notebook and I threw it in the fire. * Maybe we should slow down on drinking Dave - I said to him. * I am perfectly sober Weyl. I don't think alcohol has anything to do with this. - He replied, his voice was trembling. It was midnight now. We both took turns writing down what we thought about this strange occurrence. As I was writing in the notebook we both heard some branch break in the distance. We both looked in the direction of where the noise came from. To our relief it was actually a deer. A normal looking deer passing by. I started laughing, on the other hand Dave got mad that he had been scared for nothing. He took an empty bottle and he threw it at the deer as it was running away. * Hey you should go pick that up. - I told Dave. * Yeah, yeah my bad. I just got really mad for a second there. - He replied. And we both started laughing. Dave went off to look for the bottle that he threw at the deer. I decided to write down for the last time what had happened in the notebook. I thought to myself: "Maybe the person that handed me the notebook is the owner of this lake, and he likes reading about the experiences of the people that visit the lake." I took my pen and opened the notebook, only to see that all of the rules from the first page have disappeared. I started getting scared again. * What is going on? - I asked myself. Then I realized that Dave just broke another rule. No littering. As I was started to panic I saw a new rule appear right before my eyes on the first page of the notebook: * Do not move... * What? - I muttered. As soon as I read the new rule I felt a presence standing behind me. Chills went down my spine. * D.D...Dave? - I whispered. ... I could feel and hear something breathing right next to my ear. Chills went down my spine once again. And the smell... it smelled like something had died and had been rotting there for weeks. I wanted to scream, but I was horrified of what might happen if I do. So I just stood there staring straight ahead not moving a muscle. A couple of minutes passed and that "thing" finally started going back into the woods. It had only been a couple of minutes but for me it felt like hours had gone by. I started running towards the truck. I got in but when I tried to start the truck nothing happened. I whipped out the notebook to see if a new rule had appeared but it hadn't. The only new thing on the page was the following sentence. * I warned you. I once again felt like something was watching me and unfortunately I was right. When I looked in the side mirror of the truck I could see it, it looked exactly how Dave described it. It was standing behind a tree, peaking at the truck. Taking a closer look, it had arms and legs like a human would, but the torso and the head of a deer. It was holding something in its left hand. When I realized what, or "who" it was ,I wanted to throw up. It was Dave. I guess all of this was too much for me and I passed out. I woke up in the morning with tears flowing down my face. The notebook was gone, and so was Dave. Everything was right where it was the night before - the tent, the fishing rods, the stools - everything. I started looking for Dave. I was way too scared to scream his name, because I thought that, that thing might still be out here. The feeling of helplessness overwhelmed me. I went back in the truck and this time I managed to start it. Without a second thought I floored it, leaving all the stuff that we brought here behind. As I was driving on the bumpy road I saw that the tall bearded man was staring at me from the edge of the forest. I never looked back again and I drove straight home. People have asked me what happened to Dave. I was never able to tell them the real story because I was too scared of what would happen to me. Well no more. This burden is too much to carry and that's why I'm sharing this story with all of you. I do not know what might happen to me but I can't blame anyone for it. We had been warned.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I met someone on a dating app. [RESPONSE] I(19F) matched with someone on a dating app. It was a pretty normal match. Man holding a fish in the picture, aged 34 with two kids and who loves hiking. He was a bit old, but boy, he was good-looking. The most handsome man I’ve ever met, no exaggeration! His name was Luis Martinez. He started the chat with a quick “what's up girl?” You know, normal. I honestly didn’t expect anything from this person, but he proved me wrong. We hit it off pretty quickly. We both enjoy reading poetry and watching basketball. His children are named Sophia and Charlie, both girls and 10 and 7 respectively. He seemed perfect. About two weeks into texting, I gave him my Snapchat. Usually I don’t do that too early in a relationship, but he and I were really getting along! I truly believed this would sprout into a wonderful relationship, and I could be a mother, something I’ve always wanted, ever since I was a child myself. I’ve always been paranoid about stalkers and stuff, so I I had my snap location off and I wasn’t a frequent poster. I didn’t have anything that would reveal my location or anything of the type. I don’t know how he found me. But he did. And this is where it started to get really creepy. Five weeks ago, I got a Snapchat from him. It was a screenshot of the place I work at, coincidently five blocks from where I lived. “Five”. When I asked what he was trying to do— it freaked me out, a lot— he pretended like he didn’t know anything. He played dumb. So I ignored it. Bad, bad mistake. Four weeks ago, same thing, but it was a picture of my friend’s home, four blocks away from mine. “Four”. Again, he was clueless. I brushed it off again. I really don’t know why. Three weeks ago. The park I take my dog to. Three blocks away. “Three”. By this time, I ghosted him completely. He’ll stop now, right? I didn’t block him though. I’m so dumb. I called the police two weeks ago, when it showed MY CAR two blocks away from my home with the captain “two”. The police couldn’t do anything though. Because no matter where they looked, Luis Martinez lived nowhere. He existed nowhere. The man I met on the dating app did not exist. His children did not exist. Nothing about him was real. A chill went down my spine when I first heard that. One week ago. It was a garage sale. Someone was having a garage sale one block away from me. My roommate was in the picture. “One”. I just ignored it. A friend was pranking me. It had to have been that. This was just ridiculous. There is somebody knocking on the door. Neither of my roommates came back after checking who was there. They’re gone. I may be, too, soon. I just need to get this out there. I’m on dial with 911 this second. He can’t escape now— they’ll catch him. I know they will. They have to, right?<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Yesterday was me and my missing wife's anniversary [RESPONSE] I needed a place to share this, so I chose here. I don't have any family left to rant to, so the next best option is Reddit. I'll start my saying my name is Matt (M 32) and I have a daughter named Maddison/Maddie (F 7). My wife is missing, we've been searching for two years but she's ended up as one of those ignored missing person's cases. She disappeared while I was on a business trip in California. My wife was staying home with my daughter (who was five at the time) in South Carolina. Apparently, there was screaming coming from my home. High pitched, terrified, screaming. Though after a bit it became more muffled before it stopped completely. My neighbor Danny (M 28) who heard the screaming came over to check. My daughter opened the door and said nothing was wrong. When I returned home, my wife was nowhere to be found. I nor Danny said anything to the cops about the screaming, as we were afraid we'd be subject to a murder trial. Fast forward to now, Maddie is a little unsettled by her mother's disappearance. She often talks about her and how much she misses her. Though sometimes she says odd things like, "I know where mummy is!" I laugh it off as nothing, but it unsettles me a bit. Yesterday my daughter showed me something horrifying. I came back from work and Maddie stood at the door like a dog waiting for me. Her eyes lit up seeing me come in as she began happily shouting, "Daddy! You won't believe what I did today!" "Well what'd you do, honey?" "One moment, I need to make sure it's perfect!" She skipped back to her room and slipped in so I couldn't see inside. I had hired a nanny to keep her company for the while between school and when I came home from work. She was still in her room, but I shouted, "Maddie, where's Alexandria? I don't see her!" "I'm not sure," she said whilst giggling a bit. She slipped back out of her room and grabbed my arm to guide me back to it. I was intrigued to see what she had been so proud of. She opened the door and I had forgotten how to breathe for a second. There was our nanny Alexandria, sitting on her knees with her hands tied behind her back. There was duct tape across her mouth and she was sobbing. Her forehead had been subject to many cuts and scars. Some of her fingers had been cut off and laid on the floor while her hand gushed blood. Maddie looked at me and whispered, "Are you proud of me daddy?" I didn't reply. "Wait! One last thing!" I watched her walk to her closet and stand in front of the door. "Today is you and mummy's 5th anniversary!" It was. I forgot about it. For the past two years I couldn't bear the thought of her. Maddie opened her closet and my wife's decaying body dropped onto the ground. "Happy anniversary, daddy!"<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My imaginary friend is back. [RESPONSE] As a child, I always had an "imaginary friend" of sorts. His name was Benjamin and he was very friendly, often keeping me company while my parents were out for errands or work. He looked to be in his mid-40s and had always struck me as a "father". The catch is, Mom and Dad were never able to see him, and just assumed that I was playing around and that Benjamin was a figment of my imagination. As years passed and I grew older, Benjamin's image seemed to…distort. His face seemed to change ever so slightly year after year. His nose would look broken, one of his eyes slightly higher than the other, his fingers would look increasingly gnarled. He did not look like the Benjamin I once knew. It got to a point where I had to block him out. I ignored him, his presence and his voice. I constantly pestered my parents so much about Benjamin being a nuisance that we moved out when I was about 12. Safe to say, Benjamin was never seen or heard from again, and I slowly forgot about my former imaginary friend. Fast forward to the present, I'm now 18, and I am still living in the new house with my parents. I also now have a beautiful baby sister Margaret, who is 5 years old today. I was in the process of building my life, preparing to enter society as an adult. I took a job, was studying harder in school, and although I don't have a girlfriend yet, I was quite content with my achievements so far. Things started going downhill from there. I returned home one day and I had a sense that something was wrong. There was an awful, unexplainable pressure and malignant presence that made the air in the house feel very heavy. It felt suffocating. Although it was around 3pm, the house looked eerie and dim, with the sunlight barely making it past the windows. I didn't think much of it. That was a mistake. Everything I worked for started crumbling slowly. I got fired from my job for some unreasonable excuse, my friends started distancing themselves after hearing a "rumor" about me, and my sister was constantly falling ill. My health was also deteriorating, barely getting enough sleep and losing my appetite despite feeling hungry just minutes before. I was also losing my focus in class and my grades plummeted. That's when I saw him again. His dark hair plastered to his forehead, his bony fingers, his imposing frame, that ear-to-ear grin that looked as if his lips should have been there to cover those teeth covered in dried blood, and those eyes. Those empty, soulless eyes that still somehow radiated anger. He only started showing up in my peripheral vision. I'd notice him, then blink and look again, and he was gone. I took it as severe sleep deprivation and that I was hallucinating. *God,* I thought to myself, *I should really fix my sleep schedule.* Right before I was going to sleep one night, I saw him again, in the corner of my room. I tried to ignore him again but this time, he spoke. "Why…did you leave..?" His raspy voice spoke from what was left of his vocal cords. "I gave you all my time and you…you abandoned me in that hellhole!" It was true. The old house was unusually run down, and I overheard my parents talking about some jar of human remains found behind a fake wall in the attic. However, my parents were young and in need of a place to stay while they worked out their finances. I couldn't move. I watched as he floated over to me. My chest got heavier. I felt each breath become increasingly harder to take. I watched as he came closer and closer, his bony fingers reaching for my chest… I did the only thing I could. I prayed. "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit…" I've never been particularly religious, but I found myself praying over and over again. As he screamed and retreated back into the darkness, I felt control of my body return. I didn't sleep a wink that night. I told my parents everything that happened. We ended up calling a priest, who got the entire house cleansed. However, he said that it would only be temporary, and the only way to get rid of it is… Please save me. Please picture Benjamin, a rotting corpse with bony fingers, a skeleton-like frame, with patches of decaying skin falling off his arms, neck, and face. Picture what little strands of hair he has left, clinging onto his peeling scalp. Picture his bottomless eyes, those dark spheres that are completely devoid of life, and most importantly that wide, wide grin that stretches from his cheeks down to his chin, with sharp teeth, no, fangs, that are caked with blood. Picture him staring at you out of the corner of your eye. His name is Benjamin, and he hung himself after killing and cannibalising children to avoid capture by the police. Please picture him and remember the details. Everything about him. That is the only way to get rid of the curse. I'm sorry to have passed him on to you, but I've already lost everything. I don't want him to take more of my life away. I'm sorry. I'm so, very sorry.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Something’s in my sisters room [RESPONSE] Okay, I didn’t think I would ever say anything about this because it could just be my imagination, but I wanted to post something so here it is. Some background, I live in a ranch house, with a pretty square frame except for one room kind of poking out to create a kind of b shape from birds eye view. The Aforementioned room is the one that is something’s not quite right with. There’s this long hallway that leads to it, with not a whole lot of light permeating that area. So when I started seeing stuff out of the corner of my eye when I pass that hallway, I figured it was just the dark or my mind playing tricks on me. Another reason is that my sister has one of those beds that have the four rings that come above the bed, I don’t know what they’re called but based off where the door was it looked like it could have been one of those things. So I shrug it off but recently it’s been spreading through out the house. I’ve always kinda seen things out of the corner of my eye in this house but it’s been increasing Ten fold. My sister doesn’t live here anymore to unrelated reasons but the room still gives off a creepy vibe, and I’ve been seeing things where there’s no way it could have been just an object, Honestly, I paid it no mind and thought it was just my mind, but something happened recently that completely shattered my ignorance. My stepmom was sleeping in the room one night because my dad snores and she’s a light sleeper. She was wide awake, she has sleeping issues so once she wakes up she can’t fall asleep. One night, as she so told me, she was sleeping peacefully for once, when all of a sudden, she wakes up with a start, she goes to make coffee and starts sipping on it while scrolling on her phone. So out of the blue, when she turns off her phone and decides to go to bed, she heard a deep growl that scared the shit out of her. Needless to say she was scared so much she didn’t move until the sun came up. She isn’t one to lie, especially about something so stupid. Regardless, I still scoffed at her, but in my head I was a bit curious. Could it be I was not just imagining. About three days after I was Informed about this, I was coming out of the bathroom after taking the meanest dump of my entire life. The bathroom is in that dark hallway and I glanced at the room and I could swear I saw something move away out of sight. However I had to keep moving because I had to do the dishes and there was a ton so I didn’t even think about it as I turned away and I have this weird feeling I still didn’t get to process because all I hear are fast footsteps running behind me and then the hair on the back of my neck stood because of cold breath straight up and I booked it so fast I probably could have dusted Barry Allen. We recently had the room blessed and saved and the experiences have slowed down to almost nothing. Almost. I know whatever is in there has been there longer than me and probably longer than the previous owners. I know all the blessings and sage did is make it weaker and slow it down. I can always feel it whenever I look into that room. Ive heard something before. Whenever a spirit touches you, it touched your soul. It makes a connection. I know its there. waiting for something I hope never comes.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Has anyone heard of the Green Belt Sanatorium? [1] [RESPONSE] Has anyone heard of the Green Belt Sanatorium? I encountered this place three years ago. At least, I think it's a place. Anthony seems to think it's a game, or an esoteric webseries — I'm not really sure which. A Google search returns nothing relevant. But I've been there — or I've experienced it. So it's very real. I'm convinced it's very real. But that was three years ago. Since then, I've never been able to find it again. And now that Anthony is gone, I'm not sure who to ask. *Does anyone else have a memory of this place?* **— one —** "Hey, doesn't that say Green Belt Sanatorium?" Anthony was pointing out the car window. We were on hour four of the ten-hour drive home. I was at the wheel. I glanced down at my phone, cradled in the holder. The way ahead was a thick red line: 90 minute delay, according to Google Maps. But out the windshield it looked clear enough, so I put my foot on the gas. It expedited our arrival to the traffic jam in question. Four lanes of interstate clogged with cars and delivery trucks. I looked down again. 127 minute delay. There'd been an accident up front. "Fuck," I said. I turned to Anthony. He had been staring over his shoulder this whole time, like a dog fixated on something out the window. "Anthony. What are you looking at?" "Green Belt Sanatorium." "What about it?" "Don't you remember that game? From like, seventh grade?" I looked at the unmoving field of vehicles. "No. Playstation?" "PC. It was one of those freeware games that, like, turned out to be amazing." My eyes narrowed at him. "Dude, you were the only one who played those games." "I kept recommending it! It's not my fault everyone had bad taste." Anthony's folks were religious, so they were religiously strict. No Xbox, no Playstation growing up. Also, the netbook he had then was weak as shit. Could barely play movies. All this guy could play were these shitty games he found for free on the net. "Anyway," he was saying, "that game's set in a place called Green Belt Sanatorium." "Could be a coincidence." "I dunno. It's a pretty weird name." "That it is." "The game's great though, I can't believe I almost forgot about it. It was like a procedurally -generated DOOM, with no shooting. So kinda like Ultima, but with more secrets. And it was backrooms before backrooms was cool…" "Okay." I was already searching for alternate routes. Anything was better than waiting two hours in this slog, with this conversational partner, on this conversational tangent. Anthony was a homie from the olden days, but if he went on another one of his four-hour rants about obscure media, I would probably crash the car. Anthony had gone back to staring over his shoulder. I looked over and followed his gaze, but I couldn't even see the place from here. Guy was craning his neck looking at jack shit. He could be a weirdo sometimes. — "Oh look, it's there, it's right there! Look!" I wasn't looking. I was looking at Google Maps, which was showing a 45-minute detour through country roads. There were a lot of strange byroads one could miss. It was getting dark. "My god, it's just like in the game." As we passed it, I got a good eyeful. A squat but expansive slab of what they call brutalist architecture, topped with a low dome. A perimeter wall fenced in a surprisingly large front yard. It seemed out of place, a landmark of this scale on a byroad in the middle of nowhere. Next town over was probably population: less than a thousand. A glance down at the screen showed empty space... Maybe it was new? "Listen, man. We have to check it out." I looked at Anthony. "Are you serious?" "Just real quick." "Tony," — he hated when I called him Tony — "We've still got like seven hours to go, and I don't wanna drive all night." "Come on, when're we gonna be this way again? This is like a once in a lifetime opportunity." "It's only seven hours away," I said. "Listen. If you drove by the Shire, would you stop?" "This is your Shire?" "This is my Shire," he said. "And listen. I'll drive, okay? The rest of the way." I sighed. It was about six o'clock when we pulled into the parking lot on the front grounds. As far as I could tell, there was no activity outside the Green Belt Sanatorium. No caretakers keeping the lawn. No car in the lot other than ours. We walked up the steps to the front of the building. A long teller window was recessed into the facade, along with the word RECEPTION. Doors on either side led into opposing wings. Anthony tested one. "Locked," he said. "Try ringing the bell." After several moments, a middle-aged lady appeared on the other side of the plexiglass. She peered through her horn-rimmed glasses. First at me, then at Anthony. She said, "Hello. Can I help you?" "Hi there," said Anthony. "We were just wondering if this was the — and I mean THE — Green Belt Sanatorium." "Sanitarium, yes. The one and only, as far as I know." "That's so great." "Are you here to check in, or do you have an appointment?" "Well, we're more… curious about the place," said Anthony. "Heard a lot of good things from a buddy of ours back home. We were in the neighborhood, so we decided to swing by and see if it's the right choice for our friend here," he cocked his head at me. Through some heroic means I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. I could feel the woman's gaze barrel down on me in cold appraisal. That shameless look-over to diagnose exactly what's wrong with you. I took it face on. Didn't even blink. She said, "You just missed visiting hours." "Ah, what a shame," I said. "Would you like to make an appointment?" "No, we should probably be on our way," I said, smiling. Anthony leaned into the teller window. "Do you have any brochures or any kind of literature I could read? It's just hard to find anything online…" "Literature?" she said. "Yeah. Like information?" "We have books inside." "Inside?" She pointed at the door on the left. "Library in the Open Wing. Admission's three dollars each. Upkeep and maintenance and such. And no watches, wallets, or phones. You have to leave 'em here." She tapped a basket on her side of the glass. Anthony looked at me. I shook my head. No way. — It was a bad deal. I tried to explain this to Anthony, but he kept talking about our "duty as sentient beings", and threw around stuff like, "Where's your sense of adventure?" I countered that I wasn't gonna pay three bucks to get inside — to which he countered that he'd pay for me. I proposed that we get in the car and make good time before it got too late. He proposed that we fly over the cuckoo's nest, just the two of us, for the shits and giggles. We couldn't reach an accord, but I came out of negotiations with one of his cigarettes. "Make it quick, okay?" "Don't worry. Fifteen minutes, max." "Make it five," I said. But already I had that sinking feeling. Anthony was not a person known for making it quick. I should have never let him go in there alone. He paid, checked his stuff in, and signed three forms. There was a large disclaimer above the feeder tray: the Sanitarium takes no liability in the case of any theft or loss. Something about the sign made me stare at it. Then Anthony was at the door on the left. The woman buzzed him in. The thick, frosted glass swung shut behind him. I went out by the car to light up, taking the opportunity to stretch my legs. The air tasted fresh. Felt good in my lungs. I supplemented it with nicotine tar. As I looked back at the building, I noticed the distinct figure of the woman at the window, watching me. The reception was a little bit away, so I couldn't be sure where exactly she was looking. But her head was pointed my way. I took another drag on the cigarette. She stayed awfully still. I kept her in the corner of my eye as I looked around. What else was there of interest in this landscape, except for the one vehicle and its driver? I put out the cigarette, making sure that it was extinguished. Then I looked at my watch. It'd been ten minutes. Good enough. I marched my way back up the stairs. As I got closer, I realized the reception window was empty. A reflection of the setting sun, and the encroaching shadow, had played some trick on my eyes. I pressed the bell. When she finally reappeared, she almost startled me. "Hi," I said. "I'm looking for my friend who went inside. Just ten minutes ago?" The woman frowned at me. "I'm afraid visiting hours are over. Do you have an appointment or would you like to be admitted into the Open Wing?" "I'm just looking for my friend. He went to the library just ten minutes ago." I pointed to the door on my left. "That's in the Open Wing. Three dollars, please. For safety reasons, your watch, wallet, and phone are prohibited items inside the Sanitarium." "Why're they prohibited?" "The Sanitarium is a semi-hermetic local environment. We have to control the presence of hyperobjects. For the research," she said. Whatever that meant. "Hold on. Let me get some change from the car." I walked to the car, opened the glove box, got three dollars out. I put in my personal phone, closed it, slipped my credit cards and ID into my jacket pocket. I locked the car, walked back to reception. Then I checked in my cheap Casio, my wallet, and my work phone. "Sign here, please. Here, and here." **— two —** Waiting room. That was the word I was looking for as I walked through the windowless halls of the Green Belt Sanatorium. Each room had no purpose but to lead on to the next room. Low ceilings, linoleum floors, soulless white walls. It was one continuous waiting room, and yet seating was surprisingly sparse. I must have wandered ten minutes before encountering another soul. An old man. Seated in an uncomfortable plastic chair the color of dried blood. A jacket and an umbrella were on the chair next to him, equally red and plastic. His eyes were fixed in the middle distance. "Excuse me, sir," I said. He didn't seem to hear me. I spoke louder. "Excuse me, sir," I said. "Do you know where the library is?" He looked at me. A slow smile crept across his face, and something like a glimmer came into his eyes. He said something in Spanish. "*Donde esta la biblioteca!*" he said, with glee. He cackled into his hands, then seemed to become self-aware. He froze and became silent again. Cast a glance down the corridor. Placed a trembling finger to his lips. "Okay," I said. "Sorry I bothered you." He put his hand in his pocket, and never looked up at me again. I continued deeper into the building, taking turns at random. There seemed to be no signage anywhere, and the library was nowhere to be found. Fuckin' Tony, man. All this for one man's nostalgia trip. Knowing him, this place was probably what he'd hoped for. Deeper in the building, the rooms stopped conforming to rectangular shapes. Odd corners and enclaves jutted every which way, sometimes hiding an unused lamp or a chair. I'd lost all sense of orientation minutes ago. Then I smelled it. The acrid stench of smoke, plastered to the walls. I followed it to a long, narrow corridor with two vertical turnstiles — like the revolving doors in the old NYC subways. Beyond was another waiting room. This one was lined with plastic chairs. On top of each was a glassy-eyed geriatric like the one I'd seen before. Many had their heads buried in a book, but some just sat there smoking. Staring at a spot on the whitewall across. Ash dripping from their unmoving fingers, collecting in piles on the floor. It wasn't just the elderly, I realized. They were adults of a wide age range, but they were all hunched over, as if they'd been sitting for years. In their hands were different books, all with the same green binding. I pushed through the turnstiles. The fumes, trapped in that low room, made me cough. No one seemed to notice my arrival. As I walked, each waiting room of people gave way to another waiting room of people. I counted what must have been fifty heads when I looked ahead to see no end in sight. There must have been a hundred people or more — all equally silent. I thought about the empty parking lot outside. *Where did they come from? How did they get here? And how will they return?* — "Tony!" I called. My voice carried down the hall, echoing unnaturally loudly in the dead air. I had found the library. It was a section of the building indistinguishable from the previous rooms, but for the floor-to-low-ceiling shelves of books. Each book had the same dull green binding, as if someone had ripped off every cover to replace it with something more nondescript. I wandered through a few rooms, dismayed to find it equally devoid of life and logic. No building should have this amount of disjointed, windowless corridors. It was a safety hazard. Anthony was nowhere to be found. It was hard to tell how much time I'd spent looking for him, but my internal clock told me it was somewhere round the twenty minute mark. "Anthony!" I shouted. I didn't care if I was in a library. It was time to get out of there. "Anthony!" My voice echoed. My footsteps quickened down the xerox halls. I blindly turned a corner and walked into a narrow corridor. It was different — no books here. It was dark, and it seemed to get narrower and narrower. I squeezed myself through the gap and found myself — At the beginning. To my right was the frosted glass door that led outside. I was back where I came in. The narrow corridor behind me was hidden in a corner I hadn't noticed when I'd first entered. With a confused sigh of relief, I pressed the button to unlock the door. What happened next I can't explain. I pushed the door open to the cool night air. It was dark — the sun must have set while I was inside. The grounds were as abandoned as ever. I walked to reception and rang the bell. Someone appeared on the other side of the plexiglass. The same receptionist, or someone who looked like her. Through the darkness, I could see her horn-rimmed glasses. "Hello. Can I help you?" "Yes. I'm looking for my friend, Anthony." "Your friend, Anthony," she said. "Your friend has already checked out." "Checked out?" I looked at the parking lot. Our rental was still there. I had the keys, jangling in my pocket. "Do you know where he went?" "I'm not at liberty to say, sir." "What do you mean?" "We can't give out that information, sir. In-patient or out." "No, we're not patients here. We're just visiting. I'm his ride." "I see," she said, helpfully. Nothing else forthcoming. I asked, "Can I have my stuff back?" "Would you like to check out, sir?" "Yes. I would like to check out." Checking out meant two signatures — one on the visitor's ledger and one on the receipt for my personal effects. In the ledger I could see Anthony's name. Check-in: 18:20. Check-out: 18:50. I pocketed my wallet and work phone. Fiddled with the clasp on the Casio. I looked at the time. It was a little bit after one. I froze. Pulled out my work phone and activated the screen. It read 1:12. One hour and twelve minutes after midnight. I looked back at the reception window, but the woman was already gone. — I got in the rental and slammed the door behind me. The interior light flicked off. I flicked it back on and opened the glove box. Pulled out my personal phone. The time on the lock screen concurred with the others. Almost a quarter past one. There was no way. There was no way I spent more than twenty minutes in there. Thirty minutes, max. There was absolutely no way I spent more than six hours inside the Sanatorium. I had several missed calls. Most of them were from Anthony. I immediately hit redial. It went straight to voicemail. Didn't even ring. Shit. I scrolled through his last messages. `Anthony [19:07]: where are you??` `Anthony [19:23]: hey pick up. u ok?` `Anthony [19:47]: dude!!!` `Anthony [20:25]: bro I don't know where you went but im getting hungry. I'm gonna try to get to midway, u can find it on maps. please call me when you see this` `Anthony [21:43]: yo my phone is dying. still walking to midway` I opened up Maps and zoomed out. There was a small town called Midway, thirteen miles away. I calculated the route. It was almost a five hour walk. With the car, I'd be there in .<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The Monster Burger [RESPONSE] I’m not sure where to put this, I didn’t imagine I could ever find myself in this situation or that this would be my reality. I also don’t know what to do, where to go from here. Skip town? My mom is missing, and I know they took her. I killed her. It’s my fault, and I want to bring them down. But they own fucking everything, they’re fucking everywhere, I don’t even know what THAT THING WAS. I (17M) come from a semi small town, a population of about 5,000. There’s only three restaurants in town, and I managed to get one at MegaBurger. It’s really big in my town, and it ended up buying out the two other restaurants in town as well as a few other shops. I haven’t seen any outside of our town so I’m assuming it’s just a Cacheview thing. My mom had been nagging me for weeks to get a job, and I should have fought her on this. I’m starting my senior year and have a car my parents bought me with the condition that I am in charge of gas. I knew a few friends that worked there and they managed to hook me up. My manager seemed super normal. She gave me the tour and helped train me, a super friendly older lady. She reminds me of your typical redneck mom with 14 kids. Everything seemed normal when I started. It was cool to see how a restaurant I grew up with operated, how clean everything was. The only thing that I guess seemed strange was the locked door to the cellar. It wasn’t strange when I first saw it, they said there were some issues with the pipes downstairs and they hadn’t had time to renovate it. It was just easier to lock it up. Bottom line, don’t go downstairs. Seemed simple enough, nothing unusual. My first week of work was easy, I messed around with coworkers and got used to my job. I take orders up at the front counter and get to see a lot of people I know. Then came my first opening shift. It was semi-slow, and the owner of the restaurant was in her office filing some paperwork. Becky fucking Wallace. She took a moment to say hello to me, and I remember thinking how cool she was. How she was nice and seemed to fucking care! She asked what grade I was in, what colleges I was looking at! My planned major! How are my parents? She went to high school with my fucking mom! Maybe an hour after she left, I was in the back grabbing straws and napkins when I heard pounding. Desperate and hard, loud as can be, coming from the basement door. I immediately thought it must’ve been a coworker who got locked in, and went to open the door. But there was no one there. Just a low crunching, like something was slowly crumpling in the pipes. I couldn’t see anything at the bottom of the wooden staircase, so I decided to call down for the person. A low and deep moan called back, as if the entire building shifted. I braved myself and walked down the stairs. My flashlight didn’t find much, just some old mouse skeletons and raccoons. I wish I didn’t find it however, I wish I just let the person bang on the door. At the end of the room, sitting on its throne of bones was a giant brown blob with pulsing tentacles. Its breathing was heavy, almost painful. I didn’t move from its spot, almost not noticing me or caring that I was there. It didn’t have eyes, just smooth skin that seemed to sweat sewage. How I hadn’t smelled it before was incredible, it reeked of death. I guess that's when it all hit me, and I felt myself trying to will my legs to carry me upstairs. I couldn’t move however, even as its tentacle slowly slanked towards me, moving the dust on the floor. It probably would've pulled me away, but my manager yanked me. She dragged my body up the stairs, cursing me out. Telling me she should just let it have me, be less trouble. Once outside, I could feel my limbs again, how heavy my knees were. How close I was to freeing someone. She called Becky, mumbling on the phone while I sat in her office. There’s only two managers at our store, and it is only now that I am figuring out why. Becky showed up not long after, not seeming to pay attention to me. She didn’t take anytime to explain what that thing was, where it came from, why it’s FUCKING HERE! “You or them?” is all she said, looking down at a piece of paper. “Who?” was met with nothing. I sat there stunned, silent. I wanted to just run, this had to be a nightmare. How had no one noticed? How had I not noticed? I guess that didn’t matter at this moment. Me or them. What would you FUCKING CHOOSE? Yourself? Die? No one would. So I said them. I saved myself and now I regret it everyday. Now she’s gone and I’m here, looking at her photos. Watching my dad just keep going, living his life. The old spelling tests still up on the fridge, she put them there. Becky came back at some point holding a burger, no wrapper and fresh. She let her finger run along the patty, examining it. “Want a bite? You should get the first taste of your creation.” She had a wild look to her, unhinged and untamed. But she was still herself. Composed, neat hair, and a perfectly ironed pink blouse. I felt sick. They were in that burger, that's what that thing is for. I wasn’t sure what to do for the rest of the shift, there weren't any spoken words. Just an understanding. I killed someone. I pointed the gavel and commended someone to death. I never saw who, I sat in the office while they did it. I don’t know how they grab the people, why their family doesn’t ask what happened. I handed out orders, the image of the thing creeping in whenever someone would grab their bag. Who is the person in the burger? Should I tell them? There was no threat, no if you tell a soul, just an understanding. Then I went home, and I wish I didn’t. I grew sick at the sight of the MegaBurger bag. Its haunting yellow smile glowing on the brown material. My dad had a handful of fries stuffed in his mouth. He made a comment on the burger, how it was especially good today. I vomited right there. And I didn’t see my mom the rest of the night.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] I survived the 'Vampire Killer'. But it came at a cost (Final) [RESPONSE] | Last time, I left of before going after the Wickerson's Quarry Vampire Killer, and I hoped I wouldn't die. So, it’s obvious from the fact that I’m writing this that I did not, in fact, die. But…things didn’t go great, not really, and…I mean, the monster, it’s… No, fuck the monster, Ella— I… I don’t know what I can say. I guess I’ll just…write what happened, but beware: it’s a long story. So I left here early—way too early, by the way. I’m not sure I’ve ever woken up for 4am before. I wanted to give myself some time to get off school grounds while everyone was asleep, but I did wait another half an hour or so after sneaking out before I went much further. I used that time to duct tape silver knives to a stick. Then, I headed into the forest, equipped with a headlamp I’d borrowed from Rhy. I followed the road and my phone’s GPS for a while until I reached the house. At this point, by the way, I was feeling…weird. I kept my hand on my weapon at all times, and kept glancing around the forest. I jumped at every single sound. I saw the footprints, yknow. They looked fresh, and the thought of that alone sent shivers up my spine. Surely the police must’ve searched this place, right? Surely they’d have found anything to be found, and I was just wasting my time, right? …Right? I’d been trying to be quiet. Not entirely sure why, since everything I’ve read about vampires says they have good hearing, but I was, right up until I reached the house. It was locked tight, as I probably should’ve expected, and there was no sign of police activity. No tape, no sign, no nothing; just a dark house, and a faint smell on the breeze. I threw a rock through the window. I didn’t feel like I had much choice, okay? The place was locked, and that weird feeling I’d had was getting worse by the minute. So I just…picked up a large rock from the garden and tossed it as best I could. Which turned out to be not great, but it was enough to crack it, and a second go at it smashed the thing entirely. I let myself in from there. I didn’t feel *great* about it, but reasoned that the owner was either dead or in serious mortal peril, and wasn’t really in a position to give out about it. I *did* put some gloves on, though. If the police *hadn’t* searched the house, or came back later, I didn’t really want to be leaving my fingerprints just dotted around the place, yknow? This was a good call, because the further I went in, the more sure I was that the police were yet to touch the place, or at least to search it in any detail whatsoever. It was dark in the house, and smelled even worse. Everything was grungy and wore, like it’d been there longer than I’d been alive, and every board creaked under my feet. I kept feeling like something was watching me, but every time I turned around, there was nothing there. My knifestick never left my hand. I was sure I’d found the right place at this point. I searched the first floor and found nothing, then moved to the second. The floorboards were even creakier up there, and my nerves were *beyond* frayed. A creepy-ass cuckoo clock went off at one point, and I almost shit myself. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary…or at least, not at first, ‘cause as soon as I reached the bedroom, the smell almost knocked me on my ass. It was a hundred times stronger in there; that awful sweet scent of rot and rust, and I knew as soon as I walked in that it was a corpse. There was nothing else I could think of that would smell like that. It was…yikes. I really can’t describe it in any way that does it justice. Think of the worst smell you’ve ever smelt, and multiply it. Then multiply it again, and you’ve made it about a third of the way. Despite the stench, however, there was no body in sight—literally. I crouched down, cautiously, to peer under the bed, but there was nothing down there, either. I was about to check the bathroom when I saw the weird, sick stain above the light. It was a reddish brown stain, spreading out from where the light hung. It almost *glistened* with moisture, and as I watched, a large droplet fell onto the carpet below. I didn’t need to get close to confirm what seemed pretty obvious at the time; the liquid smelled like death, too. So, I had to check the attic. Of course I had to check the attic. I was becoming more and more sure there was a dead man up there, and the thought of it was nauseating. But, uh…it was what I’d gone there to do. So…I found the door and up I went. As soon as I opened the small door, the smell hit me like a sack of bricks. It was so much worse up close. Worse than the rest of the house. Worse than the bedroom. It even smelled worse than the nasty liquid that dripped from the ceiling. I repeat: I can*not* describe this stink. My eyes darted around the room. For a second I couldn’t see anything, and I cursed myself for not bringing a better torch. Then, in the dim light of the attic, I noticed the shape in the corner. It was hunched over, curled up into a ball and rocking slightly. It kept reaching out to touch the lumpy shape next to it; a shape which I was quickly realising was way too still and *way* too humanoid. If the figure noticed me, or my light, it didn’t react. As I stood there, in the still silence of the room, I could hear a girl’s voice, crying. It was so soft—soft enough that I hadn’t heard it from the floor below. That’s what made me step forwards; what if it was Ella? Maybe I’d made it in time. I glanced around the room again, looking for anyone else that might be around. I still didn’t know who the figure was, and if it wasn’t the vampire, I didn’t wanna be caught off guard. But no; as far as I could tell, it was just me and the heap in the corner. I had to step forwards, right? I went to move, but before I could, a shaky voice spoke out in the darkness. “You—” the voice faltered. “You should leave.” With a surge of joy, I realised that I knew that voice. It was Ella Jones. Ella Jones was *alive*! I’d made it. “Ella?” I said, maybe a little louder than I should’ve? “Ella, that’s you, right?” A beat. “Ella?” I tried again. “...You’re from Wickersons,” she realised. Her voice was quiet and shaky. “You’re…I’m sorry, I don’t—don’t remember your name.” “Sammy,” I said. “I’m Sammy Stahl. Ella, listen—the thing that took you, is it here?” I figured I should cover my bases, just in case something was waiting to jump me. I heard a rustling noise. I think she might’ve shook her head in the darkness. Then after a second, Ella spoke. “No. No, I don’t think so. He left to…hunt, I think.” I cringed. If the monster was out hunting… “Okay. Okayokayokay. Listen, Ella, we gotta get outta here. If that thing comes back…” I needed to kill it, obviously, and I still planned to. But Ella’s safety was more important; I couldn’t fight *and* protect her, so I needed to get her to safety. “Let’s just go, and then—” “No!” I jumped a little. Ella’s voice held so much *force*, in a way I seriously wasn’t expecting. “Ella—” “No,” she said again, softer this time. “I can’t.” “It’ll be okay,” I encouraged. “I’m gonna kill it, but first, I gotta get you to safety.” More rustling. As I stepped towards her, I could see her shaking her head *vigorously*. She still wasn’t facing me. I started to get a bad feeling. “I can’t go back,” she said. “It’s too late.” “Don’t say that.” I felt like I was begging. That feeling was getting worse, and I suddenly knew that I *needed* to get closer, to see Ella properly. That feeling, that hunch—I was wrong, right? I’m always wrong, always stupid. I was wrong this time, too. “You need to leave,” she said again. “Please, Sammy. Leave.” “I’m not leaving you,” I insisted. “You just gotta come with me, and—” She turned to me, and I stepped forwards, and I saw it. I saw her face. Ella was soaked in blood. All down her front, all down her neck, even on her face, dripping with it. Her skin looked almost translucent, though some of it might’ve been the light, and her hair hung in knotted clumps. She looked up at me with foggy eyes, coloured like rust. She was so still… “I didn’t make it in time,” I whispered. Ella was dead. The vampire…it must’ve made her one of them. ‘Turned’ her, I think they call it. Mia used to watch this shitty vampire romance show, and—well, anyway, it’s not the point. “What happened?” I asked. She shrugged. “I don’t know. I just woke up, and everything was red, and I was so *thirsty.* So—I—this man, he—” Only then did I look at the shape beside her. The body, with its neck torn out and limbs all over the place. It was a middle aged man, caked in dry blood and what looked like vomit. He was really, obviously dead. “Did you—?” Ella nodded, shakily. “I didn’t mean to. I don’t think he meant to, either. The…the nosferatu.” I recognised the word from my reading. I haven’t checked it yet, but I was pretty sure it meant vampire. “I don’t think it meant to make me…like this. I was meant to die, but—it said it would take care of me.” She sniffled, staring at the man she’d killed. “It said I couldn’t go home, or I’d hurt someone. And it’s right.” I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t say she was wrong, ‘cause she wasn’t. She was a monster, a danger, and… And just a little bit ago, she’d been a person, just like me. She was a victim, too. I hunt monsters. But I didn’t wanna hunt her. “I want to hurt you,” she said, her voice low and almost desperate. “You smell so good, and I want to *hurt* you. But I don’t want to be a monster. I don’t want to kill you; you came to help me. I don’t want to kill anyone.” All I could think for a second was *please don’t*, but I didn’t think I could say that. I didn’t know what I could say—I mean, hell, what *could* I say in this situation? I was staring at a dead girl, and all I could really think about was if I should be making her even deader. There was nothing good I could say, or even think. Before I could do anything, though, Ella stiffened. “He’s coming back. You need to go—you need to go, right now, or he’ll kill you. You need to leave us—we can’t stay here forever, so things can go back to normal soon, okay? You need to go.” My hand tightened on my weapon. I didn’t know what I was gonna do about Mia. I didn’t know what could even be *done* about her, but I knew one thing. I’d come to kill a monster, and if it was coming back? I’d be ready for it. “I’m not leaving you here,” I said. “And I’m not letting anyone else die.” “But—” “No buts! None!” I declared. “I’m fighting. And I’ve done this before, so don’t worry about me.” Ella looked at me for a second, then slowly stood up. “Then…then I’ll fight with you,” she decides. I opened my mouth, but before I could protest, she cut me off. “Don’t argue with me. You don’t stand a chance on your own. He knows you’re here, so you don’t even have the element of surprise, and—” “Okay,” I caved. “Fine. Okay.” I kinda realised at this point that, as a vampire herself—nosferatu, sorry—she could probably hold her own just as well as I could. “Just, uh, do me a favour real quick?” “Yeah?” I reached out and touched my weapon to her skin. She yelped, and I pumped a fist in the air. “Ahaaa, it works! Uh—sorry.” Ella rubbed her arm. It was at that moment that I heard footsteps from somewhere below me. The monster was home. Quickly, I reached into my backpack and drew out a small pouch, filled with sand. The footsteps grew louder, and faster. “Use this,” I told her. “You should know what to do with it, maybe. Hopefully.” She looked inside, then nodded. Then, the nosferatu burst through into the attic. Everything seemed really fast after that. Ella lunged towards it, moving so fast she practically *blurred*. She flung a handful of sand at it, and it—he? I’ll stick with it—roared in pain. It lashed out at Ella with one hand, sending her flying backwards. Then it turned on me. Its eyes were closed, so I don’t think it could see me, but it could definitely both smell and hear me, and its lack of vision was *not* slowing it down. It lunged, but with shaky accuracy, and I was able to leap out of the way, taking nothing but a scratch to my arm. As it recovered from the lunge, I jabbed my weapon towards it. It tried to intercept, but only succeeded in grabbing it as I shoved the makeshift spear midway into its neck. It howled in pain, and I let out a small ‘ha!’ as I jumped away again. That was my first mistake, I think. I got cocky. I jabbed at it again, right as Ella leaped for it. I got another hit in as it fielded her away, though it only went partway into its chest before hitting the ribs. Fuck—that was gonna be hard with it moving so much. I knew where the heart was, but getting there was a *whole* other issue. Ella yelped, narrowly dodging as the monster grabbed for her. Still riding my first two victories, I swung a third time—only to be intercepted midway by the monster’s hand. It yanked my weapon forwards, pulling me off balance and ripping my weapon from my hand. Despite the audible *hiss* it made when touching its skin, the monster didn’t let go, instead throwing it towards Ella like it was a javelin before whirling back towards me. I was dodging before it even attacked, and I think that saved my life, as its claws grasped the air where my neck had just been. It wasn’t as fast as I’d been expecting, but it was still *fast*, and I found myself struggling as the creature fended off both Ella and me. Its vision had clearly healed by now, as it was speeding up, and its foggy red eyes were wide open and flicking between both of us. Ella lunged again, aiming for its legs this time. As the two of them fell to the ground, I fumbled for my hairspray and lighter. I knew it was risky; if I wasn’t careful, I’d get both Ella and the monster, and set the house on fire to boot. But it seemed like a pretty effective distraction if nothing else, and I couldn’t see where my other weapon went. My hands found their target, and I shook the can vigorously, right as the monster threw Ella aside. I lunged forwards, took aim and *fired*. The fire was really impressive. Equally impressive was how quickly the support beam behind the monster caught fire, though the thing itself ignited pretty nicely, too. The flame caught the dark, messy hair of the thing and lit up like a Christmas tree, and while I was *disappointed* the whole thing didn’t catch like paper, I had to admit that it was never realistic. Hair burning, the monster howled, lunging *directly* towards me. Right before it could slice me open, however, something hit me from the side, knocking me to the ground and out of the way. Fire lit up the room, quickly spreading, and in that light I realised what’d hit me; Ella had knocked me to safety. The fire leapt to her, too, and at this point, I was realising it was a really, *really* bad idea to start igniting things. But it was too late, and all I could do was shout to Ella as her hair went up in flames. “Tear it out!” I yelled. “Quickly!” She gave me a look like I was insane, then grit her teeth as she ripped her flaming hair right out of her head with a noise I can only describe as ‘awful’. The nosferatu did the same, but with a lot more of its hair burning, the fire simply spread to its sleeves, making it scream once again. I scrambled to my feet, coughing as I did. The smoke was starting to fill the attic, and I wondered if smoke inhalation would kill me before the vampire could. The smell was awful, too—a disgusting combination of burnt hair and smoke that sent me gagging. I fumbled with my bag again, this time coming up with the holy water water gun. I wished that I’d thought of that before the fire, but it was too late for regrets at that point. As the nosferatu turned back towards me, still fielding Ella away, I pulled the trigger, spraying blessed water directly at it. It hissed, loudly. I could *hear* its skin burn as the water soaked into it. The scream it let out was one of pure rage. It lunged towards me again, then twisted at the last minute, slashing out at Ella, quickly enough that neither one of us could react. Its claws sliced open her throat, exposing the bone. Then, it shoved her to the ground and turned back towards me. I unleashed another spray of holy water, but despite the visible burn of it, the monster didn’t slow. It didn’t even flinch. Instead, it leapt at me, putting on that burst of speed I’d seen before and pushing me to the ground. I tried to get back on my feet, but before I could, it was on top of me, holding me down. I tried to push it off, but it was too strong; too heavy. I couldn’t reach my backpack, because it was underneath me, digging into my back. I couldn’t reach my water gun, because I’d lost it when I fell. I could see Ella, sprawled on the ground nearby, head nearly severed, and I wondered if he’d killed her properly, this time. Then, the vampire’s fangs were on me, and I couldn’t wonder anything at all. Being bitten by a vampire…all I can compare it to is like…I don’t know, I’ve never been on drugs, but all I can imagine is that it would feel like that. All my thoughts just…drifted away. Distantly, I knew I was in danger, and a part of me kept screaming to run, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t move, and…a part of me didn’t want to move. It felt good, even as that damn monster sucked the blood right out of my neck. I felt like I was watching myself die, but couldn’t bring myself to care. I stared up into the flames that surrounded us. They were kinda pretty, and I didn’t mind dying to a view like that. I didn’t mind dying at all. Maybe…maybe if I did, I could see Mia again. I closed my eyes. There was a distant crash, and a cry. Bright light shone outside my eyelids. Then, the monster pulled away with a scream, and the world rushed back in. I gasped, then gagged on the smoke. The monster was off of me now, and I couldn’t figure out why until I saw the debris surrounding us. Until the light hit me, and I realised that it wasn’t fire. It was pure, honest daylight. Had the roof collapsed? I thought that had to be it, until my eyes adjusted and I saw the figure standing where the roof used to be. Ella. She wasn’t dead. She’d broken through the roof. Flames spread up her clothes and what remained of her hair. Her skin was burning away in awful chunks where the daylight hit her, but she didn’t let that stop her. Instead, she dashed for me. I tried to speak, tried to move, but whatever the vampire had gotten me with was still in my system. All I could do was cough as Ella grabbed me and leapt from the building. There was an impact, then another as Ella threw me onto the grass. She was still burning, but I wasn’t—the sun was harmless to me, and the fire I’d set wasn’t burning her anymore. I coughed and coughed and coughed some more, then threw up a mouthful of nothing onto the grass. “Sammy…” she said. “Run, Ella,” I rasped. “The sun—it’s killing you—” Ella smiled, sadly. Her skin was almost sloughing off now, the muscle underneath completely blackened. The smell was horrific. But Ella just…smiled. She smiled at her, then smiled up at the sun. “I’m not running,” she said. “There’s nowhere to run to.” “The trees—” “Aren’t enough to save me.” “The house—” “Will be burned to the ground before long.” “But you’ll *die*,” I finally got out. “You’ll be dead, Ella. You can’t come back from that.” She shook her head, then, still smiling. She stared down at her burning hands. “I’m already dead,” she said softly. “If I lived…I was just going to ask you to kill me.” She looked back at me. “That’s what you do, isn’t it? You kill monsters.” “You’re not—a monster—” Ella sighed. She tipped her head back, staring up at the sky. “Do you…think I’ll go to heaven?” she asked. I don’t think it really hit me until then—just how badly I’d failed. But I stared up at her as her body began to crumble, and I saw the fear in her eyes. She didn’t wanna die. Was there nothing I could’ve done? “...Yeah.” My voice broke on the word, and I realised with a jolt that I was crying. “Yeah, I bet you will.” Her smile…it looked more genuine, when I said that. I’d made her happy. Made her…less scared. “Good,” she said softly. “Thank you, Sammy.” Her legs crumbled beneath her, and I caught her as she fell. Her eyes glazed over as she stared up at the sky, chest rapidly falling into nothing. “Tell—t-tell my family,” she said. “Tell them—I—” Ella’s chest fell away, and there was no more air to speak with. Her eyes flicked to me, full of terror, and I knew I’d carry this with me forever. I’d carry her with me. “I’ll tell them,” I promised her. My voice cracked on the words. She mouthed something, just as her face started to come apart in my hands. And…I can’t lip read like Rhy can…but I thought she maybe said ‘thank you’. A breeze picked up, and she was gone; just dust in my hands. I looked for traces of the other vampire, afterwards. I couldn’t find much, but the dust left behind told me all I needed to know. It was gone, and that was all that mattered. I was safe. Then I went back to Wickersons, curled up into my bed and sobbed until I ached. I failed her so badly. I wanted to save her. I wanted to save her, like I couldn’t save my sister, but I failed again. I always goddamn fail. Why am I the only one who survives these things, huh? I brought some of the dust back with me; just…put it in my backpack. I know it’s weird, and I know I can’t ever tell anyone what it is, but I just…I couldn’t leave her there. I think I’ll keep a tiny bit, then spread the rest on the green; I asked around earlier, and found out she spent time out there. So…I think she’d like that. Emergency services showed up to the fire a few hours after, I was told, but there wasn’t any house to save. They did, however, find the charred remains of at least two bodies, which checks with what I found in the attic. They haven’t come to question me. In a way, the fire kinda saved my ass. If they’d found my fingerprints in there… The police came to the same conclusion I did, I think; the killer was hiding out in the house, storing the bodies until it planted them away from home. I know they’ll probably identify the bodies soon…I just wish that there was something left of Ella to find. I got hurt pretty badly, too. Cuts and bruises and scrapes, but a pretty bad cough popped up almost as soon as I got home. From the smoke, I think, and it became pretty clear pretty quick that I needed a doctor, but I covered my own ass by, um…setting a fire in the bin of the boys toilets, then claiming I inhaled smoke from it. I got a month of detentions for it, but at least the nurse checked me over. I’ll be okay. Physically, at least. I have to wonder…why’d this happen? I mean, this is my fourth monster this year, and Wickersons Quarry isn’t exactly a huge area. There’s no way that many monsters should be showing up. And yet, I don’t think it’s gonna be the last. Something about this place… I took a few days off class. Today’s my last day of break, so I thought I’d finally write this all down. As awful as it is, and as majorly as I failed…it’s still a case, and I guess it’s technically a success. I mean…the monster’s dead. Both of them. I just…wish there’d been another way. For now, however, I gotta lay low. My friends have been worried about me, and Rhy specifically keeps insisting I rest and bringing me things. I dunno how to tell him that I’m definitely able to walk. I guess…maybe I should just enjoy it. I’ll write again soon. I have way too many thoughts in my head, and it’s not like I can talk to anyone about them. This hunting log might become more of a diary than a log, but…oh well. If anyone ever sees this, I’ll just show them the parts I want them to see. Cases, failures and all. God, no one should ever become a monster hunter. Worst job ever. But for now, I rest, I recover, and I try my best to forget how it felt, holding a girl as she crumbled apart. I’m gonna need so much therapy someday. Signing out for now, Sammy Stahl. — **CASE: The Wickerson’s Quarry Vampire Killer** Status: **Solved** Monster: Nosferatu Weaknesses (confirmed): Holy water, silver, sunlight. Disintegrates when exposed to the sun. Strengths: Bursts of speed, enduring, good senses. Assessment: Be cautious.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Something horrifying happened to me while working at Beecham's Bank in Leeds [RESPONSE] There is something wrong with the banks of the world because I used to work in one. This started when I was working at Beecham's Bank located in the United Kingdom, and its existence is almost legendary. The bank itself was founded by John Beecham in the early 19th century who was a successful financier and entrepreneur. However, there was a disturbing side to him nobody talks about that being he was a member of the Society of Financial Preservation, a group of bankers, merchants, and descendants of the original conspirators in the Gunpowder Plot who escaped to the New World only to come back more successful than ever. Also, I heard they were involved with the Salem witch trials and escaped back to England under the guise of Catholics to avoid persecution. This was a wild rumor and I was told over and over again but didn't believe it until my research discovered something more sinister was going on. The following is so dreadful that I even doubt existence sometimes but I'll do my best to explain what happened to me at Beecham's Bank. I was working at my desk one day and a lady came in and asked me if she could open a vault deep in the basement area but something was off about her. She had a grin on her face and bloodshot eyes that looked like it was caused by insomnia. Then she introduced herself as Mrs. Crenshaw and has been waiting to open a vault of her late husband Mr. Crenshaw. Mrs. Crenshaw looked like she was in her late forties and early fifties with long gray hair, cold eyes, and smelled of old perfume. Then Mrs. Crenshaw said, "I am trying to get access to paper documents that my late husband left me in his will at the bank" and then grinned intensely. I asked for her ID and information about the documents and gave Mrs. Crenshaw the key to open the vault as a shadowy figure ran across the hallway but didn't notice it at the time. The figure was picked up later by a security camera and it was the catalyst of what happened next. But this was not the only terrifying thing about this whole ordeal and I am still debating going to the authorities even if it makes me look like a lunatic so be it. Then Mrs. Crenshaw left around closing time which was 5:30 p.m. and I was there alone inspecting the rest of the vaults and heard a scratching sound coming from a locked room. I shouted, "Hello, we are closed for the night and will open back up at 9 a.m. please return in the morning!" and didn't hear a thing until a few minutes later. This time I heard a growling sound coming from the same room that was supposed to be locked and thought it was the pipes making weird noises. Then I turned on my flashlight and saw it, a tall skinny pale creature with glowing red eyes, a disfigured face like a wolf, and rows of sharp teeth it had claws the size of daggers on each hand. My body froze in terror as it growled at me ready to take down its prey which was, unfortunately, me. I slowly backed up to the corner waiting for the beast out of hell to finish what it started. But I was surprised that the lights suddenly came on and the beast retreated into the dark corridor. What I saw next still gives me nightmares to this day, a pile of human skeletal remains where the creature retreated after shining my flashlight in the dark was neatly separated with bones in one pile and skulls in the other. Also, I saw 19th-century Victorian clothes belonging to men and women, especially the poor people who couldn't afford the payments on time, and assumed that they were sent down here to meet their deaths. I was furious and scared at the same time at the thought this is how they treated people who were part of the lower class and practically starving to death only to be killed by the bank. Then I heard a voice saying, "Now you know the terrible secret we can't let you leave now!" and it came from Mrs. Crenshaw who is just standing there staring at me holding up some papers. I picked up a fire hydrant and threatened her if she didn't let me leave peacefully and then heard a growling sound behind her. She looked back and turned pale as Mrs. Crenshaw mumbled to herself as the monster picked her up by the neck and tossed her across the room. I hurried out of the basement of the bank as a huge iron door slammed in the back of me and locked on its own. Then I heard screaming and growling coming from the other side and a pool of blood was coming from the bottom of the door and everything went blank. The next thing I remember was waking up in a hospital bed with a nurse next to me and saying, "You are finally awake!" with an astonishing look on her face. Then I asked, "What happened to my arm and leg?" trying to make sense of the situation. She said, "You were in a very terrible accident and rushed to the hospital!" while she was changing my dressings. The news reporter on the television came on and said, "We have breaking news there was a robbery that went wrong at Beecham's Bank in Leeds there is at least one person dead and one missing!" and I felt a chill go down my spine knowing who they were referring to. When I saw that surveillance footage aired on the news report my heart jumped out of my chest as the creature was making its way down the old corridor. But everybody chalked it up as being a homeless man who committed a heinous act of murder and is still on the run to this day. I told the police what happened and they took my statement but didn't hear anything else about it until months later. Mrs. Crenshaw had an affair with a young man who supposedly murdered her husband for life insurance, and when she refused to pay him the man killed her as well. But I know the truth and it will haunt me for the rest of my life because the bank was shut down for a while but then reopened under new management keeping the old name Beecham's Bank.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] My twin brother died when he was nine. Last night he came back [RESPONSE] I’m still shaken up by everything that happened. My head is a mess and I’m probably going to have to change my job. Not probably, definitely. There’s no way I can go back to the Lullaby Ward ever again. Some background first. My twin brother, Isaac, died when I was nine years old. Everyone talks about how special twins are, that they have this psychic link, this relationship that is closer than any other human being has to another. I never felt that way. We were identical, but in appearance only. He was outgoing, adventurous. I was introverted. It used to embarrass me how open he was with everyone. People would assume I was just the same. I must have lost count of the number of times someone would talk to me and expect the same response, only to have this confused look on their face when they found this complete opposite in the same shell. Isaac died on a family holiday. My family took a trip to France every year, always staying at the same holiday park. The best part was the pool, with its slides and inflatables, we spent more time there than at the beach, which was just a few minutes’ walk away. The summer Isaac died, the pool was closed. Apparently there was an issue with the cleaning system. Whatever the reason, we were told that it was off limits. And besides, the sea was nearby. Who was going to miss the pool? Isaac was devastated. He loved the pool, wouldn’t stop talking about it in the weeks before the holiday. When he saw it was closed, he sulked for most of the first day. But something must have switched in his head, as the next morning he woke me up at 5 a.m. “Donnie, let’s go for a swim.” Donnie is not my name, nor is it an alternative I’m using to hide my identity. Donnie was a nick name that Isaac gave me. We were both big ninja turtle fans. My favourite was Donatello, something that Isaac could never understand. So he used to call me Donnie. No one else did, and my parents and relatives all thought it was strange. He was desperate for me to call him Mikey, but I never did. Anyway, he woke me up and, for some reason, I was happy to oblige. We snuck out of the chalet and made our way to the pool. Despite it being closed, it wasn’t fenced off or anything. Just taped off. I followed Isaac through the barrier to poolside. “See? We can swim.” I wasn’t quite sure what Isaac was on about. The water was filthy, a deep dark green colour that looked as bad as it smelt. “I’m not swimming in that,” I said. “Fine,” said Isaac, “Be a loser.” He climbed up the ladder to the top of the plunge slide. It was our favourite. Probably about five metres tall, at least it felt that big when we were nine. It was a sheer drop with a little lip at the bottom that would send you up high before you came splashing back down in to the pool. Probably wouldn’t pass any health and safety regulations these days. “Watch this,” said Isaac. He launched himself headfirst down the slide. Something he had done many times before. This time was different. The bottom of the slide with the lip was covered with some of the green scum water. As Isaac hit that part, his body slid sideways. He flew up in a weird sort of spinning motion before landing with a horrible wet splat on the edge of the pool. Head first. He made a horrible sighing sound before falling limply into the water. I screamed out in horror. Isaac disappeared beneath the green surface for a moment. I wish that moment had lasted longer, giving me a chance to turn away, or start running. But it was all too brief. Isaac’s body – it was a body by then – surfaced. Isaac stared up blankly at the sky above. His head was at ninety degrees from his body. His neck had snapped, killing him instantly. By the time help arrived, I was a wreck. Even though we weren’t close, he was still my brother. I loved him. And he was gone in an instant. The months after were awful. The funeral was well attended, but all the focus was on me. Who needs an open casket when you have a carbon copy sitting nearby. People would cry just looking at me. I even found it difficult to look in a mirror for a while. Don’t think my mum ever looked at me the same way either. It took time but I was able to move on. I went through high school and college okay, decided against university. I wanted to start work so I could get money and get my own place. Spare my mum from having to look at a ghost each and every day. I bounced between a few terrible jobs before I found work at the hospital. A friend of mine had said working in healthcare was great, even in a non-medical way. So when I saw the night cleaner role advertised at decent pay, I thought, “Fuck it. Why not?” The job turned out to be at the special palliative care unit at the hospital. A place where very sick people at the end of their life go to die. My role was to clean things at night. Mostly the rooms where patients had expired. They don’t always go quietly, so it took a strong stomach to be able to deal with what you found. Despite the grim nature of the place, I had a great team to work with. The doctors and nurses were all pretty chilled. They had this mindset about end-of-life care. They were performing a service for the loved ones as much as the patients. “Let them pass with grace and dignity,” was how one doctor had explained it to me. Send them off to sleep one last time. Hence the nickname the ‘Lullaby Ward’. There was a rotation of three other cleaners who I worked with. Mateusz was a polish guy with the best sense of humour. Jane was like a mother to us, and we had this feeling she would have much rather been a nurse than a cleaner. We never pushed to find out why she had never retrained. Finally, there was Gordon. He had been working there the longest and showed me the ropes. We ended up on a shift together the most. “This place is sort of sacred,” said Gordon. “This is where humanity is best demonstrated. You see the doctors and nurses doing all that they can for those they can do nothing to save. Takes a certain strength.” The first night, he showed me around the place. Where the cleaning supplies were kept, what standards were expected from us. It was at the end of the shift that he took me to one side. “You must never go in a patient’s room,” said Gordon, “No matter what they say, you never go inside. Leave that to the doctors and the nurses.” “Why?” I asked. “This place is the threshold,” said Gordon, “Where life crosses over to death. But the door is open. Sometimes…it feels like something crosses back from the other side.” I laughed but he was deadly serious. “Just take my word for it,” he said. “Don’t go in a room with a patient inside. Ever.” How I wish I had listened to Gordon now. It first happened two nights ago. I had been at the Lullaby Ward for about a year, so was feeling pretty confident. That shift, Gordon was unwell. Neither Jane or Mateusz could make it to cover, so I was on my own. Didn’t bother me. I could mop the corridors and clean the visiting rooms by myself. And if a patient passed away, I was happy to do the deep clean the room required to get it ready for the next unfortunate soul. It had just passed 3 a.m. when it happened. I was outside one of the patient rooms when I realised the door was open. I moved to close it and noticed the light was on. Lying on the bed was an elderly woman, her face wrinkled and gaunt. She looked up and saw me at the door and smiled. “Hello,” she said. “Sorry miss,” I said, “Just cleaning the hallway. Hope I didn’t wake you.” The woman laughed, a very weak, dry laugh. “I haven’t slept for days now. What’s a nice young man like you doing as a cleaner?” It was my turn to laugh. “Just found what I’m good at I guess.” She smiled again and raised a frail hand to gesture me inside. “Come talk to me. Just for a little while.” I hesitated for a moment. Not because of what Gordon had said, those words weren’t on my mind at the time. I was just thinking about all the extra work I had to get done. In the end I thought, ‘You haven’t had a break yet. Why not stop here a while?’ I put my mop and bucket to one side and entered the room. It was the first time I had been inside a patient’s room while they were alive. I was surprised at how normal it felt. Just like any other hospital room. Of course she looked old and was close to the end, but she had a warmth to her that outshone the beeping of the machines keeping her alive. “Yours is the first strange face I’ve seen in a while,” she said. “What do you mean?” I asked. “Everyone else is a relative or one of the doctors. I’m used to them all. It’s good to see something new, even now. Wouldn’t you say?” “I guess so,” I replied. I sat down in a chair close to the bed and we talked for a while. She asked me about my life, what I was getting up to. Joked about my lack of a partner, scolded me for my lack of ambition in my job. All light-hearted and good-natured. It was refreshing. After all the doom and gloom that Gordon had warned me about, this felt like the opposite. I realised I had spent a good twenty minutes chatting. “Have to get back to work. Sorry,” I said. Her smile faded into a sadness I had not seen in a long time. “Hope it goes well.” “I’ll come back tomorrow?” I said, cheerfully. She shook her head. “I might not be here then.” Her words hit me hard. I didn’t know what to do. Stay here or get back to work. What she said next made up my mind for me. The woman suddenly shook violently in the bed before going suddenly stiff. Her arms and legs pushed out from her body. I was about to hit the big red emergency button that would send all the doctors running to her, when she spoke. “….D…..Donn…..” At first I didn’t quite hear what she said. So she repeated. “Don….Donnie.” My blood ran cold. No one had called me that for seventeen years. I backed away to the door. The woman’s eyes followed me. “He’s coming.” Her body relaxed suddenly, setting off alarms from the machines beside the bed. I ducked out the door and into the hallway. Seconds later, doctors and nurses were rushing towards the room. I made as if I had been cleaning the whole time. I waited around, mopping the same few tiles of linoleum until the doctors left. The woman had passed. But her words lingered in my mind. I told myself I was tired or had misheard. But I knew what had been said. The next night, it was just me and Jane. I was glad that there was someone else there. Not that we would be working in the same place at the same time. Having her nearby meant that I couldn’t stop, I had to focus on work. If I wanted to have a break, I could chat with Jane. Things didn’t work out that way. I was cleaning the hallway and found myself outside the old woman’s room from the night before. It had already been occupied by a new patient. I looked at the name written in marker on the whiteboard sign. “Isaac.” My heart jolted in my chest. Surely it must have been some sort of coincidence. First what the woman said, now this. I had to take a look inside. What was I expecting? My twin brother to be lying in there waiting for me? No, of course not. But there had to be something behind the coincidence, some logic. I opened the door slowly. My hand trembled slightly on the handle. I told myself I was being ridiculous. But then again, so was the situation. Inside the room was dark, save for the screen of a heart monitor that showed the patient’s vital signs. I could make out someone lying in the bed. In the dark, they sort of looked familiar. Somehow recognisable despite having the faintest outline of a figure. I walked closer, moving as silently as I could. I didn’t want to wake whoever it was. I reached the foot of the bed and breathed a sigh of relief. It was an old man, his bald head seemed to shine in the dark as my eyes adjusted to the lack of light. His breathing was laboured, battling for every lungful of air. His eyes were open but they had a blank expression. Staring into space. I looked at the heart monitor and saw the name written on the screen. Edwin Isaacs. I almost laughed. His last name was Isaacs. Someone must have missed the ‘s’ on the whiteboard. Relieved and slightly ashamed at how jumpy I had been I turned and made my way back to the door. That’s when he woke up. “Who’s there? Who are you?” The man sat up in the bed and stared into the dark. “I know you’re there. Show yourself.” “I’m sorry sir,” I said, “I’m just a cleaner.” “What are you doing in here? Leave me be.” “I was just leaving.” “No!” the old man shouted, “I won’t do it. I won’t help you.” “I don’t need your help, I’ll leave you in peace.” The old man turned his head. But he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking past me. I slowly turned around to see what he was looking at. Nothing. Just the empty room. I turned back in time to see the man throw himself at me. He was small and frail yet the impact sent me flying backwards. “What are you doing?” I yelled. The old man didn’t say anything, he was trying to get a grip on me. We spun around together in a twisted dance. I managed to push him back towards the bed, but he was up again, standing on the edge. There was something maniacal about him that radiated through his body. His frail, veiny arms stretched unnaturally. His neck stretched up too, I could hear bones breaking as it did. “I’ve waited so long for this,” the old man said. He sprung forward again. This time he caught me in the chest and sent me onto my back. “Let go of me!” I shrieked, my voice becoming hoarse from the shock and the fear. “Donnie...it’s my turn.” The old man’s neck suddenly snapped to one side. Ninety degrees. A horrible angle that I instantly recognised. “Isaac?” I gasped. The old man’s face contorted. “You’ve had seventeen years. Good, long years. Now it’s my turn.“ I somehow managed to push the man off me. He rolled back on the linoleum floor, his head hanging horribly on the end of his broken neck. “Don’t be selfish. We can share. Let me share. We are the same. We can be the same. Two now one. If you let me come back.” “You’re dead!” I yelled. “But I’ve been waiting. On the other side of the door. You opened it. Let me come back through.” The old man pushed his body off the ground and turned so his grotesquely hanging head was swaying towards me. His arms and legs seemed to grow again, being stretched by some unseen force. They suddenly swung towards me, clawing out at me like tentacles. “Please,” he begged, “Please let me come back.” He lunged suddenly towards me. I dodged one attack, only to feel his hand clamp around my ankle. The old man pulled me towards me. I could see his eyes were burning bright now. Like a light had been turned on behind them. A horrible light that hinted at something beyond my comprehension. I managed to shake free and slide towards the door. But the old man lunged again, this time throwing his whole body at me. I had no choice but to lift my leg up in defence. I caught his head in a horrible kick, sending it snapping back. The old man twisted in mid-air – just like Isaac had done all those years ago – before landing flat on the floor. He became still. Deathly still. I didn’t wait around to see what would happen next. I got up and ran, out of the room, out of the ward, towards the nearest emergency exit. I didn’t stop until I was far away from the hospital, my lungs burning in pain from the panicked escape. What the fuck had just happened? I’ve managed to calm myself down now. I don’t know whether the old man is alive or dead. Whether I imagined it or not. It wasn’t until Gordon text me that I truly believed that it was all real. That I wasn’t a madman. “Now you know about the threshold. I hope you closed the door.” And now, as I sit in my apartment, with the lights switched on, I don’t know if I have. I’m tired, my body wants to sleep. But I’m scared of what waits for me. I’m away from the ward. I can find a new job. But…but my reflection. Something has changed about it. What if the door is open? And what if Isaac comes back? I don’t want to share. But I may not have a choice.<|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] Scarecrow Blood [RESPONSE] “Daddy… do scarecrows bleed?” I was lost in thought driving to drop off my six year old daughter Angelia to her mom’s for the week when she blurted out that show stopping question. “Hmm? What? What do you mean sweetie?” I asked, glancing back at her as your she daydreamed out the window. “I saw one in that field. It looked all icky and weird. And covered in blood,” she said, her voice a mixture of fright and concern. I looked at the side mirror toward the cornfields we were passing by and nodded absently. “I’m sure it’s nothing. It won’t hurt you,” I told her. I should have paid attention but my mind was on this separation. I knew Marcie wanted a divorce, and I knew there wasn’t much left for me to do to stop it. Getting a lawyer, trying to juggle two minimum wage jobs and handle a six year old was taxing enough so we agreed to week on week off for Angelia until we could settle on things that would be permanent going forward. Thankfully she was more concerned with her pet iguana and watching My Little Pony than the problems we were having, but her little comment about the scarecrow had me wondering if her worry was expressing itself in a different way. When we got there, I had forgotten almost entirely about the incident and focused instead on the new car parked in Marcie’s garage. It didn’t take me long to find it belonged to a new boyfriend, Todd who was “just leaving” as I gathered Angelia’s things. Had she deliberately made sure that he lingered just long enough to cement the idea in my head that we were over? “Took you long enough. Did you get lost?” she said as she got up from the porch swing. “There was construction. You don’t need to jump down my throat,” I muttered as I watched Todd drive off. “I see you didn’t waste any time.” I was baiting her for an argument but it didn’t work. Marcie said she was tired and needed to rest for her next shift at the hospital so I gave Angelia a hug and drove back toward home. I had to speed a little just to make it to work, my mind drifting to her inquiry about the scarecrow as I passed the cornfields. Maybe it was some prank. It was almost Halloween. Kids do crazy things. Or maybe she dreamed it up. Truth be told, I didn’t really give it a second thought. But then again, I haven’t been giving much of anything a second thought lately. It’s crazy that even though Marcie is in the same town it now feels like we are worlds apart. But that’s what happens when something comes between you and your partner, I guess. Although I wasn’t sure I could even call Marcie that anymore. That night, on my way home from my second job, she called in a fluster. “What have you been letting Angelia watch on her tablet?” “Hmm? What’s wrong?” I could tell her tone of voice was mostly irritation but there was an underlying level of worry there. Something was wrong. “She woke up screaming and crying and said a bloody scarecrow was outside the house,” Marcie snapped. I felt a strange chill run down my spine. “I’m sorry… I should have said something earlier. She said she saw it in the cornfields on her way to your house… Jesus Marcie… I didn’t even know it was a problem, just thought it was her weird imagination,” I admitted. “Well you need to fix this, she won’t listen to me.” I heard a soft rustling noise and a moment later my daughter’s whimper on the other end of the line. “Hey baby. Can’t sleep huh? You had a bad dream?” I asked softly as I drove down the dark roads. “No it wasn’t a dream… It was in the backyard. I saw it daddy and it was mad at me!” she said between sobs. “Is it there now? Maybe it went away?” I asked, calmly trying to reason with her. She paused, apparently thinking about it. “What if it comes back?” she whispered. “Well, I’m sure your mom will make sure it doesn’t… but even if it does… maybe the scarecrow is lonely? Maybe it just wants a friend?” I was hoping that by making her supposed monster sound nice it would lessen the issue. But the plan seemed to backfire immediately as she cried. “But daddy it was covered in blood so much!!” “Okay, okay calm down. Maybe it got hurt? Maybe it needs help? I’m sure it’s not going to hurt you baby. I’m sure everything will be fine. Your mom is there, and nothing can get to you,” I told her. “You… you promise?” she asked. “I promise. Now I want you to be a big girl and go to sleep okay?” I told her. She promised she would and passed the phone back to her mom who did not offer a complimentary thank you. I sighed, wishing that whatever dreams my daughter had that night were good and hung up the phone so I could focus on driving. I was almost at the fields where she had claimed to see the scarecrow and I slowed down just a bit to see if I could spot anything amid the corn. I felt a little silly doing it, trying to rationalize the hyper imagination of a six year old as I looked out toward one field and saw the familiar silhouette of a scarecrow. Even from this angle I had to admit that it did look… strange. Rather tall and weirdly dressed even for a mannequin. Was there really blood on its clothes or were my eyes playing tricks with me? At the same time I heard a loud noise and looked up just in the nick of time to see that I had let the car drift into oncoming traffic. Immediately I jerked the wheel back to my lane, my heart going a million miles an hour as I pulled over and slammed on the brakes. I sat there gripping my steering wheel for a second as I realized that I had come inches from meeting my maker just because I wanted to get a good look at a damned puppet in the middle of a field. Recomposing myself, I let out a breath and drove home, convinced that I was just being an overprotective parent and my daughter was letting the separation get to her in her own weird way. It would be great if I could end it right there and say that I was right about everything and we all lived happily ever after wouldn’t it? The next day, I got a text with a picture attached. Angelia had drawn the scarecrow at school and her teacher, concerned, forwarded it to Marcie. “Explain” the caption from my soon to be ex wife said as I stared at the picture. The childish drawing was black and red and dripping little bits of blood on the ground, a long stream of red crayon squiggling over to a cartoonish rendition of Angelia herself. She looked happy but behind her I saw what I guessed was two stick figures meant to be me and Marcie, both of us sad and lying sideways like we were under the ground. I sighed and stopped by her after school dance class to get a better understanding. Apparently it was my fault this was happening, since I had put the idea in her head the scarecrow was friendly. “What does the picture mean?” I asked her as she took a break. “Oh you saw it? You were right daddy the scarecrow was lonely. But now we are connected,” she said. “What do you mean sweetie?” “I don’t know. I can just feel it,” she replied in a sing-song voice. “Well I guess that’s good, but why are me and mommy sad in the picture?” I asked. “Oh that’s mommy and Todd. Not you. Daddy you are silly you know you are taller than Todd,” she said with a giggle. I focused still on the fact that they were frowning and her answer gave me some clue about her state of mind. “The scarecrow doesn’t like them, so I can’t be with them, that’s why they look sad,” she told me. It was a childish explanation but I told myself it meant that she longed to be with me rather than Marcie. That night I tried to reason with my wife about it, “You work so much and Angelia isn’t getting the attention she needs when she is here.” Poor choice of words because that just fired her up. “I can handle things just fine. You’re the problem here, David. You’re sticking these weird ideas into her head and making her scared of everything. I swear to god once I get a good lawyer, you will never get to see her again.” That really hurt to here my wife lash out at me that way. I knew this was hard on her, and I knew I was an easy target and this time I didn’t let it go any further and left. Maybe she was right and this was my fault. I was the one that couldn’t keep our family together. Couldn’t make ends meet and couldn’t live up to the promises of our commitment. I wasn’t a good husband and definitely not a great father but damn it I was trying. Maybe too hard. Maybe that was the problem? I didn’t know and I was too tired for another argument so I let it go that time. The next morning, things escalated even further and I was woken from bed with repeated calls from Marcie. “Jesus, this better be an emergency you know I worked late…” I muttered. “Please for the love of God David tell me this isn’t your idea of a sick joke,” she said. I was awake immediately when I heard the distress and panic in her voice. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?” I asked. “That damned scarecrow Angelia has been harping about. It’s in the backyard.” That tingling sensation of impending doom flooded me again. “I’ll be right over.” I hung up, grabbed some fresh clothes and drove to her house. When I got there she was on the front porch smoking and I gave her an odd look. “Don’t start with me. You better be glad I didn’t call the police on your ass. I want that thing dismantled and out of my yard this second!” she snapped. “Wait a minute hold up, you aren’t making sense. First off it would be impossible for me to do anything like that. I was at work. And your backyard is locked, besides you’re not exactly a heavy sleeper,” I said as I followed her through the house to the glass sliding doors that connected to the fenced in yard. I was hoping my logic would provide some sense of control to the situation, but when I looked out toward the grass and saw the thing, all of it felt meaningless. The thing stood about eight feet tall, lopsided and made of decaying wood with tattered clothes that were clearly drenched in blood. I had no idea it would look so ghastly. Immediately I pulled my cell phone out and Marcie asked, “What are you doing?” “What do you think I’m doing? I’m calling the police. Someone is clearly playing a sick prank on us.” “Shit. So it wasn’t you,” she said, her voice quivering. “Dear god no, I may not like this any more than you but I’m not going to play mind games like this,” I said as I dialed. “Angelia didn’t see it did she?” “No I got her on the school bus before I discovered it.” “Thank goodness. She doesn’t need any more nightmares,” I said. I made a quick report and gave the dispatcher my wife’s address before turning to her with a fresh idea. “Listen, this place is going to transform into a crime scene for a while. Maybe it would be a good idea for Angelia to stay at my place tonight?” Marcie looked like she wanted to argue but seemed defeated and nodded in agreement. I kept staring at the scarecrow, disturbed by its jagged body and wondering just who’s blood had been used to give it such a grisly appearance. I went to work, trying to put the issue out of my mind and picked up Angelia around 2. She was thrilled to get out of school early and I treated her to ice cream. It made everything seem right to see her smile even though I wasn’t sure what was happening. That night, I tucked her in with a bedtime story and tried to not fret over the bizarre situation at Marcie’s. As i was about to drift to sleep, Angelia screamed and I jolted to her bedside. She was pointing at the window where the sliding panel had pushed up and the curtains fluttered in the wind. Had someone tried to break in? Was that what this whole thing was? Instead as I approached the window I saw a dark silhouette in my own backyard. The scarecrow had moved here. As I stared at it I slowly closed the window and pulled the curtains close, my voice shaky as I reassured Angelia everything was fine. Once she had drifted to sleep I grabbed my gun from my safe and stepped out on my back porch, confronting the thing. As it stood there only a few meters away, I could sense an otherworldly presence. I knew it’s arrival here tossed out any logical explanation for this. I was clearly dealing with an evil spirit of some kind. Despite the fact that my mind came to this conclusion I still thought my gun would protect me and I raised it toward the scarecrow, demanding answers. “What do you want from us? You aren’t going to hurt my daughter, so you hear me?” Of course the bloody thing didn’t respond and that only infuriated me more. I fired a warning shot, yelling at the apparition. “I know you’re listening! You need to leave us alone!” A moment later I heard a loud knock at my front door. Cautiously I approached with the firearm and opened it, not sure what to expect. seeing two dressed police officers there would have been my last guess. “David Westin?” they asked, scanning me up and down and probably thinking I looked like a mad man. “There’s been a homicide at your wife’s residence. We need to bring you in for questioning.” My mouth was dry. “What. That’s not possible. What happened?” I asked. “Sir, put the gun down. We can answer questions at the station,” the first office said. She was reaching for her taser. Immediately I dropped the firearm, begging for them to listen. “I called the police hours ago to go investigate an issue at her house. Are you telling me… are you telling me my wife is dead??” I shouted. Behind me I heard Angelia made a soft whimper from her room. “Daddy… I had a bad dream. What’s going on?” “Sir. Your daughter is going to remain in police custody while you come down to the station answer a few questions,” the second officer said. It was clear the discussion was over for the moment and I kindly told Angelia to gather her things for a trip. I was staring out at the backyard, fully aware the scarecrow was now gone again. It had come here to let us know it’s work was done, I thought as I drew the connection to Angelia’s drawing. Once she was out of earshot I asked the officers, “Did you find two bodies?” “Are you admitting that you are aware of something related to the case, Mister Westin?” “Just tell me please. Was my wife alone or not?” The officer saw something in my eyes to trust me. “No. There were two bodies. Blood everywhere. They looked like they were pulled apart, limb by limb,” he admitted. That ended the conversation until we arrived at the station where they fingerprinted me and got a blood sample. I was numb to all of it. I didn’t want my wife dead, sure I hated the fact that we were going our separate ways. But this was beyond my resentment. The scarecrow had caused this, why I didn’t know nor was I sure if it would now leave us alone. I answered the officers questions as best as I could until they told me I was free to go. When I did end the questioning I asked them if they found anything unusual in the backyard. “Was there a scarecrow?” I asked. Their confused faces told me the answer was no. On the way home, I apologized to Angelia for everything and sat her down on the edge of her bed to explain about Marcie. Before I could get the words out, she said, “Mommy is gone you know. So is Todd.” “You know?” I asked. “I saw it in the scarecrow’s dreams. It was a horrible dream.” “You woke up screaming… Angelia please, what else did the scarecrow show you.” “Nothing really. Just a bunch of black birds over us every night. They have been following us. I think they will report to him.” “Report what?” “If you’re taking care of me or not,” she said simply. Again that odd moment of unease fell over my body. “Because you’re connected and you felt mommy wasn’t being fair to you.” “Yep. And now she’s gone. You were right daddy, the scarecrow does want to help me.” The implications terrified me. “Daddy can we stop for ice cream?” she asked sweetly. I was looking toward the fields. The silhouette of the bleeding scarecrow watching me every time my eyes cast that way. “Sure sweetie,” I said through gritted teeth. “Anything you want.” <|endoftext|> <|startoftext|>[WP] The strangest Youtuber apology video you'll ever come across. [RESPONSE] If there’s one thing I can't stand, it’s these drama videos that pop up time and time again on youtube. I swear I have zero interest in these things but the algorithm refuses to release me from its grips. It’s hard to avoid these days as any channel is likely to talk about some drama going on. God, I've seen channels that devote their content to reviews of old nickelodeon shows speaking out on drama in the super smash brothers community. I just want to hear your thoughts and opinions on The Angry Beavers, I’m not here for this. From streamers to beauty blogs, there is no more surefire way to boost your views than to stir the pot and get your opinion out there. The worst example of all this? These stupid apology videos will show up, usually a capstone to the aforementioned drama. A half-hearted attempt to aside all the previous allegations. It’s always the same crap though. Sitting on the floor, because if you look too comfortable, no one will believe that you're sad. Oh, and you should smudge your make-up some too! That way people know you’ve been crying. Don’t forget to start the video with a heavy sigh so it’s clear how much this has all been weighing on your chest. Now spew the most formulaic and buzzword-filled nonsense that you can and wait a month until your fans forget all about it. Congratulations, you’re a good person again! Every time I see one of these videos, the person in the thumbnail wearing an oversized gray sweater with their finger wiping away tears, I feel myself gagging. I’m not perfect, I'll admit to clicking on some of these drama videos. I still hate it, but when it involves a creator that you religiously watch, then hey… I'm human too! Maybe that’s how I got shoved into this. There was this illustrator that I was a really big fan of. Their art was creepy and so stylized and they started to make videos showing their creative process and I ate them up. Great background noise whenever I was working on something. So I watched all these videos and one day I saw all this news come out about them. Suffice it to say, none of it was good. Turns out it doesn’t matter how creative and talented you are, you can still be a massive mountain of garbage. Eventually, they came out with an apology video. I was enticed and I clicked on it, part of me just wanted to see their face as they had never shown it before. It was tragically predictable. I swear I could see him reading off of a script that was just off camera. I don’t watch that channel anymore, the evidence was pretty damning. Parasocial relationships, am I right? This is what likely brought the video into my suggested feed. I was lying in bed bored one night and was just shuffling through video apps trying to find something to watch. As one does. The things I was seeing on youtube just weren’t pulling me in, I wasn’t feeling in the mood to consume anything. I first saw it there. The video is titled “I’m realy sorry”. The thumbnail showed a man with a blanket wrapped around him, his hand lifted, scratching the side of his head. I rolled my eyes at the typo and the low-quality image. Just another sad sap thrown in the mix. But for one reason or another, what caught my attention was the view count. The video sitting in my suggestions had only 14 views. Something primal activated in my brain. A schoolyard desire to get all the hottest gossip. With a view count so small it seemed like I stumbled upon something very… personal. I had to know. With nothing but good intentions in my heart, I clicked the video. An ad began playing, giving me enough time to see that the channel only had 2 subscribers and only a handful of other videos. The channel was called “DiabolicMuffinTop”, I don't know. The soap ad ended and my eyes levitated back to the video. It was grainy, clearly recorded with one of those dollar-store webcams. There was an intense buzzing that seemed to be caused by the microphone that was likely bought in the same store. The man from the thumbnail stared into the camera, his face being broken up by fidgety pixels. He had one of those faces, where it’s hard to tell if they’re 20 or fifty. His skin was tan, or the lighting made it look that way. His head was shaved. As he sat on the floor trying to get comfortable I watched the white stained straps of his wife beater. The room around him was particularly nondescript, outside of it looking like a small dorm room with next to no visible furniture. He finally pulled a blanket off-screen and wrapped himself in it. Slowly the fuzz died off as he reached down and pulled the microphone off the beige carpet floor. I cannot tell you how enthralled I was at this point. It was so mundane and vague, I felt like I was in on a secret. This room, this man; could be anywhere in the world. Microphone hanging mere inches from his lips he began to speak. His voice was full of gravel like he hadn’t slept in a few days. When his voice got to me I could see his eyes looked heavy as well, the way he was hunched like it was a struggle to sit upright. It sounded generic at first, what he was saying. He repeated lines I heard before. Things like. “It was a stupid mistake.” “I want to be better.” “I hope I can grow from this.” These words felt a little strange to listen to given that I didn't know what the man was apologizing for. Though as he talked, maybe just because of how exhausted he looked, it started to feel genuine. My excitement turned to a sense of guilt like I shouldn't be watching. I didn’t leave though, the timeline kept moving on. I watched tears form in his eyes as his words got shaky. “I wish I could take it all back… I miss all of you.” There was a moment of silence and suddenly he stood up, a few minutes passed with him just standing in front of the camera. Within that time I had found myself leaning in, inspecting the footage and the room. Initially, I assumed it to just be an artifact caused by the poor image quality but the more the pixels shifted, the more it became clear that it was something else. On the wall behind the guy were shadows. They were soft and hard to make out with the amber lighting of the room, but there were shadows. The screen went black and the video ended. That wasn’t satisfying, not nearly enough for me to have backed out then and there. No, he had other videos, not many but maybe there were some answers in them. Or at least something I could hang my hat on. Clicking on his profile I navigated to his videos and found that “I’m rely sorry” was the first one he uploaded. The next one was titled “Peeky.” Though my eye was drawn to his most recent video titled “I’m sorry PT2”. I felt it would be a disservice to jump right to it though. Like I was ruining the suspense for myself or something. I don’t know, it’s as I said. I was very bored. So I clicked on “Peeky”. It was an eye. Just a close shot of a blue eye, took me a while to even make out what I was looking at. I only recognized it as such when an eyelid obstructed the camera for a moment before being pried apart. It was an eye alright but… well there was a camera light illuminating it. The light kind of came and went, shining on the eye and then retreating. It was off-putting because as far as I could tell, the pupil never dilated and I remember thinking that maybe the quality wasn’t good enough to show it. But I don't think it ever dilates. And when I say the eyelid was pried open I mean, someone's fingers had spread them forcing the eye to stay open. The video was only 47 seconds long and that’s all it really was, the eye didn’t even move. It looked glossed over and unnatural like a prop. Going back to the previous video I leaned in and tried to get a look at the guy’s eyes. It was hard to make out but if his eyes were that blue surely I would’ve noticed. Another video showed him lying in his bed. This one was titled “goodnight”. The room was dim. There was this sense of light. Not like moonlight was reaching the room but there was a natural illumination about it; a haze of sorts. His head was tilted towards the ceiling and I don't know how I could tell but he was awake. A feeling I guess. This video was long and the audio was rough but I could hear something in the background. Not in the room, it was muffled. A dragging, it sounded like someone moving furniture around. A large wooden dresser being pushed across the carpet comes to mind. Then the door to his bedroom began to creak open and my suspicion about him being awake was confirmed. As soon as the light from the hallway crept in he scattered like a bug to his headboard. I could see the clump of pixels around him beginning to vibrate, he wrapped his arms around himself and started to shake. The sound cut in and out but he was whimpering like a punished dog. Whoever opened the door just stood there. The arm holding the door remained still, just a dark spot. Pausing the video I couldn't help but think to myself that the arm was at such a strange angle. Like the person was as tall as the ceiling. Within a few minutes, the figure starts to enter I think and the YouTuber starts to howl, like really yell, noise complaint-worthy stuff. I was right again, whatever was peeking in was so tall, its head entered first as it had to bend over to get in. A head that was not… not the shape that people’s heads are. It looked like chunks had been taken out of it at a jagged angle. I don't know how to describe it. Either it had a crazy helmet on or that thing wasn’t- normal? It leaned in further and reeled its \`\`Head” back in jittering motions almost like it was smelling the air. The guy backed up on the bed more, it looked like he was trying to push his way through the wall as he could just crack through it. The static caused by the picture quality almost seemed to warp around the figure leaning in the door, like it was trying to avoid touching the thing. Just as I began to feel my stomach churning, the figure started to rotate its head and look towards the camera, small pin-prick blue lights beamed out from the front of its face, and then that video ended. I sat there for a moment, collecting my thoughts and after watching that video again I couldn't help but feel nervous. To clear the air. I’m no stranger to the weird things people create online. Things like ARGs and narrative-driven series. The possibility of this all just being something the cameraman created crossed my mind. This thought, however, felt more defensive than anything. With saliva pooling in my mouth and sweat forming under my fingertips, it was like I was finding something safe to explain it. The more I thought about the video and its contents the more unnerving it became and the more I needed to see the other videos. The next one was called “Outside” and it started with the cameraman sitting on the floor like the apology video. Like the apology video as well the man offered his sorrows, stating that he didn’t mean for any of it to happen. That he just “Wants to leave”. The lighting was exactly the same as in the first video, with not a spec of natural sunlight to be found. He leaned forward and grabbed the camera. I paused the video when he leaned in to get a better look. While his face was still rather blurry, I could see darker lines of flesh on him, something you’d expect to see when deep gashes finally heal over. There wasn’t enough quality to definitely make out what I was looking at though. Unpausing he lifted the camera and carried it to the door. His hand trembled as he placed his fingers on the knob. The view shifted for a moment. I watched this part a few times to try and make out what he was doing, I think- putting his ear up to the door but I don’t know. All I know is his breathing was horribly erratic. It almost frustrated me listening to the man breathing directly into the camera's toaster-quality microphone. Made my heart start racing in ways I wasn't comfortable with. He must have been satisfied with his prodding as he pulled the camera back and turned the handle. A hallway was revealed on the other side. Same canvas brown wall and dim lighting as his room had. He stepped out into the hall and panned the camera around showing me, absolutely nothing. There was maybe a ten or fifteen feet stretch of the hall on either side, it's hard to define distance on video. At the end of the hallways was just a blank wall. No pictures or other doors to be seen, hell there wasn’t even any molding, just the brown walls, and browner carpet. The camera focussed on his hand as it ran along the hallway’s walls, just a flat surface with not so much as a seam. Every bit of the hall was the same, not a hint of escape to be seen, he was closed in. His hand shook the whole time making the flecks of static drift around like lightning bugs. After walking around the hall he wound back up at his door and pointed the camera at the end of the hall. Static from the footage started swirling like a snow storm and from the flat wall, I could see an outline forming. It looked like a pipe had burst behind the wall and started soaking the wood causing a dark spot. This spot became more and more black until it looked like an inky mess. The camera… it was like the poor quality didn’t dare enter that darkness, I could see it so clear compared to the rest of the hall. It looked as if that darkness stretched on further than the confines of the hallway and from that stretch, fingers laced on the edge. The camera shook as the man contemplated how long he could risk being in the hall. The creature from before started climbing out. It wasn’t the quality of the video that made the thing look so undefined and inhuman, that’s just how it was. Those bright blue beads on its head peered out from the dark spot. My breathing was matching his at this point, felt like the thing was looking at me like it could see me. I was about to scream at the man to get back in his room and as the monster crawled from the pits beyond the hallway, the video cut out and ended. The way it all looked, the way it made me feel. Shifting in my seat I could sense the cool air pressing on the beads of sweat running down my forehead. There were only two videos left though. I couldn’t just not watch them right? The penultimate video. I can’t exactly describe how it made me feel. There was an air of triumph, I think. It was just the guy sitting on the edge of the bed with his head lowered and crumbling at his feet was the monster. It was motionless and I could see that the man’s hands were covered in red. He was staring at his own hands, repeating something I couldn't quite make out. I watched, expecting the monster to move again, for something to happen, but even those pin-prick lights failed to shine. The longer the video went on the more the static started to cover the creature as if it was no longer afraid of it. And the more static that covered the creature’s frame the more it looked like- Its limbs became shorter and its head started to shrink and smooth out. The whole time this monster collapsed in on itself to look more and more human all the man did was stare at the mess on his hands. Raising his hands he pulled his fingers down across his face, digging his fingernails through his flesh, re-opening those scars I had noticed earlier. When he did this, it was faint but the static started to drift away from him, showing his face a little clearer. He looked into the camera, got up to walk over, and turned it off. He was angry and frustrated. Eyes narrowed peering through thin rivers of red. Last video. “I’m sorry PT2”. He must have set up and turned the camera on minutes after the last video ended. He sat in front of the camera just like he did for the first video, his face was still slick with fresh blood, and he was looking more monster than a man. Speaking of which, the creature that was slumped against the bed had been moved, somewhere out of frame. He began speaking. Tell me, or the camera I suppose. That it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He meant for it to be simple, that he intended for no harm to come. He also said, with a laugh, that it was too late for all that thought. That he had crossed the line and he has to deal with his decisions. It was so strange, hearing all the jargon I had seen Youtubers use before to passively handwave their actions off. To hear him saying all this stuff in the context of what I had just seen. Heard him talk about how he wants to “Be better” and that all he needs is a chance to prove he can do it. What could he possibly have done to have wound up there? Did he deserve it? Was it a punishment? For all the apologizing he did, clearly, he did something that put him there right? I can’t wrap my head around it. Or anything I had seen involving his channel. I could only watch as he continued barfing out the same script I had heard from others. He stopped talking, mid-sentence and looked into the camera lens, the camera’s focus on him going in and out. God, it felt like he suddenly became aware of my existence, he could feel I was watching him. That look wrapped around my heart and squeezed, a pain in my chest and a churning in my abdomen. Fear blanketed me like cellophane. “This is the last time, I promise.” He said sullen and ethereal words that cut grooves into my ears. Reaching forward the man grabbed the camera and picked it up, standing up off the floor I could see the blanket drop from his shoulders. He was shirtless and his chest was littered with those scabbed-over scars that created pathways in the static. He was mangled, you’d have thought a pride of lions just finished throwing him away. “I’m sorry to all of you.” He whispered, something in his eyes. I could feel he had finalized on a choice, something he had been mulling over for quite some time. Slowly, very very slowly he started turning the camera around. It was here that I realized I had only seen one portion of his room, never what was beyond the camera. As it turned I wasn't surprised to see the walls were devoid of decoration, just the same spoiled milk color until the lens was met with a black mass. It was like a dense forest of thin trees. I struggled to make out what I was looking at. He started backing up offering more and more of the view in front of him. Bodies, I hate to cut to the chase but I don't know what else to say, they were bodies. All of them were so tightly packed together it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended. Their frames were dark like the creature that came into his room. All of them hung from the ceiling like ornaments on a Christmas tree. They gently swayed bumping into each other, thick ropes strung around their necks to keep them suspended. They looked closer to people shaped than the monster that I had seen a few videos ago. But it didn’t stay that way. He kept the camera on this scene for a while. More than enough time for me to see that now and then their bodies would shift. They would begin to transform and crack back into the jagged and lengthy shape of the monster. Their bodies would rattle and moan as their skulls snapped and twisted into horrid silhouettes. There they would bounce around trying to be free of the noose. Every Time though, their body would go limp and give up before slowly reverting into the humanoid shape. It was a cycle, they would transform, struggle and revert. Brief moments of consciousness and a desperate fight for air only to die once again. 12 minutes of this. Seeing those blue eyes open and shut. I couldn't tell how big the room was or how many bodies total there were. It seemed like well over a dozen, all fighting for a little more space. After twelve minutes, from behind the camera, I heard “I’ll find a way to fix this.” And then the video just ends. I sat in my seat for a while, I felt like I couldn’t move. Or rather I didn't want to? Like if I moved it was confirmation somehow of everything I had seen and I just didn’t want time to move forward, I didn't want to come to grips with it. The sun had started peeking through my window at some point, I must have been sitting there for a few hours. I’d occasionally view the videos again, trying to find some kind of credits. Or even coded messages, anything to show me that what I witnessed was a fabrication. After enough clicking back and forth, searing the images of those videos in my mind, I'm only left with questions. A thousand “Whys” were implanted into my head. Ones I'm sure will never vacate. Now for the part, you’ll hate. Upon trying to revisit the user's page I'm only met with a deactivated account. I discovered this when it dawned on me that I should have somehow documented what I had seen. Funny how that works, now this is all I have of it. This written recounting of it. All the time it’s there, scratching at the back of my head. I’m trying to connect the dots where there are none. Just one meaningless question pulling to another. This is easily one of the most abusive parasocial relationships I have been pulled into. I keep an eye open. Maybe I'll see his face on my screen again and finally, I'll be able to get it out of my head. I’m always afraid I'm going to leave my room to find that it’s all gone, that I only have a hallway. That fear feels like it’s closing in. Maybe I'm paranoid. Though. My eyes are blue. Sorry, I don’t have more answers or information. I’ll try to do better.<|endoftext|>